Lost story, Jack's POV on Kate. Post Whatever the Case May Be. Lost belongs to all those people, this story isn't to be distributed without my permission. Thanks. Enjoy.
Lost – Hold Out Your Hand
By Mystic
January 2005
She holds out her hand and closes her eyes and smiles. It's a curious smile, with her eyebrows furrowed just enough to crease the skin between them as she waits. I want to tease her, to touch her skin gently and hover, but I place the plant in her cupped palm and pull away quickly, almost afraid.
It's a game we've been playing since the day after I opened the briefcase. Testing one another, pushing one another to cross back over the line we'd created that night. Does she trust me? Do I trust her? So I close my eyes and open my palm when she asks. She closes her eyes and lets me lead her when I ask. Back and forth, discovering little things about this island all along the way. She's helping Jin with a garden, mostly fruits we find on the island. Fruits I probably wouldn't have eaten back in Los Angeles.
I found her Guava.
She found me a cave.
I took her to Ivy.
She lead me to the waterfall where she found the briefcase.
She won't tell me what the toy plane means and we avoid the subject. I don't ask her about the guns, or the mugshot and she chooses not to say anything, but I can't help but wonder. Who was the man that she loved? Was he the man that she killed? And what's any of it got to do with a toy airplane. Sometimes I watch her when she's by herself. She's so lost in thought, in whatever pain that child's toy carried on its tiny wings that she doesn't notice me.
Taking the plane through small motions: a lift-off, a dive, a turn, sometimes a crash, her eyes study it. Sometimes they brim with tears she doesn't let fall and I want to ask her what it all means. I know she won't tell me. Not yet anyways. Maybe she's not ready to trust completely. It makes me wonder even more about her, about the conundrum that is Kate.
"Go ahead, open 'em," I tell her and her smile widens, her teeth breaking through the slightly chapped lips, as she slowly looks up at me. After a moment, her hazel eyes fall from mine to the green shrubbery now sitting in her hand and she gasps.
"Jack, where'd you find them?" She touches the leafs, examines the roots, plays with the white flower at the top.
I laugh, scratching my head and playing it cool. "Behind a bush, actually. There's a little field of them. I know they weren't there a day ago."
"I love Daisy's," she says in almost a whisper. Her eyes study the wild flower in her hands. "When I was little, someone told me they were a weed, that they ruined gardens. It's weird, but I kind of felt sorry for them." She squints her eyes into the sunlight as she looks back up at me with a goofy grin spread across her face. I choose to believe her.
She begins to walk away and only when she turns and nods her head do I follow. As we go, she protects the small mound of dirt and plant I've given her, and lets me fall into step with her. We continue the game. I trust she'll lead me somewhere worth following for.