Life Interrupted
Chapter Four
Disclaimer: No, you didn't miss a chapter. This is supposed to be kinda like a continuation of the episode "Orientation" of season two. Like another Orientation. So, for the recond, Lost belongs to J.J. and Co. at ABC. Also, The Great Gatsby was written by F. Scott. Fitzgerald. Map interpretations thanks to lost.cubit. Buddhist Wheel of Life info. thanks to Feel free to ask for complete links.
Chapter Four:
Orientation Part Two"Don't," Kate scolded, catching a red shirt just before Sawyer could throw it into the washer. She eyed him, amused by his mistake. "You don't mix reds with whites."
He scrowled at her, balling the shirt back in his hand, though making no move to put it back with the other laundry. She dragged him down there, claiming that he needed to get around some more. Which he did. Relucantly he joined her, complaining how there were better ways to show respect than to get you to wash someone's underwear.
"I'd like to hear you explain that one," Sawyer snorted happily, as though it were the most outragoeous thing he'd ever heard. Kate laughed.
"You just don't," she replied, "when was the last time you did laundry, anyway?"
"A year ago," Sawyer shot back, bitter and serious.
Kate rolled her eyes, though she knew that there was good chance he wasn't lying. Stealing a glance towards him, Kate smiled, knowing that she hadn't truly bothered him.
"So, see your friend today?" Sawyer asked with a smirk playing at his lips.
Kate rolled her eyes again. It was something she found herself frequently doing around him...she was starting to see how Rose would sometime refer to them as acting 'just like an old married couple'. Of course, soon after Bernard would note that they(as in he and Rose) were an old married couple. Rose didn't seem affected at all. Unlike Kate, Sawyer usually didn't like partaking in conversations about their relaitonship. A kiss or a hug in front of others, he didn't mind at all, but he would frequently claim that anything to do with their relationship was nobody's buisness but there's. Unfortuently, there was reason behind this. After Jack disapeared, it was obvious that most disaproved of the way she went to Sawyer for suport, then that support turning into something much more, in their eyes, Sawyer using her emotional pain to his advantage. Some still hadn't gotten over that theory, though a few had just grown accustomed to seeing them around and didn't think of it. They were, dare she admit it, a happy couple, considering.
But now that Jack was back...
"Jack?" She inquried, eyeing him.
As much as Sawyer clearly hated Jack turning up to 'ruin things', he made a point to include him in every conversation, mostly complaints. She knew, deep down, that he was glad to see his old friend(using 'friend' loosely), but she supposed she understood his worry, however riddiculous his parinoia seemed to be getting.
"Yeah," Sawyer said dryly, "him."
Kate threw another shirt into the to-be-cleaned laundry.
"He's around here somewhere," she said, "who knows, maybe he'll take up my offer to sleep over tonight."
Sawyer grasped the shirt he was holding tightly, glaring at her with incredulous eyes she hardly ever saw from him anymore. She laughed.
"I'm joking!" Kate exclaimed. "God, be a little more parinoid, won't you? I told you, you can trust me."
Bitterly, Sawyer continued on with the laundry.
"Ever head of The Great Gatsby?" He inquired.
She raised an eyebrow, surprised at the referance.
"Glad to see you got some smarts in there," she teased.
Sawyer rolled his eyes.
"It's about this guy," Sawyer went on, "he's got this girl, and they're in love, right?"
"Sure," Kate shrugged. She'd only heard of the book, but she knew it was a classic.
"But he gets sent off to war," Sawyer continued. Already she could tell that he had some kind of sympathy for this guy, this chararcter, and whatever his story was. "And when he comes back, the girl's got someone new."
"Heartbreaking," Kate commented, her mouth feeling dry. Suddenly she knew where this was going.
"So what's she gonna do?" Sawyer had stopped doing the laundry by now, and he was watching her for a reaction, challenging her. "She loved this guy to death, but this other guy she met...she can't drop him either." He was watching her closely now. Kate felt like someone else was moving her as she put a last shirt into the washer, determined not to let herself be too obvious. She knew what he was doing. He asked his question again. "What's she gonna do?"
Kate shut the washer with an accidental force, giving herself away. Lowering her head to the ground, Kate had to force her words out, her tone small and uneven:
"I'm gonna go."
She couldn't of made herself more obvious, and what was worse, as soon as she entered the room, Sawyer's worse fear, his challenge to her, was right there, waiting. Kate stopped, startled by the sudden appearance of Jack, sitting on the couch looking, to say the least, bored. He hadn't felt comfortable, she assumed, with reaquainting himself with those who hadn't seen him for the past nine months, so he stayed down here. At least it looked like he found himself something to read.
"Good book?" She asked, recovering from that sudden shock.
Jack looked up at her, and she was surprised to see that he looked just as startled by her presence as she did him. So he hadn't been waiting for her. Jack held up the novel he had been reading: Sphere, by Michael Chriton
"Fair," Jack offered with a smile. Putting a finger to keep his place, Jack put the book aside. "So...laundry?"
A nervous laugh escaped her. Had he been waiting? The thought shook her a little, knowing that Jack was wanting her company, wanting her close by, when he knew she was with Sawyer. But they were still friends, right? It wouldn't be fair to cut him off. Maybe she was the one being too parinoid.
"What's with the jacket?" Kate asked, so suddenly she surprised herself. She'd only half-noticed he had changed shirts, now wearing some kind of suit jacket, black, with the sleeves at the wrist torn slightly.
"It's mine," Jack shrugged simply.
Now she remembered. It had been hanging on the tree beside him the day they first met, the day of the crash. The last she remembered of it, she had been folding it snug into a suitcase, laying it away with his other personal belongings, assuming they'd never see its owner again. As much as it hurt to give up hope, demands - and sanity- she needed that sense of letting go, of accepting, desperatly. Once Jack was gone, most immediatly turned to her for their troubles and assuring. Her, Jack's "right-hand girl". She made them feel close to him, somehow. If only that feeling didn't turn out to scare her, like there was some ghostly presence haunting her. To be in his position, to do what he did every day, to be looked up to like he once was, it brought her close to him, but sometimes that feeling did scare her, and at times she wanted nothing more than to be able to run from it. But, somehow, something kept her there. Something, or someone, like Sawyer...
"It has a hole in the back," Kate pointed out, forcing herself away from her thoughts.
Jack looked behind him, as if he'd forgotten. Again he shrugged, as if it meant nothing to him. As hideous as he may have looked in that jacket, she knew the feeling, needing something of your own, which came to be hard in this place. Even just needing something familiar. It had been one of the reasons she had, at first, been relucant to pack his things away. It was a sign of giving up. Those first few weeks, months, she- even the rest of them- needed his stuff to still be sprawled about, just waiting for Jack to come and collect them. It was like reassurance that he was still there, somewhere, within them.
Kate half-heartily smiled.
"Let's get you something else to wear," she offered, pulling him off the couch, his book dropping and losing its place on the cushions. Neither noticed.
"You shop now?" Jack complimented, amused. Kate grinned, leading him in the laundry area, where she was relieved to see was free of Sawyer. "Wow."
Unlike when he had been there last, the laundry area was more of a huge walk-in closet for the castaways, home to old clothes the owners had either grown or shrunk out of- though none of them had lost nearly as much weight as Jack had. In fact, the first thing she thought to do was hand him a belt, which he took quizzicly.
"You don't even want to know what you look like," she informed him with a smile, "my mother would've killed me if I wore pants like that." As much of a tomboy as she was, like most mothers, her's hated seeing her in baggy clothes, though Kate personally prefered them.
Relucantly, Jack slid the belt through the loops of his jeans, though two loops were broken, the rest looking to fall apart at any given moment. He looked like he hadn't had a proper roof over his head in ages, and for all she knew, he hadn't.
In interest he watched as she reached up to the rack above her, which was slightly too high for her, though she never admited it to anyone. Stuffed in one corner, for the island's heat making them unecessary to keep them around, were a few long sleeve shirts and jackets. She picked out a dark blue one, that looked much less casual than the suit jacket he wore now. Over a front pocket was written "The Muskenteers". No doubt a sports team. Jack looked at it with disgust as she handed it to him, like a teenager disaproving of his mother's choice of clothes.
"It's blue," he commented blankly.
Kate rolled her eyes.
"It'll look good on you," she assured, forcing the jacket into his hands.
"So what," Jack began as he switched jackets, "you sit down here all day and figure out everyone's 'color'?"
Kate grinned.
"Maybe."
Smoothing out the pockets, Jack relucantly settled into the attire.
"What's Locke's 'color'?" He asked with a grin.
She looked away, laughing at the question. Much like a mother, she messed with the collar of the jacket until it suited her taste.
"See?" Kate said pointly. "Told you it would look good."
Jack smirked, already exiting the room, leaving her to decide to follow him. On the way out, he immediatly ran into Hurley, who backed up, puzzled, at the jacket.
"Who're the Muskenteers?" He inquired.
He turned to Kate, as if to say 'I told you so'. She rolled her eyes. Honestly, she didn't think he looked that bad, and not just because she picked out the outfit.
"Listen," Hurley went on, "Locke said he wanted to talk to you. He'll be down here in ten minutes."
Kate raised an eyebrow. It wasn't like Locke to set apointments.
"Sounds serious," she commented.
Hurley shrugged.
"Desmond's coming with him," he added.
The name caught Jack's attention.
"'Desmond'?" He repeated, surprised.
"Yeah," Hurley said, eyeing him curiously, "you know, the sailboat guy. The original numbers dude. 'We're all going to die', blah blah blah."
Jack snorted.
"I remember you saying something about that too," he reminded him. Still they hadn't gotten an explination from that, and Hurley didn't seem ready to give one.
"The one thing he remembers..." Hurley mumbled, walking away to leave the two alone.
Kate and Jack exchanged glances before chuckling.
"Good to see some things haven't changed," Jack commented, moving to sit back down on the couch. Kate settled onto the arm of the sofa, not to far from him. He watched her for a minute, she noticed, taking in her appearance as she crossed her arms to balance herself. "But you..."
She looked at him. Yesterday he'd seem so much in denial, so anti-change, that she didn't think he noticed anything signficantly different about her, besides, of course, that she was with Sawyer now.
"What?" She responded quickly, eyeing him.
Jack shrugged, sinking back into the couch, looking around the room sadly.
"This whole place..." he went on, "you...Sawyer." She should've know where this was going.
"Jack-" she began carefully. Maybe it was time to settle things between them, for her to be able to really explain herself.
Forget time.
"Sorry," he said quickly, shaking his head, "I-"
"It's not like we were a couple or anything," Kate cut in defensivly.
"I know," Jack admited, "it's just-" he stopped, slowing down. He looked at her, in almost that same challenging way that Sawyer had. Of anything, she had hoped that she could trust that Jack wouldn't be so hard on her, for him to give her time as well. But she knew that was unfair as well. After all, they hadn't been completly oblivous to each other before they were taken by the Others. "Were you really sorry you kissed me?"
Her thoughts stopped immediatly. Her heart skipped a beat. She couldn't think to consider, to negotiate with herself, the reply before it came out of her:
"No," she admited quietly, not looking at him. She gave herself a thoughtful moment. Way to take things slow. "But that doesn't matter now-" as much as she would've liked for something to happen between her and Jack back then, things were different now. The change was coming too suddenly, and she wasn't ready to accept it. She looked at him then, eyes pleading, more desperate than she would've liked. "Please don't make it matter."
He stared at her, and she melted away from his gaze, staring hard at the floor. She wished she had something to distract herself, something to drink or something to eat, anything to not make herself so obvious. Jack wasn't going to go away any time soon, and Kate didn't want to hurt him...but she didn't want to hurt Sawyer either.
"Am I interrupting something?" A voice called, snapping both out of their daze.
Locke was standing at the edge of the room, looking out of place amongst the topic of their conversation. She had to hold back from breathing a sigh of relief at the interruption. For now, Jack would be gone, and she wouldn't have to be under that constant pressure of explaining herself or considering their former relationship.
"No," Jack said for her, smiling grimly as he sat his book on the table; at the same, Kate stood from her spot on the couch. Unlike her, Jack seemed disapointed by the interruption, but she couldn't tell if that was because he now had to talk to Locke, or because she would have to leave. "Hurley said you wanted to talk to me?"
Nodding, Locke looked to Kate, confirming his request for her departure. She stood, now curious as to what he wanted, but she was sure she'd hear it at some point or another.
(space)
No questions asked was Locke's request. Jack followed him into a room just outside of the computer room, one that connected all of the combined rooms. Desmond was there, hair longer than ever, a little passed his shoulders and in need of a trim. Like Locke, Desmond possessed a simular burned, this one engraved into the lower part of his face, an ever-lasting bruise. Giving a little wave, Jack acknowledged Desmond's presence.
"You ready?" Locke asked Desmond, who was waiting for his cue by some type of machinery, two wires ready in hand. Jack's eyebrows furrowed, interested.
"Ready when you are, Boxman," Desmond replied, a hint of excitement in his voice as he studied Jack with curious eyes.
A hand fell on Jack's shoulder. In Locke's grip, Jack was forced to look at him, more curious than ever as to what was going on. Better yet, what had been going on.
"Now, Jack," Locke began, wiping a nervous trail of sweat away from his forehead. This was one of the moments where Jack was reminded how much older than them Locke was. When needed, Locke could really have an authoritive demeanor, and attention was immediatly pushed towards him. "You can't panic." Jack raised an eyebrow. Not the best way to start off. "You have to promise me that."
Puzzled, but eager to find out what was going on, Jack agreed.
"Okay," he said. Locke's hand fell from him, turning to Desmond.
"Go ahead."
Somewhere above them, something big and large in size squeaked, creaking and growing louder as the sound became closer. That's when Jack realized the room was shrinking- not literally, but doors were coming down over every opening. Blast doors, Jack realized. On instinct, he made a move to escape...what the hell were Locke and Desmond up to? But Locke's hand stopped him again, pulling him back towards the center of the room, silently assuring with the gesture not to panic. The doors came down slowly, but with every inch it seem to grow faster, and just when it looked like they'd be locked in the room, Desmond cut the process short, the doors stopping a foot above the floor. Locke nodded to Desmond, determined. They'd done this before, Jack realized. Next Desmond switched off the lights, and just as Jack was about to demand to know what the hell hey were up to, Locke turned him towards a far wall. There, lay his answer.
On the wall, lit by a blacklight and some kind of special blue and pink paint, was drawn a map. Or at least what looked like a map. In the middle was a circle, with lines drawn to connect to six other circles- a seventh stood on its own. Writing covered the outskirts of the drawing, some of it in a language Jack quickly recognized as Latin.
"What the hell is this?" Demanded Jack as he took a step closer to the picture.
Locke smiled, pleased at the question, despite the force that came with it.
"A map," Locke replied, speaking the obvious, "a layout. Of this island."
Immediatly, Jack turned at the explination. No way in hell could this map of their island be lying right here under their fingertips. They had enimies here, enimies who would never give them obvious direction around their land. Again stepping closer to the map, now easily reading excerpts such as "I am here" labeled directly under the southernmost circle(named, "The Swan"), and quite a few locations named 'CV'.
"What does this mean?" Jack asked, shaking his head in awe. It was hard to believe, all this information right here, ready for their use. Running a hand over the drawing, Jack found himself feeling the thick cover of the blast doors, the map secure in its painting.
"I always wondered about him," Desmond began, gazing at the map, "Kelvin."
"And then Kelvin died, and now I'm alone!"
The memory came back to him so suddenly that it startled him. It felt almost like it wasn't supposed to be there.
"He drew this?" Jack guessed.
Desmond nodded. Out of the corner of his eye, Jack noticed that a gun was safely rested in Desmond's back pocket, though it looked homely there, not a weapon grabbed for a recent mission. More and more messages were beginning to stick out to him, something about confirmed locations and an incident. But two things at the top stuck out to him the most- notes of a manufacturing site and a shutdown date: October 28th, 1984. Ten years ago. Well, maybe ten and a half, he guessed.
"Here's a better version," Locke announced, handing Jack a crisp piece of paper, a mirror of the drawing, down to the footnotes and Latin messages. Some of them Jack immediatly knew, such as "I think, therefore I am depressed". Though he didn't know much of this map or its painter, Jack could guess that this was more of an added thought, nothing that really had to do with the drawing. A note added out of boredom, just to get the idea of one's head. "And this-" he handed Jack a simular drawing, though with meanings written inside circles and with outerlayers, much more detailed as far as pictures went than the first, "is called the Buddhist Wheel of Life. Someone recognized the simularities and drew it up."
Now that Jack compared the two, so did he. Each contained six outer circles with one in the middle. He couldn't help but to note that Buddhist believed in Dharma- the name corperation that seemed to be running their island. Easily, due to years of studying Latin, Jack was able to read one of the sayings, to Locke's surprise:
"You read Latin?" Locke inquired, both interested and excited.
Jack nodded.
"Somewhat," he admited, downplaying his knowledge of the language. Truthfully he could read each and every one of the sayings and, truthfully, they made him nervous.
Locke was next to him in no time, hand falling on the Latin excerpts written around the map.
"What do they say?" Locke demanded, eager.
Jack raised an eyebrow, but looked back down at the map anyway. Desmond joined them.
"'The disease is worse than the treatment'," Jack read with a sigh, having to confront the fear of what he read the first time again. It was more like worry, because if some of this stuff was true... "'the remedy was worse than the disease'." Moving a finger to where the different sayings were, Jack read them off: "'Save yourself from hell'. 'A mouse does not rely on just one hole'-" Jack took a long sigh before saying the last one, which stood out most as far as oddness and outrageous went- "'here there be dragons'."
Desmond took no time to react to that.
"'Dragons'?" Desmond repeated, sounding frantic- and even a little frightened. "You mean-"
"I'm sure there are no dragons," Jack assured him, sighing again as he handed the paper to Locke, "it could just be something from a book or a dream. Mythology is used very symbolically."
Locke didn't look convinced. Face now dark, alarmed with fear, he didn't seem so excited anymore.
"But what about-" he began before Jack cut him off.
"It's not real, John!" Jack exclaimed, his fury leaving him before he could get ahold of it.
Locke glared at him, challenging him.
"Like the button?" Locke shot back.
Jack sighed, feeling suddenly restless and irritated. They were feelings he had been growing used to lately, and he begged for an escape from them. Briefly, he wondered if Hurley was still running his golf course.
"The button wasn't real, John," Jack insisted. It felt like they were beating a dead horse, arguing in circles with no end. Truth was, neither would probably ever fully convince the other to change their view, yet they'd continue to debate anyway.
"The sound and the light," Locke began, pointing towards where outside should be, "those were real. And they just happened to happen after we didn't push the button! You were wrong Jack, admit it."
Frustrated, Jack through his hands up.
"Fine!" He exclaimed. "I was wrong. Is that what you want to hear? I have no idea what your damn map's supposed to mean, or why the hell there are people out there running these experiments!" Suddenly, Jack felt the need to argue his point. He took a step forward in the space between him and Locke. "Tell me, John, what do you think of this? How does it feel to be a lab rat?" Meeting Locke's eyes, Jack dared him to interrupt. "Because that's what you are." Stepping back, Jack concluded his speech. "So congradulations, you're right."
But Locke didn't look ready to give up.
"I didn't want this..." Locke trailed off, his voice shaking.
Jack turned on him. He'd lost his temper, and though he was aware of it, he couldn't think to gain it back.
"Yes you did!" Jack accused. "You did, and now you're right. So, once again, congradulations."
He turned to leave, but the blast doors were still down. Scrowling, Jack had no choice but to turn back to the fight.
"The film-"
"The film was a fake!" Jack exclaimed. "The button may be real, but this is still an experiment, and you're part of it!"
Locke smiled grimly, keeping a stern face as he tried not to lose it.
"He's back," Locke commented under his breath, turning away.
"I don't know what the hell happened to me," Jack went on, despite the comment, "but those people aren't trying to save the world."
"Then what are they doing?" Locke shot angrily. "What do they want, Jack?"
Jack met his eyes, glaring into them in anger and disgust, not only because of Locke's belief but for the people they were talking about. The ones who had taken nine months of his life away from him, who had turned his world upside down. Who'd robbed him of his memory and, worse- from what it looked like- every relationship he'd had on this island, including what could be the most important one: his relationship with Kate.
But still, he couldn't answer Locke. He couldn't think of something great enough, evil enough, that could be these people's motives. He couldn't begin to think of it, because he wasn't like them. So he chose to ignore the question. Turning to Desmond, he asked:
"What happened to your face?"
Desmond looked startled at being aproached, and looked to Locke for an answer.
"Jack-" Locke began, desperatly trying to get his attention, to make him see reason. But he didn't want to. He couldn't bring himself to believe, like Locke, that maybe these people had done some good. What good had they ever done for them? They were letting them stay on the island. The Others could bring them rescue, could help them, but they chose not to. Instead they hurt them, dismantaled their hope, brought on fear. The Others were the reason they were still here, suffering the consequences of one selfish group with a couple of staged videos and old computer equipment.
"I was talking to Desmond," Jack snapped, cutting him off yet again.
Desmond still looked too startled to respond; it was a full moment before he could answer.
"Burn, Brother," Desmond replied, at last, "that first month...never want to go through that again." To remind himself, Desmond touched the spot on his face that was permantely damaged, due to some incident that Jack couldn't understand. Frustrated, the realization hit him hard.
"And I wasn't here to help," Jack grumbled, running a hand over his head as he turned, considering every other kind of injury that he could've missed. People could've died because he wasn't there to help.
"You can't blame yourself," Locke pointed out.
Somehow, his voice sounded like Kate in his head. Maybe, Jack thought, because Kate was the only one who ever cared to say that to him, most of the time. He didn't know how to react to the comment, and sarcasm leaked out:
"Glad to see you're on my side," Jack commented lightly.
Locke stopped, not answering him. Jack looked at him, waiting for Locke to say it. Truly, they weren't on the same side. No, Locke wouldn't turn and murder him(he could hope), but even after nine months gone, they were still at blows, their fights seeming never ending. It reminded him of his father, memories he'd rather not go back to. Rather not remember. Unfortuently, they were the only memories he had left of his dad.
"Can you put back up the doors?" Jack finally asked Desmond, waving a hand to the half-shut blast doors.
Without protest or permission from Locke, Desmond let the doors go back up, and Jack left the room, not giving it a second thought as he chose to keep his mind far apart from it. If only there were some memories he could chose to forget.
(space)
When she walked into the hatch, the first thing Kate noticed was that most of the lights were out. The second was the loud music- Led Zeppelin- coming from the record player. Jack wasn't there, she noted, and a blue light was shining from the room she knew the projector was in. Curiously, she walked in and, sure enough, Jack was in there, sitting on the couch and eating a bowl of cereal, watching the Orientation film in a trance.
"Fascinating, isn't it?" She commented, smiling a little.
Jack didn't look up at her.
"I just don't understand," Jack said, watching the film as he talked. There was no doubt in her mind that he'd sat there all evening watching that film over and over again, desperate for answers. "Someone's letting this happen. Someone knows we're here."
Crossing her arms, Kate looked down saddly.
"I know," she said, "it's a hard thing to accept."
"I can't."
Shaking his head, Jack stood, leaving the bowl on the table. He faced her.
"I've been watching this all night," Jack confessed, "it just doesn't make sense."
"I know," Kate said again, offering him a small smile, "I'm on your side, remember?"
Jack smiled a little at the mention.
"Locke said you disagreed with him on everything," Jack remembered.
Kate laughed a little, remembering the many arguments and debates she had, purely for Jack's sake.
"Someone had to," she said with a wink.
Crossing over to the table, Kate grabbed Jack's empty bowl, carrying it into the kitchen.
"I can get that," Jack offered as she passed her.
"I'm just glad to see that you're eating," Kate admited. It was true. Even if it was down to Jack questioning Dharma, it was good to see that things were slowly coming back to normal. Very slowly.
Leaning against a kitchen wall, Jack watched her in interest as she moved to the sink, placing the dish amongst other dirty plates in glasses, turning the water on so it splashed over them.
"You clean dishes now?" He noted, amused.
Kate shrugged, managing a small smile. It was therapeutic, cleaning dishes, but for some reason, her reliable method wasn't working. Thoughts of Jack were back, and not the worries and fears and regrets that had been there for the past nine months. These were new thoughts. Memories. And now that Jack was back, there was no real reason for regrets...if she wanted, she could drop everything and trace back to that day, to that time in their relationship, and fix everything. The images that played in her mind, memories of themselves, encouraged it- everything from the incident with the dynamite, Jack asking for her to have his back through all this, to their first kiss. And only kiss. So far.
But there shouldn't be a 'so far'...
Even when she was with Sawyer eariler in the year, there had been a small chance that Jack was still out there somewhere, yet she had still made an attempt to move on without him, and had somewhat been succesful. So why was it so hard to keep going now?
Because he's here. Because he's standing here, right now, watching you.
Kate shook her head. How did she let herself get into these situations? She had promised Sawyer her trust, and she didn't want to lose him.
Then why was Jack still in her head?
She must seem insane to him, she thought, thinking about such a big move relationship wise when, in his mind, only days had pass since she ran from him in the jungle. Ran from something that easily could've been, but was never given a chance. It took a long time for her to overcome that fear, and by the time she did, Jack wasn't there anymore.
"You really have changed," he decided, sadly, as though it was something he knew he had to accept but didn't want to.
She swallowed. She didn't want to talk to him right now, not when, in her head, things were so confusing. Anything could come out at any moment. Luckily, Jack changed subjects for her. Out of nowhere, she noticed, but didn't protest.
"Where were Michael and Walt?" He wanted to know.
Kate griminced at the question, stopping as she answered:
"They never came back."
She turned towards him sympathetically, waiting for him to react. He didn't. Instead he just nodded, then excused himself out of the room silently. It wasn't because of her answer, or at least completly, but because they both needed their space. It seemed to be all they could do, talk and then quickly get away from each other, like any step further would end catastrophically.
Letting her sympathetic smile linger, Kate waited until he was a safe distance away from the kitchen before returning to her thoughts. But not for long. She couldn't take it, and before she could stop herself, a fork had flown from her hand, skidding to a stop on the floor a couple of feet from her.
"So what's she gonna do?" Sawyer's voice repeated in her mind.
Hands resting on the kitchen counter, Kate faught to keep herself together, muttering:
"I don't know."
Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews!
Until next time...
October Sky