Disclaimer: Who would I be kidding?
Warning: Very unusually for me, the story doesn't contain smut (am I ill, or what:)). It does, however, feature some offensive language. But I decided not to rate it M – show me a person who wouldn't mutter a curse when under extreme duress. You'll also find some slightly disturbing imagery here, nothing too graphic though, I believe. Unfortunately, the 'tragedy' genre should be taken literally, so if you are unduly shaken by character deaths, stop reading right now.
Several lines stolen from Kate Bush's songs, don't remember the titles. You'll recognize them when you see them.
A/N: OK, so here goes my first attempt at serious angst and I'm genuinely curious of yours folks opinion. It's official: I'm physically unable to write short story. :)
Note: this fic doesn't clarify if there's two islands or one, since I'm having issues with two.
And to those of you who have never read anything I wrote before: take into account that I'm not a native English speaker, far from it; thank you.
The story was inspired by a transfixing urban myth I stumbled across. You'll see for yourself when you read it.
It takes place after 'I Do' and is a part of my 5-oneshot-prompt, each meant to represent one of the basic tastes, and they'll generally be Jate, although some might seem otherwise on the surface.
I know, I promised one at a day a while ago, but obviously I lied. :)
To those of you who ask about my other ongoing stories: they are most certainly not abandoned, but I just keep getting distracted by other ideas, plus my new job is so demanding, I want to cry, so I thought I'll give you something little while you're waiting for the main dish!. I hope you enjoy!
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The sky, it's sparklingly clear that morning, not a cloud to be seen, endlessly, into the horizon. Wide expanses of bright blue open space. Freedom. Hope anew.
But the breeze has long died out.
Motionless humid air is sticking her clothes up to her sweaty skin as she strides jumpily through the jungle. No more soft rustling of the leaves above, no soothing shush over her head. Only the muffled creak of greenery disappearing under her boots, crushed mercilessly.
She hears them before she sees them. Her name being shouted over and over, two agitated voices overlapping. Two angular figures shaded against the wild tangle of the bush. Sawyer and Sayid, rushing towards her, but not running, their steps growing slower, heavier, upon her turning around.
Such a quiet, windless day, she takes an odd note, the words falling into a sound sentence in her mind as if to occupy it with something irrelevant, as if to jam the frantic thumps of her heart.
"We found him."
We found him.
She clings to these three words, her mind having troubles absorbing them properly. We found him.
Relief washing over her entire being, she shuts her eyes.
All she can think of is the image of his familiar presence.
His tired eyes. His strong figure, restless, but slumped all too often with the self-imposed burden. His chapped lips. His short hair. His quiet kindness. His sharp intelligence. His silently screaming hurt, that she wishes she'd be allowed a chance to learn how to ease; to make it better.
The chance, which she long let pass by.
Appreciation comes with separation; she thinks this she knew already. But gone along with him is the part of herself which she can actually begin to value, the one she didn't know existed until he came and cast his light on it.
Her lips break into a smile, which fades just as abruptly before reaching her eyes and never reaching her heart when she has the time to take in Sayid's tense expression.
She glances over to Sawyer, who doesn't meet her questioning gaze.
"What do you mean, you found him, where is he?- " her breath can barely keep up with her words. "Where is he, Sayid?!"
She's been dreaming of this day to come, they all have. She wouldn't sleep, wouldn't eat, kept running about purposefully and not, edgy, unable even to think rationally, driven by a single desire: to get to him, to find him, to save him, to bring him back. And never let him go.
It was not the moment when he had told her to run. Nor when he made her promise not to come back. It wasn't when she had been brought to see him, glass between them like bad karma. It wasn't when Sawyer had silently accepted her distance.
But it was the unexpected wave of dizziness when she had realized her eyes had been scanning the populated camp horizon only to discover afresh he was not there, not that day, not the following, not the next year. It literally felt like walking thread over a deathly precipice, even if there was nothing but soft sand around her, and she had never before felt so utterly alone.
For once in her life she was thankful, they took pity on her. And came along. Four of them. Herself, of course - she led the way even if she didn't quite remember it. Picked the pace. Refused to take breaks, not until she virtually collapsed with exhaustion. The need to know that he's alright, that he's alive, that he is there pushing her legs further and further into the jungle. Sayid and Desmond volunteered even before she verbalized her intention, Jack's absence making it clear.
Sawyer surprised her. She had never expected him to want to look for the man who had taken her heart away from him. Not after she'd rejected him. Not after she'd confessed who it was all about really. But he went. He pulled her off the ground when she slipped; he kept trying to reassure her awkwardly that it'd be alright, that it'd be fine, that she'd get to Jack, that she'd get Jack, in an imitation of Jack's very manner, even though she knew what it must have been doing to him. And for that she was grateful, accepting his concern silently, and urging them all to keep going.
"You have to hurry," she doesn't question Sayid's serious tone, so typical for him yet so different, his usual calmness gone and replaced by strange anxiety.
"There's been an explosion," he informs, and her heart starts sinking, pins and needles at the back of her head.
So this is why they found those buildings deserted. That's why no one is here, yet things looking like they left in great hurry, taking no personal belongings.
She stops frozen, paralyzed, anchored to the ground, desperately trying to block out what her intuition already senses.
Not realizing the imperceptible shake of her head, Sayid's next words seep into her brain, coming from far, far away, the outside world dissolving into a blur.
"He's alive, Kate," he reassures, and her vision regains sharp focus with several furious blinks. "But you have to hurry."
"We found the underwater structure," he fills her in. "Damaged badly. It's leaking."
"Is it where…?"
"Yes. Jack is there."
Next thing she knows is that she's running. Following the direction both men came from, heartbeat pulsating in her temples, breath caught up in chokes, her mind blank, not permitting a single thought, dread and hope counteracting. He's there, he's alive.
It's Sawyer who catches up with her, grabbing her elbow to slow her down. He says nothing, just leads the way and she says nothing either, sensing hurt, but a different kind. Empathy, still so new, coming from him.
But it's really lost on her, Jack's name stuck on her mind, as if in actual flashing characters.
They enter a descending murky passage, the one she knows she must have been to before, recognizing a musty smell of dank concrete, the reinforcement bars now bared and crumpled dangerously.
Nausea is creeping up her insides at the memory of when she was here last. And what she'd done, what she believed had to be done. His face, lit up at her sight, and her words, putting the light out. If only she could take it all back, go back and say what she really wanted to say –
If only she could relive that day.
But time, time is a cruel factor which has no beginning, only end, and time is what she's running out of now.
They reach an empty doorway, the solid steel door distorted by some violent force, leaving it hanging on one hinge.
Her feet paddle in water, she notices, as Sayid's flashlight brings out the surroundings. She can see Desmond's shadow, as he pulls himself up from a kneeling position in the corner of the room when he hears them entering.
It's a pile of debris, she wants to cry out, agitated, impatient, restless. Her whole body twitching, on highest alert, eyes scanning the dark space. Seeking for the beloved face, seeking for the feel of his eyes on her. There was a glass panel here, she remembers, gone now. And then she feels Sayid's hand on her arm, gently, but determinedly urging her to turn around.
And he's there.
Half lying on the floor, half sitting up, back rested against a wall.
Her heart skips a beat, as ridiculous happiness washes over her, for one brief millisecond, before she sees it. The sinister flash of light reflected in a huge glass splinter which dives deep into his chest. She blinks, feeling blood leaving her head, feeling as if her head is a balloon, and she'll levitate now, as she tries to comprehend the scene.
There's no blood, just glass, at a grotesque angle within his body.
He's not… he can't be…!
She doesn't wait for the answer, she doesn't want it. It's all happening so fast, but seems like slow motion to her, each movement suddenly so meaningful, magnified; she's aware of every single muscle in her body when they carry her to his side and throw her to her knees.
"Jack!"
His name tasting foreign, gravelly, not being uttered aloud for so long and now almost stuck down her throat.
He's looking so pale, so vulnerable, but she's overjoyed in that very moment when she hears the jagged sound of his laboured breaths; he's alive. Battered and bruised and injured, but breathing and alive, and his eyes open now to find hers, and the tears she's not even aware of pour down her cheeks as her mouth pulls into a grimace of a smile.
"Jack…-" she repeats, like a prayer. "Jack…"
Her hands fly up automatically, eager to touch him, but she doesn't dare. This strong, uncompromising body seeming so fragile now, brought down by cold force of metal, of concrete and glass. By pain. Broken.
"You'll be okay, you'll be fine, we'll get you out of here, I'm here now, I came back, we came back for you…!" Her blabbered words rush one after another, breathless, and she doesn't realize she's trembling uncontrollably, scanning his face, his injuries, forcing herself to glance down to the horrid splinter embedded in his chest.
She's terrified; she's never been so terrified in her entire life. Five. Counting to five will not make it go away, she thinks briefly, gazing at the number inked into his shoulder. But she won't count, time being too precious.
"Kate…" he manages a whisper.
"Just tell me what to do, tell me and I'll do it, anything. Jack…!"
"There's nothing you can do-" he starts coughing and tries to take a deeper breath over the pain it must evoke, but it only results in more harsh coughs.
She can't stand it, his agony ripping her own heart apart, ripping through her own body, real and excruciating.
"I'll stitch you up, like before, remember?" she's sobbing, finding his hand to grip it tight, too tight, but needing to feel him, his warmth.
But his fingers are ghastly cold.
"It's not… - the same -" each word such an obvious effort for him.
"Maybe it's not, but I can do it, whatever necessary, just tell me how and I will…!" she shrieks, watching his eyes close again. "Jack!"
And she's gripping his shoulders, shaking them lightly; desperate, sick with fear, even though her mind is perfectly empty, holding onto whatever stubborn hope is left there.
"Don't leave me…" her whisper falls down, absorbed by the soaked bleak cell.
"I should have never left, we should have never left…!" her head snaps up and around, towards where the three men stand, Sawyer among them, like a spit of remorse; her tone turning into accusation, of him, and of her, and of Jack, for letting her live, for making her run, for saving her, both of them.
While there was nothing to save all along; she never asked to be saved, not without him, without Jack.
"No, you shouldn't have come back," Jack's brown eyes find hers again. Once bright and full of passion, now dull and haunted, but just as intense as ever. "You needn't have seen this."
"How can you say that?!" she can't control the sobbing anymore, her tears landing on his cheeks as she cups his face and brings her own closer, smelling the blandness of his skin, the scent once spicy and seductive and alive.
"I'll take this thing out of you, just tell me what to do, for fuck's sake, Jack, tell me how!" she's hissing at him now, finding herself mad at his resignation.
"As soon as you take it out….- it's over," he breaths. How the fuck can he be just so clinical about it?! "The lungs… are damaged. When you pull it out, the air pressure will crush them."
She feels a cold grip getting hold of her heart. They can't move him, not without removing the glass. And they can't leave him here either.
Her head is spinning as she feels the ground sliding from underneath her feet.
"Kate…" Sayid is stepping up now, she's vaguely aware of his hand trying to pull her up. "There water level is raising. We need to…"
"We have to take him out of here!"
"We need to take this out of him, Kate." Sayid's voice soft and quiet. "The water…- "
She knows.
The sea water will be torture, he doesn't have to add that, she understands, as tears blur her vision completely, as her mind is screaming, but her tightened throat allows only a desperate choked sob.
This is not happening, this can't be real, simply cannot be…!
After all they've gone through, after each day of ruthless search, after each night of dreams of finding him, of being with him, that she'd dream in those few hours when sleep overcame her exhausted body - She's going to loose him and she's going to be the one to choose the exact second of her very own apocalypse.
Everything rushes to her head now, all the things she should have said and never did. All the things she should have done and haven't. Everything she should have given him, but she didn't. Everything they could have been but never became.
She desperately wants those unexisting moments back, given back to her. She wants to be able to experience both joy and hurting with him, she wants to know what it's like to lay in his arms at night, she wants to share her days with him, wants to hear him laughing with her and yelling at her, wants to divide their downs and multiply their ups, her heart denying the recognition that it will never, ever be hers.
This is where she wants to be, this is what she needs, but it'll never be hers. Neither the thrill nor the hurting.
And it's splitting the very core of her being in two, tearing her insides out, in what she realizes can't be undone.
The water is seeping through a crack in the ceiling, filling the room up quickly; she's feeling her jeans getting soaked as she crouches beside his broken form.
"What have you done…! Why did you have to do it?! I can't loose you, Jack…! I can't! You can't do this to me! You're everything I believe in, everything I've got…!" she tastes her own tears, as salty as drops of the ocean which counts their time down in steady flow.
"Bullshit," he snorts with a wheeze, averting his eyes from her.
"Jack – "
"Are you happy?" he interrupts, looking back at her, passion back in his intense gaze for a brief precious moment, feeding her heart with hope, that maybe, just maybe he has enough life and strength left in him, but his question confusing her.
"What?"
"Are you happy," he repeats softer, more as a statement now.
"I don't know what - "
"With him," his chin ducks up slightly, pointing to behind her.
She sees black before slumping back to her heels; no, it can't be what it appears to be.
"Jack, I don't…- I'm not -" her grip on his cooling hand tightens as if in reassurance, she needs him to understand what she can't bring herself to utter.
His eyes shut again and he's just breathing hard, concentrating on whatever strength he has left, as fresh stream of tears drenches the dull strands stuck to her face, but she stays still, waiting for a blow that she subconsciously expects coming.
"I know you are. I saw," he says eventually, voice quiet and deflated, without looking at her.
Oh god. This can't be true; how? A wave of another kind of pain floods her soul, sweeping it to crush against the rock of her conscience. This is it. Her life drains along with his.
"How…?" her whisper barely audible; there's no use denying.
"They made me see," he states flatly. "Are you happy, Kate?"
"I'm…" it all dawns on her. She understands everything he needs now. In a single moment of terrifying clarity, she understands just what is slipping out of her hands with each ticking second and what she has no power to ever restore. What she has let pass her by.
One single ill-advised choice, one impulse-driven gesture, one lapse. One error. Which is going to cost his life. And turn hers into a well-earned downward spiral of inferno.
He knew all along. Seen all through her and yet offered himself for her. Just as he had to her. She thought there'd be a better time; that their time would come, and now it's imploding before her eyes, overturning into a black hole and pulling her inside.
She wants to say yes, to assure him that whatever he did, for her, is not going to waste.
But she can't, not while looking into his very soul through his eyes, the defenses they both once built all down and ridiculously useless; she has already kept the truth away from him too long, too much. And that's where it got them both. To this moment of absolute cognition which does not hold purgation.
Her head shaking slowly, she brings her thumb up to draw awkward circles over his coarse cheek, in what would once be a sweet caress and is now a cry of despair.
"I'm so sorry, Jack...! It…"
"Don't be," he whispers breathlessly.
"It should never have happened." Can Sawyer hear her? Does it matter? Everyone knows either way.
"He'll take care of you."
"I don't want him!" she yells in distress, oblivious to her surroundings, past the care of the other man's feelings. "I want you, Jack!" she's weeping openly, tremors of panic rippling through her as factual comprehension of what the very nearest future holds starts creeping on. "It's always been you -" her voice breaks on the phrase, not fully aware yet that soon she'll be only saying it into air.
"Don't say it, Kate. Don't make it harder than it is."
It's there, in his fading eyes, unconcealed, and she realizes it's always been there, shining through anger or hurt, or feigned indifference, even through mistrust.
"I love you," she mouths anyway. Perhaps more for herself than him. "I love you and I want you, and I want to be there for you, always, and I need you and I won't fucking make it without you...!" she's losing it, voice raising, the words breaking out before she can even contemplate taming them.
"Kate -" his lips tighten, pain contorting the dear features, physical or emotional, she can't tell. She fears trying to tell.
"Please, Jack…" his simple name turning into a plea to all universal forces she can think of. "Tell me there's something I can do. Tell me it'll be alright - !"
"It'll be alright," he smiles faintly, lips pale and dry, slight nod of his head and a weak squeeze of his fingers on hers.
"What can I do - ?!"
"Be happy. Stay strong." His words hang in the stuffy air as her palms cup his face on either side, her forehead almost touching his, and she doesn't even register tripping over her own knee, when she slides shakily to lie down beside him, cautiously, not to cause him pain.
The water soaks through the back of her clothes, cold and sticky from the ocean salt. That's when she realizes he's shivering and clings to his side in a doomed attempt to warm him up.
She keeps shaking her head in denial unknowingly until his whisper makes her aware of it.
"For me."
"I can't," she scoops herself closer, arm wavering desperately over his chest, unable to hold him in what should be, could have been, a loving embrace in the heat of passion, not a defeated grip of bargain with death.
"Promise me," he winces in pain she can't even imagine, trying to roll to his side and bring his own arm to connect with hers.
This promise she knows she won't keep.
"How could I -?"
"Please."
He needs it, she realizes, needs to hear it, whether he'd believe her or not. That much she owes him, a scrap of peace of mind, the pretence of peace of mind.
"I promise," her faint whisper melts into the skin of his neck where she presses her lips for the first and last time. "There's so much I've wanted to tell you, so many things I've wanted to do with you, so much we should have been-" she breaths in one violent sob, tasting salt and realizing that he's crying too, it's his silent tears running down over his chin, down to where they mingle with her own on her mouth.
"I know," is all he says, his rigid fingers seeking an interlock with hers. "Maybe we weren't meant to be."
"That's not true," she cranes her neck to search his eyes, to kiss his tears away, her own replacing them. "It's the choices we made - " I made, her consciousness reminds her, and he must recognize it, giving her hand a ghost of a squeeze.
"You promised, Kate."
And then her eyes widen in horror as she sees his face twisting painfully, suddenly, and feels a squeeze of another hand, on her shoulder. Her head turns around in slow motion, in full knowledge of what she'll see, and what she can't delay anymore.
Sayid's eyes study hers with earnest compassion as he nods at her.
No, her lips move, but no sound comes out.
"Kate -" she can barely recognize the hoarse voice, so endearing once, over his struggle to breathe. "He's right."
She doesn't recognize her own voice, doesn't realize the convulsive howl echoing around them is coming from her own throat until it dies out, only to be followed by a humdrum wail that matches her heartbeat.
He blinks at her in encouragement, eyelashes all wet, and she can't help but bend over and kiss them, her desire to taste him coming true in a horrible mishit.
"I love you so fucking much -!" she whispers forcefully against his lips, but only for him to hear.
"I know. It's okay –" he manages, just barely audibly. "Just – Do it."
But she can't; it's life that she was supposed to bring him, not demise; pleasure, not pain.
Stuck, legs cramped, she's afraid to blink, upon hearing the ceiling crack further and the climb up of water to the fabric of her shirt suddenly accelerated.
Words; words are useless, when it happens
A pair of hands appears from nowhere, Sawyer, her mind answers, doing what she can't do, getting firm hold on the lethal glass, and just like that, pulls it up in one decided motion, before she has time to scream, in a flash, and she chokes on her own breath, watching his mouth open to gulp in his last one, and his blood is streaming now, staining her jeans, staining her hands, tinting the water deadly crimson, and she stares and stares at her condemned palms and then back into his lifeless glassy eyes, and knows she should be crying, but she's numb, as she collapses across his still body, tangling her limbs around it like she could stop time and reverse it.
She's a limp, mute puppet when they drag her away and outside, to a cold alien place which is the world without him.
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Omg, I killed Jack! Lol But I really, really wanted Kate to suffer.
The particular urban myth which inspired me? Have you seen the movie "Signs"? Yep, it's there. Scary, scary thing, which apparently never really happened to anyone. But I thought it would be the perfect stab and twist of knife in Kate's heart.
So, was that just a little heart-breaking…? Please do tell me what you think and how much practice do I need (yes, there's one more angsty fic coming soon, death and betrayal and loneliness and stuff, so watch out).