?

Log in

Kate Warner
10 March 2010 @ 12:21 am
[ papering over the cracks ]
God, she's tired today.

She pushes herself harder on her morning run, tacking on an extra half-mile, then another for good measure.

(The more she works out, the more energy she'll have, she reminds herself with every punishing stride.)

By the time she makes it back to the house, there's a stitch behind her ribs and her knees have turned to oatmeal.

Should've eaten something, she thinks as she fumbles with the back door.

The house is quiet when she leans against the kitchen counter, sheened with sweat and shivering. Nausea washes through her, and she closes her eyes and breathes deep.

Bill will be up soon; she needs to make coffee and jumpstart breakfast.

She grips the edge of the counter with one hand, flipping on the faucet with the other.

The sound of running water fills her ears, fading to mute as her vision tunnels and the sink yellows at its edges.
 
 
 
 
Kate Warner
03 January 2010 @ 01:25 am
After leaving a few notes and gifts with Bar, Kate returns upstairs.

She still has one more to deliver.
 
 
 
 
 
Kate Warner
23 November 2009 @ 03:00 pm
for demeterCollapse )
Tags: ,
 
 
Kate Warner
22 November 2009 @ 07:39 pm
[ "about last night ... " ]
Kate wakes early -- too early, judging by the near-darkness of the bedroom.

After a few minutes, when it's annoyingly apparent she won't be drifting back to sleep, she presses a soft kiss to Bill's cheek and murmurs near his ear when he stirs.

Easing out of bed, she pulls on a pair of sweats and tugs on a couple of layers; she wants to keep warm during her jog.

After checking to make sure Boo's still sleeping soundly across the hall, she slips downstairs to make fresh coffee for Beckett and Bill before her morning run.
 
 
Kate Warner
11 November 2009 @ 09:05 pm
[ every alcohol-soaked night has a morning after ]
Kate flicks off the lamp and slips into bed next to Bill, her eyes slowly adjusting to the faint light from the crescent moon filtering through the window.

She can't keep still-frames of the night before from flashing through her mind -- of Bill, of Beckett, of herself, together in a tangle of sweat-slick skin and limbs and lips and tongues and teeth; she's been seeing snapshots all day, a mental slideshow she can't turn off.

Despite how well the morning after went, Kate knows she and Bill need to talk.

But, rolling onto her side to face him, she can't bring herself to say we need to talk.

(For one, it's cliché.)

(For another, she can't.)
 
 
Kate Warner
04 November 2009 @ 01:36 am
[ these stakes have a high alcohol content ]
She's lost count of how much wine they've put away among the three of them.

By the time they call it a night, she's also lost count of how many hands of Texas hold 'em have slipped through their fingers, wallets, and wardrobes.

Kate's laughing as they stagger-stumble upstairs in a tangle of arms and torsos and underwear.

(At this point, she's fairly certain Bill and Beckett are mostly carrying her between them.)

They clear the stairs and her ankle rolls -- how, she's not quite sure -- but she's taking Beckett and Bill with her with a warm tumble, the ceiling's spinning, and she can't stop laughing.

"God, guys, I'm sorry -- sorry -- "

Her fingers brush Bill's stomach, and her free hand grazes Beckett's ribs as she twists to peer at them.

"Everybody okay?"