Chapter Three

Nobody said it would be easy,

No one ever said that it would be this hard

Coldplay, The Scientist

It felt like they would be there forever, caught in an endless circle of bitter truths and pointed fingers. They loved each other, that much was true, but how much, and for how long, and how much more? And how much could they withstand, how much truth could they take before the easy lies lured them back into the familiarity with which they were accustomed?

Two steps forward, one step back. That's what it felt like, progressing at a snail's pace, learning more but knowing less, becoming paradoxically both more and less certain of everything. There was only one thing that Sawyer was certain of, and that was that he loved her. He didn't know if they would last, he didn't know if they could last, he didn't even know if he was capable of lasting in a relationship. But he was certain of his feelings, for once. They were jumbled and messy but there was one overriding emotion, one that took all these fragments and loose ends and tied them up together. For better, for worse, that emotion was there, and Sawyer was doing something about it. He felt as if his heart would burst if she said no, walked away, and then the love that had so carefully crafted his emotions into one bundle would fracture, spilling his anger and confusion and lust and fear irrevocably out, sweeping out in it's entirety like a tidal wave, destructive and unstoppable. She held so much power over him, whether he liked it or not, and he hated that any person could have this over him, but it was her, it was her, and he could cope with that, as long as he could hold something of hers, her heart, her mind, her body, her soul. Who was he kidding? He didn't want something, he wanted everything.

He looked at her; really looked at her. She was leaning against a tree, knees drawn up to her chin, a protective arm cradling her head, elbow completing the support system by resting on her knee. Her lips were parted slightly, and her eyes were drawn to some distant place he could not follow. She looked drawn, exhausted, and he suddenly hated himself for putting her through this, hated that he loved her so damn much he couldn't keep away from her, couldn't help but cause her pain. Her expression was pained, like she was deep in thought, and it was moments like these that made Sawyer panic, because he had done all he could, he had opened his heart, no, he had ripped it out of himself and handed to Kate on a silver plate, and now he was vulnerable to her. All he wanted was for her to do the same, but he knew she wouldn't, not just yet at least. This constant reassessment of her feelings towards him, this insecurity, this fear, it was all fed by the silence and the withdrawal and Sawyer found himself tapping his thigh rhythmically. He forced himself to stop, and took a deep breath.

He clenched his hands into fists as he resisted the urge to bury himself in the crook of her shoulder, lose his hands in fistfulls of curly brunette hair, lose himself in eyes of green speckled with grey. They could be silver when she was happy, but those glints in her eyes were often steely grey. He wanted her to have the silver, oh how he wanted to put the silver there, but he was drawn to the grey like a moth to a flame. It was that grey that connected them, on a primal level, on a base level. It was the grey that told him yes, I've been through shit too, I know too much, I've seen too much, and I can lie to myself, but the blame lies at my feet. He wants to comfort her, of course it's not your fault, but how can he, when they are yet to have the conversation, yet to divulge their pasts. He can hug her, but hugs turn to kisses and kisses turn to fleeing on her side, which is why he's proud that she's still here, when she's so obviously distressed, but he's afraid of how far he'll go to make her stay, because he needs her, needs her in a way that scares him.

He can't stand these silences. He was always more of a talker, sly jibes and slick clichés his arsenal, anyone who came close his targets. Of course, he wasn't adverse to good old-fashioned violence to settle things, but conversation was much more easily controllable and manipulative. "Gift of the gab", one of his relatives had told him he had, once, back when things had been happy. Oh, he wasn't naïve enough to think that things had been perfect back then, how could they have been, but he had had parents who loved him and cherished him and that was enough, sometimes. It was hard, though, to access these memories, when the overriding memory is that brutal scene all those years ago of his parents' deaths. Sawyer's frown deepened at the unexpected turn down memory lane, but couldn't shake off the melancholy sense that had swept over him.

As if Kate had physically sensed a change in him, she roused herself from her stupor and laid a comforting hand on Sawyer's arm, rubbing it up and down gently.

"You alright?" she asked tentatively, noting the deep creases in his forehead and his sagging posture. She had been submerged so deeply in her own turmoil she had excluded herself from his, and him from hers, without even realising it. She looked at him guiltily, knowing how silence increased uncertainty from her own experiences over the past few days. After she had given the cold shoulder to Sawyer following the revelation, he had left her be, for a while, and instead of giving her time to sort her head out it had actually doubled her fears and insecurities. The unpleasant associations of the past few days jolted her, and she went to pull away sharply. Sawyer had given no indication he had acknowledged her gesture until she tried to move away, and he grasped her hand on his arm, keeping it in place.

"Are you going to try to run every time you think about it?"

His voice was gravely, barely there, and his frown deepened further as he held her hand tighter in place. She was all that was tying him down, without her he felt her would float off back into his nightmarish past, so he held on as tightly as he would allow himself. She couldn't leave, she couldn't, but it was his fault she wanted to flee in the first place.

"I'm not running anywhere," Kate snapped defensively. Her voice had caught on the raw pain and fear bubbling inside her and she had to take a moment to force it back down. She continued in a softer, more subdued voice.

"I mean, I'm here, aren't I?"

"Maybe in person, sweet cheeks, but not so much in spirit. Wanna let me in on what's spinning around that mind of yours?"

He was leaning against the tree, and the raw sexual power he exuded without realising made Kate's heart skip a bit. How clichéd, she thought, but it was true. When he wasn't trying to actively seduce her it was amazing much his body spoke to her; his arms calling for her body to hold, his lips looking for hers to kiss, his torso just begging to be touched by her fingers. Kate had to look away, it was hard to resist Sawyer on a physical level, especially when she was feeling like this, but then she was feeling like this because of Sawyer, and it was oxymorons like this which filled her with doubt and confusion.

"I never thought things would be like this when I was little." She had changed tack fairly abruptly, but she was wistful, and looked straight at Sawyer with a funny little half smile which intrigued him, because it was something new to him. He chuckled as he shook his head, because she was Kate, and there were so many things to learn about her, and every single new thing amazed him, and he stored it in his memory to peruse at a later date.

"What, survive a plane crash only to survive on a not-so deserted island with a bunch of misfits and one sexy Southerner?" He preened a little, smirking as Kate rolled her eyes. They were back to the banter, and he was comfortable again, he was in control. He thought. Oh, how these next few minutes would prove him wrong.

"Something like that," Kate smiled back at him tiredly. "How did we end up here?" Her voice trailed off, and it seemed like she was talking about more than just an ill-fated flight.

"I always thought that things would get better, they'd have to, because what could be worse than whatever shit was happening at the time, right? But what really screws me up, is that this – this is the best I've ever had. You're the best I've ever had."

Sawyer scratched at his day-old stubble as he took in this remark. To be a superlative of any kind, to any one, well that was pretty huge. But like anything with Kate, there always seemed to be a thorn to accompany the roses.

"Why does it screw you up so, Freckles?" It's me, isn't it, he adds silently, his glare conveying everything. If it was Saint Jackass you were in love with, this would be so much easier on you. It scared him how he was just accepting that Kate was in love with him, in love with him the same way he was in love with her, the way he'd never thought he'd be able to love anyone, ever. But her words – is he the best she can do? Is she dismayed that she can't feel what she feels for me for Jack?

"Why does it screw me up? Look at us, Sawyer! If we were any more dysfunctional…" Kate trailed off and blew air through her pursed lips. "We fight every time we talk, we take a perverse pleasure in one-upping the other, every time I try to trust you you have to just – just – just shatter it, and me? All I want is to be close to someone, but as soon as anyone gets near, I run in the opposite direction. What a great team we make, huh?"

She finished her speech through angry tears and she tilted her chin up towards Sawyer in a defiant pose which he matched with one of his own.

"Don't you want to make this work?"

Sawyer looked at her warily, disappointment and disgust weaved in.

"Of course I do," she whispered. "But why does it have to be so hard?"

"Hard? Hard? Freckles, you should know as well as I do, you don't get something for nothing in this world. You think love would be any different? Maybe it is, for other people, but not for us, and you need to accept that. Hell, I accept that I ain't the easiest person in the world to get along with but I'm tryin', you know that. So what's your problem princess? Would you prefer to bury your head in the sand until I go away? Because I'm not going anywhere, and you're going to have to face it sooner or later."

"I am facing it," she shot back abruptly. "I'm here, you're here, we're talking about it. Stop talking shit. Stop making out that this is my fault. You slept with her, remember?"

"I'm sorry," Sawyer said contritely, and he meant it. "I didn't want tomake outthat, or bring Rambina up again. But you have got to stop throwing that damn woman in my face every time we fight, or we're not going to get anywhere. I want you, Kate. I'm not going to mess about with that. But what we have, we got something worth fighting for. Don't you think?"

Kate looked up at his face, so intensely serious and passionate, and she knew that all was lost.

"I haven't had a proper boyfriend in so long," she offered, grinning shyly. "Don't think you're going to get me into your pants straight away either."

Sawyer smiled, a full, toothy, dimpled smile.

"That's what all the ladies say…"

TBC