"We could have just stayed at the cabin," Kate whispered as she tossed her bags into the dark room.

"Too late for that, darlin'," Sawyer said, almost in her ear, allowing his own bags to fall down his sloping shoulder, "It burned."

"I noticed," she said wryly, stepping inside after her bags and flicking the light switch. The fluorescent bulbs fixed in the room's ceiling sputtered to life, buzzing and clicking impatiently behind their grimy plastic cases.

"Hope no one steals my car," the blonde man laughed, following her and closing the door behind him.

Kate scoffed a little. She was certain that if Sawyer woke in the morning to find his car stolen, he would pitch a fit. She smiled secretly as she lifted a hand to her face to keep from breathing in too much of the dust that hung in the air. He was like a child, at times. Yet he was a man beneath it all, she realized as she slumped onto the whining spring mattress, one of two pieces of furniture in the room. He had done so much for her, and now he was doing the unthinkable, harboring a fugitive. His face was probably in the same place as hers, now… all over the news. He was wanted for countless crimes, murder, even. Yet, surely, she, his new traveling companion, would have catapulted him to the top of the FBI's most wanted list, right alongside her.

Hell, he'd even helped her escape the clutches of the law, whose arm had extended even into the welcoming party that awaited the rescue plane that had returned them home. They'd slipped away from that, and surely he would be held responsible for their latest mistake. Arson, lovely.

He sat down on the opposite side of the bed, "there's only one bed," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh please," Kate sighed, "it's not like we've never shared a bed."

"Only once," he said, his southern drawl turning into a sharpened version of itself.

Kate shrugged, turning her attention to the antiquated chest of drawers that sat on the wall opposite the bed, "Awful simple room, isn't it?"

"Did you have something better in mind?" he asked, exasperated, turning his palms upward, as if imploring the ceiling for an answer.

"No, it's fine… how long will it take to get to your house? It's here, too, right? In Knoxville."

"We aren't in Knoxville," he said steadily, "We're on the outskirts, but it should only take me a few hours to find it in the morning."

"Okay," Kate pushed herself up from the bed with her arms, striding over to the chest of drawers. She began methodically opening each compartment in the antique. Its faded, warped varnish becoming more and more visible with each dust-depleting touch, "nothing," she said, sounding a little dejected.

"Were you expecting something?" Sawyer asked, laying down on the bed and kicking his shoes off, "A Bible?" he snickered.

"Oh yeah," she laughed, grinning at him in the dim light, "I was looking for a Bible."

"Little too late to repent for your sins, Freckles," he said, his voice changing, almost imperceptibly.

She looked down, her eyelashes brushing the tops of her cheeks. He was right, of course. She'd accepted that a long time ago. What had she been looking for, anyway? Nothing. It was silly. Always, she had this feeling she was looking for something, searching for it, but the longer she lived, the more apparent it became that this did not, and would never exist, "I'm going to change, okay?" She sighed, looking around, "There's no bathroom in here."

"Just change, then, I'm not watching. I should be the one afraid of peeping toms," he teased.

Hesitantly, Kate began to dig through her bags, and eventually produce an oversized gray shirt. Wedging herself as far into the opposite corner of the room as possible, she began disrobing.

"Now, I'm not lookin'…" Sawyer said defensively, "but it's not like I haven't seen you naked before."

Kate laughed, piling her old clothes together and tossing them into her bag, "I suppose so."

"No need to be all… self-conscious," Sawyer said uncomfortably.

"In the name of decency," Kate said, flicking the light switch and feeling her way around the chest of drawers and back to the bed.

"Are you sure you don't want me to sleep on the floor?" Sawyer asked, almost cautiously. As she lay down, he lifted himself from the bed and made his way for his bag, too, where he could put his shirt.

"I'm sure we can keep to our own… sectors of the bed, Sawyer."

"If you insist… but I know it's really just because you're crazy for me," every other one of his footfalls sounded heavy as he walked.

She laughed, but quickly sobered, scooting to the left side of the bed as best she could, His footfalls were heavy because of her. He'd carried her back to the hatch after they'd fallen, broken though his leg was, somehow he had managed to carry her back.

He edged himself toward the right side of the bed.

A thought played at her tongue. She wanted to chance asking him whether he could take a break from his "tour of revenge" or not to visit a place for her, somewhere from her… old life. No. After all, he'd say just that: No. Playing along with his plans would be okay. For now, anyway.

"What'cha' thinkin' about?" his voice came, tired and husky, through the darkness.

Weird. He wasn't one for small talk, "Nothing," Kate said, realizing for the first time that it was dreadfully cold in the room, "can you sit up so we can have the blanket?" she queried, tugging at one corner of the pitiful, threadbare scrap of cloth.

Surprisingly, without a word of protest, he pulled himself up, removing the blanket from beneath his legs and draping it over both of them, "we need to move closer together if we both want it," he said with a slight sigh.

"Okay," Kate said, her voice raw with over exaggerated resignation, pushing herself closer to him. They were not touching, but she could feel heat radiating off his skin. It was a strange feeling, but she was content to bask in his presence. It was something she could feel when she stared him straight in the eye, and when they were close to one another. It was a strange warmth, as it was a chill, too. Externally, she could feel his strong grip on her, the warmth in his touch… but beyond that, within him, she knew there was a seething rage.

And it was not a hot, boiling rage, like that of a rebellious youth, it was an anger that had grown within him for many years, white-hot. He did what he could to hide it, yet, still, it was clear, even to people who did not know of his letter, of his past, it was clear that there was some unresolved turmoil, some raging hell in his heart. She was afraid, she thought, to get close to him. He was a walking time-bomb, a killer, willing to kill again, probably.

… so was she.

Yet still, she feared her current position with him. She was not his lover, nor was she his friend. He had promised, for some inexplicable reason, to care for her, and so he was protecting her. Nothing more, nothing less. She shivered a little, she was still cold, despite the closeness of Sawyer's body. She drew the blanket in tighter to her chest, knotting it around her fists. A tiny jolt of fear shot into her mind. What if he just decided not to take her along? Sure, she could fend for herself, it wasn't like she hadn't before. Yet, something about the idea still troubled her; she did not belong with him, and it was because of whatever shred of kindness inside him that she was still at his side. He didn't know where they were going, she could tell that. But she didn't, either.

She sighed, squeezing her eyes shut. She could fend for herself, she wasn't defenseless. But still, there was something about the idea of wandering the country aimlessly without a companion… no, without this companion, that troubled her. She couldn't put her finger on it, whatever it was.

---------------

"We can't keep him," the tired voice murmured.

"Why, mama?" The tiny girl peeked over the back of her seat to look at the animal that lay sprawled in the back of the car.

"Well, Kate, you know what Wayne would say…" the woman's tired face softened a little, "I'd let you keep him if I could."

"I don't like Wayne… I liked daddy better," the dark haired girl pouted, turning her freckled nose up.

"I think we'll have to take him to the pound," her mother pressed on, ignoring her daughter's remark and brushing dyed blonde locks of hair out of her face, "I don't know why there was a dog outside the diner… nobody lives around here."

"No!" The girl cried, turning a tear-striped face up to her mother, "They'll kill him!"

"Oh, Katie, I'm sure they'll find him a home…" the woman murmured, her voice hushed.

The girl looked mournfully back at the dog. His eyes were big and brown, and the flesh around them sagged in the most pitiful manner. His fur was dark and shiny – he looked as though someone cared for him. He was well fed, and all his features bore the mark of good breeding. Yet still, he wore no collar or identification tags. There was something sparkling in his eyes that screamed of human intelligence... His gargantuan paws were crossed on the car seat in front of him.

"Mama… we can't take him there," she said, her tone pleading.

"Well, Kate," the woman started, frustration edging at her voice, "what would you suggest?"

"We can leave him outside someone's house," the small girl said firmly, turning her doll-like eyes up to the sky outside the window shield. The sprawling expanse of black, Iowa velvet was dotted with glittering constellations of light, "he'll be safer if we leave him somewhere."

"I don't think…"

"We can drive him to the church, mama," the girl brightened. Her family did not attend church, but the idea seemed like a good one to her, "I'm sure someone there will be nice enough to take him."

"There's no one at the church at this hour," her mother sighed, turning the keys in the ignition of the beat-up truck, "it would be better to leave him where we found him."

"Oh," the girl murmured softly, "okay…"

"Will you let him out, then?" The woman asked, her voice growing ever more tired, and a little sad, perhaps.

The little girl reluctantly jumped out of the car, dragging her feet as she trudged to the back door. The distance her hand traveled to the silver handle seemed exponentially greater than it really was. She had only been around the dog for a few precious minutes, but she felt attached to him, unwilling to let him go.

Her tiny fingers fumbled with the door handle, "come on Kate, hurry up, we have to get home," her mother said impatiently, "just open the door."

Kate pulled the handle and felt the mechanism inside the door move as it came open. She pushed it wide, looking blankly at the dog. The animal just returned her stare. Indeed, there was something, a rather endearing twinkle, behind his eyes. He was an intelligent creature. She shrugged at him, stepping out of the way of the open door.

"Call him," her mother said from the front seat.

"Uh…" the girl breathed, not sure of what she was being asked to do, "come here, boy?" she said, unenthused. Her mother was attempting to push the huge dog out of the car. He moved a little, attempting to stand up in the cramped space. When this failed, he leapt from the truck, shaking himself and stretching his long, slender limbs in the open air.

Carefully, the girl closed the door behind the dog, creeping back to her own seat in the passenger side of the car, avoiding looking at him as best she could. She closed her door hurriedly, looking steadily at the ground, "I feel bad, mama."

"Sometimes," her mother sighed, pulling out of their space in the diner parking lot, "you can't avoid that…"

Though her mind screamed "no", Kate looked back over her tiny shoulder, eyes searching for the proud, dignified animal. He stood right where she'd left him, in a pool of light cast by the single street light in front of the diner. He just watched silently as the car pulled away from him, his muscles not so much as twitching, his head barely turning to follow the motion of the car as it moved slowly down the street.

The girl turned sulkily back to her mother, "I don't think we should have left him there," she murmured ruefully, "My idea wasn't very good at all."

The bolts that held the truck together made a perilous jingling sound every time the car dipped in and out of a pothole, or jumped over a large rock that had found its way onto the dirt road, "You better not be crying about this when we get back home," her mother said, suddenly stern.

The girl's earlier tears suddenly sprung into her eyes again. She had quite forgotten that she'd been crying. She didn't want to go home. Not back to Wayne. Not back to discolored flesh and stinging pain. She wanted to leap from the truck just as the dog had done, and run away. Maybe, she thought hopefully, trying fruitlessly to stay her tears with a sleeve, maybe if she were to do that, someone would find her…

---------------

The happenings of that night were still, after all these years, fresh in her mind. She remembered, too, having found, two days later, the proud, shining beast lying dead in the road. Surely he could have survived outside of his home, too, yet was, nonetheless, lost without his companion. Another regret – she could have taken him home. Could have done something. And was he any different than the next person or creature, just because he was a dog? No. He too was a living, shimmering being, whose life had been snatched away in an instant.

Another chill ran through her body. She did not sleep that night, but lay curled up beside Sawyer, remembering events of her childhood. No matter which memory she chose to visit, however, she found herself being led back to the inevitable – an explosion of fire and heat whose echoes still rattled around in her skull.

Guilt and fear took hold of her body, making her shake violently, her teeth chattering, her knees knocking together with each tremor that ran through her. It didn't matter that she was not alone, because she felt it, always. She could feel loneliness chasing her, clawing at her heels, waiting for her to trip so it could rake her into its vast maw.

The light of morning was salvation. Its pale fingers broke the single window in the little hotel room. It was still cold, but the light inspired new energy in her muscles. Gingerly, she crept from the bed, patting the blanket down where she'd wrinkled it during the night. With dainty, measured footsteps she walked to retrieve her bag, slipping on a pair of sweatpants and hoisting the bag onto her shoulder.

With an even softer step, she made her way to the front door and wrapped her fingers around the doorknob, twisting it slowly, so that it wouldn't squeak. When, finally, she had succeeded in opening the door without a sound, she took one last, sad look at the sleeping man beneath the tattered, threadbare blanket, and slipped outside.

The air was colder outside than in, of course, but it had a crisp flavor and smell to it, quite unlike that inside the stale, dusty hotel room. Inexplicably, she was possessed with the uncontrollable urge to run, and so she did. When she was about three hundred yards clear of the hotel, she steadied her sprint to a brisk walk, looking nervously back at the hotel room for any sign of Sawyer.

Wait, what am I running from? She stopped moving, eyeing the traffic vein that passed to the right of the inn. Sawyer hasn't done anything wrong to me. Hell, he's helping me. Yet still she was out here, wringing the hem of her shirt into nervous knots with her sweating palms.

But if I don't leave him now, he'll leave me later, she reasoned, better to leave before I get too attached. She stopped herself again, terrified at the notion. Too attached to Sawyer? It was ridiculous. How could she be too attached to the man who had rejected her, told her horrible things? He had saved her life, too. He had promised her things, too. Her mind raced back to the conversation they'd had on the cliff back on the island, and, for the umpteenth time that day, the thought revisited her: They were the same. Who else could she possibly travel with? Who else could she not travel without?

She shook her head. This was ridiculous. She didn't need him to live, and she was just a burden on him, anyway. He didn't want her around, no matter what he said about "the favor he was doing her". They'd both be better off if she left. But then… why had he done all these things for her?

---------------

Her arms hung limply by her sides, her eyes downcast at the crumpled figure in the road. The long, graceful legs were twisted grotesquely beneath the sleek, brindled body. The dog's fur was matted, covered in some sort of grime. There was no dignity in his position. The proud, strong creature that had stood before her two nights earlier was now no more than a crumpled heap of…

"Oh god."

Kate turned her face back to the diner, her mother was approaching her.

"I told John to do something about this," Diane fussed, her shoulders falling, her typical demeanor even more depressed than usual, "come away, Kate." She reached for her daughter's wrist, but Kate jerked her arm away, unable to tear her eyes away from the animal.

There weren't even skid marks anywhere around his body. Nobody had braked for him. No one had noticed he was there, lost, looking for someone, anyone, to take him in, to bring him home. The blood boiled in her adolescent veins at the thought of a drunkard speeding along the road.

"Mama, how could anyone hit a dog this big and not notice or stop?" She asked, thoroughly distressed.

Her mother sighed, "Kate, I don't know, just come away, please."

"No," Kate said quietly, "I want to bury him."

"Oh no, Kate," her mother's voice was cross now, "you could get sick if you did that."

"I don't care, Mama," she continued, "it's our fault he died."

"No it isn't," her mother snapped, "it's his owner's fault. Come inside now or I'll…" she paused, "I'll tell Wayne."

"No, no!" Kate cried, evading Diane's grasp again, "please mama, let me bury him."

"Kate, please just come away, you can't be that in love with a dog you spent barely any time with…"

"No…" Kate whimpered a little, "but… why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did someone have to hit him after we didn't take him home?" She fell silent, "I mean, why did that have to happen?"

"I don't know Kate," her mother said, rubbing her eyes, "look, I've got to get back to work… you were supposed to be happy I wasn't making you stay home with Wayne."

Kate looked down again. The dog's eyes were closed. There was no blood around him. He must have been hurt inside. She could feel her mother's hand latching onto her wrist, pulling her away from the animal, drawing her away from the last fragments of that intelligent stare, that sad presence. He was lonely, too, perhaps. And they'd left him there, they'd left him there to die. Left him in the road where he stood no chance. It didn't matter what dogs knew about surviving in the wild.

She averted her eyes, remembering her wish to just be left alone, to run away like the dog must have. No… that was definitely a damning desire. She could see herself now, lying in a fetal position in the street… tire tracks across her chest… her mother refusing to bury her, too…

---------------

Maybe the dog had felt the same way she did. Maybe the dog understood, just like any person, just what it was to be sad. Maybe he'd wanted to get away, but once he had, had realized he was lost… Maybe he'd stood in front of the car, purposely unmoving…maybe he'd died easy, of a broken heart. Maybe that was why there had been no blood.

"Ka-ate…"

The call carried itself to her ears on the slight morning breeze, it's southern intonations making its owner unmistakable. She turned on her heel, searching for Sawyer's silhouette against the white-walled hotel. She found herself running again, but toward him this time. She wasn't going to die of a broken heart, too. If I'm happy running right alongside him, I will live it out until he tells me to go.

At last she was standing before him, panting a little, the stitch in her side still aching, "Went for a walk," she said briefly.

He smiled, "My car's still here… I'll check out… you ready to go?"

Kate glanced back at the main road again. It was better with someone she knew, someone she felt safe around, at least for now, "Yeah."