Thanks for reviews. When I said I had two endings in mind, I don't think I explained very well: whichever one I write, the epilogue (Yes, there is an epilogue!) will be the same, the new one just takes longer to get there and includes a subplot that wasn't in the original. I hope that's vague enough for you... ;)
Chapter 26.
The next few hours were some of the longest of Jack's life.
After leaving Kate alone to say goodbye to her mother, he went back to his office to start the long process of reporting her death.
"You are aware that no one's asking you to do that?" his father said, his brow furrowing in concern, when he poked his head in to find him on the phone to the police. "Last time I checked you weren't on duty."
"No, but I was there when it happened," Jack insisted, ignoring him as he punched in another number. If he couldn't be with Kate, then he needed to do something. He promised her mother that he would take care of her, and right now, this was the only way that she would let him do that.
"Go home, son. Get some rest. Let someone else deal with it," his father urged him, taking a step inside, but Jack knew that Kate wasn't ready to leave yet and he couldn't face the prospect of going back to an empty apartment. The nights that he'd spent there with her were almost too good to be true; now he couldn't help wondering if it would ever be like that again.
"I got it, Dad," he snapped with more force than he intended, regretting it when a flicker of hurt passed over his father's features and he shook his head, turning on his heel and striding back out into the corridor, the door closing behind him, leaving Jack alone.
He hadn't meant to be so ungrateful when he knew that his father was only trying to lift some of the burden off of him; he slammed the receiver back into its cradle and dropped his head into his hands, forcing himself to take a couple of deep, calming breaths.
When he felt like he was in control of his emotions, he turned his attention to the paperwork that had to be filed before they could release the body to Kate, but as he began filling out the medical certificate for the coroner's office he found himself stuck on the cause of death.
His father had diagnosed her with pneumonia, based on the symptoms, but they didn't get the chance to finish testing her before she passed away. She wasn't responding to the treatment: what if he was wrong and it was something else? Some other complication of the surgery that he'd performed?
"We did everything we could," he heard his father say again, but was this really true? He need to be sure.
The sun was coming up when he went to check on Kate, bracing his shoulder against the doorframe as he watched her help the nurse finish preparing her mother's body to take down to the morgue.
She wasn't crying anymore, which he took as a bad sign. He didn't think that he'd ever seen her look so broken; more than anything, he wished that he could take her into his arms and squeeze all the hurt out of her but he had a job to do first, before he could comfort her.
"Would you mind if I spoke to Miss Austen in private?" he asked the nurse, waiting until she nodded and left the room to pull up the chair next to hers.
"I know this isn't what you wanna hear right now, and I'm sorry for that, but I'd like to request an autopsy, to determine the cause of death," he told her with as much gentleness as he could. "But I need your permission to do that."
"I thought you said it was pneumonia?" she insisted, glancing up at him, an accusing note in her tone and in her eyes, and for a moment, he was sure that she was going to slap him again.
"That's how it looks," he explained, choosing each word with great care, conscious of the thin ice that he was treading on. One false step and he could destroy the trust that he'd worked so hard to build. "But an autopsy will help us confirm the diagnosis. It will also allow us to learn more about the disease – including whether or not the cancer was genetic."
He knew it was selfish to pretend that this was the reason, but he wasn't lying when he told her that he would do anything to stop the same thing from happening to her.
"Whatever you think," she agreed, her voice flat, shifting her hand when he tried to take it.
He led her to his office, where he went over the consent form with her, fumbling through an awkward conversation about organ donation as he tried to shut out the memories of sitting in those same chairs while they swapped stories and picked off each other's plates.
What he wouldn't give to go back to those days, when she would catch his eye and smile, instead of staring at some point on the wall to his left as though she couldn't stand to look at him anymore.
He was relieved when it was done and he could switch back over into boyfriend mode and just be the man who loved her. "You know I'm here for you, Kate," he told her, studying her expression as he reached again for her hand, desperate to find a way to connect. "If there's anything I can do… Anything you need…"
"You could give me a ride home," she told him, letting him take it and he felt something like hope for the first time since they'd arrived.
"Home? You mean my place, or…?"
"My room," she confessed, glancing away from him, her guilt assuring him that she still at least cared enough to realise how much she was hurting him.
He couldn't hide his disappointment as he nodded, forcing a tight smile. "Sure. Like I said, Kate – whatever you need."
He killed the engine when he pulled into her space in front of the motel, half hoping that she would still invite him in, but all he got from her was a murmured, "Thanks", and a fleeting peck on the lips as she slid out, crossing to her door without looking back.
He couldn't go back to work, so after driving around for a while, he ended up at his apartment, alone, just like he'd tried to avoid, but when he climbed into bed, sleep wouldn't come.
His sheets were still rumpled from their encounter earlier, and her scent was everywhere; each time he closed his eyes he remembered some new detail: the feel of her fingers caressing his biceps, the creamy softness of her skin under his lips, the sweetness of her breath as she sighed into his neck…
As he lay there his mind replayed these images on a sickening loop; when he couldn't stand it anymore he ripped everything up and dumped it into the washing machine and went to take a nap the couch.
She didn't answer her cell when he called her that evening, or the next morning, and he knew that she was avoiding him. She blamed him for her mother's death, or for her not being there… Either way, it came down to the same thing: she hated him again, and this time, he was pretty sure that he deserved it.
He didn't see her again until three days after her mother's death, when he returned to his office to find her waiting outside.
"Kate! What're you doing here?" he asked, struggling to mask his surprise.
"You wanted to know if there was anything you could do," she reminded him, shifting her weight.
"Of course," he agreed, fidgeting with his key. He didn't think that he'd felt this nervous or awkward around her since they first met. He wasn't sure how to act around her, what she expected. "What do you need?"
"They won't…" She choked on the rest of the sentence, closing her eyes until she composed herself enough to continue: "They won't let me take her anywhere without a death certificate. I asked one of her friends to send me her papers, but they won't give it to me unless I have a medical certificate, so I was wondering—"
"You wanna know if the results of the autopsy are in?" he finished for her, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. She hadn't come for him. She was there to see Dr. Shephard.
"Yeah," she agreed, biting her lip, and he could see that she was relieved that she wouldn't have to spell it out for him.
He forced himself to swallow his disappointment. She'd chosen to come to him, not his father, who was on duty that night: that was something. "Why don't you sit down while I go check?"
Even though he was the one who'd ordered it, he hadn't been able to work up the courage to collect the file, afraid of what he might uncover.
"Blood tests and chest x-rays are all consistent with pneumonia," he told her, unsure whether to feel relieved that the conclusion his father had drawn was right, or guilty for putting her through the experience.
He didn't want to see her reaction, so he focused on drawing up the medical certificate instead, sliding it across the desk to her when it was done.
"There you go," he said, dropping his pen and sitting back, uncomfortable now that transaction was complete.
She flashed him a weak smile as she tucked it into her purse. "Thanks."
A tense silence descended over them as the conversation that they'd both been avoiding loomed; Jack was the first to break it.
"Are we okay?"
"I don't…" She shook her head, narrowing her eyes in confusion as she pretended not to understand the question, but he could see by her shame that she knew exactly what he was asking. "What d'you mean?"
"You and me, Kate," he elaborated. "Are we okay?"
To his surprise, her expression crumpled. "I don't know," she confessed fighting back tears, grabbing hold of his wrist when he turned away in despair. "It's not you, I just… I don't know how I'm supposed to be around you and not…
"I guess what I'm trying to say," she explained, her voice pleading with him not to argue, "is I need some time to deal with this – you get that, right?"
He didn't; at least he didn't agree with it, but he nodded, defeated. "Yeah, Kate, I get that."
The worst part of it all was that no matter how hard as he tried, he couldn't escape the memories. They were everywhere: at home, in his office, the cafeteria, his car… reminding him of how deeply she'd infiltrated his life, even before they were together.
When he passed her mother's room, he still expected to find her there, but it was empty now, and he had no idea where she went.
He resisted the urge to call her that night, channelling his energy into his work instead, but by the third day he felt like he would go out of his mind if he didn't do something soon. He didn't care if she was pissed that he didn't listen: he just needed to see her, to talk to her, to find out if there was even a small part of her that believed they could still work things out.
There was no answer when he knocked on the door of her room; he moved around to the windows but the curtains were drawn, preventing him from making out more than just the edge of the bed.
A surge of adrenaline raced through him as he crossed the parking lot to reception, afraid that he was already too late.
"I'm looking for a woman who was staying here – Kate Austen," he told the receptionist, doing his best to sound casual despite his heart hammering in his chest. "Late twenties, about 5'5, dark hair, green eyes… Do you know if she went out?"
He tried not to act too impatient as she typed the name into her computer, bringing up Kate's account. She couldn't have left yet: not without at least saying goodbye.
He knew that he was wrong when the receptionist frowned. "I'm sorry, Sir," she said, glancing up from the screen with a sympathetic smile, "but Miss Austen checked out last night…"
Next chapter(s): Where's Kate? And is she coming back, or will Jack go after her? ;)