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Karen found herself stealing glances as Meryl tapped away on her typewriter with a look of intense focus and her bottom lip pinched between her teeth.
It wasn’t quite the same way in which Karen would glance at her a couple years ago, back when she would sometimes catch Meryl stealing glances of her own. Whenever Karen caught her in the act, Meryl’s eyes would crinkle and Karen’s breath would catch—there was something thrilling about being on the receiving end of Meryl’s attention, piercing and sun-bright.
Karen wondered if Meryl still thought about the nights they spent huddled together over drinks, two new hires determined to climb to the top of Bernardelli in record time with nothing but sheer determination.
Then Meryl had received an assignment to track down and minimize the damage caused by Vash the Stampede, the most dangerous outlaw on the planet and Bernardelli Insurance Society’s biggest liability.
If Meryl had been reasonable, she’d have turned that job down.
No, that wasn’t quite it—if Meryl hadn’t been Meryl, she’d have turned that job down. For anyone else, such an assignment would have ended somewhere between career death and actual death.
For Meryl, though, the assignment harnessed all her strengths, including ones that were wasted on her as an adjuster. She always was more comfortable with high-stakes projects and tight deadlines than she ever was with busywork, and her efficiency as a typist was rivaled only by her skill with a handgun. Meryl was someone who could make the impossible seem straightforward and manageable.
And suddenly, Meryl was no longer Karen’s equal and co-conspirator. She was the company’s best counter to the Humanoid Typhoon.
It had only been four and a half years since she and Meryl were hired.
It had already been two since Meryl returned.
By all rights, she shouldn’t have. Karen had been terrified when she’d seen the freshly wounded Fifth Moon rise for the first time, and when the news arrived of how the damage had been done, Karen had taken a day off work to sob into her pillow.
There was no way anyone, even Meryl Stryfe, could have survived such a thing. Meryl had finally come up against something that could stop her, and it was nothing less than an Act of God.
But then a miracle occurred: Meryl came back alive. Karen had thrown herself into Meryl’s arms the moment she came through the office door with a sand-encrusted cloak, windburned cheeks, a pink roller suitcase, and a distant look in her eyes.
After that, Karen had taken it upon herself to defend Meryl from their coworkers’ nosiness. The last thing Meryl needed was people harassing her for answers about something that must have been deeply traumatic. Karen sharply directed them to read Meryl’s reports instead of bothering her directly, if they wanted to know the details so badly.
But then Meryl had started answering their coworkers’ questions of her own volition, and her answers were nothing like what Karen expected.
Faced with months of dealing with the worst that this planet had to offer—Meryl said it wasn’t all that bad. That she’d had fun.
As alarming as that would be on its own, that was nothing compared to the way Meryl talked about Vash the Stampede.
After the first time Meryl shared details of her travels, Karen took her own advice and read Meryl’s reports sent over the months she was away. Meryl had written that he was kind. That he was chaotic, reckless, and determined to protect people. Karen lingered over one passage—out of context, it could just as easily be a description of Meryl herself. That, more than anything, made Karen think that she might just understand Meryl’s fascination with the man.
Karen wondered if Meryl made as much of an impression on the Humanoid Typhoon as he clearly made on her. If like recognized like.
That was all to say: a lot had changed since Meryl returned from her ordeal, and the fact that Karen’s stolen glances were no longer reciprocated was the least of it.
It wasn’t that Meryl was snubbing Karen. Far from it, although that might have been easier to swallow. Karen simply wasn’t a part of the same world as Meryl anymore, and it left Karen feeling more alone than ever.
Meryl wasn’t alone, though—then or now. She had Milly Thompson. Meryl had been friendly with her subordinate before, close even, but in the way that was to be expected between a mentor and mentee. When Milly had been appointed to follow Meryl on her assignment to track down Vash the Stampede, Karen had privately believed it to be a death sentence for the soft-hearted and timid woman whose biggest contribution to the company was chronic tardiness.
Clearly, Karen had made a gross misjudgement, because Milly had returned at Meryl’s side and had hardly left it since, like the two women were bound together in a way that Karen could never understand from the outside. Karen recognized the way Meryl would light up when she saw Milly, now—it was the same way she lit up when she would speak of Vash the Stampede. It was the same look that was no longer reserved for surreptitious glances at Karen.
Karen wasn’t oblivious to her own beauty, and she also wasn’t blind: Meryl had a type. Vash the Stampede was also a tall, green-eyed blond with a beauty mark. And listening to Meryl’s more colorful descriptions of the outlaw, sometimes it sounded more like Meryl was describing Milly Thompson instead of an actual Act of God, and that was the most baffling comparison Karen could imagine.
Meryl Stryfe, Milly Thompson, Vash the Stampede.
It was obvious that Meryl could never be happy with the dream that she and Karen used to share. Left on her own, Karen had been making good on that dream. She was building her career, a steady job with a good income and room to grow. She was proud of her place in life.
Karen used to be able to thrill Meryl, had been able to surprise her in ways no one had before. Karen used to be enough for her.
What Karen said to Meryl was, I don’t think a woman can be happy being thrust into violent, dangerous scenarios.
What Karen meant was, I wouldn’t be happy being thrust into those scenarios. I can’t be what you need anymore.
And wasn’t that the harder pill to swallow: the realization that maybe, Karen couldn’t be happy with Meryl either. Karen valued stability too much.
Stability certainly wasn’t doing Meryl any favors over the past two years. She was as efficient an employee as ever, but watching her in the office felt like watching a feral tomas pace in its cage. She wasn’t at home behind a desk like she used to be. It was as though some of the legend of Vash the Stampede had worked its way under Meryl’s skin and made its home there, leaving her more myth than human. Indomitable and wild, like a typhoon. Bright and untouchable, like a sun.
And then the news arrived that Vash the Stampede was alive and had resurfaced, and Meryl’s smile had been blinding. With that, Karen knew: Meryl was going to leave again. And when she did, it was unlikely that she’d return a second time.
Karen was promised a souvenir with a wave and a grin as Meryl boarded a night bus with her pink suitcase, her arsenal of a cape, and Milly Thompson at her side. Karen leaned against the windowsill as she watched the bus retreat into the second sunset. “Oh well, it’s no use. There she goes again. I suppose there's just some girls who need to risk their lives.”