I don't know what I'm doing. I just got back from my vacation and will soon be getting back to Sins of the Father and Blindfolded Realty, but in the meantime this happened. It's different, something I wanted to try. Jack's and Kate's paths crossing in alternate universes? Something like this I suppose. Hope it doesn't suck all that much.
Those Winding Paths That Cross In The Darkest Nights
1. Fire
Her black dress is a little too short and she is getting tired of pulling it down. She politely accepts the sixth drink of the night, sent to her by one of the "gentlemen" at the bar. She rolls her eyes when he finally looks away and places it next to the others on the table next to her. Any other night, it would have been welcomed. On those nights when she would have been out on a job, searching the bar for the first dumb rich guy who'd buy her a drink before inviting her over, most of the times to a hotel room upstairs. They'd rarely make it past the front door. Soon enough she'd have him drugged and passed out with his cash and credit cards in her purse and she'd be gone. But not tonight. Tonight is her night off. It was not her first time in Los Angeles but it was her first time in this specific part of the city. She could never hit the same place twice, of course.
She scans the area around her; there's a party of trust fund kids, a group of lawyers celebrating a win, a couple of bankers in a heated discussion and some smaller groups scattered around. She is pretty sure every single one of the men has already checked her out, a few of the women as well. It is her job after all, and she knows how to play the role. She finally turns her gaze to the one man who had not looked at her all evening. This is a rare phenomenon. It happens occasionally, usually a man with a wife that looks like she would make him spend the evening on the couch if he made a wrong turn, but even those snuck a quick look when the wife went to the ladies' room. But not this one. He sits alone at the bar, an expensive suit, no ring on his finger; short cropped hair and a collar of a dark burgundy dress shirt peeking from behind his suit jacket below the clean line of his dark brown hair.
The bar is almost empty when she finally leaves her table and heads towards him. She gets pulled towards him, like metal shavings to a magnet. She sits two seats away from him at the bar and watches closely as he traces the tip of his glass with his fingertips. She looks up and studies his face; strong jaw and a rough scruff, knotted brow and thick eyebrows; he bites his lower lip and shuts his eyes; his free hand pinching the bridge of his nose and she can see the expensive watch rounding his left wrist. She watches him closely expecting him to feel her gaze on him and look back. But he doesn't. She shifts her eyes back to her drink, occasionally looking up to watch as the other customers continue to trickle out of the bar.
"Looks like they're gonna kick us out," she says as the last of the customers, besides the two of them, walk out.
He shakes his head, a subtle sideways shake and replies, "We're ok for a bit longer," before he motions to the waiter to refresh both their drinks.
She stares at the fresh glass in front of her for a minute before she reaches for it; the first drink from a stranger she has accepted all night.
"You're not working tonight," he says; doesn't ask, just says it, and he still does not look at her.
She prays that her face is still calm and shows no sign of shock as she looks up at him. Does she know him? Does he know her?
"Excuse me?" she asks, her voice casual and comfortable, professionally betraying the panic starting to bubble within her.
"A lot of potential targets here tonight, but you're still here," he says, finally looking up at her, and she swallows a gasp, "that guy at the end of the bar, the one who bought you three drinks, surely you recognized the heir to the world's largest hotel chain."
She replaces the worry with anger and pushes the drink away, "How dare you! Who do you think you are? You do not know me!", she spits out venomously. Is her memory betraying her? Has she conned him before? She never forgets her victims. She couldn't have possibly forgotten about him. Something about him seems unforgettable.
He just smiles, smirks actually, drops his eyes back to his drink after a moment of studying her face and speaks, "Seattle, two years ago, there was a medical conference," his words are short, quick and cold and she just stares at him. She remembers it quite well.
But it was not him.
"The last evening we're there, my friend, Mark Sloane, sent me a text message, saying I was an idiot for not going out with them that evening and that he was going up to his room with the most beautiful woman I could ever imagine. He even sent me a picture of her, and he was right, she was…is… excruciatingly beautiful," he is not flirting with her, he is not complimenting her, and she silently curses the light blush she feels creep across her cheeks.
"He woke up the next morning, no phone, no wallet, no credit cards, no cash," he states, a sprinkle of disappointment in his voice, "and he has no memory of what happened after getting on that elevator with that beautiful woman."
They sit in silence for a few minutes and she watches him. His calm, quiet façade never flinches, the small smile never leaves his lips, but it's not smug, it is something else, something she doesn't recognize. She sees a flicker of sympathy but pushes that thought away. She cannot afford it. He watches her too, the icy, confident look on her face, the almost unperceivable way she chews the inside of her mouth, the speed of her thoughts, reflecting in her bright green eyes and her hands tirelessly working the hem of her dress.
"Are you going to call the cops?" her question surprises him slightly and he shrugs.
"I don't know yet," he says.
"Why not?" she retorts quickly.
"Maybe I want to hear your side of it first," he replies.
She raises an eyebrow at him, his attitude getting on her nerves. She sighs, "what makes you think I have my own side of it? And if I did, what makes you think I am going to share it with a complete stranger?"
He shifts in his chair, twisting around until he's facing her completely, for the first time paying her full attention and shrugging off the last of his nonchalance. "Because I don't think this is your primary career and lifestyle choice. If it is, you wouldn't have let the opportunity of the blond blue eyes hotel heir slip from your grasp like that. And I think you're going to tell me your side of it because otherwise you would have left already. If you had any doubts that I would call the police, you would have left a long time ago," he explained.
She stares him down as the steely look in his brown eyes changes into something different, warmer, gentler and she soon realizes it is because her expression has changed, the iciness in her look has softened, she is relenting to his attempts to make her open up. And she hates herself for it.
Who does he think he is?
"I don't owe you an explanation," she says, trying one last attempt at being cold and distant but he just nods in response and it is the last straw.
"I'm paying a debt," she finally says, after minutes of calculated silence, and it is enough for him to put his drink down and shed all his focus on her.
"My step father was a drunk who beat up on my mom every single day," she says, her voice low and her words short, and when he raises an eyebrow at her she quickly adds, "he never hit me."
"My mom never defended herself, never stood up to him and never went to the cops," she said, "she was not going to do anything about it so I did. I couldn't take care of him myself so I found someone to help me," she explains, "but the cost was a little too high. Ever heard the expression "selling your soul to the devil?" yeah, that's exactly what I did." She finishes her sentence with a long drink, and waited on his reaction but he just watches her, intently, with heightened interest, and the way he looks at her changes, there's no more disgust, not more sorrowful sympathy, there's something else, something she does not recognize.
"I've been paying back that debt ever since," she says.
He studies her for a minute, analyzing her story, mercilessly and meticulously. She grows anxious when he fails to say anything and instead of waiting for him, she reaches into her purse and pulls out a piece of paper, reluctantly handing it over to him. "What is this?" he says taking it from him, but she doesn't reply, waits for him to unfold it and read what's in it. He scans it suspiciously, a list of names, mostly men, and then he reads that one name that explains it all. It is a list of all the people she has conned.
"A trophy list?" he says, and it comes out crueler than he meant it to be. He begins to attempt an apology but she is too quick, snatching the paper away, her lips pursed and she folds it back into her purse.
"You think I enjoy this?" she spits back at him, "I keep this list so I can at least try to redeem my sins when this is over."
His face softens, his gaze gentle, he looks down and whispers an apology. When he looks back up at her, he finally sees her. She is not staring at him anymore, the solid wall she has managed to keep up for so long begins to crack and she is vulnerable. She is vulnerable, broken, human.
She is beautiful.
He's cynicism starts to shatter as he watches her fighting against the tears that threatened to fall. He tentatively reaches over, a shaky hand lands on her shoulder in attempt to comfort her, to apologize.
He has no right to judge her, to corner her like that and force her into this confession.
He tries to say that but somehow the words fail to leave his lips and he cannot stop looking at her.
She is so beautiful.
His cautious fingers lightly touch her shoulder and suddenly he wants more. He needs more. He is not a risk taker, never was, not outside the OR at least. One deep breath later he takes the biggest risk of his life and says, "how much more do you have on that debt?"
She looks up at him, questioningly she searches his eyes for a reason for his question.
"How much longer do you need to keep doing this?" he explains.
"A couple of jobs… another 20K," she says.
He swallows; he knows he could be doing the biggest mistake of this life right now, but there was just something about her.
"My assistant is quitting the end of the month," he blurts out and she stares at him with wide eyes, her head shaking on its own accord.
"What are you saying?" she asks, dumbfounded.
"You can pay off the 20K by next month and then we'll work out how it can be taken out of your paycheck every month," he says as though he has given it all the consideration in the world.
She stares at him for a minute and then, to his shock, she bursts out in laughter.
"You cannot be serious. You want to offer me a job?" She says in between laughs.
It finally hits him, how ridiculous it is, and he starts laughing as well, "yeah, I guess that's what I'm doing," he says, somberly despite the ludicrousness.
"I'm a complete stranger, and a con artist, who conned your friend, and you're offering me a job?!" she asks in shock again.
"I also don't know your name," he says, his lips stretching in a wide, heartfelt smile. And when that smile reaches his eyes with a twinkle, she cannot help but smile as well, genuinely now.
"I'm Kate," she says.
"Jack," is his simple reply. A single syllable and an honest smile.
Coming Up:
2. Wind
3. Water
4. Earth
5. Void