knowthyexits | (no subject)

Sarah is soaking wet. And she's heard it all about how many pounds she probably is. She knows better than to argue, knows to just take advantage of any preconception and go with it. The problem is, no one here is really anything but too-kind and she's soaking wet. Her clothes are sticking to her skin and sloshing about, but it's a necessary evil if she wants to eat or shower.

She's made it downstairs to the clothes box, stripping off her long-sleeved painted-on top (at least, that's what it feels like at the moment), letting it fall to the floor with a heavy thud before continuing along.

Tank top goes too and meets with the jeans. She's still got on a pair of men's spandex shorts and a camisole, but those are wet too and she's willing to take anything she can from the clothes box at the moment, even the ugly plaid flannel long-sleeved shirt she's just grabbed. It reminds her of something that she might have thrown out from Charley's closet and that makes her smile, just offhand for a moment.

It's just a brief flicker of a moment and she turns her attention back to the more important things. Dry clothes. Reaching her arms above her head, she flexes her shoulders back and starts to shrug into the shirt, cool air meeting her skin momentarily as she pulls on the shirt, covering her shoulders, arms, and more.

The jeans come next and she soldiers on, just glad to be dry once more.

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Bryce tilts his head. "I hate to get petty, but who pointed a gun at whom here?" The funny thing is, that might be the least of his concerns regarding Sarah. She aimed at him, but she didn't shoot. She hesitated. That tells him that she's reluctant to take a life, even if she's willing, and it gives him the upper hand. He has no such compunctions; he could never afford them.

"I'd just been shot, can you blame me?" she asks, feeling irritation pulse through her in a way that it usually doesn't with Bruce. She likes him. Maybe that's why she's reacting so poorly. She's been trusting him and she doesn't know whether she can and here she is, her scars on display for the briefest of moments and he saw. "Look. Do you want the truth?"

"You know I do," he says, "but I don't expect it." He wants to tell her that it's okay, though, that he understands. He doesn't expect it because it's not what he would do. He's keep just as many secrets (perhaps even more). But he says nothing. He leaves it at that, because the truth would only expose more truth — revealing that he understands would, by default, inform her that he is keeping something. He can't risk confirming that he has secrets — those secrets belong to Bryce, not Bruce.

Sarah presses her lips together, the sarcasm biting at her tongue and she wants to say it, wants to just let it loose and maybe she's just so fed up with things and she knows that no one will ever believe her. No one ever believes crazy Sarah Connor. "Well," she says, absolutely calmly. "I'm a fugitive of the law running from killer robots from the future who are trying to make it so I can never give birth to a child that could prevent the apocalypse," she says, almost patronizing in her tone. "And no matter how far I run or how many years I travel through time, I can't seem to escape metal harbingers of death who never sleep and can assume human forms, like clones. Happy, now, Bruce?"

It sounds like the convoluted plot to a bad science fiction movie, and chances are that's where Sarah found her inspiration. He can't tell if she's being serious (the tone suggests not) or if she truly believes the story, but the fact of the matter is, it wouldn't be the strangest thing he's heard. Not by far. In fact, to most, his own life story would seem just as ridiculous — something straight out of a Bond film rather than a slice of real life.

"Sounds exhausting," he tells her, and watches for her reaction. He wonders if she expected him to laugh. He wanted to, briefly, but something told him that reaction wouldn't be well received. For now, he pretends to believe it, deeming that the best way to find out if she's lying or not.

"Yeah, it is. About as exhausting as being told I should be happier," she agrees, making that the pointed comment, as though that's really what's getting her down. She rubs at her face and sighs, ready to tell lies on top of the truth. "Look," she gets out. "I didn't always have such good trust in people. And I met more than one man who was less than good. He hurt me. They hurt me." And she's not even lying, not about the trust, not about the hurt. "It's why I turned up shot, it's why I've got scars. I was just trying to do my best."

Bryce has to smile, if only slightly, because the idea that Sarah considers herself to have good trust in people now is — there's no other way to put it — quite laughable. He's in no place to mock, being on of the few people whose trust issues could rival hers, but he finds it funny all the same. It makes him wonder what she was like before (a part of him is okay with never knowing.)

He wishes, for the briefest of seconds, that he could share something with her. That he could tell her the truth: that he, too, turned up shot. That they have more in common than he's allowed her to believe. But that fragment of a second is the greatest weakness he's exhibited in months, possibly years, and it's a danger to them both. He can't want to be honest with her, even in the slightest. That can't happen.

Suddenly, he has the strongest urge to flee — to put as much space between himself and Sarah as is possible on this island, and to make damn sure they don't run into each other again. If she is being honest (and he can tell that she is, that she believes it, at any rate) then he is being unfair to her. If there's a universal balance out there, the scale has been tipped, and it's unfair to her that he keep lying. It's unfair, and yet it's necessary.

"I wouldn't ask you to be happier," he offers, the best he can do. "It sounds to me like you've got your reasons, each of them better than the last."

"There have been times," Sarah starts considerately, her tone heavy and low, her gaze just to the side of Bruce's face, thinking of Kyle, thinking of Charley. Even of Andy Goode. "Some times, where I forget everything that's gone wrong and I remember that I can be happy and loved. And I miss those times, but I know they can't be permanent." Because her life isn't like that, not since she was nineteen and Kyle Reese appeared out of nowhere.

Two other Sarah Connors died before it found her. How many others died because they got caught in the crossfire? "How much did you see?" she asks again, quieter than before.