Arrhythmia
Sinking815
March 3rd, 2007
A/N: Set after "Enter 77", this is speculation on what might happen if Kate's rescue mission fails. I wanted to write broken Kate, as opposed to the pining Kate I've written in the past. But I also wanted to delve into Sawyer's opinion. Might come back to add more when I'm more awake. Reviews greatly appreciated.
She had started coming to his tent whenever her world was spinning out of her control. It didn't matter to her whether it was during the most intense hours of the afternoon or during the most intimate hours of the night. Jack's tent was a safe haven in their small society, a refuge from the foreboding wilderness of a savage island.
With a furtive glance about her, Kate ducked inside, her hand easily parting the loose tarp that closed shut on the night behind her. The darkness surrounded her without mercy and she fought the feeling of vertigo that gnawed viciously at the tautness in her chest. She was stretched to her wit's end, struggling to keep her sanity through her repentant days.
Survivor's guilt, Sawyer had called it in yet another one of their scuffles. But Kate knew it was something more than that and shied away from that term out of fear. Survivor's guilt meant that someone had died and despite the rationalizations of Locke and Sayid and the sorrowful crease in Sawyer's face, Kate refused to consider the merit of the phrase. She knew her adamant stubbornness was beginning to look like denial, that with everyday that passed, her resolute affirmations that he wasn't dead made some believe that he was indeed gone—forever.
Her declarations made them edgy and nervous; no one seemed to look her in the eye anymore and those that did tip-toed around her like she was broken glass. Sawyer, especially. She supposed it was because he could see her hurt, her despair, her self-destruction. He had a way of cutting right through her deception. The fact that he could read her so easily made her furious. Her rage only fueled his frustration and they stalled like a used and spent engine without enough juice left in the battery. This culpable tension was draining them.
Kate sank to her knees, letting the weight of her desolation press into her back and barely feeling the familiar rush of pain that pulsed with each beat of her heart. Not quite ready to admit she was on the verge of tears, she stared at the items scattered haphazardly about her. The moon somehow found its way through the tarp over her head and as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, Kate noticed with a quick wry smile how she was tinted in blue. How fitting, she thought.
The loose belongings scattered casually across the sand were illusory. The rumpled blanket suggested an owner out for a bathroom break. The unzipped duffel, a pair of jeans spilling from its half-gaping maw, pretended someone had just ruffled through, looking for a sweatshirt, any shirt to ward off the chilly night air. There was a small pile of inside-out boxers, balled socks, and twisted t-shirts piled haphazardly in the corner, demanding to be attended. It looked like Jack had been here only hours ago.
Breathing long slow breaths, Kate bit her lip and looked up and away from the life of a friend so easily displayed before her. She let her eyes close against the slight heat of rising tears and then forced herself to look to the scene at her knees, her gaze running over the laundry pile, the make-shift bed, the luggage, and the liquor cart made medicine cabinet. Despite her pain, Kate felt the corner of her mouth stretch in a half-hearted smile as she gently eased the cart door open.
The salvaged medicine stood in rows and Kate lifted the first few bottles, a weak laugh escaping her lips when she realized it was alphabetized by category. Acetophetamines and antiseptic. Amoxicillin, hydrogen peroxide and penicillin. Even localized painkillers like a half-empty bottle of Midol and three boxes of Tylenol. It was just as he had left it—neat, orderly, flawless.
Kate shut the drawer softly and eased back on her seat, glancing from the liquor cart to a familiar blood-stained shirt buried beneath the pile of clothes. So this was Jack Shephard, she thought. His professional life a brilliant façade to hide the mess that was his personal life. A brief twinge of guilt flooded Kate as memories of her own "professions" came racing back, some with a painful clarity. She shook her head against the tears and swallowed determinedly.
Suddenly she felt very small and alone, the same way she sometimes felt in his presence, like she was just an attachment to him almost not worth noticing. Insignificant, she realized, and the thought made Kate wonder if that was some transcendence of her remorse talking or a reality she had tried to push away.
Jack had pushed her away. He had done it time and time again, sometimes when she had earned it, other times when she hadn't. A sickening wave of nausea plunged right through her stomach, an icy knife stabbing through her chest. He had pushed her away and she had kept coming back only to be turned aside again.
Kate panicked, rising swiftly to her feet, feeling the looming sense of dread one feels when reality treads too close to a dream for comfort. She backed away from the scene before her, a lazy foot catching the edge of his blanket and she stumbled. This was too close. Too real. Like the fear.
She turned and bolted from his tent, barely getting two feet from the entrance when she collided with something solid. It grunted from the impact and for a moment, Kate thought she had run straight into the arms of the monster that haunted them all. The smell of ash and stale cologne told her Sawyer had followed her.
The last thing Kate wanted to do was stand still. Fear meant a reason to run. Pain gave her unlimited fuel. But Sawyer's strong embrace was familiar and soothing to her frayed nerves and she shuddered against him.
"What the hell were you doing in Hero's tent?" he asked, the anger in his voice stemming from his shock at their collision.
Kate didn't answer. She just buried her head into his chest, her arms finding their way around his middle on their own. Her own strength surprised her as she held on for dear life. The tears finally came freely, spilling without regret over the broken shards of glass.
"Freckles?" Sawyer tried to push Kate away, tried to get a look into her face to read what she was feeling. He couldn't loosen her grip an inch. He repeated her name, his drawl slowing with concern.
The strangled cry she gave startled him and Sawyer glanced down at the woman clinging to him like she was some sort of strange creature he'd never seen before. For all the time they'd been together, this was a new side of her. This Kate scared him because this Kate was hurting bad enough to show feelings he knew she had no idea existed. This was Kate Austen with her walls down.
Sawyer let his arms close around her small quivering frame with a gentle pressure. He could feel the gasping hot breaths she blew against his chest and could feel the warm wetness soaking his shirt. Sighing, he dropped his head, resting his chin on the chaos of her dark wavy hair and beginning a slow rocking rhythm. His mom had held him like this when he'd been upset. Then it had always seemed comforting and Sawyer knew comfort was what Kate wanted most right now.
The gravity of this moment weighed heavily on his broad shoulders. He'd seen the sadness return to her green eyes. He'd seen the moisture swell dangerously and threaten to spill over her flushed cheeks. He'd seen her turn her head away when the other man's name was sent drifting on the island breeze. He'd seen her lie to herself more in the past week than she probably lied the entire two months they'd been crashed there. Sawyer had seen Kate's mind. Sawyer had seen Kate's suffering. Sawyer had seen Kate's self-imposed torment.
But this was the first time he'd seen Kate's heart and each trembling pulse told Sawyer just who she wished was comforting her now.
Finis