LOST FIC: What Kate Is
Title: What Kate Is
Cast:Kate Austen, Wayne Janssen, Jack Shephard, and Claire Littleton. Mostly gen with a little bit of Kate/Claire and moments of Kate/Jack.
Summary: We know what Kate does and did, but even more important than that is who she is. A lot of people don't like Kate, apparently, which I guess makes sense. I'm not always sure that Kate likes Kate.
Warnings: Yeah, definitely a huge trigger warning for depictions of child abuse (in multiple forms). Because I honestly don't believe Kate when she says her mom is the only person Wayne hurt.
Spoilers: Moments from Kate's story up to the very last episode.
Notes: Just over 2,000 words. Probably R for overall graphic content.
Kate Austen is a thief.
At twelve she tried to shoplift a lunchbox. Just a simple thing, almost a toy. She didn't need it, but she wanted it. Kate wants a lot of things.
She was caught. They would have told her mother. The man at the shop was going to and she would have been punished. Wayne would have used the belt. Doubled and twisted. Hands against the door frame, face straight ahead.
But a man stepped in. He smiled at Kate and told her "be good." She was lucky.
Kate told herself it again that night when she heard the thick and heavy sounds from the other room, the sharp gasps followed by dense silence.
I'm so lucky, she thought. I'll be so good.
And she was ashamed because it was true; she did think of herself as lucky.
She was so grateful to not be the one punished.
*
Kate Austen is a liar.
She is fourteen and changing for gym class. She's so used to the bruises on her back that she doesn't always remember to hide them.
But the giggling and whispers bring her back into herself, make her aware of her own skin and her shame.
She is called to see the school counselor. A worried woman with too many wrinkles and thick serious glasses blinks at her from the other side of a desk.
"Is everything okay at home, Kate?"
Kate picks at a splinter underneath the arm of her chair. "I fell down the stairs." She came up with that answer a while ago, but she hasn't had to use it until now.
Most people don't ask for answers they don't want to hear and most children can't be expected to lie well enough to save other people from the horrible truth.
But Kate is a good liar. She's ready.
"Stairs?"
"Yeah," she says, so steady. "Yep."
It's barely even a lie. She did fall down the stairs.
It was eight days ago. Kate tried to pull Wayne off her mother and he knocked her back. She hit her head against the landing and saw stars, but it didn't break the skin. She's pretty sure there's no permanent brain damage either.
Wayne would say, Who could tell a difference?
But the bruises on her back are something else.
Wayne was drinking and in a sharing mood. He dragged Kate out to the garage with him to sit while he worked on the car. "Hand me a wrench," he said, slapping at Kate's ankle to make her shift.
She had homework. She wanted to go inside. He slipped out from under the car and rolled his shoulders, sitting up.
"You're not my father," she had said, and the entire tool shelf clattered and clanged when he shoved her back against it, banging not once but twice, three times.
Her jaw jolted against her collar bone and Kate had kept quiet to keep from biting her own tongue.
"Well," says the woman counselor, the relief already showing on her face. "If you're sure."
"Very sure."
Before she leaves the office, Kate steals a pen from her desk. It's not anything she needs, but she wants it.
She wants a lot of things.
*
Kate Austen is a murderer.
She still smells the smoke sometimes.
Even riding away as fast as she was, the wind caught up to her. She thought maybe it was the smell of his flesh burning, that heavy familiar scent of fire.
She thought, Maybe this is what Hell is like.
She had thought that before with Wayne.
Alcohol on his breath and hands petting her hair. She squirms and wriggles. She slips away. Hides in the closet or under the bed. Hides in the park across the street. She runs and waits for mom to catch his attention. For mom to catch the blame.
Kate watches him from across the street, his eyes lit up sharp and glinting against the street lights, illuminated in the doorway. Mom sees him looking out the window, staring into the dark and licking his lips, and she says something. It must be an accusation because it starts out high, frantic, before raising even higher.
He turns with one fluid movement and swats her with the back of the hand, hitting so hard she bounces against the screen door, swinging it open and then closed again. The house is as rattled as she is.
Kate waits for them to leave the door and sneaks in her bedroom window. Once inside she slips into bed, buried beneath her covers and her shame.
Or a night when he is faster. He is so fast for a man so drunk and she is numb with sleep. His hand is heavy and warm and his breath is hot when she squeals, "Daddy, no, please," and he snarls, "I'm not your father, god dammit."
She slips while she's running, hits her head on the door, but doesn't stop. He clutches at her leg, tripping her, but she kicks him. She runs. She is frantic, but safe.
She is safe. She gets away. Kate Austen always gets away.
*
Kate Austen is a liar, and she's a good one. She's ready.
The best lies have always been the ones she's told herself. Even she believes those. She has to, for her own sake.
*
Kate Austen believes in absolution. She believes in sin, but isn't certain about a God.
She does believe in punishment and in guilt. That much she is certain of. There is no regret for what she did to Wayne, not for a moment, but Kate knows that she's failed in so many other ways. She has her guilt and plenty to spare.
It isn't the punishment in prison that she fears, but the proximity to other people.
Locked up tight, no escape. Nowhere to run. A thousand Waynes breathing at her neck, clawing at her back, reaching for her hips and thighs.
She will not be held down, kept, caught.
So she runs, not only for her freedom but as something she deserves. Safety is for good people, secure people. People like Tom Brennan or Sam Austen. Kevin Callis.
She just ruins the lives of those types of good and normal people whenever she slows down long enough to make contact.
Kate Austen doesn't deserve a happy ending and she doesn't want one either.
If happy comes at the price of having to reach the conclusion, she'd rather keep going as is. Run out the clock.
*
Kate Austen is a killer. She isn't afraid of guns, though she probably ought to be. She's seen a lot of death, so much of it up close.
Sit close enough to death and you can taste it when you breath. It sticks to you, on your tongue and against the back of your eyelids. She closes her eyes and she sees Tom's face, forever frozen.
Kate wishes she could remember what he looked like at age 15, age 17 or 20.
She sometimes wishes she could remember herself at that age too, but then she always thinks better of it in the end.
*
Kate Austen can feel herself turning into her mother.
The fights she has with Jack aren't always loud. They're only speaking quietly at first, just simple questions and complaints, but then he catches hold of her arm, clinging like it's a life preserver, and she pushes him sharply away.
But she can't quite cut him loose.
Kate remembers her mother, the small but sturdy woman who survived so many beatings. Who always came back for more, even though it never changed.
"Go to bed, Jack," she says, unspoken accusations burning in her throat.
She doesn't know which of them she is angrier with, but the thought of Aaron sleeping down the hall keeps her voice from rising any higher.
*
Kate Austen is afraid of becoming her father.
Every time Jack grabs her now and she has to wrench free, she feels an anger building inside. He reaches for her face and she slaps the hand away.
His face shows hurt, stung by more than just the physical contact, but she doesn't feel the slightest hint of regret. His weakness only makes her anger grow.
She's so tired of having to work at being the strong one.
"Why can't I touch you?" he says, moving closer.
"Jack--" she starts, but he keeps going, and now she slaps him in the face and he sobers slightly, blinking. "Because I don't want you to."
The anger is up in her throat like bile and for a moment she has a vivid image of smashing ever one of those bottles of alcohol he loves so fucking much right over his head.
"Get out," she says instead, words clipped and sharp like the edge of a knife.
*
Kate Austen is a thief but a terrible criminal. She never plans things all the way through.
Aaron was only meant to be temporary.
In the morning, he won't remember the short shouts or the words that were spoken, but for now he turns over with sleep still sticking in his eyes and says, "Mommy?" with a rising and plaintive confusion.
Sometimes she thinks of telling him the truth, but she doesn't know what that is anymore. Kate is such a practiced liar that sometimes even she can't remember where the line rests between fact and fiction. If not Aaron's mother, then who is she? If not for him, what does she have left?
He deserves to know where his mother really is, about Claire and how much she loved him, but the price is too high, and what's one more regret. Kate has too many mistakes in her past to bother keeping count now.
"Yes, sweetheart." Kate tucks him in with a gentle kiss on the head, and she smiles a thin wet smile with unspent tears blinking in her eyes. "Yes, mommy's here."
*
Kate Austen is reckless.
Claire carries a gun with her wherever she goes and Kate sees the way she reaches for it just to be able to touch it -- to feel its fit against her palm.
Kate knows that feeling, the look in her eyes. It's the security, the sense of safety. Hold a gun and you are safe as long as you have the skill to use it. And Claire does know how to shoot things now. Kate's seen it, she knows.
She feels it swaying close to both their hips as they walk together and knows enough to almost be afraid. She feels her heart skip and flutter when weapons are drawn and the barrel of Claire's gun lingers too long in her direction. Kate knows to be afraid, the impulse to pull back, but she finds herself only moving closer.
She is drawn to the oil slick metal, the spark and scent of powder. The crack of sound and the feel of Claire's fingers freshly lifted from the trigger.
There is a groove there, worn into the skin. Kate kisses it at night and smells the metallic tang of blood.
Her ears ringing, she doesn't resist when Claire clutches at her face and throat, holds her down and presses an ear close to her heart.
*
Kate Austen is a coward.
When the plane touches down, the police will be waiting for her. She is more certain of the inevitability of being caught than she is of anything else in her life. The handcuffs she knows are coming feel more real than Claire's fingertips tracing her palm.
And she won't say a word. She won't protest anymore, or try to save herself. She won't run.
Not for her own sake, but for Aaron. And for Claire. She won't leave them again, but she can't say why.
Kate watches Claire while she's sleeping, eyelids fluttering and the corners of her mouth tense while frowning. She brushes the hair back from Claire's face and whispers softly in her ear. Tells her stories about Aaron, his first three years and how he's grown.
"He just can't wait to meet his mommy again," she says, and the tears dripping down her cheeks mix with sweat and blood until the only thing she can taste is regret.
Seated at the back of the plane where no one else can see them with their hands linked and their legs touching, Kate knows that she won't leave now. She loves Aaron and wants his mother, but she needs their absolution most of all. She needs another chance.
Kate Austen is desperate: forever longing for a forgiveness that she won't allow herself to keep.
Cast:Kate Austen, Wayne Janssen, Jack Shephard, and Claire Littleton. Mostly gen with a little bit of Kate/Claire and moments of Kate/Jack.
Summary: We know what Kate does and did, but even more important than that is who she is. A lot of people don't like Kate, apparently, which I guess makes sense. I'm not always sure that Kate likes Kate.
Warnings: Yeah, definitely a huge trigger warning for depictions of child abuse (in multiple forms). Because I honestly don't believe Kate when she says her mom is the only person Wayne hurt.
Spoilers: Moments from Kate's story up to the very last episode.
Notes: Just over 2,000 words. Probably R for overall graphic content.
Kate Austen is a thief.
At twelve she tried to shoplift a lunchbox. Just a simple thing, almost a toy. She didn't need it, but she wanted it. Kate wants a lot of things.
She was caught. They would have told her mother. The man at the shop was going to and she would have been punished. Wayne would have used the belt. Doubled and twisted. Hands against the door frame, face straight ahead.
But a man stepped in. He smiled at Kate and told her "be good." She was lucky.
Kate told herself it again that night when she heard the thick and heavy sounds from the other room, the sharp gasps followed by dense silence.
I'm so lucky, she thought. I'll be so good.
And she was ashamed because it was true; she did think of herself as lucky.
She was so grateful to not be the one punished.
*
Kate Austen is a liar.
She is fourteen and changing for gym class. She's so used to the bruises on her back that she doesn't always remember to hide them.
But the giggling and whispers bring her back into herself, make her aware of her own skin and her shame.
She is called to see the school counselor. A worried woman with too many wrinkles and thick serious glasses blinks at her from the other side of a desk.
"Is everything okay at home, Kate?"
Kate picks at a splinter underneath the arm of her chair. "I fell down the stairs." She came up with that answer a while ago, but she hasn't had to use it until now.
Most people don't ask for answers they don't want to hear and most children can't be expected to lie well enough to save other people from the horrible truth.
But Kate is a good liar. She's ready.
"Stairs?"
"Yeah," she says, so steady. "Yep."
It's barely even a lie. She did fall down the stairs.
It was eight days ago. Kate tried to pull Wayne off her mother and he knocked her back. She hit her head against the landing and saw stars, but it didn't break the skin. She's pretty sure there's no permanent brain damage either.
Wayne would say, Who could tell a difference?
But the bruises on her back are something else.
Wayne was drinking and in a sharing mood. He dragged Kate out to the garage with him to sit while he worked on the car. "Hand me a wrench," he said, slapping at Kate's ankle to make her shift.
She had homework. She wanted to go inside. He slipped out from under the car and rolled his shoulders, sitting up.
"You're not my father," she had said, and the entire tool shelf clattered and clanged when he shoved her back against it, banging not once but twice, three times.
Her jaw jolted against her collar bone and Kate had kept quiet to keep from biting her own tongue.
"Well," says the woman counselor, the relief already showing on her face. "If you're sure."
"Very sure."
Before she leaves the office, Kate steals a pen from her desk. It's not anything she needs, but she wants it.
She wants a lot of things.
*
Kate Austen is a murderer.
She still smells the smoke sometimes.
Even riding away as fast as she was, the wind caught up to her. She thought maybe it was the smell of his flesh burning, that heavy familiar scent of fire.
She thought, Maybe this is what Hell is like.
She had thought that before with Wayne.
Alcohol on his breath and hands petting her hair. She squirms and wriggles. She slips away. Hides in the closet or under the bed. Hides in the park across the street. She runs and waits for mom to catch his attention. For mom to catch the blame.
Kate watches him from across the street, his eyes lit up sharp and glinting against the street lights, illuminated in the doorway. Mom sees him looking out the window, staring into the dark and licking his lips, and she says something. It must be an accusation because it starts out high, frantic, before raising even higher.
He turns with one fluid movement and swats her with the back of the hand, hitting so hard she bounces against the screen door, swinging it open and then closed again. The house is as rattled as she is.
Kate waits for them to leave the door and sneaks in her bedroom window. Once inside she slips into bed, buried beneath her covers and her shame.
Or a night when he is faster. He is so fast for a man so drunk and she is numb with sleep. His hand is heavy and warm and his breath is hot when she squeals, "Daddy, no, please," and he snarls, "I'm not your father, god dammit."
She slips while she's running, hits her head on the door, but doesn't stop. He clutches at her leg, tripping her, but she kicks him. She runs. She is frantic, but safe.
She is safe. She gets away. Kate Austen always gets away.
*
Kate Austen is a liar, and she's a good one. She's ready.
The best lies have always been the ones she's told herself. Even she believes those. She has to, for her own sake.
*
Kate Austen believes in absolution. She believes in sin, but isn't certain about a God.
She does believe in punishment and in guilt. That much she is certain of. There is no regret for what she did to Wayne, not for a moment, but Kate knows that she's failed in so many other ways. She has her guilt and plenty to spare.
It isn't the punishment in prison that she fears, but the proximity to other people.
Locked up tight, no escape. Nowhere to run. A thousand Waynes breathing at her neck, clawing at her back, reaching for her hips and thighs.
She will not be held down, kept, caught.
So she runs, not only for her freedom but as something she deserves. Safety is for good people, secure people. People like Tom Brennan or Sam Austen. Kevin Callis.
She just ruins the lives of those types of good and normal people whenever she slows down long enough to make contact.
Kate Austen doesn't deserve a happy ending and she doesn't want one either.
If happy comes at the price of having to reach the conclusion, she'd rather keep going as is. Run out the clock.
*
Kate Austen is a killer. She isn't afraid of guns, though she probably ought to be. She's seen a lot of death, so much of it up close.
Sit close enough to death and you can taste it when you breath. It sticks to you, on your tongue and against the back of your eyelids. She closes her eyes and she sees Tom's face, forever frozen.
Kate wishes she could remember what he looked like at age 15, age 17 or 20.
She sometimes wishes she could remember herself at that age too, but then she always thinks better of it in the end.
*
Kate Austen can feel herself turning into her mother.
The fights she has with Jack aren't always loud. They're only speaking quietly at first, just simple questions and complaints, but then he catches hold of her arm, clinging like it's a life preserver, and she pushes him sharply away.
But she can't quite cut him loose.
Kate remembers her mother, the small but sturdy woman who survived so many beatings. Who always came back for more, even though it never changed.
"Go to bed, Jack," she says, unspoken accusations burning in her throat.
She doesn't know which of them she is angrier with, but the thought of Aaron sleeping down the hall keeps her voice from rising any higher.
*
Kate Austen is afraid of becoming her father.
Every time Jack grabs her now and she has to wrench free, she feels an anger building inside. He reaches for her face and she slaps the hand away.
His face shows hurt, stung by more than just the physical contact, but she doesn't feel the slightest hint of regret. His weakness only makes her anger grow.
She's so tired of having to work at being the strong one.
"Why can't I touch you?" he says, moving closer.
"Jack--" she starts, but he keeps going, and now she slaps him in the face and he sobers slightly, blinking. "Because I don't want you to."
The anger is up in her throat like bile and for a moment she has a vivid image of smashing ever one of those bottles of alcohol he loves so fucking much right over his head.
"Get out," she says instead, words clipped and sharp like the edge of a knife.
*
Kate Austen is a thief but a terrible criminal. She never plans things all the way through.
Aaron was only meant to be temporary.
In the morning, he won't remember the short shouts or the words that were spoken, but for now he turns over with sleep still sticking in his eyes and says, "Mommy?" with a rising and plaintive confusion.
Sometimes she thinks of telling him the truth, but she doesn't know what that is anymore. Kate is such a practiced liar that sometimes even she can't remember where the line rests between fact and fiction. If not Aaron's mother, then who is she? If not for him, what does she have left?
He deserves to know where his mother really is, about Claire and how much she loved him, but the price is too high, and what's one more regret. Kate has too many mistakes in her past to bother keeping count now.
"Yes, sweetheart." Kate tucks him in with a gentle kiss on the head, and she smiles a thin wet smile with unspent tears blinking in her eyes. "Yes, mommy's here."
*
Kate Austen is reckless.
Claire carries a gun with her wherever she goes and Kate sees the way she reaches for it just to be able to touch it -- to feel its fit against her palm.
Kate knows that feeling, the look in her eyes. It's the security, the sense of safety. Hold a gun and you are safe as long as you have the skill to use it. And Claire does know how to shoot things now. Kate's seen it, she knows.
She feels it swaying close to both their hips as they walk together and knows enough to almost be afraid. She feels her heart skip and flutter when weapons are drawn and the barrel of Claire's gun lingers too long in her direction. Kate knows to be afraid, the impulse to pull back, but she finds herself only moving closer.
She is drawn to the oil slick metal, the spark and scent of powder. The crack of sound and the feel of Claire's fingers freshly lifted from the trigger.
There is a groove there, worn into the skin. Kate kisses it at night and smells the metallic tang of blood.
Her ears ringing, she doesn't resist when Claire clutches at her face and throat, holds her down and presses an ear close to her heart.
*
Kate Austen is a coward.
When the plane touches down, the police will be waiting for her. She is more certain of the inevitability of being caught than she is of anything else in her life. The handcuffs she knows are coming feel more real than Claire's fingertips tracing her palm.
And she won't say a word. She won't protest anymore, or try to save herself. She won't run.
Not for her own sake, but for Aaron. And for Claire. She won't leave them again, but she can't say why.
Kate watches Claire while she's sleeping, eyelids fluttering and the corners of her mouth tense while frowning. She brushes the hair back from Claire's face and whispers softly in her ear. Tells her stories about Aaron, his first three years and how he's grown.
"He just can't wait to meet his mommy again," she says, and the tears dripping down her cheeks mix with sweat and blood until the only thing she can taste is regret.
Seated at the back of the plane where no one else can see them with their hands linked and their legs touching, Kate knows that she won't leave now. She loves Aaron and wants his mother, but she needs their absolution most of all. She needs another chance.
Kate Austen is desperate: forever longing for a forgiveness that she won't allow herself to keep.