AtS - Bring Me Quiet (1/1) - Kate(/Angel)
Title: Bring Me Quiet
Author: Tonya (
_fullofgrace)
Rating: PG
Genre: Kate, Angel/Kate
Timeline: season 2, post "Epiphany" - picks up right after the scene where Angel saves her
Disclaimer: The usuals. No own, no sue.
Word Count: 1241
Summary: Kate fights with inner demons.
********
“Thanks. Now get out.”
She pushed past him as if nothing was wrong, as if she had not just been brought back from a dark place. She made her way to her bedroom, her attention focused on the way her clothes felt clinging to her like a second skin. As she reached the doorway, there was a moment of silence in the apartment, and she almost expected to hear his footsteps come that way, to come and make sure she was truly fine.
But the footfalls never came. Instead, she heard the sound of her apartment door closing.
She gave a small sigh of relief, closing her eyes and leaning against the doorway. She stood for a moment, listening to her own breathing, before pushing herself from the doorway. She peeled layer after layer of wet clothing from her body as she made her way to her closet. Each piece landed in a damp bunch on her carpet, but tonight, she could care less.
She quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a blouse, her slightly wet hair dampening the collar. Her feet bare, she made her way out of her room, stepping over each piece of wet clothing as she passed.
When she finally stood in her living room, all she could do was take in the damage that she herself had caused. Trophies and pictures were strewn across the floor, the shelves bare where they had once been proudly displayed. Her phone still laid overturned on the carpet, surrounded by small white pills. The vodka bottle laid in a damp spot where it had overturned at some point she couldn’t remember.
But she could remember quite clearly one thing. The phone call to him.
Kate stood there, hearing her own voice.
It was me, right? I couldn't take the heat...
No, she thought grimly to herself as she made her way to the mess, no you couldn’t.
She knelt in the mess, turning the phone over and placing the receiver back into its cradle. She picked up the pill bottle, and with shaky hands, she began placing the remaining pills back into their container. As she listened to them drop into the plastic bottle, she wondered how many she had taken. How many she had been able to wash down before losing consciousness.
But then, then I won't care either. I won't feel a thing.
And that had been what she had wanted. She had wanted to stop feeling-- to stop feeling helpless, to stop feeling as if she was nothing but a disgrace to her father’s name, to stop feeling like that blonde little girl who had to prove herself all her life. She had wanted to stop it all, and she had welcomed the quiet.
Quiet was better than the voices screaming inside her, pulling her apart. Quiet was better than the pain. Quiet was better than the frustration. Quiet was better than living.
Or at least that’s what she had believed.
Kate finished collecting the pills and snapped the lid securely onto the pill bottle. She stared down at the orange bottle for a moment before giving it a small shake and finally standing. She retrieved the half-empty vodka bottle from its spot on the carpet and made her way to the bathroom.
She stepped over the puddle gathered near her shower and stood at the bathroom sink. She stared at her own pale reflection for a moment before pulling her eyes away. She poured the remaining alcohol down the drain, the smell wafting up to her and making her stomach clench. Once empty, she tossed the bottle into the wastebasket near the sink. She pulled open her medicine cabinet, catching a glimpse of her own ghostly reflection, as she did so. Frowning deeply, she placed the bottle back into its proper spot. She stared at it, debating, before finally retrieving the pills from the shelf again and swinging the medicine cabinet closed. She turned the hot water from the sink onto full blast, watching as it began to steam. She popped off the lid of the bottle and poured the pills into the sink, watching them swirl for a moment before finding their way down the drain; some nearly dissolving before making their way. Satisfied, she turned the water off and tossed the bottle in the trash, where it bounced off the empty vodka bottle with a hollow clunk.
She pushed her hair behind her ears as she grabbed a towel off the towel rack over the toilet. She made her way to the puddle near her shower and knelt on the dry surface just around it. Sighing, she laid the towel out and attempted to gather up as much water as she could.
“I shouldn’t be alive,” she muttered to herself as the towel soaked up more water.
She didn’t remember losing consciousness, but she did remember coming back.
She remembered the warmness of the water rushing over her body, over her face. She remembered choking, and for a second, thinking that she was having a vivid dream. A vivid memory of going to the lake with her father, diving into the depths and getting water up her nose just like he had warned. But the lake had never been that warm, and she had never felt so cold.
And when she had found herself gasping for air and coughing up water, she had realized it wasn’t a dream.
Out of the fog, she had heard his voice. Telling her to cough. Trying to bring her back.
She had opened her eyes, and the water had flowed over her, blurring her already fuzzy vision. She could feel his arms around her, supporting her. And she was sure, with her head laying against his chest, that if he had had a heartbeat, she would have been able to hear it race.
He had turned off the water once she had started breathing again. He had helped her out of the shower, and they had stood in silence in her bathroom, both soaked from head to toe. He had watched her as she had stared at her own reflection in the mirror, as she tried to figure out what exactly had just happened.
Neither had spoken a word.
Not until she had turned around, thanked him, and ordered him out of her apartment.
Kate sighed as she continued to try to soak up the water on her floor. She stood and yanked another towel from the rack. Kneeling on the floor again, she pushed the damp towel to the side and began vigorously patting the floor with the dry towel. Each pat came harder and faster until she finally stopped, her hands clenching the towel into a ball. She clenched the towel even tighter as the tears came, and then the sobs she had tried her damndest to hold in.
She wasn’t supposed to be here right now-- crying, breathing, living. She wasn’t supposed to be here.
Then you're gonna feel all bad, or you won't care.
He wasn’t supposed to care. No one was.
She had lost so much faith in everything, in everyone.
She hadn’t wanted to be saved. She never expected to be saved, but he had come. After everything done and said between them, he had come for her.
And as much as she had welcomed the quiet earlier in the night, she was thankful.
Thankful more than words to be alive.
Author: Tonya (
_fullofgrace)Rating: PG
Genre: Kate, Angel/Kate
Timeline: season 2, post "Epiphany" - picks up right after the scene where Angel saves her
Disclaimer: The usuals. No own, no sue.
Word Count: 1241
Summary: Kate fights with inner demons.
********
“Thanks. Now get out.”
She pushed past him as if nothing was wrong, as if she had not just been brought back from a dark place. She made her way to her bedroom, her attention focused on the way her clothes felt clinging to her like a second skin. As she reached the doorway, there was a moment of silence in the apartment, and she almost expected to hear his footsteps come that way, to come and make sure she was truly fine.
But the footfalls never came. Instead, she heard the sound of her apartment door closing.
She gave a small sigh of relief, closing her eyes and leaning against the doorway. She stood for a moment, listening to her own breathing, before pushing herself from the doorway. She peeled layer after layer of wet clothing from her body as she made her way to her closet. Each piece landed in a damp bunch on her carpet, but tonight, she could care less.
She quickly changed into a pair of jeans and a blouse, her slightly wet hair dampening the collar. Her feet bare, she made her way out of her room, stepping over each piece of wet clothing as she passed.
When she finally stood in her living room, all she could do was take in the damage that she herself had caused. Trophies and pictures were strewn across the floor, the shelves bare where they had once been proudly displayed. Her phone still laid overturned on the carpet, surrounded by small white pills. The vodka bottle laid in a damp spot where it had overturned at some point she couldn’t remember.
But she could remember quite clearly one thing. The phone call to him.
Kate stood there, hearing her own voice.
It was me, right? I couldn't take the heat...
No, she thought grimly to herself as she made her way to the mess, no you couldn’t.
She knelt in the mess, turning the phone over and placing the receiver back into its cradle. She picked up the pill bottle, and with shaky hands, she began placing the remaining pills back into their container. As she listened to them drop into the plastic bottle, she wondered how many she had taken. How many she had been able to wash down before losing consciousness.
But then, then I won't care either. I won't feel a thing.
And that had been what she had wanted. She had wanted to stop feeling-- to stop feeling helpless, to stop feeling as if she was nothing but a disgrace to her father’s name, to stop feeling like that blonde little girl who had to prove herself all her life. She had wanted to stop it all, and she had welcomed the quiet.
Quiet was better than the voices screaming inside her, pulling her apart. Quiet was better than the pain. Quiet was better than the frustration. Quiet was better than living.
Or at least that’s what she had believed.
Kate finished collecting the pills and snapped the lid securely onto the pill bottle. She stared down at the orange bottle for a moment before giving it a small shake and finally standing. She retrieved the half-empty vodka bottle from its spot on the carpet and made her way to the bathroom.
She stepped over the puddle gathered near her shower and stood at the bathroom sink. She stared at her own pale reflection for a moment before pulling her eyes away. She poured the remaining alcohol down the drain, the smell wafting up to her and making her stomach clench. Once empty, she tossed the bottle into the wastebasket near the sink. She pulled open her medicine cabinet, catching a glimpse of her own ghostly reflection, as she did so. Frowning deeply, she placed the bottle back into its proper spot. She stared at it, debating, before finally retrieving the pills from the shelf again and swinging the medicine cabinet closed. She turned the hot water from the sink onto full blast, watching as it began to steam. She popped off the lid of the bottle and poured the pills into the sink, watching them swirl for a moment before finding their way down the drain; some nearly dissolving before making their way. Satisfied, she turned the water off and tossed the bottle in the trash, where it bounced off the empty vodka bottle with a hollow clunk.
She pushed her hair behind her ears as she grabbed a towel off the towel rack over the toilet. She made her way to the puddle near her shower and knelt on the dry surface just around it. Sighing, she laid the towel out and attempted to gather up as much water as she could.
“I shouldn’t be alive,” she muttered to herself as the towel soaked up more water.
She didn’t remember losing consciousness, but she did remember coming back.
She remembered the warmness of the water rushing over her body, over her face. She remembered choking, and for a second, thinking that she was having a vivid dream. A vivid memory of going to the lake with her father, diving into the depths and getting water up her nose just like he had warned. But the lake had never been that warm, and she had never felt so cold.
And when she had found herself gasping for air and coughing up water, she had realized it wasn’t a dream.
Out of the fog, she had heard his voice. Telling her to cough. Trying to bring her back.
She had opened her eyes, and the water had flowed over her, blurring her already fuzzy vision. She could feel his arms around her, supporting her. And she was sure, with her head laying against his chest, that if he had had a heartbeat, she would have been able to hear it race.
He had turned off the water once she had started breathing again. He had helped her out of the shower, and they had stood in silence in her bathroom, both soaked from head to toe. He had watched her as she had stared at her own reflection in the mirror, as she tried to figure out what exactly had just happened.
Neither had spoken a word.
Not until she had turned around, thanked him, and ordered him out of her apartment.
Kate sighed as she continued to try to soak up the water on her floor. She stood and yanked another towel from the rack. Kneeling on the floor again, she pushed the damp towel to the side and began vigorously patting the floor with the dry towel. Each pat came harder and faster until she finally stopped, her hands clenching the towel into a ball. She clenched the towel even tighter as the tears came, and then the sobs she had tried her damndest to hold in.
She wasn’t supposed to be here right now-- crying, breathing, living. She wasn’t supposed to be here.
Then you're gonna feel all bad, or you won't care.
He wasn’t supposed to care. No one was.
She had lost so much faith in everything, in everyone.
She hadn’t wanted to be saved. She never expected to be saved, but he had come. After everything done and said between them, he had come for her.
And as much as she had welcomed the quiet earlier in the night, she was thankful.
Thankful more than words to be alive.