(no subject)
Kate-Sawyer (Kate/Sawyer?) ficlet with a dash of Kate/Jack. Post-island, so mild season six spoilers. Otherwise no warnings.
"Sleep is for the weak."
He can say it all he wants, but each word is roughened by weariness.
She spits hotel-issued fluoride into the shell-shaped sink, and the outline of the foam makes her think of a polar bear before she rinses it down the drain. "Everybody's got to be weak sometimes, James."
His second pillow joins the first, raising his head up higher from the bed, and he watches the reflection of her face in the mirror. "And when did you plan on doing that, Wonder Woman?
She smiles crookedly in the mirror, first at herself but then at him. "I had a head start."
There are no scores to even, no losses to compare. He parallels her like he always did, like she was always a little afraid of, and he accepts it, and she almost did the same thing with Jack that she did with him three years ago. She almost missed her chance to intersect, to say I love you straight and true and unprovoked.
"What're we doing?" he asks her reflection.
She wipes at her minty mouth with a washcloth and turns around, her hip resting against the counter, to face him and her own empty bed. "Not being alone."
He doesn't say anything at first, as unwilling to agree as he is to argue, but then he gives her dimpled smile and stretches his arm out as though he'd pat the edge of the other bed. "Come on, Freckles. I bet that big-chinned son of a bitch still does a damn late night show."
"Sleep is for the weak."
He can say it all he wants, but each word is roughened by weariness.
She spits hotel-issued fluoride into the shell-shaped sink, and the outline of the foam makes her think of a polar bear before she rinses it down the drain. "Everybody's got to be weak sometimes, James."
His second pillow joins the first, raising his head up higher from the bed, and he watches the reflection of her face in the mirror. "And when did you plan on doing that, Wonder Woman?
She smiles crookedly in the mirror, first at herself but then at him. "I had a head start."
There are no scores to even, no losses to compare. He parallels her like he always did, like she was always a little afraid of, and he accepts it, and she almost did the same thing with Jack that she did with him three years ago. She almost missed her chance to intersect, to say I love you straight and true and unprovoked.
"What're we doing?" he asks her reflection.
She wipes at her minty mouth with a washcloth and turns around, her hip resting against the counter, to face him and her own empty bed. "Not being alone."
He doesn't say anything at first, as unwilling to agree as he is to argue, but then he gives her dimpled smile and stretches his arm out as though he'd pat the edge of the other bed. "Come on, Freckles. I bet that big-chinned son of a bitch still does a damn late night show."