Ridiculously long Author's Note:
Im just inspired to write about MiSa suddenly, have never posted any of my PB dabblings aside from one that I never finished, which was more of less a rather cliffhangy starter chapter to my alternate of season 3. The rage/betrayal sex theme of so many season two replacements made me want to have a go. Lemons brewing for sure, so rating this "M" with that in mind. Cant seem to avoid a slight humor leaking in though. Apologise for any OOCness, not intended but... it is fanfiction. IDRC "bout mai speelings". I have no beta tester.
Set after season one... a little into season two kind of, stealing little bits of it ish. Basically, Sara has recovered, no kellerman storyline "lance" AA stalking, Not even sure if kellerman will exist as any sort of feature at this point, everything up to bellick mentioning sara's OD has happened in michaels verse. Only the first origami bird has been recieved by sara, with the "theres a plan to make all this right" but no others. Ill try cover things a bit to explain IDK yet.
Please review, I know its a pain, and everyone says please review but even "This story: Thumbs up" can make my day sometimes, and any negatives or suggestions can prompt me to think of something new. I WRITE WEIRD, like it or lump it, just tell me which for my amusement.
Chapter One: Bliss
Her heart pounded in her stomach. Why people described this feeling as "butterflies" she never understood. An enraged cat chasing a fly that isnt even on the same side of the window... An avalanche of lead-weighted tumbleweeds... flying-lead-cats-fighting-window-sheilded-tumbleweeds... SHUT UP he's still talking...
"It was real Sara..." he breathed ... "You and me... It was real..."
"Michael? MICHAEL?" she demanded of the small click, struggling to survive in the flames of the dial-tone.
Striding with both purpose and a loathing for every dust square of cement crushed beneath her she headed back to her apartment. The brick of technology that enabled the flame to reach her thrown unceremoniously into hand-bag-oblivion. What had become a monotonous background of thought was empowered once more. A deafening blur of heat. For fire consumes all. He was the flame, the heat of anger and desire locked in a forbidden dance, burning all he touched, burning her with his touch... A paradox. The overwhelming sense that so many emotions, thoughts and feelings cannot be tied to one thing, an impossibilty. How can you hate someone so much, yet writhe with wanting in dark whispered dreams. How can you have so many questions yet be unsure of the probability of an answer even existing to be spoken or heard. How...
Like a mantra she ran through what she thought of as an infection... filed as a disease in her neat box of doctor's information. A way of coping. Autonomously she returned home, scanned mail, heated dinner. Routine helped. Lying sleepless in the incomplete darkness of the city a conclusion was reached.
She was mad.
Not angry mad... well yes angry mad too but... crazy mad. Like that obscure relative at a wedding insisting shoe polish was the failed result of government drug testing that miraculously had another use. She was insane. Possibly just mentally ill, but for all intents and purposes stark raving. This was very comforting for some reason. It cut the edges of the puzzle so they fit, a cheat allowing her to fall into heated dreams that could be conveiniantly forgotten the next day. Peace at last.
...
She remembered the feeling of morphine... the high... the blurred clarity of it all...
She was mad wasnt she? The levels of thought, concious, subconcious, the part that registers what your saying a split second before you say it but too late to stop it happening... They can all be simplified. Now, they could be the voices. The voice that just gets on with bodily functions. The voice that irrevocably decides everything is an overreaction. That little one in the back that clings to songs by ABBA, or the can-can, with a maliciousness akin to storybook tyrants. As it turns out, ignorance, morphine, and battyness are ALL bliss. She stalked the aisles of the nearest supermarket a fortnight later, the voice seemingly overseeing but able to do nothing shook its head in embarrasment of the current mental stage show. It was something along the lines of replacing dull supermarket music with lyrics self-affirming her decision to be crazy. Humming off tune, critiqueing an orange, the mental chorus of her re-written Michael Jackson's "Im mad! Im mad! and I know it!" came to a screeching halt as she stared in shock.
It was a battery display stand!
Grabbing a few more random items she made her way to the checkout. Managing a benign smile at the assistant who was clearly sucking on the ive-been-told-to-improve-my-customer-service lemon. Definitly batteries... you know rechargeables... the little watch kind... not him. NOT HIM. At most, someone who looked like him. No. No one. Batteries.
Swallowing a giggle that tasted rather hysterical she made her way home. There was always the part that didnt conform to her insanity plea. The one that recognised pre-meditation. Acknowledged feelings, good and bad. Her irrational rationalisations had sprung a leak.
...
Michael sat in wait in her apartment, full of hesitation. Desperate. Allthough fully aware of his feelings towards the doctor, the thought of her in danger tumbled him into darkness in a way he was unprepared for. This haunting dread, anger, jealousy, protectiveness. He knew he loved her. But this was IN LOVE with her. A wanting fueled by need and fear at the same moment. She stepped inside backwards, closing the door behind her in a smooth motion. Depositing keys into the odds-and-ends-bowl nearby. His breath caught from her mere presence, reasuring himself of her moderate well being by a lingering examination of her body. She was humming. He couldnt quite pick out the tune, frowning. She flicked on the lights, in the same instant he recognised her toneless can-can. He smiled.
"Michael!" She half gasped, assuming the voice of someone who wanted nothing more than to raise their voices in a situation they knew shouldnt be heard. His smile dropped...
"You... what... HERE!" stage whispered her treacherously emotional voice as she slid into the room further, back to a wall. Michael wrung his hands, unable to look at her as he stepped forward cautiously. Fumbling against a side table for reasons she wasnt even sure of she stared at him. Searching for a weapon or seeking support?
"Sara..."
Her name seemed to echo in the silence...
"I needed to tell you... that is, I didnt mean to..."
She took two strides forward and resolutely slapped him across the face with all her strength.
A pregnant pause filled the room, as they met each others gaze less than a foot apart.
"...I ...deserved that I think"
"Yes. You did." she replied hardly waiting for him to finish his sentence. His face blurred to her vision as he began...
"Im so sor..."
Bruising them both she cut him off forcefully. Hot tears tracing their combined lips as a sudden need overtook them both. To combine, to explore, the need for more. Gripping the top of his neck firmly with both hands to draw him as close as humanly possible she shuddered as his arms encircled her. He drew his lower lip across hers, maddeningly softly as muscles strained, crashing together. She ran shaking palms down his neck, outlining his collarbone with her thumbs, skimming his shoulders and upper arms as their kiss intensified. She needed to feel more of him, these parts she knew, even if it was doctor patient. So painfully wonderful. She brought her elbows together against him running her hands down his chest to find it cold and metallic.
Wait what...
She stepped back as his shirt opened of its own accord, revealing a crude lightening bolt logo and shiny panel. A battery stood in front of her, questioning with Michael's voice "Sara...?"
The battery/michael flashed in front of the fruit and vege aisle. He acted out checking a price tag, head bowed low before disappearing down the next row. Moments before, she was sure he'd been watching. Now she stared at the lurid colours of the battery display as she rode towards it on an ocean of oranges.
...
She held her hands against her eyes as she sat up. Morning sticking under her skin like cruel barbs of light.
"This is exactly why I avoided psychology..." she muttered to the dust swirling through the air around her. Rubbing her eyes vigourously she swung her legs off the bed to monitor the damage. A bloodshot blackeyes returned her gaze in the bathroom mirror. She had forgotten to remove her mascara the day before... Ruffling her hair a little she stepped out into the hallway to pick up her mail she sighed;
"Wonderful. Im a panda. A panda who has sex dreams about batteries..."
Smiling at her neighbour it occured to her that she wasnt at all certain if she thought that or said it aloud and slammed her door. She slid down against the other side of her door, head in hands once more. Trying desperately to block out the beginning of her dream she worked on bringing the end into focus. Michael. Look down. Price check. Hat tilt. Walk away. Ignore the oranges. She knocked her head against the solidity of the wood behind her. That part was real. The leak in her resolve was becoming a flood, what if she wasnt insane, what if reality WAS insane. Conspiracy, Lincoln's innocence. She believed in it, believed in him enough to leave the door open that night. She still believed it.
A knock on the door caused her to levitate breifly before swinging around to open the door, upon a rather startled looking fed-ex employee.
"That was quick sweetheart! Must be an important parcel eh?" He winked
She faked a small laugh as she signed messily, stammered her thanks and closed the door. Sliding the chain across gave her time to think before carrying the toaster sized box to her unmade bed. Whats the worst that can happen...
A cap. She knew it was from him. For one thing, who the hell else would send her something that made her sit there offering flies a home. For another, it was the hat Mr Battery price check had been wearing. She shook the box with an edge of discovery. Just a hat. What does a hat say. "Oh great, you saw me, now I have to get a new hat"?, "You seemed to like my baseball cap the other day so I got you one just like it!" If possible more frustrated she put the hat on, pulled it low over her eyes, considering trying to remember the other part ot that dream. A car door slammed in the distance making her blink her eyes lazily inside the hat. She admired the specks of sunlight seeping through the fabric like stars. She could almost imagine numbers.
"There's a plan to make this all right"
" . .. .. .. . . .. .. . ... . .. ... ... ."
She leapt up as though electrified, crashed the curtains closed, stubbed her toe in the dimmed light as she made her way to her desk lamp and hastily inverted the hat over the top. As though looking at it from the inside... just as her eyes had almost adjusted to the gloom she pierced it with the artifical blaze. Pinpricks of white now stood out clearly from the padded cap front, just above the peak. Numbers.
...