A/N: This is my first writing EVER. When I was little, I really wanted to be a writer, but soon found that it really wasn't my gift. But you know that whole thing about getting good ideas in the shower? Well, I started writing this while I was swimming (I guess you get good ideas in water) and couldn't get it out of my head. I thought I would give it a shot. I hardly think it's perfect and I might end up editing it a little, but I wanted to see what people thought.
This is a one-shot. It initially was just going to be Jack-centric, but what can I say I am a crazy Jater and it just ended up exuding Jate...
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or any of the characters. But, if I could, I would kidnap Darlton and hold them for ransom until the other writers put Jack and Kate together.
Before the alcohol and the pills, his first addiction was the beach.
The lulling sound of the waves as they rushed in and out sounded to him like the whispers of the people he left behind. If he sat and strained his ears long enough, he could hear Sawyer's caustic tone and witty remarks as the waves crashed against the rocks. He could hear the gentle hum of conversation between Jin and Sun as the water receded. And he could hear the melodious strains from Charlie's guitar in the wind that brushed his stubbled face.
When he returned from the island, he came to the beach every day. Strangely, it was a comfort to hear the voices of those he called his friends. It became a release from the glaring lights of reality. If he closed his eyes he was back; Hurley's booming laugh, Claire's docile singing, Rose and Bernard lovingly bickering- he could hear them all. For a small part of the day, his musings freed him from the regret that he felt as he lived his daily life while those he imagined were left gazing at the horizon, still hoping for rescue. But as time wore on, the regret permeated even this release and tainted the vision he had kept encased for his salvation. After that, going to the beach was like a penance. In his mind, he deserved to be punished; he was the Moses who left his people wandering in the desert while he moved on to the Promised Land. He could still hear his father's voice telling him that he had failed. That he didn't have what it took. He was suffering because he couldn't save everyone, not even close. Soon, Christian Shephard's voice joined the whispers.
On his last visit, the whisperings provided him with one of his fondest memories. As he closed his eyes….
He saw her standing there in that vivid green shirt that made her emerald eyes pop. Sure, he was the doctor and the leader and had business to tend to, but he was intrigued by the many-sided fugitive. How could she be so many things entangled in one? She was rebellious and flighty at one moment, flirtatious and seductive another, and more often than she would admit, caring and kind. One thing he knew about her was that she couldn't stay in one place. But in this moment, she was content just standing still. He wandered in her direction to investigate.
"Well, this is a first. You standing still, middle of the day, doing nothing. Amazing," he teases, knowing full well that she will reciprocate. It wasn't cockiness, he just knew. It was strange for him, a person who didn't believe in destiny, miracles, fate, to believe in the concept of soulmates. But that was how it was with her. It was like before he was missing a part of himself that he didn't know existed. Now that he was aware of it, he didn't want to break the connection, fearing that if he reverted to his old ways, he would become disenchanted with his life and turn into his father- a drunken workaholic who regretted his life.
"I'm doing something", she smiles.
"Yeah", he chuckles, not surprised she took the bait. "What's that?"
He steps closer, not fully aware of his actions. She has that power over him, and he's not always sure he likes it. Him being a control freak and all. Yet, she was like a beacon on some far-off shore that guided him home. A home he had yet to discover. A home he wanted to build with her. If she would let him. Between the brain and the heart, he thought with the brain. That was why he had such a hard time trying to write his wedding vows to Sarah. He was trying to rationalize their relationship, trying to find the deeper meaning to what they had, analyzing and scrutinizing it. Maybe a part of his heart was siphoned off by his father, a father who told him he was too emotional and sensitive as a child, a father who never showed his love for his son, a father who manufactured him to be the perfect surgeon. He never thought with his heart because he didn't know it was still there. But this was different. As much as his brain told him that she was dangerous and a fugitive, his heart yearned to know more about her, to crack her protective shell, to hear about her childhood, to know her likes and dislikes. She was slowly tearing down the walls around his heart, like no one had ever done before.
"I'm sinking", she replies as he follows her gaze to her feet.
"Water goes out, takes the sand with it, and you sink", she states matter of factly.
"I used to do it with my mom when I was a kid", her sorrowful eyes glaze over as she recalls the memory. She hastily looks over in his direction, for once showing her vulnerability as she shares a bit of her past. He inwardly sighs, although it doesn't show on his face. Though he doesn't know anything about it, he wants to erase the memories that have marred her past, those memories that have caused her pain, so that she can remember these memories with happiness and not with regret.
As he recalled her words, he proceeded to stand on the edge of that boundless sea, hoping to sink into its depths, hoping that his grief would rush out with the rolling tide. Maybe that was what she was trying to achieve by sinking, some closure. He didn't want these memories marred with regret. Yet as the hours passed and the sun dipped below the horizon, he began to feel trapped, not only by the sand encompassing him, but also by the memories as they flooded his senses. The memory of her suffocated
him. He longed to see her, to bring the image to life, but seeing her only intensified his grief. She was the only thing in his life that mattered to him, but was also the constant reminder of his failure. He felt like fate, if it existed, had dealt him a cruel hand. Before, he was incomplete without her; now he was tortured when he was with her and tortured when they were apart. Despite his best efforts, he had turned into his father, a drunk who had abandoned his family. But he was worse. His father had only left two behind, him and his mother, two people who didn't always try to understand him, two people who never reached out their hands to help. He had left so much more-love, acceptance, his first true family.
As he turned away, gasping for air and blinking back tears, his eyes met brilliant emerald orbs, glistening with newly shed tears. From her eyes alone, he understood that he was not alone in his regret. Yet her eyes whispered something else; it was time to move on. And she wanted him to come with her. But he knew he couldn't; his feet were still stuck in the sand. With one final look, she turned her back on her memories, while he turned his back on her. The whisperings of the waves were an addiction he couldn't face down. He was sinking.