A Different Way to Be: Chapter 4
Title: A Different Way to Be
Author: Zippy88
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Kate/Juliet
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own anything
Spoilers: A little from season 3
Chapter 4: I Am Walking Nowhere
You can see the distain clearly in Ben’s nonchalant stare at the television screens inside his room. He doesn’t speak, he doesn’t have to. There’s nothing to say, yet you still stand next to his chair waiting patiently for something, because you know you can’t leave without his say so. Finally he turns to you with a look of mild surprise widening at his eyes, “clearly she doesn’t like your sandwiches.”
Your eyes narrow at his crude joke, mocking you subtly for failing to make her cooperate. He shakes his head slightly, as he looks away from you. “Tom’s going to take her to the showers,” he informs you blankly, and your jaw drops in a startled disappointment. “You tried, Juliet, but we don’t have the time to wait for her to break anymore,” he adds upon seeing your surprise. “What makes you think that she’ll cooperate with you?” you ask daringly, shocking yourself with your brazen attitude. His eyes turn colder from behind his round glasses, “because I have what it takes, Juliet.”
His icy demeanour doesn’t hide his brutal intentions, of course you’ve already been informed casually of the plan for the three hostages, and you have to suck tightly at your tongue to refrain yourself from calling out against him. You’re stuck in the same circle despite your desperate pleas to leave its advancing claws. You have to do what he says otherwise you may as well go and lock yourself inside the holding cell as well. There’s no way out.
“I can try again,” you offer weakly, not wanting to give up completely. Ben gives a small, feigned laugh of disbelief, before he replies harshly, “I don’t think she has anything left to throw at the wall.” That’s his subtle way of telling you that this time you won’t get your way, you can’t get around him on this one. “Tom will take her to the showers,” he clarifies, as if he feels you haven’t quite gotten the message yet. “Can I at least take her there?” you ask far too politely than you should, but you know it’s the only way left that you can gain a little advantage over him. You watch him closely as he pulls back into his chair with a deep, thoughtful shade colourising his cheeks. “Tell me Juliet,” he begins lowly without looking directly at you, “what is it about Austen that you’re so interested in?”
You blink several times, sharply caught of guard by his imposing question. You don’t even know where to begin. He isn’t capable of understanding the likeness that separates you from her with a single thread bare line. “Because she’s the key isn’t she?” you answer after a moment’s careful ponder, “if she falls into line then so do the others.” He gives me a coy smile, as if he thinks he knows the real reason behind everything, and another vile wave of distain for him washes over you. “But why are you so concerned about her?” he probes again, clearly enjoying the awkwardness that he’s creating with his confrontation.
Thankfully you don’t get the time to think up a believable answer, because Tom comes striding into the room and casually knocks on the open door with a cautious look upon his face. “It’s okay Tom,” Ben announces, his narrow, stern stare is still focused very much on you, “Juliet’s going to take Austen. If you could go and fetch Shepherd and take him to the room down the hallway.”
There’s an awkward moment between all of you, as Tom glances suspiciously from Ben and then to you, but eventually he nods his head and disappears from behind the doorway. You breathe in a long lung full of air slowly and turn towards the door. You know him well enough to know that he would most certainly revel in his crude delights at being thanked for being granted your wish, so you don’t comply, not wanting to deal with anymore of his probing questions that you yourself don’t know how to process into understandable answers.
You take the woven bag from the table that sits behind Ben’s chair, remembering the imperative lecture that he had given you about making sure that none of the prisoners saw the full site of the station. Your mind is so crammed with your own thoughts of despising Ben that by the time you’re through the door of the cell, you’re thrown into another pit of wonderment that only seems to travel deeper.
She’s sat on the table this time at the far end with her slouched back facing you and her head bent low. You glance across at the stained mess that lingers on the glass, reminding you of her spontaneity. You approach her with great care, not wishing to frighten her into one of the corners. You need to remain calm that way she won’t get hurt.
“Kate,” you offer softly, hoping to coax her around to face you. She only straightens her back at the sound of your voice, apparently she still wants to play the tough card. You walk around the table and stop in front of her. This is the closest you’ve ever been to her and suddenly the fear rises up inside your throat. “I need you to come with me,” you’re trying desperately to keep your voice low and calm, but you know you’re shaking inside.
Her head turns to you with an incredibly slow movement, her eyes are ablaze with a heated rage and there’s a scar of a scorn written across her face. You barely have time to catch your breath as she launches herself at you from off the table. The strength of her hands finds your shoulders and you’re thrown violently back into the solid wall with a ringing thud clouding your ears.
You have to admit that part of you had expected some sort of an attack from her, but never this forceful. Your mind’s spinning from the darting pain that has now seeped into the pores of your skin on your back. For a moment the dim glow from the lights floods your eyes and spirals your vision into a blurry abyss. It clears for a brief second as you catch a short glimpse of her arm pulling back and steadying itself for the first swipe at your face, but her attention falters dramatically at the loud yell of her name from across the room.
You’re still exceptionally aware of her warm hand that’s curved around your throat still and the sharpness of her nails as they graze your skin. Ben is already closing in on her before she has time to think of how to react, his steady hand is stretched out in anticipation with the small shocking device pointed in her direction. He jabs it forcefully into her side causing her to double over and slip effortlessly to the floor. The tightened warmth evaporates from around your throat, and you’re confusing yourself into thinking that you actually miss it.
You’re rooted to your spot against the wall, as if the damp coldness has locked you into its beckoning grasp. You watch guiltily as Ben quickly produces the familiar metal handcuffs from out of his pocket and hastily shoves them onto the brunette’s shaking wrists. For as much as you should welcome the sight of her being chained into a protective safety away from you, you feel nothing but great pity for her, knowing that this is exactly what she runs away from.
Ben turns to you while he stands up from his bent position over her. His glare is enough to tell you that he knew that this was going to happen. It’s a silent warning that you’re to follow his strict instructions from now on, and you scoff at him subtly, like you have any other choice in the matter but to do what he says. He grabs the brunette’s arm forcefully, dragging her to her weakened feet as her body still shakes violently from the electric shocks he’s just poured into her.
“You’d better get her to the showers,” he says lowly, pushing her towards you slightly. You’re swallowing at the air around you, feeling the warm comfort in breathing properly again. You take the brunette by the arm, careful to make sure you’re firm but gentle so that she can distinguish a difference between his touch and yours. You somehow find it important that she recognises that your hold isn’t threatening, not like his.
It doesn’t really sink in to know that she was going to strike you with her fist. Even as the woven bag slips effortlessly over her still shaking head, you know you’re supposed to hold nothing but scornfulness for her that you’re supposed to loathe her more now. But you can’t find any of those things inside yourself no matter how deep you try to go. You just assume it’s your upmost awe for her bravery that is hiding the contempt in the dark corners of yourself.
The short walk across the station towards the showers only serves to confuse your tangled thoughts even more. They won’t leave you alone, and you can feel yourself suffocating from their plaguing poison. It’s the smell that hits you first. The rich dampened smell of disinfectant lingers somewhere on the tiles of the shower room. You shudder at its clinical cleanliness, as you prepare to remove the woven bag from off her head.
“Juliet.” You pause sharply at the hoarse sound of your name and turn to see Tom coming towards you. “Ben’s told me that I’m to take care of this,” he informs you, softening his voice slightly, as if he doesn’t want Kate to hear him. You tilt your head to the side with a confused frown taking its rightful place across your forehead. “He wants to see you,” he adds, “he’s down at the beach.”
You stare at him apprehensively, before darting your eyes back to the handcuffed woman beside you, her pale face still cloaked behind the dark weaves of material. “Don’t worry,” he whispers, catching your sense of concern, “everything’s going to be fine.” He nods his head towards the brunette as if to make his point a little clearer without having to utter the words in front of her and you allow yourself a shadow of a smile at him for his subtle promise.
Taking a deep breath, you raise your eyes at him, preparing yourself for the meeting with Ben. Tom notices and nods his head at you with a friendly smile, and his mute vote of confidence is strangely comforting. You leave without looking at her again. You just can’t bring yourself to glance at the chained up woman that’s reminiscent of the black and white photos still sitting in her file back at your home.
The wild dampness that clings to the fresh air hits you instantly, wiping its clamminess across your skin while the blazing heat of the island’s periling sun scorches it raw. Your feet clumsily follow the path that you know so well now, having been there several times before. The soft dryness crumbles beneath your white trainers, as you try to stall your pace from getting to the inevitable. The pale sky is awash with a distant array of cobalt hues, but you know it won’t last for long, because rain is rolling in from the vast openness of the ocean. It’s taken you three years to perfect your ability to predict the island’s changing weather patterns.
Your eyes fall upon the golden shine of the blanket of sand that shapes the beach. A simple table is planted in the middle, not too far away from the eroding shoreline as the tide licks at it slowly. Ben is already there, struggling with the umbrella that will shade the table from the imposing glare of the sun. You stand fixed to your spot in the sand half contemplating whether you have enough time to double back on yourself and disappear behind the trees, but you don’t, he’s seen you.
Even from this considerable gulf of distance you can see his widened eyes staring at you, instructing you to walk up to him. You want to desperately disobey him, to run away, to escape his devilish plans, but your feet refuse to move out of pure petrified terror. You’re not built for running away, and a streak of hardened jealousy paints itself across your brow at how easy it must be for Kate Austen to run away, how unafraid her feet must be to let her escape so effortlessly.
You make a move, knowing that you’re only going to fuel his frustration more if you delay yourself any further. A deep casted shadow slips across your eyes, even though the full force of the sun almost blinds you with its brightness. It’s realisation you soon come to conclude that consumes this darkened shadow, realisation that you’re walking towards the thing you should be trying to escape from. You’re helplessly walking straight into the empty openness, there’s nothing there, there’s no feelings only a dull numbness. But yet you keep walking the same path to nowhere.