Meg Callahan (setinstone) wrote in the_colony, @ 2010-09-17 17:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | ^ week 20, derek miller, meghan callahan, | derek and meg |
Week 20: Saturday
Characters: Meghan and Derek
Location: The barn
Summery: For the first time since several days, Meg and Derek can't avoid each other any longer.
Rating: PG
The house wasn’t the only thing that needed weather-proofing and while that was on Derek’s list for things to do in the next few days, the barn seemed more pressing. They’d gone through a lot of trouble to literally bring the cows home and hell if Derek was going to let them freeze to death.
He was taking a break from his patches, having a snack in the hay loft. He sat comfortably, legs dangling over the edge and into free space. He shouldn’t have been watching the scene below, but he was. Meg was there, trying to do something that was theoretically milking the goats but didn’t actually seem to be accomplishing much. Mostly she was swearing.
“Oh my god,” he complained when he got tired of listening to it. “Can I just do whatever is you’re trying to do because listening to you is making me crazy.”
The smell of animal was thick and heavy in the barn, as well as old hay and a little touch of rot common in these older buildings. It took some getting used to for Meg, who had actually chose to fore-go that particular chore and just breathed through parted lips, wanting to get this errand done as soon as humanly possible so she could get back in the house.
She and Sarge had wandered into the pen containing the goats: the dog’s lead under one of the blind woman’s hands while the other carried the antique wooden bucket that’d been set out for whoever was lucky enough to draw this chore next. Meg had found it with a little difficulty, which had already dampened her mood.
Now she sat on the stool dragged from the front of the pen (also found with some difficulty), with her cold hands wandering the wirey coat of whichever she-goat happened to wander near her first. The beast was compliant, for the most part. It was the Billie with the broken horn that the Chicago native was swearing at. He seemed to have a particular fondness for chewing on the shoulder of Meg’s green canvass coat.
“Beat it!” She snapped at the animal, shoving it away with the back of her hand for the twelfth time... only for it to answer in a strangely familiar (and irritated) voice.
Meg stilled for a minute. She had no idea Derek was there. How long had he been? That thought, and a number of others, pulled the woman’s stomach into an uncomfortable tightness. She had no idea how to react with any tact--so the first thing that popped into her head was what spilled from her lips.
“You can shoot this sonovabitch for me, if you wanna help.” She shoved at the Billie again as it tried to take a chunk from her side.
Derek glanced over to where his gun was sitting with his tools. “I don’t think Alice would like that. Willing to compromise and accept stunned after being hit with a hammer?” He didn’t know why he was talking to Meg after going to so much trouble in the past few days to avoid her. He shouldn’t be talking to her.
The compromise settled her stomach a little too... and Meg really had no idea why. She wouldn’t look the gift horse in the mouth, though--so to speak. To keep herself busy, she went back to the she-goat with both hands like Jed had told her (not shown her, of course--Jed still had that weird wariness about Meg that probably wouldn’t shake).
“That actually sounds like a good idea.”
He should stay up in the loft and go back to work. He knew it. Nothing good could come from spending time with Meg and it would only make things harder for himself. He climbed down the ladder anyway.
Derek wouldn’t actually hurt an animal but he did pull the billy off Meg and hang onto him. “Proceed.”
It was still awkward. It was still tense: she could feel the unspoken things in the air like frost--but it wasn’t terrible. Meg knew it could be a hell of a lot worse. She went back to milking, thankful for the little things. “Thanks... Damn thing’s left bruises all week.”
Maybe it was better that they spoke. The two of them could only avoid each other forever. Thinking about this was while holding a goat was ridiculous, of course, but there was something he had to say.
“Look, just so you know, I’m not going to say anything. To your husband.”
There it was. The elephant in the room not only made a lot more real by his words, but the damn thing might as well have been dropped on her head. Meghan didn’t say anything for a few seconds. Guilt and anxiety and so many other things tore through her insides like a tornado. She thought of Michael, and the imagined response to finding out that another man had kissed her was a lot less than pretty--for everyone involved. Inadvertently, that thought process returned to the kiss in question, and the feelings that came with it.
Meg kept milking and cleared her throat, as if that would reset something in her brain. It really didn’t, but she tried to speak anyway.
“...I appreciate it.”
Derek didn’t know what else to say. The universe had taken a special pleasure in screwing him over the past few days. The goat wriggled in his hands but Derek held tight and watched Meg, relieved that she couldn’t see him looking. He didn’t know what would have happened if her husband hadn’t returned from the dead, but he could have wanted her. He knew that.
Finding the right words were impossible, so Derek just made a small noise and shrugged.
The silence was expected, and though it wasn’t necessarily comfortable, Meg didn’t know how to fill it either. Her task at hand wasn’t really occupying her thoughts as much as she wanted, and the back-throat noise from behind her was a cue that she wasn’t alone in the distraction. As if she really thought she was...
“For what it’s worth...” Why was she saying this? Because Meg didn’t have much of a brain to mouth filter sometimes. Especially when she was tense. “As much... I mean--not that I wish things had turned out different, but--I did like not wanting to tear your throat out every hour.”
Did that matter? Apparently something about it needed to be said, aimed very slightly over the woman’s slight shoulder, fanned by the air-dried curls of her hair, and a scarf that had seen better days.
Derek thought about the feel of her hand on his face, the way that moment had been more intimate than anything he’d experienced in months. When she turned over her shoulder toward him, he wanted to kiss her. He didn’t move. “Does that mean I’m supposed to go back to bitching at you?”
Meghan couldn’t help but smile a little at that, even if it tipped more toward one cheek than the other, and resulted in a deep set dimple. Her answer was also automatic, friendly sarcasm, like she’d shared with him for months on end (even if his returning was a little less than friendly at times). “You? Bitching?” The tone was comforting and familiar, but also brought with it the memory of the last time they’d exchanged in that way.
The woman sighed lightly, but said nothing else.
He should go, get his tools and leave. He shouldn’t be here making it worse. “It’s what I do, sweetheart.”
“And you are exceptionally good at it, Princess.” Maybe they were gleaning over things that shouldn’t be left ignored. Maybe it wasn’t healthy or wise, but it was comfortable--and that’s where Meg’s instincts usually lead her. Of course, likely all of her future ‘insults’ and sarcasm wouldn’t have the edge they had before... all this.
Right after she’d spoken, the goat against her thighs suddenly grew irritated with being touched and wretched away from the blind milkmaid, bleating in annoyance. It made Meghan jump a little, startled. She rested her forearms on her knees and huffed lightly, hanging her head. She really didn’t like goats.
Now the other goat had run off, there was no need for him to hold the one he had and Derek released it. “I should go. I got work to do.” His voice was more clipped, more standoffish. There was nothing left to do but try and keep Meg at arm’s length. Knowing that he had lost something through no fault of his own was too hard. Everything was too hard.
Meg nodded quietly, understanding and agreeing with his tone more on a subconscious level than anything else. She didn’t argue or snap back or ask him to stay. She pushed on hand through her hair--a twitchy habit she’d had since childhood whenever she was worried about something, but wouldn’t actually face it to give it credence. Her other hand held out in front of her, palm up and fingers curled in--mock-bait for any goats that might wander close enough for her to grab.
Derek didn’t say goodbye or promise to talk to her later. He didn’t say anything. He simply turned silently away, climbed the ladder back into the loft and went back to his tools.