(no subject)
"Why do you need five guns?"
Her eyes meet Edward's, but she doesn't say a word. The questions aren't directed to her.
Rather than look at the Australian marshal, he bares teeth at her in a fierce smile. "Gee, you want to tell him, Kate? Why do I need five guns?" When she doesn't say a word, he turns to the other man. "She's shy."
In defiance, she stays silent.
Tom's toy airplane is the next thing pulled out of the case holding the guns, and her eyes lock on it instantly.
"What's this then?"
"That's a good story. You want to tell it? Huh, Kate?" Edward takes the plane, purposefully steps toward her with it. "This belonged to her childhood sweetheart, who she got killed a couple of years ago when she was on the run. Poor guy. A wife, a two-year-old kid." He moves even closer to her. "What was his name? Hmm? Well, somewhere along the way during the three years I was chasing her, she starts calling me at my house and whining on about her mitigating circumstances. But what she's really doing is taunting me, so I tell her that I've got what's-his-name's little toy airplane in a safe deposit box in New Mexico. So she somehow figures out which bank, which safe deposit box. She seduces some idiot to rob the damn bank, and then she puts a bullet in her new friend because she's done using him. But she leaves all the money. She just takes the plane because that's the one thing in the whole world that Kate does care about." Slowly, deliberately, he moves the plane through the air right in front of her face, and she's never hated him more than she does now. "She has no attachments, and I think she's telling herself she needs it to atone for killing her boyfriend, what's-his-name." His voice drips with mock cluelessness. If he calls Tom that one more time, she'll-- "God, Kate, c'mon: what was his name?"
Not hesitating, she's on her feet and lunging at him, shoving him hard up against the wall, the chain between her cuffed wrists biting into the back of his neck. The little airplane slips between his fingers and falls to the floor. "Tom," she hisses, "you son of a bitch."
It was Tom, and he knows it.
His elbow swings back, hitting her hard enough to knock her down. She reaches for Tom's plane, wrists straining, just in time for Edward to snatch it back up.
"That is why I need five guns."
With her wrists cuffed in front of her, she learns to keep her hands low and her chin level as she's walked around the Sydney airport, and when they finally board the plane, Edward makes a point of letting her step in front of him to board.
She's not surprised he doesn't trust her at his back.
The window seat is kept empty, she sits in the middle seat, and he takes the aisle like a smirking sentinel.
It isn't like she's going to sneak into the lavatory to try to get out of these cuffs. She's stuck on a plane for almost half a day. There's nowhere to go from here.
As soon as they're safely in the air, she puts down her tray table and sits with her hands under it whenever she doesn't need to do anything with them.
The fewer prying eyes the better.
After a wave of heavy turbulence shakes the plane, there's a small ding, and then a flight attendant's voice pipes up over the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has switched on the fasten seatbelt sign. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."
No hope of Edward getting up and giving her a reprieve any time soon. She might as well make the most of it. "I have one favor to ask."
"Really?" That smile on his face is very self-satisfied. Even amused. "This oughta be good. What--"
The plane dips, suddenly shaking again, and there's a slam not far behind them, and a case comes hurtling out of one of the overhead compartments to smack Edward right on the forehead.
He's out, slumped bonelessly forward, and then there's beeping in the cabin, masks spilling out to dangle in front of their faces, a metallic groan coming from behind them.
The plane is diving. Fast.
She doesn't look back, and she doesn't look through the window. She just struggles in vain to reach her oxygen mask, mouth twisting in pain from the effort. It's a minute before she thinks to lean over and fish in Edward's pocket for the key to her handcuffs. The groaning of the plane turns into something more like a twisting sound, almost tearing, and she scrambles to unlock the cuffs, free her wrists, and finally pull her mask toward her.
But she can't just leave Edward like that.
Letting go of her mask, she grabs his and straps it around his bleeding head. When she holds her own mask up to her face again, it's just in time to hear a whoomph of air, and she knows -- she knows even though she can't make herself look back -- that the rear of the plane is gone.
She wishes she could make herself close her eyes.
There isn't time to be shell-shocked.
The plane's been reduced to pieces, to shrapnel, and a jagged piece of metal sticks up out of Edward's chest.
Somebody keeps screaming. Her body aches from the force of impact; her wrists are pink from her efforts to get her oxygen mask earlier.
The prickle of tears starts behind her eyelids, and as soon as she can unstrap herself and get out of the rubble, she runs. Right into the jungle, tearing off her jacket, untucking her shirt, blinking back emotion the best she can.
Anywhere but here. Anywhere but next to Edward Mars in his dying moments.
When she comes out of the trees again a little farther down the beach, she's still rubbing her wrists, not expecting company. But there's a man on his knees in the sand. His shirt's off, and she can see pain in his face.
"Excuse me," he calls out when he sees her. "Did you ever use a needle?"
Her eyes meet Edward's, but she doesn't say a word. The questions aren't directed to her.
Rather than look at the Australian marshal, he bares teeth at her in a fierce smile. "Gee, you want to tell him, Kate? Why do I need five guns?" When she doesn't say a word, he turns to the other man. "She's shy."
In defiance, she stays silent.
Tom's toy airplane is the next thing pulled out of the case holding the guns, and her eyes lock on it instantly.
"What's this then?"
"That's a good story. You want to tell it? Huh, Kate?" Edward takes the plane, purposefully steps toward her with it. "This belonged to her childhood sweetheart, who she got killed a couple of years ago when she was on the run. Poor guy. A wife, a two-year-old kid." He moves even closer to her. "What was his name? Hmm? Well, somewhere along the way during the three years I was chasing her, she starts calling me at my house and whining on about her mitigating circumstances. But what she's really doing is taunting me, so I tell her that I've got what's-his-name's little toy airplane in a safe deposit box in New Mexico. So she somehow figures out which bank, which safe deposit box. She seduces some idiot to rob the damn bank, and then she puts a bullet in her new friend because she's done using him. But she leaves all the money. She just takes the plane because that's the one thing in the whole world that Kate does care about." Slowly, deliberately, he moves the plane through the air right in front of her face, and she's never hated him more than she does now. "She has no attachments, and I think she's telling herself she needs it to atone for killing her boyfriend, what's-his-name." His voice drips with mock cluelessness. If he calls Tom that one more time, she'll-- "God, Kate, c'mon: what was his name?"
Not hesitating, she's on her feet and lunging at him, shoving him hard up against the wall, the chain between her cuffed wrists biting into the back of his neck. The little airplane slips between his fingers and falls to the floor. "Tom," she hisses, "you son of a bitch."
It was Tom, and he knows it.
His elbow swings back, hitting her hard enough to knock her down. She reaches for Tom's plane, wrists straining, just in time for Edward to snatch it back up.
"That is why I need five guns."
With her wrists cuffed in front of her, she learns to keep her hands low and her chin level as she's walked around the Sydney airport, and when they finally board the plane, Edward makes a point of letting her step in front of him to board.
She's not surprised he doesn't trust her at his back.
The window seat is kept empty, she sits in the middle seat, and he takes the aisle like a smirking sentinel.
It isn't like she's going to sneak into the lavatory to try to get out of these cuffs. She's stuck on a plane for almost half a day. There's nowhere to go from here.
As soon as they're safely in the air, she puts down her tray table and sits with her hands under it whenever she doesn't need to do anything with them.
The fewer prying eyes the better.
After a wave of heavy turbulence shakes the plane, there's a small ding, and then a flight attendant's voice pipes up over the intercom. "Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has switched on the fasten seatbelt sign. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts."
No hope of Edward getting up and giving her a reprieve any time soon. She might as well make the most of it. "I have one favor to ask."
"Really?" That smile on his face is very self-satisfied. Even amused. "This oughta be good. What--"
The plane dips, suddenly shaking again, and there's a slam not far behind them, and a case comes hurtling out of one of the overhead compartments to smack Edward right on the forehead.
He's out, slumped bonelessly forward, and then there's beeping in the cabin, masks spilling out to dangle in front of their faces, a metallic groan coming from behind them.
The plane is diving. Fast.
She doesn't look back, and she doesn't look through the window. She just struggles in vain to reach her oxygen mask, mouth twisting in pain from the effort. It's a minute before she thinks to lean over and fish in Edward's pocket for the key to her handcuffs. The groaning of the plane turns into something more like a twisting sound, almost tearing, and she scrambles to unlock the cuffs, free her wrists, and finally pull her mask toward her.
But she can't just leave Edward like that.
Letting go of her mask, she grabs his and straps it around his bleeding head. When she holds her own mask up to her face again, it's just in time to hear a whoomph of air, and she knows -- she knows even though she can't make herself look back -- that the rear of the plane is gone.
She wishes she could make herself close her eyes.
There isn't time to be shell-shocked.
The plane's been reduced to pieces, to shrapnel, and a jagged piece of metal sticks up out of Edward's chest.
Somebody keeps screaming. Her body aches from the force of impact; her wrists are pink from her efforts to get her oxygen mask earlier.
The prickle of tears starts behind her eyelids, and as soon as she can unstrap herself and get out of the rubble, she runs. Right into the jungle, tearing off her jacket, untucking her shirt, blinking back emotion the best she can.
Anywhere but here. Anywhere but next to Edward Mars in his dying moments.
When she comes out of the trees again a little farther down the beach, she's still rubbing her wrists, not expecting company. But there's a man on his knees in the sand. His shirt's off, and she can see pain in his face.
"Excuse me," he calls out when he sees her. "Did you ever use a needle?"