Day Three LOSTfic
A/N: This came to me immediately after watching "What Kate Did" and, shockingly, I actually wrote some of it, unlike many other ideas that have come to me. It's a crossover take/theory about the island. Other fandom listed after the story.
All props to Pru for basically being awesome and doing this whole monstrous project; all critiques to me so I may wallow in angst [because I'm sick like that and enjoy it]. Thanks for reading.
Rating: PG
Kate was dozing. She’d left Sawyer back at the hatch, where he was doing the same.
She’d seen Jack approach Ana-Lucia on the beach with the minibottles and wondered if he’d known about Wayne, would he have gone to her instead. Or at all.
But he hadn't. At first, in the light of day, she hadn’t cared. But as darkness crept in, beginning its dance with their torches, she felt a pang. Of loneliness, of bitterness, of things she should have felt when they'd crashed. And there was, of course, the rage. And loathing.
She knew she was the one who'd said goodbye, but the yearning to be good still pulled at her. Someday it would get them into trouble.
She didn’t want to see or talk to anyone, so she'd made her way to the hatch. She could sit with Sawyer and still be alone. She’d volunteer to enter the numbers for whoever was on tonight and send them back to the beach. Maybe she'd even put on a record.
With this course of action decided upon, she trudged through the jungle and went inside. Few lights were on, mostly because Locke had insisted it be so. Kate privately (and Sayid aloud) thought if the damn shelter had survived this long, and was supposed to continue indefinitely, it probably had a generator, at the least. But then, Kate hadn’t actually cared that much, and now Sayid was occupied. Distracted.
But the dimness comforted her, complemented her mood, and she approached the control room unnoticed.
Kim and Jean were there, idly chatting about previous lives. Kate briefly wondered what everyone thought about the hatch, this numbers business and the whole ridiculous situation but she didn't care too much about that, either.
The two were surprised to see her, but almost didn't protest when she suggested they could leave. They were relieved.
There were 15 minutes left on the timer, so she checked on Sawyer. He was sleeping again. She watched him a minute after rearranging the sheets and went back to the control room. She sat at the computer and thought about Wayne, about her mother, about her father. About Tom. The timer alarm interrupted and she entered the numbers.
She forced herself to stay awake for the next cycle and then went back to the bunk bed.
Sawyer was asleep again, but there was room on the bed and she lay in it. As she moved under the covers he stirred.
"It’s all right, go back to sleep," she said.
"What you doing here, Freckles?" he asked.
"Trying to keep you warm." she said.
And that slow, easy grin crept along his face, and it was so easy, like her life never was, and she knew she had only that infinitesimal piece of a second before Wayne invaded her thoughts, and she kissed him. He wasn't surprised, and he was very willing, and very obliging. He wasn't bothered in the least by the fact that she had to do most of the work.
He stroked her hair and made a joke about horses, and then fell asleep. Kate watched him for a few minutes and followed suit.
***
There was something going on at the edge of her perception, something she could see only in the periphery, and only in the way you see in dreams, a set of facts converging into a colorless picture.
There was a pale figure, with wild white hair, a gothic dandelion.
Thick, spiky hair, like a sea urchin, or an advanced mold. His robe was white too, and didn't seem to end. There might have been designs, patterns or motifs, and they didn't end either, and they didn't remain.
He was facing a trio? of women, and was having some sort of argument with them. Her.
"Ladies, it is not mine to do or not do. This first of soft places cannot be broached by any of us."
The three-woman, who fanned and consolidated continuously, were not pleased with him.
The voluptuous one, the youngest, poured a threat: "Do not cross us, dream king. Have you forgotten your predecessor?"
The motherly one, the middle one: "She is ours by rights, Morpheus. Madness and persecution await her."
The shriveled one, the oldest: "Her father recently returned to Hades after...an absence. His wife has invoked the oldest curse."
"I can do no more than to caution you against attempting to journey there. I know not what would await you; I only know it is forbidden."
The middle one snapped, "It pleases you to see us foiled, does it not?"
"I take no pleasure in your stymie.
And now, ladies, I shall take my leave." He bowed to them, low, raising his head slowly.
It seemed to Kate then that he looked at her, passed some knowledge with his eyes, and she felt incredibly lucky.
And though his eyes were only (was that the word to use?) points of light, she felt an understanding pass through her, like a kinship, lost and spilled blood, his and hers alike.
****
The alarm didn’t wake her, but it pulled her into full consciousness. Carefully she got out of bed, checking that Sawyer didn’t wake and was comfortable. She hurried to the control room and input the numbers. In the recurrent silence she thought about what she’d seen. But whatever she had learned was almost beyond her. It was too… she felt very human, and the smallness of what that meant.
Unsettled, she left the hatch. She needed to get the next shift in if she wanted time and space to think.
She knew Locke would probably be looking for her, nagging at her ass for screwing with the schedule, but that could be later.
She caught Jack emerging from Ana-Lucia's tent. He didn't see her, but she shared a nod with Ana-Lucia.
She walked to the beach alone. The sky from behind the clouds created a blinding explosion, a dandelion in the sky.
She picked up a handful of sand, and let it fall through her fingers.
Did you guess?
Sandman comics by Neil Gaiman. Go read if you haven’t. Seriously.