Another Life - Part 6

[diandrahollman]

Today is the anniversary of the day "Lost" began. What's more, it's a Wednesday, the same night the game-changing first season aired (and I assume JJ Abrams is beginning his new show in the exact same time slot on the exact same night on the hope that lightning will strike twice?). I couldn't let this go by unacknowledged so....

HAPPY LOST DAY! sort of...sniffle...

To celebrate, may I present some Jawyer fic?

Another Life
by Diandra Hollman

E-Mail: diandrahollman@yahoo.com
Date Finished: ? I'm working on it.
Rating: PG-14, with scattered moments of R.
Keywords: slash, Jack/Sawyer, Alt!Verse
Spoilers: Nothing really detailed or time specific. This just lives in the sideways verse of season 6. Sort of (see author's note).
Disclaimer: I don’t own them. I'm not really sure anyone *technically* owns them anymore but Darlton blah blah Bad Robot blah ABC blee blee don't sue.
Dedication: To ellel for inspiring me to write this story. And to the cast and creative team behind one of the best damn shows ever televised. You will be missed.
Author's note: Much as I loved the finale and thought it was totally appropriate this story will henceforth assume that Daniel's "let's detonate a hydrogen bomb" plan worked and follow my crackpot version of quantum suicide theory. In other words, when the bomb went off, our characters were split into two different universes. One where the bomb didn't go off, and one where it did. Both universes are very real and neither is purgatory.

I REPEAT: NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS IN THIS CHAPTER, I PROMISE IT IS ALL *REAL* AND CANNOT IN ANY WAY, SHAPE OR FORM BE THOUGHT OF AS THE AFTERLIFE.

Previous entries


************* 

By the time Ford pulled into Jack’s driveway, Jack had gone from blank passivity to sulking.

“Is he gonna be okay,” David asked when Jack headed straight for his bedroom and shut the door without a word.

“He’ll be fine,” Ford dismissed. “Just gotta make sure he gets some sleep and eats a decent breakfast in the morning.”

David snorted. “Good luck with that. Sometimes I think he only eats breakfast at *all* if I’m here.”

“Yeah, well. He’ll eat tomorrow if I gotta cuff him to the table and force feed him.”

David stared at him, wide-eyed.

“Figure a speech,” Ford added hastily. He hoped it wouldn’t actually come to that.

“Oh.”

“It’s prob’ly past your bedtime now...”

David took the hint. “Yeah.” He turned and started toward his own bedroom, then hesitated. “There’s some blankets in the closet by the bathroom.” He gestured in that general direction. “I mean...if you’re going to be sleeping on the couch...”

Ford smiled. “Thanks, kid.”

David smiled back and disappeared into his room.

Ford started toward the hall closet, then hesitated, looking toward Jack’s room. He sighed and changed direction, knocking softly on the closed door. No answer. He opened the door slowly and peaked tentatively into the room. Jack was laying on the bed, fully dressed, staring at the ceiling. Ford bit back a sigh and slipped into the room, closing the door behind him.

“C’mon, doc. Y’ain’t goin’ to sleep like that.” He reached to remove Jack’s shoes, surprised when Jack let him do it without protest. He tugged at one of the cuffs of Jack’s dark socks. “C’mon. Strip.”

Jack’s eyes snapped to Ford’s face but his expression remained unchanged.

“I won’t look,” Ford promised.

Jack didn’t move. “I don’t know how to do this,” he said softly.

“Just do what you did when you got dressed this morning only backward.”

Jack just continued to stare at him blankly.

Ford sighed and gave in. “Do what?”

Jack slowly climbed from the bed, standing awkwardly in front of Ford. He reached for Ford’s shoulder, fingertips gently grazing the material of the leather jacket he still wore. Then he suddenly leaned forward, tilting his head to one side, and pressed his lips to Ford’s.

Ford grunted, surprised, and reached to cradle Jack’s head, steadying him. “That was nice,” he murmured when Jack pulled away a moment later. “Any particular reason?”

Jack shook his head softly and stepped back, slipping from Ford’s grasp.

Ford swallowed a groan and clenched his suddenly empty hands into fists, letting them fall to his sides. He watched Jack quickly and efficiently strip down to his boxers, unable to hold back a low whistle at the sight of the mass of colorful tattoos on Jack’s shoulder. He reached out impulsively to trace the design with one finger. “Well, well, well...looks like the good doctor’s got a wild streak.”

Jack turned and Ford caught sight of the stars trailing down his arm. He gripped Jack’s elbow, turning his arm gently to get a better look. “Christ. These musta hurt.” He looked up at Jack and any other comment he may have had died on his tongue. Jack’s eyes had turned dark. He stared at Ford’s hand on his arm, his breathing deepening. And yet the muscles beneath Ford’s hand tensed, like Jack was fighting the instinct to yank his arm away from Ford’s grasp.

Ford suddenly recalled something Jack had said to him after he’d met Juliet. ‘I will not let you hurt her...guys like you always do.’

And suddenly a piece of the puzzle clicked into place in his mind. “Somebody hurt you,” he murmured.

Jack pulled his arm from Ford’s grasp and turned away.

Ford watched dumbly as Jack pulled back the sheets and slipped into bed. He wanted to press further – demand an answer. But Jack was obviously not ready to talk to him yet and pushing the issue wouldn’t change that. Besides, Jack needed sleep at the moment.

“I’ll be on the couch if you need anythin’,” he finally said.

He hesitated a moment, making sure Jack was staying under the covers before leaving the room, turning off the light on his way out.

***********

Ford tossed and turned for most of the night. He couldn’t stop thinking about this latest glimpse he’d gotten into Jack’s past. Was this why Jack was so afraid of admitting his sexuality? Not because of what he *thought* people might do, but because of what someone had already done? He wondered how long ago it had happened. If Juliet and David didn’t know – and they couldn’t or they wouldn’t still be theorizing about his sexuality - it must have been long ago. Or incredibly well hidden.

When he finally slept, Ford’s dreams continued to torture him with possibilities. He saw a younger version of Jack being abused by a beefy guy who looked like a biker gang cliché. Jack, blood dripping from his nose and mouth, begged the guy to stop, but the guy just called him a “whiny little cock-sucking bitch” and hit him again. This led to the second dream, where an older Jack was being beaten by a gang of gay-bashers. This time Jack tried to fight back, but there were too many of them and he was quickly subdued. Every moan and cry of pain from Jack, every hateful name his abusers spat at him (faggot and homo being some of the nicer ones) felt like a punch in the gut to Ford. He wanted to shoot them all, get Jack away from them and take him someplace safe, make sure nobody could ever hurt him again. But he couldn’t even move.

He woke covered in sweat, Jack’s cries still ringing in his ears. He took several deep breaths and ran his hands through his mussed hair. He told himself he was being ridiculous. He didn’t even *know* anything yet. But he couldn’t shake it.

Then he heard it. A soft cry coming from Jack’s room.

Ford was up and moving in the direction of the noise before he could even fully process the sound.

“No,” Jack moaned as Ford pushed the door open. “I didn’t...” He cried out softly, his limbs thrashing beneath the rumpled covers.

He sounded exactly as he had in Ford’s dream and Ford realized suddenly that that was because Jack’s cries had wormed their way into his own dreams, waking him.

Ford sat on the edge of the bed and reached over to grip Jack’s shoulders, shaking him gently. “Doc? Jack? Wake up now.”

Jack made a strangled noise and said something garbled and incoherent, writhing against Ford’s hold. Then he said something that made Ford’s blood run cold. “No...Sawyer...don’t...”

Ford stared at Jack’s face, just barely able to make out the lines of pain in the faint light coming from the hallway. No. It couldn’t be. He renewed his efforts to wake Jack, shaking him a little harder, calling a little louder. “Jack!”

Jack’s eyes snapped open and he gasped, slowly focusing on the shadowy figure hovering over him.

“It’s okay, Doc. You were havin’ a bad dream.” Ford impulsively brushed down a lock of Jack’s hair that had been tousled by all of his thrashing. “You’re safe now.”

Jack made a strangled noise and slapped Ford’s hand away clumsily, scrambling upright, trying to put distance between them – still obviously deep in thrall of his dream.

“Hey, hey, settle down. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”

Jack just pressed a hand to his throat and took several deep, shaky breaths, looking warily at Ford as he slowly came back to reality.

Ford reached out to place a tentative hand on Jack’s arm. “It’s all right now. Easy.”

Jack nodded silently, slowly calming.

“I’ll get you some water.”

Ford was off the bed and out of the room before Jack could respond one way or another.

‘It’s just a coincidence,’ he told himself as he poured a glass of water. ‘Lots of people’re named Sawyer. There’s no way it’s the same guy.’

Jack had calmed down by the time Ford returned. “Thank you,” he murmured as he took the glass of water Ford offered. He drank half of it before speaking again, his voice growing steadier. “Is David still asleep?”

Ford had completely forgotten about the teenager in all the commotion. “Uh, I guess so. You want me to check on ‘im?”

“No. He’s probably sleeping.” He set the glass down on the bedside table. “I always talk in my sleep. It doesn’t bother him anymore.”

Ford huffed. “You call that *talkin’*? It sounded like somebody was torturin’ you.”

Jack flinched. “Sorry.”

Ford ducked his head until he caught Jack’s wandering gaze. “You wanna talk about it?”

Jack snorted. “Not really.”

“Want me to sleep in here?”

Jack blinked at him incredulously.

“I left my gun under the couch. I could go get it if it’d make you feel safer.”

“No,” Jack muttered. “I’m fine.”

Ford rested a hand on Jack’s arm, feeling the muscles tense. “You sure?”

Jack shivered slightly and brushed Ford’s hand away. “Don’t...”

Ford pulled his hand back, clenching it into a fist. He wanted to push harder, demand answers, force Jack to tell him what had happened. He thought maybe he needed to break Jack, get him to relive whatever painful memory was haunting him. *Then* maybe he could help Jack get past it. But not tonight. Jack needed to rest. His body needed to recover from the stress of the past day. “You think you c’n go back to sleep?”

Jack nodded and Ford stood up, giving him room to slide back beneath the mussed covers.

Ford reached to smooth the covers over Jack, then caught himself, his hand hovering a moment in the air before falling back to his side. “Goodnight, Doc.”

Jack grunted and closed his eyes.

Ford backed out of the room and gently closed the door. He hesitated a moment in the hallway, then sighed and headed back to the couch.


TBC

This show has seriously ruined me for all television...

Comments

[nighttiming1022.livejournal.com]

I just saw your default userpic on my friends page from ficinabottle and :facepalm: I made an icon that is practically identical. I made it for my ship that never was challenge at lost_land I actually feel bad about it, so I can change that one if you want. You can see all of the rest HERE (http://community.livejournal.com/lost_land/9613.html?thread=1591949#t1591949)

ETA: I just read this whole story and it is amazing. The idea of that happening to poor Jack :( And, I can totally see James pushing Jack to admit his truth. And, yay for David being included. I’m still severely disappointed that kid didn’t exist. Those scenes he had with Jack were so great. Which made me just love this line “Just stay away from her. You hurt her, you hurt my son. And if you hurt my son, I don’t care what your badge says, I’ll kill you.” And, the easy back and forth with David and James was great.

[diandrahollman.livejournal.com]

Er...I might have stolen that icon. I have a bad habit of saving all of the icons I make in the same folder as the icons I run across and save and don't remember the original maker of. By the time I upload the ones I want, I forget which ones are which. I couldn't track down the original artist on this one to credit them - obviously it's a pretty common picture - but I don't think I made it.

Thank you! We'll find out in the next chapter what, exactly, the problem is with Jack. ;) And I had SO MUCH FUN writing David in this story (I started it before the series finale aired) that I was nearly HEARTBROKEN to find out he didn't exist. DAMNIT! *glares at Darlton* I love that kid.