Happy Now?

Happy. How could anyone ever define it? Is it the only thing to aim for; the ultimate goal?

Jack Shephard wasn't happy; at least not in any sense he'd ever heard. He worked long, miserable hours at the hospital, cutting away at people in some attempt to prevent a social life from forming. He was a likable enough guy, he supposed- polite, charming if he wanted to be, attractive. He always held the door open for people, made women feel special, complimented others. But what was missing? What was this hole in his life, and why didn't he want to fix it?

His girlfriend hadn't appreciated any of this about Jack; and he knew it was within her right to end it with him since he was never home anyway. But to him, it was just another thing in life he'd failed; or rather, never finished. Lately, especially he seemed to be good at that. Why waste his time finishing things that didn't really matter to him anyway? Despite the way it sounds, Jack was not depressed; he wasn't some desperate shell of a man waiting for an answer to his problems. Rather, he went about his business, almost nonchalantly, making those around him think he had an easy, perfect life. After all, he was the handsome, talented surgeon who all of the female nurses and patients fawned over.

All he could tell himself was that his life wasn't as bad as it looked to him, but not as great as it appeared to everyone else. Jack was certain he wasn't happy, but wasn't sure about anything else.

"Dr. Shephard I need you to sign these discharge papers," Lauren, a nurse told him.

He snapped out of his haze and took the clipboard from her, shaking his head. "Sorry, I'm kind of out of it today," he explained, smiling slightly.

She nodded. "It's okay, you're only human," she reminded him. She was one of his few coworkers he suspected had any idea what his life was really like. Lauren was married to the chief of surgery- surely she knew the tales of long hours and no motivation towards anything else in life.

Like most other nights, he trudged out of the hospital with nothing else but crawling into bed on his mind. It was late, a little past 2AM when he got to his car and drove the 15 minute commute to his apartment, which was modest in terms of his salary. Unlike when he had girlfriends, or when he was married, he felt no sense of guilt returning home so late- he had no one to be home for, no one who needed him. He strolled down the interior halls of the apartment building, painted a soft grey color with carpet almost matching- as if they were supposed to blend in, nothing about them was supposed to be special.

Then he noticed her. Jiggling with the doorknob of what he could only assume was her apartment, unless she was trying to break in. She saw him approach, but said nothing, and he figured it was better that way. Just another new neighbor, who would move out, move on with her life, while Jack knew he would still be there. He unlocked his door easily and slipped inside, and set his keys and bag on the side table, like always. Just like he was always reminded of what his life was once like in this apartment- full of laughter, what he thought may have been happiness, but had crumbled as one force after another left his life.

He grabbed some leftovers from the fridge- what was left from one of his meals at his mother's house. He chuckled to himself when he thought of how his mother was always trying to shove food down his throat. It was one thing she could still have control over in his grown life, after all. Jack ate in silence at the kitchen bar, his now bare feet digging into the soft carpet. He'd been listening for quite some time now- the woman he'd seen earlier was still in the hallway. Only now she'd turned to banging on the door and cursing, mostly to herself he suspected. He heard the distinct sound of a body sliding down the wall, thumping to the floor. Without thinking, he got up and looked out the peephole. She was slumped with her back against the wall across from his apartment, her head back and eyes closed.

She was really quite beautiful, he saw, as he looked past the strained appearance of her face, imagining the soft features that really rested there. Slowly he opened the door, though he didn't know what he meant to do. The woman didn't notice him at first, even as he tried to make himself evident by shutting the door firmly behind him.

"Hey," he finally said.

She cracked her eyes open and tried to regain some composure, for her own sake.

"Oh, hey," she said shyly, and rose from her place on the hall floor.

Jack shoved his hands in his pockets and stood awkwardly. "Locked out?" he asked stupidly.

"Mmm," the woman replied. "I must have lost my key at work today," she admitted shamefully.

"You can't get a hold of Chris?" he asked, referring to their landlord.

She shook her head. "It's kind of late, in case you hadn't noticed," she said, cracking the first signs of a smile. "Normal people are sleeping right now," she joked, her long brown curls sweeping in front of her face, before he hand reached out to brush them away.

Jack shifted on his feet, looking down. "Guess I'm just used to it," he replied softly, deeply. "I work a lot," he added, surprising himself for more than the first time that night.

"You and me both," she told him. "Not that I have a choice. LA is an expensive place to live," she added.

"So you're not from here then?" he assumed. This woman had an edge to her that was not Los Angeles born and bred.

"It's that easy to tell?" she asked, a slight smile crossing her mouth. "Moved here from Ohio actually," she said, surprising him.

"Ohio?" he questioned.

She rolled her eyes in response. "Don't worry; you just have the same exact reaction as everyone else out here. What… you think only farmers live in Ohio?" she asked him.

He smiled slightly, surprising himself at how at ease he felt around this stranger. "Fair enough, I suppose."

A moment of silence washed over the two- why had he come out in the hallway in the first place? He cursed at himself internally for what he was about to ask her.

"Umm," he started. "Listen, why don't you come on in?" he asked her, holding the door open in invitation. He could immediately read her apprehensive look. "Since you're stuck out in the hallway until morning," he tried.

The woman's eyes shifted warily, as if they were looking him up and down, trying to decide if, by appearance only, their owner could trust this man. "I don't even know you," she stated obviously.

"Yeah, and I don't know you either. For all I know you could rob me and hold me at gunpoint," he pointed out jokingly. He was unwinding at a marvelous pace.

The woman got up from the ground, rubbing out the creases on her jeans and grabbed her bag. "I'm Kate, by the way," she offered, walking under his arm, which was holding the door open at the top.

"Jack," he said, almost an afterthought, and they smiled at each other, almost half heartedly, awkwardly.

Kate stood inside the doorway, uncomfortable but grateful that she didn't have to sit in the hallway all night.

"Stick 'em up," she joked, but cursed herself on the inside. Could she have said anything more stupid? Thankfully he laughed, and although it may have just been a polite gesture, it suited him nonetheless.

"Sit down, go ahead," he motioned to the couch with his hands. "Unless you plan on standing up the whole night."

First Kate took in the apartment. It was decorated nicely, tastefully, but there was nothing to comment on. Every texture, every color blended into the next, every piece matched another. "Nice place," she offered. She had to admit it looked better than her own at the moment, which was the perfect place to be if you loved staring at stark white walls.

"So…" he trailed.

"Are you normally this nice to people?" she asked him, truly curious as to what would possess this man to invite a stranger into his living room.

He shrugged nonchalantly. "Maybe I trust people too much?" he questioned. "I don't know. But you looked pretty desperate," he pointed out.

Kate finally sat down on the couch, laying her bag next to her possessively. "What do you do?"

Jack always laughed at this question. It was normally one of the first questions someone new would ask; he was guilty of it as well. As if figuring out what someone did for a living really told you anything about them? Sure, he was surgeon, and it seemed to complete him, but that told someone almost nothing about the kind of heart he had, the things he believed in. So it seemed a strange formality. His ex wife was a teacher- someone he'd always thought of as nurturing, kind, and caring. That had obviously been the wrong guess.

"I'm a surgeon," he said vaguely. "What about you?" he asked her, wanting to change the subject.

"I'm a teacher," she said, throwing him off. "But I also do physical therapy. Kind of my night job," she explained.

He laughed a bit. "Overachiever," he mumbled.

"Look who's talking, Mr. Surgeon."

They'd hit the obvious point in the evening where the conversation would take one of two paths: they would keep talking, getting to know each other, or Jack would bid her goodnight, and would check on her on his way out the door the next morning.

"You're up kind of late for having to work early in the morning, huh?" he asked her, trying to carry on the conversation. There was some kind of peace he found while talking to Kate. She wasn't pushy, or questioning him, his motives. She wasn't asking him his life goals, his dreams, what he wanted to be when he was a little boy. No, they were just two people talking, and for once, he found it refreshing and welcome.

"Yeah, I teach 5th grade," she started. "So I'm usually at school before eight."

Jack nodded. He knew all about a teacher's schedule, that while they were at school for eight hours a day, their work didn't stop there. There were always piles of paper scattered around the apartment when his ex wife was there. She had stickers, lots of red pens, and always seemed stressed about whether she was teaching the children well or not.

"Well, I'll get you a blanket or something so you can sleep on the couch. Okay?" he asked her, striding past her and into another room, emerging a few seconds later with a stack of a few blankets.

"No, that's okay Jack .You don't have to let me stay. I can keep trying a few of my friends," she replied honestly. And by few, that was literal. She'd only been in LA for a week; the only people she'd gotten to know were her fellow teachers. Not that she'd be comfortable sleeping on any of their couches either- but still, friends.

Jack sighed; he somehow knew this woman would put up a fight. He glanced at his watch. "It's almost 2:30. They're not going to be your friends anymore if you call them now," he said. "Just stay, it's no big deal."

She nodded in defeat, accepting the blankets from him. "I'll be leaving around 6:30, I'll wake you up then, okay? You should be able to reach Chris by then."

"Sure," Kate replied. "And you were yelling at me for not getting enough sleep?" she joked, referring to the fact that he was facing about 3 hours of sleep until he had to get up and go to work.

"Funny," he shouted, walking into his bedroom. "Night Kate."

"Thanks again for letting me stay," she yelled to his back.

She smiled, oddly comforted by his words and caring nature. She snuggled into the couch- was it really as comfortable as it seemed? Her heavy eyelids closed and she drifted into a sound sleep, curled up in Jack's apartment. How could a stranger's home feel more so than her own?