fic: the tower of london remains (lost)
the tower of london remains
five romantic endings Kate Austen will never have -
lost. you can try and outrun the karmic wheel, Miss Austen - that doesn't mean you ever stood a chance. you got to earn your keep. kate. kate/sawyer, kate/jack, kate/sayid, kate/michael. 1038 words. rated pg. spoilers through 4x08.
will you keep on running?
baby, settle down
(cat power)
one.
It’s a bad idea from the start and that might just be why she stayed.
It only gets worse.
She washes dishes but won’t wear aprons and there is Claire and the baby and a neighborhood in the middle of the jungle and Locke watches her the way he watches Ben, the way he watches the trees and it’s unnerving, and there are her lies and she’s slipping and when anger flares she takes to hands on hips and messy hair, messy accusations like, “I stayed here for you.”
Sawyer has never taken to guilt well, and she probably knew this to begin with.
Her baby kicked, once.
She dies on a Sunday and Sawyer tries to kill Ben that same day. He fails.
He fails just like she failed just like they failed just like maybe the island will fail them all. But these things, they always go unsaid.
(he’s the kind of man, baby girl, gonna come pick you up, side of the road and a rusted pick-up truck and he’s gonna ask you these questions and you’re gonna want him to beg you to stay, beg you alright, and you’re both gonna carry rifles and you’re both gonna shoot more than the breeze and you know it, you feel it, and maybe that’s why you grabbed the handle and slid across the warm leather seat, to him - )
two.
She knows he hides in parked cars and dark sunglasses and it only makes him that much easier to be found.
And besides - this kid’s got some Shepherd but no Austen in it anyway. That has to mean something, and when Kate says something she thinks she means hope. She thinks she means hope, or maybe that’s a misnomer and what this is all about is that she wants to mean hope because couldn’t that be beautiful? Couldn’t that be them if they tried?
But then it all becomes stupid and futile when Jack says things like, “I’ve been trying with you for years, Kate,” and he says it with gritted teeth and sometimes with scary, blown pupils and pills that rattle in plastic, in his pockets, next to keys and credit cards and the muscles of his thighs.
There’s another side there, the side that whispers, “I’ve always loved you, Kate,” and the part of her that just aches because of it, aches with that retort poised on her tongue, a frightened little, “that’s a lie,” she never comes to say.
(you wanted this from day one, didn’t ya, Miss Austen? with your wannabe class and grace, wanted to get rid of the dirty jeans and the dirty knees and all the dirty little things about your head, and there came the man, the wide hands and the count of 1 2 3 4 5 and maybe, pretty girl, you thought you could try again, thought you could hold hands and find an aisle, do this again, wear all that white for him -)
three.
He’s better at this than she is. It’s been that way since the start - that solid extension of his arm and the gun in his hand, the way the bullets crack.
And it’s like, hey, maybe she can do this. You kill one, you kill several - it really doesn’t make a bit of difference to the soul. It’s tainted through and through already.
She tries to make herself feel better by making light of gruesome things like this. She might toss her hair over her shoulder and smile even though it feels like her cheeks are sunk and hollowed; she might say, on a cold laugh, “Well, hell - at least the pay is good. Living ain’t cheap.”
But, see, then she’ll feel all the more ill for it - talking like a lost cowboy and then she might start thinking of slippery, dangerous things like flannel and tanned skin.
Sayid sometimes smiles and it makes her stomach clench.
(‘a natural,’ huh? that what they’ve come to think of you as? pistols and rifles and lengths of rope, blood and still bodies and stifling guilt? little riddle for you, little lady - when the devil himself catches you in the eye and asks questions, asks allegiance, ain’t the answer always no? don’t answer, don’t need to; you already got the streets of Berlin, streets of Prague, of Moscow, of London of heaven of hell - )
four.
They never talk about his son. They never talk about New York, the island, that raft lost at sea, dead girls in the ground.
They never talk about her either, and silence is a blessing, right?
There’s probably a song about this somewhere, how only the lonely survive. Maybe that’s why this makes sense - the two of them have left too many scattered pieces of themselves around the world, locked around the necks of those they came to love.
To lose.
They’re digging in all the wrong places; Ben sometimes calls.
(like church on a Sunday, ain’t it? and you thought you deserved this, punishment and purgatory and you’re gonna go wander the earth with all of god’s sinners and you’re gonna hope there’s salvation in that, but there ain’t, girl, there ain’t, but you sure as hell was gonna try it on for size, try him, ask him if sometimes he feels like maybe he did the right thing, but it ain’t your question to ask - ain’t yours to answer either - )
five.
She’s got the beat of helicopter blades and little else to go off of.
She’s got that at least, she reminds herself, and little baby fingers curl long strands of her hair.
She escapes, you know.
She escapes it all.
It’s beautiful, the breeze.
(gonna wind yourself up in circles, little, flighty thing you are - you’re gonna wind and wind and loop and run -
they’re gonna catch you by the throat come the end).
fin.
five romantic endings Kate Austen will never have -
lost. you can try and outrun the karmic wheel, Miss Austen - that doesn't mean you ever stood a chance. you got to earn your keep. kate. kate/sawyer, kate/jack, kate/sayid, kate/michael. 1038 words. rated pg. spoilers through 4x08.
will you keep on running?
baby, settle down
(cat power)
one.
It’s a bad idea from the start and that might just be why she stayed.
It only gets worse.
She washes dishes but won’t wear aprons and there is Claire and the baby and a neighborhood in the middle of the jungle and Locke watches her the way he watches Ben, the way he watches the trees and it’s unnerving, and there are her lies and she’s slipping and when anger flares she takes to hands on hips and messy hair, messy accusations like, “I stayed here for you.”
Sawyer has never taken to guilt well, and she probably knew this to begin with.
Her baby kicked, once.
She dies on a Sunday and Sawyer tries to kill Ben that same day. He fails.
He fails just like she failed just like they failed just like maybe the island will fail them all. But these things, they always go unsaid.
(he’s the kind of man, baby girl, gonna come pick you up, side of the road and a rusted pick-up truck and he’s gonna ask you these questions and you’re gonna want him to beg you to stay, beg you alright, and you’re both gonna carry rifles and you’re both gonna shoot more than the breeze and you know it, you feel it, and maybe that’s why you grabbed the handle and slid across the warm leather seat, to him - )
two.
She knows he hides in parked cars and dark sunglasses and it only makes him that much easier to be found.
And besides - this kid’s got some Shepherd but no Austen in it anyway. That has to mean something, and when Kate says something she thinks she means hope. She thinks she means hope, or maybe that’s a misnomer and what this is all about is that she wants to mean hope because couldn’t that be beautiful? Couldn’t that be them if they tried?
But then it all becomes stupid and futile when Jack says things like, “I’ve been trying with you for years, Kate,” and he says it with gritted teeth and sometimes with scary, blown pupils and pills that rattle in plastic, in his pockets, next to keys and credit cards and the muscles of his thighs.
There’s another side there, the side that whispers, “I’ve always loved you, Kate,” and the part of her that just aches because of it, aches with that retort poised on her tongue, a frightened little, “that’s a lie,” she never comes to say.
(you wanted this from day one, didn’t ya, Miss Austen? with your wannabe class and grace, wanted to get rid of the dirty jeans and the dirty knees and all the dirty little things about your head, and there came the man, the wide hands and the count of 1 2 3 4 5 and maybe, pretty girl, you thought you could try again, thought you could hold hands and find an aisle, do this again, wear all that white for him -)
three.
He’s better at this than she is. It’s been that way since the start - that solid extension of his arm and the gun in his hand, the way the bullets crack.
And it’s like, hey, maybe she can do this. You kill one, you kill several - it really doesn’t make a bit of difference to the soul. It’s tainted through and through already.
She tries to make herself feel better by making light of gruesome things like this. She might toss her hair over her shoulder and smile even though it feels like her cheeks are sunk and hollowed; she might say, on a cold laugh, “Well, hell - at least the pay is good. Living ain’t cheap.”
But, see, then she’ll feel all the more ill for it - talking like a lost cowboy and then she might start thinking of slippery, dangerous things like flannel and tanned skin.
Sayid sometimes smiles and it makes her stomach clench.
(‘a natural,’ huh? that what they’ve come to think of you as? pistols and rifles and lengths of rope, blood and still bodies and stifling guilt? little riddle for you, little lady - when the devil himself catches you in the eye and asks questions, asks allegiance, ain’t the answer always no? don’t answer, don’t need to; you already got the streets of Berlin, streets of Prague, of Moscow, of London of heaven of hell - )
four.
They never talk about his son. They never talk about New York, the island, that raft lost at sea, dead girls in the ground.
They never talk about her either, and silence is a blessing, right?
There’s probably a song about this somewhere, how only the lonely survive. Maybe that’s why this makes sense - the two of them have left too many scattered pieces of themselves around the world, locked around the necks of those they came to love.
To lose.
They’re digging in all the wrong places; Ben sometimes calls.
(like church on a Sunday, ain’t it? and you thought you deserved this, punishment and purgatory and you’re gonna go wander the earth with all of god’s sinners and you’re gonna hope there’s salvation in that, but there ain’t, girl, there ain’t, but you sure as hell was gonna try it on for size, try him, ask him if sometimes he feels like maybe he did the right thing, but it ain’t your question to ask - ain’t yours to answer either - )
five.
She’s got the beat of helicopter blades and little else to go off of.
She’s got that at least, she reminds herself, and little baby fingers curl long strands of her hair.
She escapes, you know.
She escapes it all.
It’s beautiful, the breeze.
(gonna wind yourself up in circles, little, flighty thing you are - you’re gonna wind and wind and loop and run -
they’re gonna catch you by the throat come the end).
fin.