Jack wasn't a musician, and he never had been. After ten years of piano lessons from his neighbor, a Juliard virtuoso, he hadn't picked up more than Chopsticks and the easy half of Für Elise. He was always so clumsy with the keys. It was a wonder that he had become a surgeon, gotten into the business of steady hands.
But, nevertheless, there he sat, in his little Dharma ranch, back hunched and elbows resting on his thighs. The piano bench creaked when he shifted, trying to find a comfortable position for his wrists. Over and over, he played a fifth. He'd switch tones, fumble with the pedals—but he always came back to the perfect fifth. After a harmony with the left hand, he'd listen to the timbre, and, again, coax out a warm, full fifth. It wasn't in perfect tune, definitely not a Steinway, but as far as people went, Jack wasn't either.
It was calming after the day he'd had, full of lying and active forgetting. Loneliness seemed to be creeping in more than ever the past day or two. Ironically, it made him shrink away from the rest of the Dharma nuts. He avoided the nightly block dinners and stayed quiet at work, mopping the floors in complex, inlaid patterns that made sense only to him. He kept away from the socials and bonfires, the "bonding events" that lasted well into twilight. There was a hole at his side, a cool, ghosting spot where Kate should have been. He found himself turning to her frequently, disappointed every time at her absence.
Done with the fifths, Jack progressed to something he'd written for the one music class he took in college. It was simple and slow, but the melody still moved him. He rocked softly with the sound, pleased with the echo, the feeling. The piece crescendoed gently, fell, and came to a gradual end. The final seconds of sound rang out before Jack was plunged back into the silence he became so well acquainted with, but never came to enjoy. It was the quiet nights like this that left him so empty, cracking under the the beastly solitude that lingered under his bed and next to the couch, in every hallway and closet.
The silence was harshly interrupted, a sharp creak from the hall. Turning quickly, snapped from his haze, Jack saw her. Kate.
He went rigid with fear, confusion, a simmering, hiding joy. She looked tired, wary. Her hair was pulled back, hanging in messy tangles around her face. She was dirty, weighed down with her rifle, and beautiful. She sputtered, then spoke, trembling, "Hi."
Jack didn't speak. Everything within him was warring and seized. She spoke again. "I came here to get you." She rested her gun against the wall, dragged the pack from her shoulders and took slow, steps towards him. Jack felt like an animal, being approached so carefully, so slowly. He was silent, still looking at her, seriously wondering if she was really there.
"Jack?" Kate chanced again, leaving him some space, but reaching out her hands. "Are you okay?"
"You're here…" Jack breathed, more of a weak extension of thought than words spoken. Kate took it as an invitation, though, and knelt at the bench.
"Yeah, Jack. I came back for you." There was soothing in her tone. His hands unclenched from their grip on the edge of the bench seat, fingertips red and knuckles white. He was fighting. Kate being here meant she was in danger. And, as much as he missed her cheeks and her shoulders and the arch of her lip—her safety was above all else.
"Hey, Jack—talk to me." Leaning over, Kate took Jack's hands laid them in his lap, covered them with her own, warmed them. He leaned down to her in response, still struggling for the right thing to say. Kate placed her hands on either side of his neck and kneaded.
"I'm here, Jack." He exhaled, and in a seamless motion, gathered her by the waist and stood with her. She adjusted easily, familiarly, enfolding him as best she could. He was melting, grateful.
"Are you okay? Jack—did they hurt you?" She murmured over his shoulder, into his neck. With the way that he was acting, the slump riding across his back, she feared the worst.
"I'm fine." Kate pulled away sympathetically to listen to him, staying close. "I was worried I wouldn't see you again…" He trailed off with the reality of it, more afraid of being alone now that he had her back in his arms.
He looked away before replying, "I'm supposed to be going home, Kate. They were going to take me back." It was such a weight lifted, being able to say that to someone who understood what leaving meant. Every day he'd thought of everyone, how much they'd come through since the crash. How failing it felt to leave them mid-battle. But Kate—leaving her caused the pulling, all of the tearing going on in his heart. Even though Ben convinced him going home was his way out, deep down, Jack knew the Island wouldn't be found for rescue.
He'd had one too many dreams of her, bloody and running, alone in the jungle. The vision was so jarring, even with her inches away, that he grabbed for her again. It was necessary as a leader to make leading his priority, leaving his feelings for Kate fiery on the back burner. But now, there was no reason to hide them. He bit his lip as she turned to kiss the side of his face. The kiss worked at releasing some of the tension across his shoulders. Another gave dissolve to the strain in his arms, his back, caused a sweet sinking of the whole of him.
"I missed you," Jack confessed, his voice more even now, regaining confidence. He appreciated her curves and the swish of her curls on his forearms. "Did you come alone?"
"Uh-huh," she started, still encircled. "Everyone's fine." Rocking down from her tiptoes, she looked up at him, expectant,. "Are you ready to go?"
"We can't leave now, Kate—there's night patrol." Jack rasped, determined and ready to protect her, to keep her, to openly love her—in case.
"Okay, okay," she closed it off, interrupting the bubbling fear she sensed in him.
"Tomorrow—in the morning. 4." Kate nodded, and studied him. Inspecting the rings under his eyes, the redness near the light brown at the edge of his irises, she saw how exhaustion pulled the corners of his lips down. The lapsed, tired snarl was so unlike him.
"When was the last time you slept?"
"A while ago," he muttered honestly—no use in denying it.
"Sleep now, then. Before we leave." She was demanding, but sweetly. "You'll need it."
He smirked, the first real sign of his return. "What, still think I can't keep up?" The quip flooded Kate with happiness. Jack was not damaged, just fearful.
He reached for her hand and led her down the hall to the bedroom on the right, all of the decorations foreign and too coordinated. But, the bed was large, well-dressed, and inviting, stuffed with pillows. It smelled deadly fresh to Kate, luxurious. While Jack turned the duvet down, he saw Kate looking longingly at the attached shower.
"Use it," he said, "I'll make some tea." She was grateful, offered him a silent thank you, and disappeared quickly behind the sliding door.
When Jack came back from the kitchen, steam poured from the vent above the door. The tea steamed, too, on the bedside table. He waited on the edge of the bed, towels in hand.
The shower knobs squeaked to a close and he stood, waiting at the door. She pushed the door back and the steam tumbled out, fragrant and thick. His shrouded figure made her smile, the scene was almost domestic despite the chaos. He wrapped the towel around her twice and kissed her forehead once.
"I threw your clothes in the wash…How's this for now?" He backed into the bedroom, coming back with one of his t-shirts. It was plain gray, worn in.
"Perfect." She smiled and slipped it over her head, allowing the towel to drop to the floor. Jack watched as her hair soaked dark spots along her shoulders and neck.
"When was the last time you slept?" Jack questioned, turning her words on her, guiding her to the mattress.
"Slept or slept well?" Kate mimicked his doctoring tone, climbing on and wriggling beneath the layers of fabric.
"Both." He said, after doing the same, inviting her to his chest. She shifted to him quickly, happily.
"Well, I slept last night on the trail for a couple hours. Slept well? Hm." She paused, and looked at Jack from next to him on the pillow. His face was softer now. "I guess the last time was in the Hydra bunker. With you." Her eyes were fluttering now, feeling safe, stable. She was brilliantly able to forget their situation, to focus on Jack, the night she'd get to spend with him.
"I hope this beats the floor, then." He reached for the duvet with the arm she wasn't laying over, and pulled it up around her ears, tucking in the sides. "Goodnight, Kate."
"I'm glad I found you." The last vowel of her sentence was trapped in the beginnings of sleep.
Before she could fall completely away, the front door was breeched, entered like a gunshot by Dharma security. Their footfalls were booming and clear, untested and untestable.