Warning: Spoilers up to the end of S2
Summary: Sara sits in a café in Panama evaluating the past few months of her life.
Disclaimer: I don't own Prison Break or its characters.
Title: Evaluating
How did it all go wrong so quickly? How did she end up here, in a rundown café in Panama City? How did she move from doctor to killer in such a short time? She sees the dirty saucer as she lifts the cup to her lips, but she's beyond caring. The bitter black taste of coffee stays in the back of her mouth after she swallows. She welcomes it, taking it as a sign that at least she's still alive.
Did she end up here just because of a guy or is there more to it? There has to be more to it. Years of counselling after her mother's death, hours of AA and NA meetings have instilled an instinctive response to this situation. She kicks into evaluation mood.
When did it all begin? Was it in the infirmary when his hand gently, like the flitting wings of a butterfly, stroked her arm? She closes her eyes for a moment, lost in the memory of that feeling. Was it when he gave her a flower on her birthday? Or was it even before that, when he quoted Ghandi?
She can't say for sure. There was no click, no epiphany. It was just there one day. Like the rhythm of her heart beating, like the air she pulls into her lungs, like the cravings for oblivion she knows will never really leave her. So does this mean that she did all of this for a man?
She knows it's true. Deep down she knows, but she can't bring herself to admit it, not yet. Is she really in this situation because of a man, because of her feelings for a man? Because of a relationship that started off on deception, omissions and lies?
Being a diabetic, kissing her to get the key, getting his wife to steal the key, not telling her about the others who were part of the escape. Despite all of this, she knows loves him. She might as well accept it. But what does that make her? She who wants to 'be the change you want to see in the world'? How ironic.
A shiver goes through her and she instinctively wraps her hands around the warmth of the coffee cup. She doesn't notice the oppressive heat radiating in the café, the lazy fan that only moves hot air around, the owner wiping sweet of his forehead with his dirty apron. She feels cold, very cold. A cold that seems to have settled in for good, that won't be chased away with any number of hot drinks.
When did this iciness inside her start? The night she left the door open and she succumbed to the cravings? Or was it when she saw her father hanging with a rope around his neck? When she started to run? When she was asked how long she can hold her breath? Her skin feels cold and clammy at this last thought. But she is relentless in her search for an answer on how she got here, in her evaluation of the last few months of her life.
Maybe the coldness came when she first tried to kill a man with her bare hands. Or when she saw Michael leaving on that boat for Panama? Maybe when she pulled the trigger and the man fell into the water – dead – when she became a killer. The craving for oblivion surges up through her. She wants it so bad she shakes. Her hands spill the coffee in the half empty cup. She downs it and sets the cup down loudly in the saucer. The owner frowns at her for a moment before he continues to wipe the counter clean. The taste of the dregs of the bitter coffee in her mouth distracts her thoughts, but just for a second.
Then they go back to the moment she realised that Michael was taking the blame, taking the responsibility for her crime. At that moment she felt an anger that she's never felt towards any other human being. Anger for being so stubborn and stupid. For thinking that by doing this he will shield her from pain and somehow save her. But he just made it worse. How can she live with herself if anything happens to him? How can she survive without him?
With a sigh she roughly pushes the chair back and it scrapes on the cement floor. She walks out of the café into the light and disappears into the crowd, without any answers.