Author: KC
Premise: Jack and Sun are heading to the coast to find some clothes and and a bed for a few nights. An unplanned stop might lead them right into danger's hands.

Chapter 2 of 20
6th Sense

Jack felt a heavy weight in his stomach, like a stone – which made no sense because he hadn't really eaten much in a couple of days. Everything tasted bland, and the customarily colorful mangoes seemed dull and faded. He just stopped being hungry. Sun would hand him a piece of fruit or hard bread or whatever junk they had picked up that day and tell him, "Eat." And he would, absently, functionally – bite, chew, swallow, don't choke as it goes down, half-chewed and unevenly shaped, scraping his esophagus.

Even on this empty stomach, he felt an uncomfortable fullness come over him as they reached the coast. Something about being at the edge of jungle and sand still made him anxious – too many memories. It was like the rewind button was somewhere near, if only he could find it. He didn't like that inexhaustible feeling of regret, and he avoided it whenever he could. In truth, he could see no other way around it. It was what it was. There was no point in looking back. He swallowed hard, ignoring the memories which bubbled to the surface at the sight of the blue ocean once more.

They had come out about twenty miles north of Quepos, and he continued driving the pick-up south. It wouldn't be long. They'd buy some clothes, a decent pair of shoes for her, and some food. They'd done this all before.

Her dark hair caught the afternoon sun that streamed in through the passenger window. She was sleeping with her head resting against the window frame, curled up and turned away from him. He smiled; glad she was finally getting some rest. He couldn't explain what Sun had come to mean to him. On the run so long together, he'd somehow known it would be the two of them alone in the end. Even before Kate. He remembered during those first weeks on the island, Sun had somehow found a way to take control of situations in a way he never thought of – when Boone was bloody and on his table and Shannon was gasping for much needed air. He shook the thoughts from his mind. It wasn't the memory that bothered him, but the fact that he could barely remember their faces.

It was her idea to find a place to stay, and he couldn't really blame her. Days got long when you were out of places to run to. The fear and perpetual motion had worn them both down. After she suggested it, all he could think about was a soft bed, a real shower, and four thick walls to hide behind.

A bump in the road and she began to stir, yawning, stretching, her arm in front of him, grazing his shoulder and chest before she sat up fully. She glanced at the ocean and then at him, still sleepy-eyed.

"Sorry. These roads aren't exactly up to code," said Jack.

She let out a short laugh. "No," she said, shaking her head in agreement. "Are we close? Should I drive? You're probably tired."

Before he could answer, a small cluster of stucco buildings became visible on the right side of the road. He nodded towards them. "Looks like we can do some shopping here first," he said, as he pulled up to one of the small buildings. There was a gaudy blue and pink surfboard logo with the words "Surf's Up" printed on the window. He put it in park and got out of the truck.

Sun was still too tired to move. "This is Quepos?," she asked, after he walked around the truck and opened her door, which creaked in protest, to coax her out. At this point, nothing would surprise her. The small strip of businesses and buildings looked more like pit-stop than a town.

"No. Not yet." Jack shook his head. "But, it's about time to ditch this truck. We can probably find something else here."

"Oh," she nodded and stepped out of the truck. Jack instinctively grabbed onto her arm, helping her out. She ignored his strong fingers wrapped around her bicep and the cold she felt when he let go and turned to lead her to the door of the surf shop. She closed her eyes, exhaling slowly. Touching wasn't new – tight quarters and all. But some days she could feel their physical proximity becoming something more – something she wasn't ready to admit she needed. There were more pressing matters at hand.

"Perdón, uh…" Jack fumbled with his Spanish as he dumped an armful of clothes and two shoe boxes on the countertop in front of the young floppy-haired clerk, whose nametag read "Miguel." The selection was limited, but they had plenty of khakis, t-shirts, and even underwear – that is, if customers didn't mind the tacky Surf's Up logo and the slight smell of marijuana. He handed Miguel a few tags from the clothes Sun was putting on in the restroom, and gestured to the empty shoe box. "Me… disculpo, Miguel. Ella está cambiando de ropa en tu baño. ¿Está bien?"

"Está bien," the clerk replied quickly before he gave Jack a sideways glance. "¿Habla inglés, bro?," he added in a decidedly Californian accent as he rang up their things with one hand and shook a brown paper bag with the other until it opened obediently.

"Sí," Jack answered. "I mean, yeah. Sorry." He glanced down the hall on his right towards the bathroom door instinctively, checking for Sun, and then turned back to Miguel. "Actually, I'll just put those in my pack here." He took off his backpack and tossed it onto the counter. "I guess you're not from Costa Rica, then?" he asked, although it interested him very little.

"Nah, man. My parents are. I grew up in Encinitas. The folks moved back down a couple'a years ago – needed some help in the shop." Miguel looked at him expectantly with his soft dark Hispanic eyes, but when Jack didn't make further conversation, he continued ringing the merchandise.

Down the hall in the single bathroom, Sun stood in her underwear. She folded her dirty clothes and placed them carefully into her backpack. She slid the long khakis onto her legs and pulled them over her hips, covering the red Surf's Up panties she was wearing. The pants were a little loose when she buttoned them, but they would do. She zipped them and then searched for the socks she'd picked out.

According to the map, they only had about a half hour's drive to Quepos. She was grateful for that and happy to be out of those old clothes. Outside the cracked window, Sun could see that it was now dusk and it smelled like it was going to rain again.

"Your friend's a hottie." Miguel said casually after Jack paid for their stuff. At that, Jack flashed him a disapproving look. Jack's face felt warm, flush with a sudden anger he hadn't expected. Before he had the opportunity to embarrass himself further, Miguel covered. "Aw, no harm meant. You on your honeymoon or something?"

Jack laughed, nodding slowly. "Something like that," he said. A lie was good. It was much easier to pass as a couple of honeymooners now that it was just the two of them. He didn't even notice the bell chiming behind him, signifying the arrival of another customer.

"Ah," said Miguel knowingly, "I get it, hombre." He winked then, giving Jack the you dog, you look before skipping off to help the new customer.

Jack sighed, still feeling a little tense. He wished she would hurry. He suddenly had the urge to leave immediately. He finished stuffing his pack and zipped it. As he flung it around and slipped his arms through the straps, he caught sight of something in the mirror on the sunglasses rack by the counter.

He recognized the man to whom Miguel was currently pitching his surfboards. His back was turned and he was partially covered by a rack of wakeboards, but Jack knew that stance, those shoulders, the salt-and-pepper buzz cut, and the bulge of his gun on his back behind his black t-shirt. Winchester. He's the one who killed Kate. He had introduced himself to Jack in the crowded diner that morning. Kate had been in the bathroom. She could have walked. But when she came out and saw him standing with this man they'd run from so many times, her only instinct was to save him. She couldn't leave him. She couldn't. Jack had gone over this before. If only. Terrible words. But no matter how it ended, he would have made the same decision as she had. It was a mistake that would be her death sentence. History was repeating itself. Now he had a chance to give it a different ending.

Miguel kept talking, his fluent Spanish now hiding every trace of California. Winchester was a patient man. Jack remembered that about him. Based on his experience in the half an hour they'd been in the store, Jack knew that Miguel would give them a head start. He grabbed a pair of dark sunglasses and slipped them on. It was a haphazard disguise – foolish even – but at the moment, it was the only thing he could think to do.

He had to get to her. There had been a window in the bathroom, he'd noticed that when he handed her the sneakers she'd picked out. It was big enough to fit through and they were on the first floor. All he had to do was turn right and slip down the hall towards the lavatory. Easy. Had she locked the door? He couldn't remember. Regardless, he made his move. Winchester didn't notice. As he rounded the corner and retreated down the hall, he heard Miguel calling after him.

"Where ya goin', bro?," he called, and then a moment later heard a scuffle. "What the hell are you doing, dude?!" By the urgency in his voice, Jack could tell that Miguel's attention was now focused on Winchester. "Hey, stop!" Miguel's shouts were followed by the sound of shelves breaking.

The door was unlocked. Sun jumped, her eyes wide. She had just slipped on her backpack. "What?," she asked.

There was a shot and then a sound that Jack knew was Miguel's body hitting the floor. There were no more words necessary. He nodded towards the window, and she went to work, pushed back the curtains and pressed up on the frame forcefully. He locked the door behind him and shoved the trashcan under the handle. Heavy footsteps pounded towards the hall, then voices. Winchester wasn't alone, as he so often was. A shout, "Shephard!"

"I can't get it open, Jack!" Sun cried.

"I got it," he said, stepping towards the window. He reached back and pulled out the 9mm Beretta that he carried in his belt loop. He gripped the gun by the barrel and used the butt to break the window. He hit the glass repeatedly until it was completely shattered. Then, he knocked out the shards with his elbow, leaving jagged cuts in the process. The weakened frame moved easily out of the way this time. Winchester was now pounding at the bathroom door.

"Let's go," Jack said. He grabbed Sun's hand, and she shimmied backwards through the window with no problem. He pushed through head first, falling with a thud to the ground. They were in the small dirt alley beside the shop, and he could see the truck from where he landed. She bent down and helped him up. They ran toward the truck, and a glance around the corner revealed that the way was clear; they could make it without anyone seeing. Jack slumped against the wall, his confidence of a moment earlier ebbing with the sensation of warm blood trickling down his arm. He'd cut himself deeper than he had thought.

"Jack," Sun said, gripping his arm. She touched his face. He was getting pale. "Jack, we have to go. They're coming." He closed his eyes as his vision blurred. "Jack!," she screamed, and he started to walk, his feet dragging like heavy weights. She pushed him into the passenger seat and climbed over him to the driver's side. She reached into his pants pocket, searching for the key.

"Other pocket," he grunted before losing consciousness.