knowthyexits | (no subject)

She wakes up.

There's more to it than that, but she wakes and she doesn't know where she is, doesn't hear her father shuffling around in the room below and she doesn't know why there are weapons under her bed or why her wrist is in a sling when she feels just fine. She curls up her fingers to test it, but they work, and when she sits up, her clothes fall off her frame slightly.

It's too hot outside. California is warm, but it shouldn't be this warm. Her first instinct is that she's late for her shift and that the dog isn't coming, not even when she whistles. For the first time since she's woken up, Sarah is beginning to panic. She takes in deep breaths and tries to get her footing about her, the dark sweatpants falling until she yanks them up by the hem. Nothing is familiar, not a single thing.

"Dad?" she calls out tentatively, hitching up the sleeve of her tank top as she opens the front door to the blazing sun in front of her. She winces and keeps walking, wearing nothing but her pajamas and in her bare feet. "Dad?" she calls out again, slightly more worried than before. "Max? Dad?" Sarah stops when she gets to a fork in the road, staring cluelessly out between them and running a hand through her messy hair.

She doesn't know what to do. She doesn't know where she is or where she's supposed to go.

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"You gotta chose to trust me yourself," he says. He's closer now, close enough he could reach out and touch her if he wanted to, but he doesn't just yet. "Don't take my word on it. That's no good. You'll be fine either way, with or without me, so it needs to be your decision. Trust me and talk to me and I'll be able to help you."

She clasps hold of her elbow with her palm, holding on tightly as she tries to decide whether he's telling the truth and whether she should trust him. She scans the surrounding area with trepidation, not sure where she is and understanding that she's not going to get answers on her own.

Finally, based on some innate instinct screaming at her to trust him, she reaches out a hand to him, letting the next step be his. "I trust you. I'm not sure why, how come, or where it's coming from, but I do."

All he needed was the three words. They're bad enough, flood his veins with warmth and weigh his shoulders down with the heavy press of responsibility. The others just add to it, make it worse and choke him.

It takes a moment for him to find his voice again after he has taken her hand, threaded their fingers together securely. "Alright," he starts, and pauses to clear his throat. "I dunno why but.. you've forgotten a lot of stuff. You know me. You've been here a while. This is an island called Tabula Rasa. And it's got... I dunno, I guess you've gotta call it magic or something fucked up like it. And it's made you younger than you were and made you forget."

"How old am I normally?" She's not sure she wants to know, but she's blurted out the question before she can stop herself, clenching onto his hand tightly, not exactly a death-grip, but it's no casual stroll either.

Cook rolls his eyes skyward thoughtfully as he tries to puzzle that out -- and prays that Sarah isn't one of those women who's going to kick him in the balls later if he guesses too high.

"Younger than 40, older than 30?" he guesses. "Can't say it's come up in conversation."

She nods, mostly because it's the only thing she can do as she tries to process this information. It's scary and it's too much. "I'm just supposed to be waiting tables today," she admits, giving him a look that says she's barely coping with all of this. "Dad's supposed to pick me up after, I...I'm on a desert island," she states incredulously. "This is the weirdest thing that's ever happened to me."

Cook squeezes her hand and chooses not to point out that she was attacked by a machine man a couple of weeks ago. Cook himself is still trying to come to grips with that.

"We're all in the same boat, babe," he says, voice easy and calm. "Well, waking up younger and forgetting things, you've got me beat. But once upon a time, each of us was opening our eyes to this place for the first time. We've all done it. You've done it before. You'll be okay."

She breathes out and forces a smile on her lips, trying to paint the best of a bad situation, as if that's going to help. "So, I've walked this walk before. I guess I don't have to work. And my Dad's not around. So what do people do with all their time?"