(no subject)

[slybrunette]

Title: Yesterday's Mistake
Fandom: Lost
Character: Kate
Prompt: #20 - Crazy
Word Count: 1151
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: 2.09 "What Kate Did".
Summary: AU. She's a master at weaving together stories at the spur of the moment. 

A soft knock on the door, followed by it’s opening, letting far too much light into the already bright room, had awakened her. It happens at the same time, in the same place, with the same people every day and it’s been that way for some time now. Long enough that she can’t really remember a time before. Bits and pieces, but never anything clear enough to convince herself that at one time she had lived a normal life.

 

She remembers that she lived in a small town in Iowa with her mother and father. She remembers her father leaving. She remembers the gruff, abusive man who took his place. She can’t remember anything else. The small woman, who serves as her nurse in some respects, friend in others, tells her maybe it’s because she doesn’t want to. She looks at the woman, knows that there’s no way she choose this job, and wants to ask her what she’s chosen to forget, what she’s repressing. Wants to, but never does. Part of her thinks that if she starts asking those kinds of questions she might lose one of the only friends she’s got here. And she can’t chance that. Not now.

 

“Good morning, Katherine,” a voice floats in, as it always does and will, although she’s never seen the speaker. Not the face anyway. If she’s quick enough she can catch a glance of their form, clothed in black, as they walk away, after opening the door. She’s stopped caring enough, lately, to even bother.

 

In the time between the figure’s disappearance and the entrance of her daily visitor, she could easily leave, but she’s never tried. She fears what might be outside that door. Enough time has passed that she has become quite accustomed to her self-contained habitat, to her routine, and she doesn’t want to mess up that stability. She’s not sure she could function in the real world anymore.

 

She doesn’t really need to anyway. It’s not as if she has no human contact. And what she lacks, she makes up. She’s a master at weaving together stories at the spur of the moment. There’s really nothing much else to do, since she’s left alone for most of the afternoon and early evening. Some of the story is on paper, brought to her by the doctor, or stolen from the man who steals everyone else’s stuff, other things, stuff she can’t express in words, is on the walls.

 

While she waits for her visitor, she fingers the small plane that sits on an otherwise empty dresser. She only recently regained possession of the tiny object, and although she can’t remember why it’s so important, she does know that when it was taken from her she felt like she lost part of herself. And that feeling can’t mean anything good.

 

The man who’d taken it away wasn’t anything good either. Edward Mars. He was the first doctor. That wasn’t the only thing he took either. Everything she had, keys to her past that she had at some point all but forgotten, he kept in his silver briefcase. She knows that she knew who she was before he came around too. She thinks maybe he did something. He’s dead now.

 

There’s another knock at the door, followed by the clearing of a throat. It’s the same thing he does every morning. Seven sharp. It’s a code, letting her know it’s him. The reaction is instantaneous, but a bit more restrained than normal, “I’m awake.” A pause and then he enters. She doesn’t look up, just keeps on fiddling with the plane’s smooth wings.

 

“Katherine,” He says, hesitantly. When he comes in she’s always eager to see him, always has a smile on her face. Today she doesn’t. He’s not sure how to deal with that. Things would be normal if only she wouldn’t have acted on stupid impulses.

 

She’d tried to kiss him. Her doctor, whom she’d bonded with over the past two months. She sometimes has to remind herself that that’s really all he is. The doctor. He gets paid for the help he provides. There’s no attachment to her, not really. But she wishes there were, and she’d let that hope get the best of her. He’d given her this look that asked if she really knew what she was doing. Then he’d left. She thought it might have been slight disgust in his eyes.

 

He’s in her stories. She’s in them too. He plays the hero, he’s brave, and he fixes people. She plays the heroine, who’s strong, and doesn’t need anybody. Anybody but him. She’d kissed him in those too, except he wasn’t the one to leave, she was. Kate looks back at him, and she runs.

 

“Katherine,” He tries again to get her attention. He has it, mostly, she’s just not looking at him. When she still doesn’t react to him, he continues. “How are you feeling? That cut on your arm any better?” He stoops down to her level, with the real question he wants to ask on his lips, and that forces her to look at him, as she gently sets the plane back down. “Why did you attack him?”

 

His closeness is suddenly suffocating, probably because of the intensity in his eyes, and she rises, going to the corner of the room, stopping next to the drawing of the snow-colored bear that he had once pointed out didn’t really belong amid palm trees. “He attacked me.”

 

“That’s what you said yesterday.” He reminds her, like she doesn’t already know that. This is how it had started, with this very same argument. She’d cried, and he’d tried to comfort her, and then she’d kissed him. Why was he once again venturing into dangerous territory?

 

“That’s because that’s what happened.” She shoots back. “I had to get him off me, it was self defense.”

 

“Why would he attack you?” She shrugs in reply, because she really has no idea. At least not any she’s willing to share. “If you expect me to believe you then I need a reason.”

 

“I don’t expect you to do anything.” Her fingers trace the outline of one scene drawn on the wall, over the small grove, where passion fruit seeds were abundant.

 

He sighs, and it’s because he’s at a loss for what to say to that. She can read him like a book. And he’s the one with the shiny degree. He might have known before today. Finally he gives up, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

 

She doesn’t move from her spot, and keeps her eyes focused on the lush greens and earthy browns of the drawing. The day before has shamed her into this reclusive state. So as the door shuts and he disappears once more she immerses herself back into her world of freedom and possibility, putting all this pain behind her, if only for awhile.