This is the mantra I'm repeating everywhere, but I have to apologize for the vagueness about Kate's past..you'll see what I mean. There are MANY reasons for this, but, briefly, I want to remain as true to the characters as possible, and I don't want my story to be invalidated by next season. If I do a sequel later, I want to leave Kate's past somewhat open-ended so I can plug in the real thing WHEN we get it. But the important thing is what it means for Sawyer to know, not us. ;) I know that's disappointing (and seems cowardly of me), but I just want my Kate to be the real Kate, as far as possible.
And thanks so much, again, for reviewing! I know people have a lot of distractions in the summer, so the fact that you still make time for this story means a lot to me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
From where Sawyer sat on the porch swing, he could watch the rain coming down in sheets while still remaining relatively dry himself. Every once in a while the breeze would send a cool spray in his direction, but despite the chill in the air, he found it refreshing. Especially after living in the godforsaken island inferno for over a month. He hadn't realized what a relief the autumn would be when it finally arrived in full force.
The bracing air also gave him a chance to clear his head. He was still trying to sort out exactly what had just taken place upstairs...what he'd said, what she'd responded, and what it all meant. Normally, he wasn't inclined to do that. When he'd had fights with women before, he didn't look back. He wasn't one for self-analysis. He said what he felt in the heat of the moment, and then he moved on, forgetting about it. But that didn't seem possible anymore. Not when any wrong or misplaced word had the power to alter everything...to destroy the fragile web of interdependence they'd been weaving around each other for almost a month.
And what exactly had he said? Everything was a blur except for some of the last few words, "It's up to you." Repeating them, even to himself, made his stomach turn a little. It had only been about ten minutes since he'd come down here, but he could already sense the mistake of those words. He knew, firsthand, that she didn't respond well to threats. Okay, so maybe it wasn't exactly a threat, but it was certainly an ultimatum, and that came close to being the same thing, at least where Kate was concerned. He didn't regret it yet, but he knew there was a definite possibility that he would later.
What if she actually decided to leave? Could he take it back...tell her that it didn't matter, that he'd changed his mind? Would she accept that? Probably not, he thought. And should he take it back? He hadn't been overdramatic; what he'd said was true. He was tired of feeling like he didn't know her. But which was worse...possessing only a part of her, or losing her completely? If she left now, he was truly terrified at the thought of what would become of him.
He sighed nervously and considered, once again, going back inside. Just as he was making up his mind, however, he was distracted by a motion off to his left. He knew automatically what it was, and he refused to turn his head in that direction. Instead, he kept his eyes leveled straight in front of him, gazing out over the gradually darkening yard. He could see her, out of the corner of his eye, approaching slowly, hesitantly. He tried not to allow himself to feel too much relief yet. This didn't necessarily mean anything.
She sat down without saying a word or even looking at him, the same way she had last week when he'd been reading the letter. Their positions were somewhat reversed now, although he found it ironic that they were sitting in the same place. Her opening remarks echoed his thoughts.
"So, what is this, the Porch Swing of Emotional Confrontations?" She smiled slightly, although her eyes were still sad.
He glanced at her, not really wanting to show any signs of softening, but unable to help himself. The corners of his lips raised slightly, just enough to make his dimples crease.
"Startin' to feel like it."
The joke seemed to clear the air between them, lifting off some of the heavy and oppressive tension.
Kate sighed deeply.
"I used to love rainy days when I was a kid. I had this ridiculous yellow raincoat...I thought it was the coolest thing ever. Now I realize I must have looked like such a dork. But at the time I didn't care. I just liked being able to stay outside and play, even when the weather was bad." She smiled to herself, in memory.
At first, he thought maybe this was how she was going to begin her narrative...just jump right into it, with no warning at all. But she didn't say anything else. He should have known it wouldn't be that easy. These types of random, disjointed childhood fragments were all that she'd offered up in the past. He'd gotten used to the way she would suddenly dip into a remembered event, and then withdraw just as quickly, refusing to be drawn back near the edge no matter how much he prodded. She reminded him of someone who didn't know how to swim, but yet was irresistibly drawn to the water as if by a power beyond her control.
"You come down here to chat about the weather, Freckles?" he asked, a little impatiently.
She looked at him, hurt, but not at all surprised by his question. She didn't answer.
In a softer voice, he tried again. "You make up your mind yet?"
"I'm out here, aren't I?"
He nodded slightly in acknowledgement, now allowing himself to enjoy a small measure of relief. Maybe he hadn't destroyed things beyond repair, after all.
They sat without speaking for a while, until the silence was too thick to bear. It seemed to draw them together and push them apart at the same time.
"I don't know how to do this, Sawyer," Kate finally said, almost as if she was asking for help.
He didn't know what to say. Why did this have to be so hard?
"I've never told anybody before...not anybody. Nobody knows the whole story. I offered to tell Jack, a few days after we crashed, but he said that none of that mattered...that we'd all died, and could start over. I guess that's not true anymore." She looked out at the valley, wistfully.
"What?" Sawyer asked, genuinely shocked.
She turned to him in surprise, not even realizing until now the implications of what she'd just said.
"You offered to tell Jack?"
"I didn't, though," she said defensively. "It was just...an impulse, I guess. I think a part of me already knew that he wouldn't let me say it. If he had, I doubt I would have been able to go through with it."
"Well, wasn't that just noble of him?" Sawyer said with contempt.
She rolled her eyes. "I barely knew him at the time, Sawyer. That's probably why it seemed easier...especially with all the chaos of the crash, and people trying to survive...Plus, he was really easy to talk to. I can't exactly say the same for you."
He glared at her, but she ignored him.
"I think the problem with us is that I've just waited too long. I should have told you everything right from the beginning, as soon as you let me know I could stay here."
But Sawyer was still fixated on her earlier comment. Knowing that Jack had been willing to gloss over her entire past life made him feel somehow judged, even though she apparently hadn't intended that. Well, Jack hadn't been sleeping with her, though, had he? He didn't have as much at stake, Sawyer told himself defensively.
Shaking his head, he muttered, "Knows the guy for two goddamn days, and she's more than willin' to spill her life story. But the guy who's been sleepin' with her and hidin' her from the FBI and buyin' her clothes and food and dogs and tampons...Hell, I guess he don't quite measure up."
"One dog," she pointed out, unable to resist making fun of him a little.
He wasn't amused.
Suddenly, another gust of wind blew directly against the side of the house, spraying a fine mist in its wake. Kate ducked her head protectively and shivered.
Still annoyed, Sawyer pulled off his flannel shirt and tossed it in her direction without a word. With a slight smile, she put her arms into it and wrapped it around her, enjoying the way it still retained the warmth of his body.
She watched his profile closely. He now sat in only a thin t-shirt - the one with the rip in the sleeve that he obstinately refused to throw out. He stared straight ahead, obviously still dwelling on her mention of Jack. He was so insecure, it was ridiculous...but for some reason it inspired a feeling of tenderness in her.
"You were right, you know," she said softly.
"About what?" he asked with scorn.
"About what you said earlier...the way I've used men, in the past. Made them fall in love with me, and then took what I needed and cleared out. I have done that before. More than once."
"Figured as much," he said in a sulky tone.
She nodded in agreement, becoming more serious now.
"There's a big difference, though...between then and now, Sawyer. The difference is..."
Here she paused, and her lower lip trembled a little, despite her efforts to stop it. She laughed a little, annoyed at herself, trying to hold back tears.
"The difference is," she repeated, "I didn't fall in love with them back."
He turned his head in order to meet her eyes, but then looked away quickly. It seemed too dangerous at the moment.
"How am I even s'posed to know whether you're tellin' the truth or not?"
"Because you're the only person who's ever been able to tell that!" she said sharply. "You know when I'm lying. You always know when I'm lying. If you're gonna sit there and tell me that you think I'm messing with you...that I'm acting," she said, her voice breaking on the last word. "Then I should leave right now. Because there's no point in keeping this up any longer, if that's the way you feel. Do you really think I'm lying to you?" She paused. "Look at me, Sawyer."
He continued to stare out away from her, seemingly tortured.
"Look at me!" she demanded.
Finally, he met her eyes again. The pain and the need that were evident there, so close to the surface, almost overwhelmed him. She looked like she might break into pieces at any second.
"Do you think I'm lying?" she asked again, in a desperate whisper.
He searched her face, but he already knew the answer.
"No."
He could see the relief she felt in the subtle change of her expression. The urgency gradually died down only to be replaced by something more akin to dread, or even fear. Glancing down to her side at the porch's floor boards, she started tugging at the bottom of the shirt, unconsciously twisting it tightly between her fingers. She was preparing herself.
After what seemed like forever, she seemed to come to a decision. There was no point in waiting in longer.
"It's kind of a long story," she said in a shaky voice, her face growing more pale even as the words left her mouth.
For the first time, it dawned on him how much anguish this was going to cause her...this opening of a door that she spent the majority of her time and effort trying to keep closed and locked tight. Until now, he'd mostly been concerned with the unfairness involved for him in not knowing. He hadn't considered what it would mean for her to have to go through this ordeal.
"Hey," he said, to get her attention.
She made an effort to drag her gaze back up to his.
Impulsively, he cupped her face in his hands and kissed her; gently, not insistently. Breaking the kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers for a few seconds, his fingers lightly meeting behind her neck.
When he pulled back a little, she looked at him questioningly.
"Forget it," he said, almost harshly.
"What?" she asked, confused.
"I don't want you to do this. I don't need to hear it. Probably better off not knowin', anyway."
But instead of looking grateful, she looked alarmed. She shook her head slightly.
"You can't do this... Don't do this, Sawyer."
"Don't do what?" He'd thought this was what she wanted.
"Don't..." she tried to think of the right words. "Don't back down." She was trying to sound firm, but not doing a very good job. "If you give me that option, I'll take it. So don't. I need you to..." She took a deep, jagged breath. "I need you to make sure I do this. Please. It's time."
He tried to gauge whether she really meant this or not, but she apparently did. And although he knew she was right, and that this was long overdue, he wished to God he'd never brought it up.
"All right," he agreed, feeling a kind of sick apprehension.
"I want you to know. Everything," she continued. "But..." she looked around. "Can we at least go inside, by the fire? It's cold out here."
He stood up slowly, holding out his hand to her. She took it, making a weak attempt to smile. With his arm around her, he led her inside.
First, in order to delay the inevitable, they collected blankets and pillows from the upstairs bedrooms, piling them on the hardwood floor in front of the fireplace in a futile attempt to create a comfort zone. Sawyer wanted to go straight to the whiskey bottle for refreshments, but Kate suggested they start with coffee and hit the hard liquor later, when they really needed it. Neither of them had any appetite, so there was no point in thinking about dinner. They fed the puppy and put more wood on the fire, until the moment eventually came when they had nothing left to do.
In front of the fire, with a pillow clutched protectively against her, Kate finally began to talk. The lights in the room were dim, and the firelight played off her features, illuminating the shifting blue-green hue of her eyes, outlining her cheek bones and the tendrils of hair that hung around her face.
At first, during the early stages of her story, she was able to maintain an eerie calmness...almost a detachment. It was like she was talking about somebody else, a person she was only vaguely acquainted with. These were the happy years of her life, her early childhood. They were so relentlessly normal as to be almost boring, and they gave no indication of what was to come.
Gradually, things shifted. He could sense the change coming before she even got to it. As she reached the turning point in her narrative, her calmness abandoned her. She began to be interrupted by fits of trembling so intense that they were almost spasms. She choked on certain words, physically incapable of pronouncing them. Sawyer was forced to supply some of them for her, although they were nearly as hard for him to say as they were for her.
His horror increased as she continued to talk. If it hadn't been for the promise she'd extracted from him earlier, he wouldn't have allowed her to continue. But he didn't know if he could have stopped her. Once the floodgates were opened, she seemed to be propelled onward in a rush of words, unable to pause, even to catch her breath.
He listened as she talked about her childhood, her parents, her friends. The day that everything had begun to go wrong. The trust that had been betrayed. The terror she'd endured. The loneliness that had nearly overwhelmed her. The guilt, and the pain, and the suffering, and the fear that had never left her, not even for a fraction of a second. Her desperate desire to run away, and her inability to do so. The action she'd finally been forced to take. The spiraling horror and catastrophes that had resulted from it, turning her, irrecoverably, into a fugitive. The death of her best friend. The betrayal of her mother. The people she'd used, and the lives she'd destroyed. Her subsequent descent into hunted status, always looking over her shoulder, never being at peace, ready to flee at a moment's notice. She went on and on and on, pouring out words as the fire burned lower in the grate and it became completely dark outside. Neither one of them noticed, or cared.
His torment grew in proportion to hers, so that by the time she'd reached her conclusion, he was as emotionally distraught as she was. Never in his life had he met someone, or even imagined someone, whose life story was more harrowing and nightmarish than his own. The rage that he felt in her behalf practically blurred his vision. The thought of what she'd endured...of what she'd had to go through, and alone, no less... He couldn't wrap his mind around it. It was unfathomable, beyond comprehension.
When she finally stopped talking, the shaking went on unchecked, pitiful to watch. Her teeth even chattered slightly. She looked at him yearningly, waiting for something, although she didn't know what.
"Kate," he whispered uncertainly, in a hoarse voice.
At first, he thought she was starting to laugh. Incongruously, that was what it looked like. But within a few startled seconds, he realized the truth. She was sobbing. He'd never seen her do this before, and the newness of it alarmed him. Before he had time to recover, she'd shakily crawled into his lap. Instinctively, he held her as tight as he could. Although in a daze, he was still able to do the appropriate comforting things, rocking her gently back and forth, whispering soothing phrases, smoothing her hair down her back, covering her shoulders and neck with kisses. Although he'd never done this before, the actions seemed to come naturally, to his immense relief.
At some point, the weeping subsided. Not long after that, the trembling tapered off as well. To his surprise, he realized that she was asleep.
They remained where they were for the rest of that night, on the floor, in front of the fire. This time, when her nightmare returned, he didn't have any hesitation about what to do. He had her in his arms before she even woke up.
