Wait for me…please.
I’m more observant than I seem.
I know that I must seem utterly clueless to you. And why shouldn’t I? Within
the first few seconds of meeting me, you saw that I was a fool, an incompetent,
a half-wit, a joke. I was just some dopey, red-coated buffoon bent on complicating
your mission.
I really can’t blame you for your assessments. Most
people quickly come to the exact same conclusion. When I move, I am nothing
but elbows and knees, all awkward and gangly and clumsy. When I talk, my
words are an emotional, comical sing-song. I weep at nothing. I stumble heedlessly
into danger. I cower and hide from conflict whenever I can, however I can.
I know quite well the image I present. But it’s not real. None of it is.
My
appearance is a defense, but it’s also a strange form of offense. After all,
being seen as harmless has its distinct advantages. When I act as a fool,
enemies underestimate me. They ignore me. They are off-guard, relaxed, unprepared.
That’s when I surprise them.
You’ve seen both sides of me,
haven’t you? You’ve had difficulties getting your mind around the duplicity.
I’m truly sorry to confuse you. You, of all people, deserve to see the real
inside of me. You have been loyal, and good, and supportive, even in the
midst of all of this chaos and disorder. I’ve been glad for your presence,
even if I haven’t shown it.
But you wear a façade, too, you know.
It’s the opposite of mine: a mask of stoic determination, of nonchalant confidence,
of peevish discontent. It hides the parts of you which are first and foremost
gentle, nurturing, and yes, even sweet. You try so hard to suppress it. You
struggle to cover up your warmth with blustery self-reliance.
Still,
I can see it. Deep, deep behind your sense of duty. Beyond your stubborn
pride. Below the multitudes of responsibilities which weigh on your strong
heart.
I recognize what’s behind the violet of your eyes.
You care for me.
No, it’s more than that, isn’t it? It’s more than care.
You’re falling in love with me.
Heh. Love. If I said that aloud, you’d definitely clobber me.
And I’ve felt enough of your fearsome backhands to risk that possibility. My head hurts just thinking about it.
Well,
so, now what? We sit here on this sandy hill, silently watching the suns
as they slowly sink below the red-tinged horizon. Everything is quiet except
for the constant, soft wheezing of the wind. The handkerchief that you gave
me is soothingly cool against my wounds, and it smells faintly of you.
Lavender, is it? It suits you.
But
as good as the kerchief feels, I just can’t seem to find the words to thank
you for its comfort. Instead, I stare ahead, holding the coolness against
my bruised and raw skin, my vision red and glowing with the dying suns. Your
small hand rests on the ground between us, your fingers lifting the grains
of sand and letting them slide through your fingers like some delicate hourglass.
It reminds me how old I am. How young you are. How old you’ll be.
When you look in my eyes, do the years show? Can you tell how much I’ve seen? Is there any way around those years?
Words echo in my mind. Something Knives once said to me as I looked at him through grieving tears.
“The
humans’ lifespans are nothing to us, Vash. They are insects. They exist for
a few seconds, spread their disease, and then die. None of them will ever
know what it is to be like us. How can they matter to us? How can they ever
do anything worthwhile with such a pitiful, short existence?”
But
as I look at your profile, I can’t see anything but life and youth. The softness
of your skin, the firm rosiness of your lips, the dark satin of your hair…
You
prove him wrong. Your strength, your determination, your compassion, and
your bravery. You stand against that pointlessness. It’s irrelevant how long
you’ve lived, or how long you will live. You matter.
Still,
despite your courage, I’m not sure if you understand where this is all headed.
There’s going to be death. There’s going to be blood. It’s not going to be
pretty. Things might…no, things will change. It has gone too far to come
to a gentle conclusion.
I didn’t want to involve you in all of this
mess. My problems were not your creation, and it is not your job to fix what
went wrong more than a hundred years ago. I certainly don’t want you to get
hurt. And so I’ve turned you away twice now, to no avail. Each time, I bore
the barely-repressed pain in your voice…the disbelief on your features…the
strain of your posture…
And I find that I can’t turn you away again.
Sigh. Even if I did, it wouldn’t make a difference, would it? I just can’t
shake you. You’re so damn stubborn…so frustratingly pragmatic and calm and
determined and…and…
Wonderful. So wonderful.
I’ve been lonely
and empty inside ever since….well, I suppose ever since she died. I still
think of her, often. I still love her. And though it feels like some sort
of betrayal, I’m starting to realize that there is room in my heart for more.
I gave her the love of a child, pure and new and innocent. But I
am no longer a child. She would not want me to stay that way. She would never
wish for me to be lonely. She gave up her life so that I could live. So that
we could all live.
It’s true; sometimes you remind me of her. Your
nobility, your capability, your beauty. But she is not you. You are not her.
I’m beginning to see that now, more and more. I love her no less. I love
you no less. I simply…love. And it feels good.
I’m glancing at you
from the corner of my eyes, like some little kid trying to glimpse his crush
without letting her know he’s staring. It’s silly, really. You’re a grown
woman, and I am certainly old enough to stop these senseless games. And even
though it’s my artificial hand that’s facing you, it aches to grab hold of
your fingers. I wish I could move closer to your side and hold you tight
in my arms, metal and flesh alike. I wish I could breathe the scent of your
dark hair and feel your warmth against my skin. Something urges me to tell
you everything I feel before one of us fades away. Everything seems so fragile.
How
can I explain it? I feel like I’m standing on the edge of a cliff. There’s
a beautiful abyss in front of me, and I know that if I fall into it, I’ll
never have the strength to climb back out. I’ll want to stay there, forever.
It would be fantastic and warm and amazing…
And unfair. It would
be unfair to add complicated emotions to your worries. Unfair to show you
love when I cannot promise you that we’ll be together. Unfair to put my desires
above a multitude of lives.
I will not be unfair: not to you, not
to Rem’s memory, not to this planet. There is so much to be done. There is
so much to fight.
I want to be with you…beside you…of you. But I
simply can’t. Not yet. Not now. Not until everything is settled and all sins
are redeemed. As it stands right now, I can’t give you what you deserve.
I care about you too much to give you anything less than all of me.
Even
though I can’t make my tongue say it, I’m pleading to you with every part
of my being. I know you can see it in my eyes, if you look deeply enough.
I know that you can read my thoughts, if you try. I need you to understand.
I need you to be patient with me.
I need…
I need you to love me.
Please
don’t give up. Don’t lock your heart any deeper. Believe in me. Believe that
we can win. Just a little longer…until I can give you everything. Just one
more battle before I deserve you.
Please, Meryl.
Wait for me.
