(no subject)
Title: And I Relate And We Relate And It's So Fun To Relate
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Kate, Sawyer, Cass (pairings if you are looking)
Word Count: 1,857
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: For
halfdutch even though I ventured a little...off of what you were looking for. Can't control my muse.
Summary: First Sunday morning back (the second time around that is) and there's a knock at the door before she's even gotten her coffee.
It started innocently.
First Sunday morning back (the second time around that is) and she’s just gotten out of bed. The apartment smells like coffee and chilly air that burns her nose on inhale. She turns up the heat and shut the windows before she catches a glimpse of his sleeping form.
He’s been back for five days. Six if you count the day they landed. Back on solid ground, packed dirt instead of sands that shift under your feet. Five days of readjustment and anger and guilt, and it makes her grateful that he sleeps as much as he does.
Sawyer doesn’t talk about what went on there. And there’s no one else to ask, even if she wanted to know. She doesn’t. They’re all dead. Claire, Jin, the others they left behind. Their graves decorate the land they called home for a few months. That Sawyer called home for three years.
Locke chose to stay. He was the only one. Or at least that’s the decision they assumed he made. He had already separated from the group long ago. Sawyer claimed he was still alive, but Kate didn’t know whether or not that was fact or just a guess. She’s not sure she cares.
Ben’s gone too, Sawyer tells them, and so is Juliet, but she could of already guessed that.
She checks on Aaron in his nursery that’s slowly being renovated into an actual bedroom. He’s a little over three now, small for his age, still balled up in his crib, blue eyes closed, pale eyelashes fluttering against his skin every now and then. Kate resists the urge to brush his hair out of his face in favor of letting him sleep.
She’ll let them both sleep, she decides, grabbing a sweater from her dresser and pulling it over her head on her way back to the kitchen. The clock on the stove flips to eight thirty and she switches on the television on low volume.
Oceanic Airlines is having a press conference today. Going out of business. Their pictures flash across the screen before someone shoves a microphone in Hurley’s face and Kate doesn’t wait for the answer, flipping the channel to some early morning talk show.
The perky blonde co-host is right in the middle of interviewing some young actor she hasn’t bothered to learn the name of when there’s a loud knock at the door.
Kate’s gotten in the habit of utilizing the peephole in the front door. The first year it kept her from having to deal with journalists and paparazzi; in subsequent years it’s given her time to prepare herself for whoever’s behind the door.
The woman behind the door this time isn’t a journalist. Kate takes one look at her and gets a crapload of memories of a past she can hardly remember in return.
She opens the door and lets her name fall from her lips, slowly, as if relearning it. “Cass.”
Cass smiles, the kind of genuine teeth-showing smile that Kate rarely sees and she doesn’t know who moves first but they end up in an embrace on her front stoop.
For a woman that she only spent less than a week with they share a history that has stuck with Kate for years now.
“What are you doing here?” Kate asks, as she pulls back, ushering her inside and closing the door securely behind her. “How did you find me?”
“I saw you on the news; did a little investigating.” Cass tells her, with a shrug, as she looks around the foyer of Kate’s house. People usually get that look when they walk it. It’s big -- spacious is probably the better word - perhaps, too much so. “Nice house.”
“Money from the settlement.” Kate replies, answering the unasked question, explaining herself. She’s never been into the material; this is more of a safety thing. A little gated community, huge house, it makes her feel like she’s has space to roam in.
“Must’ve been a lot of money.” Cass says. The figures were never released to the public. Very little was. It all still smells like conspiracies.
“There were a lot of dead people. A lot we went through.” A lot of things we could say but didn’t, she almost says, but stops herself and thinks better of it. It’s too much to explain, too little of it makes any sense. Even to her. Even after all these years.
“One of these days you’ll have to tell me about it.”
Kate doesn’t answer. Maybe someday. But not now.
“You live alone?”
“No, I live with my son.” Kate tells her, leaving out that she has a houseguest. He won’t be there forever. “Aaron.”
“How old is he?”
“Three.”
Cass thinks on that for a moment, then, “Does that mean you were pregnant on the island?”
“Yeah,” Kate lies.
“Wow.” She gestures to the house again. “No wonder.”
Kate smiles, nods, leads her into the living room. “Can I get you something? Coffee, juice, water?”
“Coffee’s fine.” Kate’s already moved for the mugs in the kitchen. She remembers how Cass takes it.
“Are you living around here?”
“No,” Cass’ voice filters in from the living room, “Albuquerque.”
“Interesting destination.” She comes out bearing two cups of steaming coffee, hands one to Cass, and takes a seat in the chair adjacent to her. “Do you live alone?”
“No, with my daughter.”
It takes a second to register that, to remember her final conversation with Cass, before replying, “Did you ever call the cops on him?”
“Yeah. Put him in jail for awhile.” Her eyes drop to the ground, to her feet, to anywhere but at Kate. She can tell there isn’t a happy ending to this story. “He was on your flight.”
Now Kate knows why Cass looked her up. Something in her stomach clenches, only more so when she hears a noise coming from the other room. Sawyer. If he gets up and she recognizes him as one of the supposed dead from the flight then things are going to get much more complicated. Silently, she prays he has the good sense to keep out of sight for the time being.
It momentarily distracts her from the topic at hand, until Cass adds, “One of the dead.”
Kate tries to think of anyone she knows of that was in prison. Flips through names and faces and wishes she’d bothered to learn more about these people. The ones she does know about don’t fit with what Cass is saying. She comes up empty. “What was his name?”
Before she can get an answer the coffee mug slips out of Cass’ hand as she tries to set it down. It spills down the coffee table, onto the cream rug underneath it, and they both jump up at relatively the same time.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get towels.” She makes a move for the closet at the end of the hall.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Really, it happens all the time.” Kate yells back into the other room, realizing too late how loud she was. She pulls a few towels from the closet, shuts the door, and runs headlong into Sawyer, who’s both awake, and moving around. “Hey.”
“You have company?” He says, trying to get a peek into the living room before she steps in front of him. The less he sees the less tempted to go out there he is.
“Yeah. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” She half-apologizes, half-explains.
“Someone I know?” He’s still trying to look.
“Doubtful.” A thought occurs to her, and she asks, “Do you know anyone from the island who went to prison, maybe someone who…” she almost says ‘conned someone’. She almost does, and then she knows the answer and it all starts making sense, and she suddenly feels like she can’t even stand up.
He’s that man.
Kate hadn’t considered him because Cass said dead and, to her, Sawyer wasn’t included in that number. But he is, technically, realistically, according to the world outside of the seven of them.
And she thought the last triangle she was caught up in was disastrous.
“Do you need help with - “
Kate silently curses Cass for following her. She would actually curse, out loud, except Sawyer and Cass both say things that, when mixed together, is completely unintelligible, so no one would’ve heard her anyway.
“You - “ they kind of both say it, or at least vaguely gesture towards this being her fault. Like she knew. It would be easier if she knew because then she could’ve already left for about six hours so they could sort this out without her having to be in the middle of it.
Her history with Sawyer is tumultuous, yes, but it is nothing when compared to this. And she doesn’t even know half of what went on.
She can’t decide who to look at. Neither seems very welcoming at the moment, and so she looks down, and then at the towels in her hands, then, “I need to go...clean that up before it stains.”
Perfect excuse, she thinks, as she heads down the hallway and back into the living room, thanking her lucky stars when she doesn’t hear footsteps behind her. She takes just this side of forever on her hands and knees, soaking up that tiny spill with the towel, listening in. She doesn’t catch much.
There’s something weird with the island and the people on it and all the connections. Jack found out he and Claire were siblings after he - they - left her and the others behind. And he had once told her that Sawyer was, apparently, one of the last people to see his father alive. She hadn’t believed it before now, not really. Because here she is, and her and Cass are connected, and her and Sawyer are connected, and he and Cass are...definitely connected. It’s too much and it makes her head spin so much that she’s glad that she’s only kneeling on the floor.
They’re a lot alike, the three of them, and she can’t tell whether or not that’s good or bad, she just knows they are. She knows that’s why she’s drawn to the both of them. Why they are drawn to her and to each other. She doesn’t know why she didn’t see that before.
She doesn’t know why she didn’t see this before. Like a jigsaw puzzle that falls into place, the picture is suddenly clear to her.
Eventually she realizes she should probably go in there and say something or mediate or...something, because this is awkward but it’s got to get hashed out some time and, more importantly, she knows more of the lies they’ve told than Sawyer does and it’s very possible that she’s going to have to explain some or all of them in the very near future. Nothing to it but to do it, she thinks, rising off the floor, dirty towel in hand, feeling an awful lot like she’s walking into hell, or it’s near cousin.
Either way it makes her realize how much she still doesn’t know about these people.
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Kate, Sawyer, Cass (pairings if you are looking)
Word Count: 1,857
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: For
halfdutch even though I ventured a little...off of what you were looking for. Can't control my muse.
Summary: First Sunday morning back (the second time around that is) and there's a knock at the door before she's even gotten her coffee.
It started innocently.
First Sunday morning back (the second time around that is) and she’s just gotten out of bed. The apartment smells like coffee and chilly air that burns her nose on inhale. She turns up the heat and shut the windows before she catches a glimpse of his sleeping form.
He’s been back for five days. Six if you count the day they landed. Back on solid ground, packed dirt instead of sands that shift under your feet. Five days of readjustment and anger and guilt, and it makes her grateful that he sleeps as much as he does.
Sawyer doesn’t talk about what went on there. And there’s no one else to ask, even if she wanted to know. She doesn’t. They’re all dead. Claire, Jin, the others they left behind. Their graves decorate the land they called home for a few months. That Sawyer called home for three years.
Locke chose to stay. He was the only one. Or at least that’s the decision they assumed he made. He had already separated from the group long ago. Sawyer claimed he was still alive, but Kate didn’t know whether or not that was fact or just a guess. She’s not sure she cares.
Ben’s gone too, Sawyer tells them, and so is Juliet, but she could of already guessed that.
She checks on Aaron in his nursery that’s slowly being renovated into an actual bedroom. He’s a little over three now, small for his age, still balled up in his crib, blue eyes closed, pale eyelashes fluttering against his skin every now and then. Kate resists the urge to brush his hair out of his face in favor of letting him sleep.
She’ll let them both sleep, she decides, grabbing a sweater from her dresser and pulling it over her head on her way back to the kitchen. The clock on the stove flips to eight thirty and she switches on the television on low volume.
Oceanic Airlines is having a press conference today. Going out of business. Their pictures flash across the screen before someone shoves a microphone in Hurley’s face and Kate doesn’t wait for the answer, flipping the channel to some early morning talk show.
The perky blonde co-host is right in the middle of interviewing some young actor she hasn’t bothered to learn the name of when there’s a loud knock at the door.
Kate’s gotten in the habit of utilizing the peephole in the front door. The first year it kept her from having to deal with journalists and paparazzi; in subsequent years it’s given her time to prepare herself for whoever’s behind the door.
The woman behind the door this time isn’t a journalist. Kate takes one look at her and gets a crapload of memories of a past she can hardly remember in return.
She opens the door and lets her name fall from her lips, slowly, as if relearning it. “Cass.”
Cass smiles, the kind of genuine teeth-showing smile that Kate rarely sees and she doesn’t know who moves first but they end up in an embrace on her front stoop.
For a woman that she only spent less than a week with they share a history that has stuck with Kate for years now.
“What are you doing here?” Kate asks, as she pulls back, ushering her inside and closing the door securely behind her. “How did you find me?”
“I saw you on the news; did a little investigating.” Cass tells her, with a shrug, as she looks around the foyer of Kate’s house. People usually get that look when they walk it. It’s big -- spacious is probably the better word - perhaps, too much so. “Nice house.”
“Money from the settlement.” Kate replies, answering the unasked question, explaining herself. She’s never been into the material; this is more of a safety thing. A little gated community, huge house, it makes her feel like she’s has space to roam in.
“Must’ve been a lot of money.” Cass says. The figures were never released to the public. Very little was. It all still smells like conspiracies.
“There were a lot of dead people. A lot we went through.” A lot of things we could say but didn’t, she almost says, but stops herself and thinks better of it. It’s too much to explain, too little of it makes any sense. Even to her. Even after all these years.
“One of these days you’ll have to tell me about it.”
Kate doesn’t answer. Maybe someday. But not now.
“You live alone?”
“No, I live with my son.” Kate tells her, leaving out that she has a houseguest. He won’t be there forever. “Aaron.”
“How old is he?”
“Three.”
Cass thinks on that for a moment, then, “Does that mean you were pregnant on the island?”
“Yeah,” Kate lies.
“Wow.” She gestures to the house again. “No wonder.”
Kate smiles, nods, leads her into the living room. “Can I get you something? Coffee, juice, water?”
“Coffee’s fine.” Kate’s already moved for the mugs in the kitchen. She remembers how Cass takes it.
“Are you living around here?”
“No,” Cass’ voice filters in from the living room, “Albuquerque.”
“Interesting destination.” She comes out bearing two cups of steaming coffee, hands one to Cass, and takes a seat in the chair adjacent to her. “Do you live alone?”
“No, with my daughter.”
It takes a second to register that, to remember her final conversation with Cass, before replying, “Did you ever call the cops on him?”
“Yeah. Put him in jail for awhile.” Her eyes drop to the ground, to her feet, to anywhere but at Kate. She can tell there isn’t a happy ending to this story. “He was on your flight.”
Now Kate knows why Cass looked her up. Something in her stomach clenches, only more so when she hears a noise coming from the other room. Sawyer. If he gets up and she recognizes him as one of the supposed dead from the flight then things are going to get much more complicated. Silently, she prays he has the good sense to keep out of sight for the time being.
It momentarily distracts her from the topic at hand, until Cass adds, “One of the dead.”
Kate tries to think of anyone she knows of that was in prison. Flips through names and faces and wishes she’d bothered to learn more about these people. The ones she does know about don’t fit with what Cass is saying. She comes up empty. “What was his name?”
Before she can get an answer the coffee mug slips out of Cass’ hand as she tries to set it down. It spills down the coffee table, onto the cream rug underneath it, and they both jump up at relatively the same time.
“Don’t worry about it, I’ll get towels.” She makes a move for the closet at the end of the hall.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Really, it happens all the time.” Kate yells back into the other room, realizing too late how loud she was. She pulls a few towels from the closet, shuts the door, and runs headlong into Sawyer, who’s both awake, and moving around. “Hey.”
“You have company?” He says, trying to get a peek into the living room before she steps in front of him. The less he sees the less tempted to go out there he is.
“Yeah. I didn’t mean to wake you up.” She half-apologizes, half-explains.
“Someone I know?” He’s still trying to look.
“Doubtful.” A thought occurs to her, and she asks, “Do you know anyone from the island who went to prison, maybe someone who…” she almost says ‘conned someone’. She almost does, and then she knows the answer and it all starts making sense, and she suddenly feels like she can’t even stand up.
He’s that man.
Kate hadn’t considered him because Cass said dead and, to her, Sawyer wasn’t included in that number. But he is, technically, realistically, according to the world outside of the seven of them.
And she thought the last triangle she was caught up in was disastrous.
“Do you need help with - “
Kate silently curses Cass for following her. She would actually curse, out loud, except Sawyer and Cass both say things that, when mixed together, is completely unintelligible, so no one would’ve heard her anyway.
“You - “ they kind of both say it, or at least vaguely gesture towards this being her fault. Like she knew. It would be easier if she knew because then she could’ve already left for about six hours so they could sort this out without her having to be in the middle of it.
Her history with Sawyer is tumultuous, yes, but it is nothing when compared to this. And she doesn’t even know half of what went on.
She can’t decide who to look at. Neither seems very welcoming at the moment, and so she looks down, and then at the towels in her hands, then, “I need to go...clean that up before it stains.”
Perfect excuse, she thinks, as she heads down the hallway and back into the living room, thanking her lucky stars when she doesn’t hear footsteps behind her. She takes just this side of forever on her hands and knees, soaking up that tiny spill with the towel, listening in. She doesn’t catch much.
There’s something weird with the island and the people on it and all the connections. Jack found out he and Claire were siblings after he - they - left her and the others behind. And he had once told her that Sawyer was, apparently, one of the last people to see his father alive. She hadn’t believed it before now, not really. Because here she is, and her and Cass are connected, and her and Sawyer are connected, and he and Cass are...definitely connected. It’s too much and it makes her head spin so much that she’s glad that she’s only kneeling on the floor.
They’re a lot alike, the three of them, and she can’t tell whether or not that’s good or bad, she just knows they are. She knows that’s why she’s drawn to the both of them. Why they are drawn to her and to each other. She doesn’t know why she didn’t see that before.
She doesn’t know why she didn’t see this before. Like a jigsaw puzzle that falls into place, the picture is suddenly clear to her.
Eventually she realizes she should probably go in there and say something or mediate or...something, because this is awkward but it’s got to get hashed out some time and, more importantly, she knows more of the lies they’ve told than Sawyer does and it’s very possible that she’s going to have to explain some or all of them in the very near future. Nothing to it but to do it, she thinks, rising off the floor, dirty towel in hand, feeling an awful lot like she’s walking into hell, or it’s near cousin.
Either way it makes her realize how much she still doesn’t know about these people.