Just another load of wallowing in my own lowbrow infatuation with Miles. And romance is in the air, (in honour of the upcoming Valentines') though horribly lopsided...
If nothing of this makes sense, well it's because it just doesn't…
Butterflies and confetti
"It is dangerous to be sincere unless you are also stupid."
- George Bernard Shaw (1856 - 1950), Man and Superman (1903) "Maxims for Revolutionists" -
He sulks in a corner. Everyone else is having the freaking time of their lives. Drinking it up and making out like spider monkeys. Juliet has clearly gone off the deep end, draped like a sack of potatoes across LaFleur, hands snuck in where they shouldn't be. Not in public at any rate. He liked them better when they were fighting.
Hugo slaps him on the back in passing. Oh great. Another fucking pep talk.
"Dude you gotta' tell her! Tomorrow everyone might be leaving on the sub or she might stay and maybe you'll never ever see her again. Tell her! Tell her how you feel – she won't laugh."
Bada-bing. Very funny!
"Yeah – and how the fuck do you know that!?"
Hugo rolls his eyes at him and just turns around on his heels. Lara with baby Miles waiting for him. He has got his on dry land already. Lucky bastard.
"Just do it buddy!" he shouts over the music and the sound of LaFleur's and Juliet's seriously gross moaning and oh-and-ah-ing.
Man, the big guy's grown a cruel streak. And the 'dudes' and 'buddys' in every damn sentence is getting frigging old.
There is no way in hell he can ever tell her.
He ends up standing on the doorsteps chain-smoking. Feeling smug, having snitched the package from LaFleur's back-pocket in an unguarded moment, after hustling Juliet's groping hands away.
And suddenly she's there, nursing a mug of…grappa?
Cute as a button.
The hair like a tangled curtain falling down around her grubby face. He can just about make out the tip of her nose when she stands like this, in profile. And he wonders if she's sad. About the golden couple pawing each other there inside. Is she still holding on to some kind of hope for him?
But even if she does - she's here. Next to him. Pariah of the Dharma Initiative. And he likes to think that she came looking for him. She casts a quick nervous glance at him, a little shy smile that looks out of place. Considering that just earlier today she'd ripped his frigging underwear off – it seems a tad obsolete to play coy.
His spirits soar though. The alcohol inside his belly giving him courage to talk. And the thought of grappa sloshing around in her – well, it helps.
"So – this was fun huh?" he says trying to avoid fidgeting too much. He fumbles awkwardly with the ciggie, almost dropping it inside his own open-necked overall.
"Awesome." Kate breathes like she really means it. Her arm brushes by him, and his skin feels like someone's poured acid on it.
Be cool Miles. Don't blow it.
She lifts her face up towards the brilliant night sky above them, deep Indian blues and purples, the stars like something off a film-set. He looks at her, takes pleasure in watching her profile, thinking she might not notice in the darkness. Ha! He has kissed those lips, he thinks. At least something good has come out of the last few day's of living hell.
"What part?" He wills her to say; the standing here with you! To say; I love you Miles!
"This. It's just awesome! " She makes an expansive gesture with her entire arm almost knocking him across the face with her elbow. "Everything."
Good enough for him. Though a 'You're hot Miles' would have sufficed too.
And then she turns to smile at him, a naughty little smile that has his pulse accelerating, revving itself up. The nose wrinkled like a fucking rabbit, and those teeth, slightly too large. LaFleur is a big fat idiot – but what's new? He'd never in a million years jump off a frigging helicopter for her. He'd clamber on to her like a psychotic leech if he'd have half the chance. If she'd felt like that about him.
But this… She is clearly into him right? All the blinking, whirling red neon arrows are pointing in that direction right? The thought just fills him with a galloping panic. He has to concentrate to do the breathe-in-breathe-out thing. How fucking difficult should it be?
Just cool it Miles. Cool it.
She takes a large swig from her mug, so large that the swallowing sound echoes off the cement steps.
"So it looks like little Miles will end up in good hands huh…" Her voice soft in the humid night air.
It about shuts down his entire system. He can feel the blood flow just coming to a grinding halt. Maybe a few drops of blood trickle by but it's just about enough to keep him standing up. Shit, she is a wicked little thing! All innocent freckles and round flush cheeks.
'In good hands indeed!' What the fuck is she up to now? Is she about to have another go at manhandling the little Miles minus underwear. Little commando-Miles now. – That damn traitor.
He is so freaked out he drops a big piece of smouldering ash on his chest and has to jump around to flick it off before it burns a hole through his non existing chest hair. Oh fricking hell.
No.
She's talking about baby Miles. Yep. Of course. Who the heck cares about the other 'little Miles'?
"Yeah – he'll have a decent chance with Hugo." he says blowing the last remains of ashes off his chest, trying to at least act half cool.. "And a weight problem for sure."
They are quiet for a while, Kate peering at him as she lifts the mug to her mouth again. That's right – drink girl, drink yourself senseless! Tomorrow you might remember me as vaguely hip and intriguing in spite of all this. And Miles hopes they are not both picturing a Miles with Hugo's impressive bulk.
"So, not gay then huh?" Her eyes like headlights above her grappa mug, the upturned edges of her mouth visible on the sides of it, the spitting image of Batman's nemesis.
Tell her!
The damn ghost of Hugo in his bloody head. Teeeeell heeeer. Tell her!
"Just a little." he counters. And she snickers at this, turning up her nose to him.
"Tst.…don't get cute with me Miles." Poking her tongue at him. Pink between big funny teeth. "I didn't buy this whole gay thing for a second anyway."'
"Well you did long enough to punch my damn intestines out of me!"
"Yeah – sorry about that," she says half shamefaced, half as if she still thinks he'd deserved it. And then frustrated, almost pissy, throwing her arm out, the last of her grappa splattering on his uniform and the steps ." Come on Miles, do you like me or not?!"
Miles prods the tip of his shoe in the ground, shrugging like a shy five year old.
And he can't remember a time when he didn't love her. Had there ever been such a time? It seems improbable now. He's loved her since she conned him out of that shack to blackmail Ben.
"Meh... – You're ok I guess…." (You are fucking gorgeous! I love you! Love you!!)
"So what's the deal with Sawyer? What's he got to do with this?"
He gulps down a large mouthful of air. Oh, so this is how she will play it. Straight on. No bullshit. And it's now or never. Hugo's curly headed advice twirling around in his mind, making little taunting pirouettes: tell her!
Tell her! Tellhertellhertellher!
He places his hand across his eyes. Shit, he can't look at her while saying this. He sits down on the steps and she slips down right next to him, sleeve against sleeve, shoulder against shoulder, a little bare patch of skin against skin. The cells on his arm standing up in a big horny love parade screaming off the top of their heads: I love you!
Mmmmm. He could just dive into her. She smells like earth and dirt and fresh air. She is like freaking jungle candy. But fucking enough with the dreaming for Pete's sake! He's got to do this now. Last chance and all that. Hugo is right, annoying love-guru or not, he's got to tell her!
But first he's got to wade through thigh deep in the shitty backwaters of Sawyer. And if possible make her understand what enormous pressures are mounted against them ever getting beyond a chaste little peck on the cheek.
He shoots up, managing to throw over her grappa mug in the sudden movement. His fingers tremble as he shakes out another smoke and he almost puts fire to his own eyebrow as he struggles with the big metal Zippo (haha, LaFleur's too). Standing up as well, she snatches the lit cigarette out of his hand, inhales quickly while staring at him so intensely he worries she might go cross eyed. God she's gorgeous.
Ok. Here we go.
"It's the whole….this.. It's Sawyer and you and Jack and you and Lara and you and anyone you've ever kissed but mostly and mostly it's just you and that fucking LaFleur! Hell, I don't think I can face it," he whines, tossing his dirty, dirty hair back. Realizing only too late that this is an exact imitation of LaFleur's annoying hair jostling thingy.
She sucks in air through the cigarette filter. Face like Chernobyl at the brink of melt-down. She looks fucking toxic and he wonders briefly what direction to run in. He bets she will catch up easily. Tackle him to the ground and give him a good beating for being such a wimp in the first place.
And the pissyness full-blown now. She's not having any of this crap. She turns to face him straight on – puffing out a little cloud of smoke before she shoves the cigarette back between his fingers. It makes him cough but it's not the smoke – it's her. Too close - he wants to scream. - It's not….
"Well you better figure it out Miles... " She moves her face closer, her breath on his skin., a mixture of grappa and tobacco and … Oh crap. No. And he could either kiss her or run screeching from there.
He takes the middle way.
"Pssst!" Stumbling backwards, down the steps he makes a crucifix by crossing his index-fingers and the remains of the cigarette, holding them up against her. Trying to ward her off. He has no idea what the heck he's doing. Seemed a good idea for a second. But as she stands in front of him, menacing, with her hands on her hips and murder in her eyes he reconsiders this.
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?!" Very Juliet-like ice queen style – and he finds it a downright turn on. "What is wrong with you Miles?!"
Yes. What is wrong with him? He blames it on Chang. On LaFleur. Phil even.
"Explain!" she demands with a quiet restrained voice that rhymes badly with the missile launch pad stance of her entire body. Not worth risking another gall-crushing blow to his vital organs.
"Well…." He says, looking up at her from beneath modest eyelashes. "Hell, this is embarrassing…"
"Yep." She nods. He is a fucking disgrace – and he knows it. Hottest frigging chick on the island. And she is here. For some unfathomable reason – seemingly quite eager to get it on – with him. So he just lets it out:
"Ain't no man willing to go where Jim flipping LaFleur's been!!"
His voice shriller than he'd have liked. Fingers shaking like he's on crack as he brings them up to his temples. Eyes pinched shut. Hard. Argh. Just thinking of it makes his head burst.
And he is forced to wedge his eyes open when she pushes him backwards, little harsh shoves with both of her hands on his chest. Uhu. It will come to blows again. He is sure of it. The colour of her face, red – drunken anger.
"Oh really Miles!? That's your big problem!? LaFleur!? And what about Sawyer - what's the big deal? You even talk like him! Ain't, ain't – what the hell is that Miles?!"
"Yeah. Yeah! So you see what I mean!?"
He catches on to her wrists in an attempt to stop the fricking shoving.
"So – you're scared of what exactly? The comparison?.. That I'll compare the two of you? That's what that was all about today after the bear dart?"
Yes – yes. That's it exactly.
"No but…You guys have a history, it's just. Hard… And the bear sedative, I swear, it did something to my vitals… That, that's never happened before."
Her turn to be quiet now. She glances down at her scruffy boots, the mud-stained overall legs. And then suddenly she looks back up at him, sly grin that has him shivering. Eyes slightly out of focus. Grappa clearly working its magic.
"Miles…." A voice like sugar and honey. It makes his knees go week and he'd like to swoon there and then, fall into her embrace. Though knowing her she'd probably just wrestle him to the ground and have her naughty way with him.
He suddenly wants romance, rose petals and little birds chirping in the trees. Poetry and a symphony of violins in the background. Her in a flowing white gown – and shit.
What the fuck is wrong with him!? What the hell has she done to him?!!
"Uhu….yeah?"
He won't let go of her wrists. Won't risk it. She is crazy. And he is a romantic. And impotent - for sure.
"You know what they say - about how you get over your fears?...."
"You avoid them….?" he says meekly – picturing her with flowers in her hair, minus mud and grime. Fireflies, butterflies and confetti. Fairies dressed in spun cotton candy…
"No you big dope! You've got to face them. Right on!" That vertical line between her eyes when she is aggravated. Adorable.
"Oh yeah?....You mean…like what?.. Like how would I do that?"
This is when she slides in, glides right in between his arms and he can't stop her. For all his fears and paranoia, he can't stop this.
"You know Miles. You know what to do…."
Shit. How did he end up here? Like finding yourself suddenly on the top of some steep cliff. Too scared to climb down. He's put bolt after bolt in without even thinking and now he suddenly finds himself almost at the peak, faint, light-headed, trembling and giddy. Not daring to look down and too petrified to climb the last stretch. Wondering what the fuck he was thinking.
He doesn't know where he gets the cojones to do it. Mostly he just fakes it.. runs with it, and frankly ends up getting a little bit carried away.
"Ok, you might have a point Kate! Hell yeah. We'll do this shit! Let's erase the memory of that miserable son of a bitch tonight! We'll get it on in the bear cage, jump out of helicopters, shack up with the 'Others', have hot sandy tent sex – the whole shebang!" At the end of this outlandish declaration, he finds himself dizzily grabbing onto her ass through the mucky overalls, pressing her against him. Like a real man would have done.
If she's at all surprised by this sudden show of some normal red-blooded brawniness – she sure doesn't show it. She quips a simple 'ok' and grabs him by the hand.
Though secretly, his mind flutters off to pink skies and vanilla scented girl stuff. Unicorns, wedding bells and oh hell….
If this is love – it is fucking emasculating.
.
.
So it looks like romance is on for Miles after all - maybe - as long as Sawyer and company can stay out of his way for two minutes.
Oh, and season 6 premiere, the hotness is just all-consuming (and very inappropriate, I realize that), Miles all sad with his ear on that grave. I was a little bothered by the traipsing along to temples and stuff though – far too little screen time for what really matters (Miles, Miles, Miles).