seven scars of a life well fought

[clouberding]

rating: teenz
characters/pairings: sarah & sara
summary: scar (noun): a mark left by healing of injured tissue


(one) right shoulder; starting at the middle of the arm, stretches across length of shoulder blade; wayward katana swing

The most frustrating part of this entire situation is that this asshat trying to take their heads off might actually succeed in the worst way possible.

Said asshat’s name is Lyle Deacon - someone with too much time on his hands and more money than he knows what to do with. It gets him involved with a small faction of the Yakuza in downtown Manhattan, then another one in Vancouver, and finally to their doorstep in Tokyo, over a blooming obsession with Japan’s Edo period. Shopping on the black market is all fine and dandy, but it seems that Mr. Deacon also possesses a foolish want to revive the samurai outfit in order to compete with their chosen business and, well, things don’t work that way.

Sarah is sent to deal with him, and as her apprentice, she followed suit to deliver a warning that went unheeded and this is how she ended up in a two-on-thirty fight to the death in a warehouse that Deacon turned into his training headquarters.

They call themselves the Heavenly Order, using the gods’ powers that are bestowed to them in their human forms, allowing them to do their bidding on the physical plane, punishing those who have wronged others in the name of a higher power.

In other words, this is all a load of bullshit and their godly powers do little for Deacon’s disciples in empty hand combat and even worse for Deacon who is currently swinging an authentic Edo period katana in the most unskilled ways possible. He lacks so much basic skill in wielding the sword, that he’s managed to injure a handful of his own men of his own volition; his rage makes him even more clumsy, often tripping over the bodies that litter the padded floor and almost impaling himself more times than not.

Even with a fifty/fifty chance of Deacon offing himself before they have to, he’s an extremely unskilled fighter in all aspects and that in itself, makes him even more dangerous to them than the five judo masters that are currently coming at them from all directions. All he does is swing recklessly at anything that moves - despite being two-thousand years old, the blade is in near mint condition, still sharp enough to slice and dice people like they’re vegetables. She’s already seen the damage it can do on the unfortunate fellows that caught the bad end of a swing and it’s definitely not something she wants to try.

Some point between taking down the third remaining guy and working on the fourth, Deacon decides it’s a smart idea to make a run for it - it’s most definitely not. He ends up getting bookended by Sarah, and back to back with the last two guys that she’s busy fending off.

A few haphazard swings to try and decapitate Sarah result in slashing one of the remaining guy’s back, giving her a prime opportunity to take that one out in a swift counter that sets her up in a perfect position to get a good hit on the last guy.

A split second later is when Sarah feints to the side to provoke an attack and throttles Deacon.

The same split second is when she’s now back to back with him because of her previous strike and the last ditch strike he throws finds itself catching her shoulder while she’s pulling back for another final punch.

It takes a few moments for her to realize what just happened, she knew the blade was sharp but it’s really, really sharp, to the point that she doesn’t even realize that it’s cutting through her flesh until the air hits the long gash and it starts stinging like crazy. The pain materializes like someone just lit part of her upper back on fire and instead of caving into it, she lets it all go in a well placed back kick into Deacon’s limp body that finishes their job.

Even after that, it takes a little while for the pain to actually settle in, waiting until after they’ve made a clean getaway to start throbbing and aching instead of simply stinging lightly like before.

“Oooh, that looks bad,” Sarah comments when they’ve made it to the garage and the florescent lights are showing exactly how big a problem her cut is.

“Gee thanks, Sherlock,” she hisses, “you figure that one out on your own, or did your partner Common Sense help you come up with it?”

“Hey, if you want my help with that thing, you’re gonna have to be nicer, Tweety bird.”

She grumbles out something about taking her chances, but it’s only halfhearted at this point, the pain barreling into her all at once and all she really wants is to get this dealt with so she can pass out on the bed until very late into tomorrow. The fight is catching up with her, taking her last bit of tangible strength that she chooses to pour into making it to their hotel room instead of arguing her way into a metaphorical dead end with Sarah.

Her leather jacket conceals the majority of the blood while they walk through the lobby and hop into the elevator, enough to not draw suspicion from anyone who happens to look their way. Underneath, her white t-shirt is thoroughly soaked a bright red that would have anyone else concerned, nearly cut in half from the sword. It takes little effort for Sarah to slip the it off in order to clean it up and work it out.

It turns out the thin gash covers the entire right side of her shoulders, spanning from her arm to through her shoulder to the end of her shoulder blade before it stops. On top of sheer length, the cut is fairly deep and once the blood is washed off, Sarah can see that it’s directly on a bruise; the entire right side of her upper back is already turning an unsightly array of colors from a particularly hard throw she got caught in from one of the bigger guys.

This isn’t the worst situation she’s been in by far - at the very least, all the Heavenly Order had on them was numbers and not skill, so the only actual souvenirs she’s taking home from this fight are those two things. The other injuries she sustained are small, scrapes and bruises that will heal in a day or two. All things considered, it was a good day, the only thing that really bothers her is that Sarah isn’t worse for wear in the slightest aside from being tired out.

“Can you just get on with it?” she asks, her words slurred because she’s half asleep now, adding a soft please when she figures that Sarah has only been prodding at her back to find the gentlest way to go about things. It’s a sentiment she appreciates, she knows how other members treat their own protégés and she’s grateful to be taken under the one that seems to care the most about her wards.

She offers an apology when Sarah starts to stitch her up, saying it half into the pillow she’s made herself comfortable on while she’s laying stomach down on the couch. Sarah hums an affirmative as she continues pulling needle and thread through skin. Surely she’s been in her shoes a hundred times before, doubtfully with someone as understanding as herself, and that’s part of the reason why she learns to push the pain away; if Sarah can forgive her fleeting emotions from the pain, she can do what she can to pretend like there is none.

When her stitches are done, she’s more or less asleep where she is, most certainly unable to move and vaguely aware of a blanket being draped over her back. She catches the end of Sarah saying something about this probably scarring because of the bruise, but she doesn’t care enough to voice anything more than a grunt before shifting a little to find a more comfortable position.

If she said thank you before she completely checks out, she’s not aware of it, although she must’ve done something right because she wakes up when the sun is setting and Sarah is still slumped in the armchair next to her, fast asleep.

(two) back of torso, right side; stretches diagonally from bottom of shoulder blade to mid lower back; broken glass

It’s probably extremely ill-advised to pick a fight wearing only jeans and a t-shirt but when things go sideways because some third party idiot interferes, it’s not like there’s really a chance to call a timeout to change into something more appropriate.

Anyways, it was supposed to be an easy ‘get in, get out’ deal except as soon as she got into the club, someone couldn’t keep their hands to themselves and that just got real messy, real quick.

Long story short, she basically started an all out bar brawl where her guy got flighty and decided to jump out of a closed window into the alleyway next to the place. She followed without thinking twice about it, knocking out some other guy who thought he could backhand her before throwing herself out of the window. A particularly stubborn shard of glass that’s still stuck in the window pane dug into her skin and the beating her runner got was probably a little more than a little over doing it.

Afterwards, she found Sarah still in her car, parked about three streets down. Her shirt was already off because it started to piss her off, and quite frankly, she didn’t care too much about getting any stains in Sarah’s oh so very expensive car at this point. In any case, the seats are black leather so it’s not like any of it could be seen.

The car ride back to Sarah’s place is quiet only because she managed to cut Sarah off before she could say anything smart about bar fights and all that encompasses. When they reached the room she only went in long enough to borrow one of Sarah’s jackets for an undisclosed length of time and then took off.

This is the absolute last* time she does anything nice for Sarah ever again.

*of course that’s not actually true. whenever sarah manages to find her, she goes back without hesitation.

(three) jawline, left side; less than an inch, mostly faded at next to chin; fake engagement ring with real diamond and platinum band

“Is this seriously all I can do this session?”

They’ve been training for two, maybe three hours, she’s not actually sure. She hasn’t seen a clock since she first got into the room and she’s been stuck doing the same exact counter drill since they started, so it could even be less than that.

“If you don’t quit messing around and start concentrating, yes.”

Really, it’s the simplest blocking technique with a following strike to the solar plexus but for some reason, Sarah keeps forcing her to do it for every single thing she throws at her. At this point and time, she’s definitely done it at least a hundred times and has yet to see an actual use for it. There’s at least half a dozen other ways to counter each strike Sarah uses.

“I’ve been doing the same god damn thing the entire time, how am I not concentrating?”

And, she hit a nerve.

Not actually, no, there’s probably no way she could land a blow on Sarah but her sass has just upgraded her from tutorial to okay, tough guy and Sarah stops pulling her hits as much as she was earlier.

“Not helping.”

“Keep going.”

Soon, Sarah is speeding up in addition to hitting harder and it gets more difficult for her to keep up using the same combo each time. The extra movements keep her one beat behind Sarah if they go at the same pace, forcing her to speed up even faster to avoid actually getting hit where it would hurt.

She’s actually trying to focus really hard when she slips - Sarah’s attacks are coming in a fury and only being able to use this combo, despite how simple it is, makes her unconsciously move back to accommodate the onslaught she’s facing.

When it happens, she can see it coming, she knows that her hand is coming up and her fist is going to crash right into her face. She quickly calculates where she has to start her block to avoid getting hit but as soon as she catches Sarah’s elbow, her hand fans out to spear at her face and the ring she didn’t know Sarah had on nicks her jaw.

“Why the hell do you have a ring on?”

Sarah pointedly rolls her eyes, ignoring the question altogether while coming closer to inspect the cut on her face like she’s actually worried about it, wiping away some blood.

“Mmm, that’s deeper than I wanted - probably scar a little. My fault.”

“The whole point of this was so you could maim me?”

“Oh, stop being so dramatic, kid. It was supposed to make you stop overthinking. You were doing fine until you thought I was going to hit you near your blind spot, then you lost focus and tried to make me miss instead of blocking and countering like you were supposed to. If you just did what I told you to, I wouldn’t have had to cut you.”

“Pretty sure you didn’t have to spill my blood.”

“No, but it usually makes things more fun when I do.”

“This is unfair.”

(four) right calf; jagged cut halfway down; arrow

To be perfectly honest, she shouldn’t have been surprised that some crazed drug lord shacked up in the jungles of Thailand would have would have a mini army that uses an array of more traditional, if somewhat impractical, weapons.

- someone just came at her with nunchuks, for Christ’s sake.

For once, she’s thankful for the bo staff training Sarah insisted on when she accidentally let it slip that she had a little too much free time on her hands. All she can manage to get her hands on is a metal staff when the magic eight ball said all signs point to fighting her way out of the compound. It does a good job of hurting things enough so that she can make it to the trees and use the jungle to hide her escape route.

Everything works for the most part, save the archers at the end who are good enough to target her general vicinity but not so good that she’s in actual danger of getting hit if she continues moving. As luck would have it though, an arrow manages to glance off some nearby rock or tree and the arrowhead skims her calf pretty nice.

It’s not as bad as it could be, though it’s bad enough to make her stop for a second once she’s certain it’s safe to do so. The arrow got her in two places, kind of like a zigzag from the angle it hit and how her leg was when it happened. The bleeding isn’t worrisome, it’s nothing that tying part of her shirt around it can’t hold it over.

By the time she makes it to the outskirts of the small village where she’s supposed to meet Sarah after they split up, she has a pronounced limp that she doesn’t even bother trying to cover up anymore. It’d be a wasted effort because it actually does hurt that much and putting weight on her right leg just makes her go slower and that benefits no one.

Sarah notices it, too, almost making a crack about how she let someone get her most likely, before she wordlessly runs to her side to help her, holding her up and practically carrying her back to one of the small houses.

She’s not sure exactly what does her in - she’s not hurt anywhere else that’s worth mentioning and she doesn’t think she’s lost that much blood, but her head feels light and the room keeps spinning. Maybe a combination of running herself silly through the jungles and the exertion from the fighting that culminates in the throbbing pain she feels everywhere. Or something.

All she’s really aware of is the way Sarah keeps looking at her like she’s actually afraid, and the only reason that resonates with her is because she’s never actually seen Sarah scared before, not like this.

That’s her last thought, she thinks, before she feels herself slipping away and she doesn’t fight to keep on opening her eyes; a nap will do her some good, no doubt.

It’s two days later when she finally wakes up and stays awake, she finds out. A blanket is wrapped tightly around her like a she’s a swaddled baby but she doesn’t feel too hot even though it has to be nearly a hundred degrees outside. In fact, if anything, she feels kind of cool which makes no sense at all.

Sarah is asleep in a cot that’s pulled up next to her, body turned towards her and Sarah’s hand is resting on her arm like maybe she was trying to keep her here. When she stirs a little, Sarah eyes shoot open and she notices a flash of panic before it’s hidden away again when she speaks. “you gonna fall back asleep on me, Sleeping Beauty, or have you finally broke the curse?”

She blinks back an answer, unsure of exactly what she’s talking about.

“You’ve been out cold for two days,” Sarah explains, “you woke up a couple times in between but you always fell back asleep in a few seconds - this is the longest you’ve been awake.”

Well, some of that makes sense.

“Whatever got you in the leg was dipped in snake venom. Luckily, the villagers are familiar with Guillermo’s trick, so they made some anti-venom paste and stuck it in your cut. It drew out most of the venom so it wouldn’t kill you but you had to ride out what’s left in your system.”

Now, everything makes a whole lot of sense.

The worst of the symptoms passed during the time she was asleep, waiting for the last of the venom to dissipate wasn’t anything extraordinary. Her temperature fluctuated much too often, she didn’t find much of a voice to actually talk with, and her body felt so weird and light that if she tried to move too much, she felt as if she was going to float away. Even so, she could hold down her food, sleep through the night, and she was feeling stronger with each new day.

What she couldn’t get off her mind was the way Sarah looks at her now - eyes soft with forbidden emotions shown freely, like how her mom used to look at her when she would stay out past her curfew. It’s new and familiar all at once, catching her off guard.

She’s been hurt a million times before, worse than this, and Sarah would shrug it off and say something about it. In turn, she’s always been able to laugh injuries off or channel enough sarcasm to deter anymore comments on her current condition. She supposes passing out on the spot makes it hard to conduct their post-assignment exchange normally.

It doesn’t click until after she’s fully healed and they’re back home again, when Sarah suggests taking the day off for once and take it easy, even going so far as offering to cook breakfast for dinner, too -

(sarah would care if she died)

(five) left middle finger; extends straight from middle knuckle to hand; braces

“this is so nasty”

“you’re the one who decided to punch him”

“because he was being fucking gross”

“still, i could have dealt with it”

“yeah, okay, but he was being a super creep the whole night and it wasn’t sitting right with me so”

“so you decided to punch him to defend my honor or because you just wanted to fight some poor guys who were looking for some company”

“please, like you wouldn’t have decked him if i didn’t”

“i would have gone with something more subtle”

“where’s the fun in that”

“for starters, i wouldn’t have ended up getting my skin scraped off by his braces”

“fair point”

“at the very least, i’m pretty sure you won’t get an infection from it”

“hip hip hooray, it’s a christmas miracle”

“cheeky. oh, and before i forget, i wanted to thank you”

“thought you were saying something about defending your own honor”

“it was for not putting any of them in the hospital, not starting the fight, smartass”

“well you’re very welcome for both anyhow”

(six) left knee; three inches down the center; very sharp belt buckle

She doesn’t stop.

Not once in the past ten minutes has she stopped beating this guy to a bloody pulp and when she starts kneeing him, she knees him hard despite the belt buckle he has that’s most definitely leaving its own mark on her. Still, she has no desire to let up at all.

The rage swells up in her whenever she remembers that Sarah is precariously hanging onto her life in some under the radar medical facility, and it keeps her going and going and going.

It’s probably not this guy’s fault, to be fair. He’s just a lackey - she’s already killed the boss man who’s responsible for putting Sarah in a near comatose state and this guy’s only fault right now is being the last one standing. He’s probably also guilty of more, so she doesn’t feel too bad when she puts everything into perspective.

Everything is bloody and her body starts to ache when she basically runs out of steam. Before tossing his limp body off to the side, she knees him one more time for good measure and then everything finally gets to her.

All the emotions flood through her when the adrenaline wears off, and she’s a million different feelings about one single person.

She doesn’t know what else to do now that everyone that had a hand in making Sarah breathe out of a tube is taken care of and she feels too helpless sitting by her bedside because there’s nothing she can do other than wait.

She just…she just needs Sarah to be okay again and it scares the shit out of her that she might not be.

(seven) heart; not visible, unsure how severe; source unknown

There’s no defining moment when her allegiance shifts places, she supposes. It must have happened over time, for whatever reason. She doesn’t suddenly feel different one day and declare that she would much rather follow the person who trained her than the people who took her in but when Sarah refused to murder innocent children for someone else’s vendetta, that’s exactly what she does.

Leaving isn’t so black and white as that, though, and this is where it gets tricky.

Sarah turns to a friend who has pull in covert operations with the government and she trades her skill set for a security blanket. She’s offered the same solace that she nearly takes, except she finds out they tried to go after her family and that seals her fate.

She would follow Sarah wherever she went without question and that’s probably the real reason why she chooses to leave her.

Maybe there’s more to this than what she’s willing to admit, more to her slipping away in the night without saying goodbye than not wanting to be stopped or having to explain herself.

Maybe it’s because Sarah is more than just her something, because she has a family she left in Starling City but Sarah is her family, too.

Maybe the pain in her chest every time she has to walk away and disappear again means she’s doing the right thing.

(or maybe this is the only way she knows how to love which really isn’t at all)