A Pain That I'm Used To - Part Five Cont'd
Sawyer is crying.
He can’t even remember the last time that he had cried - if he had ever cried. His body hurts from it, so unaccustomed to the heaving sobs and the tightening in his chest.
Not only is he crying, but he’s sitting in the middle of Union Station while he does it, out in the open where every single passerby can stop and gawk at the grown man sitting on a bench crying like a baby.
He wants to stop, embarrassed, disgraced, but he can’t. It’s as if a switch has been turned on and he’s crying not just about Jack, but about every god damned thing in his life he should’ve cried over and never did. Catching up on it all in one fell swoop.
So he puts his head in his hands and tries to ignore the outside world, retreating inward and pretending that there’s no one there to see him, to judge him. In his mind there are no families scurrying by with rolling luggage and screaming babies whose cries echo throughout the vast hall, no brightly colored series of flags waving happily from the wall, no electronic departures and arrivals board blinking and flipping, announcing the comings and goings of all these travelers with places to go, all having people they’re leaving behind who will be waiting for them to return.
He had been foolish to believe that he could be one of those people, those people with someone waiting. In his past, he’d always come back to emptiness and regret, in the form of stale, sterile hotel rooms and crummy apartments, all of them echoing with the sounds of loneliness in between meaningless encounters with strangers and easy marks.
Jack had given him hope, and hope is a dangerous thing. Like a silly teenage girl, he’d let his imagination wander ahead of reality, filling his head with fantasies that will never come true. Had he thought he and Jack would set up house, settle into happy domesticity? That Jack would come through that door every night, loosen his tie, and settle down for a commonplace evening of dinner and TV? He feels like a dumbass. Sawyer didn’t even know where those thoughts had come from; he had never had any desire for anything resembling “home life” before - not anything remotely close to it, even. Had these ideas somehow planted themselves in his mind, secretly waiting there in the dark until the day he was stupid enough to give them some light, to let them grow?
“Man, are you okay?” A twenty-something kid is suddenly hovering by his side nervously and awkwardly, one of the types who are trying to do the right thing but are secretly hoping that the person says they don’t need any help.
“Fine. Fuck off,” Sawyer mutters, giving him only a glance before quickly turning his face downward. The kid throws up his hands hurriedly, signaling he meant nothing by it, and takes a few steps backward before turning and walking away. He bends forward and rests his fists on his knees and his forehead against his fists, clenching his fingers tightly, angry with himself. “God damn it, you dumbass sissy, get a grip.” He admonishes himself aloud. “He’s turned you into a fucking pussy.”
An elderly woman sitting a seat away from him turns her head toward him and gives him a curious look, surprisingly not one of reproach, but of concern.
“Sorry,” He mumbles to her, biting back the urge to tell her to screw off as well.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing I haven’t heard before,” She smiles gently. “My husband swore like a sailor.”
Sawyer wipes his face and forces a tiny smile back, but can’t hold it for more than a second. The woman climbs from her seat, sensing that her presence is more disturbing than comforting, and walks away, but not before pausing and quietly dropping a few folded Kleenex onto Sawyer’s lap. She doesn’t say a word and walks out of sight before Sawyer even realizes what she’s done.
He had heard of the kindness of strangers, but had always assumed it to be some kind of myth, just like true love and happily ever after. He grasps the clean white tissue, crumpling it in his hand, the woman’s gesture causing tears to spring afresh in his eyes.
Man, he really is a fucking pussy.
He uses the tissue to dry his face, attempting to get a hold of himself. Shoving the wet and crumpled Kleenex into his front jeans pocket, he finds Jack’s car keys still there.
He’ll have to mail them back. Not to mention tell him where he parked the car. Kate can tell him, she knows.
He pulls his hand away quickly from the keys and his thumb catches on a loose string hanging from the hem of his shirt. Jack’s shirt. He’s still wearing Jack’s dress shirt. And Jack’s jeans.
He won’t give those back.
Sawyer glances at the big round clock above the information desk and sighs. Next bus to Boston wouldn’t be for quite awhile; he’d narrowly missed the last one. Five minutes earlier and he could be speeding away from this city, this situation, this feeling. Away from Jack.
The memory of Kate kissing Jack, Jack kissing Kate - whoever kissed who - burns in his mind like a brand, every detail seared in with extreme pain. He had known it would happen; he had brought Kate to the hospital to get it over with quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid. He hadn’t admitted that a small part of him had hoped, wished, that Jack would prove him wrong.
But he hadn’t. He had looked at Kate with the eyes of a man who had been given back the world, all in the form of one woman. He had taken her in his arms with no resistance, welcoming her back like all was forgiven in an instant.
Yet he’s not just angry with Jack. He’s angry with her for having so much power, for taking advantage of who Jack is. Of course Jack would take her back. He’s Jack. Kate knows that better than anyone. She should’ve done Jack a favor and stayed away, but she had selfishly come back into his life. Sawyer knows it’s only a matter of time before she breaks his heart again, and then the cycle will continue. She’ll leave and come back, over and over, and Jack will always be there waiting.
He realizes he’s not crying any longer, but gritting his teeth in frustration.
He had given Jack his word not to leave ever again, to never do what Kate had done, what he had done, in the past. Yet here he is sitting in the station, waiting for a bus to pull up outside to take him back to Boston.
“Fuck her,” Sawyer hears himself say and it takes him a moment to realize he really means it. Fuck her. They had commiserated over their shared love for Jack before, one in their need for someone greater than them both. But Kate had had her chance and she had thrown it away, and he had come here to make Jack his, to face what he feared and take a chance.
And the second he had, she decided to come back and ruin it all.
Jack might choose Kate in the end.
But Sawyer isn’t going to go down without a fight, and he isn’t going to make Jack’s choice easy by leaving.
Sawyer grabs his bus ticket from his back pocket and throws it into the garbage as he walks out of the station, not needing it anymore.
He’s not going anywhere.
*******
Kate walks up the staircase, glancing toward the guest bedroom as she passes by.
“You did redecorate,” she comments off-hand, recalling Sawyer’s comment, glancing over her shoulder at Jack as he comes up the stairs behind her, carrying her bag.
“I needed a change.”
“It’s nice…” She pauses for a moment at the doorway, taking it all in. “I don’t know about the paintings, though.”
“They’re Emma’s,” Jack replies quietly, moving past her and going down the hall toward his bedroom. “I’m sure she’ll want them back, now.”
“Oh.” There’s nothing else to say to that. “Well I like the new furniture. It’s nice.”
“Thanks.” Jack mumbles. Kate sighs, frustrated. The conversation from the hospital up until this point has been nothing but awkward and stilted. She’s finding it hard to believe that there was a time when she and Jack stayed up until the wee hours of the morning discussing everything under the sun. On late winter nights nuzzled under heavy blankets and bathed in the light of the television, she’d situate herself in his arms, feeling his heartbeat steady and comforting against her body. They’d laugh themselves silly debating the merits of the latest infomercial product being hawked on screen, or in more serious moods, the television would go off and Jack would read to her until one of them drifted off to sleep.
Now it seems that everything out of her mouth sounds completely wrong and every answer of his is short and stunted. Neither of them know what to say because they are both waiting. Kate is waiting for him to choose, to show her one way or another where she stands. Jack is waiting for clarity to arrive, for the muddled feeling deep down inside to disappear so he can figure out what to do.
Until that moment comes, he continues treading water, trying not to drown in the sea of confusion.
He sets Kate’s duffel bag on the floor and steps aside, letting her through the doorway. He’s surprised to see his bed made; he thought Sawyer would’ve left it as it was. In fact, Sawyer had left it a mess, but had straightened it while Kate was in the shower, not wanting to explain why the guest bed hadn’t been slept in while this one seemed to be utterly destroyed.
“This is still the same,” Kate comments as she stops by Jack’s side, then moves toward the bed. She sits down on it gingerly, a fond smile on her face. “I remember when we bought this. Do you?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“You had that old terrible furniture that Marc had given you, whose was it? His grandmother’s?”
“Yeah, it was his Gran Ada’s furniture,” Jack cracks the first smile since the hospital, remembering Marc’s ninety year old firecracker of a family matriarch, who had insisted on dying her hair bright red and had continued to do so until the day she died.
“And when I got here, I asked you why you barely had anything, and why what you had was so very very ugly, and you said-“
“That I was waiting for you,” Jack finishes for her, nodding at the memory. “I wanted to do this together.” He slowly sits down next to her, smoothing out the comforter underneath his hand. He falls silent, remembering the countless trips to stores like The Brick before he managed to convince Kate he could afford anything she wanted to have.
“Do you ever wish I had never shown up?” Kate asks, the question catching him off guard.
“What?”
“Do you ever think about what it would’ve been like, if I hadn’t come to live with you?”
“Do you?”
“I think about what I’ve put you through and sometimes, yeah, I wonder if it would’ve been better just to stay away,” Kate glances at him, surprised to find him staring at her intently.
“Kate…I will never regret you coming here, being in my life. Ever. If you hadn’t shown up, I would’ve found you. So there’s no use having regrets about taking that first step.”
“But every step after that is fair game, right?” Kate replies, sounding like she’s joking but inwardly afraid that she’s on the mark. Jack falls silent then, obviously thinking on something. Kate nudges him gently, trying to bring him back.
“Do you want to talk about it, Kate?”
“Talk about what, exactly?” She inquires.
“You know what. The thing that we’ve avoided the whole way home, the whole way through the house, what we’re avoiding now.”
“Which is?” But her hand unconsciously goes to her stomach, making her question useless. Jack covers her hand with his own, holding it there as she tries to move it away. “There’s nothing to talk about, Jack. Everything is said and done. It’s too late to change it now. Talking it to death isn’t going to fix what I did, fix us.”
“Kate-“
“And I don’t want you to forgive me just because I was almost…” Kate can’t say the words. “Or because I lost... I don’t want your pity, or your understanding, or your sense of obligation; I don’t want you to take me back because you feel you have to, but because you want to.” She takes the hand on her stomach and twines his fingers with hers, looking up at him openly and earnestly.
“I don’t know what I want, Kate.”
“I’m willing to wait for you to figure it out, if you’re willing to let me.” She lifts one hand to his face, something inside of her melting into nothingness as she allows herself to get lost in his familiar brown eyes, eyes she had been dreaming of for the past 8 months, eyes that had been closed in deep slumber when she had slipped away into the night. “I love you, Jack, you have to know that, right? Despite everything?”
“I know, Kate,” Jack gazes downward at their intertwined hands, the sensation strange and familiar all at once. She lifts his hand to her lips then, gently laying kisses on his fingers, his palm, the way she knows he likes, the way in which she used to kiss them as she sat beside him in bed, trying to draw his attention away from whatever book he happened to be reading. “I love you too, I just…”
Kate moves closer to him as his words fade away, her right hand caressing the side of his face, her fingertips then grazing over his bottom lip, tracing its shape lightly. She had memorized every contour, every angle, every scar of this man’s face and she can read him like Braille, rough and tense underneath her light touch.
“I’ve missed you more than you can imagine,” she whispers. Never have words been more true. “I’m missing you right now.” Kate kisses him, pressing her lips to his in a swift but gentle movement, happy when he reacts. She lets go of his hands and they move to the sides of her face, guiding her.
“I’ve missed you too,” he murmurs against her soft lips, letting her deepen the kiss, allowing her to slide her tongue along his. Kate wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. They both sink sideways together back onto the bed, their bed, now a tangle of arms and legs.
Everything moves between them naturally as if they’ve never been apart, like clockwork, falling back into their rhythm without missing a beat. Jack rolls onto his back and pulls Kate on top of him, her hands already at work unbuttoning his shirt, tugging at his tie. His hands are sliding up her back underneath her loose t-shirt, her skin soft under his touch just as he had remembered.
It’s all the same. The feel of her body against his, the smell of her shampoo, the softness of her hair tickling his skin, the noises she makes as she moves over him, even the way she unzips his pants. It would be all too easy to shut his eyes tightly and just pretend, pretend that it had all been a bad dream, that eight months haven’t gone by and he’s just experiencing one of Kate’s many erotic wake up calls right now.
But Jack has never been one for flights of fancy or imagination. His is a world of cold hard fact and logic.
And he can’t ignore the fact that when Kate’s hand wraps around him and he twists his head, burying his face in the nearby pillow to stifle his moan, that immediately he thinks of Sawyer. Sawyer’s smell lingers on the fabric of the pillowcase, a scent so distinctly him that for a moment Jack thinks he has to be right there in the room.
He tries to disregard it, letting Kate kiss him again, but it’s a pointless effort. Nothing feels right about her lips on his and he can’t convince himself otherwise, even if it would be so much simpler to make believe.
So he tears his lips from hers and gently pushes her away. He doesn’t look at her as he zips up his pants. Kate sits next to him on the bed, dejected and worried.
“I’m sorry, Jack. I’m sorry. I just got carried away, I didn’t mean-“
“It’s not your fault, Kate, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Jack quickly states, putting both feet back on the floor and his head in his hands. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t be here. I shouldn’t even be in this room.”
”Jack.”
“I’m sorry, Kate.” Jack gets up and hurries from his bedroom, leaving Kate behind and confused by what has just transpired. He runs down the back staircase to the kitchen, not stopping to so much as take a breath until he reaches the ground floor.
Jack rests both hands on the back of one of the kitchen chairs as he struggles to regain control, so overwhelmed by everything he’s feeling that he feels he might get sick to his stomach. His eyes fall on a crumpled envelope and piece of lined paper sitting on the table. It’s unfamiliar to him, definitely not a letter that he has ever seen before.
He reaches across the table and picks it up, having to turn it around and flip it right side up first in order to read it. Jack it starts; he quickly scans down to the bottom and finds Sawyer’s name scrawled in the bottom right corner. His heart leaps into his throat.
Had Sawyer been back? Had he come to the house and Jack had missed him? Panic temporarily sets in before he realizes that the letter is old. It’s contents have nothing to do with Kate’s sudden return but everything to do with why Sawyer has always left.
Jack reads it twice through at a furious pace, startled by what Sawyer’s messy scrawl reveals, alarmed by what his intentions seem to be. Dropping the letter back on the table without so much as a second thought, Jack races out the back door, not sure where he’s going but knowing that he has to find Sawyer, somehow.
*******
Kate hears the back door slam closed with a ferocious bang and she jumps, not because she’s startled because she knows what it means, and it hurts. She scrambles from the bed and down the stairs, flinging open the back door again. But Jack is already out of sight. She calls after him but to no avail.
“Shit,” she mutters to herself, again on the verge of tears, when she catches sight of Sawyer’s letter sitting on the table. It’s then painfully aware that Jack’s sudden departure had nothing to do whatsoever with her, but everything to do with Sawyer. She picks up the letter, knowing all too well what Jack must have felt as he read it.
Kate drops the letter to her lap and lets out a long, exhausted breath, trying to take it all in. A cold wind blows by and rustles the paper harshly; she grips tighter to make sure it doesn’t blow away and it crinkles under the weight of her fingers.
She glances up at the steeple of St. Mark’s, looking to the gray sky looming over it. To her, this church always seemed more suited to Boston than New York City, and for a second she wishes she was in Boston, and could race to Sawyer’s apartment and ask him what the hell he meant by writing something like this.
But instead she’s on the busy corner of 2nd Avenue , trapped between the old world history of Stuyvesant Street and the bustling modernism of East Village commerce, NYU kids dodging out of Starbucks and trendy sushi bars and into family-run Ukrainian restaurants and delis and not thinking anything of it.
She’s trapped somewhere she has no desire to be, amidst people who have no idea the turmoil befalling the petite brown haired girl sitting alone on the uncomfortable green benches on the corner.
The blessing and curse of the Big Apple. No one pays attention to anyone else unless they want to.
For a moment the smell of grilled hamburgers from Paul’s drifts down toward her on a spring gust, the scent of cooking meat making Kate want to wretch. When it dissipates, she realizes that her nausea has nothing to do with vegetarian impulses but everything to do with the letter still clutched in her hand. She might already be too late. Sawyer could’ve done something to himself by now.
Before she can stop herself, she’s up off the bench and heaving into a nearby garbage can. She can’t see but she’s hears someone mutter something like ew, gross as they pass by but no one pauses to see if she’s all right. Which is fine by her, because she desires no one’s help.
She spits into the garbage, trying to get the putrid taste out of her mouth, then digs a bottle of water from her bag and takes a long swig before rinsing and spitting that out as well.
Kate glances around, desperate for a pay phone, wondering when the hell the people in charge of such things got together and decided that no one needed public telephones any longer. Everyone in the world doesn’t have a cell phone, but nevertheless pay phones are harder to come by than ever.
Her stomach does flip flops as she scans up and down the avenue, wanting nothing more than to hear Sawyer’s voice and know he’s all right. And then to scream and yell at him for being so stupid.
She had already known that he’s in love with Jack, but she hadn’t known how intense those feelings actually are. She hadn’t known that his self-resentment was every bit as debilitating as her own, that he saw the redemption Jack offered and wanted it desperately, though he’d never have the strength to seek it. Just like her, he rejected before being rejected, always running before getting run over. He can’t stop the fear no more than she can, even though they both know the only reason they’d ever get hurt by Jack is if they hurt him first.
“Have you seen a pay phone?” She asks no one in particular, hoping that any of the given nine or ten people passing by at that moment would answer her. “Pay phone?” She tries again. “It’s an emergency.”
Eventually someone points her in the right direction. She finds both loose change and her ratty old address book in the bottom of her bag. She’s so shaky that she misdials Sawyer’s number and wastes a dollar on wrong numbers before she finally connects.
It rings, and rings, and rings, but no one picks up.
After three tries, she gives up, instead calling information and tracking down the phone number of the bar. He’s not there either and no one has seen him; but he’s not supposed to be working until later anyway. This is little comfort. More can happen on a day off, she assumes, when Sawyer is left to his own devices.
For good measure, she tries calling him one more time at the apartment. Again, no answer.
Kate rifles through her bag some more, trying to figure out how much money she has left on her. Counting twenty bucks and change, she hurries toward Canal ST, hoping there’s a Fung Wah bus heading out for Boston sometime incredibly soon.
The phone ringing shakes Kate from her reverie and she jumps, dropping the letter back onto the table. She goes to reach for the phone and then stops, realizing that she probably shouldn’t answer it. This is no longer her home and she has no right. On the fourth ring she has second thoughts, thinking perhaps it could be Sawyer, or the hospital for Jack, and that etiquette stands for little in times of distress.
She lunges forward and grabs it hurriedly as she changes her mind, but she’s too late. The caller has already hung up. Kate sets the phone back in the cradle gently and makes sure it clicks into place, knowing the cordless had a habit of slipping out and crashing off the floor. She always used to forget and the loud crash of heavy plastic and metal against the linoleum made Jack jump every time.
Kate picks the letter back up and folds it carefully, sliding it back into its envelope and setting it in the middle of the table. There is finality to her actions, part of her accepting the possibility that Jack really could be lost to her forever, that Sawyer had stepped into her place in her absence and filled the shoes better than she ever could.
But Jack hasn’t told her to leave yet. She can’t go, knowing there might be a chance, however slim, that she can regain what’s she’s lost. She had come for once determined not to run at the first challenge, the first sign of trouble, and she wants to see it through, even if it means assured heartbreak. Better to know than wonder.
Suddenly the sound of the front door opening cuts through the silence of the house, accompanied by the rattle of too many keys on one keychain. It’s not Jack’s keychain, she knows that much.
“Hello?” Kate calls, curiosity coupled with alarm. She leans back to see out the kitchen doorway toward the front door and is startled by who she finds on the other end of her questioning look. “Can I help you?”
Emma’s head snaps toward the sound of Kate’s voice and she drops her keys onto the hardwood floor loudly.
“Shit.” The curse slips from Emma’s mouth before she can stop it and even Kate can tell the word trips awkwardly from her tongue, unaccustomed to swearing. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t think anyone was here. Jack’s car is gone and I called and no one picked up and…I just wanted to get my things, I didn’t want this awkward….and…I’m sorry, I’ll leave. I’m going.”
“Wait,” Kate hurries halfway into the living room after listening to Emma’s nervous ramble. “Wait, you don’t have to go.”
“No, I should go. I didn’t mean to…I shouldn’t be here if Jack’s not here - he’s not here, is he?” The thought occurs to her that if Kate’s here, Jack could be as well, and she nearly bolts out the door before Kate shakes her head no.
“No, he’s not here. I’m Kate, by the way,” she states, stepping forward and offering her hand. Emma shakes it with a forced smile.
“I know. I’m Emma.”
”Know that too.” They both chuckle nervously. Emma looks around the living room, letting out a long sigh.
“I thought maybe this was the best way to do it…to come when he wasn’t home, but I think I was wrong. I should talk to him first,” Emma nods to herself, now backing slowly out the still open front door.
“I’m sure it’s okay with him,” Kate assures her. “Come on in. Please.” Emma looks incredibly anxious, obviously unsure whether or not she should accept Kate’s offer. “Really, it’s fine. I’m sure Jack would want you to…” Kate wavers, not sure how to put things delicately. “Handle…this however makes you comfortable.”
“Um…yeah, I mean…sure.” Emma steps back inside, though still looking anxious over the whole thing. “I’m really sorry. I just thought I’d avoid that whole weirdness - you know, that strange scene where he helps me collect all of the stuff I’ve left around and he tries to be nice like he didn’t just dump me and I try not to cry like an idiot?” Emma laughs nervously at herself and then frowns. “Well, except you wouldn’t know. I mean, you just left all your stuff here when you left. And Jack didn’t dump you.”
Kate’s face falls at Emma’s comment and Emma covers her mouth with her hand.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I can’t self-edit when I’m upset, I just verbally spew every thought that comes into my head. I’m sorry. And I’ve said I’m sorry like fifty times in a minute. God. Maybe I should go.”
“No, seriously, don’t leave just because of me. Do what you need to do,” Kate puts both hands up, taking a step back from her, trying to show she won’t be bothered by her presence. “Do you…you need anything? Bags or boxes?”
“I don’t have much here…I should be fine,” Emma explains. She finally closes the front door and then gestures up the stairs. “I’ll just…get to it then, so I can get out of your hair.” She nods to Kate, who nods back, sticking her hands in the back pockets of her jeans as she watches the tall blonde hurry up the stairs, nearly tripping as she does so. As soon as she’s out of sight Kate returns to the kitchen, not knowing what else to do. She doesn’t want to go upstairs and intrude on Emma’s privacy while she collects her things.
About fifteen minutes later Emma comes down the back staircase, a plastic bag full of random items - curling iron, hair dryer, toothbrush, some socks, a book - in one hand with some jackets and shirts slung over her forearm.
“I have some…truly terrible paintings that are up in the guest bedroom…tell Jack that he can just toss them out if he doesn’t want them anymore.”
“You don’t want to take them?”
“No,” Emma replies sadly. “Every time I’d see them, I’d just think of Jack, so…”
“Yeah, I understand that. It’s like there’s this one Clash song that Jack really loves and now whenever I hear it, it’s like…” She makes a fist and pulls downward, trying to convey the painful tug she always felt on her heart.
“I know which one you mean,” Emma says. “God, now that song is ruined too, you’re right.” She laughs, though it’s not funny. “But, at least you don’t have to think of it like that now, right? I mean, now that you’re back,” Emma emphasizes the word with a bit of attitude, not able to stop herself. “Things like that don’t have to make you sad anymore.”
“I guess not,” Kate tries to smile, but she can’t. She glances at the letter still sitting on the table, her thoughts going to Sawyer. “Except Jack’s out looking for Sawyer right now, so…who knows if I’ll be sticking around.”
“Jack’s out looking for Sawyer?” Kate almost thinks that Emma looks pleased through her surprise.
“Yeah, he is,” She eyes Emma guardedly.
“Well…good.”
“Good?”
“I saw Sawyer today, at the hospital. After you…” Emma stops, knowing she doesn’t have to explain the situation to the person who caused it. “And Jack should be trying to find him,” She finishes simply, with a little shrug.
“Um…I’m sorry, I…” Kate lets out an uneasy laugh. “Forgive me - I know I’m out of the loop, but, didn’t Jack break up with you because of Sawyer?” She inquires, unsettled by Emma’s goodwill toward him and not sure why.
“You’re right, he did.” Emma states with point blank matter-of-factness.
“I don’t mean to be blunt, I just…I guess I don’t understand why you’d want Jack to go after him.”
Both women fall into uncomfortable silence for a moment and Emma rattles her heavy keychain in her hand before deciding to just go ahead and say what she wants to say. She doesn’t owe Kate any pretense of politeness. “Can I be blunt in return, Kate?” She tucks her blonde hair behind her ear and levels her gaze at the other woman.
“Sure.” Kate steels herself, getting the sense she’s not about to hear anything pleasant.
“If I had still been with Jack when you decided to waltz back into the picture, I would’ve lost that battle, no question. You would’ve been luckier that way, maybe.”
”Emma-“
“I don’t know what your relationship with Jack was like, all I know is that every time you even came up in passing conversation, he’d get this look on his face like someone had punched him in the stomach.”
“Jack and I are complicated.”
“I’m guessing only because you made it complicated,” Emma retorts, continuing before Kate can protest. “But Sawyer…he’s different.”
”Trust me, Sawyer and Jack are way more complicated than Jack and me. You have no clue how fucked up their past is, and you couldn’t possibly in a million years understand how screwed up it is that they are what they are now.”
“What I understand is that he loves Jack more than anything else in the world, more than himself. You’d have to be blind not to see that.”
”You don’t even know Sawyer.”
“You’re right, I don’t.” The punctuation mark is almost audible, her sentence is so clipped and tight. “I don’t know you either. But I know Jack. Whatever you did to him, you destroyed him. And I’ve been here putting him back together, trying not to let him realize that he’s one step away from falling apart.”
”Hey, you have no right to-“
“And I’m sorry for being rude - if you knew me, you’d know this is highly unusual - but I trust Sawyer far more than you to not smash Jack back into a million pieces.” Her voice escalates, ending so loudly that she’s almost yelling.
“I’m not going to hurt him,” Kate replies, Emma’s words making her angry, but injuring her deeply. “I love him.”
“I love him too,” Emma says, quiet now. “And just because he doesn’t love me back, doesn’t mean I get to stop caring.”
Kate feels torn, part of her angry with this stranger forcing herself in where she has no business being, while the other part understands completely where she’s coming from.
“Look…if Jack comes back and…if I am lucky enough that Jack lets me back in his life, I can promise you, I will do everything in my power to make him happy.”
Emma holds her keys in her hands, beginning to slowly work Jack’s house key off the ring. She holds it in her hand for a moment, looking at it thoughtfully before setting it down on the table top next to Sawyer’s letter, her fingers lingering over the silver metal like she doesn’t want to let it go. Finally she lifts her hand from it, with one final action admitting that she’s no longer a part of Jack’s life.
She gives Kate a heavy look, her eyes telling her far more than any of her words thus far have. Then she looks back to the key, not wanting Kate to see the tears welling up.
“And you really think you can make him happy, Kate?”
Kate can hear the emotion in Emma’s voice, can hear the tears rather than see them. And she hears the unspoken answer there as well. Can she make him happy?
No.
“I have to go.” Emma reaches for the back door, knowing Kate’s not going to answer her question. “It was…It was nice to meet you finally.”
The door shuts and Kate almost laughs at Emma’s last comment, realizing the absurdity of it, the polite departing remark of a woman who had basically just told her to leave Jack the hell alone. But she can’t laugh, because she’s already crying. She didn’t even know when she started, but tears are rolling down her face.
*******
Jack lumbers up the front stairs of his house, feeling more tired now than he felt yesterday after his mini-marathon. He’d been running all over the city for the past three hours, searching out every place that Sawyer could possibly be. He’d been to Union Station and to both airports, spending inordinate amounts of money on taxis since he has neither his car keys nor any idea where Sawyer had left his car, and time questioning clueless ticket agents, security guards and random bystanders if they’d seen someone matching Sawyer’s description. Then he had started picking random bars to search, walking through parks and glancing every way down every street he walked down in hopes of seeing Sawyer. Yet nothing.
He hadn’t expected to find him but he had to try. In a city so large, Sawyer could be anywhere. If he is still in the city at all. Chances are, he’s on his way back to Boston at this very moment.
Jack knows Kate is inside waiting for him, wondering where he has been. She’ll look at him with those eyes of hers, the ones he had spent so many hours getting lost in, and he’ll have to tell her that there’s no way he can be with her again. He doesn’t know if he has the strength left in him to do it.
He stares at his closed front door for a moment and then turns away, sitting down on the top step and burying his head in his hands. How had his life become such a mess? Once, he had thought this day would come, the day when Kate would come home; he had wished for it, dreamed of it. Now it is here, it’s happening, and all he wants is someone else.
“God damn you, Sawyer,” Jack swears out loud, kicking the railing next to him. His ankle jams as it connects with the wrought iron, sending a sharp pain shooting up his leg. “Oh fuck.” Jack winces.
“Serves ya right.”
The familiar and sarcastic Southern drawl slips over Jack like a warm blanket, its sound comforting and soothing him even if the words are meant to be harsh.
“Looks like it hurt.”
”It did,” Jack states, not moving for a second, trying to gauge Sawyer as he approaches, not sure what Sawyer is feeling or what he’s about to do.
“Good,” Sawyer mutters, kicking at a loose stone on the walk.
“You didn’t leave. I thought you left.”
“I told you I wasn’t going to,” Sawyer stops three feet away from Jack, running his hand through his blonde hair as he looks down at him.
“I thought after what happened, what I did…” Jack shakes his head sadly, conveying his disappointment in his own actions. “I’m sorry, Sawyer. I know that doesn’t mean much, but I am sorry.”
“She in there?” Sawyer glances toward the house and Jack looks back over his shoulder as well.
“Yeah, she is.” He sighs as he turns back to Sawyer, rubbing his temples with his thumb and index finger.
“Ain’t that sweet. Settlin’ right back in, all nice and cozy-like.”
“Sawyer-“
“Got a job,” Sawyer states all of a sudden, cutting Jack off. He digs into his pocket and produces a crumpled help wanted sign that he had obviously torn from someone’s window.
“What?”
“At a bar downtown. Got an appointment to look at a place down in Regent Park too. Know it’ll be crap, but it’s all I can afford.”
“I don’t understand, Sawyer.”
“I ain’t gonna make this easy for you, Doc. If you think I’m gonna just go without makin’ a fuss, you got another thing comin’.”
”Sawyer-“
“Lookit, I got just as much a right to be here as she does and I ain’t lettin’ her show up and take you away from me just when I god damn got ya, ya fuckin’ Jackass.”
“Sawyer-“
”If you Sawyer, me one more time, Jack...” Sawyer doesn’t finish the threat. “It ain’t even my real name, ya know that?”
“James-“
“You think pulling that out is gonna work?” Sawyer scoffs though inside he jumps. He didn’t know Jack actually knew his real name. “Well fuck tha-“
Jack’s mouth covers his and his hands grip his shoulders, shutting him up with a determined, fierce kiss. Sawyer tenses for a moment in surprise, almost pushing him away, but quickly sinks into it, letting Jack ease his mouth open and wraps his arms around him.
He dares to hope for a split second, the burden of his broken heart lifting. He senses something in Jack’s kiss, and it is not good-bye.
“I haven’t told her yet,” Jack murmurs as he pulls away, resting his forehead against Sawyer’s for a moment before pulling back and opening his eyes. “She’s inside, waiting for me to come home, and I can’t bring myself to even go in the door.”
“Where did you go?”
“I spent the last three hours looking all over the city for you.”
“Well I’m right here.”
“I read your letter.” Jack feels Sawyer tense in his arms and quickly kisses him again, trying to tell him it’s all right. “You’re not like him, Sawyer, you have to know that.”
“That ain’t true, Jack. Don’t pretend it is.”
“I don’t have to pretend,” Jack replies. His earnestness causes Sawyer’s heart to twinge; Jack still doesn’t get it, even after all this.
“I ain’t never gonna be anythin’ but Sawyer.”
“Yeah, you’re nothing but Sawyer, I know that,” Jack retorts, a hint of exasperation in his voice that quickly softens and disappears. “ But you’re not that Sawyer. You’re a different Sawyer…not him, not even that guy you were when we crashed on the island. You’ve become someone else; the name doesn’t matter.” Jack brushes the hair hanging in Sawyer’s face gently away even as Sawyer grinds his jaw, thinking that Jack just isn’t getting it, isn’t understanding that Sawyer means what he says. “And you’re a stubborn asshole who is beyond fucked up, but, then again, so am I.”
“Jack-“
”Listen. You’re you. And that’s all I want you to be, you got that?”
Sawyer doesn’t trust himself to respond, knowing that his voice will waver and the tears will escape. So he responds silently with a nod of his head, but that doesn’t stop a tear from running down his cheek. Jack brushes it away softly.
“Don’t fuckin’ say a word,” Sawyer warns him, wiping his own cheek again for good measure, thoroughly embarrassed. Jack smiles lightly.
“I wasn’t gonna,” he replies, the words falling gently against Sawyer’s lips before Jack’s mouth finds his once more.
*******
Kate lets the curtain fall closed and steps away from the living room window, too sad for tears of her own. She is beyond crying, the pain numbing her deep down inside.
She had watched Sawyer walk up the front path, watched as he and Jack exchanged words, watched as Jack had taken Sawyer in his arms and kissed him, with such love and tenderness that she knew instantly the Jack had made his decision.
She finds herself in Jack’s bedroom and doesn’t know how she has gotten there. She rifles through his things absently, not sure what she’s looking for. She opens drawers and searches through clothes. Her bag is next to her; she must’ve picked that up on her way to Jack’s room, but she doesn’t remember that either.
She takes one of his shirts and puts it inside. His bottle of cologne from on top of the dresser, and one of his cufflinks. A dress shirt from the closet, the one he was wearing that night when she had first come to him. A deep dark blue, like the color of the ocean on the day they were rescued.
That day when she had run from him the first time, scared that she’d never see him again, despite all their plans and promises.
After that last longing look through the throngs of people, she had figured it was good-bye. She had never been happier than when she was again able to look into those beautiful brown eyes and say hello.
Kate watches from across the street as Jack climbs out of his black BMW and locks it, the headlights blinking once in the dark night. The light from his porch casts a warm glow over his small front yard. When he moves from the darkness into it’s faint blush, she realizes that he looks tired, worn down, sad. His breath turns to fog in the freezing night air, soft white snow landing on his heavy black jacket. He tugs on his tie as he slowly scales the porch steps, his other hand trailing behind him on the iron railing.
She crosses the road as he starts to unlock the front door, going up the driveway and stopping at the bottom of the steps.
“Jack?” Her heart is pounding in her chest, ready to explode. This is moment that has been keeping her going, the one thing that has given her reason to put up with two months of dirty motels, slinking through towns and biding her time until it seemed safe to surface. All the fake IDs and dye jobs, the crappy meals in the cheap diners that were all she could afford, the constant ducking into internet cafes to check to see if Jack had posted that personal ad online yet. And the waiting, the waiting, it took before she was sure it was safe to go to him. And now she’s here.
Five feet and she’s in his arms.
She drops her bag on the snow covered ground by her feet and stares at him, waiting.
He turns and it’s like all the tension disappears from his face and slides from his body, relief taking over. For a second he looks stunned to see her and she wonders if he had given up hope. Perhaps he thought she’d never come. Then a huge smile spreads across his face, full of a kind of pure joy she’s never even seen from him before.
“Kate.”
It’s all she needs.
She races up the stairs with the speed of an Olympic sprinter and throws herself into his arms, hitting against him hard enough to cause a small grunt before he wraps his arms around her in return. He clutches her tightly, his hands splayed over her back, touching her to make sure she’s real and not a dream.
“God, are you really here?” He asks her breathlessly, disbelieving. “It’s really you? You’re really here?”
“I’m here, Jack, I’m here,” she replies, letting him pull her head back from his shoulder so he can look at her. He stares at her, trying to wrap his mind around the fact that she’s finally back in his life, that she’s here in his embrace.
Everything about him is home. She leans into his strong chest and lets his arms protect her from the winter cold, warming her through and through. His familiar smell invades her senses, bringing back all of her memories so hard and fast that it’s almost overwhelming.
How had she ever left these arms? How had she ever turned her back on him that day of the rescue and run? She doesn’t know how she had the strength to leave, even facing sure separation if she stayed, she can’t fathom how she managed to go without him for two months. It’s like being an addict taking a first hit after a long period of sobriety; sweet release.
His lips find hers and they kiss one another with unrestrained passion. He spins them both around and pins her against the front door, his body flush against hers, his hands in her hair.
“I’ve missed you so much,” Jack whispers desperately. The words can’t convey the depth to which he has actually missed her, there is simply no way to express it.
“I’ve missed you too. God, Jack, I’ve missed you.”
She starts unbuttoning his shirt right there on the porch, wanting so badly to touch his skin, to feel him underneath his fingertips. Jack fumbles with the key, managing to unlock the door and turn the doorknob, pushing it open. He pulls away from her and pauses, brushing snowflakes from her hair.
“I just realized something,” he says softly.
“What?”
“I’ve never seen you in the snow.”
Kate smiles widely as he leans to kiss her again. She knows it’s cold out, but she doesn’t feel a thing.
Jack reaches down and takes her hand, breaking away and taking a step forward, leading her inside.
“Welcome home, Kate.”
Kate clutches the shirt tightly in both hands, bringing it up to her face, letting her eyes drift closed as she feels the soft fabric against her skin.
When she opens her eyes, she catches sight of a box in the bottom of his closet, half covered by clothes, marked Kate.
She bends down on her hands and knees and pulls it out, opening it.
It’s full of her old things - innocuous items like shampoo, soap, magazines, jewelry. Nothing she wants anymore, nothing she needs. She opens up the box behind it, finding some of her clothes and her pillow, and all of her and Jack’s photographs.
Kate looks through them, wondering how she could’ve been so happy, so lucky, and not even known it. At the time she had been constantly full of anxiety, wondering when it would all end, rarely stopping to realize that she was truly happy, truly loved.
She hopes Sawyer can do it. She hopes that Sawyer realizes what he has and never ends up with his life’s happiness packed away as painful memories Jack wanted to forget, shoved in the back of a closet and buried under old clothes.
Kate takes the framed photo of she and Jack in the snow, the first time he’d taken her skiing. All bundled up and rosy cheeked, like a Hallmark Christmas card. He was looking at her like she was his whole world. She wants to remember it that way, all of it.
Wrapping it in his shirt, she shoves it into her duffel bag and stands up, not bothering to put everything away. She wants him to know what she took, that she treasured what they had.
Downstairs, the house is still silent. She can’t bear to look but she knows Jack is still outside, with Sawyer.
Quietly she goes to the kitchen, digging her key ring out from her pocket. The only key on it is Jack’s.
She holds it in her palm, not wanting to let it go, and walks to the drawer by the phone, grabbing a piece of paper and a pen.
I know why it has to be this way.
And I understand.
I love you.
Kate
She sets her key down on the table next to Emma’s and picks her bag up from the floor, giving one last long look at Jack’s empty kitchen.
“Good bye, Jack,” she whispers to no one before slipping out the back door.
TBC
Go Back To: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5
Move Forward: Part 6 | Epilogue