AN: Thank you all for your patience while I finished this next chapter - I definitely needed more time between updates than I expected to. I kept looking back at everyone's incredibly thoughtful and kind reviews and pushed myself to get this chapter to a place where I felt ready to share it with you all. I am so thankful for all of you who have stuck with me through this story and am continuously so touched by the thoughts many of you have shared along the way - seeing the moments from a chapter that moved you or you connected with is such a rewarding experience as a writer and I hope you all know how much I appreciate it. Anyway, I hope not to leave you guys hanging this long before the next update. I hope you all enjoy :)
Chapter Twelve
The phone rang in Jack's ear, the digital hum a distant, auditory reminder of just how far away he was from this part of his life that he knew he would never escape. While one hand gripped his cell phone a little too tightly, his other rested on the bottom of the steering wheel of his car, his thumbnail pressing into the leather hard enough to leave an imprint.
"Well hey there, Doc," the sardonic voice said from the other end of the line, cutting through any possible pleasantries they could have exchanged now, after everything.
"Sawyer," Jack's voice sounded flat and hollow in the confines of his SUV, parked somewhere beneath the East wing of St. Sebastian.
"Can't imagine what you'd be callin' me for," Sawyer said, the surprise evident in his voice. "Must be good."
Jack sighed, his irritation having already surpassed a tight simmer at the base of his throat.
"It's Kate," he started, taking a beat and feeling the muscles in his jaw tighten, release, and tighten again. "She was in an accident. I'm calling because -"
"Jesus, is she alright? What happened?" Sawyer interrupted him, the pretense dropping from his voice. Jack felt a momentary itch of superiority tickle at the corners of his thoughts, knowing that he had information that Sawyer wanted, that he cared about, which gave Jack the power in their conversation. But as soon as he felt the weight of this power settle in his mind, it was met by the equal and opposite weight of his shame. Even after all that had transpired around them and between them, Jack's instinct towards Sawyer had never changed.
"She's ok," Jack offered, shutting his eyes briefly, trying to relent. "She's banged up but she got lucky. It was a… pretty bad accident."
Jack could hear the other man exhale over their thin connection, traveling across tens of thousands of signals spanning Los Angeles, fighting its way into the parking garage, and making its way into Jack's ear.
"Jesus Christ," his voice was quiet, almost as if Sawyer had pulled the phone away in relief. "What happened?" He repeated, his voice returning to its typical firm, direct timber.
"She was on her way home from class on Wednesday night. All I know is that someone ran a red light and… her car is probably totaled. The fact that her injuries weren't more severe is...," Jack's voice hung in the close air of his car as he struggled to finish his thought, at what the outcome of the accident that was described to him should have been. Accidents the likes of which he'd seen in the ER and in his OR too many times to count; either resulting in life-altering physical changes to the body or an outcome his mind couldn't fathom. The distant echoes of other vehicles maneuvering through the congested parking garage around him were barely audible, but punctuated his conversation with Sawyer like morse code.
"Shit," Sawyer said, his voice low. "Freckles always has had the luck of the Irish, hasn't she?"
His voice was teasing, but only by necessity. That much Jack could recognize. He chuckled lightly at the irony, and pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand, bracing for what had to come next.
"Yeah. Well… there were some complications from the accident," Jack took a deep breath and considered his words carefully. He realized that this would be the first time he was delivering this news to anyone and, although he knew how to describe her situation clinically, Jack's mind was hazy and clumsy in trying to translate the language he knew so well into decipherable terms for the person on the other end of his call. Dropping his hand to his lap and clenching his fist, he continued. "Kate has lost all memory of the last three years."
The world around him descended into silence so abruptly he wondered if the call was dropped, but the faint, nearly imperceptible hum of satellite static still reached his ear.
"It's still early," Jack tried to fill the silence and provide what little information he could, but felt responsible for maintaining some semblance of privacy in this exchange. His instincts still resisted the idea of opening such a private area of Kate's life to a man who existed on his memory's timeline as a consistent disturbance, always somehow at the epicenter of events that attempted to derail his foundation. His jaw clenched again and Jack pushed away an onslaught of memories that threatened his composure before continuing. "The first few days after a memory loss incident like this are crucial in assessing long term recovery potential and… from what I can tell, she has made limited, if any, progress in recovering her memories since the accident. Which means… her trajectory to a complete or even partial recovery is going to be longer than we had hoped."
Jack cleared his throat against the tightening of his vocal chords, his mind a sudden chaos of images threaded together nonsensically - moments from both this new, recent life and the one he considered his reality until only a few days ago, that had now engraved themselves onto his life's fabric; the way her skin shimmered with water droplets as he moved towards her in the pool, the immediacy with which her eyes widened in terror as he approached her in the hospital, the moment she opened the door of her quiet and small apartment downtown to him only days before the beginning of her trial, the split second her eyes held his from across the balcony at Cody's house during her surprise birthday party, and the soft dimples that pressed into her cheeks as the gap was finally closed between them and he could, at last, kiss his bride.
"What are you telling me, Jack?" Sawyer's voice sliced through his mind and Jack looked out through the windshield to the farthest distance of the parking garage his eyes could find.
"She's lost," Jack said simply. "And I don't think I can get her back on my own."
A delicate but insistent heat pushed itself up Jack's throat and he blinked his eyes against its approach. Taking a shaky breath, he passed the phone to his other hand and swallowed hard against the stinging in the corners of his eyes.
"She trusts you," Jack said, matter of fact, his voice sounding distant and shallow even to his own ears, but he knew it was the truth. "To be honest, I wasn't sure who to call… who could help her. But when I think back to what it was like three years ago… that's where she is right now. And she relied on you. So I needed to let you know that it's very likely she will need to rely on you again, and you need to be ready for that. For her."
The static filled the space between them and, even as the vice that sat in Jack's chest tightened around his heart relentlessly, his mind felt at ease, knowing he was doing what was best for Kate, no matter how much it twisted and pulled at his core. Jack looked down at his left hand, now in his lap; his ring finger again marked by the band of partnership for the second time in his life. His thumb passed over the cool metal and, like so many days before, he marveled at the fact that he had found this small area on earth where he was given the chance to exist happily again, to fight against the ways he doubted his ability to be better, different this time.
"Whatever I can do. I mean that," Sawyer offered, and in his clipped tone, Jack heard the only true, irrevocable promise that one man can make to another.
"Look…" Sawyer sighed, agitation leaking into his voice. "I got someone at my damn door. But listen -" Sawyer stopped and Jack wiped a hand across his face, his chest so tight with apprehension he could manage only the smallest breaths.
"I appreciate the call, Jack," Sawyer went on, his voice stained by a sincerity that was at once so foreign and unequivocal Jack had to pause before responding.
"Just so we're clear," Jack started, leaning his head back against his headrest. "I didn't do it for you."
Sawyer's chuckle barely made it across the phone line but Jack heard it, just before he heard Sawyer reply.
"Take care, Doc."
Sawyer hung up and the phone line went dead.
"Hi Sawyer," Kate paused on the sidewalk just before the stone path that led to the front door where Sawyer stood in the doorframe. She hoped her sunglasses could hide the doubt she felt that began to simmer in the back of her mind.
"Hi yourself," he replied, a smile spreading across his face as he crossed his arms over his chest. His tanned skin was a caramel contrast against the bright white of his tshirt. He wore dark jeans, was barefoot, and his hair was still long and a sandy blonde, but just barely manicured. He looked different and simultaneously exactly the same.
"I was in the neighborhood," she tried, suddenly nervous.
"Uh-huh," he replied, his smile lifting into a smirk. He leaned into the doorframe and casually crossed one foot over the other. He was appraising her carefully and she slightly shifted her weight on her anxious feet. "Sorry I left you hanging out here, I was on the phone," he continued.
"Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt -" she stammered and he lifted a hand to stop her.
"Relax, kid. You didn't interrupt anything," he pushed off the door frame and stood up straight again. "Come on in."
Sawyer didn't wait for her to respond before disappearing into the house, leaving the door open for her to follow. Kate froze for a moment, the neighborhood noises reaching a crescendo in her ears as she looked down at the path leading to Sawyer's front steps. Although her mind refused to surface it, she felt the perimeter of her senses prickle with the understanding that the next steps she took would send a row of dominoes toppling down along a path into some murky future. With a deep breath, she took a heavy step forward.
Crossing the threshold into Sawyer's house, Kate felt her mind wobble on its axis, the odd sensation of deja vu collecting at the edges of her perception. Although she had no idea the last time she had physically entered the space, she subconsciously compared it to her dreamt memory, when the rooms around her were covered in protective plastic, blue painter's tape, and dotted with the paraphernalia of home improvement projects.
Now, Kate found herself in a home, adorned with the evidence and accessories of Sawyer's life. As she followed him into the living room, Kate took a brief inventory of the Spanish style architecture of the home that was vaguely familiar: dark wood beams hung above them across the ceiling, a fireplace surrounded by cobalt-blue tile stood against the wall opposite her in the living room, flanked by built in bookcases, and wide arches that led to the other areas of the home. It was bright, comfortable, and lived-in.
As Kate's eyes adjusted to the light inside, she slowly removed her sunglasses. When Sawyer turned back to her, his eyes widened.
"Jesus," he said, shocked at the bruises that still stood out on her skin.
"It looks worse than it is," she tried, looking down at the sunglasses in her hand.
"You sure about that? Bruises like that don't usually come for free," Sawyer took a step closer and his eyes hardened, surveying her. Kate felt the small hairs at the edge of her hairline bristle with the weight of his scrutiny.
"I, um… was in a car accident a few days ago," she said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear timidly. "I'm ok, just bruised up a bit. I think my face got the worst of it," Kate shrugged and gave Sawyer a weak smile but his expression didn't change. She felt his anticipation pull on her the way her backpack used to weigh on her shoulders when they were on the island; after a long day, exhausted and dirty, tripping over branches and rocks in the jungle on the way back to her tiny, uncomfortable shelter on the beach, her pack would hang on her frame like a monolith.
"Actually…" she said cautiously, pushing her hands into her back pockets, "I guess that's part of why I came here. Ever since the accident... well, I've been having trouble with my memory."
She glanced back up at Sawyer and he lifted his chin in curiosity, but stayed silent, forcing her to continue. Kate took a deep breath and steeled her frame, realizing she hadn't yet had to explain this to anyone for herself.
"There's this... gap," she said, looking back down at her feet, suddenly overcome with the inexplicable shame at what she was trying to explain. Finally, she sighed, knowing there was only one way to describe her situation. "It's gone. I mean… the last three years are. I can't… I don't…"
"Kate -" Sawyer tried to interject but Kate shook her head.
"I know how this sounds. It's crazy. I don't know how to explain it -"
"I know…"
"No, I don't think you do," she laughed sarcastically and he crossed his arms over his chest again.
"No, I mean… I know. Jack called me. Filled me in."
"Oh," Kate paused, surprised, and her shame expanded into something different; something that sat in the gray area between a sour embarrassment and a claustrophobic betrayal, both difficult for her to quantify in that moment as she stood before Sawyer, someone who looked familiar but lived like a stranger to her now. And it was impossible for her not to wonder when Jack had made this decision, to widen the small terrible world she found herself in, and why it was Sawyer he chose to invite in. A splinter of pain slipped into her chest.
"I guess I don't need to explain it after all," she said, unable to control the bitterness that laced her words.
She crossed an arm over her chest to grip her elbow and felt foolish, silly for being there. The man that stood in front of her now was not someone she knew, just a stranger that she was forced to exist with on some remote stretch of sand a lifetime ago. Somehow, through the blistering and disorienting moments she had explored in her dreamstate, she had arrived at a very basic and limited understanding of who Sawyer was to her in this life. But outside of that dreamstate, the blindspot in what their relationship was today remained: how they coexisted, and if they had actually come to know each other at all.
"The last few days have been… hard," she said, running a hand through her hair. "I guess I needed to clear my head, needed a little space. I don't know if this is weird… I don't even know if we're still friends. But your name was the first I recognized in my phone. So I came here."
"Well, Freckles, I'm flattered," Sawyer said, flashing her a grin that was as recognizable as a rose. The weight on her shoulders lifted ever so slightly. "But, for what it's worth," Sawyer continued, leaning against the frame of the wide archway that separated the living room she stood in from the kitchen behind him, "Jack didn't exactly go into detail on your whole... situation," Sawyer said. Just beyond him, Kate could see the countertops that she recognized from within a fog in her mind: the vintage refrigerator and the wide sink on the far wall. The image of her blood mixed pink with water, circling the sink drain, skipped across her mind.
"You sure you're alright?" he asked, his brows furrowed tightly. "I've taken a beating or two in my day and by the looks of your mug, you got your fair share of abuse."
"Yeah, I'm ok. Just a bit sore, mostly in my ribs and shoulder sometimes, if I move in a certain way," she said, dismissively. "I'm fine, really. It isn't as bad as it looks. Well, physically, at least."
Sawyer nodded, accepting her response for now. He considered her again and finally tilted his head to one side.
"Well then, cupcake. How about you step into my office and I grab us some beers? I'm sure you've got a few questions for me."
The garage door shut behind Jack with a hollow thud and he walked through the quiet house towards the kitchen. Setting his keys and briefcase down on the island countertop, he saw the note he'd left Kate that morning still sitting on the counter. His promise of a dinner reservation stared back at him adamantly and now, surrounded by the cold and silent greeting of his home, Jack felt the irrepressible surge of doubt infiltrate his bloodstream. He paused to listen for sounds of Kate stirring within the house. Turning to look towards the backyard, he half expected, and hoped, to see her on their back deck as he had the night before, but saw that the furniture outside was empty and the sliding doors were shut tight.
Jack turned and slowly headed upstairs, wondering if he'd find her asleep again amidst a tornado of paperwork he had yet to confront her about. At the top of the stairs, he saw the guest bedroom door was half open and he leaned into the doorframe gently to look inside.
The guest room bed was empty, carefully made and undisturbed. Scanning the rest of the room, Jack saw nearly no evidence of Kate aside from a typical half empty coffee mug on her desk. The laptop that sat there was open and Jack couldn't remember if it had been that way the day before or not.
Moving down the hall, Jack checked the master bedroom but found it in a nearly identical state; the bed still neatly made from that morning with no discernible traits of Kate's routine as he might usually find it; discarded running shoes near the foot of the bed, a pillow just slightly askew from a post-class nap, or a water glass forgotten on the dresser.
Jack looked in his office, the downstairs bathroom, and the living room at the front of the house, which were all void of any trace of Kate. Jack looked out the front window to their street and realized her silver rental car was gone. The empty space in front of the house where it had been parked the night before now sat empty and Jack swallowed against the sharp spark of fear that instinctively flared in his gut.
Jack went back into the kitchen and stood at the counter in front of his briefcase and keys and hesitated, glancing at his watch. He pulled his cellphone from his pocket and weighed his options. He tossed his phone onto the counter with a clatter, shaking his head at himself. He forced himself to consider all the normal ways Kate would likely want to ease herself back into her life, and although he had told her just the night before that he wasn't comfortable with Kate driving such a small car so recently after a serious car accident, he knew that wouldn't do anything to stop her if she got an idea in her mind to venture out.
He put his hands on his hips and took a deep breath, reminding himself that while Kate may be a different version of herself for the moment, she was still the defiant and adventurous person he met on the island. So instead of calling her, instead of pacing around the house imagining all the ways in which she might be in danger, Jack took his briefcase down the hall to his office to get some work done, distract himself, and wait for his wife to get home.
Sawyer set a cold beer down on the table in front of Kate. His back deck was awash in bright afternoon sunlight, facing west and getting the best remaining hours of the sun. She leaned back in her chair while Sawyer took a seat with his own beer. He pushed his free hand through his hair and Kate felt her mind lean back against hundreds of hours spent on their island, catching glimpses of this man down the beach from her, sun and sweat stained, hair damp and clinging to his temples while he worked. He lifted his beer towards her.
"What should we cheers to?" she asked.
"How about… airbags," Sawyer grinned and Kate reflexively returned his smile, like a magnet that automatically returned a charge. Sawyer tapped his beer bottle against hers before taking a long sip. Kate delicately sipped her beer and watched him tentatively, unsure of where to start. The crisp taste of beer on her tongue and warm sunshine on her skin combined to trigger the sense memory of having shared in moments like this with him in a time that was just beyond her reach. She recalled the scent of wood stain, the sound of rock and roll, as Sawyer broke the silence.
"So," Sawyer started, leaning back in his chair. "The last three years, huh?"
Kate nodded and ran her fingers along the edge of the label wrapped around her beer bottle.
"Any luck with it? Any memories gettin' knocked loose or anything?"
"Not really," her thumbnail picked at the corner of the label.
"What's the last thing you do remember?"
"I thought I was supposed to be the one with all the questions?" Kate lifted an eyebrow.
"Like I said, the doc was stingy with details. Besides, I'm a curious guy," he said, taking another sip of his beer with a smirk.
"Well… the last thing I remember is being back at the beach, trying to get to sleep. It was the night you guys left on the raft. We had opened the hatch but hadn't explored it yet," Kate paused, her eyes focused on the beer label now lifting at the corner. "I remember being exhausted but couldn't fall asleep, was tossing and turning for hours. But I guess I fell asleep eventually because the next thing I know, I'm waking up in the hospital here, three days ago."
"Shit."
"Yeah," Kate acknowledged. "I've sort of been able to fill in a lot of the blanks - the big stuff at least," she confessed sheepishly. "But everything else…"
"What did the doctors say? Do they have any idea how this happened?"
"Not really. There was nothing on the MRI - no brain damage or Alzheimer's or anything. The official assumption is global amnesia brought on by moderate head trauma from the car accident."
"Jesus. Jack must have damn near had a coronary," Sawyer said shaking his head, his brows drawn together in a frown and Kate smiled sadly, remembering the look of relief on Jack's face when he saw her in the hospital room, how instinctively he reached out to her for the fractured seconds before he realized something was terribly wrong.
"Like I said, it's been a tough few days," Kate said, her voice low, and took another sip from her beer. A drop of condensation traveled down the neck of the bottle and came to rest against her thumb.
"Well, don't worry," Sawyer said, his voice brighter and playful. "You haven't missed much."
Kate looked back up at him to catch his smirk but didn't find it amusing.
"Right," she scoffed, and her eyes fell to his fingers loosely wrapped around his beer bottle on the table. His hands still bore some of the marks they had all become accustomed to on the island - nearly healed cuts, calluses hiding in the depths of his palm. As different as their surroundings were now - the cold beers at their disposal, the clean clothes on their backs, and the healthy sounds of the neighborhood around them - Kate knew that Sawyer hadn't changed from their time on the island, at least not much.
"This is a nice place," she said, hoping a change of subject would settle her stomach. Suddenly, a shrill ring erupted from Sawyer's pocket and he pulled out his cellphone. He briefly examined the screen but didn't answer it, instead silenced the ringer and put it back in his pocket.
"You can take that. If now's a bad time… I don't have to…" Kate stammered, feeling self conscious about the ways she was intruding on his life on a Friday night.
"On the contrary. My weekend is clear of showings so I get to kick back tonight. Hate to say it, but you've got me all to yourself."
Kate tilted her head to the side and narrowed her eyes at him in thought.
"Showings?"
Sawyer pointed a thumb at himself and said: "Realtor."
"You're joking," she said, eyebrows raised, before she could stop herself.
"Don't act so surprised, princess. It's a surprisingly good fit for my skillset."
"And what skillset is that?" She tried to suppress the smile that twitched at the corners of her mouth.
"Well darlin', I know it will always be hard for you to believe, but many people find me very charming and persuasive, which can be a lucrative combination in my field."
Sawyer again ran a hand through his hair and Kate realized seeing him this way was like visiting a childhood friend who bears all the trappings of adulthood, but whose face contains the shadow of the person that lives in your memory, who has been inside all along.
"Is that how you found this place?" she asked, looking around the yard. The landscaping was lush and cared for, and Kate could see what looked like a healthy lemon tree in the corner.
"Sort of," he said. "I actually bought this place with some of the money I got from Oceanic. It was in pretty rough shape and fixing it up has become kind of a hobby. I hit it off with the agent I worked with to buy it and he started telling me about the business. Didn't sound too far out of my league so I took a shot at it." Sawyer shrugged, unimpressed by his own story.
"Wow," she said, nodding, looking around her again. "Well, you've done a great job."
"It's a work in progress, and I had help. But you know what they say about idle hands. Sometimes a distraction is just what the doctor ordered."
Kate rubbed her free hand down her thigh nervously.
"Speaking of," Sawyer started casually. He was raising his bottle to his lips as he continued, "Does the Doc know you're here?"
Kate shook her head and cleared her throat against the shakiness she felt in her rising and falling chest.
"He's at work. Or at least he was when I left."
She had her eyes down on her beer bottle again but could feel Sawyer's trained on her. As the heat of embarrassment blossomed across her chest and reached its way up her neck, Kate felt like a child again who knew she was in the crosshairs of an adult that was a moment away from revealing their knowledge of a transgression that she thought she was able to keep hidden - a broken dish stowed away in the trash, a chore left incomplete, or a poor test grade strategically hidden amongst her school work. These misdeeds were always discovered and laid bare before her as evidence of her irresponsibility, no matter how clever or careful she thought she had been in disguising them. And each time, regardless of the magnitude of the offense, the plea from her mother would always be the same: Why didn't you just tell me?
"There's a packed suitcase in the trunk of my car," her admission was cold in the air, and hearing the words out loud burned the pain of her decision into her flesh anew. As she had stood in the bedroom she shared with Jack in some unknown lifetime, her hands had frozen at her sides, unable to reach over and pull closed the zipper of a suitcase now carefully filled with clothing and a few basic toiletries. Even as she clenched her fists painfully in an attempt to wake them up, suddenly she was hitting a roadblock, her brain unable to establish a connection to her extremities. She stood motionless at the foot of the bed, the packed suitcase laid in front of her, while her mind waged a war against itself. She was paralyzed with doubt while the armies of her own questions and fears competed for control of her will, to carry out the resolution that would protect her most: to stay or to leave.
As her heart was ravaged by the wildfire of her own fear, she forced her body to obey her conscious demands: to close the suitcase, to carry it downstairs, and to load it into the trunk. She shut the door on her mind, screaming its doubt. She knew it wasn't the act of making the decision to leave that decided her fate. The trajectory of her own destruction was ignited like a fuse as soon as she reached up to pull the suitcase from the shelf in the closet.
"And why is that?" Sawyer asked, his voice challenging and unforgiving. She couldn't look up at him, the same way she could never look up at her mother when she had been caught, the explanation demanded.
"I don't know. I guess… maybe a part of me thought it would be easier… to just go," her voice was quiet, sounding so small and insignificant that she could hardly convince herself of her own decision.
"Go where?"
"Anywhere," Kate let out a quiet, bitter laugh. Laughing at herself, her own absurdity, about how, no matter her intentions, she always ended up off the rails.
"But I couldn't do it," she continued, finally looking up at Sawyer and taking a deep breath. His eyes were leveled on hers, his shoulders squared and his frame as still as a fortress. "I got in the car and started driving with nowhere to go. No plan. At some point I realized I was going in circles. I never got more than a few blocks from the house."
"And now you're here," Sawyer offered simply and Kate sighed. She shrugged and gave him a weak smile.
"Now I'm here. And I don't know what to do."
"Well, I can tell you one thing for sure," he said confidently, slapping his thighs. "We're not going to figure it out here. I know exactly what you need." He stood up from his chair and lifted his beer to take the last remaining sips.
"And what is that?" She asked, her curiosity piqued by his sudden leap to action.
"You need the best fish tacos in La La Land."
Kate and Sawyer weaved their way through the boisterous early evening happy hour crowd that had begun to fill the restaurant and looked for seats at the bar. They spied a couple paying their check and slid into their vacated barstools. Kate glanced around them and, for the first time in three days, felt a cool sheet of relief at finally recognizing her surroundings as somewhere she felt confident that she had been before. Although the only tangible example she could point to was a concocted, dreamt memory, her senses percolated at the sights, smells, and sounds around her now that went beyond the small experience she had visited in her sleep. A group of friends laughed and talked over each other just behind them, the repetitive chorus of a cocktail shaker reverberated from the end of the bar, and the upbeat music dissolved in the air all combined to wash over Kate like a much needed shower of energy, quickening her pulse and drawing out the anticipation of something she hadn't fully allowed herself to feel yet - fun.
"Well would you look who it is!" A cheerful voice greeted them from behind the bar and Kate saw the young woman who had served them in her dream, only now her red, curly hair was longer and her shoulders a bit broader. But her bright, friendly eyes still shone - maybe a bit friendlier towards Sawyer than Kate recalled.
"Hey, Red," Sawyer grinned at the young woman. "How've you been?"
"Oh, you know. Same shit, different day. Was wondering if you skipped town or somethin', we haven't seen you here in ages."
"I'm trying my hand at being a respectable working stiff. It has its drawbacks."
"Sure seems like it," the bartender replied, and Kate tried to remember her name, or if she ever knew it at all. "Looks like the gang is back together again," she looked at Kate but when she saw her face, her eyes widened just as Sawyer's had back at the house.
"Damn, Kate. Are you alright?" she asked, leaning an elbow against the bar.
"You should see the other guy," Sawyer quipped and winked at Kate, but she shot him a glare in response.
"Car accident," she corrected him. "But I'm fine."
"Shit, I'm sorry," the girl shook her head and crossed her arms. "But y'all came to the right place. The margarita is God's natural pain killer."
"You got that right," Sawyer said. "Sam's a regular Doctor Feel Good around these parts," he said to Kate before looking back over to the bartender. "Put us down for two, but I think we'll be needing two tequila shots first."
"Sawyer…" Kate warned, but he ignored her.
"Bring over some chips and salsa too, if you don't mind?"
"You got it," Sam said and flashed them a bright smile before heading down the bar to pull a tequila bottle from the heavily stocked shelves along the wall.
"Come here often?" Kate teased and felt a small, strange twinge in the back of her mind, as if she was treading on cement that hadn't quite set yet, into territory that wasn't entirely foreign to her.
"Used to be a regular. At least once a week. That is, until I got serious about being a grownup."
"You've made quite an impression," Kate nodded her head towards the far end of the bar where Sam was putting two shot glasses on the bar.
"On Sam? Please. She's half my age. Putting herself through school. Eating here is like donating to her college fund. I'm a generous tipper - it's how I give back. Doesn't hurt that they also happen to make a mean taco."
"These are on me," Sam said and placed two brimming shot glasses down in front of them. Kate sat up straighter on her barstool, her body physically trying to remind her where she was, and who she was with.
"You're too kind, Sam," Sawyer grinned in thanks and Sam dismissed him as she wiped down the bar in front of her with a towel.
"No problem at all. I'm just glad to have y'all back," she deftly placed a small dish of lime wedges in front of them. "I'll get the chips and salsa over here in a jiff."
Sam marched back down to the end of the bar that was jostling with a drink-hungry crowd and Kate looked down at the very full shot glass in front of her.
"Remind me what these are for, exactly?" Kate asked cautiously.
"Just trust me, alright? You need this. And, frankly, so do I. Jacko aint the only one who can write a prescription."
Kate pursed her lips in thought for a moment, her senses filled to brimming with her surroundings and it was as if a trap door in the floor of her mind that she hadn't noticed before gently slid open. She lifted the glass and held it up to Sawyer.
"Atta girl," he said with a devilish grin and delicately tapped his overflowing shot glass to hers. In silence, they threw back their shots. While the alcohol burned down her throat, Kate looked over to Sawyer and wondered how much of the next few hours of her life remained in her control, and how much was predestined as soon as she crossed the threshold into his house.
Two large plates of tacos were set down on their table and Sawyer rubbed his hands together like a kid about to tear into a birthday cake.
"Thank you, Carlos," he said to the waiter that delivered their food. "Looks delicious, as always."
Kate took a sip of her drink, feeling soft at the edges. One tequila shot and almost two margaritas later, Kate felt relaxed in her skin in a way she nearly didn't recognize in herself. She watched Sawyer pick up one of the tacos from his plate and take an eager bite.
As the restaurant had continued to fill in with the Friday evening crowd, Sawyer had asked Sam to secure them a table out on the patio, a little further from the noise, while they waited for their dinner. As the alcohol warmed her system more and more, Kate's mind drifted further away from the home she had left that afternoon. Buried somewhere deep in her mind, now cloaked in alcohol and music and Sawyer's sharp attitude, was the fact that she was supposed to be somewhere entirely different, the evening she was supposed to have so far in the opposite direction it might as well have been on another planet. But that was lost to her dulled senses now, and she lifted a taco to her mouth for a bite.
Sawyer wiped his hands and mouth with his napkin and took a sip of his margarita before leaning back in his chair for a moment. Kate watched his eyes look out across the dining patio and out onto the street where they sat, the sun just barely beneath the horizon and cloaking the city in an indigo blanket.
"Can I ask you something?" she asked and Sawyer turned back to look at her, resting his elbows on the table in front of him.
"Shoot, kiddo," he said, lifting his margarita and swirling the ice left in his glass.
"What was it like when we got back? When we got off the island?"
Sawyer lifted his brows in thought and leaned back in his chair, searching her. He tilted his head to the side before responding.
"Well, it wasn't exactly a cake walk," his tone was brusque and he nervously ran a hand through his hair. "That little raft of ours did a number on us so I don't remember a whole lot of those first few days after we were loaded onto that naval ship."
Kate nodded and stayed quiet, her mind immediately flooded with dozens of images, concoctions of what those days on the raft must have been like for them, separated from the group, drifting and hoping and waiting.
"Funny enough, we were neighbors on that ship they had us on. Jin and Michael and the kid and me, we were just across the hall from where they were keeping you. I wasn't awake much while we were there but I heard enough to know you were in pretty bad shape and the Doc wasn't too pleased with how they were treating you."
Kate looked down to her lap, the memory of looking up at Jack's raw face from her small bed on that naval ship as tangible in her mind as any remembrance could be. Sitting there, across from Sawyer, she could feel the tangled frenzy of her mind as she had struggled to speak to Jack while he was forced from her room, her tears dropping into her hair.
"What happened when you got back to Los Angeles?" Kate wrapped her arms over her chest tightly.
"We were still in pretty rough shape. I guess living on nothing but fruit and fish for two months will do that to you. At first it was quiet - the hospital kept us pretty locked away so reporters couldn't get to us. But as soon as Oceanic got wind that we were on the mend… well that's when all hell broke loose. See, some of us were faring better than others, health-wise. Those were the ones that got picked off first for debriefings. Oceanic must have sent in an army of lawyers to deal with all of us - to collect our statements, set up temporary living arrangements for folks that didn't live in the US - it was endless. All the while, they were cutting deals and concocting their legal strategy to get the best bang for their buck and try to reduce the blowback of their PR nightmare. Let's just say - they didn't do a great job."
"What did everyone do? Did they stay in Los Angeles or go back home?" Kate asked, the few pieces of information she did have about her fellow survivors floating around in her mind like the broken pieces of a vase, and she hoped that Sawyer could help her figure out which end was up.
"It wasn't that simple," Sawyer said, his voice dipping and he looked across the table at her beneath furrowed brows. "See, there was this hot murder trial heading to court. Someone we all knew. Lots of folks had to stick around on account of being subpoenaed to testify."
Kate's jaw tightened reflexively, unsure if Sawyer's grim tone was one of reproach or regret. She took a slow, stuttering breath before speaking.
"I wish I could remember it," she said softly, shaking her head.
"What the hell for?" Sawyer demanded and tossed back the last of his margarita. "As far as I can tell, you get to forget the misery of the last few years. There are people that would do anything to be in your shoes, be able to leave it all behind. Start over."
"It wasn't all misery, Sawyer," Kate said, her temper flaring at Sawyer's insinuation, while she felt a cold drop of despair trail down her spine, knowing that one of the most difficult events of her life was now inextricably linked to some of the moments she was meant to treasure, that she now faced never recovering.
"I'm not saying that it was," he relented and leaned in closer to the table. "But what I am saying is you should think long and hard about whether or not you really want - really need - to remember some of that shit. Sometimes there are things that are right at home in the past."
A waiter came by the table to retrieve Sawyer's empty glass and he ordered another drink. In the silence that followed, he ate another one of his tacos but Kate found her appetite to have waned.
Finally, he wiped his hands on his napkin again and looked across the table at Kate. She felt weighed down as if her limbs had been filled with sand, her hands too heavy to lift from her lap, her head too cumbersome to turn.
"Speaking of misery," Sawyer said with a smirk, "How's El Capitan doing? Must be helpful having him around, considering he's practically the Kate Austen encyclopedia at this point."
Kate's stomach twisted with irritation at Sawyer's tone, but she couldn't tell if it was because of the alcohol or if he was truly being condescending. She chose to ignore both.
"Jack is… I guess I don't really know. I mean, one day I'm yelling at him in a jungle about not getting enough sleep, and the next thing I know I'm…"
"Married to the guy?" Sawyer said, filling in where she faltered. She nodded and cleared her throat.
"Right. But even though I know how much time has passed, I can see he's still the same Jack, and I can tell this has been really hard on him. But, with everything going on with me, it's like he barely lets himself exist. I don't know how he's doing because he won't tell me. And I don't know what to do about that."
"Well, that ain't exactly a new development where the Doc is concerned. I don't know if you've noticed, cupcake, but Jack has a bit of a sweet spot for you."
"Very funny," Kate smirked as their waiter brought Sawyer his fresh margarita. He returned her smirk with a typically infuriating grin while he took a sip of his new drink.
"What I mean is, the Doc is bent out of shape on a good day. Frankly, I'm surprised he isn't throwing a fit, given the circumstances. Hell, if my lady looked like you do right now, I wouldn't be doin' much better."
"Your lady?" Kate asked, her mind shifting into a higher gear. "You have a girlfriend?"
"You could act a little less surprised," Sawyer said defiantly.
"No, I mean... " Kate stuttered, searching for the right words. "Tell me about her. What is she like? Do I know her?"
"As a matter of fact, you do. I guess you could say it's because of you I met her in the first place," Sawyer said, his tone elusive.
"You're kidding."
"We met at your housewarming party last summer after you moved into that palace on the West side. Then, about a month later, I bumped into her at the bar at your wedding," he said simply, popping a tortilla chip into his mouth. Kate's mind spun, trying to reach for memories of either event that she had no frame of reference for. Her questions bubbled and spiralled in every direction, constructing new quadrants of the vast spiderweb in her mind.
"So, your girlfriend… she's a friend of mine?"
"She is now. But back then, as much as it pains me to say, she was a friend of Jack's first. They work together at St. Sebastian. She's an OB-GYN Clinical Scientist. Took me damn near a year to remember that. If you had told me back on that beach that I'd fall for a brainiac that was friends with Jack, I would have laughed in your face. But, you know as well as I do, sometimes life is gonna throw you a curve ball or two."
Kate raised her margarita to her lips for another sip but paused, Sawyer's words echoing and expanding between her ears.
"What did you say her name was?"
"Juliet. Although I can't imagine that means much to you at the moment."
Kate swallowed hard and set her glass down heavily on the table. She blinked a few times, images of the woman she met at the grocery store fluttering across her mind as her brain's infrastructure rushed to rewire the connections surrounding her and link her with Sawyer.
"Actually, it does," she started slowly. But before she could continue, a single white page - an email - floated to the top of her mind.
"Did she mention that I reached out to her? About a week ago, in an email?"
Kate watched him carefully while he processed her question and, beneath his furrowed brow, she caught the faint glimmer of recognition behind his eyes and her stomach flattened into her gut.
"She did, didn't she?"
"Kate, it was only -"
"You knew," she said, defeated and feeling adrift. "I mean, of course. She's your girlfriend. Why wouldn't she tell you that I emailed her about trying to have a baby."
Sawyer's shoulders fell and he seemed to sink further into his chair. The music around them suddenly became oppressively loud in her ears and her vision reduced nearly to a pinhole, only Sawyer's conflicted face within her sight now.
"Look, it isn't like we talked about it… she only mentioned it in passing -"
"It's ok, I get it," Kate cut him off, her voice cold and sharp. "We should probably get out of here soon."
"At least eat a little more, you've hardly touched your food," Sawyer tried, but Kate crossed her arms over her chest again in protest. Even as she did it, she could feel how silly she looked, yet again reduced to the misbehaving child in her own mind's eye; another version of herself she felt powerless to control.
"I lost my appetite."
Jack's knee bounced nervously while he sat on the couch. His cellphone sat on the coffee table in front of him and he looked at his watch for what must have been the twentieth time in so many minutes. It was half past eight and the sun had disappeared completely behind the bushes lining their property. The sky was fading rapidly into an inky night and their dinner reservation was long since abandoned.
He had been home for almost three hours with no word from Kate and, in that time, had managed to only call her cell phone twice. He had broken down about an hour earlier and listened to the digital ringing in his ear with a sense of detachment he couldn't quite recognize. When her voice picked up, he listened to her voicemail box recording but hung up before the beep, deciding not to leave a message.
Jack ran a hand over the top of his head and through his hair, taking a deep breath. He tried to operate his mind like the stick shift car in the garage - with intention and an understanding of how the machinery functions. So instead of letting his thoughts careen wildly into every corner of his imagination to conjure up whatever terrifying scenarios they could generate, he chose to rewind his mind to consider the Kate of three years ago, someone who he'd only really known on a remote island under the most taxing and obscene of circumstances. Beyond that life, the Kate he was faced with after their rescue was someone so distant, so far removed from their previous, simplistic existence, he sometimes had to convince himself that the closeness he'd felt to Kate on the island had ever been real in the first place.
That was the Kate he needed to look for now: the Kate that was confused about how she fit into her own life, scared about her uncertain future, and lived quietly with a head tortured by more questions than answers.
Jack tugged at his tie in frustration, having never changed out of his suit after getting home, it only now occurring to him how uncomfortable he was. He went back upstairs to change and paused on the landing just outside of the guest room door again. This time, he went inside and sat down on the edge of the bed where Kate had spent the last several nights, mentally trying to place her within that room, to imagine how she had been existing there so separated from him. When he had come in from the pool the night before, trailing wet footprints through the house, his heart sank when he reached the top of the stairs only to find the guest bedroom door closed, a shallow light glowing from beneath. In the short time between climbing the stairs out of the pool and climbing the stairs up to their second floor, Jack had somehow convinced himself that he would find Kate in their bed, her hair reaching out across her pillow, waiting for him. And he hadn't understood until that moment, when his fantasy was revealed as impossible, just how heavy a weight it was to need his wife and be unable to have her.
He looked around the room and noticed just how sparsely decorated it was, how little effort they had made there since moving in. Although it had only been a year, they'd made quick progress with the rest of the house. But somehow, this spare bedroom was hardly even considered. Kate quietly selected the bed frame and the few other small pieces of furniture around the room with no protestations from Jack. Then, when her workload at school increased, he took her shopping for a desk, promising that it was a temporary solution until they could more seriously redecorate to provide her a real office space. Looking at the small desk, Jack realized how cramped it was, how neatly she had organized her books and papers in order to maintain enough room for her laptop so she could study. Yet he couldn't recall a time when she had complained about it - about needing more workspace or wanting to redecorate the room as her office. It never came up. Jack thought about his office downstairs, the spacious room dominated by a large desk at its center, surrounded by bookcases and lamps and chairs, and felt ashamed that he'd never noticed the imbalance. He knew that Kate would likely never bring it up and decided it would need to be changed as soon as possible.
He stood up to finally go down the hall and change but saw one of the closet doors was slightly ajar. He walked over and tried to slide it shut but felt it catch on something, unable to completely close. He pulled the door open to see what was blocking it and saw the trial boxes, pushed inside to be kept out of sight. One of them was stacked slightly askew and must have been in the way of the door track so he nudged it into place and tried to close the door again. The door slid a few inches and stopped, still stuck.
He pulled the door open wide again and looked up to see if the door was being blocked from above. For a moment, his mind was so fixated on his goal to fix the closet door that he nearly didn't notice. But as he reached up to readjust the suitcases arranged on the top shelf of the closet, he took a step back. There were three suitcases on the shelf when there should have been four.
A chill ran down Jack's spine, the understanding that sank into his mind as sharp as the scalpels he used to mend the most delicate parts of the human body. The Kate he brought home from the hospital, that had been living with him for the last three days, was not the woman who did her school work at a desk that was too small, that baked key lime pies when she got too stressed, that whispered his name into the quiet dark of their bedroom. She was the Kate that ignored his calls, accepted and then cancelled plans to see him, and that barricaded herself into a small apartment downtown for months.
The cold claws of fear reached around his heart and began to squeeze.
TBC