dreadful sorry, clementine

[cibosity]

In more ways than one, Tabula Rasa was a surefire step up from the previous island. A simple look at the way that Sawyer occupied himself on most days was more than enough of an indication; whereas before, he'd spent his days lounging around, scavenging for materials and possessions, often causing factions of the camp to turn against one another,

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[hightail]

For Kate, the impulse to run -- while not ever-present -- never really went away. It was always there in one way or another, the nagging thought at the back of her mind, the itch building just under her skin. Far and away though it was, the island of Tabula Rasa presented her with a myriad of different reminders, each dredging up long buried memories of the many lives left in her wake. In her worst moments, she had trouble pinpointing a single poor soul who had been better off having known her (One of the few advantages of a life on the run was that Kate's thoughts rarely ever caught up with her, until now

[cibosity]

Between Kate and Sawyer, steps were only made when there was an imbalance. Almost as though they didn't know how to properly walk, step by step. There was always staggering, slipping, and Sawyer knows that the best of it happens whenever one of them is standing barely out of reach. Whether it's a misstep, or whether it's because that's when they can actually run, chase, progress, Sawyer isn't sure. All he knows is that he hates being on this end more than almost anything else, peering over to see those familiar chestnut curls and eyes staring right in his direction.

It does, however, do a fairly good job of shutting him right up. Sawyer shakes his head as he peers back down at his arm, at the way it's still wet with coffee, skin flushed. He shakes the coffee off, rubbing it on the leg of his jeans.

"Hey, Freckles," he breathes, hoping she won't ask. Won't push. He's not sure how well he'd be able to deal with that right now.

[hightail]

Bitter and fragile, the silence stretches between them even as the sound from the jukebox repeatedly attempts to penetrate. It drowns away into the background when she meets his gaze, just briefly, than pulls her back in once she has looked away. At once, the room is both too quiet and too loud; Kate isn't sure which extreme is preferable. (Neither, naturally, but that doesn't seem to be a choice.) She considers waiting for the song to end but decides against it, realizing it would draw even more attention to the elephant in the room, which neither of them need, but least of all Sawyer.

She clears her throat while her eyes find the frayed corner of a cushioned chair and stay there, barely focused. "You gonna get another coffee? I could use one myself." It's as obvious as day, her attempt to move this conversation far and away, but she's now done him the favor of ignoring what's right in front of her; he can surely extend her the same.

[cibosity]

If it was anyone else, Sawyer would expect prying. Most people don't know him so well in the ways that matter. Kate, on the other hand, she knows him in ways that can not be covered in a mere file, or from knowing all of the technical details of his life. Others would see in him a con man; Kate never seems bothered by that at all. If there's any reason why Kate hesitates now, Sawyer suspects it's because she knows that his daughter is a touchier subject even than all that Sawyer has actively done in his past.

He holds gazes with her for a few seconds, then shakes his head, willing himself to throw it all aside in the way that she had.

"Guess I do need my caffeine," he admits, though his voice is a little tighter than it should be, not quite letting it all go. "You'd think bein' marooned on an island would help ya cut back on the coffee."

[hightail]

"Yeah, well, bein' marooned on an island's not always all it's talked up to be," returns Kate, a halfhearted smirk tugging at her lips. She swings around, then, without any warning, and leads the way into the kitchen. It takes a conscious effort to keep a slow pace as she walks, tempted as ever to break into a run. Knowing that it's Sawyer behind her doesn't help. She manages, however, coming to a slow halt before the coffeemaker and quickly going through the motions - fresh water, a few ground scoops, power button.

Kate lifts herself into a seat on the counter, just beside the sink, and looks up toward where Sawyer is (presumably) approaching.

[cibosity]

His brow quirks curiously when Kate's words fall into a smoother drawl. Of course, he knows as well as anyone else (probably even better than most) that Kate is capable of being whoever people want her to be, whoever she needs to be. Still, it's not every day that she affects an accent for him, and he can't help the soft smile that stretches across his face after the fact. It throws him off course, and that's just what he needs right now, whether or not she intended for that at all. "How astute of you," he quips right in turn, eyes carefully following her gait. Sometimes, things are easy between them, and it shows, shows in the way that every action is taken without thought.

Today's not one of those days.

Still, he makes his way to the other side of her along the counter, resting his arms against the cool surface, staring up. "Y'know," he remarks, licking his lip. "It don't look like three years have passed, when I look at you. 'cept in your eyes. I can tell by your eyes."

[hightail]

There are times when even Kate doesn't realize it has been so long ( Or rather that it had been so long, because she's not new to this island anymore, foreign though it still feels). For brief and fleeting moments, she almost forgets how much her life had changed, her trial, Jack, and even Aaron all parts of some half-forgotten dream. And in this moments, she thinks that this is all she knows, all that she has ever known: Life on the outside, with everyone held at arm's length if not further, a lifetime of secrets the only things kept close to the chest.

She glances down, almost suspicious, as if the tables have been turned and it's now she who is on the spot. This is paranoia, she tells herself, Sawyer wouldn't risk it when she could so quickly bring up the jukebox sitation again. Still, even as she looks at him, she is mindful not to meet his gaze, wondering what, if anything, he might find there that she can't hide.

"What're my eyes telling you now?"

[cibosity]

The only reason why Sawyer continues to talk at all is because Kate doesn't seem to be affected. Of course she wouldn't be. There's just about nothing out there that Kate Austen can't hide, if she really puts her mind to it, Sawyer believes. It just figures that the island would indulge that, would make the better story by letting someone keep her shadows and her shields, and in some strange way, Sawyer even finds it comforting that this is the case.

It keeps him from building a false sense of security.

"That you're wonderin' why the hell I just brought that up," he replies, almost grinning, the corner of his mouth raised in a slight quirk. "And that you're still scared. Don't matter how long you've been on Tabula Rasa, this ain't a place you wanna settle. But that ain't a surprise."

[hightail]

"You wanna settle here, Sawyer?" The tone of her voice gets away from her, painting it as more of a demand than a question. It comes out sharp and raw, an attempt to deflect that ultimately reveals more than she meant to. They're always reading one another, searching for some sign or indication of the things neither is willing to say aloud, and Kate has no question that Sawyer is doing exactly that now

[cibosity]

No, the word is supposed to drop from his lips, hard and bitter, the act of pure rebellion against any roots that might hold him down. No, his answer is supposed to be, because men like him don't deserve happily after evers and never will. No, he's supposed to tell her, because Sawyer's already tried playing house with Kate, the only woman he's loved like that, and it all went to hell. There are a million reasons to say no, a million reasons to agree with Kate, but Sawyer just finds his jaw growing stiff as he presses the palm of his hand against his lips, thinking, another answer coming to him far too quickly