Lost and its characters belong to JJ Abrams and crew, I'm just borrowing for some non-profit fun. Kate seeks shelter while on the run and finds solace in a stranger. Enjoy!

Lost – Strangers
By Mystic
July 22th 2005

The bar was dark. They always were. Kate had learned a long time ago that it was because so many people inside were hiding. Not necessarily from the law, like she was, but from their own lives. She guessed she was doing the same. Her left cheek still stung from a fight she'd had the day before. She'd escaped again. But not by much. By just a few hairs. Her scalp was warm where they'd been pulled free.

She sat gently into a booth, feeling muscles in her legs ache, desperately pleading for rest. But they were on fire when she let them. The black leather underneath her rubbed loudly when she shifted and she leaned forward, pressing her face into her hands, giving the table a sigh. The light above her head did nothing to illuminate her face, but it blinded her from the other patrons, and she calmed in the anonymity it gave her.

It was nearing four in the morning and she'd just crossed into Tennessee.

Kate groaned loudly into her palms and winced when she pressed into the bruise under her eye. She wondered how bad she looked. Her body didn't have the strength or the want to go look. She felt waves fall over her shoulder the lower her head went and she shook them back, throwing herself against the seat. With a grimace, she pulled a note out of her back pocket and unfolded it gently in front of her on the dirty wooden table. She knew if she inhaled long enough, she could smell the alcohol that had spilled there earlier in the day. Maybe just before she'd arrived.

Katie, this isn't easy. She died. I tried to get in contact with you before. I know you had to leave. I'm sorry about what happened to Tom, I know it wasn't your fault. None of it is. If only they'd listen. They've just gone and added it to the list. You're going for over twenty grand now.

We had the funeral last night. It's the way she wanted. We cremated her, blew the ashes over the farm – near the tree, you know the one – and we didn't have any kind of reception. She didn't want us to cry. Katie, I hope you're not crying. It wasn't your fault either. None of it is. As always, you're always in our thoughts and prayers.

The tear smacked the paper before she realized she was crying and she wiped it away, sniffling loudly, rubbing her sleeve against her face. Kate read the letter twice more before crumpling it up and gripping it tightly in her hand. "Darlin', nothin's that bad," she heard from the booth behind her.

"How would you know?" She responded gently.

"Because I been where you are and back and I know first hand, ain't worth the headache. Cryin', mopin', ain't gonna get you nowhere."

His voice was soothing, southern and had just the right amount of charm on it to make her smile. She watched the young woman who put a napkin down in front of her with a Heinekin. Kate started to shake her head, but the woman pointed towards the booth behind her and she nodded.

Turning her head slowly, she muttered a thanks and took a long swig of beer. It hadn't been that long since her last one. She remembered the look on Tom's face when she looked up at him from behind the silver rimmed can. He always seemed amazed at her. It was what she loved about him. No one else looked at her like he did.

"So, tell me your troubles and I'll tell you mine," the male voice offered.

Kate let out a hmph of a laugh and took another drink. "Don't think even you could handle my troubles, slick."

"Alright then, I'll start with mine." He sounded amused, maybe drunk, and it made Kate lean back to listen. "I got into some money troubles, so I went and borrowed some from a fellow who expected it back plus some more. Thought, this is just my cup of tea, see, I know how to run a scam. Know how to get a woman to hand me everythin' in her wallet and her husband's bank account. 'Cept, this woman took the cash and ran scared. Left me with a big ol' bull's eye on my head."

"My mom died," she responded.

"I owe a good twenty thousand bucks plus interest."

Kate remained silent. She finished off her drink and banged the bottle on the table loudly. She didn't want it to sink in. She'd avoided letting it sink in for weeks. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his hand and she smiled, reaching out to shake it. He had a firm grip, calloused palms and smelled like cigarettes. "James Ford," he told her.

"Abby Rodgers," she lied honestly, releasing his hand and slumping back into the seat.

"Sorry 'bout your mom, Abby."

"I'd hand over my cash, but I need it to get out of town."

"Understand that perfectly well," James told her with a deep laugh. "Mind if I ask what you're running from?"

Kate frowned, gripping the green beer bottle in front of her. She could spin a tale for him that would make him hand over the shirt on his back, but she sighed. "Long story."

"Been here for hours; not likely I'll be leaving soon."

Nodding her head, Kate considered. "I've got a US Marshall on my ass."

"Well, damn, honey, we could disappear into my hotel room for a while, 'til he blows town." She heard him shift in the seat. "You could help me with some of my other problems while we're there."

"No." Kate smiled. "Thank you, though."

There was more shifting and she wondered what he was doing. Kate hoped he wasn't trying to get a look at her. If he knew what she was worth, he could try and turn her in. Then she'd have to defend herself. Kate knew that never ended well. "You sound aweful normal to be wanted by the law. What you done that's got you tarred and feathered?"

"I'd rather not talk about it," Kate told him honestly.

"Guess that means Abby ain't your real name, don't it, Abby?" He laughed when he finished, knowing the answer before she could tell him. She managed a hiccup of a laugh and raised a hand, ordering something stronger from the waitress. "I'll have one of them too," James told the woman before she left. "So, you a heavy drinker, or just lookin' to get wasted – drown your problems in good whiskey."

Kate bit her bottom lip. "Looking to celebrate."

"Celebrate?" He asked, sounding confused. "Ain't you just said your momma up and died?"

"It's my birthday."

"Well," James started, "Hell's bells, ain't that a coincidence."

"What?" Kate turned, seeing the tip of his nose at the edge of the seat. She couldn't make out any other features; he had long oily blonde hair to hide behind.

"My birthday too."

She smiled, turning around and leaning against the table when the waitress brought her a tall shot glass. "Make a wish," she grunted, tipping the glass to the air and downing the golden liquid. Kate loved the feel of it burning down her throat. She'd loved it since she was a small child and discovered her father's stash. It reminded her that she could feel pain; that she hadn't gone numb everywhere. The bottom of the glass hit the table loudly and the man behind her clapped silently.

"What'd you wish for?"

Kate smiled. "Can't tell you, 'cause then it won't come true."

"Superstitious to boot," James chuckled. "Wanna know what I wished for?" He listened to the door chime jungle as she tapped her shotglass down on the table. "Good woman to fall out of the sky and knock me on my ass." James shifted in his seat, swinging his legs around. "So how's about it darlin'?"

Lowering his eyebrows and hiding his dimples, James Ford looked down at the empty seat in a sort of bewildered amusement. She'd left just enough to cover her drinks and the scent of fresh mowed grass.

"Hey!" A man shoved him roughly. "Talkin' to you."

"Yeah?" James grunted. "What is it?"

The man flashed a photo of a young woman who otherwise would have struck him as some sort of model. But here she was hard-faced and annoyed, almost sneering at the camera. "You seen this woman?"

"Nah," James grunted. "Nah, I ain't seen a girl like that around here in a long time." He reached back into his booth and grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder. "Hey," he asked, "You ain't a US Marshall by chance?"

The man rolled his eyes and nodded. "Yeah, I am."

"How much this girl worth?" James asked with a nod of his head.

"Twenty grand," the man responded.

Lifting what was left of his beer bottle up to his lips, he let the cold liquid drain down his throat wondering what he'd remember in the morning. If he would remember her face. Four hours drinking never did anyone good, he knew. James chuckled and shook his head. He nodded slowly at the Marshall and then made his way towards the front door.

Finis