Here,
where they can't find us-
He found her on the beach, standing in the surf like she always was - looking out in the bright sun for something that never came. Or waiting for her to grow wings and fly away from this place, away from the day to day life.
He wanted to clip her wings, tame her, but not to cage her.
It was her freedom that he envied, even on a place where there was no where to run to, she ran away - not literally, but searched out the quiet. As soon as the rain had stopped - there were storms most days now - she left the tent and was walking the damp sand. Restless soul, his grandmother would have said - she's no good for you, Jack, she'll never stay put.
His whole life had been on the well marked path, the one that he had never deviated from, from fear of what lay on the other side. Well, now he knew - her. He knew that she's never tell him the whole story, but the few tantalizing stories, off hand mentions - not her crimes, the normal bits - only made him want to jump off that path and head for the forest.
Even on the island, he was still what everyone expected of him, the doctor, the hero. The saying that no one asks to be a hero, is so fitting at this moment. There are things he should be doing, the mental ticker in his mind that streams duties and expectations, but he's still here, standing by the tarp, looking at her looking at the ocean.
It's been too long since he just looked at her without asking mental questions, begging to know everything. Now, he just looks at her like a woman, all skin and hair. Time washes away too much, he can remember the crash in such detail, but he can't remember his mother's face. Their pasts were lost in cloudy dreams and distant voices, even hers, the sun fades everything under it, fades in back to the start.
Everything was calm, enough food, people were safe, shelter to go around - the need for a hero had past. He felt safe to just be a man again - one of the group, with his own tasks and wants. Felt safe to want things again, to feel in a selfless way again. And he only wanted one thing, her.
People are milling about, relighting the fire with dry wood, so routine and instant for people that month ago never thought twice about fire making. Wet clothes on lines, waiting for the sun again, worn but still wearable. The smell of smoke and salt that permeates everything is the strongest after a storm. He can hear Claire and Charlie singing to Aaron as he walks to the water.
Everyone has fallen into patterns, weather self imposed or not, there was a rhythm to life now. Locke hunted and stayed out of people's way - even though the meat was needed, Boone's death still haunted Shannon's eyes sometimes. The pairs; Charlie and Claire, Shannon and Sayid, Jin and Sun - the couples, they looked out for each other, and looked for comfort in the little privacy they could find. Michael and Walt were closer now, Walt growing strong and swift in the bright sun. Sawyer was still the same, but even he had softened around the edges, but not too much - just enough to be tolerated. The patterns were the same, people had routines.
A cut here, maybe so bruises, every once and a while a sprained ankle, there was no need for him to be a doctor full time anymore. He made himself a tent, on the beach, helped collect wood and make water runs, but just reveled in the simple tasks. He watches her while he stacks wood - she keeps an eye on Aaron while Claire hangs the wash out, rows of diapers made of found bits of clothing. He watches her while she eats, how she flicks the burnt bits - there are always burnt bits - on to the sand, can't help himself as she licks her lips.
He knows that she is aware of all the watching he does, maybe she'll smile back at him, or drop by for a few harmless words at his tent. The flirting is all in the undertones, even though they know that everyone thinks of them as two halves of a whole. It the getting to the point, that point of doing something more then a lingering look and a hand on the arm that is the hardest point.
Neither is willing to be the first one to make a move, for fear of the reaction of the other and so the holding pattern continues. But it's time that he made a move, come on Jack, the voice in his head goes, do something.
So he walks to her, feet sinking into the sand, wind in his eyes.
She sees him coming, that he's sure, how her head ducks down for a moment before fixing her squinting eyes on his form. He stands next to her, feeling the waves lap at his toes, she's looking straight out, as always, but the hint of smile on her lips gives him hope. Her arms are crossed against her chest, battered oxford flapping in the wind of the water.
He doesn't have to say a word, she can tell it all from a look. She can always tell when he's lying, says his eyes give him away. He stands behind her, looking at the ocean through the frame of her hair. Gently, with a resolve that comes from who knows where, he slips his arms around her waist. Wanting to pull her to him, he resists, fearing her reaction.
Craning her head around, a quizzical, yet soft look on her face, she smiles. His heart slows, resumes a normal steady beat, unlike the strong clip of moments ago. He knows that this moment of closeness can't last, feeling her head rest against his shoulder, angling her body towards him. He doesn't really understand why now is the moment that she opens up to him, at least lets him in.
Maybe it's the silence, the lack of words save for the wind whispering in their ears. The island has a voice of it's own, like the tides and the rain, cannot be silenced. At this moment, as his eyes close, he can't hear the island.
He's waiting for her to react, to react the way he expected her too - to fight him, to run him in never ending circles, until I couldn't take anymore. Instead she melts into his arms, and all the tension seems to leave her, just for a moment, she seems real to him, like the woman he knows she is somewhere inside. But still he's waiting for the shoe to drop, either from her, or a shout from the others on the beach. Still waiting as the waves crash, and he can feel her heart beat through his palms, still softly laying on her middle.
He's holding her, holding her weight against him, but something sparks - there is more between them then just their questions and secrets. They had put aside their other lives; he was just a man now, not a hero - she still ran, but always came back to the start. Maybe it took something as horrible as the crash to shake them out of their patterns, out of the rut of the modern world.
He does assume that she's changed, that the past could be wiped away with one gentle gesture on her part. Nor does he really trust her - more then anyone else - but in the moment he can pretend that they are just two people, simple and uncomplicated. Her head rests on his shoulder, with the long strands of her curls brushing against his face like fingers - a shiver runs through him.
He hates that he feels so naked - emotionally - around her, like she can see right through him. She's all steel and locked gates, but that's never going to change, not here. It's not like he can change her, not on this island that feeds on lies and hate. Her hand is on his, now encircling her belly, her fingers - long and thin - intertwining with his. He has some secrets of his own, it's not like he's a saint.
The sky is lightning up, so heavy with clouds from the storm, a little bit of blue appears and he notices that her eyes are closed. Her free hand tracing pattern on his shirt, still damp - but still her eyes are shut. So he kisses her forehead, soft and light. She smiles, lips turning up at the corners.
His eyes shut, savoring her warmth and weight - standing in the water as the sun breaks through the clouds.
(1/1)