knowthyexits | (no subject)

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This has gone on for too long. Sarah's not ashamed of what she's done (even if she's slightly unnerved by the fact that she hadn't had her memories while she did it), but she still hadn't sought out Cook either. Three weeks since it's happened and she's tired of hiding. She knows Cook's general habits and so she knows where she can find him. She waits until she feels up to the task and then heads for the Hub to find him and put the issue to rest.

It's not that there is an issue. It's just that she doesn't want one incident to ruin whatever acquaintance-type of friendship.

"Cook," she gets his attention with a quiet comment, leaning her elbow against the bar and ignoring the fact that she can tell that she's lost weight. It's not something she wants to think about (especially now) and so she dismisses it instantly, keeping her attention on him. "Can I get you something? Beer? Wine?"

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"Words are just fucking words, Sarah. They don't mean shit." Laced with profanity as much of what Cook says is, these words aren't angry. They're hard and weighed with a kind of bitterness someone as young as Cook shouldn't know, but they're not an attack on Sarah.

"I don't care what you fucking say." And yet, now that he knows, the abandonment doesn't hurt so much. She still did it. She still fucked around when she should have come to him. She'll do it again, most like. But people walk away from Cook. He hasn't learned how to walk away from them.

He stares down at his glass again, then pushes it forward and throws a signal to the bartender to refill him. "Don't ever pull that shit again," Cook says, his voice softening but not soft, the closest thing to forgiving her that she's gonna get.

"I don't like to promise to try," she says, her gaze flicking over Cook's face. "But I will go you one better and make a promise to do." She's not the easiest woman to get along with in the world and hardly the most outwardly loving, but right now, she wants closure in this. It's why she reaches one arm around his shoulders to bring him closer, pressing a kiss to the outer edges of his cheek before hugging him for a multitude of reasons.

--None of which she wants to talk about.

Cook is no stranger to hugs, not really. He's given plenty, initiated contact that the receiver doesn't always expect, and he's been on the receiving end plenty of times. Make no mistake, for all his standoffish attitude, Cook is a tactile person. But all those shows of affection, they've been with people his own age. His mother and his father-- Any time he spent in their company was wasted, the hugs and kisses hiding daggers.

And now Sarah's kissing his cheek and hugging him. He likes her and she's fit as hell, but she's also old enough to be his mother. It's fucking weird. Weirder still, it's kind of nice.

"Don't get all soft on me now," he says, forcing himself not to smile. He refuses to; letting her pull him into a hug is enough. "I only like you when you're being a badass."

Sarah eases back and shares a faintly bemused look with him. "What, so you're not allowed to like me if I take a moment and not be the kind of woman who gets thrown through a wall and keeps going?" she teases, out of his personal space as quickly as she'd stepped into it. "And Cook?" she warns. "What we did? Never happening again because you're my son's age," she says sharply.

He just laughs at her harsh edge, feeling something settle back into place. He can do this. He could do without, too, can always do without if he needs. But he prefers to do this, to keep things as they are here.

"You know, a good woman would be intrigued by that," Cook counters.

"Cook," Sarah warns, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a look that says if he treads further, it's his own fault as to what consequences will come on the heels of such an act.

He laughs again, deeper this time, and ducks his head. "See?" Cook says, glancing up at her, head tilted to the side. "There's the bad ass I like."

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