(no subject)
"Variables," a Kate/Sayid ficlet for the prompt "back when it could have been easy to fall in love you" over at lostsquee's 2010 Fic Battle. No warnings.
She wants to run.
Instead, not wanting to attract attention, she tears off her jacket and wraps the handcuffs in it. She edges up the beach and into the safety of the trees with the bundle, and she doesn't run until she's sure she's alone.
Once she is, she runs as fast as her bruised and shaking legs allow her to, and when she stops she drops the handcuffs as if they're hot enough to burn. Yards away, she flings the jacket into the bushes, too.
Her hands shake as she untucks her shirt and tugs the sleeves down more in an effort to hide her raw wrists.
This isn't happening, she wants to tell herself. But it is; screams still reach her ears.
If Edward really didn't make it--
If he didn't, she can be just another passenger.
*
Twenty-four hours out of the plane's shattered fuselage, she has his respect. She is difficult to get a read on -- he suspects she is not entirely truthful -- but she is one of the first to manage to shrug off the shell shock he sees all around him.
She is stubborn, she is eager to get things done, she has become acquainted with the doctor, and she has no patience for the games the man called Sawyer plays.
Trust is a valuable commodity, and unfortunately he has little to spare. For now, he thinks of her as a valuable ally in the camp as well as in the jungle.
*
Her throat is tight with angry disbelief as she stalks through the jungle, carelessly brushes low branches out of her way.
She never expected this of the two people she's come to think of as the most level-headed and trustworthy of them all. First vocal in her disapproval, she eventually felt forced to wash her hands of them and make herself scarce.
(But maybe not as scarce as she could be; what if they hurt Sawyer so badly that Jack needs all the help he can get to make things right?)
Sawyer's being an asshole, self-absorbed, thriving on the bad reputation he's earning, but there must be some way to reason with him. They can't go around torturing people.
When Sayid finds her, his face is grim and his eyes are dangerous.
Her hand flutters at her side, evidence of the aborted urge to reach out and touch his arm, but she waits.
"He says he will only tell you."
She doesn't ask what they had to do to get that much out of him.
*
She is, he thinks fleetingly, a beautiful woman. If the sight of her, dark hair windblown and eyes narrowed against the slanting sun, is to be the last he has of this beachside camp and the people in it, he could do much worse.
Perhaps he is as stubborn as Kate. His morals and pride suggest he take his leave for now, and nothing she says dissuades him. After attempting to choose his allies carefully, measuring out his trust as need called for it, he has been one of the first to prove himself unworthy.
Almost a gentleman yet anything but, he takes her hand in his and lifts it to his lips. When he glances up, her eyebrows knit unhappily. "What is it?"
She shakes her head to dismiss the idea before she even opens her mouth. "Nothing. Just deja vu or something."
"You feel as though you have been here before?"
A corner of her mouth curls sharply. "I feel like we've done this before."
After a moment of uncertainty, he raises her hand again and places a second kiss on the back of it. "Now we have."
He surprises himself by looking back as he marches across the sand and away from her. She hasn't moved, and she holds her hand up in a small wave.
He meant what he told her: he hopes they will meet again soon.
She wants to run.
Instead, not wanting to attract attention, she tears off her jacket and wraps the handcuffs in it. She edges up the beach and into the safety of the trees with the bundle, and she doesn't run until she's sure she's alone.
Once she is, she runs as fast as her bruised and shaking legs allow her to, and when she stops she drops the handcuffs as if they're hot enough to burn. Yards away, she flings the jacket into the bushes, too.
Her hands shake as she untucks her shirt and tugs the sleeves down more in an effort to hide her raw wrists.
This isn't happening, she wants to tell herself. But it is; screams still reach her ears.
If Edward really didn't make it--
If he didn't, she can be just another passenger.
*
Twenty-four hours out of the plane's shattered fuselage, she has his respect. She is difficult to get a read on -- he suspects she is not entirely truthful -- but she is one of the first to manage to shrug off the shell shock he sees all around him.
She is stubborn, she is eager to get things done, she has become acquainted with the doctor, and she has no patience for the games the man called Sawyer plays.
Trust is a valuable commodity, and unfortunately he has little to spare. For now, he thinks of her as a valuable ally in the camp as well as in the jungle.
*
Her throat is tight with angry disbelief as she stalks through the jungle, carelessly brushes low branches out of her way.
She never expected this of the two people she's come to think of as the most level-headed and trustworthy of them all. First vocal in her disapproval, she eventually felt forced to wash her hands of them and make herself scarce.
(But maybe not as scarce as she could be; what if they hurt Sawyer so badly that Jack needs all the help he can get to make things right?)
Sawyer's being an asshole, self-absorbed, thriving on the bad reputation he's earning, but there must be some way to reason with him. They can't go around torturing people.
When Sayid finds her, his face is grim and his eyes are dangerous.
Her hand flutters at her side, evidence of the aborted urge to reach out and touch his arm, but she waits.
"He says he will only tell you."
She doesn't ask what they had to do to get that much out of him.
*
She is, he thinks fleetingly, a beautiful woman. If the sight of her, dark hair windblown and eyes narrowed against the slanting sun, is to be the last he has of this beachside camp and the people in it, he could do much worse.
Perhaps he is as stubborn as Kate. His morals and pride suggest he take his leave for now, and nothing she says dissuades him. After attempting to choose his allies carefully, measuring out his trust as need called for it, he has been one of the first to prove himself unworthy.
Almost a gentleman yet anything but, he takes her hand in his and lifts it to his lips. When he glances up, her eyebrows knit unhappily. "What is it?"
She shakes her head to dismiss the idea before she even opens her mouth. "Nothing. Just deja vu or something."
"You feel as though you have been here before?"
A corner of her mouth curls sharply. "I feel like we've done this before."
After a moment of uncertainty, he raises her hand again and places a second kiss on the back of it. "Now we have."
He surprises himself by looking back as he marches across the sand and away from her. She hasn't moved, and she holds her hand up in a small wave.
He meant what he told her: he hopes they will meet again soon.