One Thing
by She's a Star
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine, sadly. Not even the polar bear.
Author's Note: Another Kate/Sawyer, because I've come to realize that I really cannot resist these two. :-)
"One thing you miss," he commands, approaching her so quietly that it seems he's just there all of a sudden (to her from nowhere). Which gives it more consideration and romanticism than it deserves. Really, it's nothing more than the fact that she'd been distracted by the waves.
"What?"
"You heard me, Freckles," he says, and she doesn't bother to turn because she can hear the smile in his voice. "One thing."
"You first," she requests. The beach seems empty and dimmed by the moonlight. It strikes her as a strangely intimate setting; she works to ignore this.
"Cigarettes," he responds; decisive, immediate.
"Dancing," she returns, playing fair.
She feels him shift beside her and turns so she can see him. He likes her answer. As he laughs a little to himself and catches her gaze, mocking almost gently, it almost seems like they are the only two people on the island. 'In the world' suggests things, takes this farther than it should go. If it should go anywhere, and she almost thinks it should, sometimes.
"Well, well, darlin'," he says. It's strange because at night his accent is smooth instead of jarring. Or maybe it's just that he's almost whispering, even though there's no reason to. No one around to wake up. "That's downright romantic of you."
"You know me," she replies, and keeps her tone flat and expressionless, doesn't lower her voice on purpose. It seems to swallow everything; the quiet, the night, the sound of the waves.
"Do I." She can't decide if it's a question.
"Tell me," he continues, "when, exactly, did you have time for dancin' back in the real world?"
She smiles slightly.
"Well?" he prompts.
"A girl's gotta have a few secrets," she informs him, coy.
"And you're just a big goddamn ball of mystery, aren't ya?" he returns, and feigns frustration.
"Curious?"
"Bored."
"You really know how to flatter a woman."
"I wasn't aware I was tryin' to."
It shakes her sometimes, how well she can remember certain things; thirteen and making smoothies in her best friend's kitchen; Patsy Cline on the radio; "you wanna dance, Katie?"; thinking that maybe this was perfect. ('I'll be so alone without you; maybe you'll be lonesome too, and blue.')
"Brings back memories," she offers finally. The words are quiet and delicate, breakable next to the way the waves crash. "That's all."
He accepts this easily. It surprises her a little.
It's quiet for a minute, but the quiet holds a lightness and she's getting more and more used to finding something like comfort in him. She likes to think that this is because he's predictable; however strange or hellish things might get here, he will always be there with just the right tasteless, insensitive thing to say. She's known guys like him and they don't change.
It's nearly a full moon. She suspects she might be lying to herself.
"Dance with me?"
His voice is smooth, and quiet. She almost doesn't hear it at first, then has to take a minute to decide whether she's imagined it or not. He makes a move to take her hand, but decides against it, maybe; their fingers brush for a second.
"Are you serious?" she asks, almost without realizing.
He takes it the way she hadn't meant it.
"Nah," he decides after a moment's pause, a smile lighting his face but ignoring his eyes.
For a second she's overcome with the compulsion to argue with this. But there's something in the way he's smiling, and the sea rolling gently, nearly catching their feet, and even though everything seems so empty there are people all around, really. She likes to imagine herself into solitude sometimes, that's all. (And he likes to intrude.) It doesn't change what's real.
"Okay," she says instead.
She waits for him to walk away. He doesn't, so neither does she.