Title: An Island Christmas Carol
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or its characters. Many quotes taken from actual transcripts. Nor do I own the concept of this story, it belongs to Charles Dickens
Jack watched from a distance the revelry on the beach. Jin and Sun were kissing under some plant that Hurley was holding over their heads.
"Stop playing cupid lardo," Sawyer shouted, "You're more suited for Santa."
Hurley looked at the blonde man with hurt in his eyes before Kate punched him in the arm.
"Thanks for that Kate," Hurley called out chuckling as Sawyer nursed his bruised shoulder.
"I was only kidding," Sawyer whined.
"Come on," Kate said rolling her eyes at him, "Make yourself useful. You can help with the Dharma turkey."
Jack frowned. How could they be celebrating Christmas? On the island? They even untied Ben, although thankfully, Jack thought, Danielle and Sayid still kept a watchful eye on him. How could they be in the mood to celebrate though, at a time like this?
"Hey," came a soft voice from behind him.
"Hey," Jack said turning to face Juliet.
"The party's about to start," she told him.
"What? You want to party?" he asked of her.
"Not really but it is Christmas Eve."
"The freighter never came Juliet."
"I know," she said quietly, blinking back the tears.
"How can anyone think of celebrating, we should be trying to figure out what went wrong," Jack said, "Trying to fix things, to get rescued."
"But not tonight Jack," she spoke softly.
"Don't you want to get off the island anymore?" he asked.
"More than anything but tonight we're here and well," she said looking down at her feet and blushing slightly, "They'll be mistletoe."
"Pfft," he grumbled not noticing the hope in Juliet's face. She sighed in defeat.
"At least have some dinner Jack."
"Nah, I'm not hungry. In fact I'm tired. I think I'll just go to my tent and rest."
"But Jack," she said as he walked away to the shelters.
….
"Jack," came a whisper in the dark.
"Huh?" he asked groggily, "Who's there?"
"Jack," came the familiar young voice from the shadows.
"Walt?" Jack asked as he squinted, adjusting his sight.
"Shh," the boy said putting his finger to his lips.
Jack shook his head, "I must be dreaming."
"You don't believe in me," Walt stated more than asked.
"No, I don't," Jack asked then wondered why he was even having this conversation. He wanted the dream to end, to fall back into uninterrupted sleep. To fall back into the void.
"What evidence do you require of my existence beyond your senses?" the boy asked prompting Jack to wonder what kid spoke that way.
"I don't know," Jack said annoyed and laid back down on his airplane pillow.
"Why do you doubt your senses now?" Walt asked.
"Because," Jack said angrily sitting back up, "Anything can affect them. Drugs, hunger, a lack of sleep for instance."
Walt just stood before him, starring, waiting. Jack sighed realizing Walt wasn't going to go away.
"What do you want Walt?"
"Man of science, do you believe?"
"Believe what?"
"In me. In the island that this is where you're supposed to be."
Jack nodded hoping if Walt heard the right answer his dream would end.
"Yes, I believe. Now why are you here?"
"I have a message for you Jack," he told him, standing as tall as he could, "You will be visited by three spirits. They will show you what you must do; they will show you your destiny."
Jack raised his eyebrow at the final word, half expecting Locke to come charging into his dream at any moment.
"Prepare yourself Jack; the first will come at the hour of one."
"The first?' Jack inquired but Walt had vanished.
He ran his hand over his hair, letting out a deep breath before lying back down.
"Maybe I should have eaten something," he thought before closing his eyes again.
….
"Rise and shine Doc," a loud male voice shook Jack awake.
Jack moaned before sharply sitting up.
"Tom?" he cried out.
"Yup, the one and only," the jovial man grinned at him.
"What are you doing?"
"It's one a.m.," Tom said, "Time to get up."
"But, but Juliet said," Jack rubbed his eyes with his fists, "Aren't you dead?"
"I am the ghost of Christmas past."
"The what?"
"I'm going to show you around your past Jack."
Jack got to his knees then pushed himself up.
"I don't need you to show me around my past, Tom, I lived it," he said defiantly.
Tom laughed, "You haven't changed a bit Jack."
"Well Tom," he snarled, "You haven't been dead that long."
"Ha, Ha," Tom laughed as the space around them seemed to spin.
Just as Jack thought he would loose his balance it stopped. Jack steadied himself, leaning on Tom for support, when he got his bearings he realized they were standing in the dining room of his L.A. house. Sarah was standing in the kitchen, tears in her eyes.
"Sarah?" Jack called out taking a step forward before Tom pulled him back.
"She can't see or hear us Jack."
"But," Jack protested.
"Just watch Jack."
Jack focused on the scene in front of him, realizing he was watching himself.
"Jack, I'm leaving you," Sarah said choking on the sobs at the back of her throat.
"What?' Jack asked in disbelief.
"I was already leaving you. That's why my mother was here. She was helping me pack. I've been seeing someone, someone else. I have to, I can't stay."
"Sarah," Jack pleaded.
"You, you will always need something to fix. Goodbye."
Sarah rushed past Tom and Jack. He fought the urge to stop her, tears in his eyes as he saw himself crumble over the kitchen sink.
"Why?" Jack turned to Tom but suddenly they were elsewhere, in a foyer of a plush office, standing behind the receptionist's desk. Tom motioned for Jack to look on.
"What's his name?"
"Jack, stop it," Sarah begged in hushed tones.
"I'm not going to stop it. I'm going to keep asking you that until you tell me."
"No, I don't ask you what you do in your…"
"Just tell me what his name is!" Jack interrupted her, "I want to know who he is. Look, you can have everything, the cars, the house, I don't care. I just want to know the name of the man that is with my wife."
Jack tried to remain calm, but before he could gain control of his emotions, the scenery changed again, this time he and Tom were outside.
"Brrr, it's chilly for L.A. don't you think?" Tom asked wrapping his arms around himself.
"You're dead Tom, you're always cold," Jack said before realizing where they were. Outside a familiar police station, Jack swallowed as he saw himself yelling at Sarah again.
"Is that him?"
"It doesn't matter who he is. It just matters who you're not."
Jack turned angrily to Tom.
"Why are you making me go through this again?"
"Because Jack, this was your life. Everything you had you gave to that woman," Tom pointed as Sarah got into a car and drove past them, "And she was the wrong woman."
Jack shook his head, "I could have fixed things."
"Really?" Tom questioned, "Like with your father?'
Suddenly Jack was warm, and the scent of aged old scotch filled his nostrils. The clink of ice against glass caught his attention. He instantly recognized the sad, little boy in front of him.
"I had a boy on my table today. I don't know, maybe a year younger than you. He had a bad heart. It got real hairy, real fast. Everybody's looking at your old man to make decisions. And I was able to make these decisions because at the end of the day, after the boy died, I was able to wash my hands and come home to dinner. You know, watch a little Carol Burnett, laugh till my sides hurt. And how can I do that, hmm? And even when I fail, how do I do that Jack? Because I have what it takes. Don't choose Jack, don't decide. You don't want to be a hero; you don't try and save everyone because when you fail, you just don't have what it takes."
"Please," Jack turned to Tom who was perusing the stack of books on the nearby shelf.
"What's wrong Jack?" Tom asked.
"Please don't make me watch, not my father, please."
"Okay Jack, we won't listen to him anymore," Tom promised, "He does go on, doesn't he?"
Jack sighed in relief before finding himself back in the same house.
"I thought you said," he started before being hushed by Tom. He pointed his finger before him.
"Your father's gone Jack. Did you hear what I said? He's gone Jack."
"He'll be back," Jack told his mother as the rain pelted against the window.
"This time it's different. I want you to bring him back."
"He hasn't talked to me in 2 months, Mom."
"You haven't talked to him in 2 months," Margo insisted.
"He doesn't want me to bring him back, trust me. Let one of his friends."
"He doesn't have friends anymore. Why do you think that is? He was right about you."
"Right about what?" Jack asked exasperated.
"You don't understand the pressure that he's under."
"I don't want to be here," Jack whimpered.
Tom looked compassionately at the man breaking in front of him.
"Okay Jack, we'll leave this house," Tom said patting him on the back.
"The police found him in an alley in Queens Cross."
"Oh God no, not this," Jack said standing beside Tom in a long, cold hallway.
"Afraid so Jack," Tom said.
Jack tried to look away and cover his ears but the voice of the medical examiner reached him as his own past footsteps echoed the corridor.
"Now, a tox screen showed a blood alcohol content, which for a man of his size, probably brought on a myocardial infraction, a sizable, and fatal heart-attack."
Tom pushed Jack to follow and they all got into a room with a body bag on a steel gurney.
The examiner unzipped the black bag open.
"That's him."
Jack watched himself as he identified the remains of his dead father. He turned and slammed Tom against the wall.
"Why? Why are you doing this to me?"
"You had nothing," Tom said trying to pull Jack off him, "You have nothing. There's nothing for you to go back to."
"Nothing for you to go back to," echoed in Jack's eardrums before he awoke in the silence of his tent. His heart was racing and his cheeks were wet with tears.
"A dream," he said, "Just a bad dream."
…..
Jack's eyes fluttered open. It was dark and the place smelled musty. This wasn't his tent; he was on a floor, a wooden floor. Jack stood up and focused on his surroundings. The place was cluttered, jars and debris everywhere. He was in a cabin, he decided. Jack walked up to a small boarded up window and peered through the slit between the boards. Through the grime he could see the jungle. He was still on the island. A creaking sound made him jump and turn around. In the centre of the room an empty chair rocked back and forth.
Jack swallowed hard.
"J-a-c-k," a male voice, rusty with disuse called him.
Jack's pupils dilated as a figure of a man slowly appeared before him in the chair.
"I'm still dreaming," Jack told himself as he ran his hand over his tired face.
"If that's what you choose to tell yourself," the man said.
"Who, who are you?" Jack asked tentatively.
"It's two o'clock Jack," the man said still rocking.
Jack let out the breath he was holding in but the tightness in his chest remained.
"I am the spirit of Christmas present," he chuckled, "But you can call me Jacob."
"Jacob?" Jack repeated.
The man nodded, "This is my island."
Jack smirked, "I thought this was Ben's island."
Jacob roared with laughter but Jack caught the hint of rage lying beneath it.
"It's time Jack."
"Time for what?" he asked him.
"Time to see just what you have become while on this island."
The room spun as Jack's vision grew blurry before clearing once more. Jacob and Jack stood just on the outskirts of the beach, slightly hidden by the beginning tree line. It was dark but there were stars, a moon, and camp fires ahead of them. A burnt out fuselage loomed ahead, the smell of fuel, fear and death hung in the air.
"It's been 6 days and we're all still waiting. Waiting for someone to come. But what if they don't? We have to stop waiting. We need to start figuring things out. A woman died this morning just going for a swim and he tried to save her, and now you're about to crucify him?"
Jack's eyes followed his own voice, his own hand as it gestured towards Boone. The sight of the young, now dead man made Jack's heart break. He forced his own dread back down his throat.
"Don't Jack," Jacob said.
"Don't what?" Jack demanded to know.
"Don't choke on your guilt over Boone. His death was meant to happen."
"Please," Jack cried in disdain, "Are you telling me he was a sacrifice the island, your island demanded?"
Jacob nodded once, "It was all part of the grand scheme of things."
"Destiny?" Jack asked in slight disgust.
Jacob said nothing, only turned his attention back onto the beach.
"We can't do this. Everyman for himself is not going to work. It's time to start organizing. We need to figure out how we're going to survive here. Now, I found water. Fresh water, up in the valley. I'll take a group in at first light. If you don't want to come then find another way to contribute. Last week most of us were strangers, but we're all here now. And god knows how long we're going to be here. But if we can't live together, we're going to die alone."
"I don't understand," Jack said turning to Jacob.
"No?" he inquired turning Jack around so he faced the jungle, "Then keep looking."
"All I see are trees and darkness," Jack said.
"Look deeper Jack."
Jack squinted and sure enough the picture grew clearer. He saw a crowd and the now abandoned caves, before he heard Shannon's familiar pitch.
"Did you see them? Did you see the Others?"
"Hey Shannon, there are no Others; we've already had this conversation," Charlie told her.
"What the hell would you know about it, just because you didn't see anything?"
"There's no one out there."
"You don't know!"
Jack watched as the scene shifted focus before him. He saw himself climb up onto a rock so he could be heard and seen above the crowd.
"Hey! Everything's going to be okay. Let's just take it easy. We're going to be alright. We're going to stay here tonight, okay, together. We've still got 4 guns; we'll put lookouts at all the entrances. We're all going to be safe as long as we stay together. The sun comes up in 3 hours and we're all going to be here to see that happen. I promise."
Jacob studied Jack's face for a moment.
"What did you see Jack?" he finally asked.
"I saw a group of frightened people trying to survive, afraid that your people were going to come and kill them," Jack spat, his hands clenched into fists at his side.
"Is that all?"
"Yeah, that's all."
"Then look again."
Jack stared out onto an open field. It was day, smoke rose from a burnt tree in the distance. His eyes scanned the crowd. Familiar faces, Sawyer, Kate, Sayid and beside him Juliet. He smiled slightly before seeing Danielle there too. He knew now, where they were and what was happening.
"When Juliet told me they were coming, the first thing I thought was, where the hell are we gonna hide this time? But hiding's pointless. They're just gonna keep coming back. So I went out and I found some help. And for the past few days she's been bringing dynamite back from the Black Rock. For the first time we know exactly what they want, when they're coming to get it, and they have no idea that we're gonna be waiting for them. So Juliet's gonna mark the tents with the white rocks just like she was told to, but there's not going to be any pregnant women inside, there's gonna be plenty of what we just used on that tree. So tomorrow night, we stop hiding, we stop running, we stop living in fear of them. Because when they show up, we're gonna blow em all to hell."
"I don't get it Jacob," Jack shrugged.
Jacob looked at him waiting for more from him.
"Those are Ben's people, your followers I was talking about."
"Yes," he affirmed.
"We were going to kill them."
"You did, kill some of them."
"You don't seem upset."
"The killing was not the point of this, showing you that, was not about you killing them or them killing your people."
"Then what was the point of it, of all of it?" Jack asked in frustration.
"Those people," Jacob said pointing to the group on the grass, "Those are your people. And here," he emphasized gesturing to the ground, "Here you became what you never could out there."
Jack's brow scrunched up as he listened to what Jacob said to him.
"On the island, Jack Shephard, you became a leader."
"You became a leader," echoed in the dark as Jack once again found himself with an accelerated heart rate in the emptiness of his tent.
"I really should have listened to Juliet and eaten something," he thought before closing his eyes once more.
….
"What?" Jack said as he was woken one more time. He glanced at his wrist watch. 3 a.m. The sound of a mechanical roar filled him with dread. His instinct was to run and warn the others but when he stepped outside the Smoke Monster was already waiting for him. The usual loud noise settled into a quieter hum.
"Are you," Jack started, "Are you the Spirit of Christmas future?"
The Smoke Monster gave a series of clicking noises before flashes of bright light blinded Jack's eyes. When the light faded he found himself standing on a dirty road in what looked like a seedy ghetto.
"Where are we?" he asked and the Monster formed into a shape of a long pointing finger.
Jack looks and sees himself exiting a car. He's shocked at his own appearance, disheveled, with an unkempt beard and he appears to be wobbling. Is he drunk? The Smoke Monster ushers him to follow and Jack enters a funeral parlor behind his future self. A closed casket is on display but the room is empty. No one is there but himself until a funeral director enters.
"Can I help you?"
"Sorry I er," Jack stumbles out, "Actually I came, er, is the funeral over?"
"There was no funeral sir," the director informs him, "Only a viewing. Nobody showed up."
"Nobody? You sure?"
"Just you, my deepest condolences. Friend or family?"
"Neither."
"Would you like me to open it up?"
"No."
"Take your time," the man says before leaving.
Jack watches himself with interest as he walks over to the casket and places his hand on it, tears in his eyes. He sees himself reaching for a bottle of pills from his pocket and cursing when he only finds one left.
"Who, who died?" Jack asks the Smoke Monster but he doesn't answer.
"Tell me, is it, is it one of us? Juliet? Kate?" he wonders aloud, "Oh god it's not one of us is it?"
The Smoke Monster answers with another series of blinding flashes before Jack finds himself outside, the wind blowing as planes fly overhead. He looks and sees himself stepping out of his car again. He looks worse than he did at the funeral home. Suddenly another car approaches and Kate Austen gets out.
"It's Kate!" Jack says to the Monster, "She isn't dead. She, she looks beautiful."
The Monster gives a roar and Jack is made to pay attention to the scene playing out before him.
"Hey," Kate says.
"Hey."
"Saw you on the news. Still pulling people out of burning wreckage, huh?"
"Old habits," Jack jokes.
"You look terrible," Kate tells him.
"Thanks," Jack chuckles.
"Why did you call me, Jack?"
"Doesn't she want to see me?" Jack questions his guide, "She doesn't look happy to see me."
He's answered with silence so Jack turns back to watch some more. He's handing Kate something, a newspaper clipping.
I was hoping that you'd heard. That maybe you'd go to the funeral."
"Why would I go to the funeral?" she demands to know.
Jack turns to the Spirit, "She didn't like the person," he states his eyes growing wide, "Is it Ben who dies?"
"I've been flying a lot." Jack tells Kate.
"What?"
"Yeah, that golden pass that they gave us. I, I've been using it. Every Friday night I, I fly from L.A. to Tokyo or, Singapore, Sidney," he laughs at the absurdity, "And then I, I get off and I have a drink, and then I fly home."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to crash, Kate. I don't care about anybody else on board. Every little bump we hit or turbulence, I mean I, I actually close my eyes and I pray that I can get back."
Jack shakes his head. This isn't him, this man who he becomes. This desperate man.
Kate looks at him sadly, tears in her eyes. "This is not gonna change."
"No," Jack cuts her off curtly, "I'm sick of lying. We made a mistake."
"I have to go. He's gonna be wondering where I am."
"Who?" Jack wonders, "Is she with Sawyer?"
But he knows he won't be told. He stares onward as the future Jack grabs Kate in desperation.
"We were not supposed to leave."
"Yes we were," she tells him shaking his hold off her.
"Goodbye, Jack."
"We have to go back, Kate."
Kate ignores him and gets back into her car, pulling out and driving away.
"We have to go back!"
Jack chokes on his pain, he feels his future self's desperation, his abandonment, but he doesn't understand it. Surely he was meant to get off the island. Surely.
The lights flash again and he groans at the inescapable punishment he's forced to endure. This time he finds himself on a stretch of busy highway, the Smoke Monster dutifully beside him. It takes shape again into an accusing finger, pointing to the side of the road.
Jack is in his car again, a newspaper clipping in his hand. His head hits the steering wheel as he's overcome by emotion and grief.
"What is in that clipping?" Jack wants to know, "Who died? Why does it hurt me so much?"
The Monster says nothing.
Jack is reaching for his phone, dialing a familiar number but he only receives a generic voice message.
"Hey, it's me. I er, I just read…" he doesn't finish, he only hangs up and steps out of the car.
"Where am I going? It's a highway, am I, am I heading for the bridge?" Jack asks in astonishment. He watches himself climb the ledge, runs over to himself and looks down. It's a steep drop to solid concrete below. His future self and he both take a deep breath. He looks as Jack stares up into the heavens.
"Forgive me."
"No!" Jack cries but the image fades away and he is left standing in the void, the Smoke Monster before him.
"Do I jump?" he asks, "God damn it, do I kill myself?"
His tears are running freely down his stubbled cheeks as he pleads with this spirit of nothing.
"Where are the other survivors? Do they get off the island too? Do they live? Are they happy?" he begs to know.
"Are you telling me I'm not supposed to leave, that this is what becomes of me if we get off the island?"
The Smoke Monster roars again before Jack is once more transported back to his tent. He gasps for air, his chest so tight from the fear he can barely breathe.
"Am I back?" he asks aloud, feeling for the familiar blankets, the blue tarp of his tent. He sighs in relief.
"I really am back," he cries in delight before dashing outside. Its morning and the other survivors are only beginning to stir.
Jack runs back into his tent and grabs his backpack. The first person he sees after running out onto the beach is Hurley.
"Hurley!" he cries and reaches into his bag, "Here, this is for you."
Hurley catches what Jack throws at him.
"An Apollo chocolate bar?" Hurley questions.
"Merry Christmas Hurley," he chimes before heading straight to Sawyer.
"Here," Jack says to the Southerner and hands him a bottle of whiskey, "Merry Christmas."
Sawyer looks at him, surprise in his eyes, "I thought you said the booze was for medicinal purposes only."
"Ahh, but today's different, today's Christmas," Jack tells him and walks on.
"What was all that about?" Kate asks walking up to Sawyer.
"The Doc's finally lost it," he tells her.
Juliet heads into the kitchen area but before she can grab anything to eat she's lifted off her feet and swung around.
"Oh my God," she squeals in his arms, "Jack, what are you doing?"
"This," he says and kisses her deeply.
She melts into him before pulling away, "What's gotten into you Jack Shephard?"
He blushes and giggles, "I'll tell you all about it later, there's something I have to do first."
"Okay," she laughs as he runs down the beach.
Jack approaches the tent where Ben is being kept prisoner.
"May I have a moment alone with him?" Jack asks Sayid.
"Of course Jack, just be careful," Sayid tells him.
When Jack is sure the Iraqi is far away enough he enters. Ben is sitting up, his hands and feet bound by rope. Jack kneels in front of him and pulls out a long knife. Ben's eyes widen in fear as he approaches him with it. Jack cuts his binds and releases him.
"I don't understand Jack," he says.
"I do," he tells Ben, "I'm willing to stay."
"On the island?" Ben questions surprisingly.
Jack nods affirmatively and a satisfied smile curls into the corners of Ben's mouth.
"But there's a few things we need to get straight," Jack tells him firmly, "You're not in charge here anymore. This time, we do things my way."
In the far reaches of the jungle, inside a log cabin, a chair rocks back and forth. A hearty laugh could be heard, if anyone were there to hear it.
THE END.