Chapter Text
Effacement (n)
ef·face·ment | \ i-ˈfās-mənt , e- \
Definition
1: reduction to insignificance
2 : (medical) the shortening and thinning of the uterine cervix during labor so that only the external orifice remains
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Sarah is waiting for time to run out.
Nine seconds, then eight. Seven. She bites her lip and tastes blood. Her eyes are glued to the building in front of her – she can see red lights flashing in the few windows that are not tinted dark.
Every time another eternity passes, she glances at the stopwatch to find it has only been a second or two. The doors do not budge. She can hear the faint, muffled sound of alarms blaring within. Four seconds left now. Sarah stares openly at the chaos.
Her hands are gripping her bag so tightly her fingers start to ache. She is standing a few feet from the front of the Facility. Her car is right beside her, engine running, doors open to save time. She hears an explosion. It isn’t the first, but it is the loudest so far. The air filter on the roof begins to billow black smoke. She wonders how long until everyone inside is dead. When the front doors finally open, more smoke pours out, thick and urgent like the building is vomiting.
X-23’s silhouette is tiny in the chaos. She is haloed in fire.
“Thank God,” Sarah breathes. X-23 approaches her unhurriedly, ash crunching beneath her boots like snow. Her claws sink abruptly back into her arms. When she comes close, Sarah can see that she is flecked with blood. She looks up at her and says nothing. Sarah’s eyes fill with tears – if she tries to speak, she will weep with relief.
X-23 holds out a hand. The gesture takes Sarah by surprise, and her eyes spill over as she reaches out to take it. But before she makes contact, the little hand opens. The watch is resting in her palm. It counts down to zero as the alarms come to a crescendo.
Sarah takes it.
“Let’s go,” she says. X-23 follows her into the car, climbs obediently into the back seat and shuts the door. Sarah’s arm dangles out the open window. She clicks her seatbelt into place. Both of them peer into the rear-view mirror for a last glance at the carcass of the building. Sarah lingers on the front doors, waiting for a survivor to burst through them. No one does.
She lets both watches fall from her hand as she drives away.