entitled: disruption
summary: Sarah Manning thought she was done living in the dark. —PaulSarah. Canon.
warnings: Spoilers for Season 3, Episode 6, "Certain Agony of the Battlefield," and forever after.
disclaimer: I do not own Orphan Black.
notes: Because I cannot get over this scene.
And there would be mornings when she would wake up in that tunnel.
Again and again, always behind the locked gate. But her chest would surge with what disgustingly felt like hope, and her eyes would be looking for his familiar face.
The hall was empty. Her body would strain to keep up the illusion. She was well aware of what her mind was doing and part of her—all the parts of her—would be grateful for it. She wanted to sleep longer in this dream, staring into the hall where Paul had just left. She tried to bury herself in this memory.
His voice would replay in her head, sometimes as if he was on an intercom, sometimes as if he was whispering in her ear—It was never Beth I loved—over and over.
On these mornings, Sarah would trade anything to live in that interval of time. She would not be greedy. She would not hope to see Paul in the hallway, looking at back at her. She couldn't even imagine what having a conversation would be like. She only wanted to hear his voice, and breathe in the endless repetition.
It was never Beth I loved. So it was her. So he loved her. Right?
He did. It was all in the actions. It was all in the endgame. It was her in the end. It was never Beth I loved.
Sarah loved him, didn't she?
And it was here, when she reached this part, that she would begin to choke. It was as if she had crossed a line, bringing in the present. Present revelations, present fears.
The walls framing the dream would start to fade and the gate would unlatched by itself. Sarah scrambled into the hallway, frantic, but somehow still focused, and made a dash to the end of the hall—if only she could turn the corner after him before it all vanished, maybe then, she could see him again.
What would she say?
I love you?
Thank you?
But she has yet to make it to the turn. The dream fades into a bittersweet ache locking inside her joints and she wakes without opening her eyes. This seems to be her endgame.
Those mornings are always pretty enough to make it difficult to get out of bed. And so she would lay perfectly still and feel the weight of the clear, blue sky on her chest.
I miss you.
Paul, I miss you.