Chapter 1

Of Mortal Coils and Faulty Angels

When the damn pain ebbs away enough for rational thought to start seeping its way back into his head, Sawyer's first thought is

son of a bitch my head

Hot on the heels of that little gem are the pearls of wisdom

christ I need to take a leak

and

Jesus I'm with the angels

Because as his eyes gradually focus in, through the darkness and the stench of putrifying plants, and the dull firey pain, they find a face staring down at him with an expression of raw, almost primal fear. He wonders in these moments if he really has just taken a running dive off this godforsaken mortal coil. If so, he muses with tired triumph as his mind drifts far away from his aching mess of a body, ain't no more than he deserves.

But something don't feel right here. Something eats away inside of him, won't let go

wake up

like a tiny flea in the back of his mind,

wake UP

that refuses to be squelched, told 'game over baby', goodbye and goodnight. He's sought death for so long, so why in hell does it bring such a lousy cramp of bitterness now, such a glut of unfulfilment? Moreover, God's gotta reap himself some new angels! This one's damn near crying all over him. Just his luck to get himself a faulty angel -- maybe this is God's little backhander at him for being such a smartass all his life. Where's the gal's damn halo and harp? She's covered in dirt too, by looks of it -- and something else.

what IS that?

Something dark, down the side of her face --
Suddenly, pressure. He can feel it on his hand. And when he opens his eyes again, scared moss green ones plead back at him, not to slip back into the darkness -
Not to leave her alone --

blood

He comes back to himself enough to realize --

BLOOD! The angels bleeding, Oh Lord, Holy s--

he's delusional, and the pain rises up to greet him, and its Kate, Freckles is staring down at him, tough as nails Kate who'd rather stick pins in her eyes than show how she feels is crying, crying hard -- and her face --

what in hell is happening here

-- her face is coated in blood.

The blood is insignificant -- in fact, Kate has no idea how bad her head is bleeding. She doesn't care.

Jack had been taken. Her heart pounded painfully and the despair threatened to overcome her all at once -- damn Sawyer for trying to overcome the Guard! What in hell good would it have done if he'd escaped? He'd have left you, her mind snipes at her, running itself ragged, you should have known he would. Eveybody does little Katie! In the end, its only a matter of time.

So who knew where in hell Sawyer was -- when the fight had happened, the Others had separated them and taken them off in different directions. The fear had taken over when Kate heard Jack being dragged away from her, and Sawyer being beaten --

What if they killed him

Now, she has lost count of how long it has been since she was thrown in this miserable hole which passed as a holding cell. When she had been lead in and ordered to kneel, the thick black cloth of the foul bag over her head which had been steadily suffocating her was ripped off. She didn't know what to expect -- a confrontation with the others, Henry Gale, more questions -- but not this. Not more darkness -- and not to be alone.

Jack and Sawyer were gone. She was in here, in the dark, alone.

Ever since Kate was little, she hated the darkness. Bad things happened then, which she had no control over and would alway seem like a distant nightmare the next day -- and as she grew, those nightmares never receeded, instead they morphed, grew right along with her in the darkest recesses of her mind. Even here on the island, she slept close by the campfire every night.

Things were threatening to creep back around the edges. Half images and leering faces from a childhood scarred by pain and loneliness, shoved deep down to the bottomost pits of her soul. She had bricked them over, tried to bury them -- she could get through the night because there was always the day, the sun always rose --

But the darkness beneath the cowl, she's never known anything like it. Here, there is no day. Just the cowl with its stomach churning stench of gasoline and hemp, blacking out the sun and fueling her hysteria gleefully --

I cant be locked in I CANT be

And even with the bag torn from her head, the light is still not there. The blackness is as complete as before, a leaden blanket which settles over her in it's deathly cloak. Just as she tries to keep a hold of herself as the footsteps of her captors fall away from her, as keys jangle in a distant lock she feels the sick glut of panic trilling through her mind

I CANT BE LOCKED IN I --

Whimpering in a fear she will not allow herself to succumb to, she gropes blindly, arms outstretched feeling for wall, floor, ceiling -- Her leg suddenly connects with an unyeilding shape on the floor and as she falls, she see's stars. Her head explodes in a dazzling supernova of pain -- and here's the light, it pours forth now behind her clenched eyelids. It is only the sound of a soft moan which stops her slipping gratefully from this world of blackness into her own private and safe world of dark unconciousness --

That soft moan again -- and doggedly looking past her pain, she hauls herself onto her elbows and peers into a face she'd given up on, marked for dead.

"Sawyer -- wake up --!" Nothing. No response at all, just dead weight, and now Kates fear rushes back at her with full force, redoubled in its firey strength.

He's gone, little Katherine's alone again!

But she refuses to believe that. Suddenly her survival instincts slam into gear and her instinctive reaction is to do something to help. She checks his pulse, airways, listens for his heart, and each slowing beat gradually becomes the all encompasing rhythm of this dark night. Against her will, she is muttering, "Wake up... Sawyer, wake UP--" Her hand fiinds his, laces through his rough, calloused fingers and squeezes tight, willing him to respond -- but he is fading. And as her panic finally overcomes her fragile defences, scalding tears burn down her cheeks, and her plea is rendered a furious whisper,

"Sawyer -- Sawyer, please --"

Eyelashes flicker against bloody skin. Kate holds her breath -- as Sawyer lets out a low, angry moan. She almost wilts with relief, the smile which creases her face eclipsing the pain and tears for a blessed moment.

"Sawyer? Sawyer!" She shakes him a little for good measure and with an indignant grunt he cuffs her off.

"God's gonna send me burning for this one. Hell, only a Ford could make an angel bleed..."

Kate shoots him a quizzical look through the darkness as he clambers up onto his elbows -- and she notices a deep red needle wound on Sawyers arm.

"What... what did they do to you...?"

He gazes disconnectedly at his arm like it don't belong to him. Certainly don't feel like the damn thing does. "Needle." He sighs dazedly, and Kate looks to him fearfully.

"A needle? What did they inject you with?" But Sawyer's head is lolling forwards onto his chest, eyes fighting to slip back closed...

On her touch he reacts as though repellled by her. "It's fine!" He slurs, "Peachy! I'm just -- I never been better --" He goes to stand and Kate instinctively tries to help him -- but he pushes her away. "I don't need your help mamsita! I got this -- " His eyes flicker -- and roll back, " -- covered."

He falls heavily and she sits beside him. Resigning herself to the wait for whatever the Others shot him up with to wear off, her thoughts turn outwards, travel far away...

... where's Jack?

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