Strangely enough, the man's resemblance to Eames was among the last details that Kate noticed when she spotted him on the steps. He was larger, for one, certainly heavier, brawnier, and if Eames had any tattoos, she had not yet been in a position to see them. She wasn't sure if Eames smoked, but she was sure she had never seen him do so. None of these differences, however, were what first caught her eye. While the smoke slowly rising overhead and melting into the humid air would have been sufficient cause for attention from most, what Kate first saw were his injuries, the likes of which she hadn't seen in a while. There was something else as well, new and unfamiliar lines etched into his brow, an aggression and a weariness where Eames, carefree as he was, exuded only confidence
( ... )
They were friendly, these people, or just curious. He couldn't be sure. He'd spent a hell of a lot of his life in the ring, in front of an audience, but he'd never felt so much like a goddamn bug under a microscope. There was something in her expression that he couldn't quite pin down, but it made him distantly uncomfortable, in a way he wasn't really used to.
She approached him cautiously, like you might a caged animal, and at least that wasn't unfamiliar.
"Yeah, so they tell me," he muttered, and he was weary enough that his old, boyhood accent had come back with a vengeance. Time in Tacoma, time in the Marines, had smoothed out some of those rough edges, but being back in Pittsburgh, being around Pop, meant that it was all fresh again.
"I think you're probably right," agreed Kate honestly. It wasn't that islands like this one and the last existed to drive people insane - although she had seen that happen, too - but the people who found themselves drawn in were damaged more often than not. Not just physically, either, she thought, scanning over the man's appearance once more. "It's sorta fitting, though," she adds, shrugging. "Crazy people, crazy situation. Maybe that's an entry requirement."
"Sounds about right," Tommy said with a low rumble of laughter, taking a drag from his cigarette and when he looked at her, something softened behind his eyes. If they were all crazy, it stood to reason that he was, too. And it wasn't like he hadn't thought it before. He'd been screwed up since Iraq. Hell, since long before then.
It's strange to think of as comforting, this idea that they're all nuts around here (some far more than others), but that's exactly what it is. Part of that desperate desire not to feel alone, she supposes; it's one she's known well over the years, much to the detriment of those few people she ultimately turned to. She would still be keeping to herself now, but after her recent talk - for lack of a better, more complex word - with Sawyer, any action that could be construed as giving up on this island is sure to bring on the guilt.
"Kate," she returns with a smile. Slightly more confident that it won't piss him off, now, she takes a few steps forward and drops down to sit at the other end of the same step. She gestures at his injuries, which amounts to gesturing to the man as a whole, but he should get the point. "Those souvenirs from home or did they happen here?"
"Well, I hope you were winning," Kate offered in return, pressing her lips together in a half-smile. He certainly didn't look like he had come out the victor, but she having not seen the other guy, she couldn't be certain. "What was the fight about?" she then asked, too curious not to.
At that, he let out a noncommittal grunt, taking a drag from his cigarette and turning his focus to a point out in the trees. Had he been winning? Doubtful. They'd both known it was over, in that ring, it was just a matter of when he'd finally give. And if he would've walked out, or if he would've needed to be carried.
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They were friendly, these people, or just curious. He couldn't be sure. He'd spent a hell of a lot of his life in the ring, in front of an audience, but he'd never felt so much like a goddamn bug under a microscope. There was something in her expression that he couldn't quite pin down, but it made him distantly uncomfortable, in a way he wasn't really used to.
She approached him cautiously, like you might a caged animal, and at least that wasn't unfamiliar.
"Yeah, so they tell me," he muttered, and he was weary enough that his old, boyhood accent had come back with a vengeance. Time in Tacoma, time in the Marines, had smoothed out some of those rough edges, but being back in Pittsburgh, being around Pop, meant that it was all fresh again.
"I think you're all fucking nuts."
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"I'm Tommy."
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"Kate," she returns with a smile. Slightly more confident that it won't piss him off, now, she takes a few steps forward and drops down to sit at the other end of the same step. She gestures at his injuries, which amounts to gesturing to the man as a whole, but he should get the point. "Those souvenirs from home or did they happen here?"
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He'd known what he was doing, but Tommy was pretty sure that guy hadn't been an actual doctor.
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"MMA middleweight tournament. Final round."
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