LITTLE 18
By: AliLamba
Rated: NC-17
Thanks: AB, who is gloriousness with smutty one-shots…that end up being 30 pages. And to Jacks who's always there.
Notes: This is sort of an exercise in pronoun use. I think you'll have to tell me if I'm successful or not. Don't let it be who you think it will be! Also, I must be trying to prepare myself for season five. What. is. linear story-telling. What. Also, I'm just diving in here, so you know. And it gets confusing! So. Prepare. And try to just go with it. By it I mean the flow. Er. Okay I'm done now.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Their breathing came hard.
It emptied their lungs like wet sand; heavy clumps falling and dissolving on each other's shoulders…and necks…and hair. The sound of it clouded their ears.
Slowly they became aware of other things: his hand gripping the soft flesh of her upper thigh, her calf digging into the small of his back. He felt the hem of her skirt testing the strength of his fingers and she heard the soft clinking sounds of his unfastened belt buckle, metal against metal. The way his muscles suddenly felt sore. How painful the handle of the dresser drawer was, jabbing into the bones and muscles just above her ass.
Realization eased away the heady lull, and they found they both had eyes and voices; glances darting at each other quickly and almost awkwardly as they tested their vocal cords with different tones. He had to let her down to the ground, muscles straining to move her weight as slowly and carefully as possible until her feet touched the carpet. He stepped away to let her readjust her skirt and blouse while he rezipped his pants.
There was a smear of lipstick across her cheek. He watched it, while she looked for her dark lace underwear.
Two months earlier…
She twirled the olive branch between her fingers, letting the toothpick spin its oblong fruit fast enough to make an oblong circle. Her martini was almost done, but she didn't have the heart to finish it and find another. A group of investors laughed en masse to her left, and it raised her chin out of her mind's reverie, though she didn't turn to find what was funny. Instead she turned slowly and leaned her back against the tip of the piano, the lack of fabric in her dress allowing her skin to touch the cold veneered wood.
What a dull, dull party.
Someone recognized her and engaged her in conversation, and though she smiled and complied with their line of dialogue she imagined it was obvious how little she actually cared.
"Yes," she found herself saying. "I'm so happy with him."
The woman was whisked politely away for a dance and Kate sighed while perusing the room.
Watching the way the hem of her evening gown swished as she walked around the baby grand, Kate carried what was left of her drink towards the pianist. She was hoping to simply have something to stare at that didn't require her well-mannered mask of civility. As she came closer to the pianist she let her hand drag across the glossy black surface of the instrument, seeing the diamond-encrusted ring on her finger catch the light.
Hey you…little girl.
The pianist had started singing, and his voice was sort of caressing and strained in the way he treated the lyrics. On the piano he played only a few chords on repeat, allowing himself to sing the melody.
Will you play with fire it'll feel right…
You won't be sad
For a long time
So
Take a boy
Who pretends to love you
He only wants to
See you under him
But he won't see the glory in…
Beauty's not akin to him…
You're just a game to be played…
Settle down, take your time, don't be stupid
Like your friends
Your life begins the moment
You're alone in the city chasing dreams
Not looking back to the time when you were sorrow
And feeling sad
In your search for a man like dad
There was something beautifully entrancing about the slight rasp he used while whispering some of the words. Some he dragged out more forcefully, distorting their meaning. And when a person she hadn't noticed stood and pressed a trumpet to his lips, she wasn't necessarily surprised. It was appropriately used; in a subdued way fitting to the song. Kate stopped listening to the music, instead staring down at her ring finger and turning the wedding band with her thumb. She felt like that one piece of jewelry aged her more than twenty years could. And it made her feel lonely.
"Hey sunshine," a voice whispered huskily, coming close – it was her husband. The tux he was wearing suited him – it always suited him – and Kate realized with dull discomfort that she should be more pleased to see him looking so handsome. "Need a refill?"
Kate looked down at her glass, not knowing when she had finished the rest of her cocktail. "I'm fine," she heard herself replying. She felt him kiss her temple and whisper into her hair as he slowly led her towards the dance floor. "Any chance you'd like to be a little more social?"
Her spine stiffened slightly. "I'm sorry, I didn't know I wasn't keeping up my end of the bargain."
He frowned. "It's not a bargain when you're my wife. I'm just asking you to be an asset in that three thousand dollar dress."
Inside she felt dull and listless, and Kate figured there was no harm in pretending again, for this one night. When her husband directed her arms into a dancing position and then slowly started to sway her, Kate found her plastic smile.
Around her husband's shoulder Kate caught the eye of someone she didn't know. He was leaning against the wall next to the door to the kitchen, alone but for the drink he was nursing in his hand. His frame was tall and dark and handsome. And he was staring at her.
"Freckles," her husband ground out under his breath, "Will you move god damnit? You feel like a god damned coin-operated machine."
Kate started with a small jump and looked up at her husband. "Sorry," she whispered.
"Sorry Sawyer."
"I, uh…I've never done that before," he felt like clarifying. She didn't look up from where she was still scouring the floor, but there was a pregnant moment where she paused, and her gaze slid out of focus for half a second.
He knew instantly that she had (done this before), but strangely it didn't make him feel any more sordid. It didn't make him feel like blaming her. He watched her legs move in her high heels across the carpet until she was at the door. Then he looked up at her face, and confusion and panic spiked through him as she opened it. But the door cracked only a few inches as she peered out, then looked down. She knelt. When she came back in her room there was a maroon scrap of lace clutched in her hand, which he recognized instantly as something he'd pulled off her.
Five weeks earlier…
Different party, same tux. From across the room he watched her as she entertained some of his colleagues. It was strange, how effortlessly she got along with them, when Jack felt like his attempts at camaraderie were a constant form of struggle. Her blonde curly hair shone tonight, in the fancy way she had it knotted together. And the gold colored gown suited her. Jack used his finger to hold a small straw out of the way while he took another sip of his drink. He wasn't sure what kind of alcohol it was.
"She's still as hot as the day you married her," someone said, making themselves known. Jack looked up, but his eyes caught a brunette talking to the chief of medicine's wife across the room. She looked like she had green eyes, and something about her looked familiar. But he didn't stop to stare, instead finding his wife in the throng of other doctors, laughing. He forced a grin and looked at Mark.
"And I suppose I'm still lucky you got food poisoning."
It was supposed to have been Mark's first date with Juliet, but he had been keeled over the toilet all day, so Jack had gone to let the intended girl down gently. Instead they'd ended up in the back of the chemistry lab, under a table with the lights off. It had been his first time.
Mark snorted. "Luckiest bastard in the whole world…" he mused, and after a pause, took another long sip of his drink. Jack spent a long time staring at the glass his friend held, the back of his mind toying with possibilities of ten years ago, what he could be doing presently if things had been only slightly different in so many ways. He decided not to think about it, and instead looked around the room.
His eyes sought out where he'd seen the brunette last, but she was no longer there.
He was feeling himself growing hard again, as he watched her wiggle her hips to get the panties up her legs. He watched her lean over to start adjusting her stockings, cursing when she noticed a small rip. His fingers had already abandoned his tie by the time she started moving towards the bathroom. He heard the water turn on, and then she splashed some on her face. Sliding his hands into his pockets, his tie forgotten, he started walking towards the open door as he heard the water turn off. The light in the bathroom was harsh, and it made her look pale. Under the make-up he could see the slightly darker shades under her eyes, and all at once she looked so tired to him.
Their eyes connected through the mirror, and she released a tumbled heap of breath into the sink.
"That was. Um." She stopped and started like she didn't know what to say, making him feel awkward. "I liked that."
He leaned against the bathroom doorjamb, his hands in his pockets. She turned and rested herself against the marble counter.
"Liked it as in…it'll happen again?"
Three weeks ago…
"I think I've seen you before."
It was the first time he'd spoken to her. Kate knew it was the first time he'd spoken to her. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, making him know he was being watched and evaluated. "Oh yeah?"
The way he was staring at her let Kate know he was having trouble placing her face.
After a pause. "Are you a doctor?"
Kate bit her lip and shook her head. Not entirely amused, but willing to play. He was cute. She was sure she'd caught glimpses of him all night, and on more than one occasion found him staring back. They'd been sitting at the bar together for almost three minutes before he found the courage to speak to her, and Kate was starting to feel tingly, on the verge of allowing herself to be flirtatious and have a good time. Sawyer'd been on her case about the last few parties about mingling, anyway. And she was pretty sure that the tall man with the short brown hair and the crisp brown eyes was a doctor.
"A doctor's wife?"
She couldn't contain the indignant snort that left her lips through the matching grin. He was the third from that evening alone to make the assumption. The striking out analogy wasn't lost on her.
"Close," she drawled, and walked off with her glass of champagne. Her hips sashayed a bit in her blue flowing gown. She wanted to leave, but she had nowhere to go, so Kate stepped outside into the cold night air. The balcony was mostly empty, and Kate took a seat at one of the stone benches usually occupied by amorous couples seeking privacy and an excuse to touch each other's thighs. Instead she stretched out on it alone, resting her weight on one hand, letting the coldness of the stone seep into her palm and thighs and ass. With her free hand she sipped her champagne.
Kate wasn't sure how long she sat there. But when Sawyer came looking for her with a frown on his face, casually dropping curse words, she rose dutifully and reentered the party. Her husband was no doctor, but a salesman. He represented a firm who had developed some sort of new line of medical tools and had been trying to broker a deal with the major Los Angeles area hospitals for months now. Kate, his wife for only a slightly longer period, had nothing else to do besides…'help.'
She had no job, no college degree. She'd simply met Sawyer, fallen in love, and agreed to marry him.
But on the first night of their honeymoon, Kate had leapt from slumber because of a dream. In her sleep she had been swathed in black, a veil covering her face, looking down into the limitless vapidity of a grave – Sawyer's grave. Yet she had felt no sadness, nor anger, nor a sense of loss. Instead she felt, in every pore of her being, nothing besides pure and undiluted…relief.
Her mother had told her all new brides had that dream; that she would get over it in time.
But Kate hadn't, and the dream had become so recurring that now she looked upon her husband with such blasé tolerance, seeing nothing but a monotonous string of average days and average nights. It wasn't that she didn't love Sawyer. It was simply hard to be happy when everyday felt like you were living a lie – somehow adapting your 'happily ever after' to the model in which you were cast.
Her heart started beating faster, and she felt it in her throat. It stifled her breathing. The way he was looking at her stifled her breathing.
"We can't," she said, though she felt like the words needed to be unglued from her throat before they left her lips. Their bodies were frozen, and they both acknowledged that it would only take one encouraging move. They wouldn't look anywhere except each other's eyes, both probing for some sort of signal. His hands slipped upwards, out of his pockets, and in a rush she remembered their feel. Her eyelids fell as her breath left her, and she felt him approach. The moment before he touched her she felt her whole body shudder.
One week ago…
Sunlight roasted the back of his neck, little beads of sweat forming though the air felt cold.
Jack stared down the length of his club at the small, puckered ball on its tee. He tried to jog his memory of all those damned classes he'd taken with Juliet. From behind him he heard her soft giggle, and it felt deeply mocking. Every muscle in Jack's body tightened in retaliation, and gave up a swing. He hit the ball – thankfully – but the white speck disappeared into the sky in the wrong direction.
"Ooo," his wife winced, echoing the sentiments of the others in their foursome. Jack tried to compose his disappointment, but avoided the other's eyes as he returned his club to its bag.
"Hey I know how that is," a Southern voice drawled. Jack looked in the direction of the blonde businessman, and felt annoyed all over again with his presence. "Mind's somewhere else, right?"
Jack shrugged and fell back. His wife easily entered the conversation with an anecdote about their trip a few years ago to Palm Springs. She made the Chief of Medicine laugh. Jack tried to smile agreeably when everyone else looked at him.
They finished the game with Jack trailing five points behind Mr. Ford.
"Don't worry about it partner," he told Jack, slinging an arm around his shoulders. "We all get those off days. You know what you need? You need one of my wife's famous whiskey lemonades."
"Just the whiskey sounds great," Jack tried to agree, walking in a way that would break up their friendly pose.
"Hey! Hun!" Jack looked up, towards where Mr. Ford was shouting. Three women were seated around a table behind the stone railing, wearing pastel sweaters. Jack felt his own wife sidle up to his side, and then her breath on his ear.
"Kill me if I ever look like that, okay?" He knew she was smiling. He knew that she was going to say that. He knew that she was going to step away just as quickly, and when they reached the group of wives she would be pleasant and engaging. Over lunch she would shoot him desperate glances when one of the others said something equally canned.
Jack knew he should chuckle conspiratorially. He knew he should squeeze his wife's hand and kiss her temple, tell her that she was different. The impulse nonexistent, Jack went with the crowd to the occupied table.
"Jack, I don't think you've ever met my wife," Sawyer said a little too loudly. Jack turned to the women. He recognized two of them, but the third was faced away from him.
"This is Kate." Her head of brown curls turned, and Jack knew what she would look like before he saw her green eyes.
"Jack stop," she breathed. She pulled herself away almost violently. Jack shut his eyes.
She was more beautiful than he remembered. The stretch of her neck, and her sprinkle of soft, soft freckles. Her pale green eyes were looking at him.
"Kate…" he whispered, his voice a groan.
He was perhaps the most gorgeous man she'd ever seen. And she felt like she recognized him.
"It's not right." There was a weak strain in her voice, and Jack approached. He stood so every part of his body was inches from her, not touching. Every iota of his essence was enveloped in her senses.
"It's too late."
He could tell she remembered him. A small hand came up to her slightly parted lips, as delicious mischief edged around the corners of her eyes.
Kate looked into his eyes, almost scared, very unsure. Her eyebrows pinched together.
And then she gave in again.
"Oh, we've met," she said, her voice soft, and Jack remembered exactly. He grinned.
"Not exactly a doctor's wife," he recited. She smiled broadly, excited that he could recall.
"I wasn't being exactly fair though, was I," she murmured, a wicked humor taking over her gaze. The situation should be awkward, but there was a teasing challenge in her tone. "To be honest, my first guess for you was 'doctor's wife.'"
Jack laughed, suddenly and undeniably amused. Everyone else was awkwardly quiet, staring at them, uncomfortable with the obviousness that Jack and Kate were in a small, exclusive little world. Jack didn't take notice, and took the seat next to Kate.
Lunch passed in a verging-on-flirtatious blur, and he felt as if he barely tasted his own food. She was beautiful, and smart, and funny and clumsy. God, it seemed like Jack laughed half a dozen times in the space of an hour – more than he felt he'd laughed in six months. Kate was like the freshest breath of air he'd ever tasted, and just telling her as much was on the tip of his tongue when it was time to say goodbye.
Sawyer had entered back into the picture, slipping his arm around Kate's waist in a way that was designed to establish ownership. It didn't go unnoticed by either party. Jack felt inexplicably angry and suddenly guilty. He looked at Kate, who was looking away.
"Well…" he tried, coaxing her gaze. He wanted to ask for her phone number, or to ask if he would ever see her again. Kate's eyes were wide, almost inviting him to ask. Juliet came to his shoulder, and Jack felt her hand on the small of his back. He tried to ignore her.
"It was very nice meeting you, Mrs. Ford," Juliet injected, offering a controlled smile.
"You as well, Mrs. Shephard."
And that was it. Sawyer turned his wife and herded her to the valet line, while Juliet tried to capture her husband's attention. She tied her arms loosely around his neck and started kissing his throat, whispering into the underside of his chin.
He didn't hear her. Please, he wanted to whisper to Kate's retreating figure. Don't leave me.
Jack couldn't understand any of it; why he felt like he was breathing again, or why he wanted to push Juliet off him. But he felt drawn to Kate, and it made his eyes linger on her retreating figure for much longer than they should have. When he was just about to finally look away…she looked back.
He was kissing her. Of all else she was uncertain. But his lips stained her flesh more than ink ever could; every touch she responded to, silently asking for more. It was heat, luscious heat, and already satisfied.
"Jack…" she whispered. "They'll know…"
Five days earlier…
Jack was wandering down the halls when he heard a soft, metallic laugh. His head jerked up, and he found the sound. It was Kate. His mouth broke out into a grin and he started walking towards her. She had been trying to keep up a façade in front of Sawyer and the chief of pediatrics, and he could tell how uncomfortable she was.
She turned before he could announce he was coming. There was a look in her eyes, of almost warning rather than surprise, and intrinsically Jack turned to Sawyer instead.
"Mr. Ford!" he called, alerting the small group. The salesman instantly flicked his eyes towards Kate, but then engaged Jack with a handshake. After all, he was more interested in having surgery on board than pediatrics, and the hierarchy of his intentions was clear.
"Call me Sawyer," he offered, leaving a gap in the conversation for Jack to relax the same formality. He didn't. There was a moment of awkwardness.
"Well I uh, I assume you remember my wife, Katherine…?"
"Katherine," Jack said, testing the word. He grinned when he decided it didn't suit her.
"You know, I was just thinking about lunch," Sawyer intoned. "Any chance I could treat you boys in return for you showing me where the heck the cafeteria is?"
After they reached the pristine blandness of the communal eating space, Sawyer turned Kate towards a table, leaving her there. Jack realized it was unspoken that Sawyer would get her meal for her. When he and the chief of pediatrics started towards the lunch line, Jack lingered behind.
"You go on ahead, I already ate."
Sawyer obviously wasn't expecting this. In a split second he weighed the option of suggesting a different scenario, but there was no legitimate reason to, so he tried to smile it all off. "Anything I can get you then? A beer?"
"No, I'm fine. Thanks."
They both shuffled off, and Jack took the seat across from Kate. There was a moment where they just smiled at each other. Jack wanted to say something, wanted to tell her it had been awhile though it hadn't, that he'd thought of her though he shouldn't. Or that when he closed his eyes to sleep he imagined her lips.
"Hey," she murmured.
"Hey," Jack returned.
"So uh. What're you doing here?"
Jack's smile faltered. He looked down at his chest, picked up a pinch of his lab coat. He changed his mind from the obvious answer. "Janitor," he joked. "Trying to land a breast exam."
She laughed, to his relief. It was exhilarating making her laugh. Kate launched into a story of when she was working in New York; it started with her on the night shift maid's duty for a big law firm, and ended with her being woken up under a desk at six a.m., wearing a drawn on mustache, a knocked over potted plant in front of her after she'd tried to make herself inconspicuous. It had Jack laughing so hard there were tears in his eyes.
"And then—and then they fired you?"
"No!" Kate squeaked, laughing equally as hard, "No! They fired me, because the guy's mistress thought he was having another one on the side with me – and I was still wearing the mustache!"
Jack threw back his head and laughed, his whole torso shaking.
"What's so funny?"
The chief of pediatrics was suddenly right there, Sawyer just behind him. He was balancing a big tray of food and two beers. Sawyer slid next to his wife, casting a quick glance at Jack.
"Don't tell me my wife's telling stories again, Jack." It didn't go unnoticed that Sawyer was forcing the familiar name upon him, and Jack didn't care.
"She's a pretty good story-teller," he contradicted.
It looked like lunch was going to be a long one, as Sawyer brought up the old fallback of sports as a topic of conversation. They fell into it, but Jack's attention waned on the banter. Kate kept glancing at him from the corner of her eye, and suddenly it seemed like it was all he could think about. All he seemed able to see was the way her blouse opened at the collar, wide enough to invite his gaze. She picked at her lunch, but every time her lips opened, he caught sight of it, reveled in it.
Just as he was starting to feel guilty, Sawyer brought up the Red Sox, an issue Jack couldn't ignore.
Suddenly the chief of pediatrics was stretching uncomfortably, and Sawyer was taking notice. The two other men stood, and Kate followed awkwardly.
"So I've convinced you for drinks at seven, right Jack? Because I've already started telling people you'll be there." Sawyer gave him a huge wink to let him know he was joking. Jack didn't believe he was, but looked to Kate briefly. He tried to ask her silently if she would be there too. How do you say it? How do you tell a woman you're not married to that you want to see them again?
…Damn if he'd thought of Juliet all day. And then it was like two weights settled on the breadth of his shoulders. Juliet. This needed to stop.
Jack shrugged as casually as his shoulders would allow, and the other three wandered off.
His evening rounds didn't take as much time as they should. Every step reminded him of another reason he shouldn't think about a girl with brown hair, green eyes, and freckles. But he wanted to know how many freckles she had, and if he took more than a glance at his fingers he imagined them counting each one. He almost masturbated in his office after his secretary went home.
It was cold when he made the quick trip to a bar a few blocks away. The dimly-lit room was only one in a long string of businessmen hang-outs, where they could all pretend that they were young and relevant again. Jack stood outside the window for what felt a very long time. Juliet was in there, laughing at something Sawyer was saying. Her hair was down – it was never down – and every once in awhile she would find an excuse to touch another man's shoulder.
He didn't want to go in. He didn't feel like he could play the part again. Not tonight. Not when he felt so sordid and guilty.
With a quick turn on his heel, Jack headed towards the end of the block. He turned it, walking blindly, until he reached someplace more suited to his needs – where he could get a beer from tap and wonder if anyone spat in it.
When he opened the door he was ambushed by the sound of a football game and something obnoxious from a juke box. It all paled when he saw her. Of course she would be there too. He didn't even think of turning around and walking out.
"Hey," he said again as he reached her booth. She looked up, shocked out of her train of thought.
"Oh, wow…" she said unconsciously, her eyes wide. A ragged breath left her lungs, and she softened.
"Hey."
Jack slid into the seat across from her. Her legs were in the way, but she didn't move them.
"So I suppose I should report you for skipping class."
She laughed, softly, eagerly comfortable. "Hey, I thought we were in this together. Some Breakfast Club you are."
Jack grinned from ear to ear.
Somehow they talked for almost three hours. There was always a beer in his hand, but he felt like he never finished it. Kate seemed to hold her liquor pretty well. It was the only thing that made him realize how much time had passed.
"How are you not completely incapacitated?" he wondered aloud.
Kate grinned mysteriously. "Bartender," she divulged. "Well, I was a bad bartender. Miami. Two months."
For some reason, Jack loved this information. Everything about her was an amazing wonder, and he was slowly realizing how addicted he was. He wanted to know everything.
"How uh." He'd started asking the question before he realized what it was. It didn't stop him. "How long have you been married?"
She didn't seem to mind. "Seven months," she whispered, and Jack instinctually leaned closer.
"Seven years, for me," he disclosed.
"College?" she guessed.
"Pre-med," he amended.
"Ah," she whispered, looking down into her drink. "For me it was a bar." She looked around and tried to smile ruefully. "Not too unlike this one, actually."
He was looking too deeply into her eyes, and was too amused by their color.
"He actually had his eye on another girl," she explained. "But he tripped on me while carrying drinks over to her, and spilled all over my dress. We were both already drunk, so obviously it made sense to go back to my place together and change."
Jack tried to keep the mood light, though what she'd just told him didn't sit well. In fact, a tight seed of unmittigated green rage had turned his gut to stone. "Obviously."
She seemed glad of his effort, and smiled at him. But then her smile slipped from her face, and there was an awkward pause as Jack tried to follow her emotions. "Do you—" she stopped and started. "Do you ever…wonder…what it would be like if things were…different?"
She didn't need to clarify; Jack understood her perfectly. It seemed he was constantly aware of the different threads of time, as if they were all clearly laid out in front of him. Step in this direction for your happy ending…step in the other and anticipate the consequences. Pain was knotting Kate's eyebrows together, and instinctually Jack reached out a hand to cover one of hers.
She gasped at the contact, her eyelids fluttering. Jack felt it too—the sudden release inside of him, like warm water over ice. He hadn't realized how hard it had been to withhold his limbs from feeling her skin before know.
"Jack, no," she whispered, but it wouldn't have mattered. Suddenly Jack was crawling around the table towards her, his hands trying to anchor themselves on her in any way they could. He needed to be closer to her…
And suddenly she felt her blood rising to her throat. Oh god, she whispered, when his arms were around her.
He was holding her too tightly for it to be a consoling hug. She could feel the muscles in his neck – they were so tense – as if he was unsure where to put his head.
Her phone rang. It made them both jump.
Kate tried to feel relieved as she fumbled by her feet for her purse. She was so aware that Jack was staring at the top of her head, but her mind was a mess with the feeling of her own breath against his skin, reflecting back against her lips.
"Yes?" she asked, her voice tripping over the word. It was her husband. He was drunk.
"No, I'm all right. I-I'll come and get you." Kate sighed as she hung up, and put the device back on the table.
"I…I have to go."
"I have to go," she whispered into his hair as they both lay sprawled on the bed, limbs tangled. His head was buried in her neck, his lips trying to mark every stretch of her skin. It felt wonderful.
Jack dotted little kisses down her body. There was one above and below her collar bone, then further until his lips touched the top of her breast. "We both do," he reminded. Instead of slipping away, complying with their concurrence, Jack looked up at her, resting his chin on her sternum. For a moment they just stared et each other, trying to probe for answers so they wouldn't have to voice the questions. Does this feel wrong to you? …Should it, if it doesn't feel wrong to me?
"Why did you say that?" he asked, quietly, and it shook off Kate's internal monologue. "Why did you tell me to leave you alone?"
"I'll go with you," he asserted, slipping backwards from the booth and standing so she could get out past him.
Kate felt like he might say that. She could almost remember someone else saying something similar. It tingled the part of her brain which had been telling her to leave all night, and suddenly Kate felt stiff.
"No," she said, a little more harshly than she should have. She was standing just next to the booth, and there was less than an inch of space between their bodies. She wanted to not look up at him, but her traitorous eyes did anyway. He was trying to only be confused. It made it worse. Somewhere Sawyer was waiting for her, depending on her. And here she was. Again. And it was better this time.
"No Jack," she pleaded, her voice filled with emotion. It came out like a cracked whip. "No, Jack, just. Just please. Please just leave me alone."
He looked like she'd just punched him in the stomach, and it pained her in places it shouldn't. Kate bit her lip and tore from the bar, but her hands were shaking by the time she tried to use her car keys.
Six months ago…
Kate remembered waking up next to Kevin feeling her stomach full of the ocean. No, not the ocean, but the alcohol churned everything else inside her stomach. Remembering what she'd drunk and the little she'd eaten the night before didn't help. She needed to get up, and – naked – she stumbled into the bathroom and caved over the toilet to try to purge everything from her system. There was a mirror by the sink, and she caught a reflection of herself: sitting on the floor next to the toilet, half hugging the porcelain bowl, her face clammy with a sickly shade of sea foam green tinting her sallow cheeks. She looked like a junkie.
Her cell phone rang. Splinters ran up her spine as Kate scrambled off the floor and back into the hotel room, finding her pants and fumbling with the denim pockets (why were there so many) until her fingers grasped the small plastic device.
Sawyer.
Kate sucked in a breath to keep from crying, but she had to bite her lip in extra effort. No. Her husband's first business trip away and this is what she'd done with herself. Kevin groaned and rolled over in bed, and Kate didn't breathe for fear of waking him. When the steady hum of his light snoring refilled the room, Kate set about getting herself cleaned up and out of there as soon as possible. In the process she found his police badge, and it made Kate feel like crying. No, she kept telling herself. Never again.
Jack's head lifted abruptly from her stomach.
"Someone's coming."
Two days earlier.
He could almost feel that she was close. For the past three days, despite every way he'd tried to ignore it, he knew that he would see her soon. She was always in his thoughts. When he showered he remembered the smell of her hair, when he walked he remembered her walk, and when someone laughed…all he could hear was hers. Juliet tended to look at him queerly now, but he couldn't even begin to question it – let alone assuage it.
And then there she was.
He had just rounded the last corner before his office, and she was there in front of his door. Her hands were clasping a cup of coffee, her head caved over it behind a shade of her hair. All her weight was on one leg, as if she was thinking about leaving.
"Kate," Jack murmured. They were alone in the hallway, and she looked up as if burned.
She almost cried his name. Jack's breath caught in his throat as his feet threw him towards her, and he remembered how tortuous it was to lie in bed feeling alone. His arms were around her again before he let himself stop, and momentum tilted her head back. And then he was kissing her. He couldn't even do it softly.
They somehow tumbled into his office, the coffee and the folders Jack had needed left in the hall. They stood in the middle of the room, their arms pulling everything closer, lips refusing to let go. It felt like she was breathing the air into his lungs.
"Kate," he whispered when he wanted to just hold her. "Kate…Kate…Kate…"
It felt as though every limb was touching the other's. The mood changed.
"God do I want you," she whispered. Jack felt the rush of blood coarse his system, and his hands pressed her pelvis instinctually into his. Her head fell back on a soft moan.
"You're all I think about," he admitted, his hands tugging the blouse from the top of her skirt with gentle, short touches. She was unraveling, her limbs going limp, but when he touched her flesh she froze like she'd been shocked.
"Jack we can't," she murmured suddenly. His fingers felt brittle, like if he moved them away they would break.
"What?" he asked, his voice hoarse.
"I…I can't do this Jack.
"I don't want to do this.
"It's wrong."