Still Light Follows the Same Rules I Do
By: AliLamba
Notes: This chapter contains flashbacks. And Arrested Development references. Okay just one but it's now my goal to do more. Also I meant to do more with this chapter, but instead I cut it in half with the feeling that this fic will be longer than I am able to edit myself. Blrgh. I'll do that next chapter. Yeah. Also, what is proper use of tense? I dun haz it. Nor...will I...likely get it back. EES ARTEESTUC, mmk.

CHAPTER FOUR: rise like lions after a slumber in

Kate's brain is crippled with headaches. She won't call them migraines, because there's nothing remotely menstrual or medical about them. But the weight of her life and her surroundings beats upon her head like she's a living game of fucking cricket and she just can't make it stop.

Her mom.

That's one thing she has to consciously subtract from every thought that comes into her mind. She hadn't seen her in almost four years, hadn't lived with her in nearly ten. And while it's easy to avoid reliving the why, its effect seems to imbue all her thoughts with its muddy color.

It took her less than an hour to realize one inalienable truth: she can't go back. It would be suicide.

The first week of this knowledge passes in a blur. She's consumed by doubt and the ridiculous hope that Sam or the U.S. government could change their mind. By Wednesday Claire had the courage to ask if something was wrong. Feeling that it was far too private, Kate shook her off with a smile and turned on the radio.

There was a biology test on Friday. She could at least consume herself with that. For two nights Sam would make his rounds of their house, and pause in the doorway to his daughter's room. Kate was blind to him, and the regretful look etched on his face. She was pored over her textbook, her notes from class, putting pieces together and memorizing the facts she wished were more self-evident in her haze of concentration.

Water polo practices run three times a week, for two hours after school. It would start going up to everyday, with added morning practice once the regular season drew closer. The first game would be in late-November, and even though it doesn't matter Kate still thinks of it like it does.

There were so many nerves alight in Kate's body for the final five minutes of her last class of the week that she couldn't seem to make all her limbs sit still. If she could control her legs from tapping against the linoleum floor she couldn't keep her head from swiveling, surveying the rest of the room.

The test had been crushingly difficult. There were a few questions Kate was making educated guesses at, which was frustrating for someone who had felt so prepared.

Describe plasmid modification?

That had caused a little panic. She could almost recall a small square on a page two chapters ahead of the test material that barely mentioned it.

Her eyes shot to the clock. Ninety-four seconds to go. Ugh. Kate really needed to leave. She needed to sprint to the locker room and rip off her clothes, and swim as hard and fast as she could until every frayed nerve was obliterated.

Sun was also done, but her cool gaze was fixed on the front wall. Kristen was still fanatically scribbling all over the page. Marie looked a little more nonchalant, her head bowed over the test like she was reading the same sentence for the sixth time. And Claire… Kate had to crane her neck a little to make sure…but it looked like Claire's test was completely blank of the girl's writing.

Kate settled back into her seat, a twisted frown across her forehead. Claire, undoubtedly…well, she was someone Kate felt like she needed to protect, or something. There was an impulse she felt towards the petit Australian that she hadn't quiet worked out yet. But there were times, like now, where Kate felt an undeniable pull to do something.

Kristen was practically salivating to say something, after the bell had rung. She completely cornered Kate and Sun after the Asian beauty had strolled to Kate's desk at the back of the room. Kate was still at the stage where she was feigning confidence when it came to looking her friends in the eye. The conversation they'd had barely a week ago was still fresh in her mind, particularly when it came to Kristen, Claire, and Sun.

"Ohmygod, ohmygod, ohmygod," she chanted, hands cradling all the prep material she'd had to shove under her seat two seconds before the test began. "That was – thehardest – test I have taken in my entire life!" The frantic note in her voice clashed with how gravely her eyes were set. Kate fought the urge to laugh, and had to turn away under the pretense of finishing her packing up.

There was no reason she should have caught it. But as her eyes were sweeping around the room, she caught sight of Jack Shephard, and the tiny smirk he was wearing while pushing some papers on his desk. And she had the impression he'd overheard her friend.

But moreover…she'd not yet seen him smile.

Kate tried really hard not to look again. She forced herself not to, as she turned back toward the little group loitering around her desk. Sun was already annoyed with the bubbly brunette. She used Kate's readiness as an excuse to break the current conversation. Kate realized she had missed the last few exchanges.

"What's with you?"

Sun's cool voice filtered through her ears when they were out in the hall, and Kate's head jerked a bit too much in response. "What?" she asked back, trying to feign innocence.

Sun's sculpted eyebrow quirked, as she gave Kate's face a closer look. Kate tried to look dumb, and in a matter of seconds Sun had given up.

"Nevermind."

"Bitches—"

Kate didn't need to turn to know who was speaking. A part of her was already tired of Shannon's favored method of introduction. Honestly. No one said hello anymore?

The blonde was practically bouncing on her heels in her attempt to meet up with them. Jessica was trying desperately to keep her arm entwined with her taller friend's.

"Shannon, you would not believe the test we just had. Ohmygod, hardest of my life!"

"Kristen, I don't give a fuck. Shut up already."

A frown squished Kristen's features together. Kate saw Sun smirk out of the corner of her eye.

"Are you completely excited for tonight? I couldn't even think in Juliet's class. Oh my god you guys this is going to be the best night of our live—"

"Wait. What?"

Shannon had almost reached her breaking point. She was nearly fanatical with enthusiasm, and she kept getting interrupted. "Sorry," Kate tried to temper. "Sorry, but…what's tonight?"

Shannon's blazing eyes cornered Kate, as her eyebrow twitched a little in confusion. "What do you mean, what's tonight."

Kate shrunk back a little, as she realized everyone in the corridor was looking at her.

"Um," she tried. "Um, I mean…what's…tonight." It sounded lame even in Kate's ears.

"Kate," Jessica started, disbelief tainting her tone. "Kate, we've been talking about this party for over a week."

There was a party tonight? Confusion was still clouding Kate's expression.

"Oh my god, she honestly has no idea." Shannon attempted to laugh. "Ohmygod!" she cried. "Kate! It's Halloween!"

That took her a little by surprise. Today was October 31st, day of the test, last day before the month of November. Surely it couldn't be…Halloween…

Oh.

"Oh."

Shannon now did manage to laugh.

"Kate, we've literally been talking about this all week!"

"Yeah," explained Sun. "First Shannon was going to be Barbie, then a boy, then a football player, then a boy football player, then a sexy mouse, then an M&M, and now she's decided to be a pirate."

"We're all being pirates," Shannon amended.

"I still think we should be Spice Girls," Kristen insisted.

"Count us, Kristen," Shannon said, her voice all but patronizing in having to go through this one more time. "There are more than five. Unless you want to be their skeezy manager or something, it's not going to happen."

Kate couldn't remember ever being so anxious to get into a pool. Her mind had started pounding again, clashing with the racetrack pace her mind was thinking in, these whirlwinds of thoughts spinning around and around in her head like marbles thrown into the gutter.

She kept shifting her weight from foot to foot, using her breath to calm her nerves. Her swim cap was too tight. It was too tight. The girls were still in the locker room. Kate dove into the water. She started to swim. She had no idea how many laps she did before she felt a hand at the top of her head.

When you're swimming, you're by yourself. There's no one but you and the water. Feeling another human body is not part of the game plan.

Kate jerked her head up, and her angry eyes stared into the eyes of Jack Shephard. His face was barely a foot away, where he was kneeling at the edge of the pool. His dress shirt was speckled with drops of water that she had made. He was close. She could barely hear him she was panting so hard.

He was looking at her, like he was examining her.

"What?" she asked, almost a whisper, the effort to breathe more prevalent than her demand.

"Calm down."

…Calm down? …Wait, excuse me? What the fuck did he know about calm down! Kate turned to the opposite end of the pool, where her teammates were jumping into the water and starting their own warm up laps.

Kate checked that her cap was still in place. She turned back to Jack, and found him still staring at her. His eyebrows were quirked, like he was trying to hide some genuine concern.

"Just…chill out, okay?"

Kate felt a cool breath go down her throat and expand in her lungs. She pushed lightly off the wall, and started back into a crawl stroke, being careful not to swim over one of her teammates, should they be using the same lane.

She didn't realize for awhile that she could still feel his hand where it had touched her.

Her mind was slowly becoming…normal. Her thoughts weren't racing anywhere, because you know, it would all work out. She could work it out later, as it came. She would. There was nothing to worry about. Focus on the moment. When Jack's whistle called his team into a scrimmage, she actually felt a little bit happy.

"So…" Kate tried, once her and Claire were nestled into Kate's truck. "Pirates, huh."

Claire rolled her eyes in response. It was still a little strange to Kate, to see Claire without her make-up on. Her wet, black hair now looked far too dark against her porcelain skin. She looked even smaller than usual.

"I didn't pack for that."

Claire snorted and looked out the window. Kate quickly resigned herself to the silence, and started the drive.

They rolled to a stop in front of a red light. "You can—" Kate jumped a little in her seat. Claire's voice was completely unexpected to her own thoughts. "You can…come in, if you like. Borrow some of my clothes?"

Kate's tongue was too stunned to move. She was looking directly into Claire's eyes, waiting for the girl to reveal that the thought was a joke, or mocking, or that she hadn't said it in the first place.

The car behind her bleated its horn. Kate jumped again, eyes darting to the green light taunting her from the other end of the intersection. Her truck lurched forward in her hurry to move.

"Uh," Kate said, once they were sort-of moving again. "Yeah, okay."

Claire didn't smile or nod, but released a hmm noise in assent as she turned away again.

"Should I find it strange you have so many blouses?"

Claire was hunched over her computer, and there was so much noise coming out of that small appliance Kate almost thought to repeat herself. But Claire glanced up quickly, her standard response, and then looked back down. Kate bit her lip and leaned back into the walk-in closet.

She felt like she'd already overstayed her welcome. It convinced her eyes to search quicker, and in a matter of seconds she'd settled on a frilly, loose-fitting blouse. She was more than curious as to how Claire acquired it, but she didn't ask. That shirt with jeans, maybe a leather belt and a random scarf tied around her head should be fine. A little uninspired, a little lackluster, but fine.

Kate's headache suddenly came back. She raised her hand to the top half of her face, massaging her temples with her thumb and fingertips. A wince spasmed over her features.

"How did you get this number!"

Kate's hand dropped, as her muscles tensed in shock.

Claire's voice had just shattered through the room.

"If you – ever – call me again. I will call the police!"

Kate's eyes were opened wide in their sockets, and she heard the sound of something thunk onto the carpeted floor. Then she heard Claire's strangled scream of insurmountable frustration.

…This was awkward.

Half of Kate's muscles had now released, but she still felt the tension. She was standing in the middle of a small room full of shelves, a frilly loose-fitting pirate blouse in her hand. Should she…tiptoe out of the room? Pretend she hadn't heard, that she'd been on her cell phone? Her phone was in the truck. Shit. How long was acceptable to wait? A few minutes? Longer? ...Claire had to remember she was in here. But she also had to remember that Kate had just overheard something she wasn't supposed to.

Damn.

Feeling like there was no good option, Kate carefully stepped out of the room. She tried to moderate the tension by lifting up her hands in mock-innocence.

"Don't shoot," she joked, feeling like an idiot the moment the words left her lips.

Claire was pacing on the far side of the bed, hands clutched over her ears.

"Uh…my dad's military, if that helps."

Claire released a mirthless laugh.

"It's fine," she announced, her feet still moving. "Failed stalker. You can go."

The invitation was almost too appealing. Kate couldn't seem to move.

"You have a stalker?"

Claire brought a hand to her lips and savagely started biting at her nails. Kate winced. "Not really. I mean, barely, I mean – fuck I don't know he just wants to fuck me or make me see his band or whatever." Her head and shoulders shook violently. "Fuck I don't know!" Claire stopped in the middle of her room, and wheeled around to confront Kate. "It's none of your bloody business!"

She knew that it was perhaps the last opportunity she'd have to go. And dumb as she might be, Kate couldn't seem to take the hint. She tried to wave down the Aussie's anger, carefully pressing it in mid-air.

"Claire, calm down. If this guy isn't listening to you, then we should call the police. Or at least your parents, or, or Jack?"

Kate blanched. What? Why had that suggestion come out of her mouth? Kate stood momentarily frozen with shock. What did that mean?

"I don't need any of them," Claire snarled, and resumed her pace. "Certainly not my brother."

It felt like her lungs ceased to function all at once. It wasn't as if she wasn't breathing; she couldn't.

That…was something she hadn't been expecting. Images were starting to flash past her consciousness, trying to piece together any picture of them together. That afternoon Claire hadn't come into the hall with the rest of them after the test, but Kate had thought—Kate had thought…nothing. She hadn't thought anything of it. How much of an age difference was that? Why was Claire in his class? Why was she on his team? Were they close? Did they carpool? No—that one was easy. Kate drove Claire home every day, oh wow did he live here? …No, that would be absurd. Jack was in his late twenties, at the very least, and he'd certainly live on his own…somewhere.

Kate tilted her head from where her gaze was boring holes into the floor. Claire's mouth was open, and there were words coming out. She couldn't seem to hear them though, and they came out like blurred hums.

"I," Kate interrupts, "I didn't know that Jack was your brother."

"Half brother. Our fucking father—oh look, I just don't want to talk about it, okay?"

Kate nodded, mutely. Okay.

Kate has been trying to find out what time it is.

"Hey—" she shouts at the next person who sits on her couch. "Hey—" she yells again when it's obvious they're intoxicated. She gives them a hard poke, and blearily they look toward the source of the pain. "What time is it?" she asks, her voice polite, though with a definite hint of I'm about to be not polite.

"Fuck," this person mumbles. "I dunno. Thirteen o'clock." They giggle. "Hey Tony! It's thirteen o'clock!" This person stumbles off the couch toward Tony, giggling harder all the time.

Kate wants to go home. She's had two beers, the required minimum, and now she wants to go home. She's tired.

"Kate!"

She hears her name squealed from across the room. Suddenly two mostly-grown women are upon her, and Kristin's curly brown hair is going up Kate's nose. She's being lifted off the couch.

"Okay," Kristen launches into the explanation before Kate has time to muster a question. "Okay, we've set it all up for you guys, and we've let everyone know not to hang around outside the door. We tried to get someone to bodyguard it, but the only volunteers were all gross about it."

"Yeah but we've definitely guaranteed you twenty minutes. Maybe fifteen. At least ten. That should be enough, right?" Marie looks skeptic.

"Right. So like. Just do whatever you wanted to do," Kristen's grin here is now so scheming, it's making speech difficult, "and tell us about it all tomorrow!"

"Wait, but I—"

Kate is thrown through a door, and the door is slammed behind her.

There is a moment where she's not sure what's happening. Then she hears music. Like…music with saxophone. She blanches, annoyed. What?

She notices the lighting is all by candlelight. So she turns around, and sees a guy sprawled across the bed in his boxers.

Kate stumbles back into the door.

"Uh," she manages to stammer. "I think there's been some sort of mistake."

"No mistake, darlin," he croons, and his accent is Southern. "Just thought we could get to know each other better."

"You know," Kate can't help but joke, "I feel like I'm getting a pretty good impression right now."

"Ohh," he whispers, "but I haven't even begun to impress you…yet."

He sits upright a little too quickly, and deftly leaps off the bed. Kate starts to panic.

"Look I have no idea who you are, buddy, but you had better stay the fuck—"

"Kate," he whispers again. He's framing her position on the door – arm resting slightly above her head, body leaning over her – and she's growing slowly more annoyed.

"I'm Sawyer."

And something flashes through Kate's mind.

She's been in this situation before.

Fourteen years old. All arms and legs. She's standing in front of someone's bed knowing she's expected to join the person already in it. But she doesn't want to. She's scared. But her teammates are right outside the door, and she wouldn't be able to face them again if she didn't. So she starts to cry. And then the girls from her swim team do come in, the guy in the bed yells something crude, and Kate feels worse than she's ever felt in her life.

So Kate glares up at this 'Sawyer', full of hatred.

"Fuck that," she spits, and then rips the door open by the handle. Sawyer trips over his own feet from the force of it all, but Kate spins out of the room before she gets the vindication of seeing him fall. Her feet dance down the stairs, and she grabs her bag on the way out. Somebody poured alcohol into it.

Kate suppresses a scream of rage on the stoop right outside the front door.

"That bad, eh?"

Her eyes open. At the bottom of the porch stairs is a small man with cropped, reddish hair. He's got a star painted over one eye, and tight, flared, purple sequin pants on.

Kate can't help it. She smiles. She starts to laugh. She starts to really laugh. She's laughing so hard that she sinks to the top step, clutching her stomach, the laughter spewing out of her mouth uncontrollably, like she's watching someone that's not her, some crazy person, laugh instead. There's a small man with purple pants on and she's forcing her body to laugh.

"Ohh, it is that bad."

The voice is closer now, and Kate comes back into herself to see that this short man is holding her in a loose sort of hug. He's trying to comfort her. She looks up at him.

"Maybe I should bugger off then. Get a hot dog instead. Do some homework. Tuck in early and watch Saturday morning cartoons."

"Are you…Prince?"

This man blanches. "What? No!" he pulls back, to look at himself. "No, I'm David Bowie!" He's a little perturbed by her guess, so he stands up and takes a step backwards, looking at his costume all over again. "Prince? Ah bloody hell I'm going to get that all night, Prince. No! But I've got the…the lightning, and the…"

He looks up at her, and there is serious concern on his face. "It's because I'm short, isn't it."

And Kate can't help it. She laughs again. He just looked so little boy in that moment. She stops when she sees he's still nervous.

"No," she tries. "No, no, you're very…Ziggy Stardust. I'm sorry. I don't know how I made that mistake. The lightning really makes it."

They're somewhere in the Mission district and both hungry, so it doesn't take much to convince themselves that tacos from the first street vendor they come across is an excellent idea. They sit on the curb by a fire hydrant while they eat, and Kate quickly learns that Charlie is not only British, and hilarious, but he has a flask hidden inside his tight purple pants and he's a much better drinking partner.

"So…why'd you get kicked out then?"

Kate is so surprised that her confused laugh turns into a confused choke on her sip of tequila.

"What?" she asks.

"What?" he mimics, and his way of saying it makes her laugh all over again. They giggle until it's time to stop, and Kate hands back the flask while shaking her head.

"Okay…no more tequila. And you mind telling me why you were kicked out?"

Charlie sighs, a big, clownish sigh. "Ohh…because I'm in love."

A couple dressed as Bert and Ernie walked past just in time to see Kate fall over from giggling so hard. While Kate was trying to recover herself, a gorilla gave Charlie's costume a thumb's up which Charlie returned with a finger gun.

"Charlie," Kate starts, her laughter soothed.

"Kate," he returns, making a laugh spurt from Kate's throat before she can control herself.

"I asked you a question."

"And it's got," he pauses, letting the dip in his tone carry the sentence into deeper meaning, "a complicated answer."

Kate laughs again. "Ann-surr," she mimics.

"Oh bollocks," he says as he looks at her fondly. "You're going to be a handful."

She's really starting to get tired of this.

As Kate feels herself swimming out of oblivion and into a more conscious state of mind, her first thoughts are not necessarily about the strange bed she's sleeping in, mostly because her mind dully realizes that she's still wearing a ridiculously ruffled shirt and a uncomfortably warm pair of jeans. A soft roll of her neck lets her know that she slept on it funny, and one of her muscles is painfully taught.

She groans as the rest of her body chips in on this misery. Whatever the contents of her stomach, they're swishing around uncomfortably, and the (however little) available light is stinging her eyes.

"Mornin' sunshine!"

A small man she recognizes as Charlie bursts through the closed door, a guitar slung around his neck. He's plucking at the strings almost absently, as if half-distracted, and he gets a face full of the pillow Kate throws in his direction.

"Oi! 'Was bein' nice!" He thinks better of it. "Oh, bugger that." And he throws it back.

Kate groans in misery as it hits her.

"Where are we…" she moans, her hair over her face, most of it tangled.

"Me mum 'n dad's, dummy," he says, back to playing the guitar. It's an electric that's not plugged in, so instead of a melody there's a ting-ting-ting to his song in various decibels. It still makes her head throb.

When Charlie doesn't leave, and it becomes obvious that he's focused more on his playing than interacting with her, Kate lifts herself from the bed and sits up. "I gotta go home," she mumbles.

Charlie nods in tempo with his tune. As an afterthought he throws in: "'Cn stay for breakfast if you like."

Kate sighs and considers this until her stomach gives another uncomfortable churn. "Nah, but thanks Charlie." She considers when she'd likely see him again. "Thanks for everything."

"Suit yourself," he wonders aloud, and on some impulse takes himself from the room.

After he leaves, Kate scans the room for her stuff. In a little pile by the bed are her jacket, wallet, cell phone and car keys, which makes her remember that her car is still parked at Claire's building, and could predictably lead to an awkward conversation. "Great," she mutters to herself, rubbing the heel of her hand against her temple. She pulls her stuff together and is about to get up to leave when she hears a crash coming from outside.

"—the fuck? – AARON!"

Without really considering the consequences, Kate lunges for the door and flings it open. On the ground right in front of her is Charlie, his guitar sticking out at an uncomfortable angle, and the sounds of shrieking laughter tearing down the hall.

Kate has a vertigo moment as she realizes what kind of home she's looking at. The walls are a flawless cream color, with bright white crown molding. On the walls are paintings – real, actual, oils on canvas – in the sorts of frames you see in art galleries, not residential hallways.

"Don't just stand there!" a voice cries from below her, and Kate's attention is drawn to the person on the floor and the plush carpet beneath him. "Go get 'im!"

Kate sets off with trepidation in her steps. She starts to jog, thinks better of it, throws a confused glance over her shoulder, and keeps going at a slightly slower pace.

"Hello?" she calls, not entirely sure what she's looking for. She glances inside the few doors along the hall that are open, seeing marble countertops with pristine sinks, glossy wooden desks, and a racecar bed. At the end of the hall she finds the kitchen, and is unsurprised and a little mollified to realize it's more of the same.

Until she sees a small child standing on top of the kitchen island.

The surprise of it makes her stop dead in her tracks. Then she realizes that there are wheels on the bottom of the small platform, and that the whole thing is shuddering under this little boy's weight. He's jumping on it like it's an unforgiving ottoman, and each time his toes land on the wooden tabletop the whole thing edges in a different direction.

"Aaron?" Kate tests, nervousness crawling up her throat. The little boy stops jumping, surprised by the voice he doesn't recognize.

"Who're you," he demands, his accent American.

"I'm Kate," Kate says, taking a cautious step in the boy's direction. He's probably no more than five, and Kate's starting to realize how easily Aaron could hit something on his tumble down. "Whatcha got there?"

The boy looks down at his uncurled fist. There's a piece of yellow plastic in it.

"Mine now," he asserts, before glaring up at Kate. "Mine!" He starts jumping up and down again, and that's what does it – in a split second she sees the look of bewilderment on the boy's face as the table goes out from under him, gravity tugging him down to where he'll surely land with a sickening crunch. Kate doesn't have time to think about it; she lunges at him, grabbing his flailing limbs in her arms before they both hit the ground. All the air in her lungs leave at once as Aaron's weight crashes into her chest, and it's a ragged, painful breath that brings it all back in.

"No! No, no, no!" she is suddenly able to hear. Kate looks up to see not only Aaron, but now Charlie, and it's the older boy who's scratching at the younger, trying to pry open this little boy's arms and then his fists. Without thinking, Kate wrests Aaron away and shields him with half of her body.

"Charlie, what the hell is going on!" she grates out, furious now from her confusion.

"He—stole—my—bloody—pick!"

This whole thing is about a guitar pick?

She looks back at Aaron, eyes wide now. The little boy is crying, and it makes Kate immediately soften. There's a moment where everyone tries to catch their breath. Charlie leans back on his ankles, Kate stares at Aaron with increasing sympathy, and the young boy continues to cry.

"Aaron, I'll buy that pick from you," she offers. The little boy heaves a great big sniff and rubs his first over his nose.

"It costs a million dollars," he pouts. Kate mentally rolls her eyes. "Well, Aaron, I have that, but only in…" she flounders. "Only in magical money. Do you accept magical money?"

The poor boy nods his head and sniffs a great wet sniff again.

Kate tries to make a show of reaching into her pocket for this money, but it's difficult when they're both at such an awkward angle on the kitchen floor. Kate has a fleeting thought: where are these guys' parents?

"There you go, Aaron." She deposits an invisible wad of money in the boy's waiting hand. Aaron looks at it for a second, and then looks up at Kate. She sees him struggling not to smile.

"No, that's only…a hundred dollars."

Kate sighs a cartoonish sigh. "Well, guess I'm gonna have to owe you then."

Aaron grins as if he likes the idea of someone owing him money, and he forks over the guitar pick. Kate immediately hands it back to Charlie, who is obviously still annoyed.

"Got that from bloody Jonny Greenwood…" he mumbles, pocketing the treasure. Kate gives him a shriveling look as Aaron climbs off of her and runs down the hall.

"Little brother?" Kate sighs.

"Little stinker, more like it." He misses the way Kate's looking at him. "Little asshole, is better. Little—"

"Okay. Okay." Kate dips her head and tries to block him out with her hands. "I get it." She looks to the clock on the wall. Ugh. "Charlie, I gotta go." He seems like he wants to protest as they both stand up. "Aren't your parents around?"

Charlie rubs the back of his head. "Nah, it's club day." When it's obvious Kate doesn't understand he explains: "The club, you know. Country club, or something. I dunno it's some place in Marin or whatever. Every Saturday – can you believe it? 'ts the only day of the week my band can get together and instead I'm stuck babysittin—" he struggles for an appropriate name—"turnip head!"

Kate grins beside herself.

"Yeah, well, the kid obviously likes you." She looks again at the clock on the wall. She really should be getting home.

As she walks past the doorman and into the garage, Kate misses the man sitting on the smoker's bench by the front door. He's only using the spot as a place to collect his thoughts, yes, but is just as surprised to see her at this particular apartment building as Kate would have been to see him. Maybe he would have tried to call her attention (most likely not), if it weren't for the rather awkward and frustrating conversation he's just had with his half-sister, after picking her up half-way across the city and bringing her home.

But any thought of pretending he'd imagined seeing someone else instead of Kate leaves his mind when he sees her pull out of the underground garage in her old pick-up truck, still oblivious to him as she checks the street for traffic. For some reason he keeps staring at her face as she pulls her car into the nearest lane and drives right past him.

Jack easily remembers the first time he saw her.

Why did they always seem to be getting more attractive? he'd thought. Younger, and more attractive?

The thoughts that had followed were sick, and he tried not to give himself an excuse while he berated his brain yet again.

Sitting on the bench and feeling more alone than he had in awhile, the last time he'd gone on a date came to mind. Though his face was stoic to all passersby, his mind was taunting him with images of Juliet's hopeful, confused, then crushed eyes. The awkward way he'd tried to kiss her because she wanted to kiss.

"I need you to stay a moment," he says, and watches the new girl walk towards him. It didn't escape his notice that she spent the last half of class reading the textbook. The girl was clearly out of her league.

This is the same speech he'd given to Jessica Stone a few months ago. At least she was a good waterpolo player. He noticed this one wasn't moving, but distractedly looking towards the other students as they filed (slowly) out the door.

"Kate—" and the skin at the back of his neck crawls because he's always been uncomfortable calling his students by their first names and he has no idea why he has used hers now—"can you come over here please?"

"Is something…wrong?" she asks, and again he's struck with all the reasons to get a new job. It's disgusting, this instinctual surge of thoughts that come into his mind, and it must be fueled by how long it's been since he's been laid. This is not a time to think about that.

"I'm sure you're aware of the…nature, of my reputation here."

This is where the last few girls had dropped the pretense of being confused and started looking guilty. He wasn't necessarily surprised that she was more difficult to read, however.

"Look," he says, and he drops his voice. "I know that certain girls…well, they manage to get into this class under false pretenses." He's searching for the recognition that will surely come. He's been overhearing the same chatter from the students for the entire two and a half years he's been there, and by now he knows exactly what the students think of him. He knows that despite popular reputation, 17-year-old girls are not entirely less hormonal than their male counterparts. He's also able to accept that he's somewhat attractive to women, and that his students generally come from an upbringing where 'no' simply means 'try harder,' and boundaries are always negotiable. He's tired of it.

"I just want you to know that I won't be lenient. You got yourself into this class, and there will be no hand holding. I expect you to do all your work from this point out, and I'm not shy of flunking students just because they didn't realize what they were getting into."

Finally, he sees a change of expression. He can only define that she is no longer confused.

"Sir, I really wa—"

"Hey," he cut her off. "I really don't need to hear it. You just need to know how this class operates. If you don't think you can handle it, you have about a week to find something else."

He finally feels like he understands where she's coming from, and he's somewhat relieved to realize he can treat her the same as he could anyone else. Her annoyed expression is one he's seen before.

"I understand," she says.

He's thankful for that. He's thankful that he doesn't have to explain anymore. He turns toward his computer, and starts looking for something to do, giving her space to leave.

"Uhm…Mr. Shephard?"

He can't say he was expecting her to retaliate again. But he was firm the first time – what sort of questions could she have?

"I was wondering when the next tryout was, for the water polo team."

This is another question he's been asked before. She is not the first girl who has, failing to qualify for his science class, tried to make it onto the waterpolo team he's been coaching for the past few years. What's bugging him is a gnawing suspicion that for the first time since he's had this conversation with a student, this girl has honest intentions.