A/N: YAY! I'm back! And just to be clear, in case I don't manage to make it that way in the chapter: The flashback in this one takes place right after Kate and Sawyer has played 'I Never.' I understood that I've been a little muddled with the previous chapter, so I just thought I'd say that. ;) Anyway, let's check how sulky Sawyer is in this chapter…

3: What A Whiskey Bottle Reflects

The mornings are always the hardest. Sawyer learns that after just a few days of a bed without Kate and a Jack with that goddamn look on his face.

The mornings are the hardest. Because for some reason, there's always something inside him, some small ray of hope he hasn't managed to kill yet, that wakes up, sees the sunlight through the walls of the tent and thinks that Jack's done some progress tonight, or Kate's just gotten through on her own because she just is that strong, that he'll walk outside to see her frizzy hair and modest smile. And that's exactly when he has to stand up, walk outside, see the silhouette of her on her bed through the cloth of the tent next to his, and Jack walking around with that look on his face, and he has to realize, with a disappointment that gets bigger every day, that this day is just like the last.

It's just another day without Kate. And those days are getting harder and harder to pretend to ignore.

Sawyer is still completely determined to prove everyone wrong. Them, with their whispering about how much he loves her and how much he must suffer on the inside and how much he needs someone to gently hold him to their chest and whisper sweet nothings in his poor heartbroken ear.

He won't give them anything that confirms their whispering. They're waiting for it, he knows that. That's not the hard part.

It's convincing himself that's getting a little straining.

He doesn't love Kate. She was just like the rest, just something to pass the time and a way to piss off Jack. And he got a little too involved with that something.

But that extra involvement is getting so hard to shrug off. That involvement that makes him remember other things about her than what he remembers about the other women. That reaches beyond memories of her teeth clattering against his, breath on his face, her small breast under his hand and the nipple ticking his palm.

It's other memories. Worse ones.

And maybe the only place you'll see her from now on.

Sawyer waves away the thought. Won't think it unless he absolutely has to.

Kate is the only woman he's ever had other memories with. He refuses to accept that she can just die on him like that.

But if she would, it'd be easier if he could just stop remembering. It's getting so hard.

Remembering the times they had. The good times and the fights that almost seem good by now.

All the times that were both good and bad when he thinks back at them. Because they were all times when he could've said The Words, those words that are now eating him up, inside out, because he's not sure if he'll ever get to say them.

"Did you want to do it?"

Kate looks at him, or maybe it's more of a glare. Like she's trying to determine if he's a monster before he's even answered the question.

They haven't said anything for quite a while. The fire is dying out, the night is closing in and they should return to the camp, but none of them have pointed that out. Their feet are still weighed down by the answer to Kate's question, and they can't leave until Sawyer's answered.

But there are still so many questions they've answered by now, even after they gave up the 'I Never'-way of asking them. They've both been talking, almost constantly, ever since they finished their little Whiskey bottles, given each other all the basis they need to have the conversation they've both been waiting for for so long, but haven't found anyone to have it with.

But now, they both know it all.

Sawyer knows Kate killed her father. Kate knows Sawyer killed someone when he was looking for someone else.

And now, Kate's asked the question that the answer for hasn't left Sawyer's mind for once second since he pulled that trigger.

That damn trigger.

Sawyer looks back at her. He knows he shouldn't be this shocked that she asks. He hasn't shown any signs of regret since he tipped back that tiny Whiskey bottle and her shocked eyes gleamed through the thickening darkness. And if he'd met himself, he wouldn't put it past him to kill someone and feeling nothing.

But he still is. Sawyer doesn't know why, but for some reason, he thinks it should glow from him, there should be an aura of remorse around him, the thoughts of what he should've done should be written on his face.

Because how can a feeling be so strong as his regret, how can one single thought ring through his head every day, the one of what if he had a family what if I'll never find the right one, and not be seen? Not even by her?

But Sawyer doesn't say any of that. He puts his hands behind his head, sighs slowly and excerpted. Kate waits.

"When I did it, I wanted to do it," Sawyer says slowly, his eyes are hidden in the campfire between them. "But if what you're asking me is if I would take it back if I could, the answer is yes."

God, he sounds so casual. And he still wonders how she doesn't get that he regrets it.

Kate keeps glaring at him, like she hasn't really decided if he's a horrible person just yet. But she seems to give up, he feels her gaze sliding off him after a few seconds.

"What about you?" Sawyer asks and looks at her. "Did you want to kill him?"

Kate almost seems to blush, she fidgets with her tiny, empty bottle and looks away into the jungle. Sawyer doesn't rush her answer, but he is pretty scared of what it will be.

He can see just on her face that she doesn't regret it. And if she says it out loud, she won't be the Kate he knew anymore.

"I wish I wouldn't have been forced to do it," Kate finally says, still without looking at him. "But I know there was no other way, so no. The cops don't listen to a poor little shoplifting girl from Iowa… And mom sure doesn't, either…"

Her voice fades out. They don't say anything for a few minutes.

"Jack wouldn't understand, would he?" Kate then says. Whispers.

She seems to be talking to herself as much as to Sawyer. But he still listens.

"Everything's so easy for him," Kate goes on, stares blindly into the fire. "He has problems, but he always solves them without hurting anyone. When someone beats up your mom, you call the cops. And when the cop is a bastard, you find a better one. It's that simple."

Pause.

"How does he do that, you think?" Kate finishes off.

Sawyer shrugs.

"I think he just got a better deal of cards, Freckles."

Kate sighs and leans her forehead in her hand. She still doesn't look at him, but she seems to be aware of his presence now.

"What do we do with this deal of cards, then?" she says, with an amused sort of dejection, like she doesn't expect him to have an answer, and looks at Sawyer.

Now. Now would be a good time to say it. Sawyer feels it, like the warmth of the fire right next to his feet, the log behind his back.

She included him. He was a part of her world. They had the same cards on their hands and the same bewilderment about how to deal them.

And the worst part is, when he feels Kate's melted chocolate eyes in his own, Sawyer isn't bewildered about those cards at all. They've never seemed simpler than now.

If that's not a reason to tell her, he doesn't know what is.

That's why it hurts so much that he knows he won't be able to do it.

"What we can, I guess," he says simply.

He doesn't say anything about that all he can do with his deal of cards right now is focusing on not to kiss her.

For the first time since he left his home, he's sitting in front of a beautiful woman, and just wants to enjoy the moment.

That had been a good time to say it. That is true.

But would that have made this time any easier?

Or would there just be other moments, deeper and more frightening ones, haunting his mind right now?

Sawyer doesn't have time to answer the question before Charlie sits down next to him. Tries not to look uncomfortable. Sawyer doesn't even look at him.

"Hey, man."

"Hey, Blondie," Sawyer exhales and folds his arms around his knees.

Then, they don't say anything. Sawyer stares at the horizon, and Charlie's will to keep the conversation going seems to fade away with every second that goes by.

"You seem to be clashing with Jack a lot," Charlie then says.

He sounds way too calm. Sawyer hates him right now. He hates everyone.

"Yeah, well…" Sawyer says and rakes a hand through his hair. "You know the doc. Always been jackass."

Charlie scoffs.

"You know that's not true, Sawyer," he says softly. "He's a good guy. And he wants to look after Kate."

Now, it's Sawyer who scoffs.

"Please don't tell me you came here to promote his kindness to us poor little people, Napoleon," he says harshly, and looks at Charlie now.

Charlie shrugs. He doesn't seem uncomfortable at all anymore.

"That's not what I'm doing," he says merrily, and stands up. "I'm just saying… We all know you love her to death, you would never hurt her on purpose. So whatever happened to her when you were out with her… No one's going to blame you, you know?"

Maybe he expects Sawyer to break down, put his face in his hand and sob like a little girl, confess his wicked ways so Jack can sail in on his white horse and find a cure to whatever horribleness he brought down on Kate's lost little soul. And maybe that's what he should do.

Maybe that would be best for Kate.

But as it is, Sawyer can't do that. He's never been able to do that.

Something he's very good at, however, is to feel his eyes blacken, his jaw clenching, the rage you only get when you know what you hear is true rising in his chest.

"Fuck off, Chaplin."

Charlie's face darkens a little, too. Good. Good.

Even if Sawyer is more faithless than he was when he hid under his bed, heard the bodies hitting the mattress above him and knew, for the first time, that nothing would ever be the way it was, at least he won't let others feel sorry for him. He won't let Charlie know that if he had to pick one day he'd do differently between the day when he killed an innocent man and the one where he just stuck his head into Kate's tent and asked if she wanted to go for a walk, he'd pick the latter.

He won't let Charlie know that the reason he doesn't tell him what happened that day because he can't stand the thought that it's his fault, that he still can't love because it's not safe for him to do so, that everything he touches still falls apart. No matter how many good things he wishes for it.

He's just going to punch into the wind, pull as many as he can down with him, and hope that one day, he'll find peace in just the fact that he's not alone in his misery.

Even though the most important person he could share it with might not ever come back to him.

Aw, Sawyer's such a little idiot… Why you have to love him, right? XD Anyway, hope you liked the chapter! And that you'll review!