Disclaimer: I do not own The Red Road. (Dialogue taken from 1x06)

The low rumble of a truck engine exhaled into the summer air, silencing the chirping crickets and the muffled noises from the houses along the street. As sudden as the quiet of the natural noises of the suburban streets settled it disappeared, the purr of the engine cutting. Metal creaked quietly as it cooled in the evening chill.

Dark eyes watched the street closely, flickering rapidly from house to house, noting the soft movements of trees and the waking of nocturnal creatures. A deep sigh filled the cab as the man shifted heavily, angling his body towards one particular house. The front yard was flooded with creamy yellow light, illuminating the neatly manicured beds of flowers and the empty driveway. Another heavy breath was expelled as the man searched the light filled frames, waiting for a silhouette to appear.

His body was tight, every muscle coiled tightly, ready to flee. He wasn't supposed to be on this street. His parole officer would probably have more than a few choice words to say to him, if the guy every bothered to check the tracking device.

But Phillip Kopus wasn't a man driven by logic, he was a man driven by instinct and passion. That simple fact was probably what had landed him in so much trouble as well as how he had managed to escape so much of it. Phillip had spent more than his share of time locked up, thinking about the funny way the world seemed to turn. While he wasn't a particularly philosophical man, Phillip was starting to believe that there was something more to life than randomness. That was why he sat outside The Jensen house in his beat-up truck, watching for any flicker of life inside.

Long fingers clenched against the steering wheel, muscles corded sharply, rolling underneath taut, tan skin. Phillip was caught in a crisis of indecision. He knew he should turn the engine over and speed away, put as much space between himself and that damn house as he could, but he was frozen. Phillip had spent a year in prison, dwelling on lost time and lost chances.

It had all started a year ago.

It had all started in that house.

It had all started when Phillip Kopus had made up his mind to show Harold Jensen exactly who he had messed with. Phillip had wanted to frighten the man, demonstrate who the predator was and who the prey was in their little game. That wasn't how it ended.

Toes curled in scuffed boots as the bear of a man thought back to the sunny afternoon that changed the road he had been travelling down.

It hadn't been hard to find the hide-a-key, Phillip rolled his eyes. He couldn't believe Harold had trumped him even a little. The guy was a damn cop and he had a hide-a-key rock sitting next to his front door. The man was a moron. He was practically inviting trouble into his home, trouble being a dark-haired, surly man named Phillip Kopus.

The door swung open easily and Phillip stepped into the hall, he paused as he closed the door, eyes scanning the street, ears pricked to catch any noise within the house. Everything was still. Flicking the latch, Kopus turned to survey the house. It was neat, clean, it looked too sterile. There was no clutter to warm the place, it felt staged. A façade of the perfect family. Phillip supposed that was apt, Harold and Jean had the perfect lives on the surface. They were happily married, owned a house in the suburbs, and had two kids. All that was missing was the damn dog and picket fence.

Reality wasn't so sweet a picture. Jean wasn't well, Harold was hardly the perfect father, cop, or husband, and Rachel wasn't exactly a girl of substance, unless you counted the substances in her blood. The house was cold.

On silent feet Phillip moved through the house, fingers dragging along the walls, lips curling upward in a little smirk as he took in the decorations. It was like a page from a magazine. He kept moving, careful not to disturb anything too much. He stepped into the kitchen, the cramped space making him feel bigger than he was.

Dark eyes skated across the space, this space was less sterile. It looked lived in, there were papers tacked to the fridge, a folder lay forgotten on the counter, and a pile of mail was scattered on the table. Scarred eyebrow flicking up in interest, Phillip glanced around before stepping towards the table. He scanned the mail, one finger extended to maneuver the envelopes and magazines around. Bills, bills, a useless coupon, and a letter from the town high school, nothing out of the ordinary. Turning to the fridge, Phillip frowned. Expired pizza coupons stacked under magnets for air-conditioning guys, grocery lists in a half-legible script, and, most interestingly, a pencil sketch of the mountain. It was nothing spectacular, but it didn't fit with the artificial feel of the house.

Leaning closer, Phillip squinted at the half sheet of paper. The strokes of the painting were soft, giving the scene a hazy, dream-like quality. There was little detail in the drawing, not from lack of talent Phillip decided. The drawing was unmistakably the mountain, every curve and angle accurate. The bottom corner of the page had a stark "K" as a signature. The lines weren't crisp, like the rest of the drawing it was hazy, multiple pencil strokes overlaying each other.

"K" had to be the other daughter. The one Phillip hadn't heard anything about. Straightening as he threaded his fingers through his hair, Phillip turned to the counter and slid the manila folder off the counter. Deft fingers flipped open the crisp, heavy paper. A stack of documents in various sizes, colors, and shapes threatened to spill onto the floor. Shifting his grip, Phillip braced the folder against his stomach as he thumbed through the documents.

Kate, the name popped off the page. Katherine Elizabeth Jensen, "K". Report cards, letters of recommendation, standardized test scores, ACT, SAT, and AP test information filled the folder. All of it painted a singular picture. Phillip knew with every centimeter of his flesh that these did not belong to the dumb, drunk, girl that Junior was in love with, and he didn't need a name to know it. These belonged to a girl who was smart and sweet. They belonged to a girl who saw beauty in the world.

Shaking himself from blindly reading the pages, Phillip set the file back down to finish surveying the room. He had something to accomplish, and Phillip had always been a very determined sort. If he set out to do something, he didn't let things get in his way.

Phillip Kopus had entered the Jensen house with a plan. He was going to send a message to Harold, so Phillip settled onto a dining room chair, fingertips pressed against the dark wooden table. With all the focus and patience of a hunter, Phillip waited, the long shadows of the afternoon cloaking him.

It had all started a year ago.

It had all started with a plan.

It had ended very differently.

That afternoon had been the start of the end, and the end of the start.

Phillip had spent an entire year letting the events crystallize in his memory. And in the end, it all came down to that afternoon. The afternoon he met Kate Jensen, the afternoon he goaded Harold into beating him half to hell, the afternoon the Albanians had caught him, the afternoon that Harold had, for an unknowable reason, saved him, and Phillip had returned the favor.

A year ago Phillip and Harold had sat slumped against the tuck, bloody and exhausted, and the world seemed to fade away. The euphoria of survival hadn't lasted long, and soon enough Phillip had found himself back in a prison cell with little else but his memories.

Long fingers tented against the overly-smooth wood table, Phillip's left hand clenched against his knee as a car door slammed. Exhaling slowly, Phillip gritted his teeth. It wasn't Harold. That left three options. It wasn't Jean. She would have opened the garage door just like Harold would have. That left the daughters.

Phillip's instincts warred. He had time to sneak out, it would be his best choice, but something kept him rooted in the chair long enough for the front lock to pop and the door to swing open. Steeling himself, Phillip forced his breathing to become shallow and his body to still all unnecessary movement.

The footsteps were light, even but gentle. As they moved closer, the hair on the back of Phillip's neck and on his arms rose slightly. Anticipation gnawing at him just as it did when he went hunting.

She swung into the kitchen in smooth movements, her backpack sliding down her arm as she lifted it to drop on the table. Her keys and jacket followed her backpack, the warm glow of afternoon sun lighting up her face.

Phillip's fingers flexed against the table as she turned, her curly red, sun-streaked hair drifting around her shoulders. She turned on her heal, body twisting easily, the curves and planes of her body shifting fluidly. She bounced down half of the steps into the den before freezing, her whole body seizing like a deer in the headlights. Phillip was similarly frozen, his lungs refusing to inhale properly.

She turned hesitantly, but didn't scream in fear as her eyes lit on him. A warm feeling swelled in his throat as she gave a gasping cry and backed down the stairs in shock. Pride, Phillip identified the feeling as she sat up in the chair, eyes locked on the Jensen he had yet to meet.

"It's okay," he forced his voice to be gentle and soft, not wanting to scare her anymore than he already had, "I'm a…I'm a friend of your Dad's."

Phillip watched as Kate angled her body slightly away from him, her hair hanging in her face, she was like a skittish animal, ready to bolt. A soft pink tongue darted out to whet full pink lips.

"My Dad doesn't have any friends," her voice was shaken, her breathing ragged.

Phillip watched Kate, absorbing every bit of information he could gather, eyes tracing every inch of her. He exhaled sharply through his nose, an ironic smile on his face, silent laughter flickering in his eyes. Pushing himself up from the chair, Phillip watched her as he stepped forward.

Kate stepped back, "He'll be home soon." It was a warning, empty, they both knew it.

"Oh good, wish he'd hurry up though," Phillip moved to stand in front of the fridge, taking his eyes from the young woman, hoping to calm her a little. "Got a busy day," Phillip tried to keep his voice conversational, tried to keep himself under control.

It was difficult for Phillip to ignore his instincts. Instincts that were roaring at him to keep his eyes on her, to watch Kate, to wrap his fingers in her hair and to figure out what she smelled like, what noises would issue from her throat if he brushed his lips against her pulse.

"Is he a nice dad," Phillip questioned, glancing at her as he tried to keep his body language as relaxed as possible. Desperate for something to keep his hands busy, Phillip opened the fridge glanced at the bare innards before closing it. His attention drawn again to the drawing pinned to the fridge. Sliding it off the fridge, Phillip forced himself to ignore the panicked breathing of the girl mere feet from him. He wanted to stroke her hair and tell her everything would be okay, but he couldn't, that would only scare her more.

"Did you draw this," he asked, voice heavy with suppressed emotion as he tipped the drawing so Kate could see. He watched her out of the corner of his vision. Kate nodded stiffly. Phillip held the drawing with both hands as he turned towards her, lifting his head as he walked closer. "He ever take you up there?"

Phillip didn't need a response to know that Harold would never take her into the mountains. Lip curled in an indistinguishable smirk, Phillip shook his head, "Keeps you all locked up here in this place, huh?"

Kate took a blind step back as the large man advanced. "You his favorite," his voice was a dark rumble, his eyes piercing into her, all of his attention on her as though she was the only thing in existence. "I bet he wishes he could keep you little forever."

The crisp sound of skin on paper filled the air, drawing Kate's attention to Phillip's large hands playing against her drawing.

The panic that had kept her frozen began to abate, "No." Her answer was still a little shaky, and a little quick, but it wasn't meek.

"Hm," it was a noise caught at the back of his throat as he walked down the stairs towards her, his heavy boots thunking loudly against the wood. He sighed heavily as he sank into a sitting position on the steps. A placid smile crept across his face, half sympathetic and half curious.

"You're the smart one, I can tell by looking at you," Phillip told her, watching as her breathing began to even, though her eyes were still wide and her lips remained parted. "Probably the only one who can see the forest for the trees."

The smile deepened, turning almost wry in nature as Phillip angled his head, looking up at her. He set his hands together, fingertips tenting before tipping to point passively at Kate. The warmth swelled again in his throat as Kate, still looking distinctly uncomfortable, met his eyes. Her hands were linked behind her back, pulling her shoulders back, her chest up, and forcing her to pick her head up a little, though a curtain of her hair still shielded her face from view.

Phillip clenched his jaw momentarily before relaxing, "Does he ever ask you what you think?"

"All the time," her voice even and mouth set firmly, Kate tipped her head to look at the intruder more directly.

Phillip swallowed at the answer. He could hear the lie in her words. The denial, the love, the blind love. His eyes shifted, catching the curve of Kate's hip beneath her shirt. "You keep taking shit, people are going to keep giving it to you," Phillip found her eyes again, "take it from me," he fell silent, watching her closely.

Kate kept her eyes on him, watching him just as he watched her. Phillip pulled away first, one hand delving into his pocket to retrieve his pocket watch, almost a quarter after three. Sliding the pocket watch home, Phillip returned his gaze to Kate. He rubbed his hands together in a show of nervous patience before folding them and settling them against this mouth. Eyes focused on her. Staring.

The haze in Phillip's eyes was replaced by pure focus in a snap as the subtle movement of a curtain drifting in the breeze caught in his peripheral vision. A lithe figure drifted in front of the window, shielded by the gauzy material. But Phillip knew it was her, Kate.

Phillip knew his thoughts should not have been so captivated by her, but a year had done nothing to temper the strength of his feelings. Phillip had spent a year fighting his instincts, resorting to logic to put her from his thoughts. She was too young, she was the daughter of two people who had betrayed him and ruined his life. She was too good. Too gentle.

None of the reasons worked, Phillip couldn't deny the truth that had settled into his bones like marrow and given him strength and hope. He knew he shouldn't, and yet he did. Phillip was irrevocably, irreversibly in love with Kate Jensen.

A/N: The last episode of the first season was very striking, I think it illuminated a great deal of underlying character traits and issues. I re-watched the episode two or three times and couldn't get my curiosity about what else Phillip said to Kate out of my head. Her reaction to her father, and Phillip's goading later in the episode intimated that there was something else. After than I went back and re-watched every scene with Kate and began a little analysis of her character. In the end I was left with a paring with I have deemed Phate, and though I know it may weird some people out, my goal is to explore why they are matched quite well. Please let me know what you think.