On An Island
Chapter Two
Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews! Just a quick note: I won't be doing every scene from the show, because then nothing will be fresh. However, you'll see a lot of simularities. Mostly I'll be writing scenes you didn't see, and I'll be offering a new view on some of those scenes, especially since it's just the two of them.
Chapter Two: Conversationalist
"Is he going to be okay?"
Jack looked up from his spot in the sand, surprised at the woman's concerned tone.
"Do you know him?" Jack asked her sympathetically.
"He was sitting next to me."
Looking down, a long moment of sadness passed between them. Slowly it began sinking in..they were the only survivors. Cindy the flight attendant, the woman with the husband in the bathroom..they were all gone. So why him? Why her? And why was this man left with an injury, a tough one, Jack had to admit.
"I'll do my best," Jack said, nonetheless, "I promise." He looked back up at the woman, meeting her eyes. "I'll save him."
With that he turned back to his patient, though this time he found it much harder to go back to work. If he failed, if he couldn't save him, what would that mean to her? Who knew how long they'd be together, and Jack certainly didn't want to be alone. Squeezing his eyes shut tightly, Jack tried to free himself of his thoughts so he could go back to work. It felt surreal to think that only an hour ago he was on a plane home. Just forty-five minutes ago he'd found this woman, and he went immediately to the task of saving this man. Things seemed to happen so fast that he supposed his mind pushed forward to the one thing it was most familiar with: saving people. The next few minutes were spent silently, Jack working while the woman watched him, hand brought to her mouth in sickening worry.
"Your back," she said suddenly, breaking Jack from his thoughts of medical procedures.
"It's fine," Jack lied, gritting his teeth in pain at the mention of the wound.
Truthfully his back was stinging in pain, and he could feel the dried blood caked in a pool of itchy, meshed skin. It hurt for him to bend down, so Jack stayed in a squat, trying to avoid any movement of his back.
"You're bleed-"
"I'm fine!" Jack looked up at her, trying to hide his frustration. "Do you want me to save him or not?
The woman looked taken aback, her hand still brought to her chin like someone in deep thought. She opened her mouth to argue, but quickly closed it.
"You can't help him if you're passed out in the sand," she whispered quietly, her voice swaying in perfectly with the sea-breeze.
Her concern sent a chill up his back, reminding Jack of the blinding pain.
"Fine," Jack said, more forcefully than he meant, throwing cloth he'd been using to stop the man's bleeding down.
His bad mood came off more violently than his afterthoughts, which reigned in guilt. She was only trying to help him, Jack reminded himself, you should be grateful for that. Stepping away from the unconscious man on the ground, Jack slowly picked off his jacket, wincing with a hiss as the fabric ran over his wound.
"Nice suit," the woman complimented.
"Thanks."
"You weren't about to get married, were you?" The woman joked, though with a trace of sympathy, as though she realized that what she said may be true.
"Not exactly," Jack said with a forced laugh at the irony of how very opposite the real reason from the suite was to the joke.
At last he was able to let his jacket fall to the sand, and the burning sun didn't help his pain as he began to peel off his once-white shirt. Now a large spot of it was covered in blood, he observed, cut carelessly from his tumble. Jack didn't remember falling or crashing, but he found it frightening to think about when he considered the plane itself was found on the beach. Not a single peace of wreckage. Jack shivered at the thought.
A sewing kit, intended for the man with the shrapnel, was already at the woman's side as she took her place behind Jack. Running her finger gently over the wound, she began to feel grateful for her minor injuries. She swallowed, nervous. As she brought her finger back it revealed a coat of blood.
"What do I do?" She asked, voice shaky with nerves.
"I'll walk you through it," Jack promised reassuringly, "don't worry, you'll do fine."
"You sound sure about that," she commented.
"I am."
Jack managed a weak smile, one the woman behind him mirrored from where her face was hidden by curls.
(space)
Two hours and counting. Now Jack was sitting with the other survivor, holding a half-empty bottle of Oceanic water in his hands. The woman was sitting next to him, and though the crash was already two hours past, she was currently still shaken. Jack was almost grateful for having blacked out throughout the decent.
"How do you think we crashed?" She asked after a long pause of silence.
The man with the shrapnel was still asleep. It'd be too risky to take it out now, Jack reckoned. Maybe rescue would be here soon. It wasn't as if Jack didn't think he could take care of the man- after all, he was a surgeon by profession- but even Jack had to admit he had little chance of stopping the bleeding with no special tools or machines.
His thoughts of the shrapnel coming to a close, memories of the crash came rolling back in.
It'll all be over.
He shuddered as he remembered the vibration of the airplane seats, still hearing the buzz sound in his ears. Even though he blacked out soon after turbulence hit, as he just told Kate using a fake grass plane to help his story, Jack still could hear the loud pops in his head as pieces slowly peeled off the aircraft like velcro.
"I don't know," Jack admitted, hating that he couldn't offer more reassurance, "maybe we ran out of fuel-" he took a moment to glance around him, observing the island's higher grounds, "or maybe something else."
Waves continued to roll in, bringing in a breeze, relieving them from the sun's heat as they contemplated Jack's proclamation. All was quiet on the dead beach except for the crashing waters, and the shallow breathings of the shrapnel man. It all felt very awkward, very surreal. If they were to get rescued in the next half-hour, what would've come out of this experience? What was the point?
"You never did tell me your name."
Jack looked up, startled at the sudden question. He had to think for a moment, his own name sounding distant in memory.
"Jack," he finally said.
The woman studied him for awhile, and once again Jack got the feeling that she was contemplating his trust. He knew he couldn't blame her, they were complete strangers, but he couldn't help but to try and decipher something more from it.
"I'm Kate," she offered, revealing her identity.
With a small smile Jack nodded and stood.
"Where're you going?" Kate asked.
She sounded worried, suddenly afraid. He actually felt slightly flattered. Another smile escaped him. It felt weird, smiling around all this death.
"We need to get this guy out of the sun," Jack announced, hands on his hips.
Kate immediately got to her feet at his words.
"Do you think it's safe?" She asked. "Moving him close to the jungle? We don't know what's out there."
Turning, Jack gazed towards the ocean of trees and woods behind him. As much as he wanted to laugh it off and say 'How bad can it be?', he knew she was right. He decided to give rescue another half hour, then he'd move him.
"Then I guess we should get some sun-block for this guy."
(space)
Having lived in the city all his life, Jack wasn't prone to such a starry night. It was beautiful, he had to admit. When rescue never showed up he and Kate remained quiet, both too secretly nervous to say anything. As the sun began setting Jack built a fire and fished out some in-flight dinners. Silently they ate, keeping close to the shore to try and escape the smell of death. Now, a few hours later, Jack sat a lone, staring up at the night sky as Kate slept soundly nearby. Taking a moment he looked to her, just to double check that she was still okay. Though it was meant as a quick glance, Jack found himself unable to look away for a moment. Her peaceful appearance surprised him, calmed him even, speaking that they were just in a plane crash. Suddenly Jack felt very tired. He laid down but, determined to stay awake to watch over things, he promised himself he'd only rest for a second.
Two hours later, Jack awoke at the sound of a loud screech. Immediately his sleep wore off, and he cursed at himself for failing as he jumped to his feet. Barely a yard away Kate was getting up as well, though the man with the shrapnel remained in his deep state. Following the screech came the sound of what sounded like medal scraping against medal, and both Jack and Kate winced at the ear-piercing sound, horrific and loud enough to wake the dead. Slightly paranoid, Jack stole a glance around the wreckage and bodies on the beach.
Suddenly the trees swayed, and their eyes followed, alert, as the jungle moved in rhythm to the crashing. Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped. It was another moment before either said anything, too shocked to to speak up. Finally, Kate opened her mouth:
"What the hell was that?"
(space)
The night past slowly after that. Shrapnel guy got more sleep than the both of them combined, and the breeze that developed over night shook Jack. His suite jacket was laying on the ground nearby, but for some reason, Jack couldn't bring himself to put it on. Morning greeted him after a short doze with a beautiful ocean view and a mango at his side. As his eyes fluttered open, he noticed Kate was standing just in the tide, running water down her arms. She was staring out to sea, smiling to herself. Smiling to herself.
"You look like you've never seen an ocean before," Jack commented, rubbing his head as he sat up.
Despite his life in California, Jack hadn't slept on the beach since he ran away from home when he was ten. Then again at thirteen. Then again at seventeen. Jack almost snorted, thinking how pathetic that sounded. He looked up just in time to notice Kate smiling again.
"I was just in Australia," Kate reminded him in a tease.
Jack laughed a little.
"Right."
Wiping her hands on her pants, Kate stepped out of the tide.
"So what's the call on the shrapnel guy today?" She asked, walking towards Jack.
Helpless, Jack looked down at the man dubbed as 'Shrapnel guy'. Today, he knew, he'd have to take the shrapnel out. If rescue didn't arrive, Jack would have to take it out in an hour or two, at the latest. The process would be painful, especially if Shrapnel Guy woke up.
"I'll have to take it out," Jack sighed, throwing a towel he was using to dry off his own hands with.
"And I thought our nickname was so creative," Kate joked lightly.
She stepped beside him, looking down- in particular, Jack noticed- at the shrapnel in the man's stomach.
"When's the surgery?" She asked, serious now in respect for the situation.
Jack stared down at the injured patient, contemplating time.
"An hour," Jack decided.
Kate considered the estimate.
"What're we going to do until then?" She wondered out-loud.
"Wait for rescue," Jack replied, going back to work on the wound.
Above him Kate watched, observing the professional way in which he handled the situation. He appeared so calm, so together, while her mind was spinning, trying to gather the trauma thrown at it.
"How's your back?" She asked, growing uncomfortable at the silence.
"Huh?" Jack asked, glancing towards her. In quick reply, his back suddenly screamed in pain as he bent down again. "Oh, it's fine."
A lie, but he worried that if Kate knew of the truth, she would insist he'd stop working on the shrapnel guy. But then again, he didn't even know her, how was it that he could except that of her? Because she was the one who asked in the first place, his mind answered him. Jack shook the voice out of his head, letting hopes of rescue take over. Not for himself, but for the man below him who was on the verge of death, dying on an island he never got the chance to see.
"What do you think that thing was last night?"
It seemed that every-time things would start to get quiet, Kate would speak up, bringing an abrupt end to the silence as though she were afraid of losing the conversation. Not that it wasn't a question Jack wasn't asking himself. For half of the night he stayed up, the sounds of the jungle haunting his mind. That, combined with the sounds of the plane crashed, seemed to be glued into his mind, taking up his hearing capabilities. Even now he could still hear distant echoes of the noises; the swaying of the trees, the screams..
"Have you ever been to the Bronx?" Jack asked her.
Kate's reaction modeled the surprise he'd been expecting. He had a working theory, but it was just missing something; one of those things where it felt so familiar, but you just couldn't put a name on it.
"I went there on business once," Jack began in explanation, "I don't know, there was just something..familiar..about it."
A new silence fell over them, and Jack found himself waiting for Kate to spark conversation again. This time, however, she remained quiet. After a moment, he realized he was actually disappointed. He didn't know her very well, but Jack didn't mind talking with Kate. She seemed like a unique person, someone independent, most likely used to keeping to themselves, but still able to adapt to others.
"So you think you remember the sound from the Bronx?"
Jack almost sighed in relief. With the crashing of the waves, mixed in with the smell of death and dying, Jack was afraid that if they were to be quiet any longer he'd sink right into the place.
"Like I said," Jack said with a shrug, "I don't know." He let a short pause pass for Kate to take this in. "So where are you from?"
Once again she looked startled at his question, but this time he hadn't expected it. She hesitated.
"I'm sorry," Jack apologized quickly, worrying about overstepping his boundaries as a near-stranger, "I shouldn't have."
"It's fine," Kate said, shaking her head. Subconsciously she pulled a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm from Canada."
"Canada?" Jack replied, impressed. "It's cold up there."
He mentally kicked himself for saying such a stupid thing. Beginning to blush, Jack was surprised that Kate didn't laugh at him right then.
"Well there aren't any beaches," Kate said, amused, "none you'd actually consider swimming at, anyway." Jack had to laugh at his own stupidity. "You seem to know the place. Have you been there before?"
Grateful that Kate didn't pick at him too much, Jack didn't even realize what answer he gave until after he said it.
"Honeymoon," he admitted.
Kate's eyebrows shot up. For a moment Jack could've sworn he saw a flash of hurt come over her. Or maybe that was just what he wanted to see. You're moving too fast, his mind warned, don't get hurt. And Jack knew those thoughts deserved respect. He was a person who'd been hurt by many people he grew to love, but this was just a woman he met yesterday. They were alone on an island. They were entitled to some conversation, right?
"Really?" Kate finally said, covering up her moment wonderfully. "So you're wife, was she-" suddenly Kate stopped, bringing her hand up to her face once again in sick realization. "Oh God, I'm sorry."
Jack realized what she meant, and let out a laugh in guilt to relieve her.
"No," he assured, "we got divorced a few years ago."
"Oh," Kate said softly, "I'm sorry."
He swallowed hard, determined not to let the mention of his past marriage get to him.
"It's okay," he said finally.
For the next moment Kate looked down at the shrapnel guy, letting Jack have the silence he gave her earlier, though out of pure respect. She knew only too well what it was like to lose someone you love. Meanwhile, Jack was trying to remind himself that that was in the past and this was the present. It was his belief that the two shouldn't be allowed to collide in a perfect world. Of course, they didn't exactly live in a perfect world either.
"So why'd you pick Canada?" She said, adding quickly: "If you don't mind me asking."
Jack shrugged.
"It's a beautiful place," he said, "and my father hates the cold."
Smug, Jack smiled to himself at the memory. Seeing his smirk, Kate returned it.
"So you two aren't close?" Kate asked curiously.
"You could say that."
Jack paused, his breath suddenly caught in his throat. Daddy's not here now Jack.He shivered at the voice, sounding just like his father's devilish version of a ghost itself, echoing in the dark night while he wondered if his spirit still roamed the graveyards. But it wouldn't be a graveyard the spirit would be haunting. Jack hadn't taken a close look at the wreckage yet, but he was sure he'd know if his father's body bag showed up. So far, it hadn't.
Seeing that she went in a touchy place, Kate changed the subject.
"So do you think he's going to be okay?" Kate asked for the dozenth time, like a kid begging a parent for something.
For a second, he thought she meant his father, but of course she couldn't have; that was just his shaken mind playing tricks. Evil, cruel, tricks of memory and haunting that'd linger on, eating his sanity up in years of time. And this was only the beginning.
"Yeah," Jack remembered to say, "but I don't think we should wait anymore."
Kate looked up at him.
"What?"
Her face looked full of hard worry, deepened concern for this stranger with a creative nickname.
"The shrapnel," Jack explained, "I need to take it out, it's slowing down his breathing."
"Is that a bad thing?" Kate said in an all too familiar panic, a tone Jack had heard an infinite amount of times with worried loved ones. A tone he would end up either brightening or worsening.
Jack nodded.
"It could be."
The day was growing increasingly hot, and even though shrapnel guy was in the shade, it could very possibly effect his wound. Making a final decision, Jack knelt on the ground. He stared at the shrapnel in the man's stomach for a long second, already hearing the screams that would soon feel the air. No one could sleep through that kind of pain. Part of Jack wondered what the man would think, waking up to a stranger on an unfamiliar place. A new worry set in, the thoughts of the man dying of panic now entering his mind.
"Can you hold him down?" Jack asked Kate, squinting at the sun's rays as he looked up at her, pleading for her help.
She nodded her head, and Jack sighed in relief. Kneeling down opposite from him, Kate took the man's shoulders. The way she flinched violently as her hands landed on shrapnel guy's skin went unnoticed by Jack, as did the new fear in her eyes.
"On three."
Kate nodded again. As Jack counted he closed his eyes, whispering in his mind a prayer to no one in particular. If God received it, them him. Or she. Or whomever. Deep down he was angry, furious, with the way his life turned out, and at the moment, he felt very unwillingly to give faith a chance. But this man needed faith, hope, something. Maybe a miracle.
"Three."
Immediately the man screamed, sending loud echoes of pain bouncing off the hilltops and mountain walls. Hollow tunnels of the island's undergrowth could've felt the vibration of the cry, and its rivers could've empathized the blood.
"Hold him still," Jack instructed Kate, who looked sick in a small doubt and a much larger fear.
That's when he realized the screaming stopped, its memory still playing in his ears and leaving behind painful gasp of air. Then he noticed where the man's eyes laid, his eyes wild and bloodshot as he stared in tremendous effort- as if wanted to provoke- at Kate. Jack glanced up at her, debating whether or not to say something. He didn't want her to feel afraid since, under the circumstances, this behavior could be considered normal, but Kate looked more terrified than ever. Slowly she realized her grip on shrapnel guy, resulting in the man falling in a gasp of a collapse on the sand. Jack could've sworn he heard the echo of the fall as Kate ran away. He tried desperately to call after her as she ran into the unfamiliar terrors of the jungle, but it led to no prevail. She was gone.
It wasn't until nightfall that she returned, marking a day and a half on the island. The jungle remained quiet, giving the now equally as silent and calm patient another chance to rest. Jack was sitting by the fire, poking at a tv dinner he prepared himself out of the sheer boredom of waiting. In order to keep himself from an early insanity, a prescription that wasn't due for the time being, Jack kept belief in the fact that Kate would return. After all, where would she go?
She came back in a slow walk, strutting her feet across the sand as her toes shifted in the grains. Distressed, Kate walked towards him, her silluhette radiating dread. As tempting as it was to watch her as she approached, studying her as description could possibly give more than words ever could, Jack kept his eyes to the ground so she wouldn't feel uncomfortable. The last thing he wanted was for her to run again. At last, Kate's shadow appeared behind him.
"How is he?" She asked, forcing the words out.
Her voice sounded raspy, a sign of a long cry.
"I-" Jack swallowed, he didn't want to say it.
During the day Jack let worries of Kate take over guilt and anger. Shrapnel guy only grew worse as hours past, developing a high fever as he slept. He awoke around midday with a brutal cough, claiming he felt nauseated before falling back into his usual unconscious state.
"I think he's going to die," Jack finished, heaving a breath of air, showing his self-frustration.
Kate was silent for a moment, letting the pause linger on unlike earlier. She offered no words of encouragement or sympathy, words that only the deepest, most helpless part of Jack knew he needed to hear, though he knew it whole in denial.
"Will it be painful?" Kate wanted to know, swallowing hard to get her words out.
Jack stared deeply into a fire, wishing desperately for it to turn into some form of transportation to a hospital. Explaining to the world how nearly all the survivors were killed in the crash would be hard enough, but how would he explain the death on the island? The one he couldn't save? How could he tell that to the man's family, looking them in the eye and saying that he failed, letting the man die with not even a true name. One small part of Jack could only hope that years later they could look back and chuckle at 'Shrapnel Guy', just like 'Big Pete' and 'Tiny'.
"Yes," Jack admitted.
That was possibly the worse part. Because more than likely, tomorrow the man would be wide awake, screaming once more in agony, beginning for the relief that Jack could not give him. Maybe rescue would still come. Maybe there would be a miracle. But in the long run, Jack knew better to depend on miracles. They were like a charity offer: it would do you good for now, but in short time you'd be on your own again to scavenge for hope.
"I'm going to turn in," Kate whispered in attempts to hide her emotion. She failed, as Jack was able to since her dreaded fear as she walked off, disappearing as suddenly as she came.
(space)
Just like the previous night, at some point Jack managed to drift off into a doze. He blamed it on the ocean's calming waves, luring him into a necessary sleep for any healthy man, despite Jack's own beliefs for himself. Originally he intended to stay awake all night to keep an eye on shrapnel guy, not wanting to put the pressure on Kate, remembering her tensious behavior towards him.
He awoke just in time to hear the soft shuffling of feet across sand, moving past him quickly in barefoot, clearly to cover up any noise from the frantic pace. Holding his breath, Jack struggled to listen as the footsteps carefully resigned behind him, coming to a stop. It was silent for a minute, and somehow Jack could feel the person thinking behind him. Hesitance wasn't the vibe he received, but acknowledgment. Much later on, however, he'd be sure he was wrong. Just as he began to feel lightheaded, the silence was over, and a single gunshot fired through the still night. And that was the last thing he heard.