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14 February 2010 @ 02:49 pm
war stories  
war stories
kate/sawyer - takes place two nights after "what kate does".

Two nights later, she’s still there, sitting on the dock, eyes scanning the ocean for something she can’t quite put her finger on. He’s hellish and scary, more and less himself all at the same time, and yet she’s still here, because she’s scared to death for him. She can’t bring herself to leave. (It’s either weak or strong of her. The reasoning no longer matters.)

"Tell me somethin’ Freckles," he remarks, sitting down quietly next to her. He’s drunk and there’s wild, untamed rage in his eyes, and she hates, hates, that she finds herself liking him better this way. She can handle him when he’s unpredictable and terrifying. She really does hate this about herself.

"Hmmm?" she asks, not letting on that she’s been dying for this. She’s been craving conversation, real conversation, with him since Jack convinced her to come back, and she’s only sorry that it’s taken Juliet’s death for him to realize he needs her too. (At least, a little bit.)

"What happened between you and Jack?" His voice is eerily calm now, which unnerves her. "Off the island. I know you told Juliet. She told me to ask you my damn self. So now I’m asking."

It strikes her that he’s asking this question to her at all, and that he finds the need to explain off the bat the it’s only because of Juliet’s reluctance to share that he’s bringing up this forbidden subject.

She brings her knees into her chest and looks into the water beneath them, refusing to fall apart while he’s like this. "Things were different off the island," she begins slowly, shrugging as if the new distance between her and Jack was something was inevitable. (Perhaps it was inevitable, she thinks slowly; perhaps they were all meant to grow apart and return to their old habits.)

"And what exactly is that supposed to mean?"

He’s not letting her off the hook. She’s been waiting for this conversation since she came back, and now that they’re having it, she’d rather leave it all unsaid.

She sighs, turning her head towards him slowly and accusingly. She’ll look him in the eyes while she tells him. If he wants to know, he’ll have to face her, really face her.

"He asked me to marry him," she tells him bluntly. "And I said yes." There’s a flicker of something, something ancient and almost forgotten about in Sawyer’s eyes, but it passes as does the awkwardness.

"Just can’t picture you in a white dress Freckles," he jokes, and he’s making a point about her not being the marrying type, contrasting her harshly (and perhaps unfairly) to Juliet.

She doesn’t flinch away from his words. "Yeah, well, it’s like you said. Some of us are meant to be alone."

There’s a long pause and she swears she hears him say, not you Freckles, but his lips haven’t moved and if he means to tell her this, he gives her no indication. Instead he shrugs, smirking somewhat at her unnerving gaze.

"You’re avoiding my question," he insists. "You’re not telling me what happened."

She grins, because she can talk her way out of anything except for when it comes to him. He always calls her on her shit and she’ll never be able to wiggle her way out of an awkward situation with him.

Her voice is low but firm. "He told me exactly what I didn’t want to hear," she admits earnestly. "He told me Aaron wasn’t mine. He called me out on the lie he convinced us to weave and I told him to get the hell out."

Sawyer raises his eyebrows, head lowering slightly. "Claire’s his mother," he says slowly, finally agreeing to meet her gaze. "But so are you. You took care of him for three years Freckles. That ain’t nothin’."

She flashes him a warm smile, the sadness of missing the toddler rushing back into her mind. She aches for him, physically aches for him, but she’ll never be his mother again. Somehow, she knows this innately. Aaron’s in her past and she’ll never be his future ever again.

"How come you still had his back then?" Sawyer wonders out loud. There’s no implication in his voice. He’s not accusing or blaming her. They’re just two old friends exchanging war stories.

She almost laughs at the irony. "Old habits I guess," she smiles, shaking her head at him.

"Yeah," he agrees, smiling slightly. "Juliet and I were thinking’...."

He doesn’t finish. She doesn’t want him to. She knows what he’s about to say. She doesn’t want to picture Juliet, swollen belly and cheesy smile plastered across her face, Sawyer secretly confiding in Kate that he’d gotten this one right.

Because really, what was so different about her? What was so damn special about Juliet.

As always the guilt sets in for the both of them. Kate feels uncomfortable for hating a woman who died so tragically and Sawyer slips back into sudden silence. They’ve both lost everything that ever mattered to them, and there’s no recovering the things that have been taken from them.

There’s no making up for the past.

There’s only the future, a future that neither one particularly care to be a part of.

Current Mood: complacentcomplacent