A Pain That I'm Used To - Part Three
Series: A Pain That I’m Used To
Title: Part Three - Haunted
Rating: NC-17
Note: FutureFic - set 1 year post-rescue
Spoilers: Mention of happenings from 2x9 "What Kate Did"
Disclaimer: Not Mine!
Previous Parts: 1 | 2
It’s not meant to be like this
It’s not what I planned at all
I don’t want to feel like this
So that makes it all your fault…
- Imogen Heap
Sawyer carefully unfolds the wrinkled, worn piece of paper he withdraws from his back pocket and reads it again, his eyes narrowing in the bright sunlight. He should be wearing his glasses, he knows, but he never bothers anymore.
The edges of the page are ripped now, some of the words smudged. It doesn’t matter, because he knows every single word of the letter by heart.
The sound of approaching laughter, a sound strange and foreign to him these days, stirs him from his thoughts. He looks up and sees the source, a pair of afternoon runners out for a jog. A man and a woman, both too impossibly in shape and wearing coordinating outfits. That image is enough to make him feel sick, much less the snippet of conversation he catches as they ran by, something about hiring a new nanny. People like that make him crazy.
Sawyer carefully slides the battered letter in his front shirt pocket and rises from the park bench, startling some geese and ducks that had been slowly circling him, hoping he would feed them. He fights back the urge to kick one of them.
“Get outta my way,” Sawyer mutters, knowing the animals don’t mean any annoyance, but in too much of a bad mood to be reasonable.
He pulls his jacket closer around his body, wondering how it can be so sunny out and still be so cold. He longs for the warmth of Tennessee for just a moment before cutting across the muddy grass toward the Park Street side of the Commons. It’s spring somewhere, but certainly not in Boston. March thus far has brought nothing but clouds and rain.
The weather matches Sawyer’s mentality all too well. He hasn’t felt happy in months.
He stops just outside the park, digging his lighter from his pocket. As he lights a cigarette, he feels a drop of rain.
“Oh, fuck you,” he grumbles toward the sky. Taking a long drag, he then flicks the ash onto the ground spitefully, pissed off at nature in general. He debates getting on the T and heading home, but it once it starts pouring, it will be jammed. He’d rather get soaking wet than be stuck in a cramped subway car with throngs of people. He never was one for crowds.
Lately, being anything but alone is enough to make him irritated.
He crosses against the light and heads down Tremont, passing a gaggle of school children that must be on their way home already. Later than I thought, Sawyer thinks to himself, realizing he had spent a lot longer in the park than he had anticipated. He glances upward to the clock on the Park Street Church. Three-fifteen.
Umbrellas are starting to open up along the sidewalk, the people underneath them completely oblivious to anything outside their narrow circumference. Within the space of two blocks, Sawyer almost has his eye poked out three times. A man in an expensive three-piece suit, with a leather briefcase, Burberry umbrella, and a cell phone attached to his ear, strides past, his elbow catching Sawyer right in his ribs. The man doesn’t even mumble an apology as he continues on his way.
“Watch it, asshole!” Sawyer turns and yells at him, his fuse far too short to put up with such crap behavior. The offender in question doesn’t even acknowledge him, not even hesitating slightly as he turns the corner and disappears from sight.
That’s when Sawyer thinks he sees a familiar face in the crowd. But he blinks in disbelief and just like that the face is gone. Sawyer pauses, glancing back again, then decides he must be seeing things because everyone passing by is a complete stranger.
He knows he should probably just go home but he can’t stand the thought of going back to his apartment, knowing he’ll just sit there and think…think of all the things he doesn’t want to think of. He unconsciously touches the front pocket of his shirt as he stops at a crosswalk, the slight rustle of paper confirming that it’s still there.
Sawyer can’t help but look back down the street behind him again, still feeling unsettled. He sees no one familiar but can’t shake the feeling that he’s being watched. The sign switches to walk and Sawyer steps out into the street, not bothering to look before moving. If someone wants to run the light and hit him, they can go ahead.
The nagging feeling grows as he hesitates in front of the wrought iron gate surrounding King’s Chapel. He slowly walks down to the Granary, tossing another look over his shoulder. This time, it’s the sight of someone’s all-too-recognizable body that clues him in. He’s sure now.
He comes to a stop in front of the graveyard, letting his gaze rest on the old, worn tombstones. Cemeteries always comfort him, he doesn’t know why. He comes to this one often. It’s raining hard now and everyone around Sawyer is scurrying for cover. Sawyer just lets the water soak into his clothes, finishing the last of his cigarette. He tosses it over the fence into the cemetery, deriving a sick sense of satisfaction from the action.
“You’re defiling a historical site there, Sawyer.”
Sawyer raises an eyebrow but doesn’t turn toward her.
“Thought that was you, Freckles,” he says. “Any reason why you’ve been following me?”
“I’ve been trying to track you down for days, Sawyer. Where’ve you been?”
“Around.” He looks at her, not surprised to find that she doesn’t have an umbrella either. Her clothes cling to her small frame, her long hair hanging wet and heavy down her back. She walks up to him carefully, like she is approaching a scared animal and she doesn’t want to frighten him away. “So…what brings you back to Beantown?”
“Didn’t really know where else to go.”
“Sure do know how to make a guy feel special,” Sawyer mutters, shooting her a look as she stops next to him, her hands curling around the iron rods of the gate. She laughs lightly, a bit bitterly.
“Boy do I,” she replies, shaking her head.
“You coulda at least lied and said you missed me or somethin’.”
“Sorry…”
“Things bad?” Sawyer asks her after a moment, already knowing the answer even before she nods. “I ain't so fantastic either.”
“Sorry.”
“What’s wrong with you these days?” Sawyer inquires, finally turning fully to face her. The look on her face is full of pain and Sawyer knows it must have something to do with Jack. She looks how he’s felt for the past 6 months. For a moment his heart seizes in his chest, wondering if Jack’s all right. Kate seems to be on the verge of tears.
“I went back to Toronto,” she tells him.
“Back to him?”
“No…I didn’t…” Kate trails off, not sure how to explain herself in the right way. “He didn’t know was there. I just had to see him. See if he was doing okay.”
“Then you’ve been following a lot of people around lately, huh?” Sawyer teases, though what he wants to do is ask if Jack is, in fact, okay.
“He was with someone.” The words are weighed down with regret and sadness, sagging and falling in the air between them.
“Oh he was, was he.” Sawyer’s stomach drops out at the thought of Jack with someone else and he glances down at the sidewalk, not wanting Kate to see it on his face.
“This blonde. This gorgeous blonde,” Kate unconsciously runs her hands through her own hair as she remembers the other woman’s golden locks. “She’s a doctor.”
“How could you tell?” Sawyer coughs lightly, trying to clear the catch in his throat.
“They were in the hospital…she had the white coat and the ID tag and-“
“No, how could you tell they were together?” Sawyer interrupts curtly.
“He kissed her. He said he’d see her for dinner,” Kate snorts at that, as if she can’t even believe it. Sawyer is rapidly trying to scan through his memory, searching for the name to connect to the description. He knows it’s there, he just has to find it.
“Emma.” He finally stumbles across it, the name escaping his lips in a barely audible whisper.
“What?” Kate asks, not able to hear.
“Emma. That’s the chick he was with.” Sawyer explains. Kate looks confused. “Real pretty, looks kinda like a livin’ Barbie doll? Got legs that seem to go on forever?” Kate nods. “That’d be her.”
“You know her?” She is surprised and bewildered. “How do you…?” Sawyer reaches out and puts one hand on the fence, leaning against it and supporting his weight with one arm.
“I met her. When I went to see Jack.” Sawyer shrugs at her. “They weren’t together then. Though she was tryin’.”
“You went to see him?”
“You asked me to.”
“But you said you weren’t going to.”
“Well I did.”
“How was he?”
”Messed up,” Sawyer replies harshly. “You did a real number on him.” Kate looks crestfallen and Sawyer almost regrets his words. Almost, but not quite. “Why, what did you expect? That he’d be dancin’ on the tables?”
“No…” Kate tugs on the dripping hem of her t-shirt. “Do you think…I mean, were you able to help him at all?” Sawyer bites back a bitter chuckle.
“No,” he answers simply, the chuckle escaping anyway. If she only knew. “Think I only made things worse.” They both fall silent. There’s nothing left to say about that.
“So this Emma…”
“Yeah, what about her?”
“Have you talked to Jack at all since? Has he said anything to you?”
“Sweetheart, Jack and I ain’t exactly pen pals. I haven’t seen the guy in six months.”
“I just thought maybe…” Kate sticks her hands in her back pockets. “I thought you guys might be keeping in touch.”
“I don’t do unrequited, girlie,” Sawyer mutters. That’s the closest he’ll ever come to telling anyone how he feels about Jack. Kate notes the admission and for just a moment, her heart pangs in sympathy for him. For the first time since Ana flirted with Jack on the island, she has had a taste of what it feels like to watch Jack with someone else. It doesn’t feel good. She realizes Sawyer has been feeling that way all along, and it was because of her.
“You think it’s serious? With Emma?” She questions quietly, hoping that Sawyer can tell her something comforting.
“How would I know?” Sawyer replies, irked. “I know even less than you do. And it ain't no business of mine who Jack’s datin’. Not really yours anymore either.” He points out nastily. “If this Emma chick makes Jack happy, whatever. You should be thrilled, considerin’ how bad you fucked him over.”
“What is wrong with you?” Kate asks angrily, her eyes narrowing. “You’re acting like I did this to hurt you! What happened between me and Jack is between me and Jack.”
“Then why do you keep makin’ it my problem?” Sawyer retorts. Kate stops, realizing he’s exactly right.
“I don’t know. I guess I thought you understood me. I thought that we’re…similar.” Kate’s voice is tight and hard and Sawyer replies with equal tension in his tone.
“I understand you just fine.” His glare penetrates her, intense. “And yeah, we’re similar, you and me. But seein’ as how I ain’t exactly my own biggest fan, Sweetcheeks, I don’t see where you’d be gettin’ the idea I like you any more than I like myself.”
Kate doesn’t respond. She crosses her arms in front of her chest and looks at him, then looks away, focusing her gaze out on the busy street. Cars are crawling by, headlights on and windshield wipers swishing. People pass quickly, not noticing the pair standing there arguing in the pouring rain, apparently not finding it out of the ordinary.
Sawyer takes a step toward her, close enough that water from his body drips onto her bare arms.
“The difference between you and me is that he loves you,” he says lowly, his voice like crackling like gravel. He's on the attack now, angry and accusatory. “You broke him, baby. Run all you want - you ain’t ever gonna outrun that one.”
“I know I can’t, Sawyer,” she responds. They lock into one another’s gazes, neither of them wanting to back down. A car horn blasts through the relative quiet and Sawyer looks away. The tension between them slowly dissipates.
“You got a place to stay?” Sawyer gruffly asks, brushing wayward strands of wet hair from his cheek, his clothes hanging heavy on his body. He shivers, suddenly realizing again how cold it is out. Kate doesn’t even have a coat on; she must be freezing.
“No, not really.”
“Come on,” Sawyer doesn’t offer, he orders. He gestures in the vague direction of Dorchester - probably not even the right direction, since he never knows which way was which in this city. Kate follows him reluctantly, not having any other option.
*******
Sawyer dumps the plastic bags from Star Market unceremoniously on his rickety kitchen table, glancing back at Kate as she enters his apartment. He can see from the look on her face that she’s none too impressed.
“It’s not nice like Jack’s place, but it works just fine for me,” Sawyer says preemptively and Kate puts her hands up defensively.
“Didn’t say anything, Sawyer. You should see some of the places I’ve been staying lately…this is the Ritz Carlton in comparison,” she replies. “Besides…it’s close to the Red Line…and the grocery store…the hardwood floor is nice…” It’s clear she’s grasping at straws.
“Carpet smelled weird. Pulled it up and tossed it.”
“Your landlord didn’t care?”
“Looks better, don’t it?”
“Yes…it does,” she agrees. She opens up the nearest plastic bag and starts unpacking the small amount of groceries they had picked up. She rips open a box of crackers and helps herself, shoving two into her mouth at once. Sawyer gives her a questioning look.
“Hungry there, Sweetheart?”
“Haven’t eaten since breakfast yesterday…sorry,” she apologizes. Sawyer rolls his eyes at her.
“You shoulda said somethin’ at the market, girl. I’d have got more stuff.”
“I’m only here for the night, Sawyer…no need to load up on food if you aren’t going to eat it.” Kate surveys the apartment once more, noticing the stack of unopened mail and outdated newspapers sitting by the door and the general amount of mess. “It doesn’t seem like you’re here much either.”
“Not lately.” Sawyer grunts, opening up the fridge. It’s mostly empty.
“You’ve got a lot of books now.” Kate observes. There are stacks of books scattered here and there, no particular organization or system evident.
“Yeah, I do.” He shuts the fridge and then crosses the small room, digging through a stack of books on the floor by the ratty couch. He picks one up and holds it out to her. “This one’s yours.”
“Mine?” Kate is puzzled as she takes it from him. It is the copy of Sense & Sensibility that she had left behind at Jack’s house. “Where did you get this?”
“Lifted it from Jack’s. He said it was yours,” Sawyer explains off-hand. “Thought you might want it back.”
“Thanks…” Kate sets the book down on the counter, her fingers playing with the edge of the front cover. “Is there a place I should dump my stuff?” She takes her backpack off her shoulder and Sawyer nods with his head toward the couch.
“Couch pulls out. You can sleep there.”
Kate looks around the small room for a sign of another bed. There isn’t one.
“Then where will you sleep?”
“Floor’s fine for me.”
“Sawyer, I can take the floor. I’m already putting you out-“
“You ain’t putting me out. Besides, I slept for eight months on the beach and in the jungle, didn’t I? Floor is nice and comfy compared to that.”
“I slept in those places for eight months too, Sawyer. I can take the floor.”
“Would ya just let me be a gentleman already?” Sawyer says, frustrated. “Take the goddamn bed.” Kate has to laugh at this.
“Very gentlemanly,” she agrees, throwing her bag onto the couch where it lands with an awful squeak of the springs. “But you have to let me make dinner.”
“You’ll have to, if you want it to be edible,” Sawyer responds. “I can’t cook worth a damn.”
“Well then, let me in the kitchen. I can make…spaghetti. And…well, that’s about it.” Kate laughs as she pushes Sawyer away from the stove. “Do you have a pot?”
“Um…yeah,” Sawyer looks around the kitchen, not sure where he would’ve put it. “It’s here somewhere.” He finds it and hands it to her. She fills it up with water at the sink and sets it on the stove, the burner lighting after three tries. She next digs out the box of spaghetti from the bags of groceries on the table, as well as a can of ready-made tomato sauce.
“Why don’t you cut up the bread?” Kate suggests, lifting it out of its bag and setting it on the table.
“I can do that,” Sawyer replies, though it’s a few minutes before he finds a suitable knife for that purpose. He notices Kate laughing to herself and chuckles too, though not knowing why. “What’s so funny?”
“Look at us. Being domestic. This is the strangest thing ever.”
“Stranger than a bunch of crazy people conductin’ weirdass experiments on an uncharted island?”
“Okay, second strangest,” Kate concedes.
“What, you and Jack never did the whole Martha Stewart thing?” Sawyer teases and Kate laughs out loud.
“When Jack was home for dinner…he cooked. I would just sit at the table and entertain him.”
“That sounds like something you shouldn’t be doing at the kitchen table,” Sawyer taunts.
“Oh, get your mind out of the gutter,” Kate scoffs and then gives him a wicked grin. “I always saved that for special nights.”
“Oh did you now?” Sawyer cocks an eyebrow at her, amused. “Didn’t think Jack would be one to sit back and watch.”
“Jack is…surprising.” The smile slowly drifts off of Kate’s face, the light moment quickly fading into a painful memory. She abruptly turns her focus back to the stove. “Anyway, I tried to cook risotto once and it ended up looking like puke. Jack didn’t expect me to cook again after that.”
“Probably a good thing,” Sawyer comments. “I’m sure Jack’s cooking was perfect, of course.”
“Of course.”
“I’d like to find just one thing that he is awful at. It would make me feel better.”
“He can’t make a bed properly,” Kate offers. “You’d think he’d know how, with hospital corners and all, but he just sucks at it. Sheets are always screwed up.” She thinks hard, straining for more things. “And he always messes up the laundry…his mind is on other things and next thing I know, my whites are pink.” She pauses again, at a loss.
“That all ya got? He stinks at household chores?”
“Well…he’s way too over-protective…”
“Jack? Never,” Sawyer says sarcastically.
“But those things can be good sometimes too, so…” Kate searches for something else and then it hits her. “He sucks at relaxing. He needs a twelve step program just to allow himself to have some fun.”
“He sucks at fun.” Sawyer repeats. “You two never had any fun?”
“I didn’t say that. We had a lot of fun. I just had to force him to realize it was okay to enjoy himself. Every single time.”
“Seems frustrating enough.”
“Yeah.”
“Well…that’s something, at least.”
“Yep…it helps…” Kate replies. Her expression backslides into sadness again and Sawyer frowns.
“We need to talk about something else besides goddamn Jack,” Sawyer tells her, watching as she breaks the spaghetti in half and dumps it all into the boiling water. She nods.
“Yeah. We most definitely do.”
It immediately becomes evident that they both can’t think of a thing to say.
“Beer?” Sawyer asks, walking to the fridge.
“Hell yeah.”
*******
Kate sets her fourth empty on the floor next to the couch, smiling lazily at Sawyer. He is sitting on the floor a few feet away; he smiles back, his lips curling against the rim of the beer bottle he is drawing away from his mouth.
“What?” He asks her, wondering what she’s grinning about.
“Just thinking what a sad lot we are.”
“That somethin’ to smile about?”
“It’s vaguely funny, yeah,” Kate remarks. “We’re pathetic.”
“Yes. Yes we are.”
“Couldn’t you get yourself a real bed? This couch is really nasty. There’s a spring right here that’s jabbing into my back.”
“Well, Sassafras, move over and don’t lay there then.”
“You should come up here, Sawyer. I don’t want to make you sleep on the floor, I really don’t.”
“From the sound of things, the couch ain’t much more comfortable, is it?”
“Oh just come over here,” Kate pats the empty space next to her, giving him a plaintive look. “Don’t make me get up and get you.”
“Lazy,” Sawyer mutters, forcing himself up from the floor with a grunt. He plops onto the mattress beside Kate, the frame creaking underneath both their weight. Kate looks at him, warmth in her eyes, and reaches out, pushing his long hair back from his face.
“You know, I missed you, Sawyer. I really did.”
“You gettin' sappy on me?” Sawyer teases, letting her comment slide off of him, not taking it seriously.
“No, I really did, Sawyer, I’m not just saying that.”
“Well I missed you too, kiddo.”
“You did not.”
“Did too.” Sawyer sighs. “I actually miss every god damned one of them. How’s that for pathetic? Even the bitch. I even miss her.”
“Ana, you mean?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah, I kinda do too,” Kate reluctantly admits. “Even though she used to go after Jack.”
“Too bad for her Jack only wanted you,” Sawyer says, bitterness edging into his voice. Kate lets it go without comment.
“I think about everybody…what they’re doing right now…what they must think of me for leaving Jack…they must hate me.”
“I don’t think they do.”
“And you know this from your lengthy telephone calls and pages of letters?” Kate smirks. “You dropped off the face of the planet after we got back.”
“Thought it’d be better if I didn’t hang around,” Sawyer shrugs. “I sent you that postcard, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did. All sins forgiven,” Kate laughs as she twists off the cap of another bottle of beer. She hesitates before asking the question she really wants to ask, turning the cap between her fingers. “Do you hate me, Sawyer?”
“What?” He asks, confused for a second. “No.”
“So you never once hated my guts for being with Jack?” Sawyer is put off by the boldness of her question.
“Why would I hate your guts?”
”If Jack was with you, I would hate you.”
”Don’t think you ever had to worry about that, Kate.”
“I’m just saying…I don’t blame you if you do. Hate me, I mean.”
“Well I don’t. Have no reason to,” Sawyer replies, trying his best to sound like he really means it. Kate isn’t buying it.
“You can tell me. I won’t be hurt.”
“If I hated ya, would I let you crash here tonight? Would I be sittin’ here drinkin’ beer and shootin’ the breeze with you?”
“I don’t know. Probably. You act like an asshole, but deep down you’re not. You wouldn’t leave me without a place to stay.”
“Maybe not. But I wouldn’t bet your life savings on that. I actually am quite the bastard, ya know.”
“I don’t think that’s true, Sawyer,” Kate replies, clearly and honestly. Sawyer just shrugs off her comment, not agreeing with her opinion but not wanting to get into it.
“Whatever you say, darlin’. You want to think I’m a big ol’ softie, go ahead. Your mistake.”
“Wouldn’t be my first.”
“Mine either.”
They look at one another, smiling lightly in the face of their shared regrets. Two messed up people, sitting in a run down apartment in the middle of the night with cheap beer, cheap smokes, and heavy hearts.
“What a pair we are.”
“Yep, what a pair…”
Her lips meet his and the feeling is nothing like she expected. There was a time when she had been wildly attracted to him, despite not wanting to be. Any kisses they had shared previously, while regrettable, had been hot and exciting.
Now all she feels is emptiness. Not the dull disappointment of kissing someone and finding there is no spark. Not the letdown of realizing that kissing the back of her hand would have sent more shivers down her spine. There is only desperation passing from her lips to his and back from his to hers, both of them wanting to feel something, anything, wishing that when they open their eyes they will discover the person they really want to be kissing. But they only find each other.
Nevertheless she moves closer to him, comforted by his nearness and connected by their common pain. Sawyer’s body warms hers and she allows herself to sink into him, not feeling so alone anymore. He feels exactly as she does, wants the same things she does - and neither of them want one another. Kate doesn’t feel the need to pretend. There’s no need to lie, to tell herself that with every kiss Sawyer and she share, every touch that caresses her skin, she’s not thinking of Jack. Because she is.
She knows Sawyer is too.
Kate’s hands move to the front of his shirt and begin working the buttons open. She stops, her fingers playing with the key he has on a chain tied around his neck. She hadn’t noticed it before.
“What’s this?” She asks with a small smile, turning the silver key between the pads of her fingers with great interest, thinking of the key that had hung around Jack’s neck for so long on the island. Sawyer covers her hand with his and gently pulls it away.
“Don’t wanna talk about it.” He mumbles. Kate hesitates for a moment, thinking that the key looks vaguely familiar, but she can’t place it. She chooses to save her questions for another time and instead finishes unbuttoning his shirt. He closes his eyes, she doesn’t know why. Kate can hear the faint crackle of paper as she slips the shirt from his shoulders.
“You’re still carrying that around…?” She murmurs quietly, never knowing Sawyer to keep anything on him save that letter. Sawyer’s eyes flicker open and he meets her softly questioning gaze. Her hands skim over his defined collarbone gently, drawing her face further back from his, trying to read his expression. Some memories broke his usually hard demeanor and she treasured those moments of wounded vulnerability. Not because he was hurt, but because he was open.
“I burned that letter a long time ago. Right after we got back,” Sawyer says, not wanting to explain any more than that. Kate wonders if he’s lying and decides that he probably is. She doesn’t press the issue further, pulling him back to her.
She rests her cheek against his bare shoulder as he holds her, feeling the rough scar from his bullet wound against her skin. All of her scars from the island were emotional and that is hard enough; it must be awful to wear it on the outside as well. Kate moves her head and runs her fingers over it tenderly and then lays a soft kiss onto his shoulder.
Returning her gaze to Sawyer’s, she finds him looking down at her, watching her intently.
“I still remember that day when Eko brought you back…I really thought you were going to die. I was so scared.”
“I’m sure if I’d been conscious, I would’ve been scared shitless too,” Sawyer smiles crookedly. “Guess I was lucky I was out cold.”
“Guess so,” Kate nods, letting him embrace her again. She can feel his heart beating against her chest. It beats steady and slow, his breath is even and measured as he moves to kiss her again. There’s no excitement, no desire. It just is what it is.
Sawyer tugs her shirt open, his hands slipping around her small frame. His fingers fumble with the back clasp of her bra and he chuckles from deep within his chest.
“Sorry…it’s been a long time since I’ve done this,” Sawyer shakes his head ever so slightly, dismayed over his own ineptness. Hard to believe that there was a time when he could’ve unclasped a woman’s bra in his sleep. That felt like a different lifetime, it was so long ago.
Kate moves and unhooks the garment herself, giving Sawyer a small smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes.
”Me too,” Kate laughs as Jack finishes slipping the straps from her shoulders, his fingers so light against her skin but burning her with his touch just the same. She feels herself trembling, with need, with excitement, with anticipation. She hadn’t known how badly she wanted Jack until about five minutes ago when she’d kissed him and found couldn’t stop.
There had been dreams, both waking and sleeping, musings and ponderings, wondering what it would be like to be with him. But apart from a few kisses, which were inevitably followed by her confusion and Jack being hurt, things had not progressed forward at all.
But here they are, deep in the jungle, by themselves. He had said something innocuous, nothing out of the usual, but at that moment he was so…him, so Jack, she couldn’t help herself. This time, however, he seemed to be expecting it, or at least recovered from his surprise quickly enough that when she made an attempt to pull away, he responded by kissing her even harder.
It was like a dam had broke within her and everything was flooding out all at once. Her reservations were swept away like loose debris, forgotten as a strong wave of desire pulled her along like the rush of a strong current. Her finger tugged on the cord around his neck, pulling him closer, the edge of the key digging into her knuckle sharply. He was pressed tightly against her but it wasn’t close enough. Nothing was enough. Everything he did, she simply wanted more.
That’s how it came to pass that she’s on her back on the muddy floor of the forest in the dimming light of evening, Jack’s heavy and tight body moving over hers.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he breathes, though he doesn’t stop kissing her.
“I know,” Kate agrees, breaking contact momentarily to pull his shirt swiftly over his head. She runs her hands up his defined chest with a faint smile before slipping her fingers to the back of his neck and guiding his face back to hers.
“People will wonder where we are,” Jack whispers. Kate lets out a tiny laugh at him. He never stops worrying for a second, not even as her hands are working to unbutton his jeans.
“So let them wonder, Jack,” Kate shrugs, not giving a damn if the rest of the survivors get nervous in their absence. None of them would go out at night to search, not without Jack to lead them. Locke would wait until morning light, knowing that wherever they were, Jack and Kate knew enough to remain safe. “Just stop thinking about them.” She raises an eyebrow, lifting her lips to his again for a short, fluttering kiss. “Can you do that?” Her warm fingers slide underneath the elastic waistband of his boxers and Jack’s eyes darken. He smiles crookedly, biting his lip.
“I can sure as hell try,” Jack replies and Kate completes her movement, letting her hand touch what it’s been longing to touch. His body feels hot against hers as a surge of urgent arousal flows through her. She hadn’t realized quite how much she had missed this - there had always been more pressing things on her mind than sex. Now it’s the only thing she can think about, finding it unfathomable that she had held off this long in having him.
Neither of them seem to have any sense of control; one would think they haven’t had sex in years, not months. Perhaps it is all they’ve been through, or the fact that they are even still alive, but Kate feels overwhelmed by everything, thinking there’s no way that just one time is going to be enough to fulfill this aching need.
Jack strips her of her jeans in a hurry, though somehow his touch still manages to be careful. He is still a semblance of himself, somehow summoning up enough patience to be thoughtful. Kate shoves his pants down his hips and demands that he melts and burns along with her, thinking it unfair that she can’t stop herself from scraping her fingernails down his the curve of his spine but he can still be holding back.
He enters her with little resistance; neither of them need time to get there. It’s then that something shifts within Jack and he’s suddenly just as lost as she is. All coherent thought evaporates; she can’t even form a word on her tongue, all she can do is gasp, matching his throaty moans and grunts of exertion with groans of her own.
Both of their bodies are covered in a slick sheen of sweat; dirt and leaves starting to cling to her legs and back. She can’t even begin to care.
Jack thrusts into her with a kind of wild abandon, making love to her with a passion and intensity she had expected from him but with the recklessness she would’ve expected from someone more like Sawyer. She wraps her legs tightly around his waist and forces him deeper. They don’t bother to try and kiss any more. They are too out of breath and too out of control to handle the coordination. He hovers above her, holding himself up on trembling arms, his lips only brushing against hers occasionally by accident. His face, full of arousal and need, is hopelessly erotic and Kate sears it into her memory, knowing she’ll want to remember it forever.
Their connection lasts all of ten minutes or so and within that short gap of time, she comes twice. Once almost instantly as he penetrates her, and the second time as Jack comes inside of her, his hand working between their bodies to send her over the edge yet again.
Jack holds himself above Kate, still within her, as they both come down from their peaks, inhaling deeply but unevenly like he had perhaps forgotten to breathe. Slowly he withdraws, rolling off of her and laying on his back beside her. He wraps a strong arm around her shoulders and pulls her body close to his, her feet crossing with his.
“Holy shit…” he murmurs, letting out a long breath and a slight chuckle. Kate tilts her head backwards and up to look slyly at him, her own peal of laughter echoing into the night. She sets a hand on his bare chest and nods against his shoulder.
“Yeah, definitely,” she agrees, giggling so girlishly she surprises herself. “Remind me again why weren’t we doing this before now?”
“I have absolutely no idea,” Jack shakes his head in wonder. Kate grins and moves on top of him, her hands going to either side of his face.
“You still worried about the people back at the caves?” She asks.
“No…not really.”
“Well good…cause there’s no way you’re leaving here any time soon.”
She and Sawyer finish disrobing one another slowly, not in any big hurry to get to where they are going. It isn’t about passion or desire; it’s only the pathetic need to be close to someone who is hurting just as much.
Sawyer kisses her gently as they lean back onto the rickety pullout bed together, then turns her onto her side. They lay like that for a moment like they’re spooning, neither of their minds in this room at this moment. All thoughts are elsewhere.
His hand slips down her flat stomach and seeks out the heat between her thighs, his fingers moving to arouse her. His hot breath warms her neck, his voice deep and hoarse in her ear.
“Are you pretending I’m him?” He asks her, no hint of anger or hurt in his tone, his words eliminating any doubts as to why they’re doing what they’re doing.
“Yes,” she answers honestly, putting her hand over his and making him move faster, press down harder. Sawyer shifts behind her and enters her slowly. Kate lets out a gasp and urges her body back toward him.
They stop speaking then, the room completely silent save the occasional creak of the mattress springs, punctuated by a few sparse grunts and whimpers. Kate lets out a sharp little cry as she comes, biting back tears as Sawyer pulls out of her, still hard. She won’t let him see her cry.
She remains on her side, facing the wall, knowing enough to recognize the sound of Sawyer’s hand stroking up and down his own cock. Apparently he can’t pretend after all. He grunts just once as he comes into his hand and then all movement stops.
He lay there next to her for a minute before getting up and disappearing into the bathroom to clean up. Kate lets out a choked sob as soon as she hears the bathroom door click shut and the water turn on. Just one tear slides down her cheek before she is able to stop herself, quickly wiping it away and regaining control.
Sawyer comes back into the room and sits down on the opposite edge of the bed, his back to her, and his head in his hands. They sit on opposite sides of the bed but the space between them may as well have been a mile.
“I’m sorry,” he finally mumbles.
“Me too,” she whispers back. Slowly she turns and crawls over the bed toward him, wrapping her arms around his chest and laying her head on the back of his shoulder. Sawyer sighs deeply. “Me too,” she repeats. Sawyer turns his head to look at her, gently reaching up to brush a stray strand of hair from her eyes.
“I never thought this would be my life.” He says quietly. Kate rests his chin on his shoulder, looking at him and finding his eyes earnest and full of pain. She nods against him.
“Me either, Sawyer,” she admits. “Two years ago I wanted nothing more than to be free.”
“Didn’t work out so well, did it?”
“I don’t know how to be with him,” Kate replies. “I’m not built for it.”
“I’m not either…so I s’pose it’s a good thing Jack doesn’t want me like he wants you. I only hurt myself,” Sawyer theorizes, pulling away from Kate’s embrace. Kate looks wounded. She had been trying to find common ground, not highlight the ways in which she hurt Jack more than Sawyer could.
Sawyer pulls out a pack of smokes and lighter from the small stand next to the couch, not looking at Kate as he lights up. After inhaling, he hands it over to her. She takes it from him as the cloud of smoke escapes his lips. They remain like that for quite awhile, sitting in silence, sharing a cigarette, their pain as completely naked as their bodies, wishing that their memories and feelings would just burn away into nothing and there’d be nothing left of them but ashes.
*******
Sawyer is still sleeping soundly the next morning when Kate wakes, his body about as far away from hers as it can be without him falling off the bed. Kate lifts off the thin covers and slowly climbs off the low mattress, trying not to wake him. He jostles slightly in his sleep and makes a small noise like he’s stirring, but quickly slips back into deep sleep.
Kate gathers her clothes as quickly and quietly as she can and makes for the bathroom, eager to clean herself up. She stinks of cigarette smoke and beer and hasn’t had a warm, long shower in quite awhile.
When she returns, Sawyer is still asleep. The blankets have shifted to reveal most of his nude body and Kate stops for a moment, not able to keep herself from appreciating it. He had a form that Michelangelo would’ve loved, and sleeping so peacefully, Sawyer almost looks like one of his painted angels or carefully sculpted masterworks.
She turns away and ties her wet dripping hair into a loose ponytail. She picks up Sawyer’s cast off clothes from their piles on the floor, folding his jeans over the back of his one and only chair. As she grabs his shirt, the letter falls from his front pocket, fluttering to the floor. It lies there and Kate stares at it, realizing quickly that this letter, like Sawyer had said the night previously, is not the one he used to carry around. Maybe he had burned that letter after all.
Kate bends down and picks up the folded piece of paper gingerly, glancing at Sawyer to make sure he’s still slumbering. He is. Turning her back to him guiltily, she makes a move to unfold it, then pauses. Her curiosity is piqued but she knows that reading it would be wrong.
Nevertheless, after a moment’s hesitation, she opens it up. She only has enough time to see the first word before she hears Sawyer shift behind her. Hurriedly she folds the note back up and shoves it into her front jeans pocket, whipping around to face him.
Luckily, he’s groggy and clearly a bit hung over. He doesn’t notice her awkward attempt to act naturally or the fact the corner of the letter is still sticking out of her pocket.
“Morning,” she greets him as he tugs the covers up and around his waist, rising off the bed. He holds the thin green blanket around his lower body like a towel, modesty getting the better of him. He tosses his mussed hair from his face and looks at her.
“Mornin’.” He eyes the clothes she’s still holding in her hand and she hands him his shirt, sheepishly.
“I was just cleaning up,” she explains, turning from him, pushing the letter further down into her pocket, and then bending to pick up beer bottles from the floor. “Where do you put your empties?”
“Usually in the neighbor’s recycling bin,” Sawyer says. “Just leave ‘em in the sink.”
“Kay…” She crosses the small room and deposits them in the sink, then turns to Sawyer, her hands resting nervously on her thighs. “So…”
“So.”
“I should probably go.”
“Okay.”
“You gonna be okay?”
“Me? Sure. You?” Sawyer shrugs off her concern. Kate smiles unsurely.
“Yeah. Fine.”
”Where you gonna go next?” Sawyer doesn’t look at her as he asks this question, choosing to pull on his jeans and throw the blanket back on the bed instead.
“I don’t know…” Kate sighs. Sawyer glances at her and she knows that he’s wondering if she’s going back to Toronto again. “I thought maybe I’d go to New York. Mike and Libby are there, right? I could maybe crash with them for awhile…it’s easy to get lost in New York.”
“Yeah…that it is.” Sawyer pulls his shirt over his shoulders, leaving it hanging unbuttoned, and pushes his hair from his face again.
“Then no better place for someone like me,” Kate half-smiles. “A permanent lost soul,” she continues, laughing a bit sarcastically.
“Maybe not permanent,” Sawyer responds and Kate nods.
“Yeah…maybe not.” They stand in silence for a moment, the small space between them feeling like a vast canyon. Finally Sawyer makes a small gesture with his hand and takes a tiny step toward her.
“Oh c’mere,” he mutters. Kate lets him pull her into a tight hug, clinging to him as tightly as he clings to her. It’s brief but their embrace says everything they can’t say out loud. He rests his chin on her head for a moment before drawing back. “You want somethin’ to eat before you go?”
“I’ll get something on the road.”
“You want me to walk you to the T?”
“I think I got it, thanks.” She moves away from him and picks up her backpack and coat. “I’ll send you a postcard when I get somewhere settled.”
“Kay,” he nods. Sawyer unlocks his front door and holds it open for her, feeling awkward.
“Well…” She steps out into the hallway and turns back to look at him, shifting on the balls of her feet.
Sawyer doesn’t know what to say and it seems like he should. He sticks his hands in his pockets and looks at Kate, who simply looks back. After a minute of this, they both laugh nervously.
“Jesus…I’m just gonna go. Obviously neither of us can handle good-byes.”
“Got that right.”
“I’ll see you, Sawyer.”
“See ya,” Sawyer responds with overdone joviality, acting like he’ll be seeing her again in no time flat. Kate inwardly thanks him for not making it hard, smiling lightly at him as he closes the door, giving her a small wave good-bye.
As the door clicks shut, Kate’s hand immediately goes to her front pocket, wanting to make sure that the letter is still there, that it hadn’t fallen out or gotten left behind. The paper crinkles beneath her touch. Shoving it deeper down into her pocket, just in case, Kate heaves her backpack further onto her shoulder and heads out of Sawyer’s apartment complex.
-------> THIS PART CONTINUED...