Title: Cardboard Boxes and the Little Secrets They Hide
Summary: A few years after The End, Kate celebrates a special day in her own way. Not a very happy fic, but not as depressing as I thought it would be. I mean, I am capable of something way more angsty.
Note: So I tried to research Jack's age exactly but each source has it listed differently. Some use Matthew Fox's birthday, others use other references. But in the end it doesn't really matter I suppose because I decided to take liberty with that tiny detail.
This is dedicated to Cinzia and she knows why.
She grabs the coffee mug and the plate with the blueberry muffing on it and walks into the living room. She sits on the couch, legs crossed, next to the box she'd placed there earlier. Picking up the small note by the muffin, she smiled, knowing Claire was not one to let such an occasion to pass without making a big deal of it.
Happy Birthday Kate! I'm sorry I have to work today but we are definitely going to make a party of it tonight! It's your big 4-0! Enjoy your day, and I'll see you tonight! –Claire
She takes a bite of the muffin and sits back, letting her thoughts wander off for a moment. Forty, she thinks to herself, wow… Kate, you're getting old.
She laughs to herself at the thought. But her laugh quickly fades when a memory she thought was buried deep in her subconscious resurfaces. It was her thirtieth birthday and Jack had been living with her and Aaron for almost four months. She had been cranky all week, thinking that her life as a twenty-something was coming to an end. Jack, although finding her mood adorable, tried not to tease too much, being careful with what he said and acting sweeter than he had ever before. But when the day finally arrived, with the birthday surprise he had planned for her, all her anxiety went right through the window. It started with breakfast in bed and ended with them naked under a blanket on the floor of a beach cabin her rented just for the two of them.
She takes a deep breath, shaking her head to fight away any further onslaught of memories and concentrates on the box next to her. She had found it a few weeks ago while cleaning out the attic and meant to go threw it in order to sort out what needs to be stored and what has to be thrown away. It was photographs, that much she knew. There were some that she had gotten some years ago, from her mother's lawyers. She had gone through them just once, at a time when she was still mad at her mother, and barely paid any attention to them at the time, shoving them into a shoe box at the time and tossing them somewhere in the attic.
She goes through those first, thinking it would be easier to peal that Band-Aid off, the memories and the pain from that time of her life having become a thing of the past. She pulls out a stack, blowing the dust off and stares at the first few Polaroids. They are old and faded, the images are scratched and she does not recognize any of the faces. She turns a few over, reading the scribbled handwriting and concludes that they are pictures of her mother's childhood friends and cousins when her mother was almost eight years old. She focuses harder on the next few images, trying to see if he can recognize anyone. At the beginning she only recognizes places, amazed at how little that town had changed between the time when her mother was a young girl and the last time she had gone to it. It was like the town was in itself a time capsule. She comes across a picture of her mother as a teenager, dressed in a light blue and white dress, her hair pulled back in a tight pony tail, wearing high white socks and black shoes. Kate laughs. How is it possible that she is her mother's daughter is beyond her. They had never had anything in common. Kate thinks back to what she might have looked like at that age. All she can imagine is herself is dirty worn out jeans, a big t-shirt and a baseball cap, most probably chewing gum or on her bike, heading towards Tom's house.
She finally manages to go through the entire collection, letting a few tears escape at seeing pictures of her with her mother and Sam, the years when they were a real family, and she tries to swallow her anger when she comes across a few of Wayne. Eventually she has them separated into three piles, the ones she that will go into he garbage, the ones she will keep and the ones she will send to her aunt; the aunt she had not seen or talked to in years and years, not since the last letter she got from her in which she found out about her mother's illness.
She looks back into the box to see what's next. She sees a neat brown envelope with her name written on it. The handwriting is neat and orderly, unmistakably that of one Margo Shephard. She swallows, knowing what is inside that envelope and decides to leave that till the end, or maybe even another day. She collects the other contents of the box, a lot of photographs that are neither in order or put in there neatly. She soon realized that what she held were not only pictures, but a collection of photographs, newspaper and magazine clippings, postcards and drawings collected over the years. Aaron was the star of the collection with the bulk of the photographs being of him. She recalls vaguely seeing him that morning. He had stuck his head into her room right before he had left to work and whispered happy birthday. He thought she would not wake up, but she briefly opened her eyes and smiled. He had always attempted to be the first to wish her happy birthday, every year, rushing to her room as early as possible. When he was younger, he would climb into bed with her, hug her tight and say those words, occasionally slipping and asking if it was ok to close his eyes for a few moments and sleep on uncle Jack's side. She would swallow back the tears, pull her to him and hug him until they both fell asleep, losing the first few hours of the morning.
Her smiles spread wide against her cheeks as she goes through the pictures portraying almost all of Aaron's life. They are scattered bust she is soon putting them in order. There are a few of his first day of school, his bottom lip quivering as he held tight to stuffed whale, refusing to let go. She goes through a series of him playing in Little League, gapped tooth smile, muddy face and proudly showing the medal he had just collected. She finds some of his school awards as well. A few science awards and math awards he had won not so long ago are tucked neatly among the photographs. She pulls them our proudly, putting them a side with a mental note to get them framed.
She casually looks at the postcards. Most of them are from Sawyer or Richard, a few from Frank, and one from Hurley. She does not bother to read any of them for now, She just smiles, thinking of her friends, many of whom she has not seen for a few years, and sets them aside. She avoids the clippings, though, knowing perfectly what they are and when they are from, she just places the neatly tied bundle next to her on the couch, trying her best to read anything. She is still going through the process, as they all are. The events they lived through during those fateful three years not something anyone could easily overcome, and definitely not something they needed to be constantly reminded of.
She finishes from that stack and feels exhausted. It is an odd thing; browsing through all photographs, letting the memories play over and over, old emotions rushing through and new ones mixing with them. With some sort of fear in her eyes, she looks towards the final contents of the cardboard box; the brown envelope. She pulls it out with a sigh, dropping its weight in her lap. She closes her eyes for a moment, preparing herself for it.
This envelope had come into her possession so many years ago. They had been back from the island the second time for almost eight months. It was during these eight months that Kate had become very close to Margo, closer than she ever imagined they could be, even when she was engaged to Jack and Margo was to be her mother in law. Kate had decided that Margo needed to know the truth regardless of what they would have to tell the rest of the world this time around. She believed that the woman deserved to know the truth about what happened to her son; after all she had been through she needed to know how her son had died, the sacrifices he had made and the hero he was. Their shared grief brought them closer, helped them both go through their distress and heartbreak. They both loved him and were proud of him and that allowed them to honor his memory and never let go of him.
The more she visited Margo at her home the more she grew comfortable with the surroundings and with the home that Jack grew up in and that made her feel so much closer to him. Most of their visits together were spent talking about Jack, recalling stories about him. Margo would tell her about his childhood and his teenage years, and Kate would fill her in on the Jack she knew, the leader, the father and the hero. Margo would often bring out the old family albums, gushing over a picture of a month old Jack asleep in his crib, or laughing at another one of him with his eyes shut tight as she poured water over his small pink head in the bath. Then there were those of him in the awkward teenage years, pictures Kate was sure Jack would be embarrassed to know she was seeing; middle school dances, school speeches and goofy candids.
Margo also revealed more recent photographs, those that she had taken in the three years that had passed. Kate was somewhat surprised to see most of them. Noticing Kate's reaction to them at the time, Margo had made copies and given them to her, along with some of a younger Jack which she knew Kate had developed an affection for.
There was a time when she used to look at those pictures almost everyday until it became an obsession. Claire was quick to intervene and since then they only take them out on special occasions; when Aaron asks for them, when Kate is feeling especially bad or when she and Margo get together for coffee at Kate's house. Kate finally opens her eyes and reaches into the envelope pulling its contents out. She cannot contain the gasp that escapes her throat when she sees his face in the first image. It is something that happens to her every time she sees a picture of him, especially when it is one of him smiling, relaxed and happy. She traces his handsome features with her fingertips, staring at the photograph until she has memorized every detail of it. She struggles hard with every image to try to remember when it was taken, cursing herself when she cannot.
There is one of him handling the barbeque at a lunch his mother hosted for the Oceanic Six. She remembers that day vividly. It had been somewhat awkward for them to pretend to be celebrating, but they would soon realize that it would only be the beginning. She also remembers another detail about that day. After most of the others had left, with Aaron asleep in the living room downstairs, Jack had begrudgingly agreed to show her his childhood bedroom. They ended up making out on his bed and had to stop only because Aaron woke up and had to be changed.
She chokes back a tear at the picture of Jack and his mother at the church on the day of his father's "funeral". She recalls that few hours before that picture was taken. Jack had woken up very early, obviously anxious and worried about the events of the day and about his speech. She had tried to tell him he would be okay, that everything would be ok. He had helped her bathe Aaron and feed him that morning, saying it was helping him stay focused. They took a shower together and he left a few hours before her, kissing her quickly on his way out. She would follow him later with Hurley not once thinking that that quick peck would be their last kiss for a very long time.
She smiles proudly when she comes across a series of pictures of Jack being honored at various medical conferences and events. And while her chest fills with pride, it pains her to think that the world had to lose such a talented surgeon.
The photographs seem to jump a certain period of time and she is again looking at ones taken during their time together. This time Aaron is older in the pictures and the one taken during Thanksgiving dinner makes her realize something she had never seen before. The picture is of the three of them, with Aaron in the middle. Through all the years, she had never thought she saw any resemblance between Jack and Aaron despite being family. She realizes one has to look very hard to see it, what with Aaron being a splitting image of Claire and Claire in turn looking more like her own mother than Christian. But she realizes that now, after watching Aaron grow from the toddler in the picture she holds to the young man she sees every day, that there are certain qualities that he takes purely from his uncle. The physical resemblance may not be there completely, but their character is very similar, their focus and intellect, the way they both care for the people around them is evident. And she admits, that even though it is hard to watch sometimes, but Aaron also shares a lot of mannerisms with his uncle, rubbing the back of his head when he is frustrated, sulking when he is angry and storming off quietly.
She reaches the last few pictures and she knows she must look like a mess. She is glad she is alone for most of the day because it will take her a few more hours to recover. There is a pile of tissues next to her on the couch and her sleeve is wet from wiping at her tears. She stares at the one in hand for the longest time possible. It is the last one his mother took of them. It was taken just a few weeks before their break up, a few days after their engagement, a few months before they returned to the island. She looks at their faces, smiling, happy and in love, the way she imagined they would always be, forever. She wipes away another tear, one that falls to mourn the loss of that dream she once dared to dream.
The picture was taken ten years ago. Well, it was taken nine years and ten months ago. That is another day that she remembers perfectly. She had teased him endlessly, and even though he tried to act nonchalant about it, she knew it bothered him at some level. But later that night, in the bedroom upstairs, he made sure to prove to her that none of it had fazed him or affected him in anyway. It was his fortieth birthday, and she still remembers his words, when they finally relaxed in bed, wrapped around each other, spent and satisfied. He had pulled her close and whispered mischievously, there will come a day when you will be turning forty, and we'll see how you will enjoy being teased about it endlessly.
She curses under her breath, it's my birthday today, Jack. I'm turning forty. You have to be here to tease me! She cries into the empty house. I need you here!