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[Not-So-Merry Prankster] Will: Headstrong, heavy weather
Will’s fine, Kate tells herself, as she jogs the distance from the empty hut where she crashed late last night over to Magnus and Will’s place. The sun’s up, but it’s still early, and Will’s fine. He has to be.
The ground gives, cushioning her step in ways she’ll never get used to. She can run on it just fine, but it will never feel right for the world not to push back, resist, deny her mark unless she works to make it, carve it into break or fresh poured concrete. It will never feel right not to feel the city, the sidewalks and alleys of any city, jolting her bones when she runs. Tomorrow, she’ll hate the island for that again. Today she’s just grateful. It lets her move faster, and by the time she gets to their hut, she’s out of breath. Kate takes a minute to lean over her knees, weight on her hands, to find her pokerface.
The last thing she wants is for Will to see how worried she is about him. Knowing Will, he’d decide she’s from that weird world Magnus dreamed and they had a relationship and that’s why she’s been so upset and acting out. Why a shrink needs help from her to understand that this isn’t her home, Kate can’t fathom. But he’s Will and he’s not Will and she just doesn’t want him thinking this is because she’s in love with him.
She’s not. No more than she’s in love with Magnus, anyway. It’s just, you save a guy’s life a couple dozen times and you start caring. You start caring about things like him turning into lizard-plant creatures and even if the guy you’re not dating tells you the other guy survives, you maybe have nightmares. Really bad nightmares. It’s normal. Will taught her that. Dreams are the brains way of dumping and processing information received over the course of the day.
So today, now, when she knocks on the door, she’s hoping to receive the information that she just interrupted Will and Magnus’s morning quickie. She doesn’t want to see it - probably - but she’d like to know that Will’s okay enough to be nailing Magnus and then she can go be bored until Magnus needs her at the clinic or she and Declan go do recon.
No one answers, though, so Kate knocks again. This time she listens more carefully to see if maybe they’re going at it and she should scram. No sound from inside at all. Great. Just great. She sighs and lets herself in. She needs water, for one thing, and maybe she’ll find a sign that Will was here earlier and then he won’t need to know she’s losing it at all.
While she drinks the water, she heads for the bedroom at the back of the hut. It’s habit that keeps her from trailing her fingers over surfaces and touching them: don’t leave prints, don’t leave marks, don’t leave DNA, don’t get caught. Maybe that’s why she palms a baseball off the front bookshelf and tosses it up and down while she eyeballs everything (except the sheets, because once she finds evidence of Will changing clothes, she really doesn’t need the overkill of a wet spot for proof, thanks).
Will would probably say some bullshit psych thing about the baseball being a manifestation of her father’s energy and her looking for that, protection, discipline, will in her life. Then she’d snap and tell him no, it’s something the two of them shared, because Jimmy taught her how to care about fat old guys playing with balls again and sometimes they talk about baseball.
It ticks her off. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know her. And Kate doesn’t know him now, not the same way she does at home. That might suck even more. Every day she’s losing more of him, of them, who they are at home. It’s been almost a month and she already can’t remember the smell of his cologne when she throws an arm over his shoulder or the feel of his hair gel when she fucks with his hair just to annoy him. When she gets home, if she gets home, she’ll forget the feel of sloth claws in her hair and the way Will smiles when he never died to save the coast of India but he goes to bed with Magnus.
Everything’s coming apart.
It’s a stupid thing to do, but Kate’s never met a bad idea she didn’t love.
When she leaves again, she takes the baseball.
The ground gives, cushioning her step in ways she’ll never get used to. She can run on it just fine, but it will never feel right for the world not to push back, resist, deny her mark unless she works to make it, carve it into break or fresh poured concrete. It will never feel right not to feel the city, the sidewalks and alleys of any city, jolting her bones when she runs. Tomorrow, she’ll hate the island for that again. Today she’s just grateful. It lets her move faster, and by the time she gets to their hut, she’s out of breath. Kate takes a minute to lean over her knees, weight on her hands, to find her pokerface.
The last thing she wants is for Will to see how worried she is about him. Knowing Will, he’d decide she’s from that weird world Magnus dreamed and they had a relationship and that’s why she’s been so upset and acting out. Why a shrink needs help from her to understand that this isn’t her home, Kate can’t fathom. But he’s Will and he’s not Will and she just doesn’t want him thinking this is because she’s in love with him.
She’s not. No more than she’s in love with Magnus, anyway. It’s just, you save a guy’s life a couple dozen times and you start caring. You start caring about things like him turning into lizard-plant creatures and even if the guy you’re not dating tells you the other guy survives, you maybe have nightmares. Really bad nightmares. It’s normal. Will taught her that. Dreams are the brains way of dumping and processing information received over the course of the day.
So today, now, when she knocks on the door, she’s hoping to receive the information that she just interrupted Will and Magnus’s morning quickie. She doesn’t want to see it - probably - but she’d like to know that Will’s okay enough to be nailing Magnus and then she can go be bored until Magnus needs her at the clinic or she and Declan go do recon.
No one answers, though, so Kate knocks again. This time she listens more carefully to see if maybe they’re going at it and she should scram. No sound from inside at all. Great. Just great. She sighs and lets herself in. She needs water, for one thing, and maybe she’ll find a sign that Will was here earlier and then he won’t need to know she’s losing it at all.
While she drinks the water, she heads for the bedroom at the back of the hut. It’s habit that keeps her from trailing her fingers over surfaces and touching them: don’t leave prints, don’t leave marks, don’t leave DNA, don’t get caught. Maybe that’s why she palms a baseball off the front bookshelf and tosses it up and down while she eyeballs everything (except the sheets, because once she finds evidence of Will changing clothes, she really doesn’t need the overkill of a wet spot for proof, thanks).
Will would probably say some bullshit psych thing about the baseball being a manifestation of her father’s energy and her looking for that, protection, discipline, will in her life. Then she’d snap and tell him no, it’s something the two of them shared, because Jimmy taught her how to care about fat old guys playing with balls again and sometimes they talk about baseball.
It ticks her off. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know her. And Kate doesn’t know him now, not the same way she does at home. That might suck even more. Every day she’s losing more of him, of them, who they are at home. It’s been almost a month and she already can’t remember the smell of his cologne when she throws an arm over his shoulder or the feel of his hair gel when she fucks with his hair just to annoy him. When she gets home, if she gets home, she’ll forget the feel of sloth claws in her hair and the way Will smiles when he never died to save the coast of India but he goes to bed with Magnus.
Everything’s coming apart.
It’s a stupid thing to do, but Kate’s never met a bad idea she didn’t love.
When she leaves again, she takes the baseball.