MistyX: It's like you read my mind. ;) And don't worry about Jack...it's definitely in the cards.
Thanks so much for the reviews everybody - and welcome to the new readers! There seem to be a lot lately...I must have good publicity, or something.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The first thing Sawyer became aware of the next morning was that something was licking his face. Struggling up out of sleep, he had the absurd notion that it was Kate, and he was more than a little surprised. What the hell had come over her? Had she snapped? As he reached full wakefulness, however, it dawned on him that it was, of course, not Kate...it was Gus. He shoved him away gently, and the puppy, apparently pleased with his success, trotted over to a corner to chew on one of his toys.
Sawyer stretched a little, his back feeling stiff from sleeping on the hardwood floor. Although they'd piled blankets onto it, it was a poor substitute for a mattress. Even the sandy beach on the island was better than this. But he didn't regret it. It would have been much colder upstairs, and besides, he would have had to carry Kate.
He looked at her, her face just inches away from his. They both lay on their sides, directly facing each other, although Kate wasn't awake yet. Even in sleep, she looked sad and somehow defeated. Gazing at her now, in the faint morning light that filtered in around the edges of the closed drapes, it was hard to believe that her tale of the previous night could possibly have a basis in reality. It seemed more a creation of his own fevered, distressed brain than something that could have actually taken place. But he knew that was just wishful thinking. He hadn't imagined it, and every word she'd said had been the truth. The horror was all too real, and there was no escaping from it.
Knowing what he now did about her past made all the old protective feelings flare up even more powerfully, to the point where his past worries seemed like nothing compared to the present. He knew, with a kind of instinctual, primal certainty, that he would die before he would ever let anyone hurt her again. It wasn't something that needed to be reasoned out or analyzed; it was simply there, resting in the core of his being when he looked at her, as if the capacity had always existed and he'd only now become aware of it.
But there was also within him this morning a new kind of fear, cohabitating with the more noble impulses. It was so vague and undefined that he wouldn't have been capable of putting it into words, but it consisted in the idea that what she would eventually need protecting from would be, not someone from the outside, but himself. Probably not in a physical sense...despite his violent temper, he doubted that he could ever lose control of himself to that extent. But perhaps in an even more significant sense - emotionally. The memory of all the hurtful things he'd already said to her flashed through his mind, and what was worse, he knew that there would be many more instances in the future. He at least knew himself well enough to understand that his fundamental tendencies would never change.
Not to mention the fact that nothing in his past gave any indication that he was cut out for this type of thing. His own life was so fucked up and his past actions had been so selfish and misguided that he was barely capable of taking care of himself...how could he possibly expect to be able to take care of someone else? What in God's name had possessed her with the notion that she could put her faith in him? he wondered. Was it some self-destructive impulse, hidden deep in her subconscious? Or did she just not know any better? He was starting to feel overwhelmed and a bit panicky.
But when she finally opened her eyes and looked at him with that clear, forthright, trusting gaze, all of his doubts vanished, at least for the moment.
"Hey," she said softly.
"Mornin'," he answered.
They looked at each other almost shyly for a few seconds.
"Sorry about the nightmare," Kate said.
"Yeah, well, you didn't elbow me this time, so I figure I got off pretty easy." He smiled at her a little.
She tried to return his smile, not very successfully. "It'll probably come back again tonight. Just to warn you."
"I'll be waitin' to kick its ass when it does." He reached over and lightly brushed back a strand of her hair, tucking it behind her ear. Then, embarrassed by the gesture, he pulled his hand away awkwardly.
The moment seemed to unlock some of the tension between them, though. Kate raised up a little, leaned over, and kissed him. It was a leisurely, drawn-out kiss - not in any hurry to reach a stopping point. They allowed their lips to move over each other as if they were exploring new territory. And in a way, it felt like new territory. Everything seemed different now.
She finally broke away, and with a deep, shaky intake of breath, lay down with her head resting on his chest.
"Don't worry," she said reassuringly. "I'm not gonna cry again."
"Wasn't worried," he replied. Well, maybe he had been a little, but he didn't want her to think that.
They lay there quietly for a minute or so, until they were disturbed by the sound of falling water. They looked around, confused, thinking the roof was leaking somewhere, but then they both noticed the culprit at the same time. The puppy. After he was finished, he moved disdainfully away from the puddle as if it was no longer his problem.
Sawyer sighed, irritated. "Think it's about time to build a damn doghouse."
"I'll clean it up," Kate said wearily.
"No, stay here," he said, sitting up. "I'll get it. Need to build the fire back up anyway...it's cold in here."
She looked at him, surprised but appreciative. "I'll put some coffee on, then."
"I'll do it while I'm up...just stay here," he repeated gruffly.
"You don't have to treat me like an invalid, Sawyer. I'm okay," she said in a gentle tone.
He looked as if he didn't quite believe her. How could she be okay? Since he'd only heard her story last night, it was easy to forget that she'd been living with it for years. Although it didn't make sense, even to his own mind, it felt like it should all be as raw and new to her as it was to him.
"Besides," she went on, smiling at him sympathetically. "You make the worst coffee I've ever tasted in my life."
Before he could respond with a snarky comeback, as he was clearly getting ready to, she kissed him again, cutting him off. He accepted the distraction.
Pulling back, they shared a look that spoke volumes without any words being exchanged at all. For the first time, Sawyer knew her completely. He was no longer gazing into the eyes of a stranger. It was both thrilling and terrifying at the same time.
"Thank you." Kate mouthed the words, barely even speaking them aloud. He didn't have to ask what she meant.
She stood and went toward the kitchen. Sawyer was unable to stop looking after her until she'd completely disappeared from view.
It became clear, over the next few days, that she hadn't entirely been telling the truth. She didn't cry again; she'd been right about that part, anyway. But it was obvious that she wasn't herself. In some ways, it was comparable to recovering from an illness. She couldn't seem to get warm, no matter how many layers of clothing she wore or how close to the fire she got. She was also withdrawn, lacking in energy, and sensitive to external stimuli. When the UPS driver rapped sharply on the door to deliver her shipment of clothes, she was so affected by the shock that she had no interest in opening the box after he'd gone. Sawyer did it himself, and she looked on listlessly while he pulled out the clothes, one item at a time, trying to entice her. (He threatened to model the clothes himself if she didn't cheer up, which at least got a smile out of her.)
She slept a lot, and the nightmare returned - often at first, and then only sporadically. Sawyer learned to recognize the first signs of it and was usually able to wake her up before the worst part commenced, much to her relief. What surprised him was that, for the time being, at least, his own recurring nightmare seemed to have disappeared completely. Maybe it was that he was so preoccupied with her that he didn't have much time left over to worry about his own problems.
Paradoxically, she became both distant and clingy at the same time. Although she didn't feel like talking much, she also didn't want to be alone. She stayed around Sawyer whenever she could, seeming to take comfort in the very fact of his presence. At first, this unnerved him, but after a while he adjusted to it and accepted it as the norm - simply the way things were now. When he had to go into town to buy more groceries, he hurried as fast as he could, not wanting to leave her by herself, even though they'd been through this routine countless times since she'd been staying with him, and it had never bothered either one of them before. They were both relieved that everything went smoothly, and after that test run, things began to feel more like normal.
Sawyer was also nervous about approaching her for sex, especially right at first. He didn't know if she would want to, and he didn't really want to pressure her. But more than that, he was bothered by her story to the extent that he wasn't even sure if he would be able to concentrate. How could they ever do it again without those horrible images coming back to haunt him? Eventually, though, Kate grew impatient with waiting, and she let him know, without question, that there was no need to hold back. Approaching him as he lay in a half-doze on the couch, she made it abundantly clear that at least that aspect of their relationship could go on the same as usual. Instead of associating it with anything tragic from her past, she seemed to use it, rather, as a form of comfort. Everything went according to schedule, in the same intimate and complex rhythm they'd grown so familiar with, and Sawyer's relief was palpable.
Kate's past history was not returned to again in conversation, or even hinted at. Neither were their respective revelations involving that most enigmatic of words - love. It wasn't necessary. They weren't talkative people, or especially demonstrative either. They had no desire to re-hash issues that had already been dealt with, or repeat words that had already been said. Their connection was strong enough so that when something had once been released into the space between them, it would remain there, held in place by the magnetic force that drew them to each other. It was enough that they both knew the truth.
After nearly a week of procrastinating, Sawyer finally decided to follow through with his original plan and build a doghouse. Being indoors was starting to feel too constricting, anyway. It was like the walls were closing in on him. He didn't blame Kate. It was just that he'd never been the stay-at-home type, and the monotony of it was starting to make him lose his mind. Maybe an afternoon of mild physical labor was just what he needed to help him remember the benefits of being lazy.
So he gathered together enough scrap lumber and pulled everything into the shed, because the sky was iffy and it was possible there would be rain again. Kate had been reading a book from the living room shelf when he'd informed her of his plans, and she'd acted unconcerned, so he didn't feel guilty about spending a few hours away from her.
Although he didn't really have any idea what he was doing, and had never done anything like this before in his life, he'd been convinced that it wouldn't be all that hard. After all, he'd helped construct a raft that had managed to make its way through the dangerous, heaving waters of the South Pacific, hadn't he? All right, so Michael and Jin had done most of the work, but he'd done a little. Some would say that that had been a matter of life and death. This was just a dinky little doghouse...shouldn't it be a piece of cake?
His first mistake was forgetting to account for the fact that the puppy would grow. He'd been working contentedly enough for a little over an hour when the realization suddenly struck him that he was making the thing too small. The dog was small now, of course, but it was a goddamn German Shepherd...they got huge. What he'd constructed so far wouldn't even contain half of a full-grown dog. For a few seconds he was so blown away by the stupidity of this error that he couldn't even find words to curse himself with.
Then, muttering savagely under his breath, he took a hammer to the work he'd already completed, ripping and beating the entire thing apart until it was nothing but a pile of boards again.
Determined to get something done today so that all the time already spent wouldn't be wasted, he started over. Before he'd even gotten two boards nailed together, however, he became aware of the fact that he wasn't going to have nearly enough lumber to finish the damn thing. Was there really any point in doing this at all? He was so pissed that he considered flinging the hammer across the shed.
As luck would have it, of course, this was precisely the moment Kate chose to make her appearance.
Since his back was to the door, he heard her before he saw her.
"That's as far as you've gotten, in all this time?"
He turned around slowly, trying to keep his temper.
"It's a lot harder than it looks."
"Apparently," she said in a mildly amused tone, with her arms crossed in front of her. She took a few more steps into the building and looked around, curiously.
"You shouldn't be out here," he said.
"It can't be any more dangerous than the house is. It's got four walls and a roof, doesn't it?"
"Yeah, well, I'm busy." He looked at her sharply. "You gotta follow me around everywhere?"
She glanced at him, and then quickly away, looking hurt and embarrassed. Sawyer's remorse was so instantaneous that it hit him almost before the words had left his mouth.
Turning toward the door, she started to head back out, slowly, trying not to show any emotion. Just as she reached the opening, he called out to her.
"Wait."
She turned back toward him, a question in her eyes.
He sighed heavily, looking at the floor. In what seemed to be an almost physical struggle, his inner torment registered not just on his face, but in his entire body. As if he was being compelled to say the most degrading, filthy word ever created, he finally choked it out, after a torturous pause.
"Sorry."
His anguish was so comical that Kate had to fight to prevent a smile.
"Could that be the first time you've ever said that?"
He looked irritated again. "You know what, maybe you oughtta just..."
"Sawyer!" She closed her eyes wearily and held her hand up, interrupting him in mid-stream. "Quit while you're ahead."
He narrowed his eyes in contempt and went back to hammering at the doghouse.
Kate re-entered the interior of the building and began looking around.
"So why do you call this a shed? It's really more like a barn, isn't it?
"You see any cows or horses anywhere?" He kept working, not looking at her.
"No. But that's a hayloft, isn't it?" She gestured up above their heads and over to the right.
"Ain't no hay in it," he said with raised eyebrows, giving the base of the board a resounding whack.
"That's true," she answered, playing along. "Looks like a bunch of boxes, actually." She peered up into the hayloft with new interest, trying to see into the dim recesses. "You know what's in 'em?"
"Nope," he said, impatiently, still trying to ignore her.
"Boxes that you own..that are on your own property, in your own shed...and you don't have a clue what's inside them," she said incredulously, looking at him with her hands on her hips.
"Probably more boxes," he said with sardonic relish.
"Why would there be more boxes, inside the other boxes?"
"Hell if I know, Freckles. Why would a record label sign a band called Driveshaft? Guess the world's just a fucked-up place."
She could tell by the insane gleam in his eyes that he was close to the snapping point. Would it be best to leave him alone, or to egg him on for the sheer entertainment value?
"Aren't you curious?" she asked teasingly.
"Can't say that I am," he answered, holding a nail in his mouth. He took it out and positioned it, trying to ignore the fact that he was curious now. What the hell was in those boxes? He'd never even noticed them before. Damn her.
She watched him closely, seeming to read his mind.
"I can get up there," she said in a conspiratorial tone.
"Like hell you can. There's no ladder, and I'm not gonna go waste time diggin' one out of the back."
"I don't need a ladder. I'm a good climber, remember? Half the food supply on the island came from me."
"Forget it," he said. "You ain't climbin' up there."
Paying no attention to him, she scrutinized the building carefully. Over on the far side, stacked up on their edges, were some old box springs and rusted metal bedsteads. They leaned against the wall, along with some sheets of plywood. If she stood on top of them, she would just be able to hoist herself up onto the edge of the loft. If she still had enough arm strength left, she could pull herself over.
Sawyer saw where she was looking. "Don't even think about it," he said warningly.
She rolled her eyes at him. "Come on. After the trees on the island, that's nothing." Before he could protest further, she was already on the other side of the room and halfway up onto the first bed frame, balancing on an upturned spool of wire to reach it. He watched nervously as she reached the highest edge and inched along to the spot just under the overhanging loft. Standing up slowly, she balanced against it, the edge coming to just below her shoulders. She pulled herself up easily; much easier than he would have expected (and probably easier than he could have done himself, he realized, feeling a tinge of competitiveness.)
Looking down at him triumphantly, she headed toward the back to explore. He went back to working on the doghouse, keeping an ear open for whatever she might discover.
After a few minutes of silence, he couldn't take the suspense anymore. Against his inclinations, he called out, "Well?"
She came back over to the edge, looking sheepish.
"You were right," she said dryly. "It's just more boxes."
Now he grinned at her broadly. "What'd I tell ya?"
"Lucky guess," she said.
Then she smiled back at him, her way of conceding.
"Now, if you don't mind, would you please get your ass down from there?"
"I'm on my way." She lowered herself back over the edge onto the side of the upturned materials. Sawyer watched her closely, but with much less tension than he had a moment ago.
This time, though, instead of bringing her foot down onto the relatively solid metal bedstead, she landed on the old feather mattress instead. As she transferred the bulk of her weight from the hayloft to the mattress, it wobbled dangerously underneath her. Sawyer saw it begin to happen, but he had no chance to react. In just a split second, the middle of it bowed out and it buckled underneath her. She lost her footing and collapsed in the direction of the wall, against the metal bed frame. She put her arms out to break her fall, landing in between the frame and the wall.
Sawyer crossed the room in seconds and peered down over the edge of the frame into the space where she was lodged.
"I'm okay," she said, calmly, but with a slight tremor to her voice.
"Told you not to go up there, didn't I!" His heart was pounding so hard it was almost painful, and his panic expressed itself in anger.
She sighed. "Could you possibly save the yelling for later, and just help me out of here?"
He pulled the mattress away, and then both bed frames, creating a space large enough for him reach into. Stepping up onto the wire spool as she stood up, he lifted her out from underneath her arms. The way you would pick up a two-year-old, he thought absurdly.
It wasn't until he planted her on her feet out in the open area, in the murky light from the window, that he noticed the blood.
"Where's that comin' from?" he asked in alarm.
"It's my arm," she said, showing him briefly. "They're just scrapes...I slid down part of the bed frame, and there were some jagged edges. It's no big deal," she said casually. "I've been through a lot worse."
He exhaled deeply, trying to calm down.
"You need to wash it out with peroxide."
"I will," she said, heading toward the door. She looked back at the pitiful attempt at a doghouse on her way out. "Good luck with that," she said, trying not to smile.
Spurred on by her sarcasm, Sawyer stayed with the project much longer than he should have, forgetting nearly everything else in his desire to get something accomplished. By the time he finally stopped, it was almost dark.
He went inside, grabbing a beer. "Kate?" he called.
"I'm in the tub," he heard her yell back, her voice coming from the upstairs bathroom.
He headed upstairs, opening the door unceremoniously. All vestiges of physical shyness between them had become a thing of the past. Well, for her at least. He'd never had any to begin with.
"Did you finish it?" she asked, not looking at him. Something about her voice sounded funny.
"Not quite," he muttered. He didn't want to go into specifics. It would just piss him off again. "How's the arm?"
"It's fine," she said, turning toward him with a slight smile.
He sat on the edge of the claw-foot tub, pressing the ice cold beer can playfully against the back of her neck. She tensed up and ducked away from it, as he'd known she would. She kept her arms crossed below her chest, facing toward her body.
"Let's see it," he said.
"See what?" she asked innocently.
"See what. Your new belly-button ring, sweetheart," he said sarcastically. "What the hell you think I'm talkin' about? Your arm!"
"I already told you it was fine."
The manner in which she said it alerted him immediately.
"I didn't ask you if it was fine, I asked you to let me see it."
"You didn't ask. If you want to get technical."
"All right, then, I told you to let me see it. You goin' to, or not?"
She looked at him steadily for a few seconds, enough to cause him considerable alarm. Reaching over, he grasped her wrist, and, gently but firmly, pulled it away from her body and angled it upward toward the light.
He stared down at it with growing dread.
All up and down her arm, from the elbow to the wrist, were lodged tiny shards of rusted metal.
