All Mimsy Were the Borogoves
By Jillian
(Disclaimer: I shouldn't be writing Lost fanfiction. However, because I cannot handle the lull and because reading cute "Joone" fiction is only going to decay the moral fibers of my brain … I decided to stopreading and, instead, write something in my free time. No real spoilers, ha. Like I know about anything that's going to happen. I didn't have a clear concept of when this would fit in series, but probably pre-Confidence Man. Back when Sawyer was the fellow still willing to go tell Kate that Jack was in danger. Also, credit is due to Lewis Carroll for the title and the references I make to mythical critters of his creation.)
For all of his accomplishments, for all of his education, for all of his intellect, skills, talents, and charms, Jack Sheppard could not name the constellations. He leaned back against the beach, hands crossed behind his head and ears full of the sounds of water. Nonetheless, the stars were a brilliant sight in the unreachable sky. The same sky that had dropped them. Jack opened his eyes wide, realizing that he had started to drift asleep, and he wasn't ready to dream. Not if his subconscious was still preoccupied with reliving his last moments on the plane.
His dreams always started with what he remembered. Slight variations of the truth unsettled a true recollection. Once his mother was at the airport. She was the attendant stubbornly refusing to let him take his father's coffin onto the plane. Except her nametag said "Shannon." Then the flight attendant was offering him another of the quaint bottles of alcohol, only she was giving them to Walt who had said thank you and how they were the favorite of his dog.
Concentrating, he fixed on a bright spot that didn't drift away when he looked at it straight. Perhaps that could be his Southern Star. Something to steer a ship by if they found a way to sail. Perhaps he'd have time enough to find his own patterns in the sky. Give them names.
He fought a yawn and blinked through a film of sleepy tears. Then, he decided the cluster to his left, hanging in place over the survivors who'd chosen to stay on the beach, he'd call them The Shipwreck. Something for sailors to avoid, and airplane pilots to steer clear.
In his peripheral vision, the numbers of the stars were startling and unfamiliar. Different from the night sky in his backyard growing up. He wondered if his father had given him the telescope, would he have become an astronomer. Turned in his scrubs and stethoscope for a NASA suit. Follow what he had dreamed, rather than what he had been told. Learned what he had loved, rather than learned to love what he knew. But what use would an astronaut be to an island of castaways?
He heard the sliding steps of someone walking closer to him on the sand. Perhaps the person would simply walk past him; although, Jack had intentionally kept himself away from potential conversation. Any footfall leading to Jack was deliberate. He took a deep breath and smelled the urban smoke of Sawyer's cigarettes falling heavily through the salt permeated breeze.
"Aren't you supposed to be back at the caves, Doc?"
Jack didn't have to move. He had a pretty clear image of the way Sawyer stood with his weight disproportionately put to one side. Sawyer's fingers would shake around the cigarette as if he had been saving the smokes. Jack wondered how long the supply of Marlboro and Camels were going to last.
Jack didn't have to excuse himself. Still, he pulled his lips apart, they were dry like tracing paper, "Claire came to see the caves, but wasn't ready to stay just yet. Charlie was going to take her back her tent and I didn't think it was prudent to have him walking back alone."
"So you waited until it was long dark to go home. Sharp thinking, there."
Jack realized how thirsty he'd become when his tongue couldn't seem to bring enough moisture to his lips. His bottle of water was in the bag next to him, but his limbs felt weighted down beyond exhaustion. The thrill of success from finding and fixing up the caves, bringing some of the people, most of them, back. It all had been a great adventure, but when Jack let himself be still, his body was the first to betray the anxiety and stress he was feeling.
"We'll be fine," Jack was weary, "Have you heard any sounds from the jungle?"
"Nope," Sawyer's answer was frank and quick, "But that doesn't mean that the sources of those sounds have gone away. Even if you are only gorged by a wildebeest."
"Jack. Jack."
Charlie always seemed to say his name in twos. One, as if testing it out to see if he was saying the right name. The second, more confident and amplifying some urgency that needed immediate attention. Even if he only wanted to know what was for dinner.
He sat up then, pulling out at the back of his shirt where it was fixed against his skin. A thin layer of sand stuck to his forearms and he brushed them with his hands. Then, pulling up his legs, wiped his hands along his knees.
Charlie was nearly to him then, "Hey, what did you say to Sawyer? He actually smiled while he was telling me not to become food for the Jabberwocky. You don't think it," he said 'it' with hushed tones of confidentiality as if 'it' might overhear, "will be all 'slithy toves' and 'gyre and gimble in the wabe'?"
Jack laughed involuntarily, finding one cheek responding in a half smile. He tried his best to hide a stretch from his shoulders, willing his muscles to find the strength to hike back the path that already felt familiar. Looking up, the sky wasn't as ominous. He could still identify "The Shipwreck." Perhaps he'd call the bright star something epic, like "Virgil." Keeping vigil even when Jack found a few hours to close his eyes and risk the dreams.
"A light shines in the darkness, but the darkness has not overcome it," Charlie said. Jack saw that Charlie too was staring up at the sky, "I don't remember quite where I heard that. Long ago. From some old story, I dare say. Like the Jabberwocky."
"I like it," Jack said, reaching down for his bag. Reaching inside for the water.
"Oh yeah," Charlie added, after Jack pushed aside the first branches of the nighttime jungle that were reaching up around his waist like a black sea of foliage, "Kate says to tell you that if we get eaten she won't forgive us and that she claims the fork she saw you with the other day."
"Then let's not get eaten. I made Claire trade one of my better razors to Sawyer so I could have that fork. I figured it would last longer."
"Vanity. All is vanity." Quoth Charlie, as Jack switched on their flashlight. And two nearly formless silhouettes, now hidden from the stars, followed the solitary beam into the darkness.
Author's Note: Of course, now I keep telling myself I could have done better and to try again. Really, staying out after dark? chuckles I suppose stranger things have happened in fanfiction.