knowthyexits | (no subject)

When it comes to the distraction of a mind, there is nothing like being told 'you're going to die' that makes a person rethink their life. Sarah knows that unlike Skynet, unlike the apocalypse, she doesn't have an exact date. She has time. How much time, she has no idea, but she has some time.

It's why she's gone around to three people who she knows that won't feel out of place in a dangerous situation and told them curtly that it's time to go before grabbing her shotgun and heading in the direction of the dinosaurs.

Whether or not they follow her is up to them.

She's done her duty and now she allows her mind to turn back to the diagnosis and George's words and the secure knowledge that she is going to get very sick and then she is going to die. She tries not to think about how she had known that was a possibility. Here, as a reality, it's so much worse.

She doesn't talk to any of them as she walks with purpose towards the dinosaurs, highly intending to shoot something, to kill something, to take her hands and pry something until it breaks because if she can't fight this disease within her, she has to fight something.

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Sarah keeps her gaze forward. There's a small part of her that worries that Cal can see right through her and if she looks at him, he'll know. Somehow, he'll know. She knows that's ridiculous, but it's there in her mind -- an idea that refuses to move.

"I don't know, Cal," she says, voice subdued and mild. "Would you tell me if our positions were reversed?"

"You know my big, bad secret, I don't have anything else I'm trying to keep under wraps," I replied. Truth was, I'd never been particularly against letting people know what I was. I'd stopped being ashamed of it a long time ago. It was just difficult to explain and you never knew how they'd react.

"So, yeah. I don't know if I'd volunteer it, but if you asked me, sure." I studied her from the corner of my eye. "What the fuck can be worse than what I already know?"

"It's personal," is all she has to say about it, taking longer strides to remove her from Cal's immediate person, her grip on the shotgun tightening as the tension grows in her. She thinks she shouldn't be able to feel any difference, but she can. She feels like there's something in her, waiting to take her down. "It's." She takes a deep breath and thinks about what he said.

If you asked me, sure.

"It's medical."

That was bad. Really fucking bad, and I didn't need Sarah's grudging, cryptic answer to know it; the way she moved away said just as much, maybe more.

I reached for her, a hand against her upper arm tugging her gently but firmly back over as I leaned in. "Sarah," I said, just above a whisper. "People don't go on therapeutic dinosaur hunting expeditions because they have a rash."

Sarah casts a wary eye back over Columbus and Katniss warily, not wanting them to get an earful of this conversation. She stares Cal down, not sure what he's expecting her to say in response to that. "I need to fight something. I need to fight something tangible, with a presence, something that I can visibly see. I just need to fight."

I let go of her arm. What else could I do? I let her go, and I frowned. Unfortunately, I was pissed off so much of the time, it probably didn't register as anything unusual.

"Okay," I finally said, giving in. If anybody understood her reasoning, it was me. That didn't mean I had to be comfortable with the cause of it, though. "But when we get back, we're having a talk, you and me."

"Okay," she agrees, sounding almost hollow and distant. She knows that she has to do it, but a part of her wants to be able to run from this. She wants a chance to start again, but there are boundaries to these shores and she works a steady shift with people she feels responsible for. "Cal," Sarah says, before they can get back on the path.

She grabs at his forearm and pulls him close, wrapping her arms around him tightly. She's smaller than he is, but she's got a steel grip when she wants it. And now, she hugs him and presses her forehead to his shoulder, holding on because he's what she's got here.

"I'm lucky to have a boy like you in my life." He's older than a boy, but in her eyes right now, that's all she sees.

Physical affection was far from my forte. My own mother would have rather spit on me than hug me, and while Niko had done a commendable job of raising me on his own, he wasn't exactly handsy, either. Even so, after a moment of awkwardness, I lifted a hand to cradle the back of Sarah's head and sighed.

Did I mention that this was really fucking bad? Because it was seeming worse by the fucking minute.

"I'm almost 22, mom," I replied, going for levity.

"Well, I guess I was thirteen when I had you," is her instant retort, easing away from him and letting her hand linger at his shoulder for a singular moment, squeezing there harder than strictly necessary to keep her grounded to something. She's already dreading the talk they're going to have, but it needs to happen. If only so she has someone who can protect John if she's gone.