sorrydontsuitme | March 1, 2074

March 1, 2074

Now how the hell does a cassette tape get in the middle of his damn magazines? He was just readin' 'em a minute ago and turned to look out the window 'cause that bird used to ride around on Vicious's shoulder flew by, and when he looks back, there's a dingy old cassette there. He picks it up, looks at the label on the side.

Kate and Tom 1989.

"Well, I'll be." He only knows one Kate, but he's pretty damn sure she didn't bring this thing in with her last time she was here, or the time before. Come to think on it, he ain't never seen it on the island neither, not that he's seen everything. Just most of it.

Maybe it ain't hers. He knows it ain't his. There's one way to find out: he picks up the phone and calls the operator. "I need a cassette player."

Whatever automated system it is puts him on hold, so he waits. And waits, and waits, until finally he gets disconnected. So he calls again: I need a damn cassette player. This time an automated voice comes back. No such item exists in inventory.

Son of a bitch. Of course it's old technology now. Plan B. Back to the phone, he calls his (Freckles') room. If she ain't still avoidin' him, maybe she'll pick up.

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Her stance is almost awkward until he rises again, the picture disappearing into his pocket, and he kisses her.

It's not like before, when they were down in the lounge. There's need -- even want -- but it doesn't feel like he's going the extra mile to send desire spreading through her like wildfire, and she knows what it's like when he does.

Even so, his kiss burns into her mind like the presence of the tape in her pocket does. He has her attention; her hand spreads against his jaw until the kiss is over.

And when it is, she's not sure what to say.

"Thanks." The words are thick when they come out. "For the tape."

Whatever his reasons were, they don't seem to matter much at that moment.

"Thanks for the picture." He ain't sure what else there is to say, but she's got to have q couple questions. To her credit, she ain't askin'.

Not yet.

But it's like the photo in his pocket weighs a million pounds, and he wants to look at it but can't. He both needs to look at it and doesn't want to touch it ever again. Hell, he's curious about the baby in the photo. She's got to be.

He ought to tell her, but she ain't asked and he ain't in the business of givin' away nothin' unless he's got to.

"I can still help you look for a player for that, Freckles." There. That's out: he'll never hear what's on the tape but he'll try not to let that curiosity kill him. He'll wonder about it for a long time, but this ain't the island and the tape ain't no Halliburton.

Her lips press together, but this time the corners of her mouth have an upward curl. "You don't need to do that."

He really doesn't need to spend his time on it. She's pretty sure she can find a player on Aphrodite. Or at least get a good lead on it.

And besides that, she can't help thinking she's probably better off not asking him for help. The less he has to do with the tape, the less likely he is to ask questions about it.

"Think I know where to go." Her hand hovers over her pocket, fingertip feeling the edge of the tape's case through the denim. "But thanks for offering."

He knows he don't need to do it, but...

This ain't right. This ain't right at all: either they are or they ain't -- together, that is -- and if they are he wants to do stuff with her and if they ain't, well, he's got to know before things go too much further.

He takes her by the arm, sits her down on the bed.

"Listen."

Damn, how do people do this when they ain't got the framework of a con goin' for them? He takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, looks away, shakes his head, then goes back and tries again.

"Listen, Freckles. I don't know what's on your tape and hell yes, I'm curious, but I ain't gonna try and steal it back or nothin'. It's yours, and I'm glad you got it 'cause it's clear it means somethin' to you. And I'm glad I got my picture but this leaves me thinkin': what are we doing here? You and me?"

The unspoken question is pretty damn clear to him, and it goes like this: you want me or not?

But he ain't ready to put it like that. Not yet.

"I'd help you find a player for it 'cause I want to, and that's the only reason. Not 'cause I want somethin' else out of it."

What are we doing here?

Her heart thuds and then seems to stop abruptly.

You and me?

She looks at him while he goes on, and she remembers all kinds of things: his bloodied stubborn face when he was tied to that tree in the jungle and waiting to be kissed, his wide grin as he informs her there are nicer ways to wake a man up, Freckles, his limp body thrown over Eko's broad shoulder, the angry concern in his eyes when he took her gag out of her mouth after Jack traded their guns so she wouldn't be hurt, the stash he kept hidden right under him in his tent on the beach, his face marred by bruises and blood after Pickett beat him.

She remembers that pleased look in his eyes the first time she kissed him because she wanted to and only because she wanted to, and before they came here, she never really would've imagined him putting a question like that to her.

"I don't know."

It's the only way to answer.

She don't know: that makes two of 'em. Slowly, he shakes his head; he can feel a grin tugging at the corners of his lips. Damn, baby, he wants to say, ain't we a sorry pair.

What the hell's he doin'? He ain't the one who gets all serious over this stuff. No, he's smooth and suave and saunters right in the door whether it's open or closed and takes exactly what he wants. Damn the consequences; he'll figure out a game plan and go for it. So what if his partner in crime ain't sure what the play is? They'll work it out.

Again, he shakes his head and now the smile gets a little bit bigger. That raw moment of open and painful honesty's passed and he's damn glad about it too. Now he can be the old Sawyer. The one who plays I Never, the one who takes revenge on boars and tree frogs, the one who won't sell or give away his rightful spot on the damn raft.

The one Freckles gave herself to 'cause she wanted to, not 'cause he conned it out of her.

"So, Miss Secret-Keeper." His thumb traces the fullness of her lower lip: back and forth, back and forth. "You don't know and I don't know. That means we get to make it up as we go along." Screw the picture in his pocket. That thing doesn't get to weigh him down, not on his watch. Leaning forward, he lets his lips follow the path of his thumb. She don't want this, she'll let him know. And if she does want it, then so much the better.

Her eyelids lower as his face gets closer to hers, and she can feel her heart turn into a frantic fluttering thing again, a butterfly in a net.

Part of her hopes he never realizes he does this to her. Part of her hopes he keeps trying whether he realizes it or not.

Her arm goes so far as to drape over his shoulder, curl around his neck, and as soon as his mouth leaves hers, she gives him a slow half-smile.

"You really want to come with me?"

She may change her mind about inviting him along, but she won't be changing her mind about letting him listen to the tape. Especially not after his assurances that he's not going to try anything.

If she decides she wants anyone to know about it, she'll do it on her own time.

Strawberries. How the hell does she do that? They got strawberry-flavored toothpaste in the shop downstairs or somethin'? And in the polar bear cages?

Her hand on the back of his neck feels like the best thing ever, and he likes how close that smug smile is.

"Yeah, I want to go with you." It'll be fun, and they ain't had much in the way of fun stuff to do, at least not when it's been their own choice. "I figure it this way, Freckles." (Kate) "A whole lot of stuff's happened to us, and we ain't had too much say in how things go. For once, let's pick. Not 'cause we gotta get off the island and not 'cause we want to get the hell out of the bear cages, and not 'cause some crazy French chick wants to steal the only baby around. Let's get off this island 'cause we want to. 'Cause it's our choice. For somethin' fun. I'll help you look, but what you do with it and the tape, that's your business."

She ain't got to run away from him.

Her attention slides from his eyes, down his nose, idles for a moment on his mouth, and then climbs back up so she can look him in the eye.

"All right."

If they had more space between them, she'd nod her approval. He's got a point; after their last trip back to the island, she thinks they deserve all the freedom they want. She remembers how close Pickett got to beating Sawyer until he didn't get back up.

All that panic, getting back here and going to the hospital over that pacemaker scare: yeah, that's exactly what she was. She was scared. She was scared and furious and resentful, and if they ever go back -- they can't; not with Pickett hanging around to finish what he started -- it'll only be if she feels confident they can escape and get Jack the hell out of there with them.

He wants to go to Aphrodite with her, no tape-related strings attached? She'll be glad to let him.

"How's tomorrow sound?" She's all too aware of the tape in her pocket. There may not be any real rush, but she's eager to hear the tape for herself all the same. "Or do you have to check your calendar?"

Tomorrow? With Kate?

"Sounds right fine, World Traveler. You got a shuttle schedule, or do I need to hike on down to the spaceport and grab us one?"

She ain't never seen him off the island, outside of this place. And he's real suspect of this place; it ain't his fault he can't just trust it and be all laid back and stuff like some people here. Like Spike, for instance. But he likes his freedom as much as Freckles likes hers, or at least almost as much. He's got the feeling he'd be the first out of the both of 'em to decide to play house someplace, not that he's ready to put that one to the test.

Not at all.

He adjusts a little sideways so he could be next to her, his arm around her waist. "Or we could look at schedules in a little bit. Find other ways of causin' trouble in the meantime." Seein' as how trouble's his middle name anyhow.

Her smile crooks, and her eyes reach for the sky.

Does she even need to ask how many ways of causing trouble he has in mind?

"Don't tell me." Her hand flattens on his chest, over his heart, where she put that temporary tattoo for him that day at the convenience store. "You want to go get yourself another little yellow lab tattoo?"

Her fingertip taps against his shirt.

"You know, you can buy shuttle tickets from the room computers."

Another little yellow lab tattoo: she ain't never gonna let him live that one down, is she? It just proves they've had some fun, him and her. "Nah, Freckles. This time I'm goin' for the devil on the motorbike tattoo. Might as well live it up."

It ain't like he's gonna tattoo her name on his arm inside a big heart with flowers around it or nothin'. He ain't that kind of man. But a pretend tattoo? He could do that. Leave the real mysterious ones for the doc: he don't need no reminders of his life for everyone to see in ink on his body.

He's got 'em in his brain, and for now, that's enough.

"You want to buy shuttle tickets now, Freckles?" It seems like such a damn normal thing to do. Also seems a little bit like a promise he wasn't sure he'd ever hear comin' out of her mouth, so he'd best take advantage of it while the offer's good.

He's got his money card with him, and he has enough for this and that passport. Him and Spike, they're gonna go get one in a couple days.

"The devil on a motorbike."

Her nose scrunches as she laughs.

"That's very classy."

When she realizes she's practically ready to lean in and kiss the grin on his face, her smile doesn't falter but she does avert her eyes, suddenly oddly self-aware, for a second as she lowers her hand.

"Can if you want to." She doesn't see why not. She bought hers last time using the computer in here. "There's nothing to it."

Well, well.

"Then let's do it, Freckles." He runs his fingertip down her arm, traces the dips and valleys of her fingers. After all this time where it seemed like she was avoidin' him, should he trust that she'll show up for whatever shuttle ride it is? Hell no.

But then again, hell yes: she's got to want to find a player for that tape. Lucky thing his picture of Clementine don't need no special equipment. He lets his fingers tangle with hers, tugs her over to the console at the table.

"Let's see. Shuttle schedules." He works left-handed; scrolling through the screens has become second nature. "Looks like there's plenty of shuttles that go that way. You want morning or afternoon?" Hell yeah, he's bein' accomodatin' to her. Maybe he's just a little suspicious of how come she's bein' so easy now. Or maybe it's just one of those things where if he blinks he'll miss it, wake up to find out she was only teasin' and doesn't want to go together after all.

And him? He's a damn tenacious con-man. Once he gets his hands on a woman, he just might not want to let her go. Especially not this one.

They didn't even make a deal for him to act so agreeable. She glances down at her hand in his, and raising her eyebrows at his profile as he checks out tomorrow's shuttle schedule, she shakes her head a little bit disbelievingly.

"Middle of the day's good."

There's only a second's hesitation, and it doesn't come until after the words come out of her mouth.

A week ago she was buying a ticket to put some space between them. Now she's going to buy a ticket with him.

The trip to Aphrodite's not more than half an hour at the most, though, and in her mind it's definitely no worse than, say, setting up camp with him in the thick of the jungle back when he was so intent on finding that boar.

Besides, she wants the tape player.

"Let's go for that noontime shuttle, then. I ain't been to no other asteroids before. Should be fun." He has no real idea what to expect, but it probably won't be all that different from this place. An asteroid's an asteroid, right?

And for this one, no passports required. He gives her hand a how about it, Freckles? sort of squeeze, then goes ahead to book two seats on the shuttle.

And pauses.

"How about that, Freckles. It goes by Room 317 Guest #1 and Room 317 Guest #2." The words TWO (2) TICKETS WILL BE DELIVERED TO ROOM 317 BY 17:00 TONIGHT, PLEASE ARRIVE AT SPACEPORT GATE 23 NO LATER THAN TWENTY (20) MINUTES BEFORE DEPARTURE flash by and that's that: it's a done deal.

"All right. That's set." It wasn't even real expensive. "Now if you got any fancy ideas on how to spend the time between now and then, speak up, little lady." She's gonna kill him for callin' her that, but he can't resist.

It seems hard to believe that he's hasn't been off to other asteroids as much as he can. She's never thought of him as the kind to stay in one place too long.

"Little lady?" Her nose scrunches again, this time with a little more distaste than amusement. "Did we just walk into an old western?"

She can sort of see him in the part, though. She's already seen him in well-worn denim and somebody else's plaid shirt. Add some cowboy boots and a hat, and he's already got the swagger. The idea makes her laugh.

"I was thinking I'd go for a walk."

He's free to do what he wants as far as tagging along or not.

If he wants to disappear now and reappear to grab some dinner with her later, she'd be okay with that too.

And if he wanted to coax her back to his room right now, he wouldn't even have to try hard.

She's just not inviting him to stay here for the duration. It's true that she can't sleep through the night anywhere but her own room, but once she's left his room and gotten in her own bed there's a side of her that's relieved to have the space.

He could tell her a thing or two about old westerns. Start callin' her Miss Kitty, whip out the lasso, shoot him a couple outlaws with his six-guns. Rob a bank or save the orphans, her pick.

"You want to walk upstairs with me? See if we can find some westerns on the TV?"

It's worth a shot. And if there's no westerns, well, he could show her another thing or two they didn't ever put in those movies. Reflexively, his hand moves to tangle with her hair. What the hell's the matter with him?

Oh, wait. He likes Kate. A whole lot more than he thought he would back there on the island that day he was tied to a tree bein' tortured.

And all for the taste of a first kiss.

It's really not the walk she had in mind, but she didn't expect to turn him down if he gave her an option like that. Not this time.

They could just as easily watch any westerns they find on TV here in her room, so his offer means he knows her habits.

It's both a relief and not entirely comfortable, but the good news is he's not calling her out on it. In fact, he's kind of accepting it.

"Sounds like a decent way to waste time." She quirks a smile at him and rises from the edge of the bed. Before she goes anywhere, she's taking the tape out of her pocket and putting it safely away.

"All righty then." He heads toward the door: that was easier than he thought it would be. Ain't no doubt they got some fine chemistry, him and Freckles, and he ain't gonna turn down this opportunity. "You need a minute?"

He could wait outside. He could use her bathroom. He could stand here and watch her like a hawk. Really, though, all he wants is for her to go with him 'cause there ain't nothin' she'd rather be doin'. And he won't know if that's the case or not without askin' her point blank, and he ain't desperate enough to do that.

All in all, she got him in a damn good mood, no pizza required. Nope: no pizza, no polar bears, no Others, no hatches, no horses appearing in the middle of the woods, no gettin' shot or beat up or tortured. He's got no complaints at the moment, and that's a rarity.

She starts to say no in easy automatic denial, but she catches herself and stops short.

He asked. She'll take him up on it.

"Yeah." The tape seems to weigh more than it should in her hand, and she chooses not to let herself look down at it again until he's not watching her. "Just a minute."

"Okey dokey." Moving over to the door, he opens it and steps out, but doesn't close it all the way behind him. Maybe one of these days he'll trust the situation enough to be comfortable with it, but for now he wants the security of that door open just a touch.

Just so she don't change her mind and try to sneak past him or nothin'. The problem is this: when he was a little kid, his daddy shot his mama, then turned the gun on himself. Makes it hard to trust that people are gonna stay around instead of leave the first chance they get. And he's got to face it: Freckles's track record ain't exactly stellar. She tried to steal his spot on the raft, laughed at him for tryin' to track down that boar, sided against him more'n with him for a long time. Trust is somethin' that's got to build.

And his specialty's gettin' people to trust him, to put their confidence in him. Kate can see right through that, though, and he wouldn't try to pull anything on her. He can't. He likes her too damn much.

Once he's out in the hall, he takes that picture of Clementine out of his pocket and gives it the once-over. She's a pretty little thing; he sees more of Cass in her than he sees himself and that's okay. Dimples is hell of a lot prettier than he is. He only allows himself to look at it for a minute; it goes right back in his pocket before Freckles gets out here and catches him.

He's surprised she ain't asked him more questions about it. Maybe she's savin' em all up for later.

She watches him until he leaves, and she waits a minute to see if the door eventually closes.

It doesn't.

You think it's still there?

It's not ajar enough for him to be peeking in at her or anything -- his line of sight through it wouldn't let him see a hell of a lot -- and she turns her attention to the tape.

What?

Her fingertip runs over the side where Kate and Tom, 1989 is plainly written, and then she opens the case to take the tape out.

You know what.

She runs her fingers over it as if she could listen to it with the tips.

It's the middle of the night, Katie.

As if she doesn't know what's on it.

We might not have another chance.

Before her eyes can start to sting, she smiles -- almost a grimace -- and takes a deep breath.

(She's glad they dug it up when they did. They didn't have another chance, and she could never have guessed it be because she got him killed.)

She'll take it back out when she needs to gather her things tomorrow morning, but for now she opens her underwear drawer and stows the tape away in a special place of honor beside Tom's toy airplane.

(All that's missing is their baseball and her old New Kids on the Block lunchbox.)

Looking up as she closes the drawer, she meets the eyes of her reflection in the mirror on the wall, wipes the corner of one eye, and lifts her chin slightly, an involuntary sign of stubbornness.

Her keycard's in her pocket; she's ready to go.

She half expects Sawyer to comically fall in the door when she opens it to let herself out.

He was never a boy scout. That don't mean he was always a con-man, though. A liar, a cheat, an eavesdropper, the scum of the earth. So what if they kicked him out of Australia? He hated it there.

(You know why they call Australia down under, don't you? Because it's as close as you can get to hell without being burned.)

Didn't matter to him he got deported. Better than doin' more jail time. Once he was out of the country, it meant they weren't lookin' for him over the whole Duckett thing anyhow.

Today, for once in his life, he's gonna be patient. He's gonna give Freckles as much time as she wants to get ready or to stash the tape away or primp or sit around before they head upstairs. So what if she gets used to it. So what if he gets used to it. Sometimes, people change.

(You know what's making you stupid right now? It's your damn hormones. You think you're in love, but you're not. You know, a tiger doesn't change his stripes, James. You're a con man, just like me. And it's not what you do, it's what you are.)

Screw you, Gordy.

He ain't no damn tiger. When she walks through the door he pays her the common courtesy of not studyin' her face to try and read it: whatever's on her mind, it belongs to her. What he does do, though, is rest his arm around her shoulder and walk her to the stairs.

They're only goin' up one floor, but she did say go for a walk. What happens after they get there? That's anyone's guess, but he thinks he knows how it's gonna play out.

Today, he's got no complaints.

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March 1, 2074

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