Chapter 36

Shadow Dancing

Now cracks a noble heart,

Goodnight, sweet prince,

And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest.

-- Hamlet, William Shakespeare.

There are pleasures Kate has known in her life. The memories are underfoot now - hiking through the alpine forests of Iowa as a child near her home, making radio tapes with a boyfriend who was her world, eating snowcones in the freezing winter, standing out in the pouring rain watching a man she loved conjure a storm for her. Kate has known love. And because of that, Kate is broken.

Once, in the midst of all the recklessness, she had wished for better. As a child, she had small time expectations, but they meant the world to her. When she was old enough, she would marry Tom, maybe quit her job at the local K Mart when they had enough money for a wedding, and then buy a farm, someplace green, someplace remote where she could stand in the wilderness and feel small, dwarfed by the immensity of the world around her, sheltered by its vastness. Someplace she could call home.

When her mother brought Wayne home, Kate changed. Things went bad, and her wishes turned to those which could never be fulfilled – she longed for a normal family, for an upbringing which hadn't instilled in her such violent tendencies and such a hopeless desire to escape from herself. Yes… Kate had wished for better.

Wayne had crippled parts of her in ways she could barely comprehend. He had instilled inside her a hatred of herself, and an inherent mistrust of people. He had taken her innocence just as he had taken her freedom and any semblance of self belief she ever had that she would amount to anything. In their place, he had turned her into an expert liar, a cornered, trapped prisoner to witness his crimes against her mother.

So Kate had found her solace in her blue room. A place deep inside where she could never be harmed, where she locked her heart away so it could never be broken, never be tarnished by all that she bore witness to. When Tom had died, she had barricaded the doors of that room tight and thrown away the key – she was scared to open it because she was sure she would find the remnants of her heart irreversibly cracked, perilously close to shattering to dust.

It never healed. Can hearts ever recover from seeing loved ones taken? It is a question she refuses to consider, because Kate lives in practical, urgent times where she is not afforded the luxury of heartbreak, to suffer blows which may affect her senses, her actions – she has never allowed herself to break.

But she breaks now.

In the snow swept vastness of Shaconage's grounds, she has toiled since the sun rose, at the boundary where the powder coated sequoias meet a frozen lake. She had found this place weeks ago, when the vigil had grown too much and she had to escape for awhile. She had been awe struck by it's desolate beauty, as she had stood and looked out past the river which had flown, down the gently sloping hillside and out across the wild prairie land beyond. Her eyes had been drawn to where the sky met the prairie land on the horizon, hundreds of miles away… and she had felt that feeling of insignificance, of being small and sheltered which she had always longed for. She thought things could have been okay. That she had finally found her home in the very last place she had expected.

She believes if Sawyer could ever have appreciated beauty in a view, that he would have appreciated this. Either that, or he would have rolled his eyes and made a smartass comment – but he wouldn't have ruined it for her, because he would have known she got a kick out of seeing these things. Just the way he had put up with her endless excitement over Monument Valley.

The grave has nearly broken her back. The ground is frozen hard, but the physical action is what she craves. It does not register what she is digging for. Nothing registers anymore. Just the rhythmic motion of the shovel… her focus whittles down to this single action.

This is the sound of loneliness. And it is not just in the wind rustling through the dead leaves, or the hollow cry of faraway swallows. It transcends sound itself. It is in every whisper of her lone feet underfoot, every rasp of the shovel on unyielding earth. The loneliness bleeds in on all sides, knowing her feet will never fall into step with his again, that his slow, ever silky drawl will cease to fill the air. His broad arms will not shelter her, his dimples tease her, his lips caress her with all the expertise of a lifetimes worth of skill.

She has seen everybody who ever loved her die. She is cursed. First Tom, then Jack, now Sawyer. He had filled her heart with every emotion under the sun, for better or worse, and now he has left her, it is only the pain that remains. This all that is left now he is gone. A burned out home in a cold world of snow. She has nowhere to go, no one to run to now. No one will care if she fails now. If she takes off across the Smokies, if she falls along the way, no one will help her up. No one will mourn her passing.

He had stayed too long in her heart. She hates Sawyer for bringing her to this, this crippling state of surrender. She hates him with every fibre and tendon in her body, she loathes him until she fears the sheer force of that hatred will gain power enough to stop her heart. Because after everything he'd said, and all he'd promised, he had died.

It is always hardest being the one left behind, the one who has to pick up the shattered shards of their broken soul and continue. She can't do it again. She is not that strong anymore. He has stolen her strength and left her alone and broken in the snow, digging a grave in icy ground. Every shovel load chips away at the last remains of her shattered heart. To cope, she goes cold. Turns off, and lets her mind play with the notions of what he would say if he could see her now, up to her shoulders in dirt. And she sees his dimples, hears his laughter.

The unreal is so much more powerful than the real, because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. Only ideas, beliefs, fantasies last. Stone crumbles, wood rots, people die – but things as fragile as a love, a memory, a dream, a legend… they can go on and on.

So Kate imagines him laughing over her. She doesn't count each and every load of dirt that she heaves from the grave, she doesn't feel the splinters in her hands or the knots of strain burning in her back. And she doesn't send her thoughts out with the swallows, away over the mountains and into the future, to plan her own destruction.

Waking from the mindlock, Sawyer is reminded of when he had been unceremoniously belched out of the gas pipe at the Staff and been hurled underwater. Stroking his way up from the blackest depths, where no sound or light could ever hope to penetrate all the way towards the shimmering surface, where the light danced overhead in dizzying patterns. The pressure hurts, pounds on his head, and the sense of suffocation, of drowning are all the same as Sawyer kicks towards the surface, towards the light he is uncertain he can ever reach…

But the sense of slamming back into life, into consciousness hits him with all the power of a Mac truck. He jumps awake so hard he nearly inhales the blanket which is shrouding his face, and he coughs his burning lungs up, trying to breathe, trying not to pass right back out again…

Brushing the blanket from his face, Sawyer wakes to a faint smell of mildew and pine needles, an odd mix… and then, as his eyes blearily remember how to work, he discerns shapes. Familiar shapes…

Do you know where you are James?

And as the voices whisper ever so softly at him, he knows. He's never dreamed of it like this before. It's always as he left it. Now, the paint is peeling from the walls, the windows are grimed with dirt, and the covers smell of damp. And this feels unnervingly real.

He looks around sitting upright reflexively, scowling and disorientated. This is supposed to be a dream. Weaving like a spurned alley cat, he crosses to the window… and for a moment, he forgets how to breathe.

Because he is looking out over a vista he has long forgotten. Pastel hued blue mountains sweeping from here to forever, dwarfing the pines and sequoias, dwarfing the ranch itself. It strikes deepest fear and yet a strange kind of resolution in him – in the truest sense, it is like coming home.

His eyes fleet across the scene before him, throat working hard… when he sees a distant shadow. Against the powder coated ground near the old boundary, he swears it… and he could swear its Freckles. Can he reach her? Is this real, or is this a dream? He has no idea anymore…

"Ethan…" He tries to speak, but his throat is sore and dry as Ghandi's damn sandals. When Ethan doesn't materialize, Sawyer's pulse begins to race hard.

He moves through the house and doesn't look. At anything. He forces himself to focus on reaching the back door, not registering where he is, how his feet resound over the flags, how his body is weak and frail. Is this how he's doomed to spend his damn afterlife, wandering through this awful place? If this is another test, he doesn't know if he can face it. Not seeing Freckles, yet being unable to touch her, be with her…

It is bitterly cold out. But he is amazed he can feel it, everything seems so real… and as he steps out onto the rickety porch, he sights a familiar form through the distant haze of falling snow which kisses his cheeks. A figure he has craved long and hard, which in his darkest hours, he had given up on forever.

As he moves forth on auto pilot, he begins to shuffle faster. He can't run, his damn limbs won't allow it – but he prides himself on shuffling pretty damn well for a guy who was dead moments ago. And as the snow parts, and a thin metallic whickering drifts through the air, he slows to a stunned stop. He can barely draw breath enough to breathe. Because what he sees wrenches his heart so badly he feels like he's going to pass right back out.

Freckles is clutching a shovel, and beating in the edges of a freshly dug grave. He gets the shivers suddenly, dancing up his spine in the snow.

"I was kidding about that six by four, y'know Freckles…" He breathes in a dry voice, his usual swagger a mere shadow. Disorientated Kate turns, as though responding to a whisper on the wind. Her eyes fleet in his direction, squinting bewildered through the snow… and slowly, she stops beating down the earth. She just… stops.

Kate's strength seems to desert her completely as she slowly turns to face him, and the raw grief on her face hits him so hard. Because he'd never allowed himself to expect it, never believed in a million years that he could ever have such an effect on her

It'll be a snowy day in Hell when Freckles cries over your sorry ass.

And what do you know… they'd reached Hell on earth, and the Lord thought he'd throw on down some snow. Miracles were for idiots and Jack, Sawyer always believed… but right now, in this moment, he thinks different. Right now, his own gorgeous miracle is standing right before him through the snow covered in mud and brandishing a shovel.

She walks up to him as though the air around them has grown to almost syrupy thickness, slowing down time and making swift movement impossible. Her eyes are wildly mistrusting, hands clenched at her sides as though she is giving composure one last stab… Sawyer is just about to approach when she brings her hand up with lightning speed – and he wheels back in shock as something hard and heavy hits his chest, winding him and sending a flower of wonderful new pain through him.

"Did you just throw a --" He jerks back around to her, "Did you just throw a rock at me?! Jesus Christ, the hell are you doin'?!"

Her hands shoot up and clap over her mouth, eyes widening in shock. Through her fingers she whispers like a chastened five year old, "I… I thought you were a ghost."

He picks up the offending rock indignantly and blazes, "I look like Casper to you?!"

Something breaks in Kate on his words. Emotions bursts over her face like ripples over a millpond, and blindly she runs to him. His arms envelope her, and she grips him close like an addict dying for a fix, crushing her lips on his in a breathless kiss. When she pulls back, his hands frame her face as he palms the tears from her cheeks, tears which leave bright white streaks in the dirt on her cheeks. She presses her face into his hands, not daring to trust her eyes, and he cups her cheeks reverently.

She falls apart under his gaze. She just goes to pieces. Smothers his face with kisses until she can't breathe. Words wont come. He sinks to the porch, strength failing him and she goes down with him, a tangle of arms as she finally finds a cracked voice,

"I thought you'd left me behind," She whispers, the force of the memories hitting her so hard, "You weren't breathing, your heart Sawyer, your heart had stopped --"

Moving in close Sawyer silences her with his lips, wincing in remembrance as he grips her wrists gently, rests them beneath his shirt on his chest, over his heart, his racing heart, "It's beating now..."

"I can feel it…!" Kate laughs against his lips, as hysteria tints her voice -- because he is warm. Just the sheer fact of it winds Kate, drives into her stomach like a low kick, and she gasps against his mouth. However this has happened, however he has returned, she doesn't care. All that matters is the heat beneath her hands, the taste of him on her lips, the exhausted sparkle in his eyes. And as the urgency builds behind their kisses, his arms wrap about her waist, squeeze her tight – she understands his intention, and it is one Kate can get behind.

Their arms entangle, fingers knot, mouths smack. As they fumble up the stairs, Kate's mind flits to the last time she had climbed them with him, the state he had been in, and her heart fills with such immense, painful gratitude. It flares out from her heart until it fills every ounce of blood in her body, burning her up. And as they clatter down the upstairs hall, she presses her mouth to his, willing him to close his eyes, not to see the site of his mothers passing. Instead she pulls him close for a deep, drugging kiss.

As they fall to the bed where countless hours and tears have been spent, she is dragging his shirt off, relishing the feel of his body heat beneath her, tracing the contours of him with urgent, reverent motions. He hungrily draws her close, crushing onto her mouth, working her wide open as she responds with muffled noises of encouragement. They rock with intense fierceness as Kate meets his tongue with hers, tasting every bit of him, going deeper, searching further, until Sawyer releases a muffled sob. His other hand cups the back of her head, pulling her closer for more and in return her hands fist in his hair.

Eyes the bright, startled blue of faded jeans. She knots her fingers through his. Breath coming hot and fast. Bodies trembling with anticipation, hands wanting to be everywhere, followed fast by lips which refuse to linger in any one place. Sawyer trails a line of breathless kisses down her neckline, down her breastbone, and she feels hot tears scald her cheeks beneath his touch, a touch she had feared she would never shiver beneath again.

Looping her arms beneath his, Kate tries to draw him up to her, but he refuses to follow her commands. Instead, he delicately unzips her jeans, runs them down and onto the floor. The fact that his touch travelling up her legs sends shudders through her stokes the ever growing fire in him. He administers flutters of kisses around her navel, feeling her stomach muscles tense in pleasure beneath his lips, her hands working through his hair in veiled need. He knew she would never beg him – in this respect, they would compete until the last. Her hips are rising to his, but he presses his hand and presses them to the mattress. They have waited too long for these moments to be rushed…

Worrying her neck with his lips as they finally rid themselves of the last of their clothes, Sawyer finally allows Kate to draw him up to her, and with exhausted, expert slowness, he begins to move inside her. She brings her legs up and around him, wraps her arms around his neck in what he knows is an attempt to increase the pace, but he rests his elbows either side of her head, steadying them, fighting against her efforts…

Her breath is ragged, eyes glazed with craving which betrays the love she has never said… and face a few inches away as he works over her, Sawyer seems to see it. Sweeping down, he envelopes her mouth with his in a kiss which draws all her last breath and resistance from her as he begins to thrust harder. She sucks in a sharp breath against his mouth as the mattress creaks with a quickening beat, with the combined race of their hearts…

And as the desire grows unbearable he pulls back from her, they lock eyes... and she suddenly feels like she will never be closer to him than in the moments before they take each other to climax, to infinity. Its like a religious experience, and when the moment of release makes her implode inside and shatters the world into diamonds of light, she sinks into him, feels him shift up to cushion her fall, and the wondrous sense of release fills every ounce of her, sends her into that other place, into sensory overload. The shimmering bliss of Sawyer within, the grief gushing up from the depths of her soul, the need she sees in those sea blue eyes, the pain of it, of her whole life, it all howls in her mind, flaming through her body in a concrete wall of sensation. She crashes into it, lets it break her at its heart-stopping peak…

Breaking through she soars, as white noise pounds through the world, eradicating everything in a white flare of heat… and for the briefest moments, for just the faintest flicker of infinity, she is free.

As Kate comes back to herself, it is like he has awakened her from a long, terrible nightmare. Because deepest gratitude is racing through her, for everything, for the sheer fact that his chest is rising and falling beneath her, his breath rushed and damp on her shoulder, his eyes drugged with rare, precious bliss. She has never achieved such release with anybody else, and she now knows, she never wants to. He is everything to her, and she can admit that now.

As Kate finishes dressing, she muses over Sawyer's recovery. Its too soon to tell if he has truly beaten the illness… even during their love-making, she had felt the tremble in his arms, felt the exertion in him which was not fully desire, but deepest exhaustion. And as she pulls on her tee shirt, she glances outside at the winter scene, wondering what will come next… and if he will reveal to her any more of what happened to him here.

The mahogany bathroom door creaks open in a whoosh of shower steam, and in his towel, Sawyer grabs his pants from the floor. But Kate shakes her head, motions to the dresser. "Those are filthy. Wear those."

He looks to the dresser to see a pile of his clothes, washed and (not so neatly) folded. He picks them up with an expression of amusement, "You washed my clothes?"

"I washed every item of clothing we own," She sighs, throwing a tee shirt to him which he catches with a surprised snatch, "And I cleaned this place from top to bottom. There were leaves, and --" She bites back the words 'smoke marks', "—and I swear there were a whole family of raccoons under your kitchen. There's not a lot to do here, and I get antsy pretty easy. It's been nearly a month."

He looks to her with playfully slitted eyes, his smile softening a little. She returns it, unsure how to read him suddenly, why this should mean anything to him. He raises his eyebrows in a slow arch as he pulls lint from his shirt thoughtfully, and his next words stun her.

"Why didn't you run Freckles?"

She looks to him, amazed that he had been able to read her that well, that he could have discerned such a private desire from her without her ever knowing. When did they ever grow that tuned into one another?

His gaze is still averted, tone low with a forced casualness, "We both know you ain't the type for washing pants and digging holes in the snow, though I'm sure you gotta kick outta chasing raccoons with a rolling pin. So…" His voice shifts slightly, and she knows its coming, "If you thought I'd turned my toes up…" He finally meets her eyes, "Why'd you stick around?"

So many reasons flash through her mind that she doesn't know which one to run with first… love is only the first because it seems that every time she looks at Sawyer lately she is flooded with the emotion. She had sworn she would tell him when he woke, that she would be honest with him about her reasons, her feelings. Her past, her love for him in the present, and the baby which haunts their future…

But that was in the darkness, in the night time when he was slipping away from her minute by minute. It was easy to promise him the world when he was gradually slipping from it. But now, in the cold light of day it is undeniable that all of their previous baggage has resurfaced…

So all that is left is this infuriating dance, this shadow dancing around all that is meaningful and true in their lives. Dancing around the subjects, afraid to step into the shadows and venture into the dark places… and she is weak. Maybe tomorrow, after she has slept and regained her strength, she will find the courage to be honest with him. But for now, this shadow dancing is safe – and if there's one thing she needs badly right now, it is to feel upon some kind of safe ground.

"Because we're in this together," She throws him a jumper, and he catches it awkwardly, caught up in trying to read her expression. "And right now, you're the only one I trust."

Sawyer doesn't look like this is what he'd hoped to hear, but some part of him appears satisfied that he has gained her trust enough to stop her running away. As she passes behind him to use the shower, he wipes off the steamed mirror and gives himself a skeptical once over. His face is still pale, dark circles beneath his eyes.

Kate catches his gaze in the mirror and she squeezes his shoulder, "You look good."

"God love you for a liar." He sighs, and is surprised to feel the towel swiftly yanked from his waist. He turns to Kate as she smiles up at him, and leads him towards the shower.

"I can't believe you used all the hot water." Playful voices drift from the staircase, as Kate and Sawyer descend.

"Look cupcake, it ain't my fault you didn't chop no firewood for a month. I guess you'da liked me to do it from my coma for you --?" She shoves him playfully, and he deliberately goes easy on her, just glad to be back with her… but it's impossible to fully embrace being alive when he looks around and is confronted with the scene where so much death had occurred. He has tried blanking out where he is, and he can do it when he is wrapped up in Kate, thrusting or kissing or bantering… but as they descend the stairs, he feels like cold hands are slowly tightening their grip on his heart. It just blows his mind to be back here again…

He doesn't realise he has paused in the hallway and Kate is looking back at him in thinly veiled concern until he hears her say, "Are you okay?"

Blinking a little, he clears his throat and nods, moving to go into the living room – when Kate is suddenly barring the way. He looks down to her questioningly – her eyes probe up and into him. "Why don't you come get something to eat huh?"

"Move," He says softly, immediately seeing through her ploy. Looking defeated somehow, she takes his hands.

"Are you sure?"

He only looks down to her, and how the hell is he supposed to answer that?! He doesn't know what she's trying to protect him from. He only squeezes her hands tighter and steeling himself, moves past her into the white sun streaked living room.

Time has frozen in here. In his memories, this room had been foggy, out of focus almost as his memory of it had diminished. But right here, with the cold winter light pouring in, everything is crystal clear. Everything from the scuffed brown couches down to the silverware laid out on the dining table, the battered TV which looks like it should be in a museum, the faded red and yellow woollen rug on the bare floorboards… and his eyes travel to the mantel, where they freeze.

From what feels a world away he hears Kate approach behind him, but hang back, perhaps unsure how he will react. But he is too mind blown to be able to process her right now. Because as he moves towards the mantel in shock, he extends his hands, and feels the smooth foil of the 'Happy Birthday' banner in his hands. A lump rises in his throat. His vision doubles, and with a soft tug, he pulls it from the wall. It drifts down easily, and rests like lightest silk in his hands.

Sawyer turns back to Kate, holding it in his hands like he hasn't a clue what to do with it. Her heart thuds dully in her chest for him, wanting to just go and take it from him, take all the pain away. But she knows she can't.

His throat is working, like he is desperately trying to force something down, get a grip, and his voice wavers as he tries for humor and fails miserably, "Hate to break it to ya Freckles… but it ain't my birthday 'til March."

She tilts her head at him, biting on a sad smile, and he turns and drops the banner into the unlit fire grate. She only watches, wanting to stop him, somehow believing that he should not burn it, that it survived one fire already… and Sawyer turns to see the faded presents.

She watches him kneel to inspect them with a forced detachment, eyes burning, jaw clenched, and to her frustration, he is still putting on a front, still joking, "You got me presents 'n all? Ain't I the lucky guy…!" He shakes one, and cocks his head. "Scrabble?"

He pulls the paper off, and he is right – a vintage scrabble set, with a psychedelic 70's print on the front. He smirks down at it bitterly, casts it aside. Then his eyes fall upon a larger package, its faded blue paper patchy and thin in places. Kate watches his eyes fill with pain which he immediately reigns in, sees the way his shoulders work, the twitch in his jaw which warns of his rising strain.

"Leave them," She breathes, unable to watch this, "Haven't you come far enough today? Why can't you just leave them --"

But he isn't hearing her, and the rustling of paper fills the air. She closes her eyes, shaking her head as he reveals a gleaming bicycle, small enough for a six year old, dancing with bright orange rust. A hysterical laugh bubbles up from his lips against his wishes and he sighs in a dangerously thin voice, "Hell Freckles, you got crazy taste in gifts… I tell ya, next time, just subscribe me to playboy and be done with it -"

"Stop it," Her voice thrums with pain for him, "Sawyer, put it down."

But his eyes have moved beyond the bicycle, and rest on the floor. On a gift tag… and Kate suddenly feels sick. This was a terrible idea, why hadn't she gotten rid of these things when she had the chance?

"Baby Bear, our big strong boy…!" He reads in a choked, infuriatingly merry voice, "Happy 6th Birthday. Lots of love and monster hugs, Momma and Daddy."

His hand is suddenly shaking, and that lump in his throat stings and grows into a fucking roadblock in seconds. He shakes the tag at Kate, as though still deluding himself that she is the source of all this, as though trying to continue the joke – but his chin is shaking. Shaking bad, and his eyes are stinging, filling, his vision swimming behind their ocean of tears of grief, "Monster hugs," He whistles in a rush of breath, smiling wide in pain, "Ain't never gonna get another one a those."

And to Kate's horror, he presses his hands to his face. She watches in pain as he comes apart before her very eyes – first his breath quickens into rushed pants, his brow creases, and then a strangled sob breaks from him.

She rushes to him but his hand shoots up, palm splays at her in a last pitiful gesture of protection. She stares at him in shock, deeply hurt by this refusal – but under her gaze, he disintegrates. Face crumpling he holds his arms out for her, like a child who has lost its way, and she pulls him close. Murmuring into his neck, stupid things, it'll be okay, I'll help you, I'm here. But he is crying, and it scares the hell out of her because of his utter loss of control. This is the man who had bamboo shoots shoved under his nails and laughed while it was happening, the man who had been stabbed, shot, and nearly drowned. And so this scares her worse than anything which has ever happened to them, because as she rocks with him, the sobs which break out of him are wild, uncontrollable bursts of utter grief, a timeless, ageless grief which can never heal.

She feels him tensing unbelievably, fighting with himself, straining hard to stop this – but she pulls back from him, gripping him tight. He stares back through lashes soaked with tears, his jaw working hard, he sounds asthmatic as his breath whooshes in, out, and she cups his face breathing, "Don't fight it. Don't hold it in, don't shut me out –"

"In what part of your stupid head did you ever think this was a good idea?" He bites, and she suddenly has the awful feeling he's not talking to her – he's talking to himself. He pulls away from her grip, and is walking out the door. She follows him in a daze as he stalks down the cool hall, footsteps ringing, and she cries,

"What?! You suggested it!"

"I must have been out of my mind..." He is reaching above the doorframe of the front door and finds a key which he rattles in the lock, "This is the last place in the world I wanna be –"

He pushes the door open and a blast of cold air and snow hit them as he flings the screen door open. As he pounds down into the snow she runs after him, blood racing through her, "And go where? In case you forgot, we're broke – Sawyer wait – Sawyer!"

As he staggers towards the car he shoots disbelieving looks behind him, like the house is gaining on him and will swallow him whole at any second. As heaves the mounds of snow from the bonnet of the car, Kate desperately tries to keep her cool but his manner scares her badly, "You can barely stand and you think your fit to be on the road – Sawyer wake up! We can't leave – the snow – Sawyer STOP –"

She grips him as he tries to fumble the car key into the dodge and he turns on her with those assessing, 'fuck you' eyes that are not even close to thawing around the edges.

"I know what happened to you okay, I know this is hell, but you need to stop – and think about this. Okay? It's minus ten out here. The snow's not going to let up. We have no money, nowhere else to go… we have to stay here."

He looks betrayed by her, and she feels he has every right to be. "Go back in." He growls, "Knock yourself out. You turn around and this cars gonna be heading back towards Nashville. I ain't staying."

"Sawyer, be reasonable –" She shakes her head as he turns back to the car, wearily pulling the snow from the bonnet, "Think about all we said, now Dharma have the cops, its safer to be out here. It's just for a little while, just till the heat dies down again – you can do this, I'm with you –"

"I don't know how can you ask me this!" He spins in cornered fury, "How'd you like to have a lil camp-out on the crater where your house used to be? I'm guessing you'd love that. But this is different, right? Caus this is me, not you."

She grits her jaw, taking this on the chin. "I'm asking because we have no other choice." Her voice grows cold, "There's nowhere to go. Cars out of gas. Nearest amenities are an hours drive in all directions –"

"Then we'll head up over the Smokies," He retorts stubbornly, "Head out towards North Carolina, 'cross the national park. Its secluded, we could be there in three, maybe four days max –"

Kate sighs, dangerously close to loosing her temper, "You're in no condition to go hiking, you're still sick. And you really think I could go hiking through mountains in my state? Think about it –"

He turns to her slowly, and then something seems to occur to him. "What state?"

Thrown, she shakes her head, "What?"

"What state are you in?"

Eyes widening, she feels a crimson flush bloom through her cheeks. Backtracking quickly, she averts her eyes. "I've been sick since you've been out. Still got a cold."

But he is staring down at her uncertainly, like he knows her better. And her blood slows from its frantic throbbing when she sees he is not moving back towards the car. Meeting his gaze through the snow, she takes his hands. "When we're both feeling better, we can maybe hike back towards Knoxville, get some gas. But until then, we have to stay. Okay…?"

Sawyer is staring back at the house, faraway from her, and gives it one last try. "There's no food. Everything here went outta date, oh, lets see – thirty years ago?"

"I stocked up in town," Kate breathes, finally allowing herself to believe she may actually have diffused this situation, "We're good."

His eyes flicker back to her, and he takes her in a long moment, before, "Are we?"

"Yes." She kisses his lips softly, "Just so long as your on the mend." And after a moment where she is unsure which way he will go, he awkwardly wraps his broad arms around her. But there is not the usual fierceness in his bear hug, and she breathes into his neck, "I promise it'll be okay. I won't let anything happen to you, I swear."

Finally, his arms tighten around her and the last of his defiant energy slips away from him. And he sighs into her mess of hair, "If only the buck stopped with you, Florence."

After their exchange, Sawyer goes to bed. Maybe the events of the past month have finally caught up with him, but inside, Kate is glad. He is in danger of overdoing it, so when he voluntarily takes to bed, she piles Sawyer's old gifts into a sack, and sets her attention on getting the battered old TV set to work. She loves challenges and as she sits on the floor with a load of parts strewn around her, she flicks the switch for the hundredth time – and finally a crackling black and white picture flickers on in a haze of static.

Laughing triumphantly, she stares at her handiwork in pride. It is a stupid, inconsequential thing, in the greater scheme of things. But it proves to her that she can still make something work if she needs to. She had been scared that over this month of isolation, that her mind was slowly softening, losing its edge. Somehow, this makes her feel better about it.

She hears a creak of the kitchen door, and wrapping the oily wrench she was using in a rag, she moves into the brightly lit kitchen. Her hand tightens around the wrench when she sees the back porch door open – but then loosens, when she sees that the kettle is still steaming, and the empty milk container is tossed on the side. Rolling her eyes and cursing softly, she exits outside to see Sawyer is drinking black coffee and looking out at the empty as the snow falls softly. He meets her gaze, and gives her a little smile. It may be small, but she is relieved to see it is real.

"You drank all the damn milk." He sighs, and she'd known he'd say that. A smile lights her face as she remembers how she'd actually longed to hear him make that comment, and she wraps her arms around his waist. Puzzled at her not throwing him a one-liner back, Sawyer holds her and they watch the blanket of snow glittering beneath the fading winters light.

"Always though I'd bring my girlfriend home to meet the folks one day." He says, in a tone which is more reserved than she has heard him use before, almost like the sleep gave him some of his strength back. "Yup. Even at six years old. Hell, even then I was a fast mover." Off Kate's look, he cocks his head. "What?"

She thinks a moment, then crinkles her nose curiously. "I'm your girlfriend…?"

"Well you're not my boyfriend."

"It just seems weird to hear it. Put like that I mean." Afraid she's hurt his feelings, she backtracks, "It just seems so… young."

He rolls his eyes, drawling with an incredulous smile, "We ain't exactly incontinent dribbling old timers yet Freckles."

Feeling she is rapidly digging a hole for herself, but she is unable to resist, "I know. Well I don't know about you. You dribble in your sleep."

Outraged he looks to her, "I do NOT! You want me to give you a rundown of your nightly activities little Miss Snorer? Dribble in my sleep, of all the…"

She cuts him off by burrowing her head into his neck, as he continues the pretence of annoyance a little longer for good measure. Her eyes slowly follow his outwards… "We could come back here one day. Once the heat's died down. Rebuild it. Start over."

She feels him tense slightly beneath her, his words curt. "Can't rebuild nothing. Foundations here are bad."

"There aren't many places in the world where you belong." She says softly, "Where you can feel close to the people that've left you behind. I know that… and I think this is your place. For better or worse…" She turns him gently to face the mountains. "I mean look at this place. Look at how it is right now, really look. It's beautiful, Sawyer. See those swallows in that tree? They'll have chicks by this time next month. Then they'll fly away for the winter. To Africa…"

"See?" Sawyer sighs, "Even the damn birds don't stay here longer than they gotta."

Suddenly footsteps ring out from inside, and they look to one another uncertainly. "Where's the gun?" Sawyer hisses, and Kate looks up anxiously.

"It's inside – I –"

He grips the shovel which she had discarded earlier and hefts it in his hands. "Stay close," He breathes, and they move inside slowly. The shadows are stark in the kitchen as they pass the basement hatch, the laundry room, the kitchen table… Kate motions to the living room, the wrench in hand, and he nods in agreement.

They inch up the hall, as the footsteps are joined by a soft thumping in the living room… bracing himself, Sawyer spins into the room and brings the shovel around with a WHACK –

"What the hell are you doing?" A smug voice chirps, and Sawyer sighs in annoyance, letting the shovel clatter from his hands.

"What the am I doing?" He echoes incredulously, "What are you doing in my living room Sticks?"

Shannon rolls her eyes, folds her arms. "Wanted to check you woke up dumbass. I'm starting to wonder why I even care."

"It's a good question." Sawyer bites as Kate looks around the door in disbelief, and he motions her to Shannon. "You see her right?"

"Shannon?" Kate says in shock.

"Hey." Shannon flicks her hair boredly.

"Are you –"

"A ghost? I don't know, I guess so." Shannon sighs.

"Enough of the howdy-doodies, what the hell do you want?!" Sawyer sinks to a couch and Shannon gives him one of her best glares.

"You're looking for somebody, and I think I can help."

"You're here to help us?" Kate's eyebrows arch in disbelief.

Shannon shrugs casually, as though she really couldn't care less. "You're looking for the wife of that loser scientist who help you out, right?"

"You been watching us all this time?!" Kate is stunned.

"Shut your mouth," Sawyer's eyes flash dangerously at Shannon, "Man wasn't no loser."

Shannon senses it is maybe better not to bait Sawyer on this, so settles for rolling her eyes and continuing, "Well I can do it. I can find his wife for you!"

Sawyer laughs dismissively, shaking his head, "And just how in hell you gonna do that Tinkerbell? Case you forgot, you're in Neverland!"

Shannon takes a heavy sigh like he is simply the most idiotic man she has ever had to deal with, "You said she was married, right? Well my stepmom, she owns this massive wedding outfit –"

Sawyer looks to Kate incredulously, "Are you listening to this?" To Shannon, "Just get out my house!"

Helpless to rise to his jibes, Shannon blazes, "Shut up Sawyer! You need my help as much as I need yours –"

With tired patience Kate intervenes as though parting two squabbling children, "How does your stepmom owning a wedding outfit help us Shannon?"

Biting down her undeniable flood of comebacks she has been storing up for Sawyer, Shannon turns to Kate in a massive show of self restraint and elaborates, "Well if this crazy scientist of yours was married to her, there'll be a proof of it somewhere in the marriage records. My mom has access to the full system. I could pull up names, family, last known addresses, the lot –"

"I don't buy it." Sawyer sighs grouchily.

"Sawyer!" Kate chastises him.

"Come on Kate!" Sawyer gestures at Shannon, "This is the gal who gave herself a pedicure an hour after our damn plane fell out the sky. Ain't no way in hell she can handle this!"

And then Shannon does something neither of them expects. She strides right up to Sawyer to his surprise, and she kneels in front of him. He looks down at her like she's lost her mind, but Shannon stares up at him straight, unflinching – and she is suddenly raw. Her wide blue eyes seem almost childlike as she says,

"I need you to believe in me. That's why I'm still here. Sayid didn't believe in me… he said he did… but… I guess he lied. And that's why I can't move on…" Her eyes mist over, as though this is causing her pain. And when she speaks again, her voice is thick with emotion. "I need you to believe in me. Nobody does. Please. I can do this…"

Sawyer exchanges a helpless look with Kate, who kneels by Shannon. This close up, it is obvious Shannon is fading. And Kate breathes, "If you can help us Shannon, will you be free?"

Shannon meets Kate's eyes, and Kate suddenly feels a flare of pity for the apparition before her. Her life had been ended under circumstances Kate could barely comprehend. She couldn't have been more than twenty five when she died. And after coming so close to losing Sawyer, she understands the utter finality of death with a new passion.

"Yes," Shannon replies, as two dime sized tears drop down her pale cheeks. Kate wishes she could hug her, tell her everything would be okay… and she meets Sawyer's eyes finally, knowing that Shannon appeared to him for a reason, and that he has to be the one to tell her.

"Then do it." Sawyer mutters softly, "Go on and try if you think it'll work. Don't say I didn't warn you."

"Thanks…" An almighty beam lights Shannon's face, and she laughs, "I won't let you guys down. Hang tight. I'll be as quick as I can."

And with that, it is like she was never there. Sawyer looks to Kate uncertainly, and she merely smiles at him, strokes his face. She suddenly feels ridiculously proud of him – because it would have been the easiest thing in the world for him to shoot Shannon down, to reject her. But he hadn't, and she suddenly realizes he is changing. Right before her eyes, in the smallest of fractions. The Sawyer that had gone into the mindlock would never have humoured Shannon, she thinks. She wonders if Sawyer has ever humoured anybody in his life.

As Kate pulls together a meal of pasta and tinned bolognaise from their supplies, she goes to call Sawyer from the living room only to find he is not there, and the front door is ajar. Dragging the nearest coat on she finds (his green duffel coat) she pads out into the snow and follows his tracks around to the barn, where she finds the large doors have been rolled back and a clanking sound is drifting from inside. Entering the airy barn, she inquisitively traverses the snow plough, and finds Sawyer under the bonnet, fixing something.

"Isn't it a little soon for you to be out here?" She hates herself for preaching, but can't deny her concern. He looks up, refusing to give into the tiredness.

"This thing's still got gas – I need to get into town. Gotta meet somebody –"

"Is this about your accounts?" She watches his hands work dexterously around a wrench. Kate remembers her fathers hands. Her real fathers hands. Lined and calloused from a lifetimes hard grafting in the military, rugged with ridged nails and deep lines from hard graft. Sawyer's hands are the same.

"Yeah. Made a few calls, managed to shift what I can around." He breathes, his words exhaled in white smoke.

"But what if they've frozen them Sawyer? If those cops were suspicious of you, there's no telling what they might do." For some reason, he averts her eyes and she suddenly knows whatever he has in mind could be dangerous… she leans on the snow plough, watching him closely. "I'm coming with you."

"You're not coming with me." He says in a soft voice, so unlike his own bravado laden tone that she actually thinks twice about contradicting him.

"There's no way you're driving a snow plough Sawyer, you've only been conscious a couple of hours." But as he goes about his business, she realizes nothing she can say will change his mind on this. And it feels like being shut out, yet again. "You know what they say about driving heavy machinery if you're sick? Huh? You've been in a coma for a month!"

But he is closing the bonnet, kicking aside his tools with a set look of sad determination on his face. "I can't tell you why, but these people I'm meeting get spooked real easy. They see me coming with a face they don't know, they're liable to get spooked. With guns."

She watches as he clambers up into the drivers seat, shivering a little, and deliberately moves so he can't close the door. "I want to do this straight. No breaking the law."

He shoots her a look which is plainly are you serious? And when she only stares back with that faint look of concern, he sighs, "Don't you think we're a little outside the realms of the law?"

"We can't afford to slip up here," Kate's eyes spear his, "We've been given a new chance at another life Sawyer. We have to try and play it straight."

She waits for his arguments, his stubborn insistences that they must take any lead they can get… and so she is thrown when he says, "Okay. Whatever you want…"

He brushes a kiss over the tip of her nose and she watches him move around the snow ploughs cramped cabin, still anxious about their earlier argument over staying here. He has been uncharacteristically withdrawn ever since, and his suspiciously easy acceptance of her demands only unsettles her further.

"Hey." She grips his strong arm through the window and he pauses, deliberately avoiding her glance. She stares up at him until he gets the message and grudgingly meets her gaze. "We are okay, right?"

Slowly his eyes thaw, and twinkle tiredly at her. She reasons he must just be tired, that's all it is. Because he brings his lips to hers and presses a lingering kiss there which answers her question wordlessly.

So she watches the snow plough churn away up the drive, spewing a veil of powdery snow in its wake, and wonders for the hundredth time if Sawyer is physically fit enough to be going it alone. But she knows she could never have stopped him, and that to have tried would only have caused another argument.

Night falls, and she begins to worry. And when the sound of an engine finally pulls into the drive, she is out of bed in seconds, fully dressed and fleeting down the stairs. Putting on her best face of indifference, she casually exits the house and makes her way to the barn –

Which she finds locked up tight, with no trace of the snow plough anywhere. She looks around in confusion. Over the years, Kate's sensory perceptions had grown incredibly accurate, and she could have sworn she'd heard an engine…

With a mental shrug, she trundles back inside pondering this little mystery. Upon sealing the front door, she moves back towards the stairs, when she feels a cold breeze lick over her feet. Is it her imagination, or is it coming from the living room…?

Padding up to the doorway and stifling a yawn, she enters –

To find the French window is wide open.

She stares at it a moment, as though just by looking at it will give her the answer as to how it miraculously opened itself. Frowning, she moves over to close it, when her feet slide on the bare wood floor. Looking down, snowy footprints are melting on the floor, have been crunched across the carpet. And as she realizes this, a muffled thump drifts from the kitchen, and she stalks towards it uneasily, calling;

"Shannon, are you there? Did you find her --?"

What happens next happens in split seconds. She rounds the corner into the bright streaming light of the kitchen, and comes face to face with Sawyers body lying face down on the floor. Blood trickles from his temple.

And before she can scream, arms encircle her from behind. As she kicks out, she is lifted from the ground as the arms clamp her tightly and cold metal jams against her throat. Kate knows that coldness –

Barrel of a gun, her mind whirs in panic, 9mm. A Sig Sauer?

Only one person she knows has a liking for Sig's. And as her blood begins to freeze to ice, her stomach takes a sickening dive… and a hot voice hisses in her ear. "Well if it isn't Maggie-May! Miss me, sweetness?"

That voice. She'd know it anywhere, it was a voice she'd grown to hate and fear over the six months she had conned him for. "Jason –" She breathes in shock, as he marches her roughly across the kitchen floor, uncaring if she stumbles, the gun only digging harder in her throat, "Jason stop – Jason what are you doing –"

"Getting even." He snarls at her, and then pushing her off him, he plants a hard shove on her chest, and she looses her footing. The world spirals into dizzying flurries of colour as she tumbles down the basement steps, the pain shooting through her in thunderclaps as she hits the filthy floor. Immediately she tries scrabbling to her feet, but her ankle screams in resistance. Damnit, she's twisted it –

"Jason wait –" She pleads in a ragged voice as he looks down on her from high in the kitchens yellow light, "Jason I can't be down here – I can't be locked up!"

"Some kinda sick justice here, Maggie. I believe you wanna think about that awhile."

Jason slams the doors above her head slicing all the light from the basement and pitching the world into darkness.

PLEASE REVIEW ME!

I'D LOVE TO HEAR WHAT YOU THINK 