A/N – I know I've been getting sidetracked writing one shots but for those still following this story, I'm not abandoning it. I just needed to recharge my creative batteries so I could handle this new update with a clearer mindset. And here it is, chapter 14. Reviews and critiques are more than welcome as always. Happy reading!

Chapter 14

One Week Later

Pam looked up when she heard the door snick open. Cerulean blue eyes were fringed with relief, momentarily hiding the permanent mark of trepidation that Tara had unknowingly tattooed onto the gray of her irises as they met unreadable pools of midnight.

Tara found herself locked in stasis, her maker's steady, storm blue eyes arresting her to the spot. She stood in the threshold of the door, spellbound by inertia as she held Pam's soft, openly non-judgmental look.

The silent bridge of communication did not last. As quickly as Pam tried to assemble a pathway of building blocks to her child, Tara would just as quickly lower her gaze, effectively hindering the process. And when the younger vampire would dare to chance a look at her again, the vast emptiness in those dark eyes would only obliterate any form of progress Pam had previously made.

The blonde's sigh of frustration flitted like a ghost from between full lips into the air as Tara did as Pam predicted, looking away and hiding the action behind the pretense of having to close the door. Her child stood with her back to Pam and the blonde could almost taste Tara's internal struggle as she stood motionless by the door.

Stay or go? Turn around or run away?

Pam relaxed shoulders she didn't even know had tensed when Tara finally pivoted on her heel, once again facing her maker who was ensconced on the bed, an antique book sequestered on her lap. When Pam made a move to get up to help her food-laden progeny Tara shook her head, indicating with a jerk of her chin that Pam remain seated.

Pam regarded Tara with careful, wary eyes. In the week that had passed after her child's painful confession, the blonde found that she was having to check and monitor every simple gesture she made, every facial expression that crossed her face. It had gotten to the point where the blonde was having to visualize, to predict what her face would look like before she would present it in Tara's direction.

It was draining, having to watch her actions with such intensive scrutiny. Especially around the one person who had never once asked her to be anything but herself. But Pam had to remind herself that the Tara that occupied her apartment at the present time was not the same carefree, unburdened soul she had known and loved for over a century.

The blonde lowered her head, allowing herself a moment's reprieve from having to act and behave a certain way whenever Tara was in close proximity. Strands of golden-blonde hair fell about her face, a physical barrier of silk and color that hide the blonde's inner turmoil from her child.

Tara made no comment as she padded silently to the bed, the rustling of takeout bags the only audial indication of her approach. She sat the bags down, using the frame of the bed to support the contents inside lest they spill. Then, she bent to tug off her boots before straightening to shrug off her jacket. Tossing it onto the arm of a nearby chair, Tara gingerly, almost hesitantly crawled onto the bed, making sure to stay near the edge and away from Pam.

"Dinner," she announced softly, unnecessarily. She pulled the takeout bags towards her, hesitated slightly before she strategically placed it between her and her maker.

This deliberate act did not go unnoticed by Pam but she chose not to voice aloud her disquieting thoughts. Schooling her face into what she hoped was a neutral but non antagonizing expression, she lifted her head, gathering her flaxen hair back into a messy bun. The blonde had just finished tying back her hair when Tara nudged a blood-red, self-heating Tupperware container towards her maker.

"I remember you liked these," Tara spoke softly, her voice almost eerily calm. "Humans may be many thangs but dumb, they ain't."

Pam murmured her assent then followed it with an equally quiet "thank you" as she picke dup her container of AB- blood chicken noodle soup.

Technology this far into the future was a far cry from what it once was back in the 21st century. When corporate suits, entrepreneurs and playboys and girls caught wind of a niche market for blood food, they pumped millions upon millions of dollars into research and development facilities. The global economy had not seen such enthusiasm or drive since the marketing of electronics.

Now, Bloody Foods Inc. was a multi-billion organization that dominated the blood food market, mass producing everything from blood confectionery to TV dinners. The organization worked in tandem with Red Cross International who supplied them blood for a percentage of their profits.

"I need you to finish every last drop," Tara insisted quietly as she opened her pizza box. Orders and observations were all Tara had going for her in the verbal department, small talk and intimate conversations too raw and insulting given their current predicament. The dark-skinned vampire swept a cursory gaze down Pam's body, still wholly unimpressed by what she saw. "You're still nothin' but skin and bones," she observed and though her face was impassive and her eyes flat, there was no mistaking the trill of unhappiness clanging against her Southern lilt.

Pam responded by hitching a pale eyebrow but when Tara started pointedly back, she acquiesced with a demure nod before ducking her head in submission. "Yes, ma'am," she murmured, careful not to let her verbal response come out coated with the stickiness of sarcasm. She removed the spoon from its hidden compartment beneath the cover and dipped it into the steamy soup.

Tara in turn, took a bite of her B+ pepperoni pizza, relishing the solid if slightly wet texture. There would never be anything like feeding straight from the source but even a predominantly liquid diet could take its toll on even the most purists of vampires. As such, Tara made no qualms about enjoying the occasional decadence that blood foods offered.

The younger vampire tore off another chunk of her pizza, chewing in an almost contemplative manner as she observed Pam from the corner of her eye. Dark eyes fashioned from obsidian were almost turbulent with critique as they took note of each mouthful of blood soup Pam ingested.

"I can feel you staring," Pam drawled lightly, her dry, Southern cadence making a sudden appearance as she scooped a shred of "chicken" into her mouth.

The return of Pam's stalwart Southern twang, so painfully absent the past few weeks, was so disconcerting and unexpected that Tara couldn't help but snap her head up in shock.

"I'm eating, Tara," Pam continued, her voice taking on a softer inflection as her progeny gave up the pretense of concentrating on her pizza to stare unrepentantly at the blonde.

"Good." It was the only feasible, only safe word that Tara would let slip uncensored from her lips. An onyx gaze rested briefly on soft pools of cobalt blue before Tara diverted her eyes down to the pizza box. She reached for her half-eaten slice and bit off a chunk of "crust", chewing deliberately before swallowing.

"I got us some blood hot chocolate too," Tara added around a new mouthful of pizza. She shoved the last bite into her mouth before leaning forward towards the takeout bags. Digging into one, she fished out two maroon cylinders labeled, Bloody Foods Inc., O+ Hot Chocolate. Tara pulled out the bottle warming switch nestled by the bottom of the first cylinder and flipped it to "on" before doing the same to the other. "Give it a few minutes," Tara stated, setting the gently humming cylinders in front of her.

"This is starting to feel suspiciously like a slumber party," Pam mumbled around her spoon as she took in the way she and Tara were positioned on the bed, a spread of blood foods and drinks between them. "Are we having a sleepover?" she couldn't help but tease gently, hoping that a bit of humor would help dispel the tense and somewhat awkward air between them.

Nothing.

Pam's teasing fell flat under Tara's irresponsiveness. Blue eyes observed the way Tara seemed to shrink in on herself upon hearing the lighthearted remark, her child clearly having grown unaccustomed in the face of casual teasing over the past fifty years. Pam's brows furrowed, mouth opening to say something else but she faltered, unsure of what she should verbalize next.

"Don't little girls talk about their hopes and dreams and whatnot during sleepovers?" Pam tried again after a moment of silence, determined to remain undeterred by Tara's lack of interaction. She allowed the question to hang, invited in the pregnant pause that she knew Tara would indulge in as her child struggled to cotton on to having a casual conversation with another being. As she waited, Pam took another sip of her soup, delighting in its warmth. She scanned Tara discreetly from the corner of her eye as she spooned another mouthful into her mouth, waiting to see if her child would take the bait.

A muscle ticked in Tara's jaw, the younger vampire's hackles rising slightly as Pam waited patiently for her response, having thrown the ball in her court. If there was one thing Tara hated, it was being pushed and right now, she was fighting hard against a litany of harsh words that burned the back of her throat. Needing an outlet, she clamped down hard on her new slice of pizza, teeth ripping a little too viciously at the carefully crafted layers of "bread", "meat" and "cheese". Tara chewed almost savagely at the bit of pizza in her mouth, purposefully taking her time as she waged an internal war with herself.

"Is that your roundabout way of saying that we should talk?" Tara finally ground out, her voice just shy of being frigid, her inflection skirting the borders of a warning growl.

Pam sighed despondently, suppressing the instinctive urge to flinch at her child's less than welcoming tone. She dragged her spoon through the contents of the Tupperware, searching for patience and answers in the ripples and whorls her spoon was making in the crimson liquid.

"I'm trying here, Tara," Pam uttered after a few tense minutes, her voice betraying her by emanating operatic notes of frustration and agitation. She looked up and locked eyes of sapphire with orbs of pitch. The former was full with a growing desperation whilst the latter was like an endless abyss of emptiness. "I'm trying to understand," she continued, her voice once more devoid of is Southern drawl. "-to fix what's broken between us." A sliver of anguish, pushed into the arctic blue of the blonde's eyes by resignation made center stage in Pam's weary gaze. "But I can't keep doing this if you don't meet me halfway." The anguished blossomed, creeping outwards and bleeding out the blue of her eyes until they were a stormy gray. "Is it so hard for you to just try?"

Tara wrenched her eyes away from Pam's, teeth grinding against each other so hard that it was audible. She toyed with the pizza crust she held between her fingertips, eyes roaming every which way but in Pam's direction. Finally, out of options and nowhere to run, she dropped the uneaten crust into the pizza box and forced herself to lift her head.

"What else do you want to know?" Tara's voice was hoarse, her entire body rigid as if she were preparing for a physical blow. Her folded legs twitched, its muscles aching to feel the burn running out the door would bring and her hands were clenched into tight fists where they now rested on her lap.

"Where did you go?" Pam asked, taking advantage of the door of opportunities Tara had opened. Blunt as ever, the blonde barreled through the gate, instantly posing a question that had been simmering at the back of her mind for the last fifty years. "When you left Jessica's apartment in Manhattan, where did you?" she clarified, her own lanky frame tensing in anticipation as she waited for Tara's reply.

"Australia." At Pam's surprised intake of breath, Tara continued in a whisper that was chained with over a thousand guilty notes and retching with pain. "It was the furthest I could get from you." The hurt and heartache that the statement stabbed Tara with was so overwhelming that she had to hang her head, lowering it until her chin touched her chest. Tara blinked rapidly, trying to stave off an onslaught of blood-tears that would only solidify her growing signs of weakness.

"Oh." Pam sucked in another noisy breath, fingers almost snapping the spoon she held in two as they tightened exponentially around the flimsy plastic cutlery. Tara's admission was like a punch to the gut and try as she might, Pam wasn't able to keep the stricken expression she knew was on her face at bay. "Oh," she repeated stupidly, the word the only coherent thing to come out of her mouth.

Tara stared fiercely into her lap, her slightly coiled posture both defensive and desolate. Silence was a noisy, relentless creature, bounding back and forth between the two suddenly voiceless vampires and feeding off their pain and anguish.

It was Tara who finally broke it, reining silence back into its cage, kicking and clawing with a firm yank on its chain. "I paid a witch to cover my tracks and hide my scent," she began, her voice reverting back to its eerie calmness. "Then I glamored away the memories of our transaction before boarding the plane…"

xxxxxxxx

Sydney's George Street was alive with activity, its streets bursting with drunken college kids, corporate suits, shoppers, tourists and the odd family or two. People poured in and out of bars, cafes, cinemas and retail shops, a constant, endless stream of buzzing conversations and laughter following in their wake.

Tara paid the people and her surroundings no mind as she meandered through the crowd with startling ease, her movements graceful and flawless if a little agitated. Turning into an alley, she located the nondescript sign for the vampire bar at the corner end of the mercifully abandoned alley and swiftly beelined for it.

The bouncer inside greeted Tara with a curt nod, took the cover charge from her hand then waved her in. Tara strode straight to the bar with purpose, the quietly dangerous look on her face carving the vampire a wide sphere of personal space.

"B pos Bloodsky. Straight," Tara muttered as she hopped onto a stool, shrugging off her black denim jacket to reveal a plain white tank top. She tossed her jacket onto the counter, grabbed the shot of blood whisky the bartender slid towards her, then promptly threw it down her throat. "Another," she ordered brusquely. "And keep 'em comin'."

"Rather early in the night for a vamper to be drownin' her sorrows," the bartender observed quietly even as he poured her another shot. His thick Australian drawl sat oddly on Tara's ears even after having been in the vibrant city of Sydney for two weeks. "A Sheila such as yaself shouldn't be spewin' in a dingy pub all by her lonesome."

"I came here to drink, not to listen to advice," Tara snarled before she tossed back another shot. She slammed the shot glass down and glared at the bartender, daring him to say something.

"Suit yourself." He poured her another shot then set the bottle of B+ Bloodsky down next to her. "I'll leave this here and push off," he offered quietly, his calm and unaffected demeanor only serving to irate Tara more.

To her credit, she refrained from biting out a cutting remark, choosing instead to slap a fifty dollar note onto the counter. "Keep the change," she said by way of dismissing him.

Tara remained in that bar all night, a motionless figure perched by the corner edge of the bar. She could have been mistaken for a statue had it not been for the way her arm would flex and bend to pour shot after shot of blood whisky into her crimson stained glass. The bartender kept a cautionary eye on Tara but aside from the thunderous black cloud that hung over the dark-skinned vampire's head like a flashing neon sign of warning, she gave no outward indication that she would stir up any trouble.

It was near closing time and Tara was on her way to emptying her second bottle of Bloodsky when the bartender flipped on an outdated radio set. A woman's voice immediately enveloped the near empty bar, her tone haunted with heartache and brimming with anguish.

I'm tired, so tired of crying
Tired of reaching for a memory in the middle of the night
So sick of pain running through my veins
Overtaking my whole life

The pain Tara had been bottling up the past few weeks came careening out of its tightly corked bottle, erupting like an overzealous volcano. It streaked through her, tongues of fire licking at nerves that were still raw and bleeding. She choked on a sob, fingers tightening minutely on the shot glass until it fractured and crumbled like crumbs in her hand.

I'll try anything not to hurt for a while
Yeah, I'll try anything not to hurt for a while

Tears of crimson rimmed the vampire's eyes and her shoulders shook in an almost violent fashion as Tara struggled against the raging storm of hurt and pain that clawed at the broken pieces of her heart. She could literally feel her soul being flayed, the memories of what transpired between her and Pam still so fresh and so raw that it was simply incompressible to revisit them. Tara dropped the ruined shot glass onto the bar, her hand dotted with blood that looked as though someone had stamped Morse code onto her palm. Her newly healed hand moved up her body of its own accord, coming to rest above her breast bone. When the palm of her hand failed to pick up that low hum that was indicative of the maker/progeny bond, Tara was helpless against the strangled cry that tore viciously out of her throat.

It ain't like me to be cussin'
Getting tore up in this bar
Guess a good ole girl can backslide
Running from a broken heart

The bartender regarded Tara with sympathetic eyes, years of tending bar and a myriad of customers allowing him to quickly assess that whilst the dark-skinned vampire may be physically okay, internally, emotionally, she was a wreck. He was also wise enough, smart enough to know that she would rebuke all help and support, most likely responding to a gentle murmur of assurance with a snarl and a punch to the face. So he simply set down a new shot glass in front of her, swept away the broken pieces of the old one then continued to wipe down the bar.

I pray the good Lord ain't a-lookin'
And takin' notes on me tonight
Cuz I'll try anything not to hurt for a while

Tara's hands were shaking as she poured herself a new shot. She cursed aloud when the glass overfilled and blood whisky dribbled off the edge. Picking up the overflowing shot of Bloodsky, she brought it to her lips and knocked it back with a violent flick of her wrist.

I'm tired, so tired of crying
Tired of reaching for a memory in the middle of the night
So sick of pain running through my veins
Overtaking my whole life

"We're closin' I'm afraid," the bartender told Tara softly when he finished tidying up the bar. He had plowed through his clean up at a slower than usual pace, giving Tara time to finish her drink and compose herself.

Tara swiped an angry hand over her eyes, effectively smudging scarlet stains around them and the back of her hand. She swayed slightly as she stood, the combination of too much blood and alcohol making her body sluggish as it tried to process the excess crimson liquid.

"Here." The bartender hesitated for a fraction of a minute, torn between wanting to help and wanting to leave well enough alone before he fished out a card and slipped it over to Tara. "If you're looking for a means of escape, this is the place to go." He wasn't sure if giving this despondent vampire that particular card was the best of ideas but there was an air of such sadness, such desperation for a reprieve of any kind around her, that it compelled him to offer her a way out of her palpable misery.

Tara spared the retreating bartender the briefest of glances before her dark, exhausted and pain-laden eyes fell onto the clean lines of the card.

But I'll try anything not to hurt for a while
Yeah, I'll try anything not to hurt for a while

xxxxxxx

"What was on the card, Tara?" Pam's voice questioned when Tara halted mid-story, effectively going mute and blanketing both in dense silence. The blonde's voice was soft as she spoke, her naturally raspy tone successfully shaking Tara out of her reverie.

Tara looked up slowly, her head lifting in such a slow manner that the act seemed agonizing. The look in her eyes when Tara finally settled a pitch-black gaze at Pam was so haunted that the blonde felt the bottom of her stomach drop out in response. Pam swallowed, her appetite all but gone as fear and dread zeroed in on the sensitive nerves at the base of her spine. They hit their mark and terror chewed a cursed path up her back as Tara remained frighteningly silent.

"Tara?" Pam wasn't sure if she wanted to venture down this avenue of conversation for she knew that what would come out of her child's mouth next would inexplicably leave deep striations in her still battered soul. But still, she continued, knowing that this was a path they had to embark on if they were to find any sort of resolution. "What was written on the card, Tara?"

Tara dropped a pair of obsidian eyes that were deader and emptier than a forest after it had been ravaged by fire onto her maker's face. "Silver's Kiss," she finally revealed in a voice that sent a tremor running down the length of Pam's frame. "It said, Silver's Kiss."

TBC

A/N 2 - Song used is, I'll Try Anything by Jasmine Rae feat. Joe. Nichols. She's an Australian country music singer, appropriate given that I set Tara's flashback in Sydney.