Disclaimer: I own no bit or part of Legend of the Seeker. This is just my attempt at some non-commercial derivative fanfiction.

Author's Note: Modern AU. Rated for cursing and sexual situations. Please enjoy.

Favorite Season

"I think we need to talk about last night."

"Nothing happened."

"Cara."

"Nothing. Happened."

"Ignoring it won't make it go away."

"I was drunk, it didn't mean anything. End of discussion."

"We both know that's not true."

"Denna."

"Cara."

Silence descends and festers. Denna spends it glaring at her, while Cara uses it to glance around the bar, looking at nothing in particular, but doing so with enviable intensity. She hopes if she is silent long enough, Denna will get bored and move on to other things. It's not outside the realm of possibility, Denna once got too impatient to wait for toasting poptarts. But tonight she seems uncharacteristically able to focus on someone other than herself for more than five minutes. It does not bode well.

"Leave it be," Cara says, conceding defeat, and hates that it sounds like a request. Like she's on the verge of begging.

"I'm just saying I think you need a girlfriend is all."

"I have more girlfriends than any person could want."

"That's the problem. You need one girlfriend."

Cara makes a sound of disgust, then drains the rest of her Peroni. If Denna had an ounce of human decency, she would consign last night the deepest, darkest pit of her memory. But then, Denna rarely forgets anything that shows Cara in a less than flattering light. And the previous evening had been a special kind of ugly.

It had started fine, like any number of the Friday nights she's spent with Denna. Drinks and darts followed by scanning the local fare from the comfort of a booth, a pitcher of beer slowly emptying between them. Cara hadn't seen anyone of interest, and was about to call it a night, when one of her exes wandered past their table. Against her wishes – ones she tried to communicate via a dark scowl, narrowed eyes, and a kick to the shins – Denna offered to share their booth and beer with Dahlia and a lover so new she still shined. Inexplicably, the couple agreed, and that was when the night took its dark turn.

What followed was a display so disgusting, Cara feels nauseated by the mere remembrance of it. Punctuating the story of how the new couple met, how they'd wanted each other for years, were lingering kisses, stupidly large smiles, and affectionate caresses that more often than not escalated to full on gropes. The two all but fucked in the booth. Except they probably would have called it making love.

Fifteen minutes in, Cara genuinely wondered if it was possible to go into sugar shock just from being in the vicinity of such treacle coated love. She even vowed never to take part in such eye-rolling sentimentality after a bout of particularly high-pitched giggles devolved into murmured professions of love everlasting.

But at the forty-five minute mark, with Miller Lite replacing the blood in her veins, Cara's perspective became distorted, corrupt. What had filled her with disdain when viewed through the rational eyes of a sober person, became almost...appealing when filtered through two pitchers. Like something she wanted for herself one day.

Not that she'd felt any urge to get back with Dahlia. That ship had sailed – and been consigned to the bottom of Lake Michigan by a barrage of cannon fire – years ago. But seeing her with her girlfriend, witnessing first hand the closeness they shared and the contentment they brought each other, filled Cara with an uncomfortable envy.

And things only got worse from there. By the time she and Denna rode home in the back of a cab, all she could talk about was growing old, alone and lonesome. Or growing old with Denna, if she were really unlucky.

She has no idea what she was thinking, much less where the desire for committed companionship came from. As far as she's concerned, she is living the life, happier than a clam, and of no mind to ruin a good thing. Alcohol fueled lamentations be damned.

"You have no idea what I need."

"Actually, I do. Because you spent three hours last night whining about how lonely you are. Three hours. You stared at Dahlia like some sad sack loser, and your depression was so strong it poisoned my beer and killed my buzz. My week was shit, Cara. Pure shit. I needed that buzz."

Cara can't really defend herself on that point, so she just crosses her arms over her chest. "We're not talking about this anymore. I'm done," she adds harshly, when Denna tries to protest.

Denna actually huffs, then falls back against her seat. Her scowl, perfected over a lifetime, is fierce, but Cara's not going to let the other woman's ire get to her. Her whole life would be blighted if she did that. Denna has issues with being denied, taking it as both insult and challenge, and it's the reason Cara broke up with her in the first place. After a whole nine days of carnal bliss. Cara got tired of every conversation turning into a debate, and Denna got tired of her pretending to go to the bathroom every five minutes just to get out of the room. The only reason they lasted as long as they did is because very little of the first eight days required them to speak in complete sentences.

"Fine. Be bitter and lonely. That just means more women for me when your depression drives them off."

"Please." As if Denna could ever get more women.

"I think we should make a bet."

The change of subject is as abrupt as it is welcome, and Cara nods without thinking twice. This is how they normally amuse themselves. Who can get more free drinks in an hour. Who can get the most kisses before bar time. The most invitations to go somewhere more private. The stakes are usually small: loser buys the next pitcher, or treats the victor to dinner at an upscale restaurant. Harmless fun. And since Cara wins more than she loses, usually well worth the effort.

Cara throws an arm along her seat, makes herself more comfortable. "What did you have in mind?"

"I want you to get the phone numbers of three women in fifteen minutes."

Cara smirks. It's a ridiculously easy task, completely beneath her talents, and she says so. "Make it ten minutes and it will almost be a challenge."

"Not so fast. I get to pick the women."

Cara can't imagine that will make much of a difference, so she shrugs. "Fine, I still agree. What are the stakes?"

"If I win," Denna's smile can only be described as gleeful, "you have to join a dating website."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I win, you join a dating website and go on a minimum of ten dates. I don't care if it's with the same woman or ten different women, but I get final say over any woman you choose." Denna takes a deep breath, says the next bit with obvious relish. "And since I want this to be about your emotional fulfillment, not sex, there will be no sleeping with any of these women. No sniffing around here looking for new girls or going to any of your old standbys, either. You'll be celibate for the duration." She pauses, a grin distorting her lips, and let's her proposal sink in. Lets it marinate a little. "Still agree?"

Cara rolls her eyes. So much for small stakes. If she'd taken a second to think about what Denna might require of her, she probably would have come up with this exact scenario and known to steer clear. Now she's already agreed twice and there's no way to back out with any grace. Denna would never let her hear the end of it.

"I am not going on ten dates with the same woman and not sleeping with her."

"Fine," Denna agrees so quickly Cara is sure she never had any intention of making Cara be celibate for the length of the bet. She wonders what else Denna over-reached on. "But you have to follow the three date rule. And, you can only go on one date a day."

"You have a lot of rules."

"That's because I know all your tricks."

"You wish. So, what do I get if I win?"

"What do you want?"

"Not you," she says, just because she can. She lets her eyes scan the bar, searching for suitable inspiration, something that will make Denna squirm. She finds it when her eyes land on Tiffany Dawson.

Tiffany is Denna's latest conquest. A mousy, glasses-wearing librarian type, she is practically Denna's ideal woman, whose tastes have always run toward the innocent, shy types. She claims she likes to make the quiet ones scream, and takes a disproportionate amount of pride in doing so. Cara has never seen the appeal, preferring to get as good as she gives from women who have never blushed a day in their lives.

"I win, you can't sleep with Tiffany for a month."

Denna visibly stiffens and Cara enjoys a surge of satisfaction. It's almost too easy to get under Denna's skin.

"Two weeks," she counters.

"Agreed," Cara says, though her confidence takes a small hit at how quickly Denna gives up the allegedly delectable Tiffany. "Now, which women are about to make my acquaintance?"

"Why don't you start with Jessica over there." Denna points to a slim woman who looks a few years older than Cara. She's standing alone at the bar, gazing hopefully at every woman who approaches, glancing down dejectedly when they pass without a word. Cara's seen her a few times, but they've never spoken. She looks desperate for any kind of attention, and Cara can't imagine an easier first mark.

"I hope this gets more challenging or poor Tiffany is going to think you're not interested anymore."

"Just come back when you get her number, and I'll give you the next girl. I won't start timing you until you introduce yourself."

"Fair enough."

Cara exits the booth and starts toward her target. The anticipation of victory adds a potent confidence to the sway of her hips, and halfway to her destination she's already managed to draw Jessica's eye. When their gazes meet Cara smiles slow, and she's delighted when Jessica straightens, visibly excited by her approach. This will be child's play.

Less than ten feet away, she's struck by inspiration. Jessica' glass is nearly empty and Cara veers off, approaching the bar a few chairs down so she can order Jessica a refresher. Whatever was in her glass looks fruity, so Cara takes a chance on a passion fruit mojito. She doesn't take her eyes off Jessica for a second, not even when she orders, and by the time Cara has the drink in her hand, Jessica is practically vibrating with anticipation. And Cara hasn't said a word or wasted a second of her time limit. Denna will regret that lenience. Jessica's phone number will be hers in three minutes.

"Hi," she says, leaning against the bar beside Jessica, offering her the drink. "I'm Cara."

Cara falls into the booth, dazed.

"You cheated," she says, annoyed with herself for sounding like a poor loser but needing to protest.

Denna smiles. She takes a bite of her taco pizza and chews gleefully, the self-satisfaction clinging to her an especially potent brand of nauseating. "You would have been disqualified anyway," she says, when she finally deigns to respond to Cara's accusation.

"On what grounds?"

"How about the grounds where you ripped the phone out of Jessica's hand and scrolled through it to find her number?"

"Three numbers in fifteen minutes, that was the only condition."

"It violated the spirit of the bet."

"You violated it first by sending me to get the number of a woman who never stops speaking, not even to take a breath. I introduced myself and never got another word in."

"That happens when your reputation proceeds you. You get nervous babble."

Cara rounds on Denna, eyes wide in disbelief. "That wasn't nervous anything. A person has to be self-aware to be nervous."

"Well, she certainly seemed to enjoy the way you shut her up," Denna says, referring to how, at the height of her frustration, Cara simply kissed the other woman and fished the phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. "If only you'd done it five minutes earlier."

"I was stuck in a time warp, I had no idea how much time was passing."

"Too bad for you, yay for ten lucky women. Or maybe one really lucky woman." Denna smirks. "Words cannot describe how much I'm looking forward to this."

Cara is pretty sure she has a very good idea. "That's because you're a sadist."

Denna chuckles. "Probably, but I think you'll come around." When Cara just rolls her eyes, Denna says, "A positive attitude is half the battle, Cara. I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

"Is this going to open new doors for me?" Cara says, sarcastic, thinking back to a conversation they had months ago about Denna's participation in various chat rooms. Cara hadn't wanted too many specifics, had just been glad the group meetings got Denna out of the apartment one weekend a month, and again one full week every six months. She'd invited Cara along on her last trip to some resort in southern Florida, but Cara had taken a rain check. It's not that she disapproves, she's just never had any desire to tread ground Denna's already walked.

Denna looks to the ceiling, obviously searching for patience up amongst the discolored tiles. "Be that way. Now, if you'll excuse me," she says, getting to her feet and straightening the hem of her shirt and looking very pleased. "I'm going to go say hi to Tiffany. You should probably head out anyway, start working on your profile." She digs in her purse, then tosses Cara two twenties and a wink. "For the cab. See you tomorrow."

"How did this happen?"

Cara is referring, of course, to the profile she posted on Lovin' Ladies, a dating website of dubious quality. She created it last night, after leaving Denna at the bar, and the feat had not been accomplished easily. In fact, it had taken two more beers and a shot of Jagermeister to conjure up the proper motivation. The result was, unfortunately, just as disturbing as one might expect. Not least because she'd managed to make herself sound like some over-emotional sap, announcing to anyone with an internet connection that fall is her favorite season, she's always wanted to visit Australia, and she's looking for someone to hold hands with when she finally makes the trip.

She would not have believed herself capable of such sticky sweet sentiment if she hadn't seen it with her own sober eyes this morning. She'd begged Denna to let her revise it, but the other woman was immovable, spouting some garbage about revealing her true heart and blah, blah, blah. Cara went immediately to the kitchen and grabbed a beer.

"I think it looks good," Denna says, when she's finally done inspecting Cara's work, requesting she flesh out some bits, and editing a few errors. "Well, everything but this picture you used."

"What's wrong with it?" As far as Cara's concerned, the picture – one of her bending over a pool table, smirking up at the camera, poised to take a shot – is the one thing she got right. She lifts her head just enough to comfortably finish the bottle of Miller she's been nursing since seven o'clock, then sets on the carpet next to its brothers. Nine hours old, and this bet is already taking a terrible toll on her health. "I look good."

"Yes, but it doesn't send the right message."

"And what am I trying to send, Denna?"

"That you're looking for a serious relationship. Something that's going to last longer than the weekend."

As far as Cara remembers, no mention was made about the type of woman she is supposed to be attracting. Ten dates, no more than one a day, any number of women, and no sex until after the third date. Denna has veto power. That's already any obnoxious number of rules as far as Cara's concerned, and there's no way she's letting Denna alter the conditions to make this into some fruitless attempt to get her to date a woman seriously. As if she'd find one amongst Denna's approved lot, anyway. She can just imagine the type of women Denna has in mind for her: A fleet of school teachers and veterinarians and knitters. The painfully earnest kind of woman who will take one look at her and run screaming for the hills. Though, to be fair, she'll be running just as quickly in the other direction.

"I'm sorry. Should I have used the one of me feeding a baby deer beneath a tree? Or maybe the one where I'm baking chocolate chip cookies and wearing an apron with dancing cupcakes on it."

Cara regrets the words as soon as they are out of her mouth, terrified she's just inadvertently scheduled her own photo shoot. But, thankfully, Denna doesn't jump on the chance to make her life even more miserable.

"We're trying to find a woman who wants you for your personality, not your wrapping."

"The wrapping is part of the entire package. A very attractive part."

"Probably the only attractive part," Denna mumbles, just loud enough for Cara to hear. More loudly, she says, "I just think you should change it."

"I'll change my picture if you let me take out the bit about holding hands."

"Aren't you forgetting the part where you lost a bet?"

"I've never been more aware of anything in my life. But the punishment was going on ten dates, not posting pictures of me on the internet wearing sweater vests."

Which, Cara thinks, she might as well do since she's already been thrown so far out of her comfort zone as to make her surroundings unrecognizable. There is little doubt this whole thing is going to be an exercise in torture. How can it not be, when she has no practice, no patience, for meaningless chit chat, engaged in solely to find out if she "connects" with someone. She'd much rather go to the bar, meet a woman's eyes over the rim of her glass, and let things progress from there. No dealing with those awkward e-mails full of lists and shallow revelations. No being unpleasantly surprised when a woman looks nothing like the picture in her profile. And no worrying about whether there will be any chemistry when the date is finally arranged. None of that is a problem when the heat in a woman's gaze is what draws her in the first place.

"Fine." Denna sighs with feeling, giving in despite her better judgment. "I'll let you keep the picture. But don't be surprised if most of your offers for dates come from women who don't meet my criteria."

Cara is going to go on a date with a woman who works at a daycare, spends the weekend volunteering at an animal shelter, and only says "shit" when she's a little tipsy. She has no doubt.

"Noted."

"Alright," Denna gets to her feet, tosses Cara's laptop onto the bed beside her, displaying her usual disregard for other people's possessions. "I'm just going to take a quick shower and then we're going to find some candidates. Meet me on the couch in an hour."

Cara lifts a limp hand. "Sure thing."

"And you might want to look at your in-box, it looks like you've already got some messages."

"On it," Cara promises. She wouldn't want to leave the camp counselors hanging.

After Denna leaves, Cara spends another ten minutes not moving. There's a part of her that doesn't even want to look at the women who might be interested in her, thinks she should just tell Denna to make a list of five women and she'll go on two dates a piece with each of them. But the other part is screaming that she be more proactive, that she not let Denna make this as unbearable as it has the potential to be.

But that requires actually looking at the women on the site, reading the messages they've sent her. Cara isn't sure she's prepared to do that yet.

Eventually, morbid curiosity wins out, and Cara drags her laptop onto her stomach and opens the first message in her in-box. It takes only one glance for Cara to realize this site might not be the arctic wasteland she feared. Greta is a twenty-something who loves Harleys, driving country roads on her motorcycle, and participating in group activities. Nothing about her screams a woman who is plumbing the depths of desperation, banking on her last chance for love. The accompanying picture is rather suggestive.

A sly smile pulls at the corner of Cara's mouth.

To be continued.