"Between Rome and Ithaca," part 7A (for zelda_zee)
Title: Between Rome and Ithaca, 7 (previous parts)
Pairing: Jack/Sayid (established)
Summary: Adjusting to life after the island, one day at a time
Rating: Disclaimer: Lost is all ABC’s; no money/ownership here
Author’s note: For
zelda_zee , who will probably be able to figure out why.
Comments, feedback, and criticism are always welcome.
Sayid is in Egypt when the Fourth of July rolls around. Jack was just as happy that he’d be out of the U.S. at that point, hard-pressed to imagine, in light of the circumstances, that the orgiastic celebration of all things American would appeal to Sayid too much. He remembered the frenetic, almost cloying quality of the last few ones of his experience and felt a faint embarrassment at the excess of it all.
This year surprises him: only the announcements of fireworks shows remind him of the holiday at all. He supposes next year might be another story, with the election season in swing, but this year is quiet. Now that Jack thinks of it, the American flag pins and eagle insignia he’d come to take seeing everywhere for granted seem to have disappeared over the two years he missed here. New cars don’t sport the jingoistic bumper stickers he’d stopped noticing years ago, and a lot of the older ones have blank, darker spaces and hints of glue residue on their fenders.
Sombre national mood or no, the Silvermans aren’t missing the excuse the hold a barbecue, and Jack’s no more inclined to miss it than he ever has been. The Paces are in San Francisco over the long weekend, and Jack does what’s becoming a usual thing and spends the time in Los Angeles: brunch with his mother, golf with some old friends, a street fair with the Kwons and Hurley. He makes a day trip to the Nadlers’ summer/winter house, along with the Rousseaus. Rose and Bernard are doing fine, healthy and re-adjusting happily enough to life in the real world; Jack doesn’t know how they can still enjoy being by the ocean, but somehow they can, and he musters the ability to tolerate it for the day. They lounge on the beach in their bathing suits, and Jack is pleased to see that Danielle and Alex are looking less bony than they were a few months ago. Danielle swims and chats with them and directs silent menace at any stranger who dares to look at Alex; Bernard insists that the holiday is a sufficient excuse for consuming an assortment of patriotically packaged sweets that will probably generate plenty of revenue for his colleagues.
The Silvermans seem just as happy. Michael is thriving in preschool and Jacqueline’s become a very confident walker, threatening all kinds of mischief. She babbles happily at Jack when he bends down to help her play with some blocks. He can’t understand a word she’s saying, but the time he’s spent with the Kwons and the Paces has taught him how to respond nonetheless. She gets babbled at even more enthusiastically by Marc’s parents, who are there for the holiday and taking every opportunity to spoil and fuss over their grandchildren.
They fuss over Jack as well; Marc’s mother cries openly at the first sight she’s had of Jack in years, and his dad’s eyes look suspiciously bright as he claps Jack on the back and says it’s good to see him, that he gave them all a good scare. “We would have liked to see you earlier,” Marc’s mother tells him, “but we thought you might be overwhelmed with everything.”
“I kind of was. Thanks,” Jack says. “It’s good to see now, though.”
“Marc says you and the other survivors are very close.”
“We are, yeah.” They ask a few questions about the group, ask when they can visit Jack in Antelope Valley and meet the newfound sister Marc has told them about. They were mostly surprised that the two of them wound up on the same flight; Christian’s three-year glut of conferences in Australia didn’t fool anyone except Jack.
Later they all move into the back yard, and Jack swats at mosquitoes and catches up with some people he hasn’t seen in a couple of months. They all try to keep the kids away from the grill and listen to them muddle their way through what might be “The Star-Spangled Banner.” He sees Leah Silverman come toward him carrying a plate, and for a strange instant he’s back in the Hydra, hungry and afraid, and Juliet is walking toward him with a plate in her hands - and then he’s back in the present, and he thinks if Leah’s made him a cheeseburger with onions and relish he’ll burst into tears.
He takes a deep breath. Of course not: it’s kosher. He manages a smile as he takes the plate from Leah’s hands and thanks her, trying to silence the memories that are threatening to play in his mind. He tries not to think of how Danielle might have looked somewhat like Leah not so long ago, if her life had been very different, or wondering how similar Alex will look at the same age, not having inherited her mother’s heart-shaped face, if she’s still more or less in one piece twenty years from now…
By the time most people start leaving - fairly early; there are a lot of kids young enough to want to be at home and holding their teddy bears through the noise of the fireworks - Jack’s sense of equilibrium has returned. Marc and Leah urge him to spend the night anyway: he’s still a little bit shaky, and there are bound to be drunk drivers all over the roads before long. He agrees and makes a quick call to his mother, promising that he’ll meet her for lunch tomorrow.
He insists on helping Marc and Leah with the cleaning up while Marc's parents keep the kids entertained. They don’t ask if he was thinking about the island earlier in the evening, if that was what made him lose himself for thought. Most of the people Jack knows have been better than he expected about not pressing for information beyond what the investigations have made public, about letting him tell them more in his own time, if he wants to. So far he hasn’t felt the need. He talks about things with his therapist, with government officials who have follow-up questions, sometimes with the other survivors. It’s enough; at times Jack thinks it’s as much as he can manage.
They finish the cleaning at the same time Michael announces that he’s tired and wants his grandparents to tell him a bedtime story. Jacqueline is already asleep on her grandfather’s lap. Marc and Leah kiss the kids good-night. “Is Uncle Jack going to tell me good night too?” Michael asks.
“I sure am,” Jack says, ruffling his hair. “Pleasant dreams, okay?”
Michael nods, looking serious, and then goes upstairs with his grandparents, Marc calling out a reminder to turn on the white noise machine so the fireworks don’t bother the kids. He pours glasses of wine and then joins Jack and Leah in the living room. “How’s Sayid?” Marc asks.
“He says he’s doing all right.” Jack called him this morning, not long before Sayid went to sleep for the night in Egypt. They didn’t talk for very long, but Sayid sounded like he was holding up as well as could be expected. Jack’s always on edge when Sayid’s got a plane ride ahead of him, an anxiety that the circumstances of his travelling only worsen, but he doesn’t want to dwell on that right now. “Getting adjusted to things here the best he can.”
“You’re both liking Santa Leobina?”
Jack nods. “It’s pretty quiet, but that’s what we need at this point.”
“I can see that,” Marc says.
“He’s a permanent fixture, I take it?” Leah asks.
A permanent fixture. It sounds like one of a class of appliances, dishwashers and refrigerators and sinks, or one of the fruit trees Sayid is having planted behind the house: almond, fig, pomegranate. He says he misses being able to pick ripe fruit for himself, the way he did as a boy; if the new trees thrive they’ll bear too much, but he won’t begrudge the wild birds… Jack is drifting again. “Yeah. He’s permanent.”
“Have you thought about filing for domestic partnership?”
Whatever Jack was expecting Leah to say, that wasn’t it. “It, uh. I hadn’t thought of it.”
“Maybe you should.” Leah gives a small laugh. “Jack, I may not be your attorney, but I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned it to you.”
“He has,” Jack reassures her. It was Leah who recommended Pete Benitez to him; he doesn’t want her to think the man’s been remiss. “There’s just - I’ve got a lot of other things to sort through.”
Mark and Leah both raise their eyebrows, and Jack has a sinking feeling that at least one of them is about to call bullshit. He remembers the conversation with his lawyer: It doesn’t matter. We’re not paying taxes on the money, we don’t need insurance benefits - and Benitez cut him off: And I suppose you won’t need hospital visitation? Next-of-kin guarantee if there’s an emergency, or your sister’s family has one? Jack sighs. “I don’t want to go through all the ceremony.”
“Ceremony?” Leah says. “You fill in a piece of paper and get a notary to sign it, Jack. “
Believe me,” Marc says, “you’re not getting any more best man speeches out of me.”
“Thanks.”
“I’d probably wind up with alcohol poisoning trying to get through it again.”
“You would, wouldn’t you?” says Leah. She kisses Marc’s cheek. “I’m going to go make sure your parents haven’t nodded off too.”
“Okay,” Marc says. Leah departs, and Marc gives Jack a long look. “What’s this about, Jack?” It’s Marc who’s calling bullshit, then. “Look, at least give it a practice run before you talk to your therapist. Or Sayid.”
This is Marc’s way, or more likely Leah’s, of making sure he does bring it up there; even Jack can see that much. He has a point, though, little as Jack likes to admit it. Jack sighs and runs a hand over his head. Marc pre-empts him again: “This isn’t about getting burned with Sarah, is it?”
“No, it’s not.” He smiles ruefully. “I think it’s about some things most people have worked out by the time they’re about twenty.”
“Wasn’t I there for you then, Jack?” Jack nods, although Marc doesn’t need an answer. “What makes you think I wouldn’t be now?”
“I know you are.” He swallows heavily. “I was always - Christ, I’ve always been the son my parents wanted. Played football, became a surgeon, married a sweet blonde schoolteacher.”
“That was who you were,” Marc says. “Or you thought it was. There was always more to you, Jack.”
“And now I get back from a plane crash and my whole career and everything else is shot and you want me to go and sign a piece of paper that makes me gay.”
“A piece of paper makes you gay? Or whatever the hell?” Jack’s much too old to get caught up in terminology, and Marc knows it.
“As far as the world’s concerned, yes. It pretty much does.”
“And is the rest of the world that important to you?” Jack is glad when Marc doesn’t give him time to answer; it matters less than it did, it matters less every day, but it will probably never be gone in its entirety. “You think the people who know you can’t guess you’ve been having sex with him for two years?”
“Sayid thinks my mother's guessed.” Jack remembers that conversation, a few weeks ago, after Margo came to visit; Jack was restless as he got under the covers, and Sayid knew it. He wrapped his arms around Jack from behind and let the silence ask his question for him: What is it, Jack? Jack settled back against his body and sighed. “She doesn’t even know about this, Sayid. About you and me.”
Sayid shifted so that they were facing each other in what little light the room offered. “She knows, Jack,” he said, sounding surprised at Jack’s words.
“Did she say something to you?”
Sayid shook his head. “She didn’t need to. Only some small looks that were not meant for me to catch. What she did not say.” He dropped a kiss on Jack’s shoulder.
“Why didn’t she say anything?”
“Perhaps she does not feel the need… You are her son, Jack.” And after all that has happened. Sayid didn’t say that part out loud.
Marc clears his throat, and Jack shakes himself out of the little trance of memory. “I’d say she's guessed, then,” Marc says. “And she still calls you and visits.”
“Yeah. She does.”
“You know what I think changed about you on the island, Jack?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?” It’s hard not to sound defensive.
“I think you got tired of not admitting who you are. I’ve got a few guesses about why, but you don’t have to tell me.” He sets the glass down. “And I think you might be happier that way.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“And, hey. If you want to hold a ceremony - ”
“Fuck, no.” He hopes Sayid wouldn’t either; there’s a limit to what Jack can stomach.
“I was gonna say I might even let you try to get a speech out of me yet.” Marc grins. “Something shitty but heartfelt.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“It’s the thought that counts, right?” Jack doesn’t answer. “If I asked Sayid about all this, what would his take be?”
“About our relationship? We’re in it together.”
“I know.”
Jack didn’t really think that was the question anyway. Marc knows about Nadia and Shannon, and a little bit about some men whose names Sayid doesn’t often mention. “He says before the invasion you wouldn’t get much trouble if you were discreet.” People did not really speak about it, Jack. There was no need. “It’s gotten pretty bad in the last few years, though.”
“Like everything else, huh?”
“Like everything else.” It is worse for everyone, Jack. Even the Kurds will begin to suffer soon enough. “I don’t think Sayid’s used to thinking of himself as having any rights,” he says carefully. “In terms of anything.”
After a moment’s silence Marc says, “I guess not.”
“I’m trying to work on it. You know, however I can.”
“That’s good.”
Jack finds himself smiling, maybe in bemusement at himself. “I’ll file for it. Leah can badger me all she wants if I don’t.”
“Good man.” Marc claps him on the arm and pours himself another half-glass of wine.
(-----> 7B)
*Image credits: ash at Lost Forum.
Pairing: Jack/Sayid (established)
Summary: Adjusting to life after the island, one day at a time
Rating: Disclaimer: Lost is all ABC’s; no money/ownership here
Author’s note: For
zelda_zee , who will probably be able to figure out why.
Comments, feedback, and criticism are always welcome.
Sayid is in Egypt when the Fourth of July rolls around. Jack was just as happy that he’d be out of the U.S. at that point, hard-pressed to imagine, in light of the circumstances, that the orgiastic celebration of all things American would appeal to Sayid too much. He remembered the frenetic, almost cloying quality of the last few ones of his experience and felt a faint embarrassment at the excess of it all.
This year surprises him: only the announcements of fireworks shows remind him of the holiday at all. He supposes next year might be another story, with the election season in swing, but this year is quiet. Now that Jack thinks of it, the American flag pins and eagle insignia he’d come to take seeing everywhere for granted seem to have disappeared over the two years he missed here. New cars don’t sport the jingoistic bumper stickers he’d stopped noticing years ago, and a lot of the older ones have blank, darker spaces and hints of glue residue on their fenders.
Sombre national mood or no, the Silvermans aren’t missing the excuse the hold a barbecue, and Jack’s no more inclined to miss it than he ever has been. The Paces are in San Francisco over the long weekend, and Jack does what’s becoming a usual thing and spends the time in Los Angeles: brunch with his mother, golf with some old friends, a street fair with the Kwons and Hurley. He makes a day trip to the Nadlers’ summer/winter house, along with the Rousseaus. Rose and Bernard are doing fine, healthy and re-adjusting happily enough to life in the real world; Jack doesn’t know how they can still enjoy being by the ocean, but somehow they can, and he musters the ability to tolerate it for the day. They lounge on the beach in their bathing suits, and Jack is pleased to see that Danielle and Alex are looking less bony than they were a few months ago. Danielle swims and chats with them and directs silent menace at any stranger who dares to look at Alex; Bernard insists that the holiday is a sufficient excuse for consuming an assortment of patriotically packaged sweets that will probably generate plenty of revenue for his colleagues.
The Silvermans seem just as happy. Michael is thriving in preschool and Jacqueline’s become a very confident walker, threatening all kinds of mischief. She babbles happily at Jack when he bends down to help her play with some blocks. He can’t understand a word she’s saying, but the time he’s spent with the Kwons and the Paces has taught him how to respond nonetheless. She gets babbled at even more enthusiastically by Marc’s parents, who are there for the holiday and taking every opportunity to spoil and fuss over their grandchildren.
They fuss over Jack as well; Marc’s mother cries openly at the first sight she’s had of Jack in years, and his dad’s eyes look suspiciously bright as he claps Jack on the back and says it’s good to see him, that he gave them all a good scare. “We would have liked to see you earlier,” Marc’s mother tells him, “but we thought you might be overwhelmed with everything.”
“I kind of was. Thanks,” Jack says. “It’s good to see now, though.”
“Marc says you and the other survivors are very close.”
“We are, yeah.” They ask a few questions about the group, ask when they can visit Jack in Antelope Valley and meet the newfound sister Marc has told them about. They were mostly surprised that the two of them wound up on the same flight; Christian’s three-year glut of conferences in Australia didn’t fool anyone except Jack.
Later they all move into the back yard, and Jack swats at mosquitoes and catches up with some people he hasn’t seen in a couple of months. They all try to keep the kids away from the grill and listen to them muddle their way through what might be “The Star-Spangled Banner.” He sees Leah Silverman come toward him carrying a plate, and for a strange instant he’s back in the Hydra, hungry and afraid, and Juliet is walking toward him with a plate in her hands - and then he’s back in the present, and he thinks if Leah’s made him a cheeseburger with onions and relish he’ll burst into tears.
He takes a deep breath. Of course not: it’s kosher. He manages a smile as he takes the plate from Leah’s hands and thanks her, trying to silence the memories that are threatening to play in his mind. He tries not to think of how Danielle might have looked somewhat like Leah not so long ago, if her life had been very different, or wondering how similar Alex will look at the same age, not having inherited her mother’s heart-shaped face, if she’s still more or less in one piece twenty years from now…
By the time most people start leaving - fairly early; there are a lot of kids young enough to want to be at home and holding their teddy bears through the noise of the fireworks - Jack’s sense of equilibrium has returned. Marc and Leah urge him to spend the night anyway: he’s still a little bit shaky, and there are bound to be drunk drivers all over the roads before long. He agrees and makes a quick call to his mother, promising that he’ll meet her for lunch tomorrow.
He insists on helping Marc and Leah with the cleaning up while Marc's parents keep the kids entertained. They don’t ask if he was thinking about the island earlier in the evening, if that was what made him lose himself for thought. Most of the people Jack knows have been better than he expected about not pressing for information beyond what the investigations have made public, about letting him tell them more in his own time, if he wants to. So far he hasn’t felt the need. He talks about things with his therapist, with government officials who have follow-up questions, sometimes with the other survivors. It’s enough; at times Jack thinks it’s as much as he can manage.
They finish the cleaning at the same time Michael announces that he’s tired and wants his grandparents to tell him a bedtime story. Jacqueline is already asleep on her grandfather’s lap. Marc and Leah kiss the kids good-night. “Is Uncle Jack going to tell me good night too?” Michael asks.
“I sure am,” Jack says, ruffling his hair. “Pleasant dreams, okay?”
Michael nods, looking serious, and then goes upstairs with his grandparents, Marc calling out a reminder to turn on the white noise machine so the fireworks don’t bother the kids. He pours glasses of wine and then joins Jack and Leah in the living room. “How’s Sayid?” Marc asks.
“He says he’s doing all right.” Jack called him this morning, not long before Sayid went to sleep for the night in Egypt. They didn’t talk for very long, but Sayid sounded like he was holding up as well as could be expected. Jack’s always on edge when Sayid’s got a plane ride ahead of him, an anxiety that the circumstances of his travelling only worsen, but he doesn’t want to dwell on that right now. “Getting adjusted to things here the best he can.”
“You’re both liking Santa Leobina?”
Jack nods. “It’s pretty quiet, but that’s what we need at this point.”
“I can see that,” Marc says.
“He’s a permanent fixture, I take it?” Leah asks.
A permanent fixture. It sounds like one of a class of appliances, dishwashers and refrigerators and sinks, or one of the fruit trees Sayid is having planted behind the house: almond, fig, pomegranate. He says he misses being able to pick ripe fruit for himself, the way he did as a boy; if the new trees thrive they’ll bear too much, but he won’t begrudge the wild birds… Jack is drifting again. “Yeah. He’s permanent.”
“Have you thought about filing for domestic partnership?”
Whatever Jack was expecting Leah to say, that wasn’t it. “It, uh. I hadn’t thought of it.”
“Maybe you should.” Leah gives a small laugh. “Jack, I may not be your attorney, but I’m surprised he hasn’t mentioned it to you.”
“He has,” Jack reassures her. It was Leah who recommended Pete Benitez to him; he doesn’t want her to think the man’s been remiss. “There’s just - I’ve got a lot of other things to sort through.”
Mark and Leah both raise their eyebrows, and Jack has a sinking feeling that at least one of them is about to call bullshit. He remembers the conversation with his lawyer: It doesn’t matter. We’re not paying taxes on the money, we don’t need insurance benefits - and Benitez cut him off: And I suppose you won’t need hospital visitation? Next-of-kin guarantee if there’s an emergency, or your sister’s family has one? Jack sighs. “I don’t want to go through all the ceremony.”
“Ceremony?” Leah says. “You fill in a piece of paper and get a notary to sign it, Jack. “
Believe me,” Marc says, “you’re not getting any more best man speeches out of me.”
“Thanks.”
“I’d probably wind up with alcohol poisoning trying to get through it again.”
“You would, wouldn’t you?” says Leah. She kisses Marc’s cheek. “I’m going to go make sure your parents haven’t nodded off too.”
“Okay,” Marc says. Leah departs, and Marc gives Jack a long look. “What’s this about, Jack?” It’s Marc who’s calling bullshit, then. “Look, at least give it a practice run before you talk to your therapist. Or Sayid.”
This is Marc’s way, or more likely Leah’s, of making sure he does bring it up there; even Jack can see that much. He has a point, though, little as Jack likes to admit it. Jack sighs and runs a hand over his head. Marc pre-empts him again: “This isn’t about getting burned with Sarah, is it?”
“No, it’s not.” He smiles ruefully. “I think it’s about some things most people have worked out by the time they’re about twenty.”
“Wasn’t I there for you then, Jack?” Jack nods, although Marc doesn’t need an answer. “What makes you think I wouldn’t be now?”
“I know you are.” He swallows heavily. “I was always - Christ, I’ve always been the son my parents wanted. Played football, became a surgeon, married a sweet blonde schoolteacher.”
“That was who you were,” Marc says. “Or you thought it was. There was always more to you, Jack.”
“And now I get back from a plane crash and my whole career and everything else is shot and you want me to go and sign a piece of paper that makes me gay.”
“A piece of paper makes you gay? Or whatever the hell?” Jack’s much too old to get caught up in terminology, and Marc knows it.
“As far as the world’s concerned, yes. It pretty much does.”
“And is the rest of the world that important to you?” Jack is glad when Marc doesn’t give him time to answer; it matters less than it did, it matters less every day, but it will probably never be gone in its entirety. “You think the people who know you can’t guess you’ve been having sex with him for two years?”
“Sayid thinks my mother's guessed.” Jack remembers that conversation, a few weeks ago, after Margo came to visit; Jack was restless as he got under the covers, and Sayid knew it. He wrapped his arms around Jack from behind and let the silence ask his question for him: What is it, Jack? Jack settled back against his body and sighed. “She doesn’t even know about this, Sayid. About you and me.”
Sayid shifted so that they were facing each other in what little light the room offered. “She knows, Jack,” he said, sounding surprised at Jack’s words.
“Did she say something to you?”
Sayid shook his head. “She didn’t need to. Only some small looks that were not meant for me to catch. What she did not say.” He dropped a kiss on Jack’s shoulder.
“Why didn’t she say anything?”
“Perhaps she does not feel the need… You are her son, Jack.” And after all that has happened. Sayid didn’t say that part out loud.
Marc clears his throat, and Jack shakes himself out of the little trance of memory. “I’d say she's guessed, then,” Marc says. “And she still calls you and visits.”
“Yeah. She does.”
“You know what I think changed about you on the island, Jack?”
“I don’t know. What do you think?” It’s hard not to sound defensive.
“I think you got tired of not admitting who you are. I’ve got a few guesses about why, but you don’t have to tell me.” He sets the glass down. “And I think you might be happier that way.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
“And, hey. If you want to hold a ceremony - ”
“Fuck, no.” He hopes Sayid wouldn’t either; there’s a limit to what Jack can stomach.
“I was gonna say I might even let you try to get a speech out of me yet.” Marc grins. “Something shitty but heartfelt.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“It’s the thought that counts, right?” Jack doesn’t answer. “If I asked Sayid about all this, what would his take be?”
“About our relationship? We’re in it together.”
“I know.”
Jack didn’t really think that was the question anyway. Marc knows about Nadia and Shannon, and a little bit about some men whose names Sayid doesn’t often mention. “He says before the invasion you wouldn’t get much trouble if you were discreet.” People did not really speak about it, Jack. There was no need. “It’s gotten pretty bad in the last few years, though.”
“Like everything else, huh?”
“Like everything else.” It is worse for everyone, Jack. Even the Kurds will begin to suffer soon enough. “I don’t think Sayid’s used to thinking of himself as having any rights,” he says carefully. “In terms of anything.”
After a moment’s silence Marc says, “I guess not.”
“I’m trying to work on it. You know, however I can.”
“That’s good.”
Jack finds himself smiling, maybe in bemusement at himself. “I’ll file for it. Leah can badger me all she wants if I don’t.”
“Good man.” Marc claps him on the arm and pours himself another half-glass of wine.
(-----> 7B)
*Image credits: ash at Lost Forum.