Lost fic: Falling apart
Falling apart
apocafic, post-rescue
dark, AUish
pg-13
kate/sawyer
675 words
She was sadder than she was on the island. She was sadder and more desperate and he missed the light-hearted Kate who climbed trees and backtalked.
For a while after the rescue, they hid. They used fake names and fake ID's. They disappeared in crowds, and avoided eye contact and talking to people. They were on a constant run and never stayed in one place for more than a week.
Then the world started falling apart and people stopped caring. It didn't matter anymore what you did before. It didn't matter if you killed your stepfather or escaped the police. There were more serious issues to deal with.
Bombs, bomb threats, fighting, air raids, looting, shooting, demonstrations, drought, floods, poverty, hunger, refugees, wars lost, wars won, new wars, war tribunals, war criminals on loose, battles and the front line moving closer to the city.
No one knew who was fighting who and why, but they all kept fighting anyway. There was nothing to lose.
The city was packed with people who owned nothing more than the clothes on their back and they had a million stories to tell. They were coming from the mountains and the coast and the lowlands. They flooded the streets asking for help and a little sympathy.
She wanted to stay because it was easy to get lost within the crowds of people. She liked that feeling.
They rented a room in an old hotel converted to an apartment building.
The room was small and unfurnished except for a mattress on the floor and a kitchen table with two creaky chairs. The windows had thick dirty curtains that created a sickenly orange shade in the room in the mornings when the sun came up. Sometimes he woke up to find her sitting on the windsill before the sunrise, staring down at the street when it was still chilly. It was easier to breathe without the heat of the day.
She had lost a lot of weight. Her hip bones poked out painfully and she bruised easily. He was almost scared of touching her. He tried getting her to eat his share of the meal too, but she refused to.
They lived off food stamps and donations and trades, like most of the city and sometimes he worked odd jobs as a gravedigger or a mechanic.
They tried pulling a few small cons on the streets to get more money for food and rent, but he felt bad about it - no one had more than they had. They were all dirt poor and losing everything gradually.
She laughed at him. "You've become soft."
Sometimes she traded their food stamps for a bottle of red wine.
"Come on, get drunk with me," she told him one night and gestured towards the bottle next to her. She was sitting on the windsill again, smoking a cigarette.
"Might as well start now," she shrugged when he asked her about the small pack of smokes he found in her pocket.
It was dark outside except for the few streetlights that were still working.
She blew the smoke out the window, but the wind kept blowing it back in in mixed with fresh air. It was an endless fight but she was engaged in it.
He laid in bed, watching her. Her eyes didn't show any emotion. She just kept staring at the distance, inhaling the smoke and then letting it out.
It was scary how little they had left.
He got goosebumps and she came back to bed, stubbing the cigarette out on her way. She laid on top of him and kissed him softly. Her skin was warm against his.
"It's going to be okay," he told her, perhaps wanting to reassure himself more than her. Sometimes empty words brought solace.
And sometimes it would be okay.
"I know," she smiled to him, her lips still touching his. "It's all gonna end soon."