11/1/02

It was a different crowd tonight, and this time she didn't catch Merrick's eye right away. He had his back to the door, and although she was sure he knew someone had entered, he was involved in what looked like a private conversation with Willie. Whatever it was, it was obviously more important than monitoring the flow of traffic in and out.

Without his immediate acknowledgement, the leers and whistles that accompanied her entrance went unchecked and she couldn't help feeling slightly uncomfortable. Although she hadn't admitted it last time, her outfit was solely for Merrick's benefit. He was being typically stubborn and obtuse about their relationship, and after a year of freedom from the constraints of royalty she was no longer in a mood to put up with it.

"Hey there, gorgeous." She didn't like the look of the man that was suddenly between her and the rest of the room, but she ignored the way his eyes were wandering and gave him the benefit of the doubt. "Let me buy you a drink," he added, taking her arm without asking.

"No, thank you," she said firmly, trying to disengage herself and step away. "I'm here to see someone else."

He would have none of it. "Come upstairs and you can see all of me you want." He didn't bother to keep his voice down, and he paid no attention to her protest when he tried to draw her away from the door.

The sound of glass shattering made her flinch, and the pressure on her arm vanished. The bar went from raucous to nearly silent in seconds. Across the room, Merrick glared daggers in their direction.

"That could have been your head," he said into the ensuing quiet. "Don't touch her again."

She glanced sideways at the man who had tried to lead her off, but he was staring at the shards littering the floor with a shocked expression on his face. Shards were all that was left of the glass that had exploded against the wall beside him. She wondered distantly whose job it was to clean that up.

Then Merrick was there, asking if everyone was all right in a tone of voice that definitely discouraged negative answers, and people started to turn back to their own conversations. She saw him give the man by the door a last warning look. He put a possessive hand on her shoulder as he guided her toward the bar, and she smiled to herself.

"I hope you're not going to make a habit of coming here," he said quietly, steering her between the tables.

She refused to read anything into that without asking first. "What if I am?"

His voice in her ear was humorless. "Then I'm going to have to work on my aim."

11/2/02

"Can I get you a drink?"

She glanced up at the sound of Willie's voice, smiling at the genial man on the other side of the counter. "No," she told him. "Thank you."

"Come on," he coaxed. "It's on the house."

She shook her head again, and he frowned a little. Bracing one hand against the bar, he studied her with a puzzled expression. "You don't drink, huh? Well, then… if you don't mind me asking, why do you come here?"

She glanced over at the door involuntarily. Merrick was standing just inside, assessing the crowd without seeming to pay any attention to it. He was dressed in solid black, just as she was, but on him it looked as lethal as it did sensual.

"Because of him?" Willie's voice interrupted her covert contemplation.

She turned back to the bar, looking down at her hands awkwardly. It was a little embarrassing to admit, even to herself, that she was doing something so completely against her nature for the sake of someone who had told her not to try. But it was the truth.

"If you don't mind me asking…" Willie trailed off, waiting until she looked up at him to continue. "How do you know him? He hasn't told me that much about himself, and I have to admit I'm curious."

She smiled a little. That didn't surprise her at all, yet she felt nothing but sincerity from the bartender. "He used to work for me," she answered honestly. "He was my bodyguard for years."

Both his eyebrows shot up. "Bodyguard?" Willie repeated.

She didn't respond, and there was silence for a moment. He stared at her until she looked away, and at length he concluded, "'Princess' isn't just a nickname, is it."

She shook her head wordlessly, not questioning how he knew. Merrick had always said it was obvious enough to get her killed. And what harm could the knowledge do now, really? Animaria was gone.

"Well," he said at last. "What should I call you, then?"

She looked up, surprised. No one had asked her that since… no, not even Taylor. Upon learning of her title, the Eagle Ranger had used it without question and the others had followed her lead. "My name is Shayla," she offered, a little uncertain.

Willie nodded once, as though that was perfectly acceptable. "Name's Willie," he replied, holding out his hand. "Pleased to meet you, Shayla."

11/3/02

She wasn't sure which was more distracting: the awkward angle at which this game was played, or the way Merrick was watching her manage it. He had offered to teach her so she would "have something to do" at Willie's, but she was beginning to suspect him of showing off. His pool game was enhanced by the Power, after all.

"Put your hand flat on the table," he said suddenly, propping his cue against the table and coming around the corner toward her. She laid her palm on the table obediently and let him spread her fingers out, arranging them around her cue in a way quite different from his own example. "That'll help steady your shot some."

"Don't listen to him," Willie advised, sweeping out from under a nearby table. The doors had been locked for the night and the jukebox was in "constant play" mode. Until now, the bartender had been politely ignoring them while he cleaned. "He's got the loosest bridge I've ever seen."

The hint of a smile graced Merrick's face but he didn't reply. Instead, he put his right hand over hers and adjusted the angle of her cue gently. "Try it now," he suggested, staring down at the table.

She did manage to hit the cue ball into one of the colored ones, and they bounced around the table in a very satisfying way. Unfortunately, neither of them rolled into any of the pockets, and she was pretty sure they were supposed to. At least one of them, anyway.

"Nice shot," Merrick told her, deadpan.

She gave him a look, and he broke into a grin. "Well, it wasn't a good shot, but it was a nice one. Here--" He motioned for her to precede him around the table. "Try again."

He hadn't teased her like that in a long time. She resisted the temptation to skip to the other side of the table, settling for an elated smile that wouldn't be suppressed even when she caught Willie's amused glance. He had teased her!

This time he leaned down with her, his left hand settling over hers as he helped her line up her cue. His breath was warm on her cheek and his gaze was intent when she glanced sideways at him. His eyes flickered to hers just then and he stood up abruptly, clearing his throat. "That looks fine."

It must be true that one could try too hard, because this time, when she was thinking about anything but the cue ball, it struck one of the colored balls solidly and knocked it into the middle pocket. She jumped, half in surprise, half in delight. "I did it! Did you see that?"

Merrick chuckled, and she threw her arms around him impulsively. She let him go when he stiffened, too quickly reminded of the last time she had tried that. Turning away, she studied the table in an effort to hide her disappointment.

11/6/02

It wasn't that she hoped for some sign of Org activity. They had been in a lull lately, one of the quiet periods during which everyone regrouped and waited for the other side to make the next move. It was a welcome reprieve, if an uneasy one, but it also meant that the Rangers… drifted.

She didn't begrudge them their lives, certainly. They put their strength and soul into a battle that had been passed down through the millennia; a fight they had inherited, not begun. But she missed them when they weren't around--one of them in particular.

As she entered Willie's for the first time since last weekend, she decided that it hadn't taken her long to become ridiculously spoiled. She had gotten used to seeing him every night. He was always there in the morning, of course, but somehow that wasn't enough anymore.

"Evening, Shayla." Willie nodded to her as she slid into an empty spot at the bar. "The usual?"

She couldn't help smiling. "Thanks, Willie."

Glancing around for Merrick, it occurred to her that she had made it to the bar without being hassled for the first time. He hadn't even been here, and still she was left alone. She looked again, just to make sure, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"He's out back," Willie said, setting a glass of ice water on the counter in front of her. "Give him a few minutes. Doing one of his circuits of the building."

She had opened her mouth to reply when someone settling next to her jostled her arm. "Sorry 'bout that," the man apologized, taking a second look as he made himself comfortable. "Willie," he added, sidling a little closer. "Another drink for the lady, to make up for my clumsiness."

Someone on his other side elbowed him, and she overheard their whispered warning: "She's the bouncer's girl, asshole!"

He backed off quickly, giving her a slightly more respectful smile. "Sorry," he repeated, bobbing his head once. "Enjoy your drink."

She caught Willie's gaze, and she fought the urge to giggle as he rolled his eyes. He procured another ice water for her, setting it beside her first glass, and she wondered what the man beside her would think when his tab came back clear. Or maybe Willie would charge him, just for the fun of it?

The "bouncer's girl"… she couldn't keep her thoughts from wandering back to that phrase. Once, Merrick had had the respect of others because of who she was. She chose him, she listened to him, and so others did too. Now she was accorded respect because of who he was? It was a novel idea.

11/7/02

She knew she was violating his "line of sight" rule, but she needed some fresh air. Although she liked Willie, she wasn't that fond of his bar. It was noisy and crowded and artificial. But Merrick was there, and short of kidnapping him or outright demanding that he visit her, there were only so many ways she could see him.

The night was mild, and she took a few steps away from the door to let the breeze move around her. The sliver of a crescent moon hung just above the horizon. She gazed at it for several moments before she realized she wasn't the only one: a familiar shadow lurked down the road, so still that she wouldn't have noticed it if it hadn't been one of her own charges.

The door swung open behind her, and she turned her head automatically. She didn't need to, of course; she knew who it was. He paused as he caught sight of her, then let go of the door carefully as he paced over to her.

"Are you all right?" Merrick's tone was hushed, deferring to her reverence for the night. She smiled a little but didn't answer.

Instead, she nodded out at the road. "Does he come every night?"

He followed her gaze, and his sharp eyes picked out the same shadow that had drawn her attention. "Not always," he said at last. "He likes the waxing moon."

She counted ahead quickly, then murmured, "Ten more days."

She felt him look over at her. "Until the full moon," he agreed. "Yes." It was a small thing, but she could tell he was pleased that she had known.

As though it had heard them, the wolf zord lifted its muzzle and howled toward the sky. The sound was more distant than usual and somehow wistful. She wished she knew what was troubling it. The wolf turned her away whenever she tried to talk to it now. Much like its chosen warrior…

The animal spirit howled again, and she shivered a little. Moving closer to Merrick was instinctive, and to her surprise she felt his arm settle lightly across her shoulders. She hardly dared to breathe as he drew her to his side. After a moment, she laid her head against his shoulder and they stared out at the moon together.