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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A soft huff of air comes out of her; she smiles, but she also rolls her eyes.

Her scalp almost prickles. She's starting to think he's got a thing for her hair, and she's also starting to think she likes it.

"I figured that much out." Her hands, firm in their resolve, still don't move to touch him. One stays curved around her beer can as if glued to it. "I'm just curious as to what you got that you don't have all you need for."

It was just idle curiosity at first because he took the time to call her to ask about it. Now she wants to know because he doesn't want to answer her.

That's something she knows he should understand very well.

"You know what they say about show and tell, Freckles."

His whole damn life, he don't think he's ever answered a question in a straightforward way. Not when there was a more circuitous route he could take to stretch that answer out, go slow with it, watch it dip and turn and swivel and head back around to where it started, only to flit off to one side or another mid-stream. In a way it's kinda like fly flishin': sometimes, you go where the fish ain't and make 'em come to you. Lull 'em into complacency.

It ain't his attention to lull Freckles into much of anything, except maybe his bed. But he don't want to push, so the thing's gonna have to take its time. It's gonna have to do those slow climbs up steep grades before it can run back down in some sort of free fall. There's a reason they call roller coasters thrill rides.

"They say show me, don't tell me. I hear it on good authority." It's bait and he knows it, but he owes her one of those anyhow. A little somethin' about a Halliburton comes to mind and while evenin' the score ain't his primary concern, he can't help but dangle the carrot just a tiny bit. It's his nature.

She raises an eyebrow, one corner of her mouth quirking. "That something else they teach at that college where you learned to play I Never?"

He implies a lot of things. Some of them are even true.

But if this is how he wants to play, fine. Leaning in, bold as the sunlight angling in between her curtains this morning, she holds her face inches away from his again.

No kissing this time.

"You planning on showing me then?"

"Don't knock that college, Freckles. It comes in mighty handy." And now he knows her curiosity is up there, and ain't payback just a bitch. When he couldn't get in that Halliburton and she wouldn't tell him what was in it, well, that was kind of like torture. Torment, maybe, more'n torture, but it still wasn't fair.

Everyone's allowed to keep their secrets, right? Ain't that the way it goes? It's just tough when you're on the end of things where the secret ain't shared.

"I might plan on showing you." For the right incentive, he'll definitely show it to her.

But not till he gets to listen to what's on it first. Even the lure of her lips so damn close ain't gonna make him break down and give it up this fast.

"You might?"

A corner of her mouth twitches, almost imperceptible, and she doesn't move for a moment, not inviting more than an answer but still expectant on every level in spite of it.

Her attention shifts in a distracted flicker to his mouth, but she raises her eyes to meet his again and lets out a half-amused exhale, moving back.

"Why'd you bring it up if you weren't willing to?"

Out of her mouth, it's barely a question.

"You're capable of finding your way around what's in the city as well as I can. It's not like the island."

He didn't really need her help here.

This some kind of test? It feels like some damn test or other. And how the hell did she get him to box himself in a corner like this? Damn, baby, she's good. He must've been distracted by the taste of strawberries or the silk of her hair or the freckles spread across her nose or the turn of her smile. And now he ain't so sure what to do about it: does he keep on holdin' the information at arm's length and risk makin' her so mad she don't want to have nothin' to do with him again? After all this time and after what's happened most recent here, that'd be a hell of a shame. Or does he tell her? Does he swallow his curiosity and tell her?

He only knows one thing for sure: he don't want to lose her. Not now. He's likin' it too much: the closeness, the holdin' her in his arms, the sweetness of the whole affair. It's almost innocent, except ain't neither of 'em the innocent type.

Time to take a deep breath and go for it. "I'm willing, Freckles. And I asked you 'cause the thing I have, it's got your name on it. Figured you deserve to know."

Sometimes, tellin' the truth is just the right damn thing to do.

"It's got my name on it?"

Forehead furrowing, she glances sideways at him over her beer.

She'd be inclined to think he just had something up his sleeve to butter her up with, but she thinks -- she thinks -- there's a hint of resignation in his figured you deserve to know.

"What are we talking about?"

Oh, hell, what's he gonna do? Not let her know now? This round's gonna go to her eventually; she might as well know what she's got comin' her way.

"It's a cassette tape, Freckles. I was gonna get a player for you so you could hear it."

There. That ain't even more'n half a lie; he was gonna let her hear it. It's just he was gonna do it first. But things are different now with him and her, and he ain't the same guy who conned a kiss out of her while the Red Beret was shovin' bamboo picks up his fingernails. No, they crossed a line and he can't be that same Sawyer no more.

Not with Kate.

"Just showed up in my room when my back was turned."

It seems to her it's probably more like he was going to get a player so they could listen to it -- at best -- but that's beside the point for the moment.

And the point is that she's not sure she understands.

She shakes her head in a mild version of that matter-of-fact apology generally reserved for people telling other people they don't understand the language being spoken to them.

"So a cassette tape with my name on it just appeared in your room?"

The words dammit, Freckles, do I have to spell it out for you? fight not to spill out; his first reaction is annoyance but he can't do that with her. It ain't her fault she can't read his mind to say what's goin' on there.

His voice might be a little soft when he speaks. "Kate and Tom, 1989. That's what it says." He ain't got no claim to ask her who the hell's Tom and what's on the tape, although he'd like to know. He ain't gonna hold her tape hostage or nothin'. But he will help her find a way to listen to it, if she wants.

Preferably together, but he thinks he knows a little bit better than that.

"Question is, what do you want to do about it?" And that's genuine curiosity. And what does he want to do about it? The thing ain't his. It just came his way and he ain't sure how come, but this isn't some island that time forgot and he don't have a single thing to gain by keepin' it away from her. Why would he want to make her mad at him?

Not this time.

Kate and Tom, 1989.

The words sound foreign rolling off Sawyer's tongue. Rather than flush, self-aware, she feels a chill creep up her neck and into her cheeks.

She thinks she's staring at him.

This is crazy. She's never mentioned that tape to anybody here or anybody they left on the island.

It's not mine, she wants to say, the instinct rising in shell-shocked slow motion, I don't know what you're talking about.

But if she tells him it's not hers and plays it down, he won't give her this easy chance at it again.

And if she reacts honestly, he sees what it means to her.

"Can I see the tape?"

"It's in my room."

That's the truth. She wants it, she comes up there and looks at it. Will she walk out with it? Hell, he don't know; he can't read the damn future. The only thing he knows for sure -- beyond the taste of her lips and the way she sets his stomach all to butterflies -- is that tape ain't his and for once in his life, he ain't interested in connin' no one out of what's theirs. Is he curious? Hell yes. Does he want to know what's on it? Hell yes. Will she share it?

Probably not. It'll be a price he has to be willin' to pay, though, or else this whole deal between him and her is off and he knows it. He doesn't want her goin' back to that damn island without him.

He doesn't want her goin' anywhere without him. He wants to go everywhere together, and like he told her that night on the island, he's never been in love.

That might be about to change.

(He can't read the damn future.)

"Come on up."

Meeting his eyes, she doesn't say anything for a second. She doesn't know if he'll really just give it to her. She doesn't know what he could have up his sleeve.

Tipping her head back, she drinks the last of the beer in her can and places it on the bar with a thin metallic tink. "All right."

After a barely noticeable nod, she rubs her hands against the thighs of her jeans.

"Let's go."

Now that was easier than he thought it was gonna be to get her in his room, but s till: there's somethin' a little tense about this whole thing. What the hell's on that tape?

He needs to know. It's sure got her rattled.

The ride up to the fourth floor is equally quiet; this ain't the time for no idle flirtation. He ain't gonna put no moves on her or nothin'. Once they're in the elevator, he rests his hand on her shoulder, but that's it. It's a move he could use on any friend and it wouldn't mean much more, except... it does. This thing they got is the one thing he don't want to lose. Tape's a tape, but there's only one Freckles.

And if he doesn't stop actin' like a damn lovesick puppy, he ain't never gonna get nowhere. Wasn't no damn boy scout who survived a plane crash and gettin' shot on a raft and tortured by a member of the Republican Guard and captured by Others. He wasn't no sorry predictable romantic.

No, he's got to be true to himself. As they leave the elevator and get to the door, he slides the key in, holds it open for her.

"Ladies first."

Already, a little bit of a plan's forming. He can't help it: that's what he does and it's who he is, and she knew that gettin' into this whole thing together.

His hand on her shoulder is almost a sweet gesture (or at least that's how she thinks of it) and his ladies first doesn't surprise her -- thanks, she has the presence of mind to tell him -- but tension steals up her spine as she walks through the door to his room.

And immediately, her eyes sweep the room, searching for the tape.

As if he'd have it out in the open.

It's probably stuffed in his pillowcase or tucked in his underwear drawer. When she turns her eyes back to him, it's a little bit expectantly.

"Guess you've stashed it away?"

They butted heads -- very literally -- over the Halliburton. She's not so sure they won't over this, too.

A little eager, ain't she? He guesses he could understand about that; he would be too. 1989 was a while ago, and she would've been how old then? Twelve? Somethin' like that.

"Stashed? That's cold, Freckles. I was just keepin' it safe. Didn't want the robots cleanin' it up, up, and away." Moving over to the bureau, he opens the top drawer and takes the tape out. It ain't stashed. If he wanted to keep it stashed, he'd hide it someplace way better than the first place anyone would look.

It's just a damn tape.

She wants to see it and he'll be more'n happy to show it to her. She didn't ask to have it, just to see it, so he holds it forward so she can do just like she asked.

"What'd you put on it?"

Her exhale is an abrupt little huff of air through her mouth, and she shakes her head a little. "I didn't mean anything by it. Just that you tucked it away somewhere."

As he opens that drawer and takes out the tape -- her tape -- she watches, eyes riveted, and it's exactly what he said it was. It's exactly what she was afraid (and afraid to hope) it was.

Kate and Tom, 1989.

It's been a long time.

She reaches out, her hand closing on the tape. "Nothing important." It comes out of her mouth automatically, and she knows there's no way that'll satisfy him. "It's just... mine."

This was gonna happen, he just knew it: they've both got Kate and Tom, 1989 in their hands and he ain't lettin' go and she ain't lettin' go. "Technically, Freckles, it's mine. It got delivered to me, not you. So maybe somethin' or someone here wants me to know what it is, or give it a listen."

Finders, keepers, right? Least this time she ain't pretendin' she don't care; it's obvious she does. "How about you tell me how come it's so important to you? Then maybe I'll give it over."

Probably not, but it's worth a try. The one thing he really doesn't want to do is have the thing break. Fixin' a cassette ain't easy business. He don't even have no Scotch tape at hand.

Her mouth goes ever-so-slightly slack, but her grip on the tape doesn't.

A little disbelieving, she raises her eyebrows.

"Technically, Sawyer, I don't see your name on it." She lifts her chin stubbornly. "So how about you give it over, and then maybe I'll think about telling you about it."

"How's about I know you better'n that, Freckles." He gives the tape over, he never sees it again. "Just ask yourself this: why the hell would someone deliver a tape with your name on it to my room?"

Unless...

Unless...

Well, how do. He gets it now: it's because him and Freckles swapped rooms, ain't it. Slowly, he lowers his hand.

"You find anything strange in your room lately, Sassafras?" That seems like the most likely next question. Now to see if she gives him a straight answer, for once.

After all that, it's hard to believe he just lowers his hand and lets her have the tape, but she takes it in both hands and doesn't waste time stuffing it into the pocket of her jeans. Whatever his reasoning is here, it's not the same as it was with the Halliburton -- even though her body's prepared for that, adrenaline flooding her veins, her whole body two steps short of fight-or-flight mode -- and she'd probably be smart not to question it.

"Why? You thinking I got something of yours there?"

Could've happened. The only reason he got the tape was because this is the room that's under her name.

She shakes her head once for an answer, then pauses and meets his eyes again. "Not unless there's a picture of a baby that means something to you."

A picture of a baby? He almost wants to ask her: cute little thing, round face, big blue eyes, little thatch of yellow hair? but that'd be stupid. He'd be givin' everything away all at once and he don't want to lose two hands in a row.

"What kind of a baby?"

His throat dries and he can feel his stomach drop all the way to the damn floor. Who's gonna send a picture of her? She ain't here and even if she was, she'd be old now.

What the hell's all this about?

For the first time since he said the words Kate and Tom, 1989, she cracks a smile.

Crooked. Slight. But it's a smile.

"How many kinds of babies are there?" She spreads her hands out low, near her pockets, and shrugs a little bit. "Older than Aaron, but not a year old. Big baby blues, chubby little cheeks. Fuzzy blonde hair."

For now, anyway.

Pausing a second, she considers him. "It's not you, is it?"

"Do I look like a damn baby?" He shakes his head, all defensive denial. "No, it ain't me."

He knows the picture she's talkin' about is the thing, and it ain't somethin' he accepted the first time but he's had a lot of time to think it over. Maybe Cass wasn't lying about her being his. Hell, no matter what, he owes her that much. He took a hell of a lot of money from her, left her high and dry, and Dimples wasn't a bad woman. And the kid, no matter whose she is, deserves to have someone take care of her.

That's how come he set her up with that reward money.

"You got the picture with you?"

Looks like now it's his turn.

"No," she answers automatically, eyes sharp even though she doesn't roll them this time. He just acts a little bit like one every now and then, wanting people to react a certain way to him. "But unless there's something I don't know about you--"

There's plenty she doesn't know about him.

"--you used to be one."

She shakes her head again. The picture means something to him just like the tape means something to her. He can't follow up that defensiveness he gave her the way he did and then try to pretend it doesn't. "I didn't bring it with me."

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