I have lovingly prepared a little peice of angst for you folks!! L/S but not romantic. Takes place directly after 2.22, so if you havent seen that ep this will make no sense. Enjoy!
I own nothing, plz don't sue me--I have no money.
She ran until her head pounded with blood. The sounds of the busy street faded from her ears and soon only the thump of her shoes on the alley floor registered. There was nothing left for her anymore. He was gone, and she was alone.
All of her plans, all of her faith, all of the hope he had instilled in her came crashing into a reality that she desperately wanted to escape.
And so she ran. Ran from the real, ran from the pain, ran from life. She had no destination, and there was no path for her to follow. The alley would not pity her forever, and she knew soon she would emerge back into the streets, into the crowd, and face the haunting truth:
She had come to Panama, seeking a life with Michael.
And it would never happen.
She could do nothing now but run.
Run from nothing.
Run from everything.
Run until she lost breath and collapsed.
Run until she died.
And then she felt it. The pain in her wrist. The sound breaking her reverie.
A man's voice coming from behind her as his hand clamped down.
"Sara! Stop, stop." Lincoln was there.
She had not heard him chasing her, had not heard his yells or felt him bearing down from behind her until he had reached out. In all of her anguish, she had forgotten that the man had even existed. The very man she had sacrificed a life of normalcy to save from an wrongful execution.
She had forgotten Lincoln.
But he had not forgotten her.
Sara did not know how long she had been running, but Lincoln's chest heaved for air and she guessed it had been a good half-mile. He stood behind her and held onto her arm, his grip loose but the look in his eyes stern, as if daring her to take off again.
Beads of sweat dappled his brow.
It was only then she noticed her own exhaustion. The adreneline rush ended the moment the elder brother had caught her. Her muscles lost strength and she felt her energy disappear. Her dry throat screamed with thirst.
"Sara…dammit…where are you going? Couldn't…you…hear me?" His gruff voice came in shortened breaths and were on the brink of anger.
His body language was pure frustration, but she knew it wasn't at her.
Not all of it anyway.
Her voice eluded her despite her brain's command to respond. Shoulders slumped in defeat, Sara stood, arm outstretched in the grasp of Lincoln's fingers, otherwise completely still. Hot moisture burned her eyes; her knees grew weak.
Every ounce of her energy was spent.
And so she fell.
Legs buckled, and the unforgiving black pavement underneath came rushing to her face.
Her forehead hit something hard, but likewise soft.
A shirt. A chest. Lincoln.
His arms were wrapped tight around her back, holding her up. His knee was bent slightly as he had reached forward to keep her from hitting the ground. They stood as such for several moments, and she could hear his breath catch before he let out a sigh.
And let them sink down.
Softly their bodies met the asphault of the alleyway, arms still tangled around one another for support.
They sat in the shadows, with nothing but a trash can for company.
Lincoln's head rested limp on her shoulder, rising a millimeter to come to her ear.
"It's okay. I don't know how, but it'll be okay Sara…"
The words sounded forced, but laced with a desperate sense of hope.
Even so, she leaned forward and cried.
Sitting on the dirty floor of an abandoned street in Panama, Sara and Lincoln held each other, grasping for a hope that came from nothing.
