I Used To Know You

Chapter Fifteen

Around him ships cried to one another, passing through the bank below. The cafe stood in the center of London, and its patio sat directly above a shipping lane, bringing in the sites- and smells- of a local trading company.

"I'm sorry about my delay."

He sucked in a whiff of what might have been sulfur- or a dead body- or an overdose of oil, and choked on cue as Charles Widmore surprised him. He spent the past half hour trying not to breathe, focusing on a single ship resting in the docks. As soon as Widmore sat down the ship pulled away. Covering his mouth, he took a few slow breaths, and was certain his face was glowing red when he finally managed to returning the greeting.

"No problem."

Widmore smiled slightly, trying to decide what he thought about him. First impressions. They were cursed.

"Is this your first time in London?" Widmore asked.

His voice was sharp, his accent riding through his words with thick pressure as his sharp eyes watched every moved he made. He felt like he was talking to a security camera. Widmore's attire was professional enough; he had left behind his suit jacket and settles for a white dress shirt, rolled up to his wrist, and black pants. He dabbed sweat away from his forehead with a blue and white checkered handkerchief.

"I'm sorry," Widmore apologized quickly, "I had to rush here. I just came out of a meeting- about you, actually."

"About me?"

He glanced around quickly; eyes followed him as a grew of women passed by. He felt like a target every time he spoke. Traveling wasn't new to him, but being in a foreign country took getting used to. And not to mention Widmore's statement- it should have been the first sign that he was getting into something greater than he knew.

"Yes," Widmore nodded, "the company I'm working with doesn't make mistakes. It's not open to the public; it's a very private group that makes their selections carefully."

The idea of choosing one person to save over another wasn't a philosophy he had ever felt comfortable with. But the circumstances here were different than at work. Disappointment begin to slowly sink in, and immediately he began thinking he had wasted a trip...and had led himself towards false hope.

"And what company is this?"

Widmore smiled.

"My own." He allowed for a pause as Jack sank back in his chair, feeling like laughing at himself. He should've known there was more to the story. "Don't worry, Dr. Shephard, you're in good hands. We have successfully rescued many lost at sea."

"And yet when I looked up the name I could find nothing."

"Yes, well like I said, we're private," Widmore said, and then shrugged, "after all, you don't want the news to get out that you're hiring rescuers, do you?"

He silently agreed. He had been lucky the first try, but his local investment seemed carefree next to being asked to work with a private international company. Word would get out, unless the right precautions were taken, and once one story got out, the past three years would unravel again. He wasn't at all willing to deal with that again. Jack straightened and changed the subject, remembering the questions he memorized.

"What makes you so interested in me?" He inquired.

Widmore's face fell; his eyes darkened, leaving a glimmer of distress that eyed him even as Widmore looked down. With the back of his fist he rubbed a new coat of sweat away, his handkerchief shivering in his pocket. Folding his trembling hands he swallowed, closing his eyes briefly as he began.

"Three years ago my future son-and-law disappeared at sea," he began quietly, "and in my race. My sailing race around the world. He was trying to prove me wrong...to prove that he was better than I thought he was. He disappeared. Completely got off track somehow and just...disappeared. He was never found."

"I'm...I'm sorry."

A twinge of sympathy erupted. And even guilt; how could he think Widmore had some ulterior motive? He was just like him. It was simple empathy.

"He disappeared around the same area your plane crashed." Jack's eyes flashed with interest. "And I think if we combine the two cases we're much more likely to land in a more direct coordinate. The right one. Rescue teams just don't not find people. I contacted the company you were invested in. They said there was simply just not an island there. I don't care how many island are not there, my daughter's fiance is still missing. It kills her. She wakes up everyday, crying. She's dedicated her life to finding him. I'm not going to let some missing island stop me from bringing him back to her."

His words struck a chord; it was exactly what he needed to here. It was his exact story. Widmore wiped a tear from his eye and shook his head.

"Sorry. Family...you know how hard it is." Jack didn't reply. "Hang around the city for a few days. You know my number. Call me when you've made the right decision."

His palm hit the table and he pushed his chair back, walking towards a parked limo hiding in a nearby street corner. Sighing, Jack ran his hands over his face. Somehow, he felt like the worst of it was over. But as soon as he opened his eyes and spotted the limo speeding away, he began to think the exact opposite.

--

After trailing through the traditional London tourist spots Jack pulled himself away from the crowd and sank into the sanctuary of his hotel room. Being in another country was surreal. He felt like he could melt into the picture here, and nobody would ever knew who he was. He liked the feeling. Which is why he needed to go home, immediately. He had to stop fooling himself- he had to get his act together before this completely took over his life. No more spontaneous vacations. No more playing solitary(metaphorically) at work. He decided he might even try a conversation with his father when he got home, and if that failed, he convinced himself that he wouldn't take days to get over it.

His anti-depression act completely clashed with his new favorite hobby. Blinds drawn to a close and the room dim, Jack sat on the bed with his laptop, researching.

Brent Carter, lost at sea on May 15th, 2001. Sailing accident. Rescued after three months.

Derek Grace, lost at sea February 19th, 1998. Helicopter crash. Found March 2nd, 1998.

With each heoric story his heart pounded faster, and a mixture of fear and anxiety swirled inside him. His fingers inched closer and closer to the telephone. Rescue was at his fingertips. This would end, and the end was so close...

The Scavenger- scientific vessel sailed from France. Lost at sea February 1st, 1988. Currently missing.

And then tragedy struck. His fingers would snap away. He ran his hands over his face, sinking back into the pillows. Of course there would be tragedies. He worked with enough victims to know that not everyone could be saved...but when it hit close to home, and it was he himself dealing with it, he was all too willing to be in denial.

He just wanted to get something done. He just wanted to somehow be moving the rescuing process along.

He picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

Jack glanced at the clock at Charles' Widmore's exhausted voice. 2 A.M.

"Sorry," Jack muttered, "but I've made my decision."

"Better late than never," Widmore replied, sounding awake now.

Jack took a deep breath and closed his eyes; his heart was pounding so fast his chest hurt. With his free hand he made a fist and then released it, repeating the process over and over. He swallowed.

"I accept your offer."

He could see Widmore's smile in his head. Tension was released on the other end of the phone, but still his fist flexed and released itself; his head pounded, racing with his heart. He couldn't force his eyes open from the images reeling in his mind: his friends getting rescued and honoring Widmore, worshipping him. Leaving the island after over a year of brutal survival. Finally being able to breathe again. But he also so failure. Open, empty seas. Phone calls night after night bringing disappointment. His friends waiting on the shore, waiting for someone to come...expecting him to be helping them. He tried to concentrate on the hopeful side, but was constantly overpowered.

"And you made the right decision?" Widmore inquired.

He didn't answer; he didn't even know what that meant. But if it meant Widmore's agreement to the plan...

"Yes."

"Well then," Widmore announced happily, "I'll be in contact with you shortly about the details. Have a good night, Dr. Shephard, and have a safe flight home."

Jack winced as the other line went dead. Did he have to say flight?

His eyes snapped open. He couldn't take it anymore...around him the hotel room loomed in silence, the walls watching him. Eyes were everywhere. He was used to the feeling. Like someone was watching him. Like somehow, they knew. Jack sighed. This would have to work. He didn't even know what the next step would be. Would it take months, years, decades before he would be able to accept what happened and move on? It seemed so easy to tell himself to just keep pushing through, to ignore it all. But then the heartbreak would never stop. And now he had to get used to Widmore calling him, possibly every week, and possibly with disappointing news.

--

His head spun as he stumbled into the parking lot, overwhelmed with exhaustion and swarmed with the effects of the few drinks he had at the start of the flight. Trapped on a plane for over twelve hours with the alcohol running through his system had to be the worst idea he ever had. All he wanted was to sleep.

He stopped at the site of his car, the only familiar landmark he'd seen in the past few days. Even more surreal than being in another country was coming home from another country. The freedom of wondering through the streets, of being nameless to the strangers- the idea of being the foreigner- settled well with him, and the thought of coming down from that place was drained the energy from him.

Throwing his bag into the passenger seat he slipped into the car; the slam of the door echoed through the parking garage. He snapped on his seat-belt, started the engine, and checked his mirrors- and jumped. Kate was sitting in the back seat. Grinning.

"Hey," she greeted casually.

As though she hadn't been gone for more than a year. Like she wasn't wanted by the government.

"Kate, what-"

He shook his head, closing his eyes briefly. Maybe he was hallucinating. He checked the mirrors again. She was gone.

"Kate?"

On the second thought, he didn't want to be going crazy.

"You might want to drive. If you sit here long enough people will start to wonder why you're talking to yourself."

He only stared into the back-seat, feeling pathetic. Turning around, he found a pile of blankets on the floor; Kate's head peered out from the end and she smiled.

"You're not going crazy." She hid again.

"Isn't that dangerous?" He pointed out. "Waiting in a car with the windows up? And it's over 90 outside."

"I've only been here for five minutes," Kate announced proudly.

"So you just walked into the LAX parking garage?"

"Didn't you?"

He didn't know how to take that. Maybe what they said about her was true- even if he didn't like it. That she as manipulative, like a ghost you think you see out of the corner of your eye. They said she swarmed through her crimes in the blink of the eye; one minute you thought you might be looking at your future wife, the next she had a bullet in your leg. But those were just stories, stories told on the news so that people would keep an eye out and not hesitate to turn her in.

He couldn't help but to wonder what he should do. Maybe she changed. Maybe driving to the police station was exactly what he should be doing. Instead he kept on the path home, never stopping, never slowing down if he didn't have to.

"What you doing here?" Jack asked once they got on the interstate, hoping the fast-pace travelers around them would keep their eyes on the road and not on the guy talking to himself in the beat up truck.

Kate let out a few rough coughs.

"Your car smells," she noted miserably, "did something die in here?"

"My other's being repaired," Jack replied, "and considered for termination..."

"'Termination'?"

There was an air of amusement about her voice, and he couldn't help but to smile a little. Despite the circumstances, and the fact that he could be facing years in prison just for having her in his car, he was relieved to see her.

"Financial issues," he muttered under his breath, as quickly and quietly as possible.

"What was that?"

Jack sighed. Hiring the search and rescue team had been costly. Supporting himself was harder than he remembered, and the number he was given when he mentioned the possibility of selling his car was startling.

He shrugged, forgetting she couldn't see him.

"It's just a thought," he lied, "and you didn't answer my question."

"I just- ow!"

"Sorry."

He recovered from having to slam on the breaks and continued through the dark morning, sighing once more as the illegally-passing car settled only a few feet from him. Why did his flight have to be the one to get in at almost 3 A.M?

"I just wanted to talk to my father," she explained, "I heard he came back here for the weekend. I've been waiting for him...but I still haven't seen him."

"You've been down here all weekend?"

"If you were this desperate to talk to your father, you would be too," she shot; she had no idea, but he stayed silent. "I just want to explain to him...I want him to understand. He doesn't know the whole story. And I want answers. And she won't talk to me."

"Who?"

"My mother."

He heard her swallow, heavily, like she was swallowing tears away. She paused and never explained.

"Look, Kate," Jack began, "I don't know what you want from me, but if you want my help I have the right to know everything. And do you have any idea how stupid it is of you to come to me? I'm still being questioned."

"Sorry," Kate snapped, "thought you'd be happy to see me. Especially since your life hasn't been going that great."

Her words stabbed him, and he didn't argued. Instead he explained.

"I hired another search team."

"I didn't know you hired one in the first place."

"This is a private one," Jack explained, "based out of England. Ran by some man named Charles Widmore. He says he's also searching for someone who disappeared in that area."

"Is he paying for it?"

"He's giving me a discount."

Kate snorted.

"What, a 'sorry you were lost at sea and they couldn't rescue your friends' discount?"

"Yup."

"But the other search team didn't show up with anything?" Kate inquired.

"Obviously not," Jack said, "in fact, they said there wasn't even an island where the coordinates led them."

"That's impossible."

"I know..." he trailed off and glanced in the mirror; tears were appearing in his eyes. Jack swallowed hard, gripping the steering wheel harder. "I don't know what to do. It feels like I'm running out of options."

"Why are you being so hard on yourself?" Kate asked quietly. "Why are you putting this on your shoulder?"

Jack laughed, sharp and cold.

"Because John's run off to New York and is avoiding prison charges," he began, "and you're running around the country from the government. So you tell me, who else am I supposed to turn to? I'm pulling in the driveway, by the way."

The truck stumbled over the curve, groaning as he shut the engine down.

"You know you can't walk into the house with me."

"I know, go on in. Give me five minutes."

Without questioning her he grabbed his bag and made his way to the door; his legs dragged behind him, heavy and tired. The key slid into a lock and he welcomed himself home to darkness. But when he flipped on the light, he immiedaltey noticed something was off. Items were out of place in the living room- the remote, the magazines that had been there when he left, the pillows. He walked over and turned it on tv; the morning news was on channel four. He could have sworn he left it on channel five.

"Confused yet?"

He jumped at Kate's voice. He turned around, not only surprised by the fact that it took her less than five minutes to sneak into her house, but her grin baffled him, scared him, even.

"Have you been staying here?" He guessed, horrified.

She nodded.

"Kate!" He exclaimed, watching in horror as she easily made her way to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water. "Your fingerprints are everywhere!"

"Look, if anyone says anything I'll tell them I broke and waited for you, but you never came."

"Wait...you broke in?"

"You can't break in when you have the key," she replied, smiling as she let his spare house key dance in his hands.

"I don't even want to know," he sighed, throwing himself down onto the couch. He ran his hands over his face, closing his eyes when he caught what time it was. "What is it you want from me?"

She felt the couch sink as she sat down beside him; something sparked within him, he couldn't account for what it was, but it made his eyes snap up towards her, meeting hers for the first time in over a year. That's when he was able to take her in, each observation hitting him with a stinging pain. She had lost weight, as impossible as that seemed. Her eyes extended to dark circles; her smile was tired and broken.

"I actually just needed a place to stay, thanks."

Her eyes fell and she stood, swiftly escaping to the door.

"Wait!" He called after, standing. "What do you need me to do? I'll help you...just as long as I don't get caught."

Kate smiled, slightly, and then straightened.

"Can you talk to him?" She pleaded. "Tell him that I've been calling you. You don't know what to do, but I've been asking for you. Tell him that I just want to talk to him, give him a meeting place. He'll give into the guilt."

He shook his head.

"It's not going to work," he said, "you're number's not even in my call history. And even then...you do know harboring a fugitive is a crime?"

"Then here." She grabbed a notepad and pen that had been sitting on the couch-side table and scribbled down a number. "Call him. Tell him I called you; I'll even call you for real."

"No, Kate..." he shook his head, holding a hand to his forehead, "are you wanting to get caught?"

She just stared at him, incredulous, with an impatience he couldn't fathom in her eyes. Then she spun around, racing or the door.

"Kate!"

She opened the door and then slammed it shut. When she turned around her face was a sheet of pale fear; her hands slipped from their grip on the doorknob. She ran into the kitchen.

"What are you doing?"

Drawers were thrown open as she feverishly searched for something unknown, her hands brushed against every utensil he owned until she found the last drawer, and drew out a nearly-twelve inch knife. Jack jumped. He'd forgotten he had it.

"What are you doing?" He asked again, calmer, but even he could hear the fear slipping through.

"The cops are here!" She hissed.

Now he could see the red and blue lights flashing, crisscrossing through the closed blinds. His heart pounded; muffled voices flooded through him, leaving him feeling hollow. The world was sinking around him, he couldn't understand what was going on.

The phone rang.

"Don't answer it!"

He just looked at her. He wondered if she knew this would happen, somehow. She seemed to be handling it so well. But horror pounded in her eyes, her hands shook as she took hold of the knife. Stare glued to the door, she didn't offer any room for his sympathy.

The phone rang again.

"Kate, this will be worse if you don't answer it."

He was wondering why she wasn't running. There was a back door. There were windows only a few feet above the ground. Surely she would have taken note of that within moments of stepping into his house. He turned to look at her and nearly crumbled at the sight of the tears brimming in her eyes; the thought of freedom dripped from her cheeks.

The phone rang once more.

With trembling hands, slimy with sweat, Kate picked up he phone. Her voice shook so much he could barely make out her reply:

"Hello?"

"Kate Austen." He could here the negotiator's voice over the phone. It was a woman; she sounded young, understanding. Concerned. He wondered for which one of them. Jack's eyes danced around the house; he couldn't comprehend any of it. "Release the hostage. Do it, for him."

Elbow rested on the counter, Kate swallowed, her eyes traveling to meet his. They pleaded for his forgiveness.

"Can I talk to him?" The negotiator asked.

"No."

Kate's eyes closed; her voice sank with dread.

"I'm hanging up," Kate whispered.

"No-"

The phone sailed across the room, smashing beneath a picture frame and shattering to the floor. Kate let out a cry at the effort and threw her head into her hands.

"I'm sorry," she muttered.

"You could have ran," he pointed out, feeling breathless for no particular reason.

"Then they would have thought you were in on it."

Her face slipped from her hands, revealing tear-struck cheeks and a washed, helpless smile. Legs seeming to give out from underneath her, Kate sank to the ground behind the counter. He crossed the room; the knife was on the floor beside her.

"What, are you going to kill me?" He snapped. "What the hell are you doing, Kate?"

"Thinking."

Her eyes drifting to the ceiling, but she looked caught in a far-away escape, not debating on a way to get them out of there.

"No, Kate, you're being stupid."

"Then what should I have done?" Kate shot. "Run out the back door only for them to find me and for them to find my fingerprints all over your house? You do know harboring a fugitive is a crime, right?"

Ignoring her sarcasm he sat down beside her, his eyes once again finding the clock. 4:30 A.M. Jack sighed.

"So we play hostage," Jack realized, "and what, just sit here until you decide you're ready to go to jail?"

"Don't say that."

"Sorry." His eyes threatened to drift to a close, his mind still recovering from the trip and forcing himself to fly. "I can get you a lawyer."

Kate laughed.

"No you can't, you're my hostage."

She looked at him with a playful gleam in her eyes, as thought they were kids participating in some game. Jack shook his head and forced himself to smile.

"The longer you take to let me go the worse it will be," he said, "I'm not lying to you."

"I know I just...want to savor the time I have left."

A tear seeped through her closed eyelids and she shook; her hands ran over her face, chasing the tears away.

"When did my life become so messed up?" Her hands curled into fist, beating a rhythm against her knees.

"When I decided I could fly. Really metaphorical, if you ask me."

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head.

"No," she smiled sadly, "you have no idea." She got to her feet and his heart began to pound; he wasn't ready for this. "I'm sorry about this, Jack."

He stood up. Dread churned inside him; his eyes ran over hers, desperately searching for something he knew wasn't there. As the last of her tears were wiped away and goodbye inched closer, dread pounded even harder, rushing through him at sickening speeds. He didn't want her to go. If she left, it was over. He couldn't let her to go. In fact, he was realizing just then what he was feeling for her, and it didn't make sense...he had never felt it before-"

"Goodbye, Jack."

Her whisper shot an alarm inside him; his heart raced, begging him to go forward, to stop her, but he couldn't. He knew this had to be over. It was only logical. It made sense with every other dead end. The door flew open and for a moment all he could see was darkness; it was like Kate was walking to the other end of a tunnel and each inch of her disappeared with each footstep, until all he saw was nothing. She was gone; his mind rushed to a close and he stood there, frozen, playing the part perfectly as paramedics flooded his living room.

Author's Note: This chapter was going to be a little longer, but I decided the next part fits in much better with all that's going to happen in the next chapter, and if I put all of that into one chapter, then it would seem like a chaotic mess and you'd be like wait...this is all happening really fast. Which is really how you should feel. But I'm already having to rush the character, so I don't want to add the reader to that. There should only be another chapter before the island. Of course, I've been telling myself that for about five chapters now. Actually, since the beginning. Scary to think that this was only supposed to be three chapters long. Thanks for the reviews!!

Until next time...

October Sky