A/N: Have a treat
They had lied and gotten away with it. Kathryn really wasn't sure how it had even happened—one moment they had been cleaning up the blood and then she and Annie were lying about what had happened to her and saying that she'd always have feminine issues and that it was a hemorrhage for that purpose.
Miraculously, none of the SS Officers had seemed to question that. They had just taken the body away. Kathryn wasn't about to question anything beyond that. Because if they had, in fact, questioned them about it, then they were all going to be physically examined in a variety of horrible and invasive ways. They would learn that Inez was pregnant and they would shoot her then and there.
And the rest of them would be lucky to walk away from that. So no, she didn't say anything about it. Neither did Beatrice—she kept her confidence as she left them. And Kathryn was grateful for that small kindness in some way. It did, in fact, help the rest of them keep up a charade about being untouchable and fine in some way.
But quite truthfully, for Kathryn Egan, after watching Maggie die and after seeing Beatrice abandon them, Kathryn was on a hinge-point. A place where she wasn't sure she would be able to come back from. She just felt empty . She felt as though she were drowning in a sea of grief and pain and hard truths that no one knew how to speak.
She was drawing from an empty bucket at this point. She didn't have an appetite, didn't have any energy to fight left in her. She was simply put, exhausted . She wanted it all to just be over and for it all to stop. But she knew that she wasn't like that.
No, Kathryn Egan would keep going until she dropped.
She would keep doing the same things day in and day out until there was nothing of her left.
Her brother had let her in on some of the plans—although he stated that she needed some sort of deniability if things went south. That she understood. She couldn't be tortured into giving information that she didn't have. But she also knew how these men worked. Knew that they would torture her even if she didn't have the information. And even if they knew she didn't have the information, it wouldn't stop them from doing that sort of thing.
No, after her most recent laundry bout, Kathryn had ducked into the bathroom to wash some blood off of her hands. And as soon as she had moved to leave the bathroom—she found herself being pinned against the wall and being touched .
She had clawed at his eyes and elbowed him in the nose—just in time for DeMarco to shove him off of her and for Kathryn to turn and stalk off. She could scarcely breathe, scarcely keep the anger from bubbling up in her chest. She wanted to scream, wanted to shoot these men and kill them where they stood—but mostly she just wanted to break down and cry. But Kathryn Egan could not do those things.
Instead, she retreated into herself for half of the day. She sat there in that bunk and she tried to keep her hands from shaking in rage—pure and unadulterated rage that was a holy and sacred thing and it was hers and hers alone.
But if there was one thing that Kathryn Egan knew, it was that her anger and her rage could not linger. Because if her anger and her rage lingered, then she would lash out at her friends, at her nurses, at the only allies that she had. And they would hate her—and rightfully so, because maybe this was a sort of fatalistic drive within her. She knew what she was and she knew what she was craving.
That fallout though? She wouldn't be able to forgive herself for the things that she did to push them away. It was out of love—and she knew that it was out of love. But they wouldn't. Not in those moments.
And she couldn't handle that.
So Kathryn took that pain and that grief and that anger and that self-hatred and she just swallowed it down once more. She let it boil underneath the surface and left it there. She did what her brother did best and she just let things bottle up. And that would still come to a fallout eventually. But not yet.
After a moment of wallowing and self-pitying and closing in on herself, Kathryn Egan picked herself up and she grabbed a pencil. "Come on then," Kathryn insisted on it, drawing something on the ground.
Annie blinked from her place in the cabin, looking up from her book. "Have you lost yer damn mind?"
"No, I'm just making hopscotch," Kathryn stated in a very matter-of-fact tone.
Tina's jaw dropped and she hopped down from the bed, eyes wide at her. "You're batshit crazy—"
"No, hopscotch!" Kathryn gestured at the ground.
"Umm—" Inez started. She leaned forward, placing a hand on her forehead. "You don't have a fever—"
Kathryn swatted Inez's hands away from her gently. "I'm not sick! I just—" Kathryn's voice seemed to die in her throat for a moment. "I just need a minute where we're not in this damn camp. Where we're just playing a game."
Silence for just a moment. Then Annie set down her book and dusted off her pants, rising to her feet. "How do we play?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
If there was one thing that Buck and Bucky hadn't been expecting when they got back to the bunkhouse, it was to find the men, the Tuskegees, and the nurses all involved in the world's most intense game of hopscotch all over the empty floor space of the bunk.
And hands down the best part of the whole thing was seeing Kathryn Egan leading that charge, an unusual grin on her face that almost made them think of the way things used to be. For just a golden and shining moment, Buck Cleven thought that he saw his Kathryn. There was a light in her eyes that he hadn't seen that entire time—
He was suddenly reminded of the time that she had created a game of hopscotch back on Thorpe Abbot. She had been with all of those kids and she had been so happy and full of life and hope and in that moment, under the summer sun—Gale Cleven had absolutely fallen headfirst into loving Kathryn Egan from afar.
It was jarring though—the sheer difference in then and now.
But he sat down with Bucky and he cheered the game on and when it was said and over, he felt lighter than he had in weeks. So when he finally got up and he tapped Kathryn on the arm and whispered in her ear—she was more than surprised.
The simple fact of the matter was that she was confused . She didn't fail to notice the small patterns of twine—twisted into flowers and other little things—that found their way onto her pillow when she returned at the end of the day. She didn't fail to notice that her bowl always seemed a little more full than anyone else's and that he kept a careful watch over her when he thought she wasn't paying attention.
How could she not be paying attention though? He meant the world to her. She followed him outside into the hallway—which was the closest either one of them would really get to any privacy in this godforsaken place. They both took a seat on the ground of the hallway, sitting closely by one another.
For a moment, Kathryn just sat there in silence. She wondered, silently, if he was waiting for her to speak first. But then he was speaking. "I'm not mad at you, if that's what you're wondering."
Kathryn's gaze fell back on her ruined hands—the sores and the harsh cuts that littered the skin. "I did wonder," she admitted quietly. "You walked out that night."
"Yes, I did," Buck chose his words carefully. "Were you ever going to tell me?"
Something dropped in her chest into her stomach—she thought it was a pit. "Yes. No. Maybe—" Her voice cracked and dropped off.
"I walked out because I was still processing what Hausmann told me—"
The horror in her eyes as her head snapped upwards to meet his gaze was heartbreaking . "He—he—"
"I don't care about anything that he said. If there's something you want me to know, then it'll happen on your terms. Not anyone else's."
It was a damn good thing that she was already sitting. That line alone would have caused her knees to collapse from under her. Because she wasn't expecting that. Kathryn could barely process what he had said.
"They really don't make men like you, Gale Cleven," Kathryn murmured the words quietly, wringing out her hands.
"They don't make women like you either, Kathryn Egan."
"I didn't kill her then?" Kathryn could barely get the words out of her throat—and she couldn't bring herself to look at him either.
"I was wrong. I shouldn't have said that."
"I think we've both said some things we didn't mean," Kathryn admitted, voice quiet and regretful. She paused for a minute, thoughts racing. "What exactly...did Hausmann—"
All at once, Buck understood. She didn't know what information Hausmann had told him—if any of it was true or not—or how to approach the topic with him. It was a lot for anyone. "He mentioned you stabbed him."
At that, the edges of Kathryn's lips tugged upwards into a small smile. "He deserved that."
"We'll get him."
" I'm going to kill him. I hate him." Kathryn admitted in a choked tone.
"Hate poisons, darlin'."
"You can't fix that."
"No, but you can give me some of that hate. And I can share the burden," Buck murmured quietly, hands straying to her scarred hands. She tensed, ever so slightly—and then relaxed at his touch. Still soft. Still warm. Still safe. His hands traced over the lines, barely more than a feather against her skin.
"It doesn't change—" Kathryn's voice cracked and she slipped her hands out of his grasp. "You can't do this. You're not supposed to—"
"I'm not supposed to what?" Buck's voice barely sounded.
"You're supposed to hate me," Kathryn's voice cracked again. "You're supposed to—leave me. And be with someone who can give you everything. Because I can't—I can't do that. And you deserve—"
Buck felt a portion of his heart crack as she spoke. This is what she had been thinking the entire time that they hadn't been speaking? That he hated her? "Love's not about deserve. So no."
"No?" She choked the word out like it was some sort of foreign concept.
"No. I mean—" Buck ran a hand through his hair in frustration and tried to verbalize the feeling. "I've known since the minute I met you that it's you and me, Kath. And I will love you until the day that I die, Kathryn Egan."
Kathryn Egan just stared at him in dumbfounded shock and disbelief for a solid second. And then she did something she most certainly should not have done—but all decisions and brain-cells at the moment had vacated the building. She leaned forward and very gently pressed her lips against Buck's lips.
It surprised him as much as it had surprised her. It was over before it really even began—mostly so that the guards just outside wouldn't look in and see that and get any ideas of their own. "I love you," Kathryn murmured out the words.
But his hands lingered on her face—hands drawn to the small scar on her jaw. "He hit you?" He murmured.
"With his gun," Kathryn murmured back. And for some godforsaken reason, Kathryn felt compelled to speak about the experience. To tell him something . Something that no one really knew. Because Buck was her safe place. He was home away from home and if she couldn't trust him, then she couldn't trust anyone. "You saw the burns—that first day, didn't you?" She questioned quietly.
A look of slight regret crossed Buck's features. "I wasn't trying to look—"
"No, I—" Kathryn sucked in a breath. "You're the one who needs to know. He...he used the cigarette to leave scars. Places where people wouldn't usually see."
"Where?" Buck hadn't meant to be so bold or to verbalize that particular thought—but it had slipped out before he could stop himself.
Kathryn just looked hesitant for a moment and she just looked at a loss as to what to say. And then she carefully took his hand in hers—a surefire sign of trust. And she guided it to her chest, right over her heart and over her breast. Despite the intimacy of the gesture, it was not sexual. It was just the only thing that she felt she could do.
For a moment, neither one of them spoke. They just stared into each other's eyes, completely and totally entranced. And for Buck Cleven, he still believed that Kathryn Egan's eyes were the type of eyes that you could get lost in. And maybe he was finding her in those eyes again.
"Here," she gently moved his hand to her waist. His fingers brushed against the fabric and it had just barely shifted upwards—and then his fingers were touching one of the scars. He could feel the small scar—perfectly circular and just starting to gain a leather-like texture. How could anyone have ever touched Kathryn and wanted to hurt her?
"And here." This time, her hand guided his hand to her thighs—and as soon as he had touched her, she had entwined their hands and brought his hands away from her thighs. She was nearly shaking at the contact.
He leaned forward, and ever so carefully, he placed a kiss on the top of her head. "No one's ever going to touch you again."
"Don't make promises you can't keep, Gale."
"I'm going to keep this one."
She leaned into his shoulder, resting her head against him. "I'm sorry. I've been awful—and I've really missed you—" She admitted.
"No, no, don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Apologize," Buck murmured. "Seems to me that the only person that needs to apologize here is me. I'm sorry, honey."
"If we get out of here—"
"When," he corrected gently.
"When," Kathryn nearly smiled. "I'd really like to go dancing."
"We'll do a lot more than that." Buck said warmly. "Besides, I've got a question for you. A pretty important one."
"What's that?"
"It's not romantic in any way—so I apologize—but, when we get out of here, will you marry me?"
A slow smile spread across Kathryn's features. "Well what took you so damn long to ask me?"