A/N - SURPRISE! How's that for a plot twist? I haven't died OR abandoned the fic. I truly apologize for the ridiculous wait on chapter 9. But I promise, I PROMISE you, no matter how long it takes, I will complete this fic. And, just so you know, there will be a sequel to this, and I was going to start it right after I finished this one. But I've reconsidered, and I'm going to wait until the summer to start posting it, when I'll have more time to update. So, if you all can try to forgive this not-so-punctual kid, here is chapter 9.
Kate was led back to her cell with the selfish, plesantidea of a completely empty room. No guards, no roommates. Quiet, where she could begin to absorb the thought of a trial without feeling sick. Maybe.
But when she was roughly shoved into the cell, Laura was sitting on Morgan's bed. She didn't look angry or mournful. She had her legs crossed and her clear, dry eyes stared out in front of her. Her bright yellow hair was somehow still perfectly in order, every strand in its place. Kate would have thought everything was fine except for the fact that Laura was violently shivering from head to foot. Her hands were tightly clenched in her lap, knuckles white and fists shaking.
Kate sat down opposite to her on her own bed, not knowing what to say. She tried for the obvious first question. "Are you okay?"
She wasn't sure Laura had even heard her for a moment; her eyes didn't flicker away and her lips didn't move. Then Laura said in a perfectly normal voice, "They didn't put me in solitary because I didn't fight the guards. They just told me what a bad girl I was and put me in my little time-out." She laughed mirthlessly. "That bitch wouldn't bring Ben with her. She just stood there, looking at me like I was scum. I know she thinks I am, but… she doesn't even know me." She took a shaky breath, and slowly looked up at Kate, her expression composed and calm. "Well, don't shoot the messenger, right? Even if the messenger is one of the biggest assholes you've ever met. I don't blame her... that much."
Kate shuddered. There was something eerie about Laura right now. It was as if she was passively narrating the story of someone else; her voice so emotionless. "I don't understand. Who's Ben? Why couldn't he come himself?"
"It's hard to cross a city and visit your mother in prison when you're five years old." Laura said. "Ben's my son." She said unnecessarily. "That bitch you saw me having a tantrum in front of is his nanny. They live with my ex-husband, and Ben's supposed to visit every week. Every week. And she said some shit about a contract being invalid…" Laura shook even more. "Liars, they're both liars." Slowly, she curled up on the bed like a child. "Ben loves me the best." She whispered pitifully.
"You could get a lawyer and straighten it out, I bet. If you know you're right about whatever contract they're talking about…"
Laura laughed again. Her voice changed into a hiss that made Kate cringe. "Oh, Kate. I don't have any money. I don't have enough in the bank to buy a hot dog. Not everyone has Jack Shepherd, the little angel here to fix all your screw-ups. Don't kid yourself." She sat up and leaned forward menacingly. "And someday he'll be gone and you'll finally get what's coming to you."
Jack had just come home from eight hours in surgery, and he was exhausted. He'd saved the kid on the table out of sheer luck, but he saved her nonetheless. Now he was looking forward to some actual rest. He unlocked the door to his apartment. He was hungry, but had no energy to make something, so he collapsed on the sofa and fell asleep before he even knew he had closed his eyes.
He didn't know how long it had been when there was a loud rapping noise, and he was jerked awake. In his jumbled, sleepy mind, he wondered if he was being robbed. Then he realized that it was probably still mid-afternoon and broad daylight out. Also, not many robbers knock before they enter. Fighting the achy feeling all over his body, he got up and answered the door.
Claire stood in the hall. He was surprised to see her – it had been over a week since she had stormed out, and he had not heard from her or Charlie since then. She looked embarrassed and upset.
"Hey Claire." He rubbed his eyes, trying to keep them open.
"Jack. Were you sleeping? Did I wake you up? I can come back later." She hurriedly turned to go before he could say a word.
"No, no! Claire, it's okay. I should have talked to you a long time before now." He gestured for her to come in, and she hesitated.
"I should have called. I don't know why I didn't call." She muttered as she stepped in.
They both sat down, and Jack tried to excuse himself for the mess of the place. He'd literally tossed his briefcase and coat on the floor when he'd gotten home from the hospital. There were still breakfast dishes on the table. The blinds were closed.
"You've seen the pigsty I live in, Jack." Claire said, trying to smile at him.
There was a moment of awkward silence. Jack looked down at the carpet. "Um, so, the last time we talked I was really irrational. It's just been difficult-"
"Don't defend yourself." Claire interrupted, her normally cool and collected voice harsh. At first Jack thought she would start screaming at him, but then she continued. "You didn't do anything that you need to defend. I was so selfish and… and… ridiculous. I don't know why I thought I could compare Charlie and Kate, when their situations are so unbelieveably different. I'm paranoid of being left alone, and it makes me think so thoughtlessly." She took a deep breath, her serious eyes boring holes into Jack's. "The reason why I didn't call you before to make amends is because I was embarrassed that I acted like an animal."
Jack smiled sincerely. "Likewise." He said simply. Then he laughed. "I don't think I've been in a fight like ours since I was ten."
Claire grinned. "We're absolute children."
Suddenly the air was easy between them again, as if it had never been tense and uncomfortable. Both of them declared that they were starving, but couldn't bear the thought of cooking. They decided on Chinese takeout.
The apartment, which had been dreary just a half hour ago was now bright and cheerful. Jack and Claire sat in front of the TV with heaping plates of noodles, talking and reminiscing as the moon outside the window rose in the sky.
"And the look on Hurley's face," Claire gasped for breath in between giggles "when I found him with his smuggled potato chips! He was just sitting on a log in the middle of the jungle with this huge bag of Ruffles. He didn't say anything, and I didn't say anything. And then he just goes… 'Want some?'"
They laughed heartily. After a moment, a sad smile flitted across Claire's face. "You were happier then, weren't you" she asked softly.
Jack considered. "You know, it's weird, but yeah. Yeah, I was."
They looked at each other for a minute. How odd it felt to know you led a fuller life while you were stranded on an island; an island full of danger and things you never got to understand. An island where every person knew and even accepted that each day could be their last.
If he'd somehow managed to stay on the island with Kate, hide until the boat was gone – don't be ridiculous. He told himself, but he still couldn't help but wonder. Sure, they'd eventually be found, but how long would it have been? How many more weeks could he have been able to spend with her before she was carted off to prison?
Jack and Claire turned to the television in their silence. They watched the flashing pictures and advertisements, but not really taking them in. They sat side by side, absorbed in their own thoughts.
The next thing Jack knew, he was lying on his side, still on the couch. The TV was off, and through the skylight, he could see that it was day. Rain spattered against the window aggressively.
He sat up quickly, and ignoring the dizziness and the spots in front of his vision, leaned over to see the clock on his mantle. It read 8:30AM.
With a start, he remembered Claire. Had he just fallen asleep while she was there? He stood up with difficulty, his body still aching, and his head pounding terribly. He hoped she'd gotten home all right.
Apparently she hadn't, Jack observed as he entered the kitchen to see her sleeping form slumped over on the table. She was sitting in a chair, and her arms were folded across the table. Her forehead rested on her arms, and her hair covered her face.
Jack considered letting her sleep, but she looked uncomfortable. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder. "Claire?"
She stirred and sat up straight, looking confused for a moment, like she didn't know where she was. Then she turned and saw Jack. "Oh! You're awake! I'm so sorry I stayed over uninvited! It's just… well, you fell asleep, and I didn't want to wake you up, you looked so tired. So I tried to leave, but my car wouldn't start. I don't know what's wrong with it –"
Jack tried to laugh, but it hurt his head. "It's okay. The only thing I'm mad about is - why didn't you use my bed?"
"Well, I felt like I was intruding enough…you don't look so good, Jack." Claire said, interrupting herself concernedly.
Jack sat down wearily. "I feel like I have a hangover. Or the flu. Or both."
Claire smiled sympathetically. "I think you're exhausted. Last night, you slumped over like you were dead in the middle of 'Deal or No Deal'. I looked around to see if someone had stabbed you."
"Stupid show, anyway." Jack muttered, rubbing his forehead. "You want me to drive you home, and then I can get a tow truck to come later today?"
"I feel bad enough encroaching on you yesterday, but I don't really see any other way. The subway doesn't go as far as my house, and I can't ask Charlie to come pick me up because he and Aaron are at Liam's."
Jack tried not to grimace outwardly. The last thing he wanted to do was drive Claire home. He hadn't felt this sick in years.
As if reading his mind, Claire said, "But I'll drive on the way there, at least. You look like you're either going to vomit or have another narcoleptic episode on me."
They left the apartment and walked outside. Jack held an umbrella out for the both of them, and as the rain lashed against them, Claire pulled him close, shivering.
That was when a man wearing black clothing and a huge camera around his neck literally jumped out of a bush and started snapping pictures of them wildly.
Claire immediately started screaming at him. "Hey, stop it! You idiot, stop following me! Get the hell out of here!" She turned to Jack. "Unlock the door!" she shouted at him.
In a dazed sort of way, Jack fumbled for the right key, jammed it in the lock, and opened the door. They both threw themselves inside the car. Claire started the ignition and slammed the door shut. Jack could still see the man taking picture after picture as Claire determinedly sped out of the parking garage.
"Damn paparazzi!" she seethed, her shrill voice hurting his ears. "That same guy follows me every-freaking-where I go. Sorry for that!" she said more soothingly, glancing at him. "You look like hell." She added.
"Thanks." Jack said, trying not to sound extremely irritated, leaning his head against the window. He needed a vacation.
Kate sat against the headboard of her bed. Morgan had been led back to the cell about an hour ago. Kate had been about to ask how she was, but before she was able to, received the nastiest glare she'd ever gotten. Laura hadn't said a word to her since her chilling words of a few hours ago. Instead she'd fallen asleep in a ball on her bed.
Kate was starting to think solitary wasn't so bad and had even made a mental list of things she could do to land herself there. She didn't come to prison expecting a cheerful happy bunch of felons, but God. She was living in a cell of nutcases.
Just then, Laura sat up, yawning. "I feel like shit." She announced loudly. "Those bastard guards gave me some screwed up tranquilizer, you know that? Like I was a rabid dog!" She laughed harshly.
Morgan didn't acknowledge her, just continued reading her tabloid at the table. But apparently, she turned the page too forcefully, because there was a huge ripping noise, and the page was in her hand. She crumpled it up and threw angrily it through the cell bars. It landed at a guard's feet, and Morgan looked daggers at him.
