Lost and its characters belong to JJ Abrams and crew. I'm just borrowing for fun. Written in response to the Fanfic100 prompts – White

Lost – The Long Road: Open Wounds

By Mystic

Oct/Nov

May 2012

Jack felt his blood bubble as he imagined all the things he'd wanted to shout at her over the years, starting with 'how could you', but he saw her face and his temperature dropped. Her cheeks were white, her forehead ashen and covered in sweat. He moved away when she glanced past him and she rushed in, hearing him slam the door behind her. Kate turned quickly, her hands gripping Sam against her and she gasped, "Take him."

"What, did you change your mind…" Jack started, but she winced and he rushed forward, grabbing the boy and watching his head roll back onto his arm where he carried him. He watched Kate grab hold of her side and lean against the couch. Jack panicked. He stood in front of her, watching her pull up her shirt so he could see the bandage bleeding through and he jumped towards his bedroom, laying Sam down gently and coming back out, pushing her onto the couch.

He placed a hand behind her head, feeling the back of her neck soaked in sweat and burning hot. "What happened?" He asked as he removed the white gauze she'd taped to herself haphazardly. He pressed his lips together tightly as he stood and went to his bathroom to retrieve more gauze and alcohol.

"I got shot, Jack," she told him. "They were going to hurt him, I got shot."

"Who was going to hurt him?" He watched her eyes close. Jack pressed down on the wound and she shouted, her left hand grabbing hold of his shoulder. He watched her eyes shut tight and her brow wrinkle as she concentrated on keeping her mouth shut. "How many days ago, Kate?" She shook her head and he pushed his hand underneath her, not feeling the gauze for an exit wound. Jack closed his eyes and stared down at her. "How many days, Kate?" He repeated.

"One, two? I don't remember," she spat at him.

He picked up the phone, dialing quickly and watched the panic spread across her face as she began to shake her head. "I can't do this, Kate, not here."

"I can't go…" her words trailed and her eyes drifted closed.

"Kate!" Jack shouted, feeling her pulse pounding underneath his fingertips as he listened to the operator asking him the state of his emergency. "I need an ambulance, I've got a gunshot wound to the stomach," his eyes wandered to the small boy emerging from his bedroom, his eyes wide as he gripped the doorway. Jack told the woman his address and fell onto his backside, leaning against the couch as he watched Sam look from Kate to him.

"Daddy?" He asked curiously. "Is mommy ok?"

Jack nodded slowly, turning and watching Kate moan. He got back on his knees and pressed gauze into her wound. "She'll be fine, we're going to get her to a hospital."

The boy came to his side, touching his shoulder and peeking at her. "She said you'd make her better."

Watching the little boy in the white sweater and jean shorts, Jack smiled, feeling the small fingers that curled around his right bicep. He turned quickly, engulfing the boy in a hug that lifted him off the ground. It was what he expected. He was painfully thin, but strong. His heart hammered in his chest and he breathed in deep, smelling old car leather and something like chocolate mints.

He waited for Sam to scream, or kick, or shove him away, but he felt him lay his head down on his shoulders and wrap his arms around him as best he could. Jack felt the boy's left hand start to pat his back softly, soothing him and he pulled him away, placing him back on the ground.

"You're crying," Sam said, touching a cold finger to Jack's cheek. He nodded his head, watching the expressions change on the boy. Sam was concerned about him. He watched Sam's hand travel towards his mother's hand and he turned, quickly wiping his slate clean and studied the woman lying on the couch.

Sam was just like her.

He waited there for the ambulance and fought the urge to sob as they rode to the hospital. Sam sat patiently in his lap, holding his hand and watching everything the EMT's did to his mother. Jack carried him into the waiting room and held him when he fell asleep against his chest. The little boy gripped his shirt tightly through a nightmare and Jack kissed his forehead, whispering to him that everything would be fine.

Jack used to have dreams about moments like this. He'd be holding his son, reassuring his son, loving his son. He half hoped Kate didn't make it. He knew the bullet could easily have dug a hole through her intestines. Infection could have set in. She could be hours from death. But it burned Jack somewhere deep to think it. He shook the thoughts away and waited.

They found the bullet in her gut, wedged between her intestines and her liver. Jack half-listened to a doctor tell him how the surgery had gone well. He also listened to security guards tell him the feds were on their way to do their own examinations. They'd move her when she was physically ready, which, Jack knew, was going to be sooner than necessary.

He went into the room, Sam hanging off him, and he looked at her. Jack hated being in that room. It made him feel like a small child being punished. They called it Lockdown. It was where they kept prisoners on the not-so-rare occasion they had one. The room was stripped of the normal artwork hanging in their rooms, of a television, of anything other than the necessary medical equipment and a spare chair. It didn't even have a window. And it was white. The sheets, the walls, the floor. It felt like a void to Jack.

They'd strapped her down to the bed and she was awake, staring up at the ceiling. Jack watched a single tear fall down her face as she refused to look at him. He went towards her, shifting Sam against him and he listened to the boy mumble against his shoulder. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to say, his mind had gone blank the minute he realized he was turning her in.

In all these years, he never thought it would be him turning her in.

"Two days, Kate? It could have gotten infected. You could have died."

"I wish I had," she muttered.

Jack shook his head. He clenched his teeth and took a deep breath of his son's odor. "How could you keep him from me?"

Her eyes shifted towards him. "Is that what you think I'm doing? Is this what you think I wanted?"

"I don't know what you want, Kate!" Jack rasped, leaning in closer to her. "You have no idea what the last five years have been like for me. Every single day wondering if you're ok, if Sam's ok. Waiting for a fucking pack of pictures and a god damned letter!" Jack pressed a hand against Sam's back. "This is MY son, Kate."

Her face crumpled instantly and Jack turned away, listening to her sob as the beep of her heart rate jumped. Jack concentrated on the soft sound of Sam's breathing and the occasional smacking of his lips until Kate calmed. He found a chair in a corner and he sat, pressing the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

"What do you think it's been like for me," Kate said suddenly, her eyes finding a spot on the ceiling. "Every day worrying that maybe they'll find me. That they'll kill him in a shootout. That I'll run out of money, or have to run to a place where I can't send you god damned letters… or fucking pictures." She took a long breath. "I did the best I could."

"You could have brought him to me the way you were supposed to," Jack suggested, playing with the straight brown hair on Sam's head. "I would have taken him."

Kate shook her head. "I tried," she shrugged, grimacing at the straps that held her down. "I tried a million times to get over here. Every time I ran into problems, every time I had to tell him he wasn't seeing his daddy that day. I wanted to bring him, Jack, I couldn't."

"You did this time." Jack clenched is jaw. "Took a bullet in your gut to get you here. Guess your priorities are a little fucked up, Kate."

She turned her head slowly. "Fuck you, Jack."

"Back at you," he told her, cocking his head to the side and leaning back in the chair. He watched her turn her head and stare back up at the ceiling. Occasionally she licked her lips, or sniffled loudly and Jack looked away. The boy on his lap shifted, moving his head from Jack's left shoulder to his right shoulder and be brought a hand up, balling it up under his chin.

In the morning, the bed was empty.

End Chapter 3