Chapter Text
Sarah Christ did not believe she was an inherently good person. She believed that she was helpful, at least in the past when she was still a detective. She tried to be of assistance to those less fortunate than herself, she stood up for women that couldn't do it themselves, she advocated for vulnerable people and tried her best to make her community a little bit safer before she grew too fixated on a singular killer and fucked it all up. She lost sight of things that mattered, and she learned at the same time that some of the things that seemed to matter for the longest time meant nothing to her at all. She blew up her life, her marriage, her career, even her relationship with her daughter in some effort to gain control of the narrative she'd been spun into by her own obsessive need to prove to everyone, maybe just to herself, that she was a good person. Eventually, she gave up. She accepted it couldn't be true, looking at the ruin she'd left behind. She saw it when she looked in the mirror, too, the way she didn't trust her own reflection. The weariness and exhaustion showed in the crease between her eyebrows, a constant reminder that she'd worried so much she physically changed. The weight of everything she'd seen and everyone she'd let down pulled at her uncomfortably, like something that needed to be beaten away constantly with any variety of vices. Alcohol was always a constant, cigarettes gave her something to do with her mouth besides just muttering to herself, anchoring her as they rested between her index and middle finger. After her husband finally left, she found that women took the edge off better than anything.
She knew that she wasn't particularly kind in how she went about her favorite pastime, long gone from her job as a detective and living somewhere nobody knew her. She used the newfound anonymity as a cloak, only known at her current local haunts as someone with a taste for vodka, coffee, and women who didn't care much for talking. Having a reputation wasn't a concern to her anymore, and she didn't care that some individuals sought her out just because they heard a whisper somewhere that she was cold and hard to handle like a dagger cased in ice. Those types thought her demeanor was a sort of challenge, like one of them would really be able to succeed in melting her, getting to her edge rather than their own, but they all learned soon enough. Sometimes she was drawn to somebody, purely out of physical attraction or a memory of someone she loved once, and they enjoyed her attention until they got scared or otherwise uninterested. She didn't take issue with being perceived as scary; women needed to be smart, and consistently sleeping with someone who kept secrets and acted callously wasn't very savvy. She always let them go easily, never pressing them to trust her. It was foolish for them to do so in the first place, because she was always liable to change, always liable to disappear, and always liable to ruin something good by being too damaged. She was an experience, a one or two or five night stand, a crush that became an enemy once you actually got close enough to touch, and that was fine. She didn't have the energy anymore to pretend she was okay, and she didn't wish to seem fulfilled or proud of herself anymore. She just was . No amount of curiosity or affection or competitive stubbornness could shake her away from herself. She was a smattering of burrs on an old fleece blanket, left alone and forgotten somewhere nobody wanted to look.
These reasons, among many others, were why Sarah was growing increasingly irritated with the woman who kept looking at her without just coming over to say something. She was staring, actually, and Sarah found it incredibly rude. This woman, her slightly messy bobbed hair frustratingly cute and her expression unreadable, sat in the corner of the bar nursing a beer as her eyes lingered. Sarah could tell from where she sat that she had big, pretty eyes, too, and that annoyed her for some reason as well. She looked a little too sweet to be staring as long as she was, like she was the one plotting. Sarah attracted younger women, sure, but there was a certain desperation, a certain type of makeup, a certain tight dress with too-high heels for the types of bars she liked that seemed to always come along with the women who picked her. They wanted to feel something a little dangerous, something unknown and dark and strange, and she could provide that without needing to think about why she liked it. When she was choosing, things were a little different, but not too much. Maybe the woman would be dressed in low-rise jeans and cropped tee, or maybe a miniskirt and a tank top with her bra showing and a hickey already on her neck, but there was always long hair for Sarah to wrap in her fist and always some stupidly sticky lipgloss or over-applied body shimmer or obnoxiously cupcakey perfume that lingered too much and made her remember that some people still liked to have real, true fun. This rude, staring woman, though, didn't fit any of the usual profiles. She was sure if she went to one of the less-than-forty remaining lesbian bars left in the entirety of the country she might find a handful of her, young with that 'what if a Disney prince was a girl' type of look, so beautiful it would feel wrong to offer her a cigarette unless you saw her smoking first but not clean-cut enough to iron her clothes, but this wasn't that type of place. It was selfish of Sarah, in a way, to let herself stick out the way she did, knowing that women who visited the bar under some sort of pretense would drop it for a chance with her, but she couldn't bring herself to care as much as she probably should. It wasn't her fault they all ended up wanting things she couldn't give, or that they didn't take her at face value when she warned them she wasn't nice. She wasn't sure if she was ever nice, but she used to at least be careful with women, how she treated them, how she made them feel. Now, she pitied them. She pitied them for wanting her, and she pitied them for being naive enough to try to unlock a version of her that didn't exist anymore, if it ever had.
"Another?" the bartender asked, snapping Sarah from her ruminations. She wasn't sure what time it was, but it wasn't time to go home yet. She didn't dislike the place she lived, and she didn't love it, either. It was perfect in case she got too bored and wanted to leave the city without anything tying her down. She was already getting tired of her routine, and of herself, so perhaps that was what drove her to make eye contact with the brunette in the corner again after nodding at the bartender.
The woman smiled slightly, but she didn't come over. She just kept staring with her dumb, pretty eyes. Sarah went back to ignoring her once her new drink arrived, sipping it for a while before picking up her glass and carrying it out to the designated smoking area.
"Did you follow me out here?"
Sarah looked down, rolling her eyes at the shorter woman. Of course it was her, and of course she was smug.
"I didn't do shit. I didn't even notice you got up," Sarah said, lighting her cigarette as though her unwanted company could hear her annoyance in the way she flicked her lighter.
"Aw, that sucks. I was trying to get your attention.”
She looked up at Sarah, batting her lashes in a way that felt incongruent with her outfit and the raspiness of her voice. Everything about her was throwing Sarah more with each passing moment, and it was pissing her off to the point it almost felt good.
"By staring at me like a weirdo?" Sarah asked, leaning back against the wall. “Pretty stupid technique.”
"Usually works," the younger woman shrugged, and she didn't sound like she was joking.
"Yeah, on college girls, I'm sure," Sarah deadpanned.
"I'm not a college girl," the stranger said. "And I don't like them much, either."
"Listen, kid, I'm not going to flirt with you just because you're doing a whole banter thing," Sarah said, pausing for a drag.
"Wow, 'kid'...aren't you so big and tough?"
The words prodded at her, unexpected and intriguing. Sarah decided to ignore the latter assessment.
"Excuse me?" Sarah asked, narrowing her eyes.
"I don't mind a bully, but I'm definitely not a kid."
She didn’t even sound defensive, just sure of herself and ego-forward. Sarah wondered where this woman came from and how she could send her back.
"I don't literally think you're a kid, young lady , but you're bugging me," Sarah said, taking a long swig from her glass.
"Oh, I'm not much of a lady, either. I have terrible manners," the woman said, unphased.
"I can tell," Sarah said, hating how she was nearly entertained by this idiotic behavior. Nearly, but she wasn't. "What am I supposed to call you, then, hm?"
"See? You want to keep talking to me.”
"Sure, long enough to tell you to fuck off and leave me alone,” Sarah said. She pushed down the fact that she felt more awake than she had in days, possibly weeks, with another sip of her drink.
"You're the one who came outside with your drink and everything. Looking to stay with me a while?"
" God ," Sarah groaned, her cigarette between her lips again. She was completely relentless.
"Not my name, but you can call me that if you want,” her clearly undeterred non-acquaintance teased.
"It's actually closer to my name, anyway," Sarah said, unsure now if she was genuinely amused or if this was just a change from her usual back-and-forths at the bar. Maybe the boredom and the liquor were hitting harder than usual tonight, or maybe the consistent lack of sleep was making her fray in some way that let little, irritating strangers sneak past her usual fence.
“What’s yours, then? Hm?”
Even the way she smoked her cigarette was infuriating, her lips pouty and perfect as she blew ‘o’s as though Sarah would be impressed by something so juvenile.
“You tell me first, or I’m going back inside,” Sarah said.
“You’re acting like you’re not having fun talking to me.”
The woman poked out her bottom lip just slightly, like she knew she was already parodying herself. The way she was acting cocky and nonchalant one moment then needy and coy the next made Sarah's mind hum, and she didn't like it.
“I’m not talking to you, you’re talking and I’m trying to get you to stop,” Sarah said, trying not to sound like it mattered either way. She didn't want it to, regardless of the urge in the back of her mind to push this gall-filled girl against the wall and shut her up properly.
“Whatever,” she grinned, her teeth too white for her smoking habit and her eye contact much too strong. “I’m Bet.”
“Like…gambling?” Sarah asked.
“No, like ‘I can't stand that my name is fucking Bethany’,” Bet responded, rolling her eyes.
“Could have just gone with ‘Beth’,” Sarah said, putting her cigarette out in the nearest ashtray.
“Gross, do I seriously look like a ‘Beth’ to you?” Bet asked, seemingly offended for the first time during the exchange.
“Honestly? No, but I could tell you’d hate that,” Sarah said, the corner of her mouth twitching just slightly.
“You look familiar, by the way. That’s why I was staring at first,” Bet pivoted. “Plus, you’re hot. And now I know you’re mean, too,” she continued.
“So, you’ll finally leave me alone?” Sarah asked, holding back a dry chuckle as Bet bit her lip and shook her head. Sarah felt reminded of the way a cat would knock a glass off of the counter while staring straight at you.
“Not until you tell me your name,” Bet said, still smiling.
“I’m Sarah Christ.”
Bet blinked up at her, then laughed.
“Oh, now I get it,” she said, putting her own cigarette out. “'God', 'Christ'…That's pretty good. You really want me to leave you alone now, or should I keep bugging you inside?”
“I don’t care what you do, but I need another drink,” Sarah said, draining the rest of her glass as she headed back to her usual barstool.
Bet followed her like a shadow, sliding onto the stool to her right as Sarah flagged down the bartender for another drink.
“I’ll have what she’s having,” Bet said before he could turn away.
“She’s drinking the shittiest vodka we have, with barely any ice,” the bartender said, brows raised. "And sometimes she makes me mix it with drip coffee, but the machine's broken."
“Sounds delicious,” Bet responded, smacking her hand on the sticky wood of the bar before wiping it on her jeans.
“Probably better than the beer here,” Sarah shrugged.
“I’ve never seen you order a beer,” the bartender smirked before going to pour their drinks, Sarah looking curiously at the woman beside her.
“The beer was horrible,” Bet said. “Like drinking piss.”
“You drink a lot of piss?” Sarah asked, tilting her head.
“Why, you into that kind of thing?” Bet asked, her expression unchanging.
“You're really bold, you know that?” Sarah's voice only sounded half as exasperated as she wanted it to.
“Yeah, thanks,” Bet said.
“I wasn’t complimenting you,” Sarah said, relieved when a fresh drink appeared in front of her.
“I complimented you, you should give me something back.”
“That’s not how this works,” Sarah shook her head, taking a swig from her glass.
“How does it work, then?”
Bet's persistence was following a completely different script than Sarah was accustomed to. Too quick, clever and stupid at the same time, and unfortunately a little funny.
“Not with this much talking,” Sarah said. “And not with you.”
“It just makes me want it more when you shoot me down, babe,” Bet said, taking a sip of her drink without so much as a cringe at the poor quality or arguably unappetizing temperature. "I could be your girl for the night, or the year--"
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sarah said, shaking her head.
“I know exactly what I’m talking about,” Bet challenged.
“Then you should get some better judgment,” Sarah said. "You seem witty enough, this isn't a tree for you to bark up, alright?"
“I really don’t care about whatever you’re trying to warn me about,” Bet said. “It actually just makes me more excited, the fact you think you clocked me harder than I clocked you. You don't know the first thing about what I want.”
“Oh, please,” Sarah said, finally letting an actual scoff pass her lips.
“You don’t have to beg, Sarah,” Bet taunted, clearly pleased with the setup Sarah had unintentionally provided.
“I definitely don’t do that,” Sarah said.
“You’d be good at it,” Bet sipped her drink again. “You’re clearly all wound up, I could take care of you.”
“Get a grip,” Sarah said. “I don't get taken care of, and you’re not my type."
“I could be, you don’t know me,” Bet said.
“You’re obviously new in town, you’re too cocky, you like the sound of your own voice, you have a complex about your feminine name so you’re overcompensating, you have a theater background or something because you’re acting like someone’s filming you all the time, you want to look like you don't try very hard but you clearly do, you probably practice facial expressions in the mirror, you have a degree but you act like a dropout, you're wearing those combat boots to make you look taller because you don't want to feel small but you're hiding in an oversized leather jacket which is counterintuitive, and you’ll be disappointed when I don’t take you home with me,” Sarah said.
“Oh, look at you, some kind of oracle,” Bet said. “It’s honestly cute how much you don’t want to admit all that is doing something for you.”
“I can assure you it’s not,” Sarah said, or possibly lied, draining the rest of her glass and leaving cash to pay for her drinks tucked underneath. "Don't call me cute, either."
"Fine," Bet said, taking another sip of her drink. "I'll see you around, Sarah."
"I'm dreading it already," Sarah said, and she wished she meant it.
Bet was already seated at the bar by the time Sarah got there the next day, in the same stool as the night before which meant Sarah would have to give up her favorite seat to avoid her. She liked her usual stool because she had a good view of people entering and leaving, and she could see most corners of the space. It didn't matter how much distance she got from her past career, some habits just refused to die.
"I know you want to come sit with me," Bet called, an abominable looking beverage sitting in front of her.
"I don't want to sit with you," Sarah said as she approached. "I want to sit in my spot without you."
"What is this, kindergarten? Last I checked there aren’t assigned seats at a dive bar,” Bet said. "Just sit somewhere else, or sit in your spot and I'll know you kind of want me."
The bartender gave Bet a warning look, and Sarah rolled her eyes before sitting down. She took a closer look at the concoction Bet was sipping on, narrowing her eyes.
“I don't want you, dumbass. What the fuck are you drinking?” Sarah asked.
“Well, Mr. Bartender looked bored and I wasn’t going to get your special drink without you,” Bet said easily. “So I asked him to surprise me,” she added, shrugging.
“It looks disgusting. And sweet,” Sarah said, shaking her head. “Are you just trying to prove a point because I said you were overcompensating?”
“Firstly, it’s really strong,” Bet said. “And secondly, no, I just said to make whatever. I’m not trying to be anything in particular, but you were right about a few things last night.”
“Hm,” Sarah grunted, praying she could become as uninterested as she wanted to be.
“If you drink one of these with me, I’ll tell you what I used to do for work and school and whatever else you want to know. You can say any mean things you want about it, too,” Bet offered, but it felt like a trick.
“I was going to be mean to you anyway, but now it seems like you get off on it so maybe I won't," Sarah said, sighing as she waved the bartender over. "And I don’t remember saying I wanted to know more about you at all.”
“But you’re kind of curious, I can tell because you didn’t even notice that girl with a massive rack who just walked in.”
Sarah looked around the bar, and Bet grinned.
“Ha, so that’s your type? Nice. Why don't you go find a girl like that to hang out with instead of sitting here talking about getting me off?”
“You’re a jackass,” Sarah said. She really did feel like she was losing it.
“Give me one of these gross looking drinks, and make her pay for it,” Sarah said, ignoring the bartender’s snicker at the way she fell into such an obvious trap. “And I’ll take a usual, too, so I can wash it down.”
“Do you ever drink water?” Bet asked, laughing.
“Do you ever stop asking dumb questions?” Sarah responded.
“I told you I have no manners,” Bet said, running a hand back through her hair.
"Tell me whatever you want to tell me so badly, then," Sarah said.
“So, I did want to be an actor,” Bet started. “And I did go to school for it, so you got me there. I ended up dropping out because I got a massive gig, though, so you were only half-right on that part.”
Sarah tried not to look at her, but she could feel her staring again. She relented when her drinks arrived, meeting Bet's intense gaze but avoiding noticing her light, smudgy eye makeup.
"What was the gig? I guess you do seem like you'd look good on camera," Sarah said, taking a tentative sip of the cocktail. It tasted like soap to her, but it was still a drink.
"Hosting a TV show," Bet said. "It was, like, a variety-slash-late-night type of thing with characters and interviews, games, sketches, improv…”
“Sounds confusing, like SNL but worse,” Sarah said. “Was it popular?”
“Oh, yeah. It was huge, and it was honestly pretty fun,” Bet said, nodding. “I had a ton of fans, the perks were insane, and I loved what I was doing.”
“So how’d you end up here of all places if you were such a star?” Sarah asked, finishing the rest of the offensive pink and blue drink in a few long swigs so she could get the taste of boozy floral shampoo out of her mouth.
“I freaked out on set and left,” Bet said simply. Sarah noticed that she didn’t have a humorous addendum to that part, filing it in her mind as one of her inconsistencies.
“So, not an amicable departure, then?” Sarah asked.
“Nope, nasty legal stuff,” Bet said. “The network settled with me outside of court to save face, and now I’m here.”
Sarah nodded, alarmed by the silence that followed.
“Well?” Bet nudged her shoulder, and Sarah stiffened slightly.
“You practiced faces in the mirror all the time, then, didn't you?" Sarah asked dryly, not wanting to hear any more about legal battles and the woes of a woman in entertainment, at least not right now. That was an industry she stayed far away from, and even as hardened as she'd become, she couldn't quite wrap her mind around the sheer scale of the things women were put through in order to catch a big break like the one Bet had described.
"Constantly, yeah," Bet said, back to being completely unbothered. "I'm glad you noticed how pretty I am, though."
"When did I call you pretty?" Sarah asked, raising an eyebrow.
"You said I'd look good on camera," Bet said. "Or did you just mean, like, naked in your bedroom?"
"You're doing a lot of flirting for someone I could pick up with one hand," Sarah said, shaking her head.
"I don't know why you're saying that like it doesn't turn you on," Bet countered.
"You wish," Sarah said. "It sounds more like you're just listing your various fantasies to me so you can go home and squirm around in bed about them later."
"If that's the case, it must be mutual," Bet said, finishing the rest of her cocktail.
"I already said you're not my type," Sarah said, barely sounding convincing to herself at this point.
"And yet you're still letting me hit on you," Bet said. "I don't mind if you just like the attention, but I think when I offered to take care of you, you thought about it for more than a second."
"Do most women find it charming that you can't take a hint?" Sarah asked.
"Oh, you're not most women, I already knew that," Bet said. "And if I was going off of your hints and not your words, I'd just kiss you right now."
"Like that's up to you," Sarah chuckled.
Bet raised her eyebrows, leaning towards her quickly and shutting her eyes. Sarah stopped her easily, a hand gripping her shoulder as her thumb rested against the painfully soft skin of her neck. She could feel her pulse. Instead of opening her eyes or pulling out of Sarah's grasp, Bet just smirked and leaned into her hand.
"I just wanted you to touch me," she murmured, her eyes still closed.
Sarah pulled her hand back, clearing her throat.
"You're impossible," Sarah mumbled, her eyes lingering on the exposed skin she'd touched.
"Bartender! One holy water, please," Bet called out, once again back to her unaffected baseline.
"What- oh," Sarah said, looking down at her own drink.
"You want to laugh so bad," Bet said. "Come on, Sarah, admit I'm a good time."
"I'd rather die," Sarah said, but when her chatty, flirtatious shadow followed her outside for a smoke after their next round of drinks, her complaints were fewer than before. Still plenty, but fewer.