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

Lost – The Long Road: Understanding

By Mystic

Oct/Nov

May 2012

Jack went through her stuff. Someone would show up sooner or later for it. They'd want it for evidence. They'd want to talk to Sam. They'd ask him about the letters. Jack would have to stand trial against her. So he unzipped the dark brown suitcase and flipped it open on his coffee table, glancing inside at the neatly folded clothes. There were her shirts and Sam shirts, all bundled together, along with a spare set of jeans for each. She left the island in a dead man's boots and it seemed to have stayed that way. He picked up a pair of new sneakers he knew belonged to Sam. They were bargain shoes. He hated that he wondered if they were stolen.

Her toothbrush, a hairbrush and some small random hotel bottles of shampoo and conditioner, along with small bars of soap wrapped with Holiday Inn logos were stashed in a plastic bag. He thumbed a few postcards jammed into a side compartment before sighing and closing the suitcase and placing it delicately on the ground. Then he grabbed her backpack. It was brown too. Kate wasn't much for variety, he figured. It was dirtier than Sam's was and he could see a splattering of what looked like blood at the side. Jack scratched at it, but it was soaked in so long ago it didn't budge.

It occurred to him that she'd been hurt before. She'd been hurt and hadn't told him, come to see him, asked for his help. It frightened him to death that it could have been Sam's blood. Jack shook his head and held the brown pack, bringing it into his lap. He pulled it open and smiled, seeing a few small boxes of animal crackers crammed on top, a recent purchase for the long car trip to Los Angeles to see him. He removed them, finding an unopened pack of tampons and an empty battered cigarette box. Kate didn't smoke, he thought to himself. Did she? He didn't smell it on Sam.

Jack tossed the cigarette box on the table and removed a dark folder pressed against the back lining of the pack, flipping it open. It was the paper. He took a long breath and then shoved his hand into the bag and removed the pen. It was purple, half chewed and capped too tight. Jack wondered how long she sat with the folder propped up on her brown bag wondering what to tell him.

He unzipped a side compartment and out fell a disposable camera. Jack frowned at it. Only three pictures had been taken. Jack glanced back at the folder, seeing the folded page sticking out from the side flaps. He placed the bag on the ground and pulled out the sheet, seeing her scratchy handwriting. There were brown fingerprints. Her own. She'd already been shot when she'd started writing.

"Hey Jack. By now you've done what you had to do. Should have done it sooner. Almost surprised you haven't. It's not easy to find me, but I'm leaving breadcrumbs that can be followed. If you bothered to pay attention, you could have found me by now."

The last line was scratched out with one neat line, a smudge of brown across it where her blood streaked the page. How badly had it been? Jack rubbed the bridge of his nose and passed a glance into his room, at his son sleeping quietly there. Jack wondered what she told Sam, how he'd reacted to a gunshot being fired. Was it the first time he'd been shot at? And why would law enforcement shoot at an innocent child. Were they that desperate to catch her?

Jack had followed her case, knew they had enough evidence to put her away for a good amount of time. He also knew Kate, knew she was incapable of what they were accusing her of. At least not without good reason. But the media painted her a cold blooded murderer, despite the whirlwind of testimony otherwise. Her old friends, schoolteachers, some bank manager, an Australian farmer, and them. The survivors who made it back. Jack at the forefront. She escaped less than a day after they arrived in Los Angeles.

"I told Sam there was a good chance he'd be staying with you. He understands I'm in trouble. He understands that people want to punish me for things they think I did. Sam knows the truth; I told him in detail. He had nightmares and probably still does. He's heard the story they've told on the news, even he knows it makes no sense. Jack, I didn't want this to happen. I didn't think it would. I've been in over my head for a long time now. Every few weeks I try to go into LA but there are bounty hunters there. They have my picture and they don't care that Sam is only five. They'll shoot him to slow me down without blinking. I know their kind, worked with them before."

Again, she scratched out the last line. Jack wondered why this time. He knew she had fallen in with bad people at the worst times in her life. "I know you won't listen to me, but I knew you'd find this. Because you're curious, Jack. I know you want to know everything and I wish I had the time to tell you. For a week I'll be in an infirmary, maximum security. They'll put me out into the general prison population after that. More likely, isolation since I'm prone to escaping. I'll be fine there, Jack, don't worry about it. But they probably won't let you in to see me. I'd be surprised if they do. So I'll see you in court. Hope you're still on my side. I love you, I always have. Sam loves you too, be patient with him."

"I've been teaching him how to read, he has books in his backpack. Make sure he reads them, and brushes his teeth, and takes a bath. He hates to take a bath. If you tell him he can have chocolate milk afterwards though, he complains less. Don't force him to eat breakfast, Jack, he will vomit all over you when he brushes his teeth. He's type O neg, not allergic to anything I can tell and likes to shove quarters in his nose. Don't let him near buttons either. Especially important ones that set off alarms. Jack, please don't let them take him from you. Please keep him safe. Please…"

She scratched off the last 'please' and the letter ended. The purple writing, scratchy and now pressed hard into the paper, stopped abruptly with a smudge of brown dried out blood. Putting the letter down, Jack stood and went into the bedroom, watching Sam snuggle further into the jacket that was wrapped around him. He touched his forehead gently, wiping the brown hair that fell just like his used to when he was younger.

"Hey, Sam," he gave the boy's body a little shake. Sam's light eyes popped open and he took in a sharp breath, then sighed as he focused on his father. "Let's go out."

"Where?"

"Visit a friend of mine," Jack told him with a warm smile. "Someone you'll like."

Sam lowered his eyebrows questioningly, but sat up, shoving his arms into the jacket and jumping off the bed. It fit him like a dress, but Jack zipped it up and picked him up off the floor and walked out of his apartment, giving Kate's brown pack and the letter sitting next to it one last glance before closing the door behind him. Once in the elevator, Sam laid his head down on his shoulder, breathing softly onto his neck. Jack closed his eyes, feeling the warmth, identifying the smell of his son – dirt and chocolate milk.

He was gripping his shoulder when they stood on the front porch of a large house with a brick red roof and more windows than Sam could count. Jack knew because the boy tried. The door opened and Hurley stared down at Jack with an expression of bewilderment and then his grin broke and he moved forward, pulling Jack and Sam into a bear hug.

"Dude, what are you doing here!" Hurley shouted into his ear.

"Hurley!" Sam said quickly, pointing a finger at the man who backed up a few steps, finally seeing the child Jack held.

"Sam, my man!" He raised a hand in the air and waited for the youngster to slap him five before laughing. "How've you been, where's your mom?" Hurley stopped looking around and his eyes rested on Jack's. "Where's Kate?"

With a nod, Sam offered, "In jail."

"You know Hurley?" Jack finally spat.

Hurley shrugged. "She calls, man, puts the kid on the phone." He moved when Jack shoved past him, setting Sam down in the living room.

Sam looked from Jack to Hurley and he tiled his head back, his dark hair sliding off his forehead. "I'm gonna find a bathroom."

Jack watched him dart down a hallway, pushing doors open as he went. "She calls you?"

"Every so often, Jack. She wants to know what's going on with her case." He shrugged his shoulders, his eyes avoiding Jack's. "Wanted to know when it was safe to come home." Hurley bit his bottom lip. "What happened?"

"You've spoken to Sam." Jack stared at the ground, his eyes wide with shock.

"Maybe you should sit down," Hurley put a strong hand on Jack's shoulder and lead him to a couch, watching him sit quickly and fold his hands together. "She was afraid to call you. Thought you'd be pissed."

"I was pissed."

"There you go," Hurley sat across from him on the loveseat. "So they arrested her," he stated, pressing his hands together roughly.

"If they'd been able to drag her off the operating table, they would have," Jack laughed, but his heart wasn't in it. The idea that Hurley probably knew his son better than he did stung. He looked up. Hurley had his lips pressed so tightly they were white and his forehead had broken out in a sweat. "I just want to know…"

"Every ten days. I made her call every ten days." Hurley said strongly. "I wanted to know she was ok, wanted to know if the kid was ok, and honestly, I think she liked calling and hearing my voice. I think she knew I'd never scold her or patronize her or talk shit like maybe you would have. She knew if she called you, she'd just give up. You'd make her want to just give up."

Jack nodded slowly, watching Hurley squeeze his fingers. "Ok." Jack watched Sam peek out from behind a wall and he waved a hand. Watching Sam's brown hair bounce about as he toddled over in the oversized coat. "What are we gonna do about it?"

"About what?" Hurley asked, raising his head and seeing Jack pull Sam up into his lap. Jack could tell by the way the other man watched the child, he'd never seen him. He stared, amazed.

"Kate's case, Hurley." Jack smiled, took a deep breath. "This kid needs his mom, you know. Alive." Sam nodded, his eyes widening a moment as he turned to look at Jack. He watched Sam frown and turn away, staring at the beige tile that lined the floor. The small hand that rested on his forearm tightened its grip. He had no clue.

End Chapter 7