A/N Okay, I'm so sorry for the very LOST-like hiatus (har har har) but I'm back again. I was going through a really rough time, so please forgive me. Anyways, the next chapter is the LAST ONE! and it'll be posted in a few days.
After an hour or so of sitting numbly, his face in the quilt that Kate had left behind, he started wondering what to do. He felt completely and utterly helpless. For one, it was Kate's decision to leave, and he should have known that when she had told him she was leaving… she was leaving. He should have known that once her choice was made, nothing was going to change it. He should have known that something was wrong in the hospital when she cried for what he thought was no reason, when she refused to look at him while she sobbed to the ceiling.
How could he have been so stupid? And what now? Even if he could find her in this huge city, even if a miracle occurred and he walked right into her, he wouldn't know what to do then. Plead with her, grab her, yell at her… Jack pressed his hands to his eyes. He just wanted to talk to her about it. He just wanted to see her and be sure that she was going to be all right. He wanted to ask her if she had always thought that it would never work between them. If she had asked him at this very moment, he would honestly say that he didn't know; he didn't remember. All he could think about right now was Kate, alone on the street, too skinny, too small, wearing a brace around her midriff to heal her ribs.
He thought about calling Claire and asking her to tell him if Kate showed up at her house. But then Claire would want to know what happened, and he couldn't bear to say it out loud.
There was nothing else to do, but he had to move, had to feel like he'd at least tried to be useful, so he took his car keys and devoted his day to driving around the streets of LA, looking for his runaway.
Hours passed, and of course, he had not found her. He felt feverish, thinking of all of the things that could go wrong. Kate wasn't the luckiest girl he'd ever met, and the city was a dangerous place.
Jack slammed his fist onto the dashboard in frustration. He would not spend the rest of his life wondering what happened to Kate Austen. He would not constantly debate in his head whether she was dead or back in jail. Selfishly, he didn't think he could stand another sorrow in his life. Maybe he wasn't the luckiest person ever either.
He tried so hard to stay calm, to stop himself from going crazy with fury and grief, as he gave up at three in the morning, darkness hanging like a cloud in the car, suffocating him. He had driven around for almost eighteen hours with nothing to eat and no stops except at the gas station.
He crawled into bed with his clothes still on, not bothering to set his alarm. It was hopeless. Everything was futile. He should have known better on the island not to fall in love with Kate. She wasn't as simple a person as to just love you back and be happy. She would never love for long.
When he woke up a few hours later, every muscle in his body tired and aching with sadness, he thought about rolling over and sleeping some more, but he knew that he was awake for good. He walked into the living room. He surveyed its empty feel, realizing how little personality there was in it. For just a week, when Kate was there, it looked good. His eyes traveled dismally over the bare walls, the nondescript furniture, the unstained carpet…
He couldn't bear to look at them anymore, so he went back into the bedroom. With deliberation, he slid open the window and crawled out of it. He hooked his legs over the fire escape, and sat on the railing, staring down at the ground that was so far below.
He rarely felt vertigo, but he did now. His hands clenched on the railing, and her nervously clung to the cold metal, but not for a second did he consider going back into the empty apartment.
Kate lay on a park bench. She didn't know where she was or what time it was. She couldn't feel the biting cold and the sounds around her were muffled and tinny. Her ribs ached and stabbed with every breath. With great difficulty, she sat up and reached for her backpack to find her pain meds.
The backpack was gone. She had allowed herself to take a rest and close her eyes for ten minutes and it was gone. It had all of her meds.
Kate didn't swear in frustration of burst into tears. She certainly didn't think about going back to Jack's. She just lay back down, swallowing the painful lump in her throat, pretending the painful throb in her stomach wasn't there, and ignoring the pain of the fact that she was alone.
She always wanted to be alone. She wanted Wayne to leave her alone; she wanted the cops to leave her alone.
"Now I have what I want." She muttered bitterly. And now I'm talking to myself. She threw an arm across her eyes. Jesus.
She didn't know what she was going to do. Where would she go? She was alone, alone, alone. The thought echoed through her head.
That was it. She couldn't stand it anymore; she had to go to a hotel, just for this night at least. Kate couldn't stand being in such an open place. There were no boundaries or walls or curtains. She felt like everyone was staring at her, even though they walked by without a second thought. But before she could muster the strength to get up, she fell asleep.
She awoke to the cold.
She slowly sat up, wincing as she did so. She moved her stiff legs off the bench and stretched them out in front of her, squeezing her eyes shut in pain.
She felt something heavy hit her knees, and then a loud yell of surprise.
"Goddamn! Watch it!" the same male voice roared at her.
She kept her eyes shut. They wouldn't open; they felt like lead.
But her eyes snapped open when the person who had tripped over her said, in a very different, very shocked tone,
"Kate?"
Standing right in front of her was Sawyer.
Sawyer stared at her as she stared back. Her eyes were red-rimmed and the skin on her face was a sickly grey color. She looked like she hadn't slept in weeks, and she held herself in a way that suggested that she was in pain. Her teeth were chattering. She wore no coat, only a pair of worn looking jeans and a thin grey sweatshirt. Her expression was surprised and something else, but he couldn't decide what.
Finally, he croaked, "What are you doing here?"
She continued to look him over silently for a moment before saying, "Just sitting." She sounded as if she was trying to be casual, as if she didn't realize how shitty she looked.
He didn't know whether to sit the hell down next to her or what. He finally took off his coat and handed it to her. She took it wordlessly, but made no effort to put it on. She looked down at it in her frostbitten hand like she didn't know what it was for.
"You put it on. It keeps you warm." Sawyer said sarcastically. What was wrong with her? For a second he even doubted this was Kate. Maybe it was a girl who looked just exactly like her. She didn't seem to even recognize him and she looked… he didn't know. Bad. Really bad.
She still didn't put the coat on, so he sat down next to her. Hell, what now?
"When did you get out?"
She didn't answer, though she turned her glance to him blankly.
"Of prison?" he prompted, getting aggravated.
She closed her eyes again, squeezing them shut and grimacing.
"What the hell's wrong with you?"
Her eyes remained closed, but she finally answered in a wavering, whispery voice, "Someone took my backpack."
Sawyer felt deep frustration boil up inside him. Jesus Christ. All he wanted was to find the hundred dollar bill he'd dropped in the goddamn park an hour ago. He never found it, but he did pickpocket a fifty and a twenty, so it almost made up for it. Anyway, this was not what he bargained for. A sick, incoherent chick who he'd hoped he'd never see again. Jesus Christ. And he thought he'd been able to escape the charming little island reunion someone had set up a couple of months ago.
Still, he couldn't just… Grumbling under his breath, he took one last look at Kate. Her eyes were blank and clouded and her nose was running a little. t made him uncomfortable.
He sighed. "Come on, I'm taking you to my car." He stood up and extended a hand to her. She wouldn't take it. A long minute passed by before, reluctant and hot-faced, Sawyer swore one more time, scooped her up like an oversized baby and began to carry her across the park.
Before she knew it, she was in a pickup truck. Her mind was all fuzzy and she had to keep looking at the driver to remember who he was. She felt worse than drunk; she felt like she was on the cusp of amnesia, weaving back and forth between worlds. Whenever she tried to speak and explain herself, she couldn't part her lips or no sound came out.
Kate's head was leaning against the window, and every time they hit a pothole, her forehead would slam against the glass. It hurt, but she couldn't control her muscles. She felt paralyzed. Her body was on fire. Her breaths started to come in rasps. She felt like she was dying.
The man who was driving… Sawyer… kept looking at her with a mix of concern and contempt, but as the silent car ride went on, the contempt slid away and she saw only the worry.
Suddenly they had come to a stop. He came around to the passenger side of the car and opened the door slowly, holding her up so she wouldn't fall out. He carried her into a bright, blurry place. It hurt her eyes.
She asked if the light could be turned off, or maybe she just thought it. Regardless, it wasn't. The man laid her carefully on a soft piece of furniture. She guessed it was a couch. He sat down beside her. The imbalance he made with the cushions hurt her ribs.
She heard him speak to her. She managed to hear the word "hospital".
She opened her mouth and miraculously managed to rasp, "I just need painkillers."
Before she knew it, a glass of water was held to her mouth, and somehow she swallowed. Then she drifted off though the pain lingered.