Title: Something Real
Author: Silverwind24
Disclaimer: I absolutely do not own "Lost" or any of the characters used in this fanfic, but I absolutely wish that I did!
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jack loses hope after finding Charlie in the jungle, and just when he feels like he can no longer be strong, he finds something real to hold on to.
Author's Note: This is my first "Lost" fanfic so I hope you guys like it, and I'll see where I can go from here based on reviews!
"All they wanted was Claire."
That was all Jack could get out of Charlie, all that the poor, shaken, and broken young man could tell him was an expression of weakness, a lament at his inability to protect the most vulnerable of the survivors from an unforeseen enemy. His grief was painfully apparent as Jack saw Claire in Charlie's eyes, and could almost hear her hysteria and screams in his mind.
"She must be so afraid," he thought, and all of the guilt that he felt for what happened to her and Charlie surfaced, and he could not suppress it or occupy his mind with feverish work to allow himself to forget. He blamed himself, completely and totally, for not believing Claire's fears, for hurting her deeply enough to make her try to leave the safety of the caves, which lead to her abduction.
He was a fool, no smarter than the rest of the survivors. They turned to him for help and guidance like he was some sort of omniscient god. And he couldn't do it. He was just a man, one man, except for the fact that he had the lives of all the other survivors weighing on his shoulders like lead, choking him like smoke. He was just one man.
Storming away from the caves was foolish, he knew. But he had to get away, just for a moment. He felt panic surrounding him as he thought again of what could be happening to Claire, the impossibility of the presence of others on the island, and the sharp, biting reality of their existence. Why had this task, this responsibility, this pain, been given to him?
The urge to scream out in frustration, grief, and exhaustion that had been building up inside him since the crash welled up in his chest, and he had to let it go. Jack screamed his frustration through a tightly clenched jaw, and kicked his leg out at a tree trunk in a burst of pent up anger. Anger focused at himself, the island, the others, and God. At the other survivors for being so trusting of him, when he simply could not do it. He wouldn't feel this pain if he didn't care so damn much.
"Jack?"
He stopped at the sound of her voice, clenching his hands at his side and stiffening in sudden shame. He didn't want her to see him like this. He almost laughed; he was berating himself for being a weak fool, and yet he still kept up his pretense of being strong.
He felt her come closer when he did not turn to face her, and the sudden touch of her hand on his arm surprised him inexplicably, as if he had been disconnected from everyone in his pain, and her touch had brought everything flooding back to him. Gently, she tugged at his arm until he turned to look at her. Her hair was still soaked from the rain, her face tear-stained from her passionate and heart-broken weeping in the jungle where they found Charlie. It all came back to him now, the frantic, desperate pounding on Charlie's chest, and her screams as she pleaded with him, crying as he had not heard anyone cry.
"Kate," he said softly, ashamed of himself as he met her eyes. She gave him that sad, wistful look that was seemingly always on her face. Her eyes were wet with unshed tears, and as much as he longed to comfort her, he did not know if he could bear the weight of any more grief and worry.
"It's ok."
"What?" His eyebrows furrowed in confusion at her calm yet forceful reassurance.
"It's not your fault, Jack. No one knew. How could we? You can't know everything, and no one could have predicted what happened to Charlie and Claire." As Kate said Claire's name, Jack breathed in sharply and she winced. Nothing that she could say would make it better, even tolerable.
"I failed them, Kate. I failed all of us. No one is safe on the island anymore, and nothing that I can do will make them feel safe again. Claire is out there, Kate, and she's probably afraid and hurt, who knows what is being done to her? You saw what they did to Charlie, just to keep us from stopping them. She was already in so much danger, her baby could come at any time, and she'll die without help. And there's nothing I can do." He spoke feverishly, hysterically, almost scaring her.
"I know, I know," she whispered, her voice breaking as her lip quivered.
"Don't." Jack said, pleading. "God, I couldn't handle it if you started crying." With that his own eyes filled with tears.
"Sometimes you just need to let go, Jack." She looked at him, holding herself together outwardly even as her fingers quivered against his arm, and she swayed on her feet from mental and physical exhaustion.
"Let go…" he fought it for a moment, and Kate could see it on his face. Then, uncontrollably, he pictured Charlie's cold, lifeless body, the panic he felt as he tried to resuscitate him, and then saw a much unwanted image of Claire, her face pale with the death that encompassed her and her baby.
"I can't do it, Kate…I can't protect all of them…" he murmured, and his face cracked and broke along with his voice, his legs suddenly becoming useless as he slid to the ground, not caring when his knees sank into the mud. He was aware of her arms around his neck, her hands on his face, her forehead against his, brought together by tortured tears. He heard someone sobbing, in a voice pained with all of the pain the survivors felt since they crashed on the island, a voice so hopeless that it startled him. He recognized as Kate's heartbreaking sobs joined his, and realized that the voice that cried and moaned with the pain of dozens of lost lives was his own.
He hadn't cried, truly cried, in years. He couldn't stop, as everything came flooding back, all of the pain and disappointment that had bottled up since his childhood. The still, serene face of the first patient he lost, the look of hopeless abandon in the eyes of a mother whose child he failed to save, a baby born only to die moments later, amid the grief of unbelieving new parents, hope lost, lives scarred, all coming back to him, helpless and alone. That look of betrayal on his father's face as he did what was right, in spite of how it hurt him. All of these decisions came back to him, and he cried for them.
"Jack, Jack, oh please, Jack," Kate sobbed, saying his name, trying to bring him back, frightened by his violent expression of pain. Suddenly, he clung to her, his face buried in her shoulder, the wetness of her hair failing against his forehead. He clung to her because she was something real, someone who knew that he couldn't take it anymore. He could hear her voice, comforting, pleading, in the background of his sobs, and he felt her hands on his shoulders, her nails digging into his shirt and skin as she held on to him.
Slowly, his tears subsided and his once-hysterical sobs became deep breaths and quiet murmurs. Kate's whispered reassurances were clear to him now, and he managed a slight smile as he turned to look at her, rocking back to sit on the muddy, wet floor of the jungle. He opened his mouth to speak, thinking to apologize for losing control. As if she knew what he was thinking, Kate shook her head, reaching her hand out for his. He took it in his own, never looking away from her face, seeing her inner strength as he hadn't before. As he tightened his grip on her hand, feeling its warmth and softness, he smiled slightly. If everything else was crazy and wrong, in Kate he found something real.
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