Title: Quicksand
Characters: Jack/Kate
Summary: A two-shot. After the O6 are rescued, they have to go on the run to hide from Widmore, Hanso, Dharma, etc…
AN: This was supposed to be a one shot, but I went into explaining the back-story a bit more than I had intended so I decided to split it up. Next chapter will be Jate heavy (it is the original one shot) and the first part is mostly background info. The truth is, this is just another excuse to write a Jate one shot, the background story is not all that important, but it's all typed up now, might as well share it.
He stares up as the dark clouds move over to cover the green-grey sky, preparing for another wet evening. He rests his elbows against the rusted railing and looks down towards the courtyard. Two kids run after each other in the abandoned playground, between a broken down swing set and a neglected jungle gym. A young couple make out in a red Mini, parked the entrance, ignoring the disapproving glare of the motel clerk. He sighs and turns around to stare blankly at the door in front of him.
Room 23. He scoffs and reaches into his pocket in search of his cigarettes. She hates it when he smokes. It pisses her off, actually. But since she slammed the door in his face and locked him out of their room two hours ago, a cigarette won't do any harm at the moment, he thinks to himself.
He is not exactly sure what he had done to have him end up locked out for the evening, but he had a few ideas. It had been a rough day. Hell, it has been a rough year.
The six Oceanic survivors were rescued and given a heroes welcome. Their tale of survival travelled across the world and they were instant celebrities. But shit hit the fan with a few months. Their lie was exposed and they became targets for a handful of evil and powerful entities that wanted them dead.
Eight months after the rescue, he got a letter from Sayid, handwritten and smelling of blood. Nothing has been the same since. He packed a bag as quickly as he could, just a few clothes and stacks of cash. No ID, to passport, no credit cards. He drove frantically at 4am to Kate's house and let himself in. He woke her up, explained what was happening and went to the safe in the basement as she packed her bag. He pulled out the gun and shoved it into his bag. She whispered that she was ready and he watched as she pulled a picture of Aaron out of its frame and fold it into her jeans pocket.
Aaron. His nephew. They found that out a week after the lie was exposed and luckily the media didn't get to that right away. Margo helped them locate Claire's mother, and Aaron has been with her ever since.
They have been on the run for almost a year. Fifteen countries in eleven months as they try to escape from the powers that hunt them down. They never stay in the same place long enough to settle down or catch their breath.
Sayid runs logistics, sending them messages of where to go and when. Sun is in hiding. She gathers information through her father's extensive network. She had miscarriage weeks after the rescue and no one had seen her since. Hurley checked himself into Santa Rosa way before the mayhem started. Sayid keeps an eye on him and updates Jack and Kate regularly. He seems to be doing fine, and Jack sometimes envies him for not having a clue about the reality they have come back to. Desmond and Penny disappeared the minute the made it back to land. The Oceanic survivors heard nothing about from them until a week before the lie was exposed. They still remain invisible but have been helping Jack and Kate since the two survivors started their life on the run.
Jack and Kate were tasked with a simple job. Bring down the evil powers. Expose their plans. Expose what they have done. Save those left on the island. They do not know where Sayid gets his information. Sayid would never admit it to them, but Ben Linus's information has been accurate since day one.
Jack paces the space outside their motel room, waiting to hear the latch on the inside unhook. It's their third night in Cordoba and he regrets complaining about the heat the day before. It had not stopped raining since the previous evening. Hot, smelly showers mercilessly drenching the city.
They had barely escaped the two gunmen following them that afternoon. They'd managed to steal the package Sayid had told them about. It looked like they were making a clean getaway when she muttered something about it being a little too easy. She had barely finished her sentence when a gunshot went flying right between them. She shoved the suitcase into his chest and they both ran towards the parking lot. They did not even make an attempt to start their car. She hot-wired a Chevy, and he barely made it into the car as she sped off. She was in charge of driving as he twisted in his seat and aimed his gun at the black Ford that was chasing them.
The streets were wet and slippery, and her driving was not helping his aim as he tried to avoid civilians and wide-eyed tourists clicking away with their cameras. The chase lasted forty minutes and the bullet that hit him only grazed his arm. He wraps it once he caught his breath and made sure no one is following them anymore.
He had known something was off when she snapped at him on the train from Paris and he mumbled sarcastically about forgetting her birthday.
He bit his tongue just as he said something about her having to mention it being too easy but she had heard him and she slammed the brakes a little too hard. His injured arm hit the side of the door ad he hissed in pain. She left the car parked over three spaces and stormed to their room. He shoved the gun into his pants and pulled the suitcase from the back seat.
It was useless to apologize. She grabbed the suitcase from him and slammed the door in his face. That was three hours ago. And now he is all out of cigarettes and his legs can no longer handle the constant pacing, nor can his fists handle another round of knocks. He sits with his back against the door and he hears her moving around the room every once in a while. He drops his head back occasionally, sending a thumping sound through the door that he knows she avoids. The wound on his arm hurts and he curses out loud, scaring the young cleaning lady coming out of the adjacent room. He does not bother to apologize as the lady passes by him mumbling insults that his high school knowledge of Spanish deciphers as fucking Americans.
He hears the door unlock behind him and he waits a minute before he pushes himself up. He takes a deep breath and walks in.