The Bet

Author's Notes: AFF Deleted the first part of this story long ago and I can't for the life of me find it so I'm supposin' it's lost forever. Some of you might remember it, although I doubt it. Enjoy anyways!

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The alcohol burned Meryl's throat as it slowly slivered downwards into her empty stomach, spreading into a strange mix of what felt like liquid and fire. Her whole face spasmed, as if trying to drive away the awful, wild taste the whiskey left behind. Slingin' Cheroc seemed unphased, which unnerved her, considering her own predicament. Another shot came down onto the table, splashing violently, and leaving behind a strong, almost medical smell.

The quick shots, this was the third one, or was it the fourth? Meryl couldn't remember. All she could tell was that her senses and feeling were vaguely, and yet wildly alive with a new surging energy. Meryl relaxed her neck so fast that it made her dizzy, and turned her mouth upwards carefully catching the falling liquor. The sensation it left behind made her feel vibrant, and alive in away she had never known before.

It was easier each time. Cheroc would meet her eyes, in a grisly and prudent gesture, and they would stare each other down, almost as if waiting for someone to countdown the inevitable lift-off. And then, in complete harmony, they would hold their glasses up and scoop them back into their mouths in what appeared to be a strange simultaneous punchline.

Initially Meryl had asked herself why she had chosen to play this silly game; to make such an odd bet with a common criminal. But any rational thoughts she had left were very quickly drowning in liquid courage.

Vash's hands shook with what might have been fear. In any case, however, the legendary gunman knew he would do whatever it took to protect Meryl. Even if that meant a certain self-satisfied gunslinger had to be sacrificed in the process.

Vash's breath caught, and his eagerness to resort to carnage frightened him. What was it that drove him to such brutality? He had never before even considered causing bodily harm to anyone, but suddenly it seemed almost like a reasonable idea, and that startled him.

Vash glanced back, suddenly remembering his other comrades. Gone.

Vash would have smiled, deliciously distasteful ideas of what "exactly they were probably up to" rotating in his head, but that would have been if the scenario were different. If they weren't in such a critical, downward spiraling state.

And it wasn't improving by any means.

Meryl was taking shot after shot after shot, almost as if it were second nature to her. And there she was, tipping her head back in what could only be described to Vash as erotic eloquence, that slender neck of her's stretching so that the soft skin of her throat was exposed ever so slightly, a hurried and hypnotic gesture, and he almost could have sworn she was doing it to tease him. But that couldn't have been true, and his better judgement reassured him of that. This was her ninth shot. The only thing she was teasing was her own tolerance.

And she smiled darkly, suggesting deep inebriation, a low and pleasant purr settling at the base of her throat. Slingin' Cheroc couldn't have been more pleased. He eyed her carefully, suggesting almost a deep satisfaction at the realization of her drunken state and that he had won, that his plan had worked, and that there was more to this "game" than originally thought.

Cheroc smiled at Vash, eyes snaking, gleaming, but that was all. That was the only clue he gave to his next move in this strange "game", under whose circumstances Meryl was bound.

Cheroc eyed one of his strange goons. A short man, whom seemed to be disguised as a cowboy. Maybe he was a cowboy, but the attire he wore almost seemed to just melt off of him, and it appeared out of place on him. His hat was just too big, and his chaps were too tight. Something just wasn't right about him at all. He was grubbish and piggish, and Vash knew just by looking at him that he couldn't be trusted. Knew, just by seeing the way Cheroc and his minion eyed the sixty billion double dollar man that they were both up to something.
The grubby man waddled up to Vash, with a big, ugly grin smudged across his greasy face. Vash couldn't help but think that he would like nothing more than to crush his head into nothing, forever disapating that disgusting smile.

"The boss knows who you are," He said simply, not quite coming to a complete stop. He smelled like salt water and liquor, but if the man were drunk, Vash didn't notice it.

Vash eyed Meryl carefully, as she took another shot. A lump quickly wrapping itself tightly around his throat, deep concern taking over him.

"Tell him to stop this." Vash replied, trying desperately to hide his uncertainty and concern. His weakness for this girl.

The man bowed, and it made Vash's stomach churn, a sick feeling settling there. His chest tightened at the sight of it. He just wanted this man to leave him alone, to let him watch over this girl, whose safety, he was inevitably bound to.

"The name's Zamora. Clint Zamora." The name didn't fit him. "The boss wants to make a deal with you, Mr. Stampede."

"I see." Vash smirked keeping his eyes on Meryl. "Well, Mr. Zamora. How can your 'boss' be sure that I am, indeed, who he says I am?"
The man smiled, not being able to catch Vash's gaze, but continuing anyway, "The boss is never wrong, nor does he ever loose. It would be wise to cooperate with his demands, lest something bad should happen to your lady friend."

Vash smirked, trying to remain calm, though he could feel his blood begin to boil. "Well, sir, I think it would be wise to leave me the hell alone, lest I should splatter your fucking brains all over the wall."

"Heh." The man smirked, cockily. "Maybe you should have a second look at your lady friend."

Vash's heart skipped a beat, as he caught glimpse of a man, who had somehow managed to go unnoticed by him earlier, and yet was standing out remarkably from behind Meryl. He was big, tall, but somehow, Vash could have sworn he couldn't have been there the entire time. Surely, he would have noticed him before. He was almost completely hidden beneath a black hooded cloak, and Vash was sure he could see something metallic glinting between its folds. What it was, Vash could only guess.

"Meryl..." Vash whispered under his breath.

Her voice echoed throughout the bar as she cackled loudly in a drunken stupor. Vash gritted his teeth, "I'll kill you if you let anything happen to her."

"Not to be of any disrespect, Mr. Stampede, but I don't believe you're in any position to be making threats."

Vash's face contorted with anger, but he tried desperately to chase it away, and to keep his composure. He knew that he was failing. "She needs to be taken care of-- Please let me take her somewhere safe; tell your boss to please stop this!"

"No." The voice of the pig-like man was very stern and demanding, but calm and quiet at the same time, perhaps not to cause a public panic, "we'll be making the demands here. I think you'll find we can be quite fair. Mr. Cheroc is willing to pay you for your cooperation."
The man smirked, "How does ten thousand double dollars sound to you, Mr. Vash?"

Vash's jaw clenched. The man who called himself Clint Zamora seemed to be quite pleased with his statement. As if he felt this were just a game.

Things became quite real when Zamora felt the cold metal from Vash's gun pressed between his wide eyes.

Vash knew he was acting irrational. But looking at this man literally on the verge of shitting his pants did nothing to phase him. Zamora's eyes were wide with fear, his breath now coming out in a very quick pattern, sweat beginning to bead on his greasy head and slide around the very tip of Vash's shining gun.

The entire bar seemed to be holding its' breath. Everyone just stared at them in fear, or excitement.

"Give me Meryl." Vash never took his eyes off of the coward, Clint Zamora. "Give me Meryl or he dies."

There was a pause, but the silence was quite literally sliced by Cheroc's deep-bellied laughter. At this point Meryl was quite out of it. She sat slumped across the table from the pig-man looking rather drugged.

"Do you really think you can just kill him and take my woman?" His laughter was unrestrained as it billowed throughout the now quiet bar. "You're messing with the wrong one, boy."

Despite Zamora's panic, Vash appeared to be very calm, at least on the outside.

Vash walked towards the table without hesitation, pulling his gun away from Zamora. He walked close to Meryl, and scooped her up quite easily. Calmly, his eyes met Cheroc's. Cheroc looked quite startled and perhaps a little bit afraid but Vash couldn't be sure.

"Your lack of compassion worries me a lot. Perhaps one day you will be at peace." Vash's face was very stern and unmoving.

"WHAT?!" Slingin' Cheroc seemed more than a little angry. "That means nothing, coming from you."

Cheroc stared at Vash intensely, his breathing ragged.

Vash turned away from him walking towards the door, "perhaps it doesn't."

"You're going to regret this, you hear me! Rest assured that next time we meet you won't be able to walk away so easily, Vash the Stampede! Almighty gun-slinger! HA!" Cheroc's words were very hard but yet Cheroc hesitated. Vash knew he wouldn't make a move. Knew, that the pig-man was aware what Vash was capable of, even if he himself did not.

Slingin' Cheroc gritted his teeth as Vash very calmly walked out of the bar. Everyone stood stunned. Many of the patrons resumed drinking but the silence did not pass quickly.

"Zamora." Cheroc was stoic as he stared intently at the swinging doors of the bar where Vash once was.
Clint Zamora rubbed the slight indention on his forehead where the gun had rested.

"Follow him." Cheroc paused, his intentions unfallible. "Find out where he's going. When the time is right, rest assured. We will make him suffer."