It's 12:30 in the morning and I'm honestly almost in a coma right now - I think my eyeballs might be damaged beyond repair... and I can't think of any comments to make for this site, other this is Kate POV first, then Sawyer. Also sex/fluff alert. I'll probably end up editing majorly tomorrow, because I bet there are about a billion typos and other things I'll want to change. But for now - here you go! And thank you so much for reviewing... I'm glad most of you seemed to enjoy the reunion chapter.
Chapter 36
Letting her eyes fall closed in a trance-like state of bliss, Kate lifted her arms with a balletic motion as her shirt was slowly tugged over her head. She took a deep, shuddering breath, her hands finding their instinctive way to Sawyer's belt buckle, unaided by vision.
Steam was already beginning to fill the room, and the rushing, soothing sound of the shower pattered like music in the background. She heard her sweater dropped to the floor beside her, felt Sawyer's roughened fingertips travel up her waist and his lips return to her neck, accompanied by a slight grin as he noticed she wasn't wearing a bra. Maybe he even remembered that he was the one who'd hidden it, and that she'd never had a chance to look around for the damn thing before their last haven was invaded and burned to the ground. Or maybe he didn't think anything at all about it, other than that it was convenient for this particular moment. After all, theirs wasn't a situation that was very conducive to rational thought. Kate leaned her forehead against his bare chest, dropping light, feathery kisses there, lulled by the warmth and the noise of the falling water.
They still hadn't said more than a few words to each other since that first shocked uttering of names down by the lake. She'd led him by the hand back up to the cluster of dwellings at the mining camp, and he'd followed her unquestioningly. When they'd reached the Morris residence, Alicia had come outside to meet them, puzzled and concerned, looking from Sawyer to Kate and back again. But the radiant, overwhelming relief and joy in Kate's expression must have reassured her, at least for the time being. After listening to a few words of partial, confused explanation, she seemed to understand that the two of them had been searching for each other without much hope, and now after being reunited wanted nothing more than to be left alone together. Without prying for details, she offered them the use of one of the smaller mobile homes, recently vacated by a mine worker who had quit his job on the spur of the moment. She told them they were welcome to stay there as long as they needed to. Kate agreed to take it, thanking her over and over again profusely, but still looking at Sawyer, like she was afraid that if she glanced away, he might not be there when she turned back.
The first thing they'd done after entering the trailer was to head toward the bathroom with wordless, mutual consent. They were tired, cold, hungry, and sore. But more than anything else, they felt the need to scrub themselves clean, to let these last few miserable weeks run off of them, washed away by the hot water and by their own searching hands and lips. Sawyer turned the water on while Kate unwrapped her ankle, and then they began to undress each other, deliberately but without haste. Stepping into the downpour was pure ecstasy. For a few minutes they simply stood and let the water beat down over them, holding each other without any movement other than a slight, almost imperceptible swaying that was like a dance.
Kate finally dipped herself back while he kept a firm hold on her waist, allowing the water to cascade over her face and hair. Then she located a bottle of shower gel, almost completely full, and began to work it into a thick lather, rubbing it sensuously over Sawyer's chin and neck, moving down to his nearly non-existent shoulders, letting her hands glide over the slopes as she smiled to herself and fought tears at the same time.
"What?" he asked in a husky voice, noticing her reaction.
She hesitated. "I thought I'd never get to call you a scarecrow again," she eventually whispered, wrinkling her nose at him with a hint of adoring mockery.
Of all the meaningful exchanges it was possible to begin with, this had to be the most patently ridiculous one they could have chosen. But it somehow felt more appropriate, more familiar, to relate to each other in this way. It was easier for them to get their meanings across in coded words than in earnest, cloyingly literal ones.
Rather than answering, Sawyer kissed her hungrily, biting her lip a little in his ardor, drawing it away with him as he pulled back from her.
She continued swirling the soap along his arms and chest, massaging it into the firm muscles of his midsection, then moving lower and lower, stroking his familiar, velvety contours. When she felt him begin to stir under her hand, he drew his breath in jaggedly and pulled her back up toward him. Taking the bottle, he began the same process on her while she backed further into the stream of water, closing her eyes. In the warm, pulsing darkness, all she was conscious of was the sensation of his hands traveling over her entire body, washing her from head to toe with loving, unhurried attention. His mouth followed along to the areas he'd already rinsed, tasting and probing while she steadied herself against the shower wall with one arm to keep the pleasure-induced vertigo at bay.
Next he turned her around, facing away from him, and she felt his hands in her hair, working the soap into her scalp, his fingertips kneading her head rhythmically. Not since she was a tiny child could she recall anybody other than herself washing her hair. It surprised her to find how tantalizingly erotic it was, to surrender that commonplace personal rite to someone else. She sighed in contentment, swiveling her neck around slowly in response to the gentle motions of his fingers. Maybe it was possible to gauge how much someone loved you by the tenderness they instilled into such a simple act of devotion. She was overcome with a sudden, urgent need for him that went far beyond the merely physical. It was a kind of all-consuming desire that she'd never felt before, like she wanted nothing less than to fuse herself into him, whole and complete.
The sensuality of this act was apparently having a similar effect on him, because by the time he'd rinsed the soap away from her hair, she could feel his need pressing against her from behind, insistently. Moving her legs apart a bit, she made room for him, backing up even closer into his body to encourage him. With his arms wrapped around her from behind, he lifted her up slightly as he pushed into her, lowering her again while she arched back against him with a low, gasping moan. She reached around and placed one hand behind his neck as he ducked his head to nibble at her shoulder, finally starting to move in her with drawn-out, excruciatingly slow rocking motions. She relaxed against him, more than happy to go at any pace he wanted this time. She had a feeling that it wouldn't matter anyway. Her entire body was already suffused with such a glowing, throbbing euphoria that it wouldn't require much to push her over the edge. This entire day felt like a dream.
The bathroom was turning into a sauna, the steam making it hard to breathe as they both panted for air. Kate could have adjusted the temperature of the water to cool them down, but she didn't, enjoying the intoxicating heat and the way the perspiration was washed from their bodies the second it came to the surface. Her legs felt weak already, and her sore, neglected ankle threatened to give out, but this fact barely registered on her attention. Her foot most certainly wasn't a part of her body she was concerned with at the moment. The water pressure was strong, and it pounded down over her breasts and stomach as she tilted herself up toward it, Sawyer's arms still locked around her, one of his hands rubbing in delicate, maddening circles between her legs. When she felt herself getting too close, she suddenly pulled away from him, breaking the vice grip he had on her, interrupting their steady momentum. She wanted to be facing him. After all this time apart, she wanted to see his face.
He seemed to understand this intuitively the second she drew away from him, and he complied by backing up against the wall of the shower and pulling her toward him by the waist, the two of them now facing each other as he lifted her against him again and picked up where they'd left off. She bent her head toward him, swallowing him in a kiss that cut off even more of her oxygen, making her vision explode with dazzling spots of white. Against her mouth, she felt the vibrations of that familiar primal, throaty growl of his that always made her lose it. She pulled away a little, gasping for air, and he gripped a handful of her hair and angled her head back so that he could see her face as she passed the point of no return. The heat pulsed through her in waves now, irradiating from every single point of her body.
Sawyer wasn't moving any harder or faster than he had been before, but it didn't make any difference. This moment went far beyond the physical for her. The solid reality of his presence was enough, after everything she'd gone through, after she'd been so convinced that she would have to relinquish him as a ghost from her past. This union, so warm and tangible and passionate and real, was the closest thing she'd ever had to a religious experience. When she tensed up and cried out, her wail echoed plaintively against the tile walls, containing the blended mixture of every emotion she'd gone through in the time apart from him - the agony of knowing she would never see him again, the loneliness, the fear, the bitter self-hatred, all of it washing over her, down the drain with the water, her cry transforming gradually into the still-astonished rapture of their reunion, the shock of one more chance when she'd been convinced the game was over. Her hands clenched around the back of Sawyer's neck, her voice finally tapering off into subdued whimpering as he slowed even more, supporting her weight as her body went limp against him.
After a few seconds she raised her head and looked into his eyes, which were examining her with a proud yet strangely modest pleasure. The water rained down over her back. It was clear to her from the throbbing pressure behind her navel that he was nowhere near finishing, and she smiled at him a little. They were both used to the fact that she had much less self-control than he did. It was okay, though. She would have stayed in here with him all day, no questions asked. She had no idea how much time they had left, or whether this would last. The authorities could be on his trail right now, for all she knew. Maybe they wouldn't make it, even with a second chance. But they could at least pretend that they didn't have to hurry. Reaching up to kiss him again, she rocked her hips forward, urging him to continue.
It was another half hour and three climaxes later when Sawyer finally thrust his way to his own ultimate release, gripping her hips hard enough to leave imprints from his fingers. Kate felt the glorious, scorching heat erupting within her, the expression on his face telling her that he felt the exact same sense of cleansing benediction that she had, that this stolen moment was as immeasurable to him as it was to her. He locked his knees to keep from sliding down against the slippery wall as he tried to catch his breath, and they propped each other up, exhausted and sated.
By the time they got around to turning the shower off, the water had begun to run cold.
They emerged from the bathroom quietly, with a sense of mutual peace between them. They still hadn't spoken more than a few words since they'd been together, but Sawyer knew that they would soon. There was no rush.
Kate immediately began poking around the bedroom-living area, and, like the expert snoop that she was, managed to turn up a few unopened packages of boxer shorts and white t-shirts in a bureau drawer. Apparently the mine worker had left this place in such a hurry that he hadn't bothered to pack up all of his belongings. They soon discovered that he'd been quite a hefty man - the boxers sagged on Sawyer, and the t-shirt Kate pulled on came almost to her knees. But the only thing that mattered was that these items were new and clean. If it meant not having to get back into the grungy, unwashed clothes that they'd been wearing for nearly a week, then it was worth the awkward fit.
And it wasn't as if they had big plans for the evening, anyway. The first thing Sawyer did after he'd dried off and cranked up the heater was to flop onto the queen-sized bed, groaning and stretching out as if he had no plans to leave it again for hours. The frame and mattress were cheap and flimsy, but nothing had ever felt so comfortable in his life. He lay there and watched as Kate double-checked the lock on the door and then moved to the front window and glanced out nervously, making a hasty, covert scan of the sky before she pulled the drapes tightly closed. He could see the tense set of her shoulders, and it suddenly occurred to him that she didn't know yet. She didn't know that they didn't have to do this anymore, that they were no longer being hunted.
He felt himself possessed of an immensely important gift that it was now his responsibility and privilege to hand over to her. For the first time, it was good news that he would get to surprise her with, and not something that would destroy her already meager sense of security. Could that be possible? Had anything of this nature ever happened before, since they'd been together? It was always the worst possible information he was forced to spring on her - the Feds were here this morning; there's a bounty hunter on the road behind us - always something that made her features close off and become guarded, that made her eyes register fear and that familiar hopeless dread that made him feel sick. What would her reaction be when he told her they were safe? He decided to delay the confession for just a little longer, knowing this was selfish on his part but wanting to enjoy the anticipation.
Kate disappeared into the bathroom again and came back out carrying her dirty clothes and the tan cloth bandage that had been wrapped around her ankle, dropping them with careless unconcern at the foot of the bed. She appeared to be trying to disguise a slight limp, though he noticed it anyway. Next she lifted her backpack onto a chair and reached into it. Sawyer's gaze followed every move she made, fascinated as he'd always been. More than he'd even realized it, he'd missed the simple pleasure of just looking at her.
To his surprise, she now drew a handgun from the bag and checked the safety, then glanced up, catching his eye.
"Where'd you manage to dig that up, Calamity Jane?" he asked, tilting his head back with mock suspicion.
"Stole it," she informed him, without fanfare. She passed it over for him to inspect, and he turned it back and forth in his hands, enjoying the heft and the way the metal gleamed in the lamplight.
"Niiice," he drawled, then flashed his dimples at her. "Just what I asked Santa for."
She smiled a little, but she still seemed wary. Taking the gun back, she placed it in the top drawer of the nightstand next to the bed, leaving it cracked open for easy access, then looked around restlessly, as if wondering what to do next. He took advantage of her proximity to grab her arm and pull her down across his midsection, kissing her again before she could protest. If she wasn't going to relax on her own, he'd just have to persuade her.
Giving in, she finally loosened up and propped herself against him, leaning on his chest and staring down into his face. She took a deep breath and then let it out, accepting that it was time to actually talk to each other now. They'd waited long enough. There were so many things that needed to be said, so many questions to be answered. Still, before they began, they took a few more seconds of appreciative silence.
"How did you find me here?" Kate finally asked in a wondering tone. "I can't figure it out."
"What... You mean you weren't leavin' me those breadcrumbs on purpose?" he asked teasingly, running his hand through her hair.
"I'm serious," she said with a smile.
"So am I," he insisted, reaching over onto the floor where he'd dropped his clothes in a heap. He grabbed his jeans and fished around in the pocket, then held the small strip of dress fabric out to her as he fell back into the pillows again with a smug expression. Kate took the scrap and sat up straighter, even more confused now.
Looking from the piece of cloth to him and back again, she asked, "Where did you get this?
"Not too far from here... up in the woods a ways. I figured you might try to head toward the preserve, so I came as far as I could before the road gave out. Found that," he said, indicating the cloth, "then found your tracks nearby. Followed 'em up the hill till I lost the trail. By that point, I could already see you down there at the water." He paused, as if he'd just thought of something. "What the hell did you have against those poor birds, anyway, Freckles? Ain't ever seen you throw a rock at anything but me."
She laughed a little, but with a secretive air. "Long story," she said, winding the cloth around her fingers. She stared at it, shaking her head back and forth a little. "I can't believe you found this. I must have dropped it." She looked up at Sawyer again, explaining. "I had to tear the dress up... to wrap my ankle with. I didn't have anything else."
She seemed almost guilty, as if she expected him to mourn for the damn thing. He thought it probably wouldn't be wise to tell her that he couldn't have cared less what happened to it, just as long as she wasn't in it when it got ripped to pieces. Assuming, of course, that he wasn't the one doing the ripping. He imagined that most men in his situation would have shared this outlook.
"How's it feel now?" he asked, changing the subject. "The ankle?"
She glanced at her foot, as if she wasn't incredibly interested. "It's okay. Just a little swollen."
He raised up and looked for himself, then grabbed the bandage from where she'd dropped it. She immediately tried to take it from him, protesting, "I can do that." He held it up above her head, out of reach. Then, gently but with determined firmness, he took her shoulders and pressed her back onto the spot he'd just been lying in. Sinking into the mattress, she gave up the fight and lazily watched him move down to her foot, which he propped up on a pillow with almost comic delicacy before unrolling the cloth bandage.
With unexpected finesse, he started to wrap her ankle. It of course didn't escape his notice that with one of her legs slightly raised above the other, he had a clear view up the front of her oversized t-shirt, under which she wore nothing at all. Noticing where his gaze wandered, Kate shifted her knees a bit further apart with a half-mischievous, half-innocent look. Sawyer grinned a little and looked away, trying to pace himself. Hopefully, it would be a long night.
She seemed impressed by the easy, practiced way he wound the bandage around her leg and foot. "You're not bad at this," she admitted after observing him for awhile.
"Told you I coulda been a damn doctor," he said, pinning the end in place with a satisfied smirk.
She smiled and rolled her eyes. Then, watching his face, she grew a bit more serious as she contemplated her next words. "Where were you, Sawyer?" she asked softly.
He continued to adjust the wrapping, pretending he didn't know what she was talking about yet.
She continued. "You said you'd be right behind me. I went up that stupid chimney, and I kept expecting you to come after me."
He glanced at her, sheepish, then back down. "Guess I musta got a little sidetracked."
She was quiet for a second. "Did you go out there on purpose?"
But he refused to give her what she wanted. She would never get it out of him. "Tell you the truth, the details are just a tad fuzzy, sweet cheeks. Can't quite remember what happened after you started actin' like Courtney Love with a bad case of the spins."
She looked at him closely, not buying his excuse at all, but he could see her reluctantly deciding to let it go. It was one of the many issues of contention between them that simply weren't worth it. Instead, she veered onto a different topic.
"I walked all the way here... just sort of stumbled on this place by accident, yesterday morning. They found me unconscious and brought me back to their house. They didn't recognize me," she added hastily, knowing he'd be concerned.
"Good thing," he muttered, stroking her calf in a distracted manner, miserable at the fact that she'd been unconscious. He should have been with her.
"They're great, though. The family," she said. "They offered to let me stay as long as I needed to. And giving us this place all to ourselves..." she trailed off.
"Seem like nice people," Sawyer agreed. To be honest, he hadn't noticed much at all about the woman he'd been introduced to earlier. He'd still been too overwhelmed by the fact that he'd actually found Kate again - that it had been so relatively simple, considering how easily they could have missed each other by seconds and never been the wiser. He didn't believe in miracles, but it was surely the closest thing to one he'd ever experienced. But as far as the woman who lived here was concerned - all he'd picked up on was that she seemed to be happily married and fulfilled, in the sense that she wasn't looking for anyone else to help with the job. It was his natural, instinctive way of sizing women up. He'd always been able to tell, after only a few minutes of interaction, whether they were potential marks for a con, or at the very least, potential lays. If they were neither, they quickly lost his interest. He realized now that this unconscious method of categorization could probably stand a little adjustment. It wasn't necessary now, anyway. Not while he was with Kate.
She was watching him as if she was trying to guess what he was thinking. Before he could say anything, a slight tapping sound started up from the direction of the window. Kate looked over, alarmed.
"Sleet," he told her. "Big storm comin' in. Heard about it on the radio."
She nodded a little, relieved but still tense. "Maybe we shouldn't stay here, then. We might get trapped. Snowed in." She looked back at him, wanting his opinion.
"Doesn't look like we have much choice," he said, raising his eyebrows. "Not for tonight anyway."
"It just seems like a bad idea," she said. "If they're coming after you..."
"They ain't comin' after me," he interrupted, giving her a meaningful look. The time had come, he decided. He needed to tell her. It would be cruel to put it off any longer.
Her brow creased in perplexity. "I don't understand. How did you escape?"
"I didn't." He waited a second before delivering his next remark, settling back into the pillows again as if he wanted to get comfortable. "Sons-of-bitches let me go."
Kate rose up into a sitting position now, gazing at him with growing intentness. "What?" she demanded. "Why?"
He sighed heavily, preparing to dive into the important part of the tale. "That guy... Paul. Your brother, or whatever the hell he is," he added, unable to keep a hint of scorn out of his tone, though he at least made the effort. "Turns out he ain't as bad as I thought he was." He narrowed his eyes at her. "You can gloat later, all right?"
But she didn't seem to have gloating on her mind at all. She listened with a brittle, desperate air, waiting for him to continue.
"Anyway," Sawyer said. "I guess he got wind of what happened out in the woods... at that ranger's station. So he pulls some strings, rigs it up to look like they found your body in the rubble. Apparently he knows how to do that kind of thing," Sawyer threw in sarcastically. "And they swallowed it, hook line and sinker. Suppose they figured it wasn't worth their while to keep me around, considering the only reason they wanted me was to get their hands on you. Once they got wind of the fact that their poster girl was dead, the jig was up. Threw me out in the alley like a stray cat with the mange." He gave her a winning smirk with this last bit of information. Then he sat back and waited to see what would happen.
She still scanned his features, waiting for more, seemingly unable to comprehend the meaning of what he was telling her. Swallowing hard, she finally asked in a tight, carefully controlled voice, "How can you be sure they really believe it?"
"Oh, they believe it, all right," he assured her. "Hell, they couldn't wait to close the case and get away from this damn North Pole. Heard it with my own ears. They're probably already back home, tappin' some oil magnate's phone lines, or screwin' their maids. Amazing how fast they can close up shop once they lose interest."
She looked away from him, trying to digest all this information. He could see the emotions playing out on her face, visibly, right in front of his eyes. She was obviously afraid to let herself trust him. But he could see that she wanted to, more than she'd ever wanted anything in her life.
Hesitantly, he reached out and took her hand, squeezing it between both of his, not wanting to disturb her more than that. He could sense a need for distance that he was willing to respect. "It's all over," he said, dropping his voice to a low, serious murmur, trying to make her understand. "As far as the Feds are concerned, Kate Austen died in that fire."
He waited until she met his eyes again, biting her lip and looking so strangely fragile in the terrifying shadow of her hope. Just above a whisper, he told her, "You're free, baby."
And now she finally let it through, absorbing it and accepting it. Her face crumpled a bit and she looked away from him, taking her hand back from his grip and drawing it up protectively toward her chest. She remained frozen for a second, and then, shifting herself slowly over to the edge of the bed, she stood up and moved off toward the window. Sawyer stayed right where he was, watching her, giving her space. He had no desire to intrude on this moment. She would come back to him when she was ready.
She stood facing away from him, her arms crossed in front of her, her head lowered. He could see her shaking a little as she tried to get her emotions under control. Suddenly, with an unplanned motion, she reached out and pulled the cord to the drapes, opening them wide. When she finally took a few deep breaths and looked out, Sawyer felt like he was witnessing someone who had been weighted down for years with invisible shackles step free of the heavy burden for the first time. It was a remarkable transformation. Her posture relaxed and straightened out, and a stillness crept over her, suffusing her with a calm that he'd rarely seen her possessed of.
The window was a black square of winter night, and the sleet and snow drove against it hypnotically, making the room seem even more glowing and warm in contrast. With the lights on inside here, she had to know that she was perfectly visible to anyone who happened to be looking in. And yet she stood there anyway. It was the most subtle, understated declaration of freedom Sawyer could ever have imagined anyone engaging in, but he knew how momentous such a small thing was for her. The simple act of standing in front of a window without danger was something everybody else took for granted. But for Kate, it represented the difference between living in fear, and living in safety. It was the difference between being a fugitive, and not being a fugitive.
Finally, after a long interval, she turned back around to face him, focusing in on him as if she'd almost forgotten he was there.
"Not gonna try to burn yourself up again, are ya?" he asked with a joking wariness.
She laughed, the smile illuminating her entire face beautifully. "I don't think so. But you keep the lighter, just in case."
He grinned back at her. "Will do."
She took another deep breath, looking around with a far-off expression. "This is gonna take a long time to get used to," she said softly. "It changes everything."
Now he found himself becoming slightly worried that she would get a little too carried away. In a cautious tone, he warned her, "He thinks we oughtta stay up north here, to be on the safe side, at least until..." He glanced at her stomach, finding to his irritation that he still wasn't quite capable of just saying the damn words. "Until the media hype dies down," he finished lamely.
"Yeah," she said, tucking her hair behind her ears as if she wasn't really listening. "That's probably a good idea." She looked back at Sawyer again, like she'd just thought of something. "How did he do it? How is it even possible, to pull something like that off?" She paused. "Did you help him?"
He stared down at the bedspread, wishing more than anything that he could answer yes to that question. "'Fraid not," he said in an attempt at a distanced tone, hating himself. "He wrote you a letter, though... I got it somewhere. Maybe he explains it in there." He made a move as if to search through his cast-off clothing, but Kate held up her hand to stop him.
"That's okay," she said. "I'll read it later."
A few more seconds went by, and she still seemed to be in something of a daze. She remained near the window, lost in thought. Sawyer was starting to get a little impatient. "You just gonna stand over there all night, or what?"
She smiled at him again, then grabbed the cord and closed the drapes, but in a careless manner this time, not even bothering to make sure they met in the middle. She came back to the bed and sank down into his arms, nestling her head underneath his chin. She took a deep breath, and he felt her body relax into his completely. He closed his eyes for a second as he held her, concentrating on the warm weight of her, the way she fit against him perfectly. This was the body that he'd been so convinced was lifeless and non-existent, reduced to charred fragments. This living, breathing, thinking, feeling woman had, in his mind, been dead. How the hell was it possible? He couldn't seem to wrap his head around it, couldn't reconcile this current situation with what he'd been so sure of only yesterday.
"Kate," he said, needing to tell her what he'd been through.
She waited a second before responding, sounding sleepy. "What?"
But the words wouldn't come. How did you tell someone that you'd processed their death? Was there anything he could say that would do it justice, or that would even begin to convey what he'd experienced? And why did he need to talk about it, anyway? Was he turning into one of those guys - the ones who wanted to talk about their feelings? Just the idea caused a brief flurry of panic in his mind.
"Money's gone," he told her instead, convincing himself that it was what he'd intended all along. "Bastards took every last cent. Guess they knew there wasn't much I could do about it."
She didn't even raise her head. "It doesn't matter," she said with obvious unconcern. "We can make more money. There's still close to twenty grand left... everything I couldn't fit in the lining of the coat." She thought for a second. "And there's that eight thousand in Canadian money from that scam in British Columbia, remember?"
"Right," he said. "Forgot about that one."
"See? We'll be fine." She kissed his neck in a contented manner. "We'll figure something out."
We'll be fine. We'll figure something out. What was it about those words that made him nervous, all of a sudden? They seemed ordinary enough. Then he realized it was the way she used the word "we'll." The easy, unconscious way she spoke of them as a unit, as if it were inevitable, as if it would continue. But why should that make him nervous? It was like his subconscious mind was already on the verge of doing something that the rest of him wasn't aware of. He was gearing up for something, and it scared the hell out of him. But if part of his mind was headed in that dangerous, thrilling direction, then there was something he had to make sure of first. There was something that he'd needed to do for quite some time now, and he couldn't put it off any longer. Her reaction to what he was about to tell her would be the true test. Once it was over and done with, then he would know whether to proceed with his tentative plan or not.
But even after deciding on it, he'd be damned if it wasn't one of the most terrifying things he'd ever had to do.
"Hey," he said, speaking in what he hoped was a relatively casual manner. "You realize you never have asked me what the hell I was doin' down there in Australia?"
Now she lifted her head up, giving him a funny look. He couldn't blame her for being puzzled by the sheer randomness of the topic. "I figured if I did, you wouldn't tell me," she said slowly.
"Try it."
"Okay," she said, laughing a little. "What were you doing in Australia?"
But there wasn't even a trace of amusement on Sawyer's face. He was dead serious, and obviously miserable. Kate waited for him to begin, confused now, and gradually growing more serious herself.
Swallowing hard, he finally forced himself to speak, in a low, gravelly voice filled with self-loathing. "Couple days before the plane took off... you know the one," he clarified wryly. "I bought me a gun on the black market. Paid cash for it... made sure there was no way to trace it. Ain't as easy to do Down Under as it is here," he added as an aside. "You know those fast-food stands... sell stuff right by the water? Well, I went to one... late at night, after it was closed. Guy who owned it was takin' the trash out, back by the dumpsters. And I killed him." He waited a second before going on, looking right into her eyes, forcing himself not to drop his stony gaze. "Shot him point-blank, right in the chest. Bled like a stuck pig... I watched him bleed to death in front of me. Then I walked away. Didn't look back." He stopped talking now, almost glaring at Kate, his eyes filled with a deep-seated pain that tried to masquerade as defiance, as though he were asking her, What do you think about that?
He watched her draw back from him a bit, the conflicting emotions playing across her features as she tried to process this information. There was a trace of disgust there, which he'd been craving somehow, as much as it hurt him to see it. There was also the faintest vestige of annoyance, as if she were pissed at him for deliberately ruining what had been such a perfect evening. But mostly, she just seemed thoughtful. She looked away from him, still silent. He could feel how tense his body was, waiting to see how this would go. He prayed she didn't notice it.
Finally, she looked back at him. Her voice was soft. "You thought it was him, didn't you? The man you were looking for?" She waited a beat. "The one you wrote the letter to?"
It took him a long time to answer. He was afraid of giving too much away, so he allowed himself time to regain his emotional composure. "Yeah," he eventually rasped, echoing her words. "I thought it was him. Turns out the whole thing was a setup - guy owed someone money." Sawyer gave an unconvincing scoff. "Suppose he thought he could use me as a hit man, and that I'd never know the difference. You wanna know the truth, I think I'd've been better off if I never had known it."
She continued to watch him. "You know what I think?"
He almost expected to hear a lecture on why, even if it had been the man he was looking for, it wouldn't have made things any better. But it seemed he'd underestimated her. Her next remark was deceptively simple.
"I think we've seen too much death." She smiled a little, sadly, grasping his fingers the way he'd grasped hers earlier. "I hope we don't have to see any more."
Her expression as she looked at him now contained not a hint of horror, or contempt, or even pity. It was nothing more than pure, unadorned understanding. Was there a single other person on the planet who could ever look at him the way she was doing right now? There couldn't be, not anywhere. She was the one. The only one. And he suddenly realized that his decision had been made while he wasn't even aware of it.
Kate shook her head a little, still not sure what this was all about. "What made you think of that, anyway? Why are you telling me this now?"
He smiled a little, feeling like himself again. "Just givin' you one more chance."
"One more chance to what?" she asked. Then she guessed it. "To run?" She smiled again, challengingly, like she was up for another round. "Nice try. What else you got?"
And that was his cue, he supposed. Sitting up, he stretched his arm out and grabbed his coat from the chair near the bed, dragging it back toward him. From the inner pocket, he took the yellow manila envelope out and then tossed the coat back at the chair.
Kate watched, intrigued. "What's that?" she asked, gesturing at the packet.
"It's all they left me with, after they cleaned out the cash," he explained. "Personal effects, is what they called it. In other words, the shit they didn't want." Reaching down into the corner of the envelope, he drew something out, but then clasped his hands together and doubled them both into fists, holding them out in front of Kate.
"Pick one," he instructed with a sly expression.
"What have you got, Sawyer?" she asked, smiling suspiciously.
He pretended to be fed up with her. "Would you just play the damn game, girl?"
She glanced at him again, affectionately wary, but then looked back down at his hands, debating with herself. Finally, she tapped the left one, indicating her decision.
"Good choice," he said, opening both hands. The right one was empty. The left one wasn't.
Kate stared down at the tiny gold wedding band, her smile fading in her initial surprise and wonder, but then gradually resurrecting itself after a few seconds, though in a more subtle, low-key fashion. She nodded almost imperceptibly, as if she'd caught him at something. "You did bring it. I knew you were lying when you said you didn't."
He didn't respond to this directly, other than to give her a self-effacing smirk as he dropped his gaze. Rolling the ring between his thumb and index finger, he said in a mock-renunciatory tone, "Well. Guess we could always take your advice... pawn it somewhere. Wouldn't bring in a hell of a lot, but every little bit helps, right?"
"We could do that," she said, pretending to agree with him, though neither one of them was fooling anybody. "But I have a better idea."
He looked at her for a second, trying to remain cautious. "And what's that?"
She stared back at him meaningfully, her joking attitude suddenly evaporating. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke. "Why don't you put it on my hand?"
He stopped rolling the ring, still staring at her. It took him awhile to answer. "You sure about that?"
"I wouldn't have said it if I wasn't sure."
He sat up straighter now, wanting to step carefully, to cover all the angles. "Don't forget about what you said back in Kentucky. We can't even use our own identities... Remember? It ain't like it's gonna be the real thing." He echoed her own words back to her, a little embarrassed by the fact that he remembered them so clearly.
"Yes it will be," she said, her voice insistent and firm. "I was wrong. It's real if we say it is." She scanned his face intently, trying to see if he understood what she was getting at. "We don't need some piece of paper, or a minister... or... or witnesses," she added, pronouncing the word with scorn. She shook her head, vehement. "We don't need anybody else."
"Well, hell, Freckles, I didn't realize you were such a rebel," Sawyer said, hiding his overwhelming relief and gratitude under a joke. "You want to burn your bra, while we're at it? Ahh.. that's right," he said, as if he'd just remembered. "You don't have one."
"Sawyer." She smiled at him, forcing him to focus. Holding out her left hand to him, she took a deep breath, and then said a soft yet excited manner, "Do it."
He looked at her one more time, checking to see if she was absolutely positive, and then took her wrist in one hand while with his other he slowly, almost sensuously, slid the ring from the tip of her finger down toward the base.
"I'll be damned," he muttered under his breath. "Perfect fit and everything."
She held her hand up, splaying her fingers out and turning her wrist slowly from one side to the other, examining the way the ring looked. It did fit perfectly - like it had been made for her. Sawyer detected just the faintest shine of unshed tears in her eyes, but she didn't allow them to fall.
"We'll have to get you one, too," she told him, swallowing back emotion.
He thought about telling her he wasn't big on jewelry, but decided it would be best not to say anything. His internal censor rarely worked, so he tried to pay attention to its advice when it did.
Kate seemed to be waiting for something. He raised his eyebrows, questioningly. She leaned toward him a little, as if she were going to tell him a secret. "I think you're supposed to kiss the bride," she whispered.
He cocked his head, like this was all news to him. "So that's how it works." Moving in toward her, he crushed her lips against his in his urgent, bruising passion. He exerted so much pressure on her that she leaned back into the pillows again, pulling him down with her. After a minute or so he allowed her to catch her breath as he began trailing his kisses down along her jaw line to her neck, then to her chest. From there he rolled the bottom of her t-shirt up and gazed intensely at her stomach.
Taking his hand, she guided it to a spot just below her navel that was firmer than the rest of her abdomen, the swelling there just barely perceptible. "Feel it?" she asked quietly.
He did. For the first time, he actually did feel something. Looking up at her almost shyly, he remarked, "Gettin' bigger, isn't it?"
She nodded, and for some reason she didn't seem to be able to say anything else. He lowered his head toward her stomach, moving his lips around the spot she'd indicated, kissing it over and over again in a manner that verged on worship, delighting in the warm, satiny feel of her skin. This was something he hadn't allowed himself to do yet - not once, since they'd found out. In a way, he was glad that his hair was just long enough to obscure his features from her.
After a few seconds of this adoration, he heard her sniffle. She laid her hand on the back of his head. "Sawyer."
He looked up to find her brushing a tear away, embarrassed.
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Go for it," he told her, curious.
She began tentatively. "Do you think someday... Not right away," she hastened to add. "I don't mean right away. But maybe, in the future..." She stopped again, gathering courage. "Will you let me call you James?"
The sound of it caught him off guard, as always. But for the first time, it was something of a pleasurable shock, rather than a painful one. He considered her request. "Guess maybe I could get used to that," he said in a meditative tone, as if they were negotiating. Then he added with emphasis, "Someday."
"Okay," she said, smiling. She unconsciously rubbed the ring on her left hand, adjusting to the feel of it there. "Maybe I will, then. Someday," she repeated.
They shared a look of secretive complicity, and then Kate closed her eyes as Sawyer lowered his head again and resumed kissing her stomach. He wasn't quite ready to stop yet.