Chapter 112
Locke and Hanso didn't have long to wait; Jack came stumbling into the courtyard, carrying Ana in his arms and John blanched at the sight of her bloody, waxen skin as she dangled limply in Jack's hands. He spun on Hanso, glaring. "You didn't tell me she was dead."
Jack was pale and weak, his eyes sunken deep in their sockets; he looked like he was the dead one, except for the dark fire burning in his eyes. He marched up to Hanso, ragged and wan and snarled, "You made me wait. You're helping me fix her." Hanso traced a finger down Ana's blood-spattered, waxy cheek and Jack jerked back a step. "Don't touch her."
Locke stepped up and said, "What happened, Jack?"
He stared at Locke for a minute; there was something different about him, but he couldn't be bothered with that now. He hadn't meant to fall asleep in the jungle but he had been so tired and empty of anything that he just...quit. And he hated himself for it. He was still cradling her in his arms, the blood from her chest seeping into his clothes, and he motioned to the Time/Space room. "Kate killed her. I have to go back."
"Kate?" Locke was a little surprised, though he didn't know why; he'd always had a hard time reading Kate, except where Sawyer was concerned, and he knew she was a killer; he just didn't...expect it from her. "Why would she?"
Jack snarled, his impatience growing as Locke and Hanso just stood; they should be running for the chamber, getting it ready for him. The fear, despair, anguish- all of it was gone, replaced by fury and desperation and he snapped. "I don't know, Locke, but can we get going?" He started for the room but Hanso stopped him.
"Jack," he said, smiling softly, "Do you want her to come back like this?" He motioned to her bloody, dirty clothes and sticky red skin and Jack blanched; he had barely seen the blood, barely registered it; all that mattered was going back. "She's already dead, a few more minutes won't hurt."
Jack's eyes blazed. "A few more...those few minutes would have mattered last night, you bastard. Now SEND ME BACK!" The veins in his neck popped alarmingly and he gasped for air, about to fall over; Locke grabbed him and Jack recoiled from his touch, it was like biting on tinfoil, and he stared at Locke in horror, remembering what he had done; since finding Ana everything else had been driven from his mind. The weight from Ana made him lose his balance and they both fell, her cold body falling across him and he started crying, weakly, his hands wrapping themselves in her hair.
Locke was staring at Jack in horror. "He's mad."
Hanso stooped to help Jack, trying to pry Ana away from him as he said, softly, "There is madness in love, John, but there is also reason in madness." Jack struggled against him, still weeping feebly, and Locke bent to help untangle Jack's hands from Ana's hair. "Have you never loved anyone so much?"
Locke didn't answer, but he pried Jack's fingers away from her with a touch of gentleness. He felt a stab of pity for Jack, and he understood, really, how Jack must be feeling, to just find her, love her, then have her ripped away by the other woman he loved. The brilliance of Hanso's plan struck him; he knew that Ana's death would trigger Jack into irreversible hatred of Kate, bringing him firmly to their side. Even if he did manage to go back and change the past, bring her back, he would still loathe Kate, and want revenge; so much the better for them, to have another angry hunter on the trail.
Hanso was leaning over Jack, who was deathly pale and breathing shallowly as his sobs subsided and he gasped for breath; his eyes were glazed over and he let Locke take his hands away from her, though he wanted to scream as John picked her up, carrying her towards the medical ward. "Jack, you need to rest. You will never be able to do it like this. Now, we are going to take Ana in and clean her up, do you want her to come back bloody and filthy?" He was speaking as if Jack were a small child; and he was, he had shut down, mentally, he was just a blank, a void, and he allowed himself to be led to the ward and put into a bed, but as he reclined he saw Ana being taken behind a screen and he jerked up.
"Where are you taking her? What are you doing?"
Hanso laid a reassuring hand on Jack's shoulder. "We're cleaning her, Jack. Relax, sleep. When you wake up we'll go to the chamber, okay?"
Jack shook his head, rising. "I want to do it. I need to." He brushed off Alvar's hand and went behind the screen, turning his head aside in grief as he saw her, laid out on cot, eyes closed, like she was sleeping, but she was cadaverous and empty; there was no spark, no Ana in her, the body was just a husk. He looked at the two nurses who were bringing in hot water and towels and he snatched them out of their hands, snarling. "Get out."
They just stared at him and he turned to Ana, letting his fingers trace their way up her arm to her shoulder, and he bent his head, trying to gather his strength. He noticed the scruffy nurses still watching him and he shouted, "Get the fuck out!" He grabbed the closest thing to his hand, a glass jar full of cotton balls, and he threw it over their heads. They screamed and ran out as it exploded on the wall above them, and Jack turned his gaunt, hollow eyes grimly back to his task.
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Sawyer didn't sleep after the nightmare; he held Kate until dawn, when she woke, stretching against him, smiling up into his sweet blue eyes. "Hey, Tex."
He dipped his head and kissed her, deeply, and she sighed as he pulled away. "Mornin', Freckles."
She glanced around the clearing, then sat up suddenly almost knocking Sawyer in the jaw with the top of her head. "Where's Sara?" She got to her feet then wobbled a little as the blood flow made her cheek pound agonizingly, like it was being hit with a claw hammer.
"Vincent's with her, she said she wanted to make herself useful, so they went to get some fruit." He stood too, and she reached up, feeling her cheek and hissing as her fingers touched it. "Let me fix it, Kate." He caught her hand and pulled it down, hardly daring to look at it; it was still open and seeping a little and it had turned a nasty purplish red and black; she hesitated, then nodded. He smiled and touched it sweetly and lovingly and it vanished in an instant; kissing the reddened spot where it had been he slid his fingers along her belly, making her giggle a little and his lips moved from her cheek to her forehead. "I love you."
"I know, Tex." Her arms went around him and she locked her hands together, holding him in place as she said, grinning, "And I love you. So why don't you tell me what really happened in your dream?"
He rolled his eyes and tried to pull away but her hands were grasped tight and she wouldn't let him go; he sighed. "Why do you want to know? It's nothing you want to hear."
"How do you know what I want to hear, James? There may be something to it, if Eko was there. Maybe he was trying to tell you something." She looked up into his eyes. "What are you afraid of, James?"
He glared at her, trying to break her grip but she was strong and he couldn't bring himself to really fight her. "Afraid of? I think you know the answer to that." He didn't understand how she could make him so happy and so angry at the same time, how she could piss him off in an instant and that made his ire rise even more as he snapped, "Do you know what he told me, Kate?"
She stiffened her arms against his half-hearted struggles; it would be just like him to lull her into a false sense of security with his voice and his eyes then make a break for it, and she wasn't going to fall for that. "No, I don't." And as she looked into his eyes, so cold, so scared and needy and she didn't want to know.
His hands gripped her arms and he squeezed them, painfully, cruelly, as he said, "I'm already dead." He shook her slightly, "And you can't hear me. You're not hearing me."
She smiled, her eyes watering a little at the pain from his steely fingers, and she said, "Oh, I hear you. But you're not answering my question. What are you so afraid of?" It wasn't dying, he wasn't scared of that; he didn't want to die anymore, but death had hung over him for so long he was used to it. It was something else, something that was scaring him into believing that his death was the best thing for all of them.
The hard look left his eyes and she saw for the first time just how frightened he really was, how unsure of himself and what he was supposed to do; he wanted to believe that he didn't have to die. It was the look he had when she kissed him the first time, bloody, on his knees with his hands tied behind him, tortured, and he had gazed into her eyes, so scared, afraid that she wouldn't do it, afraid that she would. "I am scared, Kate. I'm so scared." He leaned against her and shuddered as she loosened her hands and began stroking his back.
"What is it? And don't tell me dying, because I know that's bull." She grabbed his chin, pulling his face to hers. "You want to live, James. I know you do. So why won't you believe that you can?"
He wanted to look away, her eyes were burning him with jungle-green fire and he couldn't break their hold; he didn't know how to answer her question and so he did the only thing he could think of, he cupped her stomach in his rough, warm hand, flicking his thumb over the half-moon fingernail marks she had left there, and he said, softly, "I'm scared, Kate."
She melted. "Oh, baby, I'm scared of that too, but that's why we need each other." She pressed her lips to his and he crushed her close, breathing her in as she said, "We're both lost, James, when it comes to this stuff, you know? But we've been finding our way, together."
All of his fears and worries came pouring out now that the gate had opened and he asid, "What if I can't do it? What if...what if he hates me?"
"Since when has that ever bothered you?" she chided him gently. "Of course he'll love you. What's not to love?" He was relaxing a little, she could feel it in his pulse as she kissed the hollow of his throat. "You'll be his hero, James. Don't you know that you're mine?" He groaned and kissed her, his concerns seeming silly through her eyes and he felt hope lift in his heart, hope that maybe he didn't have to die after all.
"I ain't no hero, Kate," he growled against her ear, playfully, and she could feel the weight lift from him a little. "Though I did get to be Hercules last night."
"Mmm." Kate considered and asked, innocently, "Were you wearing a toga?"
He grinned at her mischieviously, amazed as always at the mercurial state of himself around her; he'd been almost crying a minute ago and now he was joking with her slyly, playfully, as if nothing was wrong. He supposed it was the gift they both shared, the ability to push away things they didn't want to deal with until later, but when was later? He pushed those unpleasant thoughts away and concetrated on Kate, beautiful, angelic, loving, ruthless Kate, who would kiss him then hold a gun on him in the same instant and he loved the mercurial nature that was in her, too. Something else they had in common. "Maybe."
She giggled. "What was underneath it?"
He glanced down, then grinned up at her wickedly. "Well, nothin', sweetheart. Just me in a sheet, holding my sword."
She burst into laughter, falling against him. "I love you, James. I swear I do." He chuckled too, holding her closer, feeling her laughter vibrate through him.
"I know, Freckles." He laughed again. "I really did have a sword, you know. It was long, and broad..." he winked at her, "And it's blade was sharp. I had to do a lot of head chopping."
She rolled her eyes, "Okay, okay, enough." She kissed him, softly, then said, "Are you going to try?"
He kissed her back with a hungry ferocity and she wrapped her arms around his neck as he whispered. "Yes." He couldn't refuse her anything, but he was still scared. "Together, Kate."
-----
He was alone with her, finally; he kissed her still, cold lips before he began his harsh job, beginning with her blood-spattered face. Soaking a towel in the warm water he dabbed at her face, cleaning away the crimson drops and smears as his other hand stroked her hair, and he moved lower, to her neck and throat.
He didn't think, he didn't want to right now, he just wanted to feel her beneath his hands again, alive and warm because this wasn't really Ana, this was just a cold, hard shell; his mind wandered back as he rinsed out the scarlet towel, back to her arms , rippling in the beam of his flashlight, and her hands, quick and light as they caressed his chest, her lips, soft and sweet on his, and the furious passion between them whenever they came together.
Tears were dripping from his cheeks but he didn't realize it, he stopped before he reached her chest; the shirt she had on was shredded and scorched but it covered the worst of the mess beneath it and he didn't want to look, not yet. He'd seen gunshot wounds before, of course, but they had never really affected him; he didn't know those people, he cared and he tried his best, as he always did, and it tore him up if they died despite his best efforts, but this was different on a level he couldn't fathom, and he was afraid he couldn't take it, he didn't have what it took.
He leaned his head againt hers;it was still damp from his washing and it almost felt warm, like she was alive and he had to stop himself from jerking back to check for a breath or open eyes; taking a deep breath he ripped the ragged shirt apart, exposing her mangled chest and he almost threw up; he choked down the bile and swallowed hard, wiping his hand across his mouth. Ragged breathing was the only sound as he tried to fight down the nausea but he was so tired and dizzy he turned , grabbing a small traschcan as he retched weakly; he sat still for a timeless span, trying to keep the bile down again.
He finally set down the can and turned back to Ana, prepared this time; he still felt sick but he pulled it together, so that what needed to be done could be. The sooner he was ready, the sooner he could bring her back, and he had never wanted anything so much in his life. It gave him energy and purpose, and he slid her arms gently out of the shredded shirt, easing it out from under her and tossing it on the floor.
He soaked a clean towel and began to clean the torn and raw skin around the wounds; he shuddered slightly as pieces of skin and muscle came away onto the cloth, and he rinsed it out, grimacing at the crimson water. As he finished her torso, taking a while to do it, he found a clean towel and draped it over her chest; he didn't like her so exposed, with no way to protect herself. He moved down to her belly, washing away the dried and crusted blood after sliding her shoes, socks, and jeans off. He cried a little, intermittently, as he touched her cold, stiff skin, but he kept on until she was completely clean of blood and he was shaking with exhaustion. He stared at her for a long while, then found a sheet in one of the cabinets. He kissed her lips one last time before laying the sheet over her.
The ward seemed like it was miles away; he would never make it and he didn't want to leave Ana anyway. He grabbed another towel, and lying on the cold floor he used it as a pillow; time ticked away as he slept the sleep of the dead beside her.
