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Kate jolted awake, blinking in the darkness while the blue of the airline blanket tent swam into focus above her.
Then she heard it again.
A feeble, pained moan that had her rolling over in a hurry, gently shaking the trembling arm of the woman curled up beside her.
"Claire," she murmured. "Claire, honey, wake up."
Claire's delicate brow only twisted in torment, the sweat beading at her hairline turning her blonde waves damp where Kate smoothed them back.
"No," she mumbled, barely coherent enough for Kate to make out. "No, don't, please-"
The words ended with a sob, and Kate shook her again, a little desperate. The nightmares had been a constant plague since the incident in the caves, and even though they no longer resulted in screams, it hadn't gotten any easier to stomach the sight of Claire emerging from her tent each morning looking so pale and drawn. Dark smudges lurking under her soft blue eyes, that even her return to the refuge of the beach camp hadn't been able to chase away.
It'd been Kate's suggestion to spend the night together. She was half surprised that Charlie hadn’t offered already, considering he was stuck like glue to Claire’s side for most of her waking hours. His constant presence seemed to be one of the only things that relaxed her somewhat, his never-ending tirade of jokes and anecdotes from his Drive Shaft days drifting past Kate’s ears from where the two were perched together in the sun. Sometimes he even managed to elicit real laughter: lovely, short peals of delight that had her fighting the urge to crane her neck, in the hopes of catching more of the sound. And yet, under the stars, Kate watched as he bid Claire goodnight and trailed away into his tent, leaving her to hesitate before reluctantly tracing her own path through the sand.
“Oh, you don’t have to,” had been the first thing out of Claire’s mouth, fidgeting with the frayed cuff of her oversized shirt. “You’ve been so nice already, and I don’t wanna ruin your sleep, too-”
“I want to,” Kate promised. “You need some real rest, alright?”
She reached out to grasp Claire’s uneasy hands, stilling their movement. Waited patiently as that blue gaze flickered anywhere but her face, smiling when it eventually found the courage to meet her eyes.
“It’s not a problem,” she emphasized, rubbing a thumb over the back of Claire’s hand, and watched as her whole body slumped faintly with relief.
“Thanks, Kate.”
~
Finally, the spell broke, and with a final gasp Claire's eyes flew open. She lurched upwards instinctively, hands balled into fists; Kate's arms shot out of their own accord, catching her around the shoulders as they began to shake in earnest.
"Easy, easy," she said softly, wrapping her arms tight around Claire's back, feeling the notches of her spine under her fingertips as the younger woman sagged in her embrace.
She was still so small, even in spite of the round globe of her belly. It was the first thing Kate had thought, when they'd finally struck up a conversation that consisted of more than just the answer to how are you holding up?
As a child, she’d once owned a picture book filled with illustrations of fairies, and it felt like this tiny, cheerful sprite had sprung right to life from within the watercolour brushstrokes. All delicate bones and soaring optimism.
Before, at least.
Whether the spectre she’d seen in the caves was real or not, it was hard to imagine anyone who could bring themselves to hurt Claire, much less go to such trouble trying.
"Shhh, hey, you're safe," Kate continued to soothe, tracing slow circles between Claire's shoulder blades. Slowly, the sound of hiccups gave way to steady breaths, the frantic pounding of Claire's heart turning languid against Kate's chest.
"Same dream?" She asked, when the blonde head lifted from the crook of her neck, and got a watery nod in return.
"Yeah," Claire rasped, moving to swipe at her puffy eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm sorry I woke you. You can go, if you want."
She tugged a lip between her teeth, guilt eating at her tearstained face. The wrongness of it twisted in Kate's heart all over again–the familiarity of that expression; the stark resignation to being alone. It didn’t belong on someone like Claire. Someone so good.
She rarely spoke about her life before the island–something Kate had silently filed away early on–but she'd assumed it was just a reluctance to rehash what one too many self-deprecating jokes had eventually made obvious: her baby's father, whoever he was, was more or less a complete scumbag. Or maybe she’d wanted to assume.
Watching her now, Kate felt like she’d been plunged into icy water. Drowning in the realization that Claire's purposeful avoidance of the topic ran far deeper than she’d dared imagine. How long had it been since someone had truly cared for her? Taken care of her? It made Kate's chest tighten to think that the answer was anything more than since they’d landed on this island. She was just too thoughtful, too gentle. She deserved so much more.
So instead, Kate shook her head. Let her mouth stretch into the most comforting smile she could muster, rolling her eyes for dramatic effect.
"You're not getting rid of me that easy," she quipped, relieved when Claire's blotchy cheeks rounded ever so slightly. Her fingers trailed down the length of Claire’s arm, wrapped carefully around her bandaged palm. “Come on, we should try to get some more sleep.”
It was an awkward shuffle until they were both reclining once more against the battered blanket, watching the cool breeze catch the edges of the makeshift tent. Kate paused when Claire was settled on her side, the hand she’d offered in support still resting against her arm. Knowing, in the back of her mind, that she shouldn’t risk moving closer, and ruining the easy rapport between them. Stupidly, stubbornly, equally unwilling to relinquish the touch. Hovering there instead, frozen, trying to find the strength to draw away.
Claire’s eyes flicked up to hers, luminous in the shadows.
"Could you just… hold me, maybe?" She whispered. "Please?"
Kate didn't even have to think before she was pressing closer, molding her body to the curve of Claire's spine. Delicately, she slid her arms around the other girl's waist, feeling Claire's slight fingers coming to twine through hers above her belly, holding them in place. It was only then that the thread of tension she'd been carrying seemed to unravel completely, her body finally succumbing to her exhaustion against Kate's chest.
For a moment they lay there in silence, the faint rustling of the trees outside falling into a gentle, hypnotic rhythm. A strange lullaby, befitting of this strange place, cradling them within the rippling walls of their shelter. Kate tipped her head, resting her cheek against the silky waves of pale hair that were tucked under her chin. The sweet, floral scent of Claire’s shampoo was familiar–it came, of course, from the same communal, scavenged bottles Kate used on her own hair–and still, something about it made her sigh nonetheless, intoxicated.
"Kate?" Claire’s tentative voice pierced the dark, wavering. "Can I tell you something?"
"'Course." Kate squeezed her hand. "Anything."
She felt Claire's deep, steadying breath under her palms, the shaky exhale that followed.
"My mum and I, we...we fought a lot," Claire started, cautiously. "All the time, basically. Just, you know, stupid stuff, teenage stuff. And then one day when I was eighteen, we were driving to this appointment, and we were arguing about some, some concert she wouldn't let me go to, that I'd been saving for for months–"
She broke off with a hollow laugh.
"I was so angry," she whispered. "I was so angry, and I started yelling–that I hated her, that I wished she was dead. All sorts of awful, awful things."
Kate couldn't see her face, but she could hear the tears clouding Claire's voice, an gutteral anguish that made her tighten her hold around her middle.
"I was looking at her. I was too busy looking at her, so I wasn't watching the road–I didn't see the truck when it–and when I woke up she was on the ground–"
The words trailed off again, into a choked-back sob. God.
She tugged at Claire’s shoulder to help her turn over, to brush the tangled hair back from her wet cheeks when they were lying belly to belly.
“Oh, Claire,” she murmured, stricken, cupping the side of her face in her hand. “Oh, honey, I’m so sorry.”
Her soft, hitching cries were grief, and guilt, and anger. Kate knew them well. It never hurt any less, when you knew you were the one to blame.
"I just wish she was here,” Claire whispered, when her sniffling died down once more. "I wish I could ask her how to do this. How am I supposed to be someone’s mother when I wasn’t even any good at being a daughter?"
Like Kate would know.
It sent her insides reeling like a sucker punch, breath rattling on the way out. She could almost feel the bathroom tile under her feet, clammy hands fumbling with the test instructions when the sound of Kevin’s car had faded away.
“Hey,” she probed, slowly. The words felt acidic on her tongue, pulled straight from somewhere deep in her guts. But Claire was watching her, devastated, and she needed them more than it burned to speak them aloud. “There’s plenty of stuff I wish that I could undo. People I’ve hurt.”
A film reel of stricken faces whenever she closed her eyes, like her own personal horror movie. Her mom, disgusted and alone, on stolen time in a stingy diner bathroom. The man she called her father, stiff with disappointment. Tom, bloodied and motionless under her frantic hands. Punishments doled out for the crime of knowing her. Loving her.
"After everything happened with the Marshall…” She swallowed. “Jack told me that the crash was kind of a fresh start for all of us, crazy as that sounds.”
Three days ago, we all died.
Maybe it was insane to take such comfort in the thought. She’d pictured the funeral–the flower arrangements, the nosy churchgoers trying to hide their distaste. The photograph from her mother’s living room wall, plastered on pamphlets; the one where she was a girl, sitting with her back rigid. Hands folded, eyes red from the flash.
They’d call it an empty grave, but it wouldn’t be true.
It would house everything that girl had let consume her: fear, rage, regret. She would rot with it all, six feet under. And maybe, Kate thought now, she would notice the restless spirit of another bitter, wounded girl who’d fallen from the sky. She would open her arms, and they could sleep there together, at peace in the dirt.
"The Claire that I met on this island? She’s been nothing but kind, and compassionate, and brave.”
It hit home, Claire’s lower lip beginning to tremble before she pressed them together tight, nodding against the current of emotion that threatened to overtake her. Kate reached for her as best she could around the bump in their way, wrapping her arms around Claire’s neck. Sweat and tears sticking their temples together, Claire’s fingers clinging around her shoulders.
Before she could think it through, something drove her to tilt her head, to press her lips against the smooth, pale skin under Claire's ear. Something that'd been building, desperately, since Claire had confessed her darkest truth, shaking in her arms. Since they'd laid down next to each other in the seclusion of her tiny tent, and fallen asleep with barely a breath of space between them. Since Kate had offered to stay with her. Since before.
Kate stilled, braced for a reaction. That funny feeling swelled up again when it came in the form of a sigh, the flutter of gold lashes falling shut against her hairline.
“This baby is lucky to have you,” she whispered. “I know it.”
And almost instantly, she felt it–a firm poke against her middle, as if to chime in. It was so perfectly timed Kate couldn’t help but laugh; it bubbled up warm and giddy, leaving her feeling light in a way she hadn’t in a long, long time.
“See?” She grinned. “Someone agrees with me.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Kate barely caught the roll of Claire’s eyes in the dark, but her smile seemed to set the whole tent alight, flashing her teeth. “Gang up on me, why don’tcha.”
She could feel the weariness catching up to her, all of a sudden, the faint exhale of her resulting yawn causing the corner of Claire’s mouth to turn upwards. Neither of them made any real effort to move, and when Kate couldn’t keep her eyes open any longer, she felt the whisper of Claire’s voice against her chin, thick with sleep.
“I'm really glad you’re here.”
A fresh start. It felt so sweet and real, in the embrace of this woman who, against all odds, had entrusted Kate with her body, her heart. A ripe fruit, hers for the plucking.
(The mangoes, here on the island, required tender hands. The first few had slipped from her grasp, come away bruised in her grip–and yet she'd surprised even herself with how quickly she'd been able to learn their particular softness; grinning triumphant on her third day, cradling two handfuls of unbroken orange flesh. An offering, for the pretty blonde she’d been secretly itching to get to know.)
Kate smiled.
“Yeah,” she whispered, letting the drowsiness overtake her, lull her towards the peaceful oblivion of sleep. “Me too.”