Troubled Nights Ch. 01

Tara's attention was drawn back to her other self when she heard her speak. "Okay, let's just do this nice and easy now. Hand it over and no one will get hurt." It was her voice, but it wasn't. It was a husky, throatier sound then she had, and she couldn't help but think how much sexier this other self sounded.

"That's it, Pops. Hand it over and I won't have to stick you or the missus."

Stick? She looked down and saw the butterfly knife held loosely in the hand of the "dark" Tara. She was playing with it, opening and spinning it, then flipping it closed with an expert move only to start over. It was almost as if she were showing off.

"No, I don't want your fucking credit cards. Just the cash." Dark Tara took the money and shoved it into the deep cleavage her breasts made pressed against the dark leather. She pulled her hand out slowly, watching the old man's eyes as he followed her every move. "Like that, Pops? Too bad I don't have more time or we could have some fun, your old lady could watch."

The lady in questioned let out a small shriek and pulled herself up, offended. "Why, I've..."

"Oh come on, lady," she urged insolently, "say you've never and then I can show you how it feels to."

Tara couldn't believe the crass language, the foul behavior coming from the girl that looked so much like herself. She tried to step forward to intervene and realized she couldn't move. She opened her mouth and nothing came out. All she could do was watch what was happening.

But it seemed her struggles were noted somehow by Dark Tara. The girl lifted her head, her nose to the air as if she were scenting danger. She tipped a last sarcastic smile at the couple and took off at a run, flying through the trees and past other people with a speed that was amazing.

She ducked down an alley, stopping only to slam open a metal door. It was a club, dark and noisy, smelling of cigarettes and beer. She ducked behind the bar, slamming down a shot glass and grabbing a bottle off the back wall, tipping it and expertly pouring a shot, all the while Tara watched, bemused by how she was still with this woman who was her but not her.

She noted the differences, the hair that was fuller, teased higher and left messy in a way that gave her a seductive look of just getting out of bed. Her eyes seemed stormier, darker, but that could have been the heavy make up around them. She wore that leather, pants that fit like a second skin, rounding over her butt and giving it a high toned look none of the clothes Tara wore ever had. The top was a vest, square necked and tight, pushing up her breasts. They sure looked bigger than Tara's average size B cup. She sighed in disgust as she felt a spurt of envy.

But, there, the tiny heart shaped mole right on the inner curve of her right breast. That was Tara's mole. How could this girl have her mole? And the spattering of freckles on her nose, those were Tara's freckles. She stared at them everyday in the mirror, they'd taunted her in high school, eliciting many of her boyfriends to say, "Awww, aren't they cute."

She watched as her double slammed down the shot and then headed for a back room, patting the bartender on the back as she went. "Things go okay tonight, Rayne?"

"Ducky, Pete. I'll be..." she jerked her thumb.

"I'll get you when they show up."

She nodded and kept going. There were catcalls and whistles, all of which were responded to by a finger flipped negligently behind her as she entered the room. There was a sink and a cot, a small chest stood in a corner. She went to the sink and stared into the mirror.

"You don't understand," Rayne said quietly, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Behind the leather clad beauty, Tara stood, dressed in a plain white tee shirt and blue jeans. Rayne glanced over at her in the mirror. "I know you don't," she said, a single tear hanging on her thick lashes.

"I...I don't understand what?" Tara asked, startled.

"You will, just wait."

There was a pounding on the door of the room and Rayne jumped, startled, turning towards the noise...

~~~~~~~

Tara jerked awake.

The pounding came again from the door of her apartment. Tara got up, her thoughts in an uproar. Rayne? Who was she?

She grabbed her robe off the back of her door and slid into its warmth, drawing it close around her as she felt a shiver grip her. The pounding came again, this time with a voice. "Dammit, Tara, you were supposed to meet me half an hour ago. You'd better be in there. Tara!"

She opened the door to a disturbed Chance who had his hand raised to pound again. Pushing her hair out of her face, she held it open and invited him in with a wave of her hand.

"Sorry," she mumbled distractedly.

"Sorry?" He walked into her living room with the familiarity of being there before. Plopping down on her old couch, he crossed his ankle over his knee and glared at her. "I've been waiting at that diner for half an hour, Tara."

"I think I fell asleep," she said, sinking into an ancient rocking chair she'd picked up outside in someone's trash. It squeaked horribly when rocked but it was comfortable and Tara didn't mind the noise.

"You don't know?" His ankle slipped off his knee and he sat forward resting his hands between his legs. "How could you not know, Tara?"

"I...Oh God, Chance, you're going to think I'm certifiable." She buried her face in her hands, rubbing her palms against her cheeks. "I think I might be crazy."

"Tara, you're one of the sanest and most capable people I know." He watched as she leaned back in the rocker, letting her head rest against the high wooden back. Her face was pale, the freckles he longed to count standing out against her skin. She looked worried. "What's going on, Princess?"

She looked at him and laughed at the endearment. She was certainly no princess if what she saw tonight was anything to go by. "Something is wrong with me, Chance. I think I'm sleepwalking or maybe I'm just crazy. I think I was at the park last night."

"I knew that was you," he said, reaching forward and letting his hand rest on her leg. "What were you doing out there in the park that late at night, Tara? Do you have any idea how dangerous it is?"

"What was I doing?" She got up, pushing his hand off of her leg and went to the table, picking up the money that still lay there. She came back in and threw it at him, watching as he grabbed a bill and held it up, bemused. "I find this, this money, sitting on the table every morning when I leave for work."

Chance stared at her, visibly shaken. Anger pulsed through him, quickly followed by a pain he wasn't sure he wanted to diagnose. "If you needed money, Tara, I'd have helped you. You didn't need to...to prostitute yourself."

"I'm not. At least, I don't think I am. I'm stealing this money, Chance." She sank back down into the chair, watching him carefully.

Relief flashed through him, then disbelief. "Tara... I just can't believe that. There has to be another explanation."

"That's why I wanted to talk to you. I need help, I need your help." She sank back down in the chair and waited for his reaction.

"Of course, I'll help, Tara. But I can't believe you'd steal money." He picked up and smoothed each bill, holding them up to the light. "Is it always this much?"

"No, sometimes it's a lot less. That was the most I've found."

"What makes you think you're stealing it?" He sat the neat stack down on the battered coffee table in front of him and turned to look at her. She was holding her bathrobe tightly against her throat, her hand fisted in the soft material. Her other hand pleated the soft fabric at her knee. Her hair was mussed from sleep and her eye were a deep cloudy gray. He could almost see her thinking from the expressions that crossed her face. Fright, anger, disbelief and then a kind of tired acceptance and an uneasy wariness as if she didn't think he'd believe what she was about to tell him finally settled there.

"Will you listen and not ask any questions until I'm done?" She laughed before he could answer. "As if asking them would do you any good. I can't even answer the questions I have myself." She waited until she saw his nod and then told him about her dream.

"She said I'd understand. But I don't. I don't even know where this bar is at, only that I seemed to be familiar with every inch of it and the bartender. Though he seemed to treat me more like a daughter than anything else."

Chance didn't say anything, just sat staring at her. "You really aren't kidding about all of this are you?" he gestured towards the money. "Something really is going on?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you. I'm scared, Chance. If I'm breaking the law, it won't be long before I'm caught. I mean, there could be APBs or bulletins or whatever the hell they use to track criminals out there. They could have my picture. Maybe it's already up in the post offices." She jumped up and started pacing the floor.

"Whoa, whoa," he held his hands out in front of him. "Settle down. I don't think you've made the FBI's top ten most wanted yet."

Tara whirled around, her robe flying open at the bottom and granting him a glance of pale creamy thigh. "The FBI? Do you think they've gotten involved?"

He jumped up and grabbed her arm, making her sit down on the couch next to him. Then he wrapped her in his arms and felt her snuggle in even as part of her stayed tightly wound. "No, I don't think they've been called. Serial killers, kidnappings, bank robbery crossing state lines, yeah, but you. No, I think you're safe there." He could smell the shampoo she used in her hair, something rich and fruity smelling. It tickled his senses. Her body was soft and warm under the robe she wore and he found his hands stroking her back, comforting her, but teasing the hell out of himself.

"God, Chance, I've been so scared. I don't know what to do." She grabbed the collar of his shirt and pressed her face against his neck, smelling the clean scent of his cologne, something male and spicy. His hard body next to hers offered more than just comfort and she felt herself relaxing into his stroking hands, wanting to purr in contentment.

He could feel her breasts against his chest, those tempting treasures separated from his skin by the thin material of her robe and his shirt. It would be so easy to pull on her tie, to let the robe fall open and finally see what had been tormenting his dreams for weeks. She'd been in his thoughts constantly since the first time she'd smiled at him on his first day at CAB.

His hands went to her waist, tightened just a little, feeling the bottommost curve of her rib with his thumbs. "Tara..."

She looked up into his face, misreading the tightness of his features, the rigid way he was holding himself as unease instead of what it really was, frustrated desire. Tara pulled herself up, straightening her bathrobe with a jerk, pulling it tighter around her tiny frame. She combed her fingers through her hair and turned to confront Chance. "So, will you help me?"

"Of course, Princess. You should have come to me right away." He managed to keep his voice even though he wanted to howl in repressed emotion. He shifted a little, hiding the evidence of his desire behind a bent knee. "What do you want me to do?"

"I need you to sleep with me."

She could have knocked him over with a feather, the shock on his face at her words priceless and almost enough to start her giggling. If this weren't such a serous matter and she weren't so desperate, she might have.

"Uh...Tara?"

"No, not like that," though in her heart she knew she'd have loved that too, what woman could resist him? Which was the exact reason why she so desperately tried to. Chance was dangerous to any woman's piece of mind. She knew there'd always be women who wanted him for his looks, for his animal magnetism. She was surprised when he actually worked two jobs to make a living, knowing he could be a rich woman's boy toy in a heart beat. Or a model, which in the end added up to one and the same.

"I need you to keep an eye on me, to watch me so that when I get up at night you can follow me and let me know what I'm doing."

"You want to have a sleep over?" he asked, half joking, trying to lighten up the tension in the room some.

"Yeah." She smiled at him, relief evident in her eyes that changed from a dark stormy color to one more resembling a summer's mist. "We can stay up late, watch MTV, eat pizza and tell all about our love lives. And if you're nice to me, I'll forget about the makeover part of the evening."

"Gosh, thanks," he said, sarcasm dripping sweetly from the words. "But one question. Why me? Why not Phoebe or your boyfriend?" The part of him that wanted her couldn't help but dig a little for information. She never talked about her dates, never 'kissed and told' about any nights out on the town.

"I don't have a boyfriend," she said quickly and without really thinking. "And can you imagine Phoebe's reaction if I told her something like this. She'd be getting out the black candles and her Ouija board and wanting to hold séances. Definitely not where I want to take this whole madness."

"So when do you want to do this?" He sat forward and picked up the money again, running it through his hands.

"Tonight?" she asked almost hesitantly. Now that he'd agreed, she was getting nervous. And not only about what would he could find out about her other self. How would she react to having a gorgeous, red-blooded man sleeping in her apartment?

"We have to work tomorrow," he said hesitatingly. "I mean, that's fine with me, but ..."

"No, let's do it tonight. I've gone so long without knowing, Chance. It's driving me crazy." She sank back down on the couch and took his hands. "Please, will you do this for me?"

How could he say no to that? "Let me go and grab my bag."