Origin Stories [2/7] - Lost - Kate/Kevin/Sawyer
Title: Origin Stories [2/7]
Pairing: Kate/Kevin/Sawyer (and combinations thereof)
Word Count: 2700
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Superhero!AU. Thank you to babylon_pride for betaing.
Previously: Part One
Summary: By day, Kevin Callis is an unnoticeable police officer, up-holding the law and too committed to his job to hold down a relationship; by night, The Captain emerges to help where the law can't. When he becomes entangled in the plot of a pair of supervillains, the line between his two identities begins to blur.
When the cuffs burst open like a frayed piece of string he definitely wasn't expecting it. He'd given up, reduced himself to idly pulling at the chain connecting his wrists, when-snap. Free, and only wearing the cuffs as bracelets. Laughter wanted to buddle from his chest but he held it back with titanic effort.
An effortless swing of his legs broke them from their bonds, the ropes falling like dejected snakes to curl by his ankles.
His strength was back.
God, that felt good. Kevin lumbered to his feet and flexed his muscles, getting used to feeling his body at its peak. He couldn't be Kevin for this. Gotta be The Captain. Fists of steel.
He crossed the cold floor of the basement until he reached the wooden set of stairs that he had watched Sawyer and Monica walk freely up and down for the entire time he'd been in captivity. Each step looked roughly made and uneven, but he didn't hesitate as he kept going. The creaking sound of the wood supporting his weight made him wince and pause, ears strained. Nothing came. No voices. Maybe they're out, he thought hopefully, Being supervillains… That's gotta be a full time job.
That was a cowardly wish, he reminded himself - what kind of hero was he, wanting to avoid a fight, a showdown? Wanting to hide?
You can't save anyone if you don't save yourself first, he thought. He remembered another hero telling him that a long, long while ago. He'd shrugged it off at the time. Ignored it. Told himself that it was damn unheroic.
Now, as he winced at the sound of the stairs as he climbed them, he thought that there might have been some truth to that advice after all.
Another step. Another creak. Another wince.
Every movement he made brought him closer to the door at the top of the stairs, closer to the soft breeze of freedom. He wished he had his mask. That would make this so much easier, wouldn't it? It would make him feel stronger.
He reached the door and touched the handle, smooth and cold beneath his hand. He turned it - locked - but that really didn't cause much of an issue for him now that he could feel his powers pulsing through his veins again. A slight shove of his hand against the metal was all it took for the lock to break like brittle chocolate. The door swung open.
He stepped out of the basement into a kitchen that had bright sunlight streaming in through the broad window. The walls were painted a happy yellow colour and a round kitchen table stood in the centre of the room with mismatched chairs tucked in neatly around it. A newspaper sat on the table - its headline screaming about the mystery of missing heroes - and a vase filled with pretty pink flowers sat in the middle.
It was an ordinary kitchen; an ordinary home; an ordinary life.
Panic swirled unwillingly in his gut. So ordinary, so normal, so safe. Didn't seem right for this place to be the hideout of a couple of supervillains.
He breathed out, slowly, as he looked around and tried to work out what he had to do next. His limbs itched to make him run for the door and escape from this hellhole and never look back - but he remembered Sawyer accidentally letting him know that he wasn't the only hero that had been taken here. There were others like him, locked up, somewhere in this place. Maybe they'd get their powers back on their own like he had: maybe not.
Either way, he had the sinking impression that it was his duty to get them out of here too.
He didn't need any weapon other than his fists, but after taking a cursory glance around the kitchen Kevin grabbed a broom handle - just in case - from where it was propped in the corner waiting to be used. Never knew when having something like that in your hands might just come in handy. Armed and unwilling, Kevin took a deep breath: he reminded himself that he wasn't 'Kevin Callis' at all. Mask or not, cape or not, he was still a goddamn superhero. He was still The Captain.
The house was quiet. Peaceful. Nothing stirred when he opened the kitchen door and found himself in the front hall. There were paintings on the walls and on a small table a framed photo of Sawyer and Monica smiling happily at the camera sat beside their phone.
Phone…
Kevin grabbed it in a hurry, barely able to believe his luck. His fingers trembled on the number pad, not bothering with 911: he knew the number to the police station itself by now. The phone was cordless, so as it rang he took the opportunity to keep walking, trying to work out where else in this cosy little home might be a suitable place to hide a superhero captive. The attic, maybe?
"I need to speak to Sayid Jarrah," he whispered as soon as the phone was answered on the other end.
"Who can I say is calling?"
He puffed his chest, steeled his shoulders, and started walking up the stairs. "The Captain," he answered.
"Yeah, that's funny," the phone answered. "Do you have any idea how many prank calls we've had about this? You do realise that you're tampering with a police investigation? That's a serious crime."
"I am serious. I'm The Captain. I've been stripped of my powers and held in a basement for weeks now - there are two villains behind it, Snake Tongue and Lightning Strike. I think there are other heroes here so I need you to trace this call and get a team out here for back-up immediately. Can you do that?"
He reached the top of the stairwell and looked around at the wealth of closed doors and options available to him. Could be any of them. As the phone operator continued to hum and haw about whether or not to trust him, Kevin walked forward to open one of the doors at random, kicking it down with one foot as his hands were full with the phone and broom.
Bathroom. Nothing through there.
"What was that noise?" the phone operator asked in alarm.
"That noise was me kicking a door in," Kevin answered happily, with a smile that transmitted clearly through his voice and rose above the fear. "Do you believe me yet?"
There was a hissing pause as he walked to the next door and kicked that one in too: an empty bedroom. The bed looked unmade.
"I'll transfer you to the chief," the phone operator squeaked.
Finally. "Thank you."
"Please hold."
Holding music started playing: Kevin rolled his eyes and tried his best not to feel frustrated as he moved to the next door and kicked that one down: it crashed from its hinges and bounced on the ground, spreading shards of wood and dust onto the floor.
And, Kevin noticed with a sense of unease, this room wasn't empty.
Wasn't filled with kidnapped Capes either: in the corner of the room, crouched down low and hugging her legs against her chest, Monica knelt in a huddled position. The skin around her eyes was red and stained with tears that she hastily tried to hide as she got to her feet.
"Monica?" Kevin asked, unsure of what was going on. "Monica, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she insisted. "I'm fine. How are you…"
"I got free. My powers came back." Maybe he shouldn't have admitted to as much, but he was distracted: he was worried. "Were you just crying?"
"No," she snipped, so fast he could hardly hear her.
"Okay…" he conceded, looking around the bedroom cautiously. Didn't look as if there was anyone else around. "Where's Sawyer?"
"He's gone out," Monica answered sharply, "and his name isn't Sawyer, Kevin."
"It… isn't?"
Huh. Well. That figured.
Never trust a word a villain says, that oughta be the first rule you learn as a hero: and Kevin had always thought he was pretty good with rules.
Looked like he'd been wrong.
"It's James. James Ford."
"Why are you telling me this?"
She shook her head blindly like she didn't have an answer for him. She sniffed and looked away to the window: outside he could see a sweet little neighbourhood. Somewhere normal. How could people like her and Sawyer - her and James - be living in a place like this?
In his hand, a voice suddenly sounded on the phone: the hold music ended, he'd finally been put through.
Monica's eyes widened as she heard it. "Who did you call?" she asked - but he didn't get a chance to answer.
She moved faster than any human eye could track, leaving only a blur of colour behind her: the needle embedded into his neck before he could think to raise his hand and fight her off. She stood before him as the injection took hold and he felt the world spinning around him, her eyes still glittering with the remnants of tears. "I'm so sorry," she whispered through gritted teeth as he collapsed against her. "It'll be over soon. I promise, it will be over soon."
The room spun; his strength faded; his eyes closed.
*
He woke up back in his chair, back in his basement, with a new set of handcuffs around his wrists. Blinking, he groaned as he stirred and tried to remember what had happened, how he'd ended up here, what had gone-
Ow.
Fuck.
The fist punched him again before he had time to recover from the last one, sending his thoughts flying from his mind. He made a dull coughing sound, trying to get used to the pain before he turned back to look at the person that had hit him: Sawyer.
"James," he said, brandishing the new name as the only weapon he had, "pleasure to see you again. What can I do for you today?"
"Shut up, that'd be a start," Sawyer suggested. He gave Kevin only a second to recover before his fist flew again, cracking into Kevin's jaw with a force that made him see white pin-points behind his eyelids. "And don't call me that. That isn't my name."
"Monica says otherwise."
"Monica's full of shit," Sawyer grumbled. He looked over his shoulder to the door at the top of the stairs that led out of the basement like a misbehaving schoolboy keeping an eye out for the teacher.
"Does she know you're down here?"
"Doesn't matter," Sawyer muttered. "She isn't in charge here."
"Yeah? 'cause from where I'm sitting it sure doesn't seem that way, Snake Tongue. Seems a lot to me like she's the one pulling the strings."
"You don't have a goddamn clue what you're talking about, Kev," Sawyer sighed, stepping away from him - as if he had to do that to stop himself from causing him any more harm. "You- Fuck. We're gonna be letting you go soon anyway."
"Gotta say that I don't quite believe your sincerity in that."
"I don't care if you believe it. Why the hell would I care?" Sawyer shook his head angrily. "You nearly screwed everything up."
"Screwed what up? You've been holdin' me down here for god-knows how long and I still don't got a single clue why." That was the worst part, he sometimes thought. Not knowing. Being clueless as well as helpless. "What's your plan in all this? What game are you playing?"
"This isn't a game. We're kidnapping Capes and threatening the damn Chief of Police. Does that seem like a game to you?"
"Well you sure seem like you're having fun with it, yeah."
"It's not - this isn't fun. You don't get it."
"You keep saying that. Or stuff like that, anyway. How 'bout you trying telling me what you're after before you start announcing that I'm not gonna understand? I'm a pretty understanding guy, Sawyer."
Sawyer glanced over to him cautiously at the sound of the original name he'd given, as Kevin surrendered 'James' for now. "It don't matter," he muttered all the same.
Kevin sighed, sagging against the back of his chair. His arms ached, and he also knew that he was going to be sporting some ugly bruises on his face thanks to Sawyer's fists for a good while now. His strength was gone. Breaking through the chains wasn't going to happen again until that injection they'd given him wore off. Talking? Yeah, talking was definitely his best option.
"Monica was crying, y'know," he said, trying to hold his attention again. He needed more information than the, well, complete lack of it that he currently had. "When I got out, I mean… I went upstairs and she was crying. You got anything to do with that?"
"'course I don't," Sawyer muttered in a way that very much implied that he probably did. "We're kinda having a stressful time right now, 'case you can't tell. You can't blame me if she's…"
Kevin bit his tongue to stop himself from speaking up. Any second now, Sawyer might just launch into a useful little monologue. Information.
He must have looked way too eager - Sawyer's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Never mind," he muttered. "I'm not telling you anything, hero."
"Sawyer," Kevin said levelly, "I am tied and handcuffed to a chair in your basement. I haven't been out of this house in forever. I ain't got my powers. D'you really think I'm all that much of a threat right now?"
Sawyer shrugged, one shoulder raising uncertainly. "Doesn't matter. Like I said, we're gonna let you go soon."
"That means kill me, don't it?" He'd known that was coming. Wasn't as if he'd thought they'd ever let him leave this place alive.
"'course we're not gonna kill you. Even if I wanted to…" Sawyer shook his head and gave a dry laugh. "Freckles has gone and got herself all attached. She's got a real soft spot for you now. If I were you, I wouldn't be worrying about whether or not we're gonna kill you - I'd be worrying about whether or not she's gonna let me let you go."
Kevin's skin crawled, but he couldn't believe what Sawyer was saying. Out of the two of them, Monica definitely seemed like she was the one that was more likely to be on the right side of 'sane'.
"Don't look so damn scared," Sawyer said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not gonna let her do anything like that."
Kevin made a sound through his nose, something that might have been a laugh but sure didn't sound like one. "Well, thanks for that," he said, sarcasm stinging his tongue.
Sawyer grunted. "Y'know, a little gratitude would be nice. I don't owe you anything. God, do you have any idea how annoying you are at times, hero?"
"I think I've got a right to be just a little 'annoying', don't you?"
"Screw you," Sawyer muttered, shaking his head and pacing away, unable to stay in one place. "I wish we'd never started on all this now. There's gotta be an easier way."
"An easier way for what?" Kevin snapped. He was having to get used to snapping these days: being held prisoner by two emotionally complicated villains for weeks was apparently the stimulus he'd needed to grow a temper. "Will you just tell me already? Maybe I can help."
"Help." Sawyer repeated like the word was foreign. "You want to 'help'?"
"I…" Kevin trailed off, getting the impression that he'd just said something that he really shouldn't have done. "I- might?"
The hesitant tone in his voice, unavoidable, was enough to make Sawyer crack a dry smile. "Thought as much," he said, nodding to himself. He backed towards the stairway, ready to leave Kevin down here alone again. "Well, sit tight, cowboy. This'll all be over soon."
On the way upstairs, he flicked the light switch that caused the only bulb in the room to go out, darkness falling with the speed of snapped fingers. At the top of the stairs, the door slammed shut, and Kevin was left alone with a panicked, aching pain - a gift from Sawyer's fists.
Part Three
Pairing: Kate/Kevin/Sawyer (and combinations thereof)
Word Count: 2700
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Superhero!AU. Thank you to babylon_pride for betaing.
Previously: Part One
Summary: By day, Kevin Callis is an unnoticeable police officer, up-holding the law and too committed to his job to hold down a relationship; by night, The Captain emerges to help where the law can't. When he becomes entangled in the plot of a pair of supervillains, the line between his two identities begins to blur.
When the cuffs burst open like a frayed piece of string he definitely wasn't expecting it. He'd given up, reduced himself to idly pulling at the chain connecting his wrists, when-snap. Free, and only wearing the cuffs as bracelets. Laughter wanted to buddle from his chest but he held it back with titanic effort.
An effortless swing of his legs broke them from their bonds, the ropes falling like dejected snakes to curl by his ankles.
His strength was back.
God, that felt good. Kevin lumbered to his feet and flexed his muscles, getting used to feeling his body at its peak. He couldn't be Kevin for this. Gotta be The Captain. Fists of steel.
He crossed the cold floor of the basement until he reached the wooden set of stairs that he had watched Sawyer and Monica walk freely up and down for the entire time he'd been in captivity. Each step looked roughly made and uneven, but he didn't hesitate as he kept going. The creaking sound of the wood supporting his weight made him wince and pause, ears strained. Nothing came. No voices. Maybe they're out, he thought hopefully, Being supervillains… That's gotta be a full time job.
That was a cowardly wish, he reminded himself - what kind of hero was he, wanting to avoid a fight, a showdown? Wanting to hide?
You can't save anyone if you don't save yourself first, he thought. He remembered another hero telling him that a long, long while ago. He'd shrugged it off at the time. Ignored it. Told himself that it was damn unheroic.
Now, as he winced at the sound of the stairs as he climbed them, he thought that there might have been some truth to that advice after all.
Another step. Another creak. Another wince.
Every movement he made brought him closer to the door at the top of the stairs, closer to the soft breeze of freedom. He wished he had his mask. That would make this so much easier, wouldn't it? It would make him feel stronger.
He reached the door and touched the handle, smooth and cold beneath his hand. He turned it - locked - but that really didn't cause much of an issue for him now that he could feel his powers pulsing through his veins again. A slight shove of his hand against the metal was all it took for the lock to break like brittle chocolate. The door swung open.
He stepped out of the basement into a kitchen that had bright sunlight streaming in through the broad window. The walls were painted a happy yellow colour and a round kitchen table stood in the centre of the room with mismatched chairs tucked in neatly around it. A newspaper sat on the table - its headline screaming about the mystery of missing heroes - and a vase filled with pretty pink flowers sat in the middle.
It was an ordinary kitchen; an ordinary home; an ordinary life.
Panic swirled unwillingly in his gut. So ordinary, so normal, so safe. Didn't seem right for this place to be the hideout of a couple of supervillains.
He breathed out, slowly, as he looked around and tried to work out what he had to do next. His limbs itched to make him run for the door and escape from this hellhole and never look back - but he remembered Sawyer accidentally letting him know that he wasn't the only hero that had been taken here. There were others like him, locked up, somewhere in this place. Maybe they'd get their powers back on their own like he had: maybe not.
Either way, he had the sinking impression that it was his duty to get them out of here too.
He didn't need any weapon other than his fists, but after taking a cursory glance around the kitchen Kevin grabbed a broom handle - just in case - from where it was propped in the corner waiting to be used. Never knew when having something like that in your hands might just come in handy. Armed and unwilling, Kevin took a deep breath: he reminded himself that he wasn't 'Kevin Callis' at all. Mask or not, cape or not, he was still a goddamn superhero. He was still The Captain.
The house was quiet. Peaceful. Nothing stirred when he opened the kitchen door and found himself in the front hall. There were paintings on the walls and on a small table a framed photo of Sawyer and Monica smiling happily at the camera sat beside their phone.
Phone…
Kevin grabbed it in a hurry, barely able to believe his luck. His fingers trembled on the number pad, not bothering with 911: he knew the number to the police station itself by now. The phone was cordless, so as it rang he took the opportunity to keep walking, trying to work out where else in this cosy little home might be a suitable place to hide a superhero captive. The attic, maybe?
"I need to speak to Sayid Jarrah," he whispered as soon as the phone was answered on the other end.
"Who can I say is calling?"
He puffed his chest, steeled his shoulders, and started walking up the stairs. "The Captain," he answered.
"Yeah, that's funny," the phone answered. "Do you have any idea how many prank calls we've had about this? You do realise that you're tampering with a police investigation? That's a serious crime."
"I am serious. I'm The Captain. I've been stripped of my powers and held in a basement for weeks now - there are two villains behind it, Snake Tongue and Lightning Strike. I think there are other heroes here so I need you to trace this call and get a team out here for back-up immediately. Can you do that?"
He reached the top of the stairwell and looked around at the wealth of closed doors and options available to him. Could be any of them. As the phone operator continued to hum and haw about whether or not to trust him, Kevin walked forward to open one of the doors at random, kicking it down with one foot as his hands were full with the phone and broom.
Bathroom. Nothing through there.
"What was that noise?" the phone operator asked in alarm.
"That noise was me kicking a door in," Kevin answered happily, with a smile that transmitted clearly through his voice and rose above the fear. "Do you believe me yet?"
There was a hissing pause as he walked to the next door and kicked that one in too: an empty bedroom. The bed looked unmade.
"I'll transfer you to the chief," the phone operator squeaked.
Finally. "Thank you."
"Please hold."
Holding music started playing: Kevin rolled his eyes and tried his best not to feel frustrated as he moved to the next door and kicked that one down: it crashed from its hinges and bounced on the ground, spreading shards of wood and dust onto the floor.
And, Kevin noticed with a sense of unease, this room wasn't empty.
Wasn't filled with kidnapped Capes either: in the corner of the room, crouched down low and hugging her legs against her chest, Monica knelt in a huddled position. The skin around her eyes was red and stained with tears that she hastily tried to hide as she got to her feet.
"Monica?" Kevin asked, unsure of what was going on. "Monica, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," she insisted. "I'm fine. How are you…"
"I got free. My powers came back." Maybe he shouldn't have admitted to as much, but he was distracted: he was worried. "Were you just crying?"
"No," she snipped, so fast he could hardly hear her.
"Okay…" he conceded, looking around the bedroom cautiously. Didn't look as if there was anyone else around. "Where's Sawyer?"
"He's gone out," Monica answered sharply, "and his name isn't Sawyer, Kevin."
"It… isn't?"
Huh. Well. That figured.
Never trust a word a villain says, that oughta be the first rule you learn as a hero: and Kevin had always thought he was pretty good with rules.
Looked like he'd been wrong.
"It's James. James Ford."
"Why are you telling me this?"
She shook her head blindly like she didn't have an answer for him. She sniffed and looked away to the window: outside he could see a sweet little neighbourhood. Somewhere normal. How could people like her and Sawyer - her and James - be living in a place like this?
In his hand, a voice suddenly sounded on the phone: the hold music ended, he'd finally been put through.
Monica's eyes widened as she heard it. "Who did you call?" she asked - but he didn't get a chance to answer.
She moved faster than any human eye could track, leaving only a blur of colour behind her: the needle embedded into his neck before he could think to raise his hand and fight her off. She stood before him as the injection took hold and he felt the world spinning around him, her eyes still glittering with the remnants of tears. "I'm so sorry," she whispered through gritted teeth as he collapsed against her. "It'll be over soon. I promise, it will be over soon."
The room spun; his strength faded; his eyes closed.
*
He woke up back in his chair, back in his basement, with a new set of handcuffs around his wrists. Blinking, he groaned as he stirred and tried to remember what had happened, how he'd ended up here, what had gone-
Ow.
Fuck.
The fist punched him again before he had time to recover from the last one, sending his thoughts flying from his mind. He made a dull coughing sound, trying to get used to the pain before he turned back to look at the person that had hit him: Sawyer.
"James," he said, brandishing the new name as the only weapon he had, "pleasure to see you again. What can I do for you today?"
"Shut up, that'd be a start," Sawyer suggested. He gave Kevin only a second to recover before his fist flew again, cracking into Kevin's jaw with a force that made him see white pin-points behind his eyelids. "And don't call me that. That isn't my name."
"Monica says otherwise."
"Monica's full of shit," Sawyer grumbled. He looked over his shoulder to the door at the top of the stairs that led out of the basement like a misbehaving schoolboy keeping an eye out for the teacher.
"Does she know you're down here?"
"Doesn't matter," Sawyer muttered. "She isn't in charge here."
"Yeah? 'cause from where I'm sitting it sure doesn't seem that way, Snake Tongue. Seems a lot to me like she's the one pulling the strings."
"You don't have a goddamn clue what you're talking about, Kev," Sawyer sighed, stepping away from him - as if he had to do that to stop himself from causing him any more harm. "You- Fuck. We're gonna be letting you go soon anyway."
"Gotta say that I don't quite believe your sincerity in that."
"I don't care if you believe it. Why the hell would I care?" Sawyer shook his head angrily. "You nearly screwed everything up."
"Screwed what up? You've been holdin' me down here for god-knows how long and I still don't got a single clue why." That was the worst part, he sometimes thought. Not knowing. Being clueless as well as helpless. "What's your plan in all this? What game are you playing?"
"This isn't a game. We're kidnapping Capes and threatening the damn Chief of Police. Does that seem like a game to you?"
"Well you sure seem like you're having fun with it, yeah."
"It's not - this isn't fun. You don't get it."
"You keep saying that. Or stuff like that, anyway. How 'bout you trying telling me what you're after before you start announcing that I'm not gonna understand? I'm a pretty understanding guy, Sawyer."
Sawyer glanced over to him cautiously at the sound of the original name he'd given, as Kevin surrendered 'James' for now. "It don't matter," he muttered all the same.
Kevin sighed, sagging against the back of his chair. His arms ached, and he also knew that he was going to be sporting some ugly bruises on his face thanks to Sawyer's fists for a good while now. His strength was gone. Breaking through the chains wasn't going to happen again until that injection they'd given him wore off. Talking? Yeah, talking was definitely his best option.
"Monica was crying, y'know," he said, trying to hold his attention again. He needed more information than the, well, complete lack of it that he currently had. "When I got out, I mean… I went upstairs and she was crying. You got anything to do with that?"
"'course I don't," Sawyer muttered in a way that very much implied that he probably did. "We're kinda having a stressful time right now, 'case you can't tell. You can't blame me if she's…"
Kevin bit his tongue to stop himself from speaking up. Any second now, Sawyer might just launch into a useful little monologue. Information.
He must have looked way too eager - Sawyer's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Never mind," he muttered. "I'm not telling you anything, hero."
"Sawyer," Kevin said levelly, "I am tied and handcuffed to a chair in your basement. I haven't been out of this house in forever. I ain't got my powers. D'you really think I'm all that much of a threat right now?"
Sawyer shrugged, one shoulder raising uncertainly. "Doesn't matter. Like I said, we're gonna let you go soon."
"That means kill me, don't it?" He'd known that was coming. Wasn't as if he'd thought they'd ever let him leave this place alive.
"'course we're not gonna kill you. Even if I wanted to…" Sawyer shook his head and gave a dry laugh. "Freckles has gone and got herself all attached. She's got a real soft spot for you now. If I were you, I wouldn't be worrying about whether or not we're gonna kill you - I'd be worrying about whether or not she's gonna let me let you go."
Kevin's skin crawled, but he couldn't believe what Sawyer was saying. Out of the two of them, Monica definitely seemed like she was the one that was more likely to be on the right side of 'sane'.
"Don't look so damn scared," Sawyer said, rolling his eyes. "I'm not gonna let her do anything like that."
Kevin made a sound through his nose, something that might have been a laugh but sure didn't sound like one. "Well, thanks for that," he said, sarcasm stinging his tongue.
Sawyer grunted. "Y'know, a little gratitude would be nice. I don't owe you anything. God, do you have any idea how annoying you are at times, hero?"
"I think I've got a right to be just a little 'annoying', don't you?"
"Screw you," Sawyer muttered, shaking his head and pacing away, unable to stay in one place. "I wish we'd never started on all this now. There's gotta be an easier way."
"An easier way for what?" Kevin snapped. He was having to get used to snapping these days: being held prisoner by two emotionally complicated villains for weeks was apparently the stimulus he'd needed to grow a temper. "Will you just tell me already? Maybe I can help."
"Help." Sawyer repeated like the word was foreign. "You want to 'help'?"
"I…" Kevin trailed off, getting the impression that he'd just said something that he really shouldn't have done. "I- might?"
The hesitant tone in his voice, unavoidable, was enough to make Sawyer crack a dry smile. "Thought as much," he said, nodding to himself. He backed towards the stairway, ready to leave Kevin down here alone again. "Well, sit tight, cowboy. This'll all be over soon."
On the way upstairs, he flicked the light switch that caused the only bulb in the room to go out, darkness falling with the speed of snapped fingers. At the top of the stairs, the door slammed shut, and Kevin was left alone with a panicked, aching pain - a gift from Sawyer's fists.
Part Three