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: Fourth
Merritt had a lot of time to ponder the true meaning of the sentence: “Rooms aren’t great, but they’re cheap.” Sheriff Summers’ selling point for The Sun was ‘kind,’ to say the least. The very least. Not an outright lie really. But. . . not totally the truth either. Wide awake for hours, Merritt lay on the small bed in her motel room, trying to pinpoint the exact nature and origin of the odor permeating the air inside the small space. If hard-pressed, she would have to say it was somewhere between sun baked road kill and Taboo perfume. There was definitely something to be said for concrete floors and walls. Not much. But something.
The sun was just starting to rise, edging its way through the faded curtains over the motel windows. Merritt yawned and got up. After a quick and cold shower, she was dressed and out the door. Albret Street was about a mile out, and with the sun at her back, Merritt started off at a brisk pace. The town was virtually dead at this time of morning, which was perfectly fine. She wasn’t much of a ‘morning person,’ and the mere thought of running into anyone at this ungodly hour was just too. . . ugh.
After ten minutes, she reached Albret and headed up the hill. The houses lining the street were, in Merritt’s opinion, more like mansions. Castle-type things even. Huge. Enormo. She glanced at numbers as she walked, not surprised to discover that the Maclay house was the very last house, at the very top of the hill, at the end of the street.
Holy crap. She was breathing hard when she finally walked up to the front door. Doors. A brass dragon’s head knocker adorned each, and she banged the nose ring against the knocker several times while she tried to calm her nerves and catch her breath. As she reached for the knocker once more, the door opened.
An elderly man, dressed in a black tux with tails, looked at her momentarily before speaking. “May I help you?”
Holy crap. Merritt cleared her throat. “Uh, Sheriff Summers sent me?”
“Are you asking me?”
Merritt paused, somewhat baffled. “What? Uh, no, no.” Merritt held up the small piece of paper. “This is the Maclay house?”
“Yes, it is.”
“Sheriff Summers sent me. For a job?”
The man lifted his chin slightly. “Of course.” He pointed a finger to Merritt’s right. “Please go around the side of the house and ask for George.” And with that, he stepped back and closed the door in her face.
Merritt stood still for a moment, staring at the dragon knocker staring back at her. She pocketed the piece of paper and turned away. “Okay.”
Nice talking to you. Merritt walked around the side of the house, as instructed, and followed a long path to a side gate; she pushed it open and stepped through, closing it tightly behind her. She walked on, taking in the overwhelming size of the backyard. Merritt reached the end of the path, where stone met grass, and just stared wide-eyed.
Backyard? Ha! Right. The ‘yard’ seemed to go on forever. Grass. Trees. Rocks. Running fountains. Gazebo. Lush mountainside forestry.
Holy crap.
“May I help you?”
Merritt jumped at the voice. She turned and faced the owner. “I’m, sorry, I— I’m looking for George?”
The man smiled softly. “Jorge.”
Merritt felt a blush rise on her neck. “Oh, I’m sorry, that. . . that man, he said George. I’m sorry.”
The man nodded in understanding. He held out a hand. “Jorge Arau.”
Merritt took his hand in hers and shook it firmly. “Merritt Carver.” They released hands and Merritt cleared her throat. “Um, Sheriff Summers sent me. For a job.”
Jorge nodded again and gestured for Merritt to follow him. “Sheriff Summers is very good.”
“Yeah,” Merritt replied, as she followed behind. “She seemed. . . nice.”
They walked further into the yard, down a small sloping hill. In the short distance, Merritt could see what looked like a guesthouse. She glanced behind them, realizing that they were far enough away from the house that if she screamed— for whatever reason— most likely no one would hear her. Jorge opened the door to the small house and motioned for Merritt to go inside. She took one last look behind her, and went inside.
It wasn’t a guesthouse.
Merritt stopped just inside the door and stared.
Holy. Crap.
It was an Extreme Makeover dream. A Home Depot bonanza. The very highest of Lowe’s. Every possible gardening and landscaping implement in the history of history was parked, mounted, or hung over every inch of the small house. “Wow,” Merritt whispered.
Jorge laughed and moved past Merritt to a cabinet in the corner. He opened a drawer and pulled out a dark blue coverall and baseball cap. He held them out to Merritt. “You wear this when you work.”
“Okay.”
Jorge took a small tool belt from a hanging post and gave it to Merritt. “And this.”
“Okay.”
Next he took a clipboard and pen and handed them to her. “Fill this out.”
“Okay.”
“When you finish, change and come find me at the lake.” He smiled one last time and left.
“Lake?”
Holy crap. Merritt sat down on the seat of one of three lawn mowers, and looked at the paper on the clipboard. The title of the document was “Application for Employment,” but as Merritt flipped through the two dozen or more pages, an image of the Magna Carta came more readily to her mind. “Okay.” She sighed and began.
***
“It’s hard work.” Another sentence that Merritt would need to consider. When she could think again. Or move for that matter.
Once Merritt had completed the application and changed into the working clothes, she had found Jorge, as he said, ‘down by the lake.’ He didn’t waste much time with her knowledge, or lack thereof, of gardening or landscaping. He simply handed her a rake, some trash bags, and a small cooler. So, she had raked. And bagged. And raked. And bagged. All the way around the lake. Three hundred and sixty degrees around. She had stopped only once, for a quick sandwich and bottle of water, before she continued on. She hefted the bags up the hill from the lake and dumped the contents into the compost shredder. Up and down the hill she went, over two dozen times. By the time she had finished, Merritt was pretty sure that there wasn’t a single leaf left on the property. She certainly hoped there wasn’t. She trudged up the hill for the last time, dropping off her tool belt inside the gardening house.
Merritt started to unzip her coveralls. The sound of shuffling outside made Merritt turn towards the door. Jorge came around the corner and looked inside. He smiled, and nodded. “You can take those home.” Merritt looked at him.
Merritt paused mid-zip. “You’re. . . hiring me?”
Jorge walked into the house. He smiled and nodded. “You did good.”
Merritt wasn’t expecting a compliment. “Thanks.” After a second of silence, she asked, “You read my application?”
“Yes.”
“All of it?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“And you’re still— you’re hiring me?”
“I trust Sheriff Summers to send me people she trusts.” Merritt took a moment to think on that. Then nodded. Jorge nodded. “Tuesday, six a.m.”
Merritt smiled. “Six.” Jorge turned to leave. “Thanks,” Merritt called after him. He raised a hand in reply. Merritt slipped her arms out of the coveralls and wrapped the sleeves around her middle, securing them in a half-knot. She walked to the door and stared up the hill towards the Maclay house. “Okay.”
***
Merritt walked down Main Street, hands in the pockets of her coveralls. Muscles she hadn’t even known she had had begun to protest their continual use. But, since the only transportation she had available to her was bi-pedal, she had no choice but to ignore their complaints. And truthfully, the pain from physical over exertion felt good, felt freeing. And walking, alone and unguarded, felt magnificent.
Friday night had brought out Sunnydale residents en masse. Stores and restaurants and sidewalks and streets were filled with people. Merritt walked among them, but she realized quickly that she was not a part of them. And she probably wouldn’t be. Not again. Never again. The sounds of barking drew her attention, and she slowed as she approached the front of the pet store. Staring through the glass at the dozen or so puppies barking wildly and bounding all around their glass cage, Merritt couldn’t help but feel some kindred spirit emotions. She lifted a hand and softly tapped the glass. “I know exactly how you feel.”
Merritt continued down the street, not quite ready to face The Sun. The prospect of an entire weekend inside the tiny room was not appealing in the least. It actually made prison look inviting. And that was scary. She walked on, watching people and listening to snippets of passing conversations. Her thoughts wandered, and she realized that she had spoken to less than ten people since her release.
Let’s see. . . Harris, bus driver, Sheriff Summers, Sun clerk, Maclay butler, Jorge, Tara. . . . Merritt stopped walking.
Tara. Merritt turned and looked over her shoulder. The store where Tara worked was just across the street back just a ways. . . and she
did owe her $2.97.
She shrugged and shook her head; glancing both ways she dashed across the street to the other side. She reached the store in a matter of seconds, but suddenly found she couldn’t continue inside. Should she really do this? Did Tara really want her to come back? To see her? Maybe Tara was just being nice to her after the whole tee shirt tragedy. Merritt slowly turned and took a few steps down the street. Then stopped. Tara seemed genuine in her interest, and enthusiasm, when they had talked. She could see if Tara’s cheek was better. And she really did owe her $2.97. She turned around and walked back to the storefront. And stopped. But Tara didn’t know her. Not at all. And it was probably better that way, when everything was said and done. Better for Tara, and better for her. Merritt closed her eyes and berated herself silently.
Idiot. She turned and started away, purpose in her steps.
“Really?” A woman’s voice called out loudly behind her.
Merritt stopped, her feet suddenly frozen in place.
Shit. She swallowed hard and turned around.
Tara was leaning against the building, arms crossed over her chest. Tara dropped her arms and pushed off the wall, taking a step towards her.
“Uh. . . .” Merritt stammered, unable to form a coherent answer.
“Tara,” the blonde supplied, pointing towards herself. Merritt seemed to come back to herself and nodded. Tara smiled and stopped in front of her. “After
all that,” Tara continued, raising a finger and twirling it in the air between them, “you’re really not coming inside?”
Merritt’s brow crinkled slightly.
All that. . . ? “Oh.” Merritt felt a blush rising at the thought of Tara seeing her walking back-and-forth like some shoot-em-up tin pan alley toy soldier. She must have looked like a total. . .
idiot. “I. . . well, . . . no. . . I mean yes, I was. . . going to. . . .” Tara’s smile blossomed. “But. . . .” Tara’s smile faltered. “I just. . . .” Merritt raised a hand to push at her hair, and then brushed her hands over the sleeves of her coveralls nervously before pulling them tighter around her hips..
“Ahhhh,” Tara said. Then, she let her eyes travel over the redheaded woman before her. From the sun fired reds of her hair, to the slim, paleness of her throat, down, down, all the way down. . . and slowly up again. Until her eyes caught Merritt’s.
Cuute. “You look fine.” Tara’s eyes dropped briefly to Merritt’s shirt, then returned. “Nice shirt,” she said and smiled again.
Unconsciously, Merritt’s hand went to the neckline of her tee shirt. “Uh. . . thanks.” Then, remembering, her eyes opened wide. “Oh!” Merritt shoved her hand into her pocket and pulled out a folded envelope; she held it out to Tara.
“What’s this?” Tara asked, as she reached out for the paper.
“For the shirts.” Tara’s hand froze just inches from the edge of the paper. “Two ninety-seven.”
Tara’s hand dropped to her side. “That’s not necessary.”
“But I— you said, ‘you’ll just have to come back then sometime and pay me back.’”
Tara’s eyebrows lifted. “That’s some recall you have. . . ?”
Merritt cleared her throat.
Duh. “Carver. Merritt Carver.”
Tara smiled. “Well, it’s true, I did say that.” Merritt pushed the envelope out towards the blonde. “But the truth also is. . . I just wanted you to come back and see me.”
This time, Merritt’s hand was the one falling to her side. “Oh.” She cleared her throat again and felt a familiar heat burning up the skin of her throat. “Then, I— I guess, I don’t know, if you don’t want the money. . . .”
Tara jumped in. “You can take me out.”
Merritt stared. “What?”
“For a drink. Or dinner. Whatever.”
“What, like, you mean now?” Merritt asked without thinking.
God, Carver. . . shut up.
Tara smiled. “Sounds great.”
Carver. . . oh, just shut up. Merritt shook her head, and despite the embarrassment and sheer idiocy she felt, she laughed. There was just something about this Tara. “Where should we. . . ?”
“Where do you want to go?”
“It’s your $2.97.”
Tara worried her bottom lip a moment as she pondered their choices. Then she snapped her fingers and started to backpedal towards the store. “Don’t move.” And then she turned and jogged back into the store.
Merritt stood still, as she was instructed, vaguely aware of the people moving around her. She took a deep breath. She could do this. It was just dinner. No big deal. Nothing to be concerned about. But as seconds seemed to draw into minutes, Merritt found herself beginning to get concerned.
And then Tara bounded out of the store with a sweater in one hand and a small bag in the other. “Ready?” Tara asked.
Merritt glanced at the bag quickly, then back at Tara. “Where are we going?”
Tara smiled and tipped her head as she started walking. “Follow me, Carver Merritt Carver.”
Merritt couldn’t help but smile as she shoved the envelope back into her pocket. Then, she jogged down the street and caught up to the blonde, the pain in her muscles all but a distant memory.
TBC