Hers was the first funeral Jack didn't speak at. Everyone else seemed eager to talk about her -- except Jack and Sawyer. They stood opposite each other across Kate's open grave, and said nothing. Sawyer was cold, while hot tears coursed silently down Jack's pale cheeks. The others glanced nervously at the men before leaving, back to their tents; their lives. Jack and Sawyer stayed, silent, unmoving, not even acknowledging each other. Eyes fixed on her.
Sawyer was the first to move. He walked without looking up, his legs feeling like stone. He stood next to Jack, realising how differently they dealt with grief. Jack was an emotions man, and he let them become him once in a while. He showed his tears and his pain but
stayed wrapped in himself. Sawyer was the hard one, and he would still fake a smile if necessary. No one knew if he hurt, and he enjoyed that. It was his place: alone.
Now Sawyer feels like he needs to help Jack, because he doesn't understand him. He wants to show him how to carry on, how to live through the pain. He feels like he needs to say something, but truly can't find the words. He was the hard one; he'd never needed to express things before, so much as he wanted to he didn't now.
He almost felt the words and let his hand drop out of his pocket, ready to make the accompanying gesture. It brushed Jack's and Jack held it tight, linking their fingers and squeezing as hard as he could. Sawyer was almost surprised, but Jack was emotions, and he was showing he needed someone. He needed Sawyer.
"I miss her," Jack choked out eventually, and Sawyer felt hotness prickle the backs of his eyes, so he closed them tightly and swallowed back the sob his body wanted to let out. He just nodded, knowing Jack could feel the movement as he leaned heavily against Sawyer's shoulder. Sawyer let his hand go and wrapped it across his back, holding them together. He suddenly realised that neither of their eyes had left the grave yet.
Jack quietly began crying, and Sawyer held him tighter, because what else could he do? More than anything he wanted to follow Jack into that emotional oblivion, but he knew that wasn't him. Sawyer was the hard one, and he stood up straight just so Jack could lean on him.
Everyone had left long ago and the sky begins to darken above them, daring them to notice. Sawyer did; Jack didn't. Sawyer murmurs something about sleep, and how Jack needs to go to his tent. Go to bed. Jack ignores him and Sawyer leaves it for another ten minutes. He tries again and after no response gives up. Jack is stubborn, and hollow, and self-sacrificing. Sawyer manages to guide his compliant body to sink to the ground with him, and he awkwardly arranges Jack in his arms. They sit and stare, until Sawyer can barely hold himself up. He moves to lie down and Jack lets him, following him to the sand. Jack lies on his side and rests against Sawyer's chest, blankly staring ahead. Sawyer wants to help him, persuade him to sleep. He wants to stay awake and share his pain, but Sawyer's the hard one and he can't keep up the façade any longer, closing his eyes but seeing only the same picture on his closed eyelids, and it's Jack.