Hey guys! Happy almost Lostiversary! I'm re-watching season one at the moment, and getting all nostalgic about Jate, so since I promised you I would finish this story one day, I decided it was time to make good on that promise. I know it's been a while - much, much longer than I intended - but I've already written the next two chapters, so drop me a line if you're still interested and I'll update again as soon as I can.
Chapter 14.
"Pull over up there," Kate ordered, pointing through the windshield at the gas station up ahead.
"At this rate we won't get there until midnight," Jack teased her, but he exited the freeway as instructed.
Kate was already unbuckling her seatbelt by the time he manoeuvred his truck into a space in the parking lot. "When was the last time you sat in a car for hours with a human being tap-dancing on your bladder?"
As always, Jack couldn't help but grin at the mention of their son. "Touché."
The gas tank was still pretty full, so while Kate went to the bathroom, Jack headed into the café in search of something to eat.
"I got us some sandwiches," he told her when she returned to the car, handing the bag over to her once she'd finished buckling herself back into her seat.
She dug through its contents, pulling out one of the plastic boxes and a bottle of water.
"Turkey, right?" he checked.
She glanced from the sandwich up at him in surprise. "How…?"
"I pay attention," he explained, before she could read too much into it. He may not remember much from before, but that didn't mean he couldn't store new information.
Watching her swallow hard, nodding her understanding, he wondered if he should have lied.
"I'm sorry, Kate, I know this is hard for you," he told her, trying not to take her disappointment to heart. It pained him that no matter what he did, he could never seem to give her the one thing she wanted most from him.
She forced a watery smile for his benefit. "You don't have to keep apologising, Jack. It is what it is."
The problem was, neither of them knew what that was. While they'd continued to see each other on an almost daily basis since Christmas, they still hadn't really talked about the kiss they'd shared in her living room, or the memory it invoked.
In a way, Jack was relieved. So far he hadn't been able remember anything else about the day he said goodbye to Kate, or the ones that followed. It was like he really had died - for a while, at least - only that was impossible. Wasn't it?
The thought was too dark to contemplate on such a nice day, in such pleasant company. He forced himself to push it aside, determined not to let anything ruin what he hoped would be a restful week for both of them.
It was late afternoon by the time they reached their destination.
"This looks like the place," Jack announced, pulling up in front of a weathered New England-style cottage.
The house was perched near the edge of a bluff, overlooking the bay. A wooden-staircase at the back of the property led down to a deserted stretch of rocky beach.
"What d'you think?" he asked Kate as they got out to stretch their legs.
She barely seemed to notice the house, her gaze drawn to the ocean instead. "It's perfect," she agreed, and Jack relaxed, glad that he'd trusted his instincts.
The interior had a cosy, lived-in feel, with pale blue walls and airy white furnishings. The décor had a distinct nautical theme – seashells and anchors, ship's wheels and life preservers covered every available surface. Jack deposited their bags on the floor by the door while they went to check out the rest of the house.
Beyond the living room was an open plan kitchen and dining area that fed out onto the back deck. The second floor consisted of a bathroom and three bedrooms: one twin, a double, and a master suite with a queen-sized bed and a set of French doors leading out onto a widow's walk.
Upon entering the main bedroom, the first thing Kate did was unlatch the doors, stepping out onto the small platform to take in the view of the coastline. Watching her place her hands on the railing, eyes closed, face tilted up to the breeze, Jack wondered if she was thinking of the island. She looked serene, maybe even a little happy, so it couldn't have all been bad, he decided. He hoped one day soon she would be willing to share some of those memories with him.
He joined her at the railing, putting a hand on her arm to get her attention. "You should take this one," he insisted. He wasn't sure how, but the moment he saw it on the website, he knew she would love it.
She opened her eyes, shooting him a guilty look. "Are you sure? Because I'm so tired I could sleep anywhere."
"I've had worse," he deadpanned, trying to keep the mood light between them, thinking of his tiny cot in the hospital in Tunisia.
It wasn't much of a joke, but for some reason she seemed to find this comment hysterical. "Isn't that the understatement of the year?" she agreed, wiping her eyes. "When we first met, you were literally living in a cave."
"How did I know I'd find you down here?"
It was day two of their vacation. Kate had been awake since dawn. Lying in bed, watching the first rays of sunlight filter in through the open French doors made her think of her tent on the beach. She still regretted the stubbornness that had cost her her chance to experience the beauty of those island sunrises with Jack. He'd asked her to 'dig in' with him, but she refused, keeping him at what she thought was a safe distance, and now she was the one who would always be waiting for him.
When it became apparent that she wasn't going to fall back asleep, she had dressed for the day in a floral sundress and headed down to the beach, where she was still sitting later when Jack found her.
She tore her gaze from the waves to see him coming down the steps towards her, a steaming mug balanced in each of his hands.
She couldn't help noticing how relaxed he seemed in his loose shirt, cargo shorts, and flip flops, a pair of Aviators completing the casual look. He was so much like her Jack that sometimes it made her heart ache to look at him, and yet at moments like this she was reminded that he wasn't. At least not the version of himself she'd first fallen in love with. It was all so confusing.
She took the mugs from him so he could sit down.
"Baby keeping you awake?" he asked once he was settled in the sand beside her, eying her with concern over the rim of his cup.
In the time she'd been sitting there, she'd almost succeeded in forgetting about being pregnant, her mind a million miles away, on the other side of the world. "Something like that," she agreed, resting her hand over her belly. It was simpler than the truth: that she hadn't slept well knowing he was in the next room, so close, and yet still so far from where she wanted him to be.
He drained the last of his coffee and set the empty mug down beside him, leaning back on his elbows. "You looked like you were pretty deep in thought just now."
"It's this place," she admitted. "So much about it reminds me of the island."
His eyes sparked with interest. "Tell me something that happened there."
"Like what?" She wasn't sure she was ready to talk about the heavy stuff yet, like their last day together, even though she knew he must have questions – especially about the fragments he'd recovered.
He considered this for a moment. "I still don't know exactly how we met."
She decided that story was safe enough since he already knew most of it. "Take off your shirt."
He shot her a strange look, but complied with her request, shrugging it off into the sand behind him.
"Now turn around."
Still looking mystified, he got on his knees in front of her, watching her over his shoulder as he waited for her to continue.
She traced the jagged line with her fingertips like she had so many nights as he lay asleep beside her. "See this scar?" she asked him, and he nodded. "You were hurt in the crash. That's where I sewed you back up."
He shivered at the contact, but made no move to pull away. "That explains the clumsy sutures," he teased her, twisting so that he could examine her work.
"Shut up, Jack," she laughed, settling into the familiar banter.
"All I'm saying is, it's not a bad job – for an amateur," he continued in the same innocent tone.
"So you'd rather I left you to bleed to death?" she countered.
The smile slid from her lips and her hands flew to her mouth in horror as the truth of those words sunk in. "Oh God, I didn't mean…"
But she did, she had. She'd walked away and left him to die. It was the hardest thing she'd ever had to do – harder, even, than giving up Aaron – and now her punishment was to spend the rest of her life remembering while he got to forget.
Tears welled in her eyes as she forced herself to look at that scar, the one she hadn't been able to fix. "I am so sorry."
"Why?" he insisted, more confused than anything else. "What is it you're not telling me, Kate? What happened to me? Why did everyone think I was dead?"
She considered begging him to let it go, but she was tired of carrying all of those painful memories alone. He deserved to know his own story. Their story.
She took a deep breath to compose herself, steeling herself for what was sure to be a difficult conversation. "I promise I'll answer your questions," she assured him, "but the only way I can explain is if I start at the beginning…"