Fic: What I Am to You (Kate/Sawyer)
Title: What I Am to You
Rating: PG
Summary: It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that the day was coming. This was Kate. Nothing ever changed with her, or with them. Tigers, stripes; he remembered saying something about that once.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: I realized the other day, I'd never done a Skate future fic fic. So, here we go.
“I have to go,” she says.
It’s better than last time, he thinks, standing in the doorway and watching her shove items of clothing haphazardly into her bag. The sleeve of a shirt sticks out and she doesn’t bother to correct it before zipping the zipper over it and swearing, pulling at it until it rips.
Sawyer says nothing. In his mind, he isn’t seeing Kate packing, he’s seeing the empty, made bed he came home to last time she came calling. After a month of her eating his food and crowding his bed, and never cleaning up after herself, he’d thought he’d be glad to have her gone.
He wasn’t. The silence of his apartment was like a punch to the gut. The sudden, surprising absence of scented shampoo in his bathroom and bras on the floor of his bedroom made him sit, put his head in his hands, and sigh.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that the day was coming. This was Kate. Nothing ever changed with her, or with them. Tigers, stripes; he remembered saying something about that once.
And yet it hurt. That she had left without a word. That she had left at all. Even though he expected it, even though, at times, he had welcomed the day, when it came, he found himself disappointed. Stung. Lonely.
This time, he just feels numb. Like he’s been here, done this. Like he’s over it, even though he’s not. Even though he probably never will be. He’s done plenty of leaving, but he’s never had the sense to with Kate. This is the pattern, the one he has never managed to get himself out of. No matter how many times he finds himself standing in the exact same spot.
She heaves the bag over her shoulder and turns to face him, awkwardly. She brushes her hands on her jeans like she’s trying to think of something to say. “I’ll…” she says, then sighs, runs a hand through her long, brown hair. It was red when she showed up at his door. Pushed her way in with a smile and a kiss and jumped straight into the shower. She came out of his bathroom a brunette again, and said that it didn’t look like much had changed around here. Sawyer had muttered, “It sure don’t,” under his breath while she changed in his bedroom.
“I’ll try to call you, or...send a postcard or something,” she finishes. She’s even making the same promises as last time. Promises that they both know she doesn’t intend to keep. They’re supposed to be comforting, like a warm blanket on a cold night, a cup of coffee after a long day. But they're stiff and awkward and they miss their mark entirely. Because Sawyer frowns and nods the frown and nod of a man that knows he’s being lied to.
Kate steps closer and reaches out for his arm, holds it in her small hand and tries to kiss him. She feels his arm twist and his hand grip her arm loosely, hold her still, then push her back. She’s startled at first, but recovers quickly. He holds her arm, she holds his, until he leans his head forward, rests their foreheads on each other and breathes deeply.
“C’mon Freckles,” he says, with a sorrowful, lifeless laugh. “Let’s not pretend we’re somethin’ we ain’t.”
She lets out a long, low sigh and closes her eyes. “I never meant for it to happen like this,” she tells him. Sawyer backs away, and so does she, but her hand his still on his arm. For the first time, Sawyer lets go first, backs away a step, and leans back against the wall.
“You never do, do you?” he replies. She backs up then, draws her arms across her chest and drops her head. And just like that, she closes herself off, blocks him out. He guesses that he had just given her the excuse she needed, a way to make it easier for her to walk out the door and not look back.
But she stands there, looking small and sad, and he wants to cross the small space separating them. Pull her into his arms and tell her that it’s okay, that he gets it, that she can come and go as she pleases. He wants to, but he doesn’t feel like lying anymore.
So they stand there, separated a mere foot, and stare at the floor until Kate’s feet start to move, the sound echoing off of the hardwood floor and not disappearing until she's on the other side of a slammed door. Sawyer doesn’t have to hear her footsteps to know she’s still moving.
She always will be.
Rating: PG
Summary: It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that the day was coming. This was Kate. Nothing ever changed with her, or with them. Tigers, stripes; he remembered saying something about that once.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: I realized the other day, I'd never done a Skate future fic fic. So, here we go.
“I have to go,” she says.
It’s better than last time, he thinks, standing in the doorway and watching her shove items of clothing haphazardly into her bag. The sleeve of a shirt sticks out and she doesn’t bother to correct it before zipping the zipper over it and swearing, pulling at it until it rips.
Sawyer says nothing. In his mind, he isn’t seeing Kate packing, he’s seeing the empty, made bed he came home to last time she came calling. After a month of her eating his food and crowding his bed, and never cleaning up after herself, he’d thought he’d be glad to have her gone.
He wasn’t. The silence of his apartment was like a punch to the gut. The sudden, surprising absence of scented shampoo in his bathroom and bras on the floor of his bedroom made him sit, put his head in his hands, and sigh.
It wasn’t as if he didn’t know that the day was coming. This was Kate. Nothing ever changed with her, or with them. Tigers, stripes; he remembered saying something about that once.
And yet it hurt. That she had left without a word. That she had left at all. Even though he expected it, even though, at times, he had welcomed the day, when it came, he found himself disappointed. Stung. Lonely.
This time, he just feels numb. Like he’s been here, done this. Like he’s over it, even though he’s not. Even though he probably never will be. He’s done plenty of leaving, but he’s never had the sense to with Kate. This is the pattern, the one he has never managed to get himself out of. No matter how many times he finds himself standing in the exact same spot.
She heaves the bag over her shoulder and turns to face him, awkwardly. She brushes her hands on her jeans like she’s trying to think of something to say. “I’ll…” she says, then sighs, runs a hand through her long, brown hair. It was red when she showed up at his door. Pushed her way in with a smile and a kiss and jumped straight into the shower. She came out of his bathroom a brunette again, and said that it didn’t look like much had changed around here. Sawyer had muttered, “It sure don’t,” under his breath while she changed in his bedroom.
“I’ll try to call you, or...send a postcard or something,” she finishes. She’s even making the same promises as last time. Promises that they both know she doesn’t intend to keep. They’re supposed to be comforting, like a warm blanket on a cold night, a cup of coffee after a long day. But they're stiff and awkward and they miss their mark entirely. Because Sawyer frowns and nods the frown and nod of a man that knows he’s being lied to.
Kate steps closer and reaches out for his arm, holds it in her small hand and tries to kiss him. She feels his arm twist and his hand grip her arm loosely, hold her still, then push her back. She’s startled at first, but recovers quickly. He holds her arm, she holds his, until he leans his head forward, rests their foreheads on each other and breathes deeply.
“C’mon Freckles,” he says, with a sorrowful, lifeless laugh. “Let’s not pretend we’re somethin’ we ain’t.”
She lets out a long, low sigh and closes her eyes. “I never meant for it to happen like this,” she tells him. Sawyer backs away, and so does she, but her hand his still on his arm. For the first time, Sawyer lets go first, backs away a step, and leans back against the wall.
“You never do, do you?” he replies. She backs up then, draws her arms across her chest and drops her head. And just like that, she closes herself off, blocks him out. He guesses that he had just given her the excuse she needed, a way to make it easier for her to walk out the door and not look back.
But she stands there, looking small and sad, and he wants to cross the small space separating them. Pull her into his arms and tell her that it’s okay, that he gets it, that she can come and go as she pleases. He wants to, but he doesn’t feel like lying anymore.
So they stand there, separated a mere foot, and stare at the floor until Kate’s feet start to move, the sound echoing off of the hardwood floor and not disappearing until she's on the other side of a slammed door. Sawyer doesn’t have to hear her footsteps to know she’s still moving.
She always will be.