Title: Never No More
Author: EmeraldArcher
Email address: sixtiesgirl8@yahoo.com, or leave a message here on the board
Feedback: If you feel so inclined.
Distribution: Please ask.
Spoilers: No spoilers. This is AU(If my understanding of AU is correct).
Rating: PG-13 to NC–17. This includes sex, violence, sexual violence, language.
Pairing: The gang’s all here. . . pretty much, just different.
Disclaimer: I didn’t create these characters. I make no profit from them.
Summary: AU. It’d spoil the fun if I told you.
Note: I haven’t ever tried writing AU fiction. Not sure how it will go. Also, no beta used, so any and all mistakes are mine. Am aiming for weekly updates, more so if work permits.
Thanks: To Xita, for having the site, and keeping the site.
Chapter: Fourteenth
Merritt shifted the box. “Okay.” She nodded. “A secret.”
Tara smiled, continued to drop plastic bits into assorted bins. “Yep.”
Merritt took a deep breath. She had to make a choice, here and now. Tell Tara a secret and lose her; don’t tell Tara and lose her eventually. Merritt could admit that neither scenario was very appealing, but truthful nonetheless. She needed to decide what she wanted. What she was willing to risk. She cleared her throat. “Okay.” She looked at Tara and set her box down.
Merritt’s sudden seriousness stopped Tara’s movements. Her hand stilled inside the box. “What?” she asked quietly.
Merritt glanced over her shoulder, then to Tara. Her eyes held the blonde’s. “I. . . .” she started, watched as Tara leaned forward. “. . . have six toes.”
What? Tara wasn’t sure she heard Merritt correctly. She blinked. “What?”
“I have six toes.”
Tara had heard Merritt correctly. She frowned. What? Tara shook her head. “Six toes?” Merritt nodded. Tara leaned back. Regarded Merritt. “Uh-huh. . . .” Tara tossed an item onto the shelf. “Is that on one foot, or in total?”
Merritt smiled and nodded. “Nice.” She retrieved her box and started sorting.
Tara gave a mock bow. Then shook her head and laughed. She dug several more pieces out of the box and dropped them into their proper bins. They worked in silence for several minutes. Then, “So, Carver Merritt Carver, not one for the 411, huh?”
Merritt emptied her box and started opening another. The ‘411’? A very interesting term for describing ‘information.’ One Merritt always liked. The slang words' brevity belied its true nature. The '411' was important. It was key. The more you knew, the better. The more you knew, the more you had to bargain with. But, the 411 was private; no sharing the 411. Absolutely none. Sharing the information was tantamount to betrayal. And betrayal, she had learned, was the quickest way to pain. And blood. And death.
Merritt glanced at Tara. The blonde balanced the box against one hip; she grabbed and tossed items with delicate yet seeming careless efficiency. Hair had escaped her ponytail and wisped around her ears and eyes. Merritt swallowed and returned her eyes to her box. She reached for another piece and paused. Merritt stared at her right hand.
A secret. The 411. The information. Information was important. It was key. And silence? The same. All of this was true. Every bit. True. Merritt had learned another lesson about information, though: revelation could be just as powerful as not. The dissemination of information, how and where and why, could serve you just as well. Sometimes, it could save your life. Even when you least expected it.
Merritt turned her hand over, made a fist. If she told Tara a secret, a real secret, one of her secrets, would that information be worth something to Tara? Worth more to Tara than Merritt keeping it to herself? If she told Tara a ‘real’ secret, what would be the final cost be? And could she afford to pay? Could she afford not to? Merritt swallowed and took a breath. She was going to find out. “I was in a fight.”
Tara paused and looked at Merritt. She blinked. “What?”
Merritt nodded, turned to face Tara. She raised her right hand. “A fight.” She shrugged. “That’s how I. . . you know, my hand.”
Tara set her box down. “A. . . fight?”
Crap. Merritt nodded.
Tara’s expression was of disbelief. “You mean like a. . .” Tara wind-milled her fists in front of her face. “. . . fight-fight?”
Merritt’s eyebrows lifted. “Uh,” she started. “I don’t know about swimming, but, yeah, a fight-fight.”
Tara dropped her arms and huffed. “Ha ha.” Tara pushed her hair from her face. She considered Merritt’s words. This was no joke, what Merritt had just told her. No, this. . . this was a secret, a real secret. Something Tara had asked to know. And Merritt had chosen to tell her. To trust her. Tara knew her next words, her next actions, would confirm Merritt’s fears. Or eliminate them. “W-What happened?”
Merritt held Tara’s eyes. Then, “I. . . got in the middle of something.” Merritt shook her head. “Tried to help someone. . . .” She shrugged. “Didn’t work out well.”
Tara’s brows drew together. The image of Merritt being hurt, as she tried to help another person, made Tara’s blood boil. “Did. . . .” Tara took a step towards Merritt. “Did it hurt?” Tara scolded herself mentally. Dumbass. Of course it hurt. Tara swallowed , took another step. “It looks like it hurt.”
Merritt glanced at her hand. Nodded. “Yeah.” She looked at Tara, now only a foot away. She took a breath. “I’ve never been good at. . . .” Merritt raised her hands and imitated Tara’s flailing fists. “. . . swimming.” Tara made a face. Merritt dropped her hands and smiled softly.
Tara nodded. She took the last step towards Merritt, licked her lips. “Can I. . . ?” She lifted her hand towards Merritt.
Merritt stared at Tara’s hand. Her own hands fisted at her sides. Oh, crap. . . crap, crap, crap. She took a breath, looked into Tara’s eyes. But no judgment was found there, no loathing; Tara’s eyes were full of concern, full of care. Merritt relaxed her hand and held it out between them.
Tara held Merritt’s eyes one moment longer. She stepped closer to Merritt and gently took the redhead’s hand in hers. Tara finally lowered her eyes and swallowed hard. Her eyes traveled over the raised, discolored markings across the expanse of skin, the misshapen bones of her pinky and ring fingers. Without a thought, Tara raised her other hand and touched her fingertips to a thick, zigzag scar covering several knuckles.
Merritt closed her eyes and exhaled slowly, unaware she had been holding her breath. Tara’s touch was feather soft over her skin. Kind. Gentle. Warm. Merritt couldn’t remember the last time she had been touched in such a way. That she had even wanted to be. Years. It was many, many years ago. Merritt was surprised that Tara’s touch could evoke such feelings of longing within her. Merritt thought they were long since dead and buried.
Tara traced the length of Merritt’s bowed fingers. She took a breath. “Does it still hurt?”
Merritt opened her eyes, found Tara’s staring into her own. Deep. Clear. Blue. So, so blue. Danger, Carver, danger. Merritt’s heart staggered. “No,” she answered. Her voice was a whisper between them.
Tara could feel her own heart beating in her chest. Strong and fast. Loud. So, so loud. She was sure Merritt could hear its thundering cadence. Oh, lordy. Tara inhaled. She moved her hand, enfolding Merritt’s between both of her own.
Merritt stood still, breath held once again. Tara’s hands were warm. Soft and gentle. Warm. So, so warm. “Some—” Merritt cleared her throat. “Sometimes.”
Tara nodded. She squeezed Merritt’s hand softly. “I’m sorry.”
Merritt shrugged. “You don’t hav—”
Tara squeezed again. “I’m sorry.”
Merritt sighed softly. “Thank you.” She swallowed, wet her lips.
Tara’s eyes fell to Merritt’s lips. Oh. . . lordy. Tara met Merritt’s eyes, lingered. She swallowed.
“Some help here?” Emma’s voice boomed, just seconds before she popped out of the aisle beside them. Her arms were completely overloaded with merchandise.
Oh, crap! Merritt quickly pulled her hand from Tara’s.
Emma froze. “Am. . . I. . . interrupting?”
Merritt shoved both hands into her front pockets and stepped back from Tara.
Tara watched Merritt pull away, put herself away. Damn. She took a sighing breath, then lowered her hands to her sides. She looked at Emma. A part of Tara wanted to answer ‘yes’ to that question. A part of Tara wanted to scream it. But Tara knew her friend hadn’t meant to ‘barge in’ on their private moment. She gave a half-smile. “No.”
Emma glanced between the two women. “Okay.” She hefted the items in her arms. “Tara?”
Tara nodded. “Sure.” She looked at Merritt. “Be right back.” Merritt looked at Tara, nodded. Tara smiled, walked to Emma and took half of the load.
“Thank you,” Emma said and walked towards the back storage area.
Merritt closed her eyes. Crap, crap, crap. She opened her eyes and shoved her hands deeper into her pockets.
“Merritt?” Merritt turned to Tara. Tara pointed a finger out from under the heap in her arms. “Don’t leave.”
Merritt started to answer. “I. . . .” She realized in the instant that Tara said the words, that the thought of leaving had not even crossed her mind. Not when she had told Tara about her hand. Not when Tara had held her hand. Not when Emma had interrupted them. She hadn’t thought about leaving. Not once. Not at all. Merritt shook her head.
“Okay.” Tara smiled and followed Emma.
Merritt watched Tara until she disappeared from view; she pulled her hands from her pockets and passed her left over her right, tracing over the skin that Tara had touched just moments before. She could almost feel Tara’s hands there, almost feel their warmth, their softness. Merritt took a breath. Then, she shook out her hands and picked up another box. She dug inside, grabbed several items. As she tossed them into the appropriate bins, she smiled softly. “Okay.”
TBC
EA
is a part of a whole 'nother story. I can't wait to find that out. I hope Willow tells Tara very soon, creates more angst, and can get the storyline (i was going to put 'movie') on much more faster so I can wack Harris on the head faster. 
Hehe, anyways. I love the update! Keep 'em coming! I hope to score a dibs next time!
