Fic: Wager (1/1)
Title: Wager
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Kate Austen, Esau/Man In Black
Word Count: 1,144
Summary: She never has to say it; she only has to mean it. For burnmybridges, who requested “Kate & Man in Black Gen. She's finally ready to stop running, so she makes a bargin, but is she prepared to pay the price of freedom?” at my Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza. General Spoilers through Season Six.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: These two have an interesting dynamic, truly, and I hope I capture it to your liking, here :)
Wager
She doesn’t have to ask him; there are things he knows without being told -- a hand on the heartbeat of the world, he can feel it.
Do this, and I will give you what it is you want.
She doesn’t have to ask, doesn’t have to say yes.
She never has to say yes.
She only has to mean it.
____________________________
She can feel eyes on her, hard and cold against the heat of the flames, the sad smile of the man who tells her she’s a mother, even if she doesn’t feel like one, even if she clings to it, the last thing she has left.
She watches Jack’s mouth open, watches his lips stretch and crack, red at the corners -- she watches him breathe in, the stretch of his shirt against his chest, and she knows what he’s about to say, what he’s about to do.
It sparks through her body like a current, like death and the only thing worth living for, worth taking the risk: before he can let the air out, she’s speaking.
She’s giving herself to something bigger, something more than the race against the universe.
I’ll do it.
Her ribs feel too small by the time she’s done; the taste of the water like wine on her lips -- it makes her nauseous, makes her faint.
She closes her eyes, and wonders -- not for the first time, or the last -- whether this whole terrible world is just an endless waking dream.
For the first time, and the last time, she hopes that it isn’t.
____________________________
It takes him all of a moment, all of eternity to stake his claim, to wreak havoc on the whole of creation, from shore to jagged shore.
For days, weeks -- maybe, probably longer -- the whole world smells of iron, and her bare feet stick, leave prints in the slow smear of blood, tacky in the midday sun.
She heaves, vomits, and the ocean sweeps it away as if it never existed, as if it never was.
She breathes in, a shaky sob, and she knows that she can walk the coast, can climb and crawl the heights and depths; she can go anywhere, and nowhere, and she will still be alone.
There’s no turning back, now.
____________________________
She sits in the Lighthouse, watches the sun rise and fall, over and over. She hums, songs that remind her of the things she’s starting to forget, watches the horizon where the stars don’t fall and wonders if anyone else is still breathing in the air she’s breathing out; wonders when he’ll come back.
Because she knows -- she knows he’ll come back.
____________________________
When she sees him, he’s less of a form and more of a flicker; his voice like a whisper that rattles in her bones.
He only has to look at her to let her know that it’s done.
____________________________
I don’t want to run anymore, she’d thought to the sky, and it seems eons ago, now; she feels so old.
That’s not what you want.
He’d been everywhere and nowhere, and she’d felt warm and cold at the touch of him, the spiral of whatever he was, whatever he is around her body in the night.
That’s not what you want.
I want people to stop chasing me, she’d tried, because it was the same thing, a close second.
I can make it so that no one ever chases you again. I can make it so there’s no one left to chase you.
It should have sparked suspicion, curiosity at least, but she was tired, and she was weak -- she is weak -- and all she’d said was How?
I have to leave this place.
She’d only stared, could swear she saw eyes, felt them at least -- searched, but found nothing.
You have to help me leave this place.
____________________________
Sometimes, she stops in the jungle, between two trees that aren’t special, mean nothing.
Sometimes, she falls to her knees with a grunt, buckling too high so her joints ache and her bones creak when she hits the dirt and sends a could of dust up around her, a veil in mourning. Sometimes, she stays a while, stays and strokes the soil above what lies beneath.
Sometimes, she stops by Jack’s grave.
____________________________
Sometimes, her chest aches when she thinks about Aaron -- when she thinks about any of them, about leaving them behind, letting them go, letting them fall.
Then she remembers -- remembers what he did, what she did; then she remembers, and there’s nothing to ache about.
Everything’s empty; everything’s gone.
____________________________
He was right, when he told her, when he said it: That’s not what you want.
Because she does; she wants to run, to fly until her lungs burn and her blood gets thick and her body gives out and leaves her broken.
She wants to run, but she can’t -- there’s nowhere he can’t find her, nowhere he can’t reach.
It’s just another thing he’s taken away; another thing she gave without ever thinking twice.
____________________________
She thinks, more than she’s ever thought. There’s more time in the world than there ever was, and she’s not accountable for anything, to anyone. It takes time, but the shadows that cast over her stop sparking fear in her heart, stop drumming in her pulse. It takes time.
She has nothing left but time.
She reclines, sprawls on the sand until her hair pulls against the grains, until her skin stretches stiff under the sear of the sun; she sighs, because even the surf is quiet.
She feels darkness, coolness fall over her in waves, uneven, and she knows he’s come, she knows. She sucks in a breath, and doesn’t open her eyes.
“Do you regret it?”
She lets herself remember scattered details; the fire dying, the ritual that would release him, the way the smoke wouldn’t settle for days. She remembers thinking the screams on the wind were he imagination. She remembers understanding what he’d meant, picking up on nuance and feeling sick: I can make it so there’s no one left to chase you.
No one left.
He’d kept his word.
She doesn’t answer, but he can see her heart.
He knows the truth.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Kate Austen, Esau/Man In Black
Word Count: 1,144
Summary: She never has to say it; she only has to mean it. For burnmybridges, who requested “Kate & Man in Black Gen. She's finally ready to stop running, so she makes a bargin, but is she prepared to pay the price of freedom?” at my Winter Gift-Fic Extravaganza. General Spoilers through Season Six.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: These two have an interesting dynamic, truly, and I hope I capture it to your liking, here :)
Wager
She doesn’t have to ask him; there are things he knows without being told -- a hand on the heartbeat of the world, he can feel it.
Do this, and I will give you what it is you want.
She doesn’t have to ask, doesn’t have to say yes.
She never has to say yes.
She only has to mean it.
____________________________
She can feel eyes on her, hard and cold against the heat of the flames, the sad smile of the man who tells her she’s a mother, even if she doesn’t feel like one, even if she clings to it, the last thing she has left.
She watches Jack’s mouth open, watches his lips stretch and crack, red at the corners -- she watches him breathe in, the stretch of his shirt against his chest, and she knows what he’s about to say, what he’s about to do.
It sparks through her body like a current, like death and the only thing worth living for, worth taking the risk: before he can let the air out, she’s speaking.
She’s giving herself to something bigger, something more than the race against the universe.
I’ll do it.
Her ribs feel too small by the time she’s done; the taste of the water like wine on her lips -- it makes her nauseous, makes her faint.
She closes her eyes, and wonders -- not for the first time, or the last -- whether this whole terrible world is just an endless waking dream.
For the first time, and the last time, she hopes that it isn’t.
____________________________
It takes him all of a moment, all of eternity to stake his claim, to wreak havoc on the whole of creation, from shore to jagged shore.
For days, weeks -- maybe, probably longer -- the whole world smells of iron, and her bare feet stick, leave prints in the slow smear of blood, tacky in the midday sun.
She heaves, vomits, and the ocean sweeps it away as if it never existed, as if it never was.
She breathes in, a shaky sob, and she knows that she can walk the coast, can climb and crawl the heights and depths; she can go anywhere, and nowhere, and she will still be alone.
There’s no turning back, now.
____________________________
She sits in the Lighthouse, watches the sun rise and fall, over and over. She hums, songs that remind her of the things she’s starting to forget, watches the horizon where the stars don’t fall and wonders if anyone else is still breathing in the air she’s breathing out; wonders when he’ll come back.
Because she knows -- she knows he’ll come back.
____________________________
When she sees him, he’s less of a form and more of a flicker; his voice like a whisper that rattles in her bones.
He only has to look at her to let her know that it’s done.
____________________________
I don’t want to run anymore, she’d thought to the sky, and it seems eons ago, now; she feels so old.
That’s not what you want.
He’d been everywhere and nowhere, and she’d felt warm and cold at the touch of him, the spiral of whatever he was, whatever he is around her body in the night.
That’s not what you want.
I want people to stop chasing me, she’d tried, because it was the same thing, a close second.
I can make it so that no one ever chases you again. I can make it so there’s no one left to chase you.
It should have sparked suspicion, curiosity at least, but she was tired, and she was weak -- she is weak -- and all she’d said was How?
I have to leave this place.
She’d only stared, could swear she saw eyes, felt them at least -- searched, but found nothing.
You have to help me leave this place.
____________________________
Sometimes, she stops in the jungle, between two trees that aren’t special, mean nothing.
Sometimes, she falls to her knees with a grunt, buckling too high so her joints ache and her bones creak when she hits the dirt and sends a could of dust up around her, a veil in mourning. Sometimes, she stays a while, stays and strokes the soil above what lies beneath.
Sometimes, she stops by Jack’s grave.
____________________________
Sometimes, her chest aches when she thinks about Aaron -- when she thinks about any of them, about leaving them behind, letting them go, letting them fall.
Then she remembers -- remembers what he did, what she did; then she remembers, and there’s nothing to ache about.
Everything’s empty; everything’s gone.
____________________________
He was right, when he told her, when he said it: That’s not what you want.
Because she does; she wants to run, to fly until her lungs burn and her blood gets thick and her body gives out and leaves her broken.
She wants to run, but she can’t -- there’s nowhere he can’t find her, nowhere he can’t reach.
It’s just another thing he’s taken away; another thing she gave without ever thinking twice.
____________________________
She thinks, more than she’s ever thought. There’s more time in the world than there ever was, and she’s not accountable for anything, to anyone. It takes time, but the shadows that cast over her stop sparking fear in her heart, stop drumming in her pulse. It takes time.
She has nothing left but time.
She reclines, sprawls on the sand until her hair pulls against the grains, until her skin stretches stiff under the sear of the sun; she sighs, because even the surf is quiet.
She feels darkness, coolness fall over her in waves, uneven, and she knows he’s come, she knows. She sucks in a breath, and doesn’t open her eyes.
“Do you regret it?”
She lets herself remember scattered details; the fire dying, the ritual that would release him, the way the smoke wouldn’t settle for days. She remembers thinking the screams on the wind were he imagination. She remembers understanding what he’d meant, picking up on nuance and feeling sick: I can make it so there’s no one left to chase you.
No one left.
He’d kept his word.
She doesn’t answer, but he can see her heart.
He knows the truth.