Chapter Nine: Comparisons
He didn't understand why he was comparing the two; they were so different from each other his mind struggled to grasp how they both had affected him the same way. It wasn't even just isolated to physical appearance, both were so different in their histories, expectations, ideals, needs.
Her hair had always been golden blonde, tamed and flat-ironed to a sleek perfection, the highlights hinting at the expensive styling done every six weeks. Her hair was dark chestnut, wild and waved with an unruly allure, the highlights suggesting the countless hours of natural sun treatment.
Her skin had been spa-darkened and lotioned to achieve its flawless shine, her manicured fingers and pedicured toes accents that she wore with an indoor elegance. Her skin was freckled and sun-tanned to a soft radiance, her clipped fingernails and work-worn palms evidence of her time outdoors.
She had always insisted on wearing high heels, even though she stood at a comfortable five foot nine. She was constantly reminding him of practicality, settling for durable hiking boots that only added an inch to her petite five foot three.
He remembered the endearing worry that had crossed her face when he mentioned an upcoming medical board dinner he wanted her to attend; she had always loved to dress up and accompany him as Mrs. Dr. Jack Shephard. He could only imagine the unnerved dismay she'd fix him with if she had ever had to face the fact that jeans and a tank-top weren't suitable evening attire; she would have bolted for the door, he knew that for a fact.
She had always been openly affectionate, almost to the point of clinginess and he knew that was because her upbringing had taught her no reason to fear the watching public. He could only imagine the guarded uneasiness if she were under public scrutiny and he knew that was because her previous life had taught her to fly under the radar.
It was like how both a frigid winter night and a hot summer day could make him realize he hadn't dressed appropriately for an outdoor existence, even if it was only to walk the twenty yards from his parked car to the ambulance bay doors. The severe gusts of snowflakes and dry air that had laughed mockingly at his worn navy Columbia coat; the intense rays of sun that had poked fun at his modest polo shirt and ironed khakis.
January and August. Two polar opposite months with the same bitter lesson.
Sarah and Kate. Two polar opposite women with the same innate ability.
"Unbelievable!"
The sudden outburst startled Jack from his despondent reverie, his hand momentarily faltering its rhythmic motion across Kate's back. She tensed slightly against him and for a minute, he thought she had been pulled from sleep, but she sighed shakily and relaxed again, her weight comfortably leaning into his side. Jack glanced up and threw the other man a warning glance.
"Of all the times to fall asleep, Princess picks now!" Exasperated, Sawyer tossed his hands into the air, letting them fall back to his jeans with a resounding slap.
"She's exhausted," Jack said, flinching at the sound and watching Sawyer continue his incessant pacing. The forward shoulders and rambling purposeful gait reminded Jack of his tenth birthday, when his father had taken him to the zoo. Jack had watched this one grizzly bear walk the length of his cage over and over, huffing its breath and wheeling on its massive paws after every turn. His father had laughed, but at the time Jack had felt sympathy for the animal. Blinking back the memory, he added as an afterthought, "We all are."
"Well why don't you snuggle up and take forty winks too, Pillow Boy? Don't worry, I'll stay up and do the hefty headwork to save our sorry asses!"
Jack felt the anger welling up inside his chest, but forced himself to keep his voice low in order to not wake Kate. It might not have mattered much he realized. She seemed to be out cold.
"Sayid's coming."
"Right," Sawyer drawled, the sarcasm dripping like acid off his tongue. "Almost forgot about you're A-plus rescue plan. Let's send the Iraqi tenderfoot who's lived in a desert his whole damn life to sail around the Bermuda Triangle with Tuffy the Tugboat! Hell, that might even get you extra credit points for creativity!"
When he finished, he stalked over to the brace he had been tied to, slumping down with his back against it. The look on his face told Jack that reason was not what he wanted to hear right now and what he needed was time to cool off. Jack sighed. He could let the man have his space.
The silence would have been just as tense and heated had he not focused on the sounds of Kate's breathing. Feeling his mind slipping back to drawing invisible connections, he watched the blue fabric of her t-shirt rising and falling in a gentle rhythm, feeling the on and off rush of warm air across his chest. He almost didn't hear her mumble something in her sleep as she shifted closer to him, the hand across his stomach flexing and clutching tightly at his shirt.
Jack felt guilty as a twinge of unsuppressed panic flashed through him at the sign of improvement. The drug was wearing off much to his relief, but that meant they would come again. Despite the dullness throbbing in his right arm, he hoped she'd sleep for hours where he could watch over her. At least then, the anxiety of not knowing what was happening to her would be kept at bay.
He watched her forehead and eyes scrunch, her grip tightening to a white-knuckled desperation as she struggled through her nightmare, debating whether to intervene or let her fight her own demons. As quickly as it had started, the tension left Kate's muscles and an amused smile almost broke through Jack's scrutiny when she sighed and murmured softly into his side. He couldn't help but notice the lack of sadness in her features as she slept.
That was another difference separating them he noticed. Even though they rested behind closed lids, Jack could clearly see her haunted green eyes. There was an anguish constantly clouding the façade of Kate's independence, like a desperate call for help when there was none to be had. A secret she carried so deeply within her, it seemed to radiate its permanence, teasing his head and breaking his heart whenever he caught a fleeting glimpse of it. He had never seen that tormented look in Sarah's clear blue eyes, even in her pleading watery gaze as she lay tummy down on the gurney, that was still just a temporary pain. They both were vulnerable; the difference between the two divided be a narrow line. On one side stood the one that he could fix and knew how to fix. On the other side stood the one that he wanted to fix but wasn't sure how to.
"Why is it different for you?"
For a brief instant, Jack thought someone had taken control of his brain and was using it as a medium with which to voice more questions. A familiar nickname brought his runaway thoughts back to reality.
"Hey Jackass! I'm talkin' to you!"
As if Jack knew how to answer a question like that, let alone what he was talking about. He knew that voicing the inevitable "What?" was exactly what Sawyer wanted him to do, but Jack blew out an exasperated breath before he did so. He was losing his patience with the other man, trying to avoid the confrontations that seemed natural to both of them. Locke had once murmured something about "Too many alpha males in this group," and Jack hated to admit he was starting to agree with him.
The brilliant blue eyes stared at him, not with animosity though his scrunched face would have suggested otherwise, but with an emotion not far from pained acceptance. The strain in Sawyer's voice made that classification distinctly apparent.
"You and Freckles. Why is it different for you?"
After he had said it, Jack realized that he had somehow known that was where this conversation was heading. She seemed to be the hot topic between both of them more and more lately. Strangely enough, it wasn't because they were fighting over her anymore… usually.
"I'm not sure what you mean," Jack sighed, knowing full well that his comment would read like the blatant lie that it was.
"Aww don't play horse hockey with me, Doc! I mean look at Sleeping Beauty!"
Jack did.
"Everyone on this island knows she's got the hots for ya. You've just been too busy playin' Superman to see it…"
If Jack had been standing, he'd have torn his eyes away from his adversary, planted his hands firmly above his hips, and shifted his weight to whatever leg had been resting. But he wasn't standing, so he shifted his eyes, found a spot of interest on the wall to his left and levelled his gaze there, away from him, away from her.
"Sawyer, I'd rather not start this with you…"
"That's the point I'm tryin' to make, ain't it now?"
Hazel brown met vivid blue again.
"You stiffed her pretty hard. After we got back from that tea party with Zeke, she got all quiet and mopey. Every night, right before sunset, she'd wander off down the beach and sit by herself, starin' for hours out into Big Blue. Said she needed space and time to think and all that other girly garbage, but we all knew what she was really doin'."
Jack swallowed with difficulty. He wanted to tell Sawyer to stop, he didn't want to, didn't need to hear this. He knew fully well what he had put her through, those few days. The cold shoulder treatment had nearly killed him once the initial anger wore off. But his tongue seemed like lead in his mouth, resisting any movement.
"You see, she was sittin' there eatin' her heart out for ya, blamin' herself for carin' enough about you to risk her own neck for ya. I even heard her cryin' once when she thought everyone was asleep."
Sawyer paused, letting that image sink into Jack's head. He could see the other man struggling to shut it out, his defense mechanism for anything that caused him too much pain, but Sawyer could also see that Jack was failing in that attempt to do so. He lashed out at him in desperation, hoping feebly to pour some of his guilt back on him. Sawyer had done that so many times in his life too.
"She did the same thing for you!" Jack tried, his voice sounding strangled with his anger and the strain to keep the volume in check. "She watched you day after day when you were sick with that bullet in your shoulder, so you tell me Sawyer! How is that any different?"
Sawyer's brow was creased, but not in the vengeful way that darkened his face with acidic fury. This expression was one Jack had never seen on the southerner before. As if he were trying to explain something difficult and complex to a young child, Sawyer's eyes had softened with a sympathetic look and Jack found himself unnerved under their watch.
"Freckles felt sorry for me, ain't nothin' more to it than that." He paused again, as if unsure whether it was necessary to continue. And then he voiced the one thing that terrified Jack more than anything he had heard that day.
"She loves ya, Jack. That's the difference."