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[Timed for directly after this post on Saturday, September 20th]

She wasn't watching where she was going. It was useless. Her eyes stung with hot tears, tears that came much too quickly for Isabel to wipe them away fast enough. Her body moved forward quickly, feet trudging on autopilot as Isabel couldn't focus on anything other than the large, gaping hole that had suddenly ripped open inside her.

How much more was she supposed to take?

As if losing Hyacinthe, a dear friend, hadn't been enough, now the island had to take Pullo and Vorenus? The two people who were her closest friends here? And just after she and Lucius had finally gotten back on track and things were going so well?

Isabel should have known by now that she just wasn't meant to have love, no matter how much she dreamed of it. In a way, Vorenus' leaving was a painful reminder of how much she'd screwed up with Alex back home -- and it was almost as though Lucius had died, too. He wouldn't be coming back.

Stumbling up the path, too consumed with her own grief, Isabel didn't see Tim until it was too late. She crashed right into him, knocking them both to the wooden slats.

This body was messing with his head. Also, Roman's were planning to kill him when he got back into his own. Cameron really just couldn't win today. At least he was feeling fresher after the shower. The coolness of the New Atlantis night was nice, too. Not as nice as he remembered, though.

Still. The body was screwing with his self-control. Or the entire crazy situation. He'd never allow himself to be so...well, considering the body, so bitchy, as he'd been in the past few days. It seemed like he was picking fights left and right. The whole Lucius thing was really just going to happen sooner or later.

Cameron sighed, crossing his arms over the picnic table, and gazing up at the stars. Somewhere out there, his team was fighting for lives--their own, Earth's, or some other planet. Somewhere out there, his mother was wondering why he hadn't called, and somewhere out there, General Landry was going to have to make the decision to declare him killed in action.

It didn't matter that time might be reset when he returned. It was happening now, and there was nothing he could do about it. Hell, he couldn't even say he had his own body to his name anymore.

He sighed softly, and buried his face in his arms to avoid looking at the unfamiliar stars any longer. He could perhaps at least get some sleep out here without a damn Roman bursting in and demanding he unhand the fair maiden Isabel.

[Timed to Saturday, May 3.]

She hadn't been to church in a long time. Isabel had never gone on the island, though she'd long known about the existence of the building. Back in Roswell, the last time she'd been inside a church had been for Alex's funeral. Poor, dear Alex. Whenever she'd had enough out here, Isabel would have to pick a few flowers on her way home to leave at his headstone. Maybe she'd even light his candles for him. Weeks had passed since she'd sat in front of Alex's headstone and talked to him. She was due another session of pouring her heart out to him. Overdue, even.

Her life was falling apart at the seams and there wasn't any Max around to catch her when she fell or any Michael around to bitch and poke until she got back up again and fought for it. Isabel was alone. Octavia had her mother to deal with. Jaye was combative as always. Hyacinthe had his heartache with Phedre and Joscelin. Pullo, she felt, was still displeased with her. Lucius was like a stone. Tim probably was avoiding her and she couldn't blame him for that.

Isabel had gone up to the compound that morning for coffee. She had intended to return to her hut immediately afterwards but got distracted by something she'd found just outside the compound -- a flashlight. It had been among tall bits of grass, discarded. Isabel asked a few people who'd wandered by if they had lost one, to no avail. Thinking she just may have reason to hang on to it for some day, Isabel tucked it into her canvas messenger bag and found herself inexplicably making a detour. That was how she'd ended up at the church.

Whatever gods were worshiped here, Isabel knew they weren't hers. She wasn't even sure who her gods (or singular god) were. Diane Evans had raised her to believe in God and Jesus Christ, but Isabel often questioned whether those deities were the ones she had believed in unfailingly while on Antar.

Somehow Isabel got the impression it didn't matter who your gods were here. It was comforting.

Sighing heavily, she sank down onto a pew, the bag at her feet.

Even though it had been two days since Pullo had turned his back on her, Isabel still hurt as deeply as though it had happened only moments ago. While she could understand his frustration with her to a degree, she knew he had no idea what she was thinking or feeling. It probably wouldn't do any good, as Pullo was cut from the same stubborn cloth as Lucius at times, but Isabel couldn't help but to think that maybe, maybe she could repair some of the damage between the two of them. Maybe he'd be willing to listen to her, to what she's been going through.

This hasn't been easy for her. There was that, and there was also the fact that Lucius had been adamant and they'd agreed to not even see each other as friends for some time. Was she to wait around forever for Lucius when he gave every indication that he would not resume things no matter what came to pass? She didn't know.

Knowing that Pullo sometimes liked to spend time at the waterfalls, Isabel set out there early in the afternoon and simply waited. She could be patient about some things.

[Timed to April 8th.]

Three days had passed since Vorenus had essentially told Isabel they were finished. In that time, she had alternated between hunkering down in her hut and refusing to come out and being a social butterfly (albeit, a social butterfly that had taken to avoiding all the places Vorenus was prone to visiting). Her mood swung from all right to angry to upset and back again, often within the span of mere minutes.

This bothered her.

Isabel was not bothered by the fact that Vorenus had done the dumping and not the other way around, though in the past (before Alex and before Liz had been let in on her secret) she would have been dwelling on it. She had always been the one to do the dumping.

What she was bothered by was that Vorenus couldn't or wouldn't give her a real explanation as to why. She knew him well enough to have noticed the way he looked at her, to know what it meant. It didn't make sense, then, that he insisted he couldn't pursue her like he wanted.

She hadn't seen him since he left the kitchen on Saturday night. Right now Isabel didn't want to see him.

So lost in her thoughts, Isabel didn't pay much attention to where her feet had been carrying her until it was almost too late: the market loomed ahead. And yet she was unable to turn around and return to the compound or even her hut. Thinking perhaps she might be able to enter the market and find Pullo without running into Vorenus, Isabel squared her shoulders and, resolved, began to look for him.

[Timed to Wednesday, March 26th]

She should have known it would happen sooner or later. No powers meant no healing, which she'd known on account of the sores she had gotten on her hands not long after arriving on the island. But for some reason Isabel had never given thought to the notion that she could actually become ill here. For as long as she lived, Isabel had never had so much as the common cold. She had been immune.

No more.

Sometime in the middle of the night she had woken with a massive aching in her head. No amount of water or even silly breathing tricks she had seen on tv back home had helped. It wasn't long after the headache came that every last joint and muscle in her body began to hurt. The pain was so intense that it was practically agony.

As if all that wasn't bad enough? Her skin began to feel hot and damp, yet somehow Isabel had developed the chills.

All the covers were thrown off of her bed, which was good because she could do nothing but toss and turn and moan quietly into her pillow. Vaguely Isabel wondered if this was what dying felt like.