A/N: A reader pointed out that I had given the wrong name for Kate's father/stepfather/the man she killed (his name is really Wayne). Thanks for the heads up!
They never married. It seemed beside the point, somehow, by the time they might have. They joked about it sometimes; Kate fretted aloud about what she would wear, and Jack pointed out the tax benefits. But they both looked away before the discussion became serious. Marriage belonged somewhere else, somewhere they were not.
Will was a surprise, as much as a baby can be when two people are regularly having sex without birth control. There were no pregnancy tests then, just Jack being too observant. He asked her one morning if her breasts were sore. "Did you do something to them while I was asleep?" Kate asked, bemused and just slightly worried. He smiled, ducking his head a little. They were lying on his pallet, half-awake, half-dressed. She traced the corner of his mouth with her fingertips, enjoying the rare upward curve.
"They're bigger," he said, looking up.
She peeked under the blanket at her tank-top covered boobs. "Bigger?"
"You haven't noticed?" he asked incredulously.
"You have?"
"Well, yeah, I—"
"—you're a doctor, I know."
"I was going to say that I really like your breasts."
She laughed, pleasantly surprised. He slid a hand under her tank top, against her stomach. He pushed himself up onto one elbow and looked down at her intently. "What?" she asked softly.
"Kate, have you really not thought about this?" he asked.
"About what? Jack, what are you talking about?"
"Your breasts are swollen. You've been a little tired lately. You haven't had your period in—"
"Jack!"
"I sleep with you, I'm going to notice things like that," he said.
"Well I'm not that regular here," she muttered, blushing faintly, even though for the life of her she didn't know why. They were both adults. He arched his eyebrows at her, skeptical, and it dawned on her suddenly what he was talking about. Her eyes widened, staring up at him. "You think I'm—"
"We haven't exactly been that careful," Jack pointed out.
"We counted."
"Only when we felt like it."
Oh god. "Jack," she said, for no reason, except to prove that he was there, she was not alone in this. Pregnant. That meant: a baby, and an enormous weight gain, and Jack delivering their child on an island with no anesthesia, and then there being a child, and oh god.
"You okay?" he asked softly, the little furrow appearing on his forehead. Jack would be a good father, she thought. The kind of father kids should have. Not like… some people. But if Jack was a father, then she would be a mother. And that was really more of a toss-up.
"I don't know," she admitted.
"Okay," he said, nodding slightly. He moved to sit up, and she panicked, pulling him back towards her. He had to catch himself, with an arm on other side of her, to avoid crushing her. "Hey! It's okay." He was hovering inches above her, brushing her breasts, which were sore, his eyes open and concerned and a thousand things.
"Tell me we can do this, Jack," she said.
"We can do this," he said.
"Promise."
"I promise, Kate. We can do this. You and me."
"Okay," she said. "Okay." She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips, and slowly drew him down until his full weight rested on top of her, uncomfortable and precious and real, pushing her into the ground.
Sawyer found her by the pond. "Why aren't you down on the beach celebrating, Freckles?" he asked. "It's getting to be a real party. Except, you know, without booze, or topless girls."
"Give it your best guess, Sawyer," Kate suggested. She was shredding grass, taking it apart with her fingernails.
"You know better than to party without liquor?" He sat down on a rock a few feet away. She briefly wished he had come closer, and then was glad he had not. She looked up at him, finally. He was watching her without a smile to match his flippant words. "You got a plan?"
She shook her head, briefly. "I'm working on it."
"I have a couple passports," he offered.
"I know."
He shook his head at her, her confidence that she could have what she wanted from him. But he was the one here offering. "There's not much time," he said.
"I know."
"I got it all figured out," he drawled, voice changing. She looked up with arched brows, waiting for his brilliant plan. "I'm gonna get my own TV show. One of those reality ones, only this'll be like a mix between the people all stuck on the island, and the one where the girls are competing to marry the guy."
"Which one, the one where the guy's rich, or the one where he's a schmuck pretending to be rich?" Kate asked, amused and distracted despite herself.
"Well with all my fame and the check they cut for me to star in the show, I'll be rich enough," Sawyer said. "Plus, Hurley owes me half a million dollars. I'm gonna make that fat bastard work off every penny, just you wait."
"Right. So let me get this straight: there's you, a bunch of women on an island — and they all want to marry you? I wouldn't have pegged you for the marrying type."
"Who said marry? I think the pleasure of my company should be enough for them," Sawyer said. "Maybe a little roll down on the beach…"
Kate arched her eyebrows, and then glanced out at the pond. "I bet they'll put me on television too. Only it'll be one of those biopics — small town girl goes bad, turns cold-blooded murderess, but gets a second chance when she's stranded on a desert island! Can people really change? Find out tonight at 9!"
"I like my idea better," Sawyer grumbled.
"No, no, it'll be great. They'll interview all of you, and people will start remembering that time when I yelled at the kids, and how I always knew how to handle a gun… And then they'll start suggesting things, like maybe I was behind that mysterious death in the jungle. Maybe I just made the Others up, to hide my own nefarious intentions. I sure fooled them. They're just glad I'm locked up now, where I belong."
"You ain't locked up yet," Sawyer reminded her.
She stopped, pulled out of her fantasy. Looking right at him she said, "And Jack will go on, and try to defend me, but they'll just say I tricked him with my wiles. And after a while, he'll believe it. And the kids—" she faltered, stopped.
"So. what? Jack's convinced you to go back and face justice?" Her face closed up. He laughed, disbelieving. "God in Heaven, Freckles. He got you so tied up in knots—"
"Stop it, Sawyer." She was angry at Jack, but this didn't help. It just made her feel guilty, which made her more in Jack's power, if that's where she was.
And then he was there, kneeling in front of her, his hands on her shoulders and his face a few inches away. It was funny to think of how long it had been, the scars on his face that were old and worn-in now. He smelled the same. "You could do it," he said, urgently. "I have what you'd need, you could hide on the boat if you had to, and just slip off when—"
"You mean 'we,'" she said, just for clarification. "We could do it."
He drew back a little, defensive but not retreating. Tipped his head at her. "Maybe I do."
She closed her eyes. This was easier to picture than the other: Sawyer and her, in Fiji, in Bangkok, Sawyer laughing and conning someone out of their car, and driving up a mountain road, the top down, and fucking in a motel room, in the car, his hair in her mouth and her eyes. She opened her eyes. He was looking at her with unvarnished need. She hated that look too, but for a different reason than she hated Jack's judgment.
"I can't," she said, and then because she knew that wasn't enough for him, "I don't want to." Which was a lie, in a way. But the same kind of lie as making a choice had been, years before. The kind of lie that becomes the truth, when you let it live there long enough.
He swore, and stood up, pacing away, swinging back. She sunk her head down, again, into her hands. He hurt, and she hurt, and she wanted to, she did want to. Live with the lie, Kate, she told herself, it'll become true.
"Fine," he snarled. "Rot in jail, see if I care." And he was gone. And she'd already shredded all the grass in her hands.
After Matt was born, Kate stopped getting up in the morning. The birth had been difficult, but it wasn't that; physical pain she could deal with. It was just that when she woke up every day, there was nowhere to go. The baby slept, snug against her skin, and she pretended he was closer still. Will ran in and out, and showed her how he was learning to jump. Sun sat with her, and Hurley, and Rose. Why should she leave?
She spent most of the day in bed then. She would get up to use the privy, stretch her legs, gather food. She would sit on the beach and watch Will run in the surf. But most days, she woke up, and turned over, and lay there, staring at the blue tarp ceiling, at the carefully packed down earth, at Matt's tiny curling fingers and his open mouth.
If he cried she would panic, even though she'd had a baby before. This seemed different. He was smaller, paler, she could see his veins and the pulsing beat in the center of his head. She thought she was going to break him. Sometimes she thought, so quietly and horribly, that she wanted to.
It was a bad time. Jack would take Matt out to get some air, and she would sit still and hate him for taking her baby, and cry. She would go two days without speaking, and then yell at him for tracking sand into the shelter. She would make plans to escape, at night, when Jack was asleep beside her, and then he would touch her arm and she would begin to weep, silently, because she loved him and she was going crazy, and everyone she loved got hurt, one way or another.
Jack could have left her then. He could have moved tents, and taken the children, everyone would have understood, would have helped. The boys might have been better off, and he certainly would have been. But he stayed. Occasionally, she harbored the bitter thought that he might like her better like that, broken; it gave him something to work with. But in truth, he didn't try to fix her, he simply stayed. And eventually, she got fixed, or fixed herself. Eventually, she saw Matt as himself, and not as frightening, trapped piece of her. Eventually, she went swimming in the sea again, and combed her hair out with her fingers, and practiced jumping with Will, hands clasped together. Eventually she smiled at Jack, and kissed the hollow of his throat. Jack never said anything about it, during or after. He just stayed.
On the beach, the mood was both jubilant and wary. Someone — probably Jack, or maybe Sayid — had organized a defense squad, the usual men with the usual guns. Their ammunition stash had dwindled to a joke, so hopefully it wouldn't come to that. On the other side of the spectrum, Claire and Charlie were cooking a feast. Welcome to our island, and thanks for saving us! Kate thought, giving them a quick wave as she passed. They waved back, and nudged Aaron and Sarah, who waved too. Sarah stole a piece of mango from the grill as Kate watched. Rose saw her, shook her head, bounced baby David who was starting to cry, wanting his mother. Claire turned to coo at him over her shoulder, her hands still busy with the food, and absently cuffed Sarah's fingers when she reached for another piece. Charlie slung his daughter over his shoulder, turning her in circles as she squealed and laughed and banged on his back with her little fists. The view was obscured by other kitchen helpers, returning with fresh fish.
It was just like any day. Except that instead of the wide expanse of ocean, an enormous white bulk loomed on the horizon. Did it say Princess Cruise lines on the side? Good thing Emma couldn't read yet, Kate thought, they'd never hear the end of it. The ship was almost stopped now; it was probably about as close as it could come. They'd lower motor boats soon, come scout the territory. Along the edge of the bow she could make out figures, clusters of people: tourists trying to get a look at what was going on on the beach. Their vacation was about to get a lot more interesting.
Vacation. Kate almost laughed, thinking about people coming here, to get away. White sand beaches, sunshine, bounteous nature: a perfect haven to relax and revive. Too bad she didn't feel relaxed or revived. This might be her last vacation, Kate thought. One ten year beach party to prepare her for life in prison. Too bad no one had sent her the memo earlier, she would have partied more and spent less time gathering food for the winter.
Jack was organizing the welcome party. He glanced up at her as she approached, and then down at the ground again. Was that guilt in his eyes, or disappointment? "Can I talk to you?" she asked. She was still mad at him, but what she had to say was more important than that.
To his credit, he didn't hesitate. He excused himself and followed her up the beach. She crossed her arms under her breasts, eyed him. He looked expectantly back.
She was crazy. But she was going to say it anyway. "Make me an honest woman, Jack."
The phrase had popped into her head on her way back from the pond, and had refused to go away. It just sat there, taking over her brain with its ridiculous connotations and double, triple, whatever meanings. And now it was in the air, between them, and Jack squinted at her, like he misunderstood, which was entirely possible. She wasn't entirely sure which meaning she wanted him to take from it anyway. Make me admit my mistakes or just Marry me.
"You mean… Now?"
"You were hoping to wait and get a conjugal visit?" Kate asked, digging into the sand with her toe. He shook his head, half-smiled, stopped, and then started again.
"Really?"
She lifted a shoulder in reply. Really. "This way when they interview you on TV, they'll be able to say 'husband' and not just 'her babies' daddy.'"
"What?"
She had gone completely insane. She waved a hand, indicating it wasn't important. He grabbed it, and with his other hand turned her face toward him. The anger, or fear, or whatever it was had vanished from his eyes. Here was tender Jack, for a moment, her lover, her friend. "Are you sure?"
No, of course she wasn't. Was he? "I'm sure," she lied. It was a day for lies. Though he was making an honest woman out of her, wasn't that the point? At least his name would buy her some time; she could tell herself that was why she'd proposed it, though that was a lie too. He looked puzzled but not upset.
"Are you sure?" she asked, feeling she had to give him a chance to back out, even though he was Jack, and wouldn't take it, even if he wanted to.
His brow creased, and then he smiled suddenly, and said, "Yeah. I guess I am." He leaned in to kiss her, briefly, sealing the pact. She wondered if his taste would change with an American diet, what his lips would feel like when chapstick existed again.
"A resounding yes," she laughed as they pulled apart.
He cupped her face in his hands. "When we have grandkids, can we pretend I proposed to you?" he asked.
Her eyes widened in alarm. Granted they would probably have grandkids someday whether or not they ever got married, but he just had to mention it at that moment, didn't he? He laughed at her expression. "Not so sure now, are you?" he teased.
"Jack," she protested half-heartedly, but she was glad he was teasing now, and not calling her horrible, true things. Maybe this would be enough for him.
"Well, what do you say?"
"Are you asking me to lie to save your manly pride?" Kate demanded.
"Why don't we talk about this later?" he suggested. His fingers stroked her cheek, lightly, as he began to pull away. She found herself smiling, happy, despite the ship and their fight and the terror hovering just beyond the grasp of words.
"Good idea."
"I'll get Eko," he said, letting go of her. "Why don't you get the kids?"
"You're not supposed to see me before the wedding," she remembered aloud.
He was already starting down the beach, and he called back over his shoulder, "We'll just have to risk it."