of what we could and could never be
rating: g
pairing: carina + sarah or carina/sarah, it depends on the angle you tilt your head and how much you squint your eyes
summary: how cruel it is, the fate of two sides of the same coin: always together while always apart
They’re fifteen and three weeks into the sophomore year of high school and just as much into their training.
They’ve seen each other in the hallways and around headquarters but they don’t talk, not really. There isn’t much to talk about, anyways, and when they do exchange words, it’s about something trivial that doesn’t go very deep.
Classes have barely started, she’s pretty sure she completely sucks at chem but when Mr. Martin tells their class to pick partners, she picks her.
She sits down in the empty seat next to her at the station, smiles at her and refocuses back on Mr. Martin - opens her notebook and starts scribbling down notes in handwriting sloppier than she expects. She doesn’t introduce herself or say hi or ask if it’s okay, like they’ve known each other for years and obviously they would be partners, because why wouldn’t they be.
(this is where it begins, but whenever she thinks about it, it seems like the ending more than anything)
When they graduate high school, Sarah goes to Harvard, Carina, too, but at the end of fall semester, she can’t stand the Ivy League types and transfers down to Florida and joins the club rugby team.
Every break for those four years, Sarah visits her. Even though they don’t train together anymore, when they get together it’s like they’re lab partners again.
She could go anywhere she feels like and she always chooses Florida and Thanksgiving with Chinese food burritos becomes a comforting tradition.
(sometime in between the third year and the fourth, they spend more time sitting in silence more than anything)
They pick assignments the day after they’re done with undergrad and Carina goes to the DEA while Sarah goes to the CIA.
It’s unexpected because she’s sure they would at least talk about it, but they don’t and this is where it leads them. Since they don’t fully belong to the agencies, technically loans from Special Ops, they’ll see each other again. It’s not so bad, she thinks, sicne they’re still listed as partners even though it’s loosely so.
At the same time, there’s this nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that scares her more than she’ll admit.
(she starts to think that each time could be the last time)
Special Ops sends her on a job in Nagata one summer, she’s allowed to make it a two-man op if she wants to - she ends up taking Zondra.
(the call rings exactly twelve times before it goes to voicemail and the answering machine message is in portugese)
She thinks they can finally go back to the way they’re supposed to be when they’re together when Sarah’s stationed in Burbank and she’s given an odd job there with a drug diamond.
The left hook she gets is familiar.
Everything else, not so much.
This guy Chuck is more annoying than she actually cares for and she tells her as much. Being blunt seems to be the wrong way to go about things because she suddenly puts her guard up, defends him to kingdom come. He’s nothing like the quarterback she was in love with in high school, nothing like the pre-law guy she’s enamored with in college, nothing like that partner she has that dies.
He’s nothing like anything she expects and suddenly it all feels so wrong.
She tries to ignore all the signs that are different, tries to focus on everything that’s still the same.
It works for a second but the harder she tries to concentrate, the more she finds that there’s not enough to make it through the week.
(she vows to make it less painful; grab the diamond quick and get out even quicker)
It hurts more than she wants it to - she stays farther away to make it stop.
She takes her name off her partner list and she doesn’t see her again for however long. She doesn’t realize she stops keeping track long before until the two of them run into her at her fake wedding.
The boy thinks he loves Sarah, and he probably does. Not the one she knows but the one he’s been living with. It crosses her mind of a brief second that this idiot doesn’t know the half of what he thinks he knows - then again, maybe it’s she who is the one that doesn’t know.
There’s a beauty in it that she learns to begrudgingly appreciate.
She knows a person that mirrors a part of her that she keeps hidden away after all these years. A person that knows where she’s going before she even knows, herself, and says all the right things at all the right times.
That person used to be someone who made everything better - now she just makes it worse.
(it’s uncertain whether the unease comes from being away from her or being close to her)
There’s immediate regret the moment they’re alone together for the first time in a long time. It’s possible it’s too long, although she finds that she still can’t stop fidgeting in front of her, so maybe it’s not long enough contrary to what Sarah says.
The silence is welcome because the loudness of the place they’re in drowns out the sound of her own voice when she orders another scotch neat. The burn lasts for a second before the warmth seeps in, all the way down her throat and into her stomach and out to every part of her body. It’s comforting in a way it really shouldn’t be, however she can’t bring herself to care.
When she orders another one shortly after and makes it a double, she stops her from picking up the glass with a soft hand that’s deceptively strong on her wrist.
She doesn’t intend on looking up at her but then she throws her for another loop and takes the glass, downing the amber liquid herself in one go. What she finds is a look she can’t place and doesn’t like, moves her eyes to anywhere but Sarah to avoid a talk she doesn’t want.
She tries to find an explanation of some sort except it’s unnecessary.
The look means something but the question never comes and she manages to convince herself that the feeling in her stomach is relief.
(maybe she really doesn’t know her anymore and maybe it terrifies her and maybe it’s okay all at the same time)
One last try.
One last try and this entire thing will be over either way. It’s weak that she waits this long to do anything about it.
She puts those thoughts out of her mind, convincing the smallest part of her that she tries to figure this out but it never works out because, for some reason, nothing she does is ever enough to actually keep them apart. It’s not for lack of effort because she sincerely tries and its not her fault if there’s something that won’t let her succeed.
They get face to face before she gets a chance to walk the other way. As it seems to be their wont, they don’t talk; saying all the things she wants to say but she never can without actually saying them.
For a moment it feels like they’re back in high school, sophomore year, in that old classroom all those years ago. The room they’re in transforms into something more familiar than it has a right to. They’re kids again and the world becomes that much simpler.
She can almost hear the chalk squeaking on the chalkboard and Robby Green whispering jokes at his desk behind them. The face in front of her is a familiar friend and a lost stranger all wrapped into one.
Suddenly, she tries to remember a little too hard - the scenery breaks and they’ve aged far beyond their years, lives twisting and turning until they’re not too sure which way is up anymore.
The look she knows is gone, too.
She knows there’s something in her face, in her eyes, except that’s as far as she gets. She doesn’t know what she wants to tell her, can’t read anything anymore.
(the other foot she’s been waiting to drop finally does and it still manages to take her by surprise)
The feeling that used to always be there behind her chest starts to fade away; she doesn’t know if it’s because she’s gotten used to it or if she’s finally done.
She finds she’s just glad it’s gone.
(he confesses that he’s loved her without knowing who she is -
she never confesses that she loves the person she knew)
pairing: carina + sarah or carina/sarah, it depends on the angle you tilt your head and how much you squint your eyes
summary: how cruel it is, the fate of two sides of the same coin: always together while always apart
They’re fifteen and three weeks into the sophomore year of high school and just as much into their training.
They’ve seen each other in the hallways and around headquarters but they don’t talk, not really. There isn’t much to talk about, anyways, and when they do exchange words, it’s about something trivial that doesn’t go very deep.
Classes have barely started, she’s pretty sure she completely sucks at chem but when Mr. Martin tells their class to pick partners, she picks her.
She sits down in the empty seat next to her at the station, smiles at her and refocuses back on Mr. Martin - opens her notebook and starts scribbling down notes in handwriting sloppier than she expects. She doesn’t introduce herself or say hi or ask if it’s okay, like they’ve known each other for years and obviously they would be partners, because why wouldn’t they be.
(this is where it begins, but whenever she thinks about it, it seems like the ending more than anything)
When they graduate high school, Sarah goes to Harvard, Carina, too, but at the end of fall semester, she can’t stand the Ivy League types and transfers down to Florida and joins the club rugby team.
Every break for those four years, Sarah visits her. Even though they don’t train together anymore, when they get together it’s like they’re lab partners again.
She could go anywhere she feels like and she always chooses Florida and Thanksgiving with Chinese food burritos becomes a comforting tradition.
(sometime in between the third year and the fourth, they spend more time sitting in silence more than anything)
They pick assignments the day after they’re done with undergrad and Carina goes to the DEA while Sarah goes to the CIA.
It’s unexpected because she’s sure they would at least talk about it, but they don’t and this is where it leads them. Since they don’t fully belong to the agencies, technically loans from Special Ops, they’ll see each other again. It’s not so bad, she thinks, sicne they’re still listed as partners even though it’s loosely so.
At the same time, there’s this nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach that scares her more than she’ll admit.
(she starts to think that each time could be the last time)
Special Ops sends her on a job in Nagata one summer, she’s allowed to make it a two-man op if she wants to - she ends up taking Zondra.
(the call rings exactly twelve times before it goes to voicemail and the answering machine message is in portugese)
She thinks they can finally go back to the way they’re supposed to be when they’re together when Sarah’s stationed in Burbank and she’s given an odd job there with a drug diamond.
The left hook she gets is familiar.
Everything else, not so much.
This guy Chuck is more annoying than she actually cares for and she tells her as much. Being blunt seems to be the wrong way to go about things because she suddenly puts her guard up, defends him to kingdom come. He’s nothing like the quarterback she was in love with in high school, nothing like the pre-law guy she’s enamored with in college, nothing like that partner she has that dies.
He’s nothing like anything she expects and suddenly it all feels so wrong.
She tries to ignore all the signs that are different, tries to focus on everything that’s still the same.
It works for a second but the harder she tries to concentrate, the more she finds that there’s not enough to make it through the week.
(she vows to make it less painful; grab the diamond quick and get out even quicker)
It hurts more than she wants it to - she stays farther away to make it stop.
She takes her name off her partner list and she doesn’t see her again for however long. She doesn’t realize she stops keeping track long before until the two of them run into her at her fake wedding.
The boy thinks he loves Sarah, and he probably does. Not the one she knows but the one he’s been living with. It crosses her mind of a brief second that this idiot doesn’t know the half of what he thinks he knows - then again, maybe it’s she who is the one that doesn’t know.
There’s a beauty in it that she learns to begrudgingly appreciate.
She knows a person that mirrors a part of her that she keeps hidden away after all these years. A person that knows where she’s going before she even knows, herself, and says all the right things at all the right times.
That person used to be someone who made everything better - now she just makes it worse.
(it’s uncertain whether the unease comes from being away from her or being close to her)
There’s immediate regret the moment they’re alone together for the first time in a long time. It’s possible it’s too long, although she finds that she still can’t stop fidgeting in front of her, so maybe it’s not long enough contrary to what Sarah says.
The silence is welcome because the loudness of the place they’re in drowns out the sound of her own voice when she orders another scotch neat. The burn lasts for a second before the warmth seeps in, all the way down her throat and into her stomach and out to every part of her body. It’s comforting in a way it really shouldn’t be, however she can’t bring herself to care.
When she orders another one shortly after and makes it a double, she stops her from picking up the glass with a soft hand that’s deceptively strong on her wrist.
She doesn’t intend on looking up at her but then she throws her for another loop and takes the glass, downing the amber liquid herself in one go. What she finds is a look she can’t place and doesn’t like, moves her eyes to anywhere but Sarah to avoid a talk she doesn’t want.
She tries to find an explanation of some sort except it’s unnecessary.
The look means something but the question never comes and she manages to convince herself that the feeling in her stomach is relief.
(maybe she really doesn’t know her anymore and maybe it terrifies her and maybe it’s okay all at the same time)
One last try.
One last try and this entire thing will be over either way. It’s weak that she waits this long to do anything about it.
She puts those thoughts out of her mind, convincing the smallest part of her that she tries to figure this out but it never works out because, for some reason, nothing she does is ever enough to actually keep them apart. It’s not for lack of effort because she sincerely tries and its not her fault if there’s something that won’t let her succeed.
They get face to face before she gets a chance to walk the other way. As it seems to be their wont, they don’t talk; saying all the things she wants to say but she never can without actually saying them.
For a moment it feels like they’re back in high school, sophomore year, in that old classroom all those years ago. The room they’re in transforms into something more familiar than it has a right to. They’re kids again and the world becomes that much simpler.
She can almost hear the chalk squeaking on the chalkboard and Robby Green whispering jokes at his desk behind them. The face in front of her is a familiar friend and a lost stranger all wrapped into one.
Suddenly, she tries to remember a little too hard - the scenery breaks and they’ve aged far beyond their years, lives twisting and turning until they’re not too sure which way is up anymore.
The look she knows is gone, too.
She knows there’s something in her face, in her eyes, except that’s as far as she gets. She doesn’t know what she wants to tell her, can’t read anything anymore.
(the other foot she’s been waiting to drop finally does and it still manages to take her by surprise)
The feeling that used to always be there behind her chest starts to fade away; she doesn’t know if it’s because she’s gotten used to it or if she’s finally done.
She finds she’s just glad it’s gone.
(he confesses that he’s loved her without knowing who she is -
she never confesses that she loves the person she knew)