This little plot bunny came to at 4.45 this morning and refused to go away until I played with it a little bit. Sure, I am terribly sleepy, but I hope it was worth.
This is set the morning after in 316 when Jack asks Kate about her coffee. It's a little drabble because I miss them oh so painfully.
Still
You still like... milk and two sugars? - he asks but he already knows the answer (people rarely change the way they take their coffee).
He asks but he already knows the answer (the way she takes her coffee is one of the many things - some more intimate some less so - that he learned and memorized about her in the time they spent together.
You still like... milk and two sugars? - he asks and it's a subtle reminder (albeit unintentional) that this is what they did every morning for a very long time.
You still like... milk and two sugars? - he asks because he knows he no longer has the right to know these things about her (he fucked up royally and trivia like this about a person is earned).
You still like... milk and two sugars? - he asks, pretending he doesn't know how she likes her coffee.
He asks out of courtesy (but he knows, boy does he know - and he proved it all night long. With her sweaty writhing body beneath his, his fingers traced the paths he has committed to memory. His tongue, it did things, it went places that only he knew about).
Coffee has always been his thing. He is the coffee addict (she likes her morning cup of joe as much as the next person) - but she never craved it like he did (she always craved something else, someone else).
She loves the taste of coffee in his mouth though when her tongue sneaks into his mouth, leaving him breathless.
Before he moved in, the coffee machine spent most of the time in the cupboard (collecting dust like all things hidden do). She joked that she did not even know why she bought it (she lied though - she knew).
For the same reason she bought a house too big for her and an infant (and a king size bed) - she bought it because she always bought things for them. Together.
She always believed in them.
She believes in them.
She - still - believes in them.
She still does a lot of what she used to do - she believes he has moved on, forgotten and let go - she just cannot seem to move on, forget and let go.
(Jack Shephard has not moved on. Jack Shephard has not forgotten. Jack Shephard cannot let go).
He still hangs on (to every memory, every touch, every smell, every taste, every word) and it kills him that he cannot experience them again (and again and again) - but he screwed up, it's all on him, all of it.
He knows she prefers the left side of the bed (it was where he sat when he woke her up to propose to her). His hands were sweaty, his heart beat racing, and his voice cracked (but she said - she fucking said yes).
She does prefer the left side - but it's not where she sleeps anymore (not since that night) not since he left.
She now sleeps on the right side of the bed - she now sleeps on his side of the bed.
She curls up and hugs the pillow - his pillow - as tight as she can (if she focuses she can still distinguish his scent, wrapped around the pillow, wrapping around her). It is as close as having his arms wrapped around her.
Close but not the same. A scent (a phantom scent because she has since washed the pillow case numerous times) can never replace the real thing - not his real scent (after shave, coffee and Jack), not the strong and safe hold of his arms, not the solidity of his chest, not the rhythm of heartbeat, not the warmth of his breath.
And definitely not the tantalizing feeling of his lips against her bare shoulder, traveling slowly, teasingly towards that secret spot behind her ear - it wasn't a secret to him though (he had long learned every secret she had ever kept, she was an open book to him).
He knows she likes to wear dress shirts - his dress shirts (and he likes it too).
He likes how the large shirt drapes over her petit frame (he especially likes when she rises on her tip toes to reach a high cupboard an the shirt rises just enough to reveal that delicious curves at top of her thighs).
She still wears his shirts - he never came over to pick his things up (she never packed them up in a box or call him to come take them).
She still wears his shirts - they smell of him (they still smell of him) - they are all she has left of him.
She wears them around the house (all the time around the house) - and swallows back the tears when Aaron casually mentions Jack when he sees it on her.
He knows she has nightmares (he has nightmares too).
She still has nightmares (they all do, she assumes).
Her nightmares aren't what is expected (are they ever?) - they are not about losing Aaron or going to prison (she's already been through worse than a 6x6 concrete cell).
Her nightmares are about losing him.
Her nightmares are still about losing him (she doesn't believe she has lost him yet)
She still believes in them - this, what they are now, is not them being over (she always reminds herself).
They never officially broke up - his stuff is still in her house and she still has the key to his apartment (and she still wears the ring around her finger - but not when she goes to see him).
She still has her pride.
But nonetheless she still fears losing him (not breaking up or moving on).
Each night the visions that have her waking up with a sob - every single night - are images of him being taken away forcefully - violently.
It's dark and gloomy. It's raining.
It's on the island.
It's still the island.
The smoke monster pulls him away - away from her - and he is sent into a long deep hole.
Dark. Dark, dark endless tunnel into the ground.
She tries to pull him up but she is not strong enough (she is never strong enough) - and he falls (he always falls).
She can't save him (she can never save him).
He is the one who always saves her - still saves her.
Jack would disagree with her if she ever told him that (she would never tell him that).
Jack would disagree with her because it is she who saved him - who saves him in every way that a person can save another (he has never saved anyone).
She teased him once (well not just once) - about him being their savior.
She called him Superman (and in many ways he was) - but that only made his head drop, his eyes grow dark and his shoulders to fall (I am not a hero - he whispered in pain).
You still like... milk and two sugars? - his question is ridiculously innocent - but what she hears breaks her heart.
She wonders if he has already forgotten. If he really does not remember the way she likes her coffee.
What else has he forgotten? (is she that easily forgotten to him?)
She still remembers everything.
You still like... milk and two sugars?
He asks sweetly - softly (but he doesn't really wait for an answer)
I still love you - she thinks to herself.
But she keeps her lips tightly sealed (she does not trust the words not to escape her lips).
She still loves him (still madly in love with him).
He still loves her (he still loves her too).
They are still in love.
They are still damaged.
Damaged goods. Both of them.
Still.