outlaws (Kate/Sawyer)
Jan. 3rd, 2007 11:50 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dollsomeWrote this last summer, and somehow managed to forget about it. Gasp! So, here ya go.
Title: outlaws
Pairing: Kate/Sawyer
Spoilers: Set during Pilot Part 2
Word Count: 356
Kate doesn’t know how to hold a gun.
It sickens her to do it, too; to feel it in her hands. There is no rush, no subtle transformation, little girl lost to deathly femme fatale in two seconds flat. She’s never done this before, never pointed a gun at someone. She’s never even considered pulling a trigger, and couldn’t even if she wanted to.
(She’s a good little actress, by necessity.)
No one thinks to question this, either. Not the blonde, who is too busy playing the damsel in distress to feel threatened by the presence of another woman (who she would no doubt classify as a non-threat right away; freckles aren’t charming unless you’re ten, and her shoulders are too broad anyway); her brother dotes obediently, and doesn’t seem to have his mind on much else; she won Charlie over with her nonexistent friend’s adoration for a band that has always annoyed the hell out of her; she and Sayid are already partners in this.
But then there’s the last one – the cowboy, she wants to dismissively label him and be done with it. But there’s something in his eyes, an instant recognition. He sees right through her, and it twists her stomach to realize it.
He’s cocky, disgustingly self-assured: he pulls her close and murmurs his words like they’re already lovers, like he’s stripped her down to her soul in his head and there’s nothing she can do to change it. He’s been with girls like her, and she believes him, too, as she looks into his eyes and feels his rough sure hand against her skin. He smells like cologne and cigarettes and sweat, drawing up all her old ghosts in one man. After Jack, she can’t help thinking she’s haunted on purpose, all her sins made flesh right before her eyes. It reminds her of high school English, Shakespeare, out damned spot but she’s not exactly the type who deserves any mercy.
‘No girl’s exactly like me,’ she says, her heart pounding. He smirks as she pulls away, and she decides that no matter what, she’ll avoid this one like hell.
Title: outlaws
Pairing: Kate/Sawyer
Spoilers: Set during Pilot Part 2
Word Count: 356
Kate doesn’t know how to hold a gun.
It sickens her to do it, too; to feel it in her hands. There is no rush, no subtle transformation, little girl lost to deathly femme fatale in two seconds flat. She’s never done this before, never pointed a gun at someone. She’s never even considered pulling a trigger, and couldn’t even if she wanted to.
(She’s a good little actress, by necessity.)
No one thinks to question this, either. Not the blonde, who is too busy playing the damsel in distress to feel threatened by the presence of another woman (who she would no doubt classify as a non-threat right away; freckles aren’t charming unless you’re ten, and her shoulders are too broad anyway); her brother dotes obediently, and doesn’t seem to have his mind on much else; she won Charlie over with her nonexistent friend’s adoration for a band that has always annoyed the hell out of her; she and Sayid are already partners in this.
But then there’s the last one – the cowboy, she wants to dismissively label him and be done with it. But there’s something in his eyes, an instant recognition. He sees right through her, and it twists her stomach to realize it.
He’s cocky, disgustingly self-assured: he pulls her close and murmurs his words like they’re already lovers, like he’s stripped her down to her soul in his head and there’s nothing she can do to change it. He’s been with girls like her, and she believes him, too, as she looks into his eyes and feels his rough sure hand against her skin. He smells like cologne and cigarettes and sweat, drawing up all her old ghosts in one man. After Jack, she can’t help thinking she’s haunted on purpose, all her sins made flesh right before her eyes. It reminds her of high school English, Shakespeare, out damned spot but she’s not exactly the type who deserves any mercy.
‘No girl’s exactly like me,’ she says, her heart pounding. He smirks as she pulls away, and she decides that no matter what, she’ll avoid this one like hell.
