SCENARIO C:
To get her outta those pants! Ordinarily you'd laugh at your own dirty joke, but this is a serious situation. And this little idea of your might just work, too.
She's wearing those skin-tight stretchy jeans with the high boots, and usually that'd be a good thing- great, even- because those long legs in those tight jeans is enough to kill a man. But today, it's gonna be a problem. You're gonna have to cut through that denim without cutting her.
"Guess what, sweetheart?"
"Yeah, what?"
"You remember those cutoff jeans you mentioned? You're gonna get to wear 'em after all!"
She sputters a laugh. "What in the hell are you talking about?" she asks incredulously.
As you walk back and forth behind the log, sizing up the situation, you keep up the banter. All the better to take her mind off her predicament. "You tell me, you were the one bragging about how good you'd look in 'em. 'Pretty smokin'' was the exact phrase, I believe. Can't tease a guy like that and not follow through."
"Uh, wow, okay. Are the aliens testing out some new hallucinogenic stuff around here, or what?" Sara asks, glancing skeptically back at you. Then she sees you get out your knife, and she puts the pieces together and sighs. "Guess I'm gonna need to find some new jeans when we get back."
You squat atop the log, strategizing. There's no good angle of approach here, not really. You get behind her and lean across the log; uncomfortable, and you feel like an idiot, but there's not a lot of options.
First: those boots. They have a zipper down the inner side, luckily. Not easy to get at from this angle, but you manage. Once both are unzipped, you pull the backs of the boots as far away from her legs as you can, and pull the soles down off her heels. You'll need the maneuvering room.
Now the jeans. You pick a spot midway down the back of her right thigh, since it's closer to you, and pinch the thick cloth between thumb and forefinger, stretching it away from her leg. Carefully, you push the point of the knife into the fabric, twisting till it punctures through. You let out a tense breath, and start sawing downward through the fabric, pinching each section away from her skin as you work your way down to the bend of her knee.
"So, the Keys," you say as you work.
"Don't tell me you're the one having second thoughts about sticking around for the war now," she teases.
"And disappoint all those Skitters just waiting to catch a bullet from me? Please! But, uh," and you pause for just a second to gather yourself, "let's say Mason wins us this war. The fish-heads are all deader than dinner, or they pack up their toys and go home. How about we skip town... you and me... and go see what's left of Key West. We'll jack ourselves a nice car for the trip."
"What kind of car?" Sara asks, a hint of playfulness in her voice.
"Any kind you want, princess. You pick it and I'll get it running. And when we get there, we'll pick out a house right on the water, do it up however we like..."
With one last tug, you saw through the cuff at the bottom of the pants leg. You get yourself situated again and lean out farther to reach her left leg, and you get started. You have an up-close and personal view of her backside from where you are, but regrettably this isn't the time or the place to appreciate it.
"We could grab a boat, go sailing," she adds thoughtfully.
You chuckle at that. "You and me, we're gonna run that town. The King and Queen of Key West. How's that sound?"
She laughs shakily. "That sounds great, baby." She hesitates, and when she speaks again, her voice is quiet and broken, and an icy tingle of fear runs down the back of your neck and clutches your lungs. "John, if this doesn't work- if you do have to leave me here and go back for help, I- I need you to know-"
"Hey, hey, uh-uh." You put the knife back and crouch on the log beside her, gently grasping her chin and turning her to look at you. "None of that talk, you hear me? I'm not walking outta here without you. If this doesn't work we're just gonna keep trying till we hit gold, yeah? I'm getting you outta this. Remember your first firefight? Yeah? I promised I'd get you through that, and I did, and I'm gonna get you through this too. Bet on that." You tap the tip of her nose with your forefinger for emphasis.
She sniffles, those big Bambi eyes glistening, then she nods and musters a smile, but a tear still escapes and streaks down her cheek. You swipe it away with your thumb and press a kiss to her forehead.
"Now you hold still while I get this done."
And you saw down the back of her left pants leg, working in silence. Once it's done, you still have to cut across the fronts of the pants legs. Switching to her other side, you lean out precariously in front of her- and wobble, losing your balance, and pitch forward.
Sara cries out and catches you with her arms around your chest, struggling to hold you up, and you damn near feel your heart stop as you realize how close you just were to face-planting right into the goo.
Once you're upright again, Sara heaves a sigh and holds out a hand for the knife. You grimace, realizing it's much easier for her to do this part, and hand it over.
The next part is the last part, but it's also the part that will suck the most.
"Take off your gloves and bite down on those. If this works, it's gonna sting like ripping off the mother of all Band-Aids," you warn.
"Or the worst waxing job in history," she mumbles.
But she does slip off her fingerless leather gloves, and she crams them between her teeth. You get behind her and wrap your arms under hers and around her chest, and you brace one foot against the back of the log for leverage. Sara has a white-knuckle grip on the sleeves of your leather jacket where your forearms cross her chest.
"You biting down?"
"Nn-hn," comes the miserable reply.
"Okay, let's get this over with fast. On three. One, two-"
And you heave hard, shoving off from the log full-force, and Sara lets out a muffled scream as the denim rips away from her shins, and you both topple backwards into the leaf mulch behind the log, Sara landing solidly on top of your chest.
Spitting out the gloves, Sara wails, "You said three, you bastard!"
Winded and wheezing, you retort, "Anticipation's the worst part, and you never do it on three, everyone knows that."
She rolls off you, wincing and muttering 'ow', and you sit up with a groan. Sara is gingerly inspecting her legs, and you scoot closer to take a look. Her knees and shins are red and raw, bleeding in a few places, but at least she's not stuck anymore. She is, however, down a pair of boots, which stayed behind in the muck. And it's a long walk back.
You immediately set about unlacing your own boots, yanking them off and setting them in front of her. Sara gazes at the boots for just a few seconds before accepting them and putting them on. You clamber to your feet and help her up. She winces and whines through the pain.
"Let's get you back to Chinatown, have Anne put some stuff on that," you say, wrapping her arm around your shoulders and supporting her with an arm around her waist.
"No argument here," she agrees. You can't very well keep scouting with her injured and one pair of boots between the two of you. As you set off, she adds softly, "Hey."
"Yeah?" You glance over at her.
As she limps along, she musters a pained smirk. "See? Told you I can look pretty smokin' in cutoff jeans."
But in the end, none of these scenarios should have been necessary. Why, dear friends? Because
1) The goo is on top of dirt! IT'S DIRT! IT'S DIRT, MY DUDES! IT'S JUST DIRT! When Pope tried to pull Sara out of the goo, the goo and the topmost layer of soil directly adhering to it would've just peeled right off the soil underneath, BECAUSE! IT'S! DIRT! *drags hands down face*
2) It's so contrived that there just so happened to be a Skitterizer Pod out there in the woods in the middle of nowhere (like, hello? Did the Espheni just fire them off at random and hope for the best? They didn't aim them at areas they knew to be occupied by humans?), and it just so happened there was still some goo there all this time later because it just so happens that being in the shade was enough to protect it (? Have these writers ever been outdoors? It's not that dark in the shade!), and it just so happens that Sara steps in the goo! That's too many coincidences!
And, okay, the daylight vs shade thing. In 4x12, Anne and Weaver and Matt are in a basement with indirect lighting from windows and a doorway. Hal and Maggie and Ben are in a warehouse with indirect lighting from the doorway. And YET, that indirect light was enough that the goo is gone when daybreak comes. AND YET, the indirect lighting in the shade under the tree didn't burn away that goo in the woods? No! Bullshit!
3) There never should've been a conflict about whether Tom should rescue Sara or go blow up the hatchery:
Pope and Sara were sent on patrol to find where the Skitters were coming from. They went south of the camp because the incoming Skitters were all streaming into the valley from the south.
If Pope and Sara were trying to find the source of the Skitters, and the hatchery IS the source, then Sara's location and the hatchery's location should have been IN THE SAME DIRECTION! Thus, no conflict! BUT NO, the intel Ben and Maggie get from the Overlord has the hatchery to the north of camp! In the OPPOSITE DIRECTION from where the 2nd Mass SAW the Skitters streaming in from! Were the Skitters taking the scenic route?
I mean, I also find it implausible that Pope didn't have a book of matches stashed somewhere about his person or in the bag he was carrying. Like, come on! You look at John Pope and you tell me that's not somebody who always has a book of matches on hand, just in case.