Work Text:
Loneliness isn’t something The Warden should feel.
As a matter of fact, she shouldn’t feel anything. And yet, here she is; stood in her office, eyes bloodshot from holding back tears. Stress, frustration or a mix of the two, she can’t tell what’s going on but there’s one thing that she doesn’t understand.
Her heart thumping too fast, almost shaking her ribs. Sarah’s caffeine intake is normal, she’s not sick or dying here overwhelmed from her tech. No, this is something abnormal, and none of it makes sense.
She scrubs her eyes roughly, unable to see exactly what she’s doing here as she attempts to make sense of it all before those bastards come back, the Ghosts should never be allowed to see this, she has the mind to just set their bombs off right now, not leaving a trace but their frail insides splattered but… no. That compromises everything; her vow to break and fix the system from within, her plan would’ve failed and chances are it’d be her turn in the chair… which is a cowards way out.
Only idiots concede, only the weak fall back and die without a fight. That want is selfish, and though she is selfish, the board doesn’t need to know that. Her team of hostages has a purpose and so does she, the board does not, the board holds no bearing over her plans or actions. No matter how she slices it, she’s broken protocol countless times tonight, what’s another? Her knowledge of the past and present compounded into a cacophonous mess that doesn’t compute with what she feels here, shame, disappointment and something akin to sadness- no, that can’t possibly be true.
She’s the Warden, she reminds herself; a cybernetic punisher against all that stand in Eden’s way. Not a woman, not a woman who still reminisces and holds onto idealistic beliefs that begin to reflect her father instead of her own. Her beliefs are strict, focused, and allow no room for failure and to an extent, so did Sam’s, also following work and stopping at nothing… except he cared; cared for his friends, cared for those around him in a roundabout way, including those who’d already passed. Burial would always be a luxury and yet he’d always find a way to ‘preserve the dignity of the dead’, something Sarah held onto as a weakness; what good does it do for those who’ve passed? His entire memory is a weakness.
Weakness is the name of this pile of feelings that Sarah loathes. She loathes the fact that she genuinely thought the Ghosts would make a team that could behave despite their eccentricities, the gutting and the fact that if she could she’d see to a proper burial for Jade. Her chest thumps out of her chest again, and she vows not to be pulled asunder by this, anything tonight.
The Warden sees the Ghosts off to their cell, holding her rant only through sheer will, besides keeping that predatory meat shield around is a necessity at this point so there’s not a useless loss of a useful unit again. Jade proved to be resourceful, in spite of her discomfort. Out of her element, yet still so charismatic and it can’t be denied that her personality only made Jade more beautiful to her. Brash, charismatic, intelligent, strong, gorgeous; if she’d known her sooner she could have made Jade into a personal helper, their motivation of breaking down corruption one and the same. Those are words that would usually be used to describe love and that explains it all. At least she has a right to feel the way she does, if the ideas that flashed through her head were anything to go by; intending on delivering a fatal blow to anyone else. It could have been Laserhawk, it should’ve been him. Not Jade, the anti-Eden journalist who could’ve easily been the love of her life. Not the woman who was failed by the one man who was supposed to keep her safe.
Sarah punches the control again, just off of the neon green buttons themselves. That colour has and will always haunt her, except it now burns a different hue.
Once again, she breaks her own rules; smudged mascara in the palm of her hands.