Happy (Belated) 3/16 Day!
We aren't going to Guam, but we are going back to the Island. ;) This chapter has a lot happening that is the impenetrable bedrock of two key storylines of this crazy tale I've cooked up. I hope you are excited to indulge this paltry writer with your undivided attention.
Thank you for your patience. I hope you enjoy.
February 1988
Her eyes flitted open slowly, her body taking measured steps to awaken from its deep paralysis. She felt heavy, tired, and cold, so cold. She blinked a few times and tried to speak, but her voice was as tired as the rest of her. A strangled sob broke out and led way to coughing. She writhed as the hacking began to break loose the remaining fog in her mind.
The details of the space around her began to bleed through. The fluorescent lighting and stark white walls complimented the icy sting in her veins. A long, hot breath escaped her mouth and she watched hazily as it quickly condensed into a visible blout of steam in the cold air. As her eyes slowly followed the steam, she made out a rhythmic ticking, sliding sound, mechanical, faint in the near distance.
An old, flip countdown timer with a grey metal mount sat high on the opposite wall from the bed. Three black squares with white numbers and two white squares with black numbers were encased behind glass within the boxed sections of the frame, the white squares marching down in sequence to reveal the next number in the dial as the seconds ticked by.
Three minutes and twenty-three seconds.
She wasn't sure where she was, but she knew she wasn't where she was supposed to be. One thought, one person, consumed her, possessed her. Robert. The gentle imprint of his warm hand over the skin of her swelling abdomen kept her from panicking most days, a habit he indulged in to reassure her, rouse her and love her. She thought of their baby and their playful debates about the sex. He insisted it was a girl and she was inclined to agree with him, simply to not disturb the silly, enchanted smile on his face.
They knew her face, her personality, her heart. They knew her name.
In an attempt to reach for her baby and the last remnants of Robert's touch for comfort, she was met with resistance. She looked at her wrist and gasped at the sight of the handcuff tying her to the metal bedrail. She looked down at her body for the first time, half-covered with a white sheet, her oversized long-sleeved top and hiking pants filthy, her shoes and socks were missing. Her other wrist was handcuffed to the other metal bedrail, the needle of an IV neatly taped to the back of her hand, connected to an IV machine, its low hum created a kind of synth tune with the ticking countdown.
Her breathing started to labor and her eyes widened as recent events started to come into horrifying focus.
Shadows moved with precise stealth in the firelight, heavily armed and practiced, roaming into their camp in the late hours of the night. They slipped into their tent while she and Robert slept bundled together, the circle of their small family resting safely in the warm embrace broken by a loud gunshot and reckless raiding and destroying of what little they owned. They found the rifle she had stashed away, removing the magazine and dismantling the barrel, letting it drop to the floor along the bamboo remnants of Alexandra's bassinet, the sole item they had prepared for her imminent arrival.
Before they could reach her, Robert draped his body over hers, blocking them from laying a hand on her, but there were too many of them, stronger and driven. She could feel herself being pinned down as they beat him into submission right in front of her, her cries and pleas mingling with the cacophony of violence that surrounded her. As Robert fought valiantly before her eyes, outside of the tent, their research team, their family, defended their home with everything they had.
She remembered begging them to take her, to spare her friends, but it was too late, the almost imperceptible signal from their apparent leader, a small, square man with large, bugging eyes full of deception and purpose, was made as swiftly as they all had appeared. He never said a word, never lifted a finger, but he was the clear maestro, the man behind the curtain, slithering around in the dead of night to steal and pillage before taking his bow. Bullets flung hot and lifeless weight clapped against the ground as a result of his impact.
She cried for Nadine, Brennan, Lacombe and Montand as the grief flooded her, but she still searched for Robert among the images she couldn't yet recover. He wasn't gone, she wouldn't allow it. She began to concentrate on their last moments together, how he went unconscious after a sharp blow to his face from the soldiers who stood tall over his body, daring him to attempt to resist their prowess. They were bullies and her Robert was their easy target. Where was he? She didn't remember a gun firing again from inside the tent or him being dragged away. She couldn't remember and it was killing her.
She pivoted her thoughts to the ability of their intruders instead. They must have known the location and disarming triggers of the traps they set out around their camp's perimeter. It must have taken time to plan their assault. They must have been watching them, studying them and knew just when in the night to appear. It was the only way. But why? What did they want? Why was she, of her family, chosen to live?
Pushing her out of her thoughts was light fluttering along her left lower abdomen, the sign of life she desperately needed. Alexandra wanted her attention and it dawned on her then. She let out another sob, much louder this time, her voice recovered.
They could have everything and anything else, but not Alexandra.
She bawled and bawled until her tears led way to anger, fierce and hot. Her breathing kicked up to enraged pants as she pulled at the handcuffs with all her might and let out a blood-curdling scream.
The elevator dinged and the doors creaked open, a long, dark and quiet corridor greeted her. She stepped out with caution, now certain that she was in the wrong place, lost along the maze of the compound. She groaned and made her way down the hallway to find someone to help her.
This was her first day as an official recruit of the coveted, highly-regaled Patrol Force and she couldn't be late. She had to be perfect in every way, any sign of weakness could ascend the ranks to her mentor, the man who gave her the chance to prove herself amongst a sea of men ready to find any reason to get rid of her.
She thought about the directions she was given and who gave them to her and groaned again. She kicked herself for not seeing it until now. She figured that hazing was for children, not grown men with the task of patrolling and defending their community against external, and internal, threats.
Her long blonde hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail, her pretty face bare and the uniform she wore essential for dress and combat. She walked further down the hallway and came to a stop at a set of double doors. She looked through the slender window of one of the doors, discovering a never-ending labyrinth of more dark passages and doors that likely led to more hallways. She sighed and turned away to find another route when she heard the echoed screams from behind one of the doors beyond the locked set.
Running on instinct alone, she pushed at the doors, but they were locked. She took out her handgun and let two shots ring out through the lock. She ran toward the screams, pushing her way through another door, this one unlocked. The image of what greeted her stalled her breath and defied her understanding, shock making way to disbelief.
A woman, yelling, screaming incoherently, handcuffed to the bedrails of a hospital bed, the heart monitor chirping loudly. She froze in place. The woman turned to her, yelling in another language, distressed and disoriented.
Was that French? She asked herself as she approached her, which resulted in more screaming, louder, petrified. She was kicking, throwing what weight she could to get out.
"Shh! I'm here to help you. What's your name?" She asked.
"Danielle! Please!" She pulled at the handcuffs again, urging her to release her.
She didn't reply, using her limited experience to assess if this woman was indeed a threat and if it was in everyone's best interests to keep her detained. She had to be about her age, young, disheveled, dirty and significantly pregnant. She radiated vulnerability and true helplessness, which made her feel bad for taking the second to question if she was the danger.
"Please. Help me! They're trying to take my baby!" Danielle screamed, reading the hesitation in her eyes.
Haunted by the petrified look in her eyes and the urgency in her words, she grabbed at her duty belt, clumsily retrieving the keys to the handcuffs. She didn't know this woman, but she knew the accusation was true. It was a level of conviction she hadn't achieved yet in her young life, but there it was, propelling her into fluid action.
The heart monitor began to chirp and blare louder, the incessant beeping paced an uptick in her tempo. Before she was able to unlatch the first cuff, she heard the familiar, deep baritone call out to her from the door.
"Isabel?"
She turned, unable to believe it. There he stood, in his starched, professional white coat, the same plaid, collared button-up and khaki slacks he was wearing when she stopped by his house earlier that morning for his well-wishes on her first day.
"Dad?"
"What are you doing down here?" He barked at her, taking her upper arm into his fist and pulling her close.
"I was on my way to the station for my orders." She began to explain, but suddenly felt offended by his reaction to her presence. She was owed the explanation, not him. She turned back to the distraught woman fighting for her life. Who was she? Why was she handcuffed? Was her baby okay? What was he doing? He was a doctor, it was his job to help people. What was going on?
Danielle steadied the contact she had with the kind eyes that were starting to question everything, that were desperate to help her, that could still help her. "Please don't let him take my baby!"
Desperate for Danielle to stop, he frantically careened around Isabel and pressed a few buttons on the IV machine, watching blankly as she continued to fight and scream, her efforts deteriorating as the sedative took effect.
He rubbed a tired, defeated hand over his face before he turned his attention back to his daughter, his eyes alive with fear and his hands pushing her away. "You shouldn't be here, Izzy. Go find your post and forget you ever saw this woman."
He turned back to the heart monitor, watching as the vitals stabilized, the alarms chirping short as they disappeared from the screen. Then, he looked up to the flip timer, taking note of the time remaining with a relieved breath.
Isabel felt stuck in mud, unable to move until she knew what was happening here and how far her father's involvement reached. This was wrong. Everything about this was wrong.
He could feel her still standing there, her eyes watching Danielle continue to sputter and kick below his watchful eye, her small feet making no impact, her mind dulling but her fight as strong as ever.
She eventually went completely quiet and dangerously still.
He turned quickly, charged her, his eyes widened as he took hold of her shoulders and walked her toward the door himself this time.
"Now!"
"You think Danielle gave Claire whatever it is she gave her baby?" Sayid asked, his tone inflecting with the question, a hint of incredulity peeking through. He stared between the two concerned figures in front of him, trying his best to keep up with the details and concerns they laid out.
Jack, Kate and Sayid were a few yards from the tickling waves of the shore, but far enough away from the beach camp for a private conversation. It was high noon, the sun beaming down on the water that pushed for miles ahead of them. They stood in their usual huddle, their poses etched with the stress they were always under.
"It's a running theory, but yeah." Jack offered, shrugging as he adjusted his hands along his waist.
Sayid looked to Kate, who nodded in agreement, although he could tell that she had more to say, but wanted to listen before doing so.
"How would she even have something like that?" Sayid asked.
"She's been on this Island for sixteen years, Sayid. There's no telling what she knows, what she has and where she got it from." Jack reasoned.
"Doesn't make her the one who gave it to Claire." Sayid surmised. "Besides, you said she doesn't remember who gave it to her at all."
"No, she doesn't, and it's really scaring her." Kate added.
Jack sighed. "The Sickness."
"Excuse me?" Sayid asked.
"Claire mentioned it to me yesterday morning, when I asked her about Aaron's illness. She mentioned it like," Jack paused, trying to find the right words, "like a piece of her memory had been unlocked somehow. She heard about it for the first time from Rousseau."
Sayid contemplated Jack's suspicions. He understood why Danielle was the first to come to mind as a suspect, but she never captured him as someone capable of what he was suggesting. Even in his darkest moments as her prisoner, she exhibited a quiet compassion underneath her anger and desperation. She was a mentally fragile, broken soul who had her child taken away from her, cut from her flesh. She was entrenched in a battle of grief and loss that he understood all too well and not at all. She was sneaky and reckless, brutal and lethal, with a core filled with sadness and empathy that often kept her from going too far.
"I don't think Danielle is the main threat here, Jack." Sayid resisted, not convinced of a true motive. "Why would she target a young mother and her child, especially after she gave him back to us after taking him in the first place? Whatever she gave him almost killed him, right?"
"Yeah." Kate said.
"If she wanted the baby back, why would she give Claire something that would take his life?" Sayid asked.
"Unless she didn't know that it would and taking Aaron for herself wasn't her goal this time." Jack pressed on, stubbornly convinced that Rousseau was involved somehow.
"We still don't know what Ethan and the Others did to Claire." Sayid reminded them. It was a gaping blind spot he still didn't feel comfortable with.
"Or if they're still after her." Kate piped up, almost as a mumble to herself, but loud enough for Jack and Sayid to hear.
Jack looked down at her, catching the slight rattle of fear and dread in her voice. His mind had already taken the worried, dizzying, winding trip down that road, and he was not surprised that hers had as well. He didn't want to believe it, but hearing it out loud from the woman he loved, the one person he trusted and the one life he would give his own for without hesitation, made it a conceivable, horrifying reality. If it was the Others, and not Danielle, they had a much bigger problem on their hands.
"I take it you think the threat to Claire is the Others, not Danielle." Sayid smirked, charmed that she finally spoke what she held back earlier.
"Like you said, we don't know what they did to Claire when she was with them. We don't know what they had planned for her and Aaron. It certainly wasn't to give them back. Ethan made sure we never found his trail after he took her. Charlie had to kill him to stop him from taking her again. She escaped, but we still have no idea how. She's back, but I feel like she's still there. With them."
Kate turned to look at the mother and child outside of their small shelter further up the beach.
"We say we'll leave each other alone, stay out of each other's way, but that's easier said than done. When they grabbed me out of the jungle, they were so… rough and cold." Kate shared, almost at the edge of tears. Memories of her life flashing before her eyes made her want to protect Claire and Aaron, all of them, even more.
Jack placed his hand low on her back, rubbing gently, the urge to bring her into his arms threatening to overpower him. He never registered how much that trauma still affected her until that moment and it made him want to ask her, hold her and reassure her.
"They're relentless and I think they still have some kind of hold on her and if we don't figure it out and do something about it, they'll try again." Jack heard the slight rattle of fear in her voice now growling with a vengeance.
They stood in the huddle, tense silence thickening by the second. Kate looked up into Jack's warm gaze, communicating through the contact. She read in his expression that he agreed with her, and the swell of compassion for what she had gone through was bright in his eyes. She never thought that she'd see his once fiery anger at her for following him out there that day replaced with so much empathy her breath hitched.
As he stared into her eyes, he thought about the second they brought her out. A baggy knapsack drained over her head, her hands tied behind her in a cruel knot of hard rope, far too tight and hostile for her size and strength, her hair a ratty mess, her mouth tied shut but the few whimpers that escaped her throat were all he heard. The point of the gun at the pulse at her neck made his chest cave, and under the rubble, his heart stopped.
Nothing else mattered. His brain ceased any coherent thought outside of protecting her at all costs. He felt his temperature rising at how rough they must have been with her as he slipped inspective glances at her on the trek back to camp, in the golden hue of the rising dawn. Scrapes and scratches covered her arms and her wrists were bruised purple and blue. He was fuming, but he couldn't help it. She had to survive. It was everything to him.
His duty called for the guns, but his heart called for Kate. It was the most selfish he had ever been in his life, and it felt right.
"We can't go after the Others. It's too risky." Sayid decided. Jack and Kate broke their soaring gaze to look at him.
"We don't actually know if they've crossed that line, and without Claire's memories, we may never know who gave it to her and how long ago. We are walking into this blind, with nothing but suspicion and fear driving us. We shouldn't make any potentially deadly decisions based on what we only think we know and believe. That is a recipe for disaster."
"Same with Danielle Rousseau." Sayid continued with a pointed glance in Jack's direction. "You didn't see her face when she gave Aaron back to Charlie. I truly believe she doesn't want to hurt that child. She desperately wants her own child back. Making Aaron sick and terrorizing Claire doesn't accomplish that."
Jack bit his bottom lip, forcing himself not to say screw it, and decide to head into the jungle on a mission he couldn't assure anyone he would secure a victory from. He made that mistake already, his haste in wanting to help Claire, to protect her, had alienated her and caused her irreparable harm. This time he would listen, and follow her lead, but he also had to think about the safety of the group, the people who looked to him to make the tough calls, to secure their survival.
Sawyer waged his own war over the rest of the guns and won, harboring them, and the rest of the heroin, in a secret stash they had no chance of finding without his help, which wasn't something he offered without a price. Convincing Sayid of the threat was an easier, more pleasant feat than trying to sway a man who was determined to be on his own.
Jack looked back down at Kate, who was looking up at him with an expectant crease in her brow, waiting for him to join her in the decision they always made together. Another dreadful flash of her bound and gagged pierced his chest and caught his breath.
He offered her a sad smile, and she blinked once, her signal. It was decided. They would keep a close eye on Claire, because a war with the Others wasn't a war they could win at the moment.
He couldn't cross that line in the jungle. Not right now. Not yet.
Jack looked up at Sayid with a nod as his hand fell from the small of Kate's back. "You're right. We should hold back for now, keep close guard on the beach."
Sayid looked between the two of them, slightly stunned that they were willing to let it go so easily. They were two of the most stubborn individuals he had ever met. They were overprotective of Claire and Aaron to a fault. Jack almost died more than once at the hands of Ethan behind the terror he brough to Claire and Kate took restless watch over them more times than he could count. He didn't take joy in reminding them that going to war with the Others was a fool's errand at this point.
Their day of reckoning with the savage natives of this place was not today, not now. He hoped they were ready when that day came.
"I'm sorry for Claire's situation and I wish her to know what happened to her, but our focus shouldn't be on antagonizing the Others. Our focus should be rescue."
Rescue. Jack and Kate hadn't given much thought to it for the longest time, longer than they felt comfortable admitting. It was close to a few weeks of pressing the button and they were organizing the entire group around that goal.
"What do you have in mind?" Jack asked, intrigued.
"I'm building a new transceiver from the damaged bits of the one you retrieved from the cockpit and some abandoned equipment I found in the Hatch. It's not there yet, but it will be." Sayid shared.
"How are we supposed to get a signal? Rousseau's distress call is the only thing you picked up on that first trek to higher ground, and it was playing on a loop. A sixteen-year-old loop." Jack reminded him.
"Yes, but I also attempted to triangulate the signal for that distress call, but I was nowhere near any tower to have triangulated it with certainty. The signal I picked up could have easily been due to a high-power output from the transceiver." Sayid shared.
He recalled surging the transceiver with a laptop battery Kate was able to pry from Sawyer before his trek. The extreme heat and the damaged condition of the transceiver played against his efforts, but no more than John Locke, whom he kept a safe and necessary distance from, for both their sakes.
"How do you know you weren't near any tower to triangulate it properly?" Kate probed.
Sayid pulled a bundle of folded papers out of his back pocket and handed them to Kate.
"These are from Rousseau's notes." Jack surmised as he took the pages Kate passed along to him from the pile. Like he said before, there was no telling what she knew, what she had and where she got it from.
Two crinkled maps, one printed on tattering ruler paper, notated in French, and the other, much older in appearance, drawn over crumbling college-ruled journal paper, written in passable English hidden under chaotic script, stuck out in the pages. There were also pages with several coordinates listed and other notes. A few pages were peppered with symbols arranged in what appeared to be mathematical equations, a matched set for the handwriting and paper used for the older, indecipherable map.
Sayid nodded. "She drew a map outlining a grid of five radio towers, scattered all over the Island. Her distress call is broadcasting from any one of them, jamming the output signal and preventing communication off the Island. The coordinates written here," he pointed to one of the pages Jack was holding, "match their location. When I tried to triangulate the signal before, judging from this map, I wasn't near the tower responsible, or any tower for that matter."
Jack let go of a small grin as his eyes lit up, catching up to Sayid's brilliance. "If we can find that tower—"
"We can stop the transmission, make our call and get off this Island." Kate spoke up and looked to Jack with an inspired gleam in her eyes.
Jack and Kate brought the edges of the maps they held closer together, their attention weaving through the details like fine-tooth combs. Both were a complete map of the Island, with various landmarks, scales, and encryptions they didn't have the depth of context to decipher. Some specifics were exactly the same between them, others wildly different.
Sayid gestured to the map that Kate was studying. "This older map and its coordinates appear to be authored by someone else. Her map is heavily inspired by its particulars, but as you can see, they are not exactly the same."
Jack started to study the older list of coordinates when he caught the identical pattern of the towers along both maps.
"Except for the locations of the towers." Kate noticed before he could verbalize the revelation. He smiled at her before turning back to Sayid.
"Any idea who created the other map?" Jack asked.
"No, but the same two letters are signed to the bottom-right corner of the map and its notes." Jack's gaze followed Sayid's finger as he pointed to two, small letters sloppily scribed in fading black ink.
D.F.
There was a population boom along the timeline of both maps, Jack noticed, the camps outlined on the older map multiplied along Rousseau's map, itching precariously closer to the border of two of the five towers. Each tower was surrounded by their own set of physical challenges, banks of mountains, valleys, and other harsh elements were topographically detailed on the older map. The farthest tower from their camp sat along the far East shore of the Island, the most physically demanding of them all to get to from the geographical specifics. It was also uninhabited by camps, a sign of the stricter terrain they could face there.
"Any way to narrow down which towers could be transmitting the signal?" Jack asked, hoping to avoid the pitfalls of having to plan for and trek to five towers, but not holding his breath.
"Unfortunately, no." The daunting task that lied ahead made Jack let go of a sardonic huff. Of course there were no shortcuts. His last drop of hope was cradled within the slim chance that one of the closer towers housed the broadcast.
Jack shifted the pages around, his attention landing on the list of coordinates Sayid mentioned. "These coordinates aren't written in Rousseau's handwriting." He noticed, studying the other pages and noting a striking difference in the penmanship.
Precisely, Sayid thought. "And the grid paper she used for her map doesn't match the paper used to create the list."
Jack and Sayid passed a look between them, drawing the same questions and conclusions from the pages.
Jack handed the map back to Sayid after committing it to his photographic memory. They had to do something, but this particular plan felt like the true recipe for disaster. What if they found another Hatch they'd have to take care of or a dangerous bounty of Others that wanted nothing more than to kill them? The latter a far more believable certainty than getting off the Island had become to him.
To complicate the recipe further, the maps and notes were all over the place, with at least three contributors spanning decades, but still somehow intricately connected, tethered cyphers, amping the complexity of this plan to perilous heights.
"And what about the Others? We just agreed to stay out of their way for the sake of everyone's safety. Now we're gonna take treks, the farthest a two-day hike at least, to find these towers?"
"I understand your hesitation, Jack, but this is the only viable option we have left." Sayid spoke out against the fear mingling between them. "The Others can't expect us to abandon getting off the Island. Prioritizing the Hatch can't be our only objective."
"What makes you think that it is?" Jack asked, trying not to sound as affronted as he suddenly felt.
"We have abandoned all efforts towards rescue since finding that door. We are in shifts in a hole in the ground pressing a button that is ultimately not our responsibility. You, John, Hurley, even you, Kate. You take hours out of your day looking at a clock wind down. What if that time was spent finding a way off this Island for good?" Sayid posed.
"You fixed the computer Sayid." Kate reminded him.
"Because I was asked to and I secretly thought that it would lead us somewhere, that it had some answer to how we can leave this place, but it doesn't. It's another chore on a laundry list that also includes our very survival."
"Desmond was down there for two years—" Jack started, Sayid cutting him off.
"And he ran off at the first sign of life, of a replacement, after being abandoned himself." Sayid countered. "In those two years, he went stir crazy, obviously unhinged and at his breaking point by the time we found him. Do you really wish to share in his fate, Jack?"
Jack didn't want to retrace Desmond's steps, but he watched the Orientation video and could feel the gravity of the task they had been saddled with, despite not believing that any of it was real, that anything would actually happen to them. The button needed to be pressed every 108 minutes, without fail, the mention of an incident in the video made it imperative to do so. What incident? Jack found himself wondering, pondering, then deciding that it didn't matter. He was stuck in this vortex with Locke now, who would never turn his back on the treasure trove he found.
Jack hadn't told anyone, not even Kate, about the past connection to Desmond, a moment enduringly etched into his memory and haunted his every waking minute. The shadowy corner of his face from behind Locke and the scratchy Scottish screech in the threat to harm him if he didn't stay back was all he needed to see and hear to know that he knew him, from before the crash, before the Island, before the button. It couldn't be real.
Jack thought to the last time he saw Desmond, in hot pursuit from the Hatch and everything that came with it, chanting the numbers to him over and over again like a broken record, insistent that the work he was leaving behind continued just the same without him. He still believed in what would happen if the Hatch was left unmanned. His fear caught him by the neck again, but it wasn't real. It couldn't be real.
Then, one word triggered for Desmond exactly how they knew each other. Running.
He wasn't sure if Desmond registered his presence in that stadium until he tripped, possessed by the hunt of the workout, how many more laps, how many more steps he could conquer and leave in his wake. He knew that he was punishing himself for something, that there had been a girl, the same girl he would one day marry, not for true love he realized, but not to fail her like her fiancé had.
'What if you saved her?'
He pulled at him to share his load, talked to him like a best friend would, like Mark would, cutting with an impenetrable case of humor and charm. He challenged him with an eerie gift for seeing past what was in front of him through to the future unknown.
'See you in another life, brotha.'
He did save her and he did see him again, in another life, like he said he would. Like Jack somehow knew he would, the two years between the two men on those stairs and the two men on that steep ridge in the jungle a mere blink. It was the only thing about the Hatch and everything that came with it that made it real to him.
He couldn't start pressing the button for Locke, but he knew that he couldn't stop for Desmond.
"What if you were right, Jack?" Sayid spoke up, taking Jack out of his thoughts. "What if it was just an experiment, a ploy, to see just how long someone could stand it?"
"I don't know that, any more than you know which tower is transmitting that distress call." Jack challenged.
"At least I have a map, two in fact. What has the Hatch actually shown you or John? It has done nothing but waste your time. As we know, time is a precious commodity." He was still a gaping wound of grief, his thoughts running to Shannon every time he doubted his gifts, every time the transceiver he was building hit a technical ceiling. He often thought about if coming up with this plan, some kind of plan, sooner, would have saved her life.
"There may be more of us to do the job, Jack, but we also need to get off this Island and I'm not stopping until we do."
Not one to dash the dream of rescue, Jack spoke with a bit more hope. "When will the transceiver be ready?"
"Not for awhile, a week tops. That will give us time to recruit teams, plan our routes, and organize a way to do it safely." With the added complication of keeping the beach safe for Claire and Aaron, and their responsibility to the button in the Hatch, they needed to be careful, organized, a united front.
Jack shook his head, cynicism cycling through the hope he held close.
Much easier said than done.
"Go Fish!" Hurley chuckled at the beautiful blonde pouting across from him.
"Ah! I could've sworn I had that one." Libby groaned playfully as she picked up a card from the top of the deck.
They were sitting outside of their neighboring tents, atop a small blanket, their legs crossed in front of them and their eyes spiritedly dancing over the cards they held close to their faces. They took turns calling out cards until Hurley excitedly won the game, beating Libby by asking for any queens, her groaning then smiling as she handed him the Queen of Hearts, completing his last book of cards.
"You're quite the card shark, Hugo. Poker with Jack, and now Go Fish. What other card games do you know?" Libby asked, a sweet gist to her voice, her eyes sweeping affectionately over him as he recovered and shuffled the card deck.
"A ton. I grew up on playing card games. Crazy Eights, Old Maid, Rummy, Gin Rummy, War. Speed." Hurley rambled, still intently focused on the cards.
"And I can't wait to play all of them with you." Libby said seductively. Hurley looked up in just enough time to see her leaning in to plant a kiss to his lips. She pulled back and was overcome with adoration at the starstruck and boyish expression on his face.
"Uh…erm…" Hurley stammered. His cheeks were burning and he seemed slightly uncomfortable with how suggestive the conversation had become.
"What? No Uno?" Libby teased, trying her best to give him an out from the heat of the moment. She leaned back onto the blanket and caught him struggling to gather his composure.
"Too much Uno. My Abuelita actually tried to kill my Tio over a game once." Hurley laughed awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed with a friendly conversation when his lips were tingling and his body temperature was rising.
She adored his shyness and was willing to wait as long as he needed to before taking the next step, a step she was absolutely sure he wasn't ready to take. Her numerous hints at wanting to take things to the next level in their relationship were always met with kind deflections, like offering to take a walk or check up on their friends. It was like he couldn't stand to be alone with her unless they were doing something that took their minds off of it. At times, she felt discouraged and a bit rejected by his lack of interest, but that was the emotional side of her talking. The logical, professional side of her knew better and began to take over in the easy and blissful moment they were sharing.
Several devastating clues deeply embedded within his behaviors and the way he talked about himself were laid out in front of her and were multiplying the longer they courted one another. The root of his hesitation was breaking her heart and making her want to tell him over and over again how beautiful he was. He couldn't just hear it from someone else, he had to believe it for himself.
Before Libby could stop wondering and get back to the moment, an itchy British tenor spoke out. "Hey Hurley. Libby."
"Hello Charlie." Libby said, her tone a little happier than she felt as she slapped her hands over her thighs and turned to capture the mixed glower on Hurley's face.
"Hey dude." Hurley said as he looked up at him, noticing that his clothes were clean, kempt and his face was freshly washed. He looked like a new man, or the same man with a decent paint job. Charlie sighed, irritated that he wasn't offering his usual eager primers for a conversation. He wasn't going to make this easy on him, was he?
"Can we talk?"
Libby nodded to Hurley as she stood up, her eyes encouraging him to open up. "I'm gonna be over at your tent if you need me."
Hurley smiled, the gesture falling from his face as he turned to Charlie, clocking the way he rolled his eyes slightly as Libby stood and walked away.
Hurley waited for Charlie to start, not willing to make this encounter easier for him. "I just wanted to say thank you for taking care of Claire and Aaron."
"Yeah, sure. Glad to help." Hurley offered, his tone flat, devoid of its usual jovial, warm and compassionate inflections. He wasn't in the mood to pretend anymore.
"Everyone must think I'm a real piece of crud." Charlie started, shifting his feet awkwardly in the sand.
"I think everyone is worried about you." Hurley offered. "When I told Jack what's been going on, he—"
"Wait, you told Jack about me and Claire?" Charlie asked with a hint of anger.
"He asked about where you were the other night." Hurley defended himself.
"What'd you tell him?" Charlie asked.
"I told him that you and Claire haven't been on the best of terms, and that might have been why you weren't on the beach when Aaron got sick."
"What the hell you'd do that for?" Charlie spat. "You tryna embarrass me or something?"
"Dude, I'm just trying to help you. Jack ca—" Hurley started to explain.
"If you really wanted to help you would've kept your bloody mouth shut!" Charlie seethed.
"Hey." Libby stood and approached them, her tone harsh, pointed like a dagger to Charlie's throat.
"Well, you're wrong. Claire and I are together. We're stronger than ever. I just spent the entire night with her and Aaron in the Hatch, looking over them like the good family man I am. Everything is perfectly fine." Charlie said loudly, the last bit coming out in a full shout, garnering the attention of those within earshot.
"You know what? Screw this!" Hurley barked, getting up from his crouch, his rotund physique menacing with sharp, aggressive movements. Scared that he'd finally pissed the gentle giant to his breaking point and was going to get laid out for it, Charlie stepped back.
"Where were you, dude?" Hurley asked once he was standing toe to toe with him.
"What?" Charlie squeaked out.
"You spent last night with Claire and Aaron, and that's great, that's fantastic. That's all I've ever wanted for the both of you, dude. But where were you the night Aaron almost died?"
Hurley stared him down, daring him to lie about his problem, about the vice he carried onto their plane, a deadly vice, baggage he knew his friend had the power to let go of, but had yet to find within himself. He would rather lash out at anyone willing to help him than confront his demons. Hurley was tired of taking his licks.
"You know, what? Why do I even bother?" Charlie hissed. He turned to walk away, and then turned back, fuming, screaming.
"Not everyone can have the perfect relationship like you and Libby, yeah? Some of us have to fight like bloody hell for it!"
Charlie's screech got the attention of everyone around him, including Michael, who was trying to share a nice moment with Sun. He couldn't let it stand anymore and begrudgingly moved himself away from her to address the unpleasant show Charlie was putting on for everyone.
"Hey. What's going on over here?" Michael stepped up.
"Nothing is going on so bugger off." Charlie growled in his direction, dismissive and spiteful.
Michael stepped into Charlie with an edge of aggression and impatience that had him backing down. He stepped back as Michael nearly charged him, restraining himself within the balled fingers of his fists, because there were too many eyes on the situation now, including his son and the woman he was starting to have deep feelings for.
"How about you bugger off, mate. The beach was pretty quiet before you got here." Michael growled at the tune of an adult male lion warning his wayward cubs to stay in line or else.
Charlie looked around, taking in the stares and murmurs from gathered onlookers. Michael noticed that the attention and the murmurs were getting to him, bothering him in a way that made him want to cower and hide instead of challenge and huff.
"Why don't you just take a walk, Charlie. Cool off." Michael encouraged him with a softer tone, more of a command than a suggestion.
Charlie backed away, quickly walking down the beach, palpably embarrassed and ashamed. He couldn't even bring himself to look at Hurley before he scurried away.
"Charlie." Hurley called after him, but he was already gone.
Michael turned to him. "Let him go, Hurley."
The group dispersed, leaving Hurley and Libby standing in the tense aftermath of a fight for a friendship he wasn't sure he could, or wanted to, save any longer.
Libby stepped up to him and took his hands into hers. She knew the answer before the question came stumbling out of her mouth. "Are you okay?"
"No." Hurley said, heaving slightly as Libby wrapped her arms around him.
The beach was blanketed with darkness, the light from the scattered bonfires provided the necessary glow to move around and make out faces and figures, but not much else. The round, bright moon played over the waves in the distance, siphoning its share of the busy, frantic energy no one knew what to do with after days long, everyone, except for a light group of nocturnal beings, off to sleep in their tents.
Sayid was outside of his tent, studying more of the notes under the glow of torchlight. Sun appeared with a tray of boar meat, fresh fruit from her garden and water. She kneeled down near his level, watching as he looked at the spread and then up at her.
"I noticed you haven't eaten for hours." She offered. Whatever his mind was ticking over, it had to be fresh out of steam by now.
"I've had a lot on my mind." Sayid replied, moved by her kindheartedness and attention to his well-being.
"Well, your mind needs fuel for the load." She dropped the tray onto the small landing he used as a desk. "Goodnight, Sayid."
"Goodnight, Sun and thank you." He called after her, her thin figure vanished within the dark stretch of beach ahead.
Further down beach in the same direction, Sawyer stood a comfortable distance from the bonfire outside of his tent, playing wistfully with a patch of matches, lighting a stick to watch it slowly burn down, the heat of the flame getting a hair too close to the skin of his fingertips before he flicked it into the bonfire.
As he lit another match, he heard a random, loud cry or scream that was quickly muffled come from the direction of Kate's tent, and he knew exactly what was going on and with whom it was going on. He felt his blood boil and his skin tighten.
He turned to watch a group of younger, rowdier guys pour out from the treeline, disrupting the serene ambiance on the beach. One appeared to have had too much fun, sloshing his words and barely able to walk if not for another holding him upright and walking with him. He imagined a good many of those travel-sized bottles of vodka that he traded provided more than enough fuel for a good time.
He often thought about trading more than just hoot and cigarettes, but as heartless as he appeared to and wanted to be, he would never be able to handle it if anything bad happened.
Alcohol and cigarettes were one thing. Heroin was another.
"Howdy boys." Sawyer stepped up to them.
"Sawyer! Thanks for the good time, man. You really came through." One of them spoke up, his voice slurred and subdued.
Sawyer tried to recall his name. Was it Brian or Bryson? "Ah, it's what I do. As long as you keep up your end, the good times'll always roll."
"We got you covered, man. Always." Another one promised. Was his name Timothy or Ted? Sawyer found that he didn't care.
He pulled a cigarette from its crumpled packaging, watching as his audience salivated at the sight of it. He put his hand in his pocket, reaching for the matchbook. He had a thought and removed his hand from his pocket, leaving it behind. He looked up at them, aimless youth with far too much time on their hands and reckless energy to burn, who saw him as the leader of their pack, the Alpha, and grinned.
"Ah, damnit." He groaned.
"Free cig for the first one with a light." He challenged, watching with glee as each of them rummaged through their pockets, on a mad dash to be the first to please him.
Kate stared at the ceiling of her small tent, her eyes glassy and unfocused, her face flushed and happy. She was sweaty and desperately trying to catch her breath as she held to the sweaty skin of his back with what strength she had left as they continued to recover together.
Jack started a sloppy trail of hot, open kisses from her mouth to the valley between her breasts, his breathing loud and spent, his love for her bursting from every pore.
He was a man possessed by the time he got to her tent, which was farther into the leaves of the adjoining jungle than the rest of the tents, just like his, but on the opposite edge of their camp. He dropped to his knees in front of her by deep dark, both managing a quick 'Hey' before their mouths were glued together as they hastily pulled at their clothes and passionately loved the night away.
This particular pair of nocturnal beings never failed to siphon their sexual energy from the pull of the moon, bundling it delicately within their soul-deep attraction to and fire-breathing need for one another, coming together frenzied, rough and heated at first, then soft, sweet and doting, kicking up speed one last time to reach the breathless bliss they only experienced when they were together.
They were happier than they had ever been in their lives thus far, unable to get enough, the insatiable hunger gnawing at their flesh every single time, from that fateful night in the dark of the jungle, where they made love for the first time, in the glow of the firelight, nocturnal animals brought to life. Dropping their guards and admitting their love intensified what was already an all-consuming, intense and exciting sexual relationship.
He continued on his path, her warm, soft, sweet skin so intoxicating he could barely stand to stop pawing at her. He knew he had worn her out and he wanted to wear her out some more, but his body was too tired to make her scream again. He stopped just below her navel, straightened up on his forearm and looked down at her contented expression with a lazy smile, his face relaxed, almost giddy in the dim cast of firelight from the bonfire outside of her tent.
The soft pad of his thumb traced the shape of her beautiful mouth as he spoke. "Hey."
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. He held her into him, the feel of her in his arms a sensation he could never put words to and had no reference for. She tightened her grip around his neck and shoulders, moaning her way through the kiss and the closeness. It was where she felt the safest and most cherished.
She pulled back, looking at him with a relaxed grin. "Hey."
He carefully and tiredly dropped onto his side with her wrapped around him, his back pressed into the material that walled off her tent. She got comfortable next to him before they fell into a comfortable silence, their breathing slowed to its normal pace, their skin beginning to cool and their mouths preoccupied in a series of long, wet kisses, wanting to stay connected and enjoy the moment for as long as possible.
"We can't abandon the Hatch, Jack." Kate whispered.
"I know." Jack said as his fingers trailed the soft skin of her shoulder and upper arm.
She placed her hand over his cheek, watching his eyes dance in the firelight. "So, when Sayid is able to make that call, then what?"
"I think we're too far off from that, Kate. He hasn't finished building the transceiver yet, and it's gonna take some time to make a plan from the maps and notes. Not to mention finding the right tower, if it even exists." He said with more doubt that she was expecting given how eager he was to hear Sayid's plan. She knew Jack and as much as he was excited to have a plan for rescue, he was surely filling with trepidation about what could go wrong, what fresh hell was lying in wait.
She shifted against him, cozy in the heat of his large, fuzzy chest and strong arms. "You think one of those radio towers is in the Others' territory, don't you?"
"Yeah, I do. We're gonna run into a very fine line of pissing them off trying to get out of here." He sighed.
His mind flashed back to her being pulled out of the jungle, the man with the beard, the gun at her throat. A deep spasm rippled through his chest, making him suck in another breath. She felt him flinch and caught the change in his expression, still relaxed, but framed with an edge of worry and dread he never put away for long.
"Are you okay?" She asked.
"Are you?" He shot back softly, trying to pry a door open he knew she wouldn't easily let him.
"I'm with you. I'm perfect." She sighed.
"You never talk about it." He said after a long pause, with a hint of sadness, deciding it was worth the fight.
She leaned in to kiss him softly. "About what, baby?"
"What happened to you after you were grabbed by the Others." He felt her tense up for the briefest moment, looking away from him, suddenly more entranced with a shadowy corner of her tent than the face and eyes she had memorized the day they met.
"I guess it just never came up." Was all Kate could offer, her tone tired and suddenly sharp.
"From your reaction with Sayid earlier, maybe it needs to." Jack pushed.
Kate knew that he wouldn't leave it alone until he knew. She wanted to be mad at him for poking, but she'd do the same to him, for him, in a heartbeat. She would voluntarily cut her own flesh to help him pry open pain, grief, sadness or fear that needed to be released, that was much too heavy for him to carry alone. She let out a breathy chuckle. She had no choice.
She softly encouraged him to lie down on his back and moved herself into her favorite spot, draped comfortably over his chest. She dropped her head, closed her eyes and spoke softly.
"I was on your trail, and was almost caught up with you when I felt something pierce my shoulder. The next thing I knew, I was waking up with a bag over my head and my hands tied behind my back." She could feel his chest tighten and smoothed her cheek over the beating of his heart.
"They were talking a few feet away from me. There had to be four or five of them. From the way they were talking, they'd been on your trail and mine from at least a few miles in. They were ten steps ahead of us the whole time."
He rubbed his warm, sympathetic hands over her naked back as he listened, mentally kicking himself for being caught up in his anger for so long that he hadn't considered the trauma she'd been through. "You thought they were gonna kill you."
"I knew it. They were plotting their next move when one of them offered to do it. He was moving towards me when another one spoke up with the idea to take our guns instead. He stopped within a few feet of where I was sitting. I think he had a gun or a knife. I'm not sure which."
His breath pressed at his throat as he choked out the words. "I'm so sorry Kate. I never…I wish that I could—"
He let out that staggered breath, his heart sinking into the pit in his stomach as it grew wider the more details she shared. It was a rare thing for Kate to share what her mind and heart mulled, what fears she kept trapped away under her tough, almost superhuman exterior. It was such a rare moment that he didn't want to stop her momentum by telling her that in the midst of the chaos of that moment, of the cruel discovery that she followed him, knowing exactly why but still unable to stop the maddening rage burning him alive that she actually did it, he realized that he was in love with her, would never stop loving her and would never be able to live without her.
She sat up and crossed her arms over his chest, propping her chin over her forearms to stare down at him. She found the same warm toast of compassion and love in his warm, brown eyes that she had when they were standing opposite Sayid on the beach earlier that day. She grinned sadly, lovingly.
"It's not your fault, Jack. I've just been trying to work through it on my own. Old habits."
"I don't ever want you to share things you're not ready to, that was part of the deal from the beginning. But you were almost killed, Kate, twice." Jack said, his words pushing at her the longer he spoke.
"I know." Kate sighed, biting thoughtfully at her lower lip.
He ran his fingers through a wild curl at her temple, enchanted by the blush of her cheeks. "And it's affecting how you react to things."
"What are you talking about?" She asked.
"Yesterday morning, with Claire in the Hatch." He watched her inquisitive expression soften into recognition, then regret.
She loved more fiercely than anyone he ever knew, beyond the point of vanquishing anyone in the path between her and the objects of that love that he often speculated if that impulse to protect and defend to the bitter death was the reason she was in trouble with the law. Those who took a surface view of her couldn't make out the delicate, caring person underneath, the girl who had been scarred deeply and loved sparsely, her hypervigilance owed to her trauma, trauma he knew went deeper than her encounter with the Others. How could anyone look at her and not feel like their heart was going to explode, he wondered.
"I'm just so scared for you, for Claire, Aaron, for all of us. Sayid is right, we shouldn't go after them, but…" She said with a bite of fire, trailing off with her thoughts and fears.
"I know," Jack said before laying a light kiss to her lips, cutting her off softly. "But we can't, Kate. Not yet. Sayid is right, any move on our part right now would only lead to someone getting taken, or worse, killed."
His soft, watery eyes looked into hers with so much love and devotion it made it hard for her to breathe properly. "I'm never gonna risk your life, Kate. Ever."
She moved in on him, wrapping him up in a wet, passionate kiss. The chill of the night air reached them, causing them to bundle up, still too tired to go another round, sleep setting in.
"I'm gonna talk to Ana Lucia in the morning. See what her take is on protecting the beach and what she thinks of the rescue plan." Jack whispered, his voice trailing off.
"Okay." Kate sighed, her mind muddling and her heart sulking.
She figured they'd keep the plans for rescue an air-tight secret until Sayid was finished building the transceiver and they had the best plan possible to present to the larger group. His insistence on including her this soon, at first light, was gesturing the green monster and all its ferocity.
The realization that an abiding and trusting friendship was quickly building between them, holding to roots from before the crash given how familiar they were when their camps merged, was irritating at best, and she was trying extremely hard not to be jealous and territorial about it. She wasn't the jealous type, letting relationships come and go, her lifestyle not cut out for attachments. Her investment in keeping someone's attention and affection never once at the fever pitch it was with Jack.
She didn't trust Ana Lucia to bow out gracefully, but she trusted Jack to shoot her down, to never hurt her in that way. He continued to be patient and understanding about her friendship with Sawyer, and she owed him the same patience and understanding.
She looked up at him and watched him sleep, considering how much she loved him, and how hard she worked every day to tuck away that tiny, nagging whisper that told her she would lose him someday anyway, and it would be her own doing, not his. She was clumsier at love, flirtier with the truth, inept in staying in one place for long. For all of his interactions with the Marshall, he still didn't know even the broad strokes of her story, of how she ended up on the run, and he still showed up for her every day, without fail.
He made her want to stay in one place, to make a home with him for the rest of her life. He was the first person to help her believe that she even had a life to get back to, to give. He made her feel hopeful, free from her shackles to bathe in the warmth of a bright future that was worth fighting for.
She decided right then to stop fretting over Ana Lucia and to put all of her energy into the fight for rescue, for their future, for building the strongest foundation for their home that they could.
She kissed his chest and closed her eyes, sex-induced sleep coming easy and swiftly.
Down the beach, Aaron was bundled neatly into his bassinet within the farthest corner of Claire's tent, sleeping soundly as the waves played like a cradlesong in the distance. Claire lazily held her hand over one of the sides of the bassinet, her fingertips loosely tickling over the mound of his belly under his blanket. The rest of her was slumped over the thin padding of her bed, sleeping, but not resting.
Suddenly, her arm jerked violently from the bassinet without waking her as she whimpered desperately, her entire body stiff, frozen. Her eyes snapped open as she gasped for breath. She shifted urgently to look into the bassinet, for a split second terrified that it was empty, that her son was gone. She watched as Aaron continued to sleep, still safely tucked under his blanket. She blew out a sigh of relief as she sat up, unable to go back to sleep.
She rubbed her hand over her face, new pieces of the shattered images that crept at this time of night for the last three nights floated to the surface of her mind. The countdown timer from the Hatch stuck out this time, ticking above her. But she wasn't in the Hatch. The white sheet that covered her legs, the metal bedrails, the handcuffs, the white walls blinding her, the blasting cold temperature that pinched at her heated skin, all foreign to her. Except for the countdown timer.
Then it hit her. Her memories were starting to resurface.
Her subconscious recovering the details was beyond her control, but figuring out what it all meant was within her grasp. Piecing it all together was a labored task her sleep-deprived brain couldn't focus on for too long without help, without a partner to get her through, to power her efforts with their support.
She looked over at the padding that hadn't seen Charlie yet tonight, his blanket in the same strewn pattern he left it in that morning. A tear escaped down her cheek just as Aaron began to whimper. She felt her nipples tightening, her breasts achy and letting down the nutrients her son needed.
Claire reached down for him and gingerly placed his tiny mouth under her shirt, feeling him suckle at her with everything his little body had as her mind played with the restless waves and sharp moon on the horizon.