Till the End of the Line

The rain continued as the morning slowly lapsed into noon. Sarah had made herself comfortable in the armchair by the fireplace with a book she had chosen at random from the shelf on the other side of the room. It was either not very good, or she was just not really registering the words she was reading, because after only a few pages she closed it and put it on the coffee table. She fed another log to the fire before turning around in her seat to stare at the steely grey lake and its surrounding pines through the rain-flecked window.
As she watched a flock of birds descend and settle in one of the trees close to the lake, it dawned on her that this was the first time since she met James that she was all by herself. Of course, she had been on her own before, but this was different: she was completely isolated, probably in more danger than she had ever been, and with no one to protect her but herself.

Once more, a sense of powerlessness washed over her; the feeling that she was more of a burden than an asset to both herself and James when it came down to it. She had been putting a lot more effort into becoming better at shooting, but this was mainly because she wanted to keep her head free of anything even remotely connected to the thoughts and doubts and insecurities that had surfaced after James kissed her.
So far she had managed to divert her attention to such an extent that it was almost as if nothing had happened. She hadn't wanted to think about or feel any of it before James left, because being so close to him seemed to make it impossible for her to get her thoughts straight. Now that he wasn't there, she was finally able to look at things properly; get everything into perspective.
She realised that letting herself be taken over by something so trivial and distracting as romantic feelings was not only pathetic, but also incredibly counterproductive. Instead of succumbing to childish daydreams about something that'd never happen she should focus on what was really important: surviving. If she wanted to stay alive she would just have to get a grip and start facing reality. And reality came with a considerable amount of danger, so she'd better be able to deal with it.
She cast another glance out of the window, glaring slightly at the steady downpour of rain.
Oh, just pull yourself together and get out there, you whinging radish.

Less than ten minutes later, Sarah was outside, wearing every jumper she had under her jacket and concentrating hard on the very centre of the top log on the stack that served as practice target. When the sun went down Sarah kept going; she wanted to be able to hit the logs even when her vision was impaired. Only when it became too dark to see anything at all did she go back inside. She had dinner in front of the television, watching the news while she ate.
She spent the next day practicing outside again, from morning until well after sunset. As she lay in bed that night, her mind wandered over to James. She was still mildly frustrated about the fact that she wasn't allowed to know where he had gone off to. Not knowing where he was, not knowing where to search for him should anything happen, made her more nervous than him simply not being there. She wished that he'd be back as soon as possible, if only to calm her nerves, but she realised that 'as soon as possible' could take a while: before his departure, James had been reluctant to give an exact date for his return. He had said that he didn't think it'd take more than three days, but what if he would still be gone after a week? What if he never came back?

Four days passed, during which Sarah had done hardly anything besides practice shooting. She tried to spend as little time indoors as possible, because being alone in the house became increasingly more depressing. She hoped that, by putting all her energy into practicing, come nighttime she'd be sufficiently exhausted to go to sleep straight after dinner. But as the days went by she became more and more anxious, and it became harder and harder to relax, let alone sleep.
She tried watching television, which sometimes worked and she would eventually nod off on the sofa, only to wake with a start in the middle of the night before dragging herself to bed. She kept telling herself that, whatever was causing the delay, James would come back eventually, he was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. He had got himself out of many tight spots before: hell, he'd even got the better of Captain America! But still… what if?

It had been seven days since James had left and Sarah was, once again, shooting at the stack of logs by the edge of the lake. As she had spent so much time practicing, she now managed to hit the log nine out of ten times and, although she still had to hit the centre, her aim was becoming more precise by the day.
The sun had already set some time ago and Sarah had to squint in order to see the target in the fading light. She fired another round, but with the shots ringing in her ears she didn't hear the footsteps that were approaching from behind her. When she paused to aim her last shot she became aware of the sound, now about a foot behind her. Her heart suddenly pounding furiously, she wheeled around, pointing the gun straight at the intruder. When they came face to face, however, she felt the gun drop out of her hands in surprise and a split second later she had flung her arms around his neck: "James!"
He seemed a little taken aback at first at her sudden embrace, but then closed his arms around her briefly in return.
"You took your fucking time," she muttered, beating a fist on his chest before letting go of him. He smiled slightly.
"And you," he said quietly, bending over to to pick up the gun from the grass, "should never drop your gun, under any circumstances."