"Well, look who decided to stay after all."
She's pushed into the room, the door slamming behind her. There is blood all over, ominous and fresh.
And it alarms him, sure, but what he finds more terrifying is the slump in her shoulders, the defeat in her eyes. The unsaid he's already calculated in his mind.
They do not speak for a while. Just standing, a few steps apart, soaked in the silence of the room. No glass in between.
Which is odd and anti-climactic. All this pathos, anticipation reduced to this one moment, leaving them with the dilemma of how to cram the feelings and the explanations into one conversation. "I couldn't leave without you, Jack. He, Sawyer, he's…"
"It's okay, Kate" is the only thing he can offer.
It's because he has nothing left to offer.
----
"They shouldn't be sharing one cell."
"Relax. They're not going anywhere," she says, eyes never leaving the screen.
"Ben…"
The name provokes her and she gets defensive. "Ben is on the operating table, unconscious. When he wakes up, he would be grateful. But not grateful enough to be forgiving."
"Let's give them this."
----
They say it's when you reach rock bottom that things will start looking up. People love ironies like that because they are witty substitutes for things they can't explain.
But there is some comfort in that, perhaps, even courage; to not know, and still carry on.
It is dumb, false security. Others would call it faith.
It is her that closes the gap, reaching for him and wrapping her arms around his torso. He doesn't reciprocate. Instead, he starts to, of all things, cry. And laugh. For no other reason than the fact that he can't think of anything else to say or do.
There is power in helplessness. For there lies honesty, brutal and graceful. You are stripped of everything, your wounds bared in plain sight, and still tender to the touch. But there is no pride, fear, shame, or guilt to cover them up. You come to the conclusion that it is pointless to try.
She, however, has one more fear to shed. "I love you." She breathes into his chest.
"Just so you know."
No pride, fear, shame, guilt.
He can move now, feel the nerves in his fingers, and he envelops her in his embrace, tight and breathless.
When you have been pruned, skinned to your core, only the salient remains: the desire to be.
----
Hours after, they come for them.
They find them sitting on the floor, huddled together at the far corner of the room. It is him that stands up first, stepping immediately into view, while she lingers in the dark.
He seems unnervingly calm.
"He knows what you've done," the woman ventures from the other side of the glass.
"He wants to see you."
He nods.
From the shadows, a hand reaches for his. And she steps, finally, into the light.
"We will."
No pride, fear, shame, guilt.