Jack had never really been a dreamer, in either sense of the word.
When his friends talked about the dreams they had for their future, whether or not they were achievable, he couldn't relate. His entire life had already been mapped out for him by his father, from his extracurricular activities to his future career as a doctor, including his specialty: a spinal surgeon, to follow in his old man's footsteps; the path to a family legacy.
And when his friends talked about the dreams or nightmares they'd had the night before, it felt like they were making it up. He felt like his body shut down at bedtime and turned back on in the morning, as if he had a power button like most appliances at home did.
On the rare instances that he felt like something other than sleep had happened, he couldn't remember anything, so he didn't really consider it dreaming. Either way, he was sure no matter what his mind came up with couldn't scare him any more than his dad did.
That night, things changed.
He woke up in a cold sweat, his half of the covers kicked down all the way to the bottom of the bed, fitted sheet stuck to the moisture on his back. He tried to get his breathing under control as he sat up and felt around for the switch for the lamp on the bedside table.
It had felt real. As real as Kate was, sleeping with her back to him, hugging one of the extra pillows against her chest, dark curls cascading down her bare back. As real as the ringing in his ears and the salty taste of the tears he didn't even know were rolling down his face until they hit his lips.
He'd been on the island again, bleeding from a stabbing wound to the stomach. He knew he was dying, he'd told Kate to leave, to go home, he had to stay behind. He had ruined them, he'd accused her of cheating, they'd traveled in time, their love still present but broken to pieces. None of it made sense and yet it felt to him like it had just happened. Like he had just seen a plane carrying the last survivors of Oceanic Flight 815 toward safety; his job was complete.
He felt as if he'd lived a thousand lives in a single dream, like he'd lost everything twice. Even though the sleeping woman beside him was enough evidence that nothing had changed, that he hadn't gone anywhere or done anything except fall asleep next to her and have a weird dream.
Maybe it'd been the wine. "I think we had too much of it," Kate had said as they stumbled up the stairs, trying to keep their giggles down to not wake Aaron. He remembered joking about proving her wrong and going to sleep a while later, holding her in his arms, where she should always be.
Jack felt exposed beyond his state of undress. He felt like every insecurity and fear he'd ever had had risen to the surface, he was being forced to face the darkness in his mind, whether he liked it or not. The more he thought about the nightmare, the more of it he remembered, flashes of the parallel reality he immersed himself in for the couple of hours he'd been asleep making his entire body shake.
He leaned against the headboard and pulled the covers up to his waist, suddenly cold and in need of an extra, albeit irrational, layer of safety. The pain he'd caused Kate in his dream, the way she'd cried at the cheating accusation he'd made, at having to return Aaron to the Littletons, at having to leave him behind to die too most of their friends had died weighed on him, overwhelming.
The guilt came out as a sob. And after the first, more followed until he couldn't keep them under control anymore. Jack didn't even realize he'd woken Kate up until her hands were on his face, wiping away at the tears, her lips gently hushing him in between whispered promises that everything was okay.
He kept his eyes closed, listening to her voice soothe him until his body started to relax again. When he did open them, he was met with her pale green eyes, worry etched on her freckled face, tears of her own — though few, compared to his — rolling down her cheeks as well. "Are you okay?"
Jack nodded, the knot in his throat still too tight for him to attempt to speak. He pulled her against his chest in a tight hug, relishing how well her body molded against his, her head fitting perfectly under his chin. He breathed her in, the cherry scent of her shampoo reminiscent of better days, her warmth a welcomed treat.
She rested her ear over his heart and wrapped his arms around him. It wasn't unusual for them to find themselves in this position; unlike him, she often had nightmares about her life before the island and, sometimes, about Claire and he'd always hold her like this until she felt better. It seemed it worked just the same for him.
"You know I love you, right, Jack?"
She sounded small and just as vulnerable as he felt, her voice so low he barely heard it, despite the silence that otherwise reigned in the room.
Kate didn't say it very often. She wasn't one to express herself verbally, instead choosing to show her love and affection through actions and acts of service. It wasn't out of the ordinary for him to come home from work to a homecooked meal or to some surprise artwork she and Aaron had made together for him. She'd chosen him, she was marrying him, she loved him and what they had together was more than enough reassurance that it had all been nothing but a bad dream; there was nothing there to fear.
"I know. I love you too."