I had this AU fic where Diane was in hospital and Jack was treating her planned out, and then it all got a little close to home, so I've decided to develop this (kind of odd) idea instead. (Rest assured, it will come, I just don't know when.) I was going to just focus on "Good News" for the time being but with the climate of Juliet/Jacket hate at the moment I'm not very confident about reviews or interest. (I am planning an update though.) This fic will be a little more Jate friendly since at the moment, it doesn't involve either Juliet or Sawyer... ;)
Chapter 1.
Jack had always considered water soft and pliant, but as he slammed into the churning waves, he was hit by agony so intense that he almost blacked out. Each droplet felt like glass slicing into his bruised skin, setting his nerve endings on fire; he tried to move, to propel himself back to the surface, but one of his legs wouldn't work, and he found himself sinking deeper, deeper, until an arm wound its way around his chest, pulling him up, and he could breathe again.
"I'm gonna get you to the beach, but I need you to help me, okay?" a voice gasped, and through his haze he made out a woman's face, pale and taut – each freckle dusting her upturned nose standing out in sharp contrast – but without a doubt the most wonderful he'd ever seen.
"Can you swim?" she asked, gripping him tighter to keep him from slipping as she trod water with her free arm, struggling to keep them both afloat.
Jack could hear cries of pain and fear somewhere in the distance, but it sounded like they were coming from underwater: was the shore really that far from where they were?
"Yeah," he choked out, despite the dizziness that threatened to overtake him at any moment, kicking as hard as he could with his one good leg so that he wouldn't drag her down into the depths with him next time.
It wasn't until the water was shallow enough for them to stand that he realised the woman who'd saved him was at least seven months pregnant, her soaked shirt clinging to the curve of her large belly, and he felt guilty for accepting her help when he was the one who should have been helping her.
He was still leaning against her, his arm around her for support, but he withdrew it then, determined not to rely on her any more than he already had. "Thanks, but I think I can manage from here," he told her, grimacing as his foot made contact with the sand, causing his whole leg to shake and his eyes to glaze over.
"I don't think you should do that," the woman told him, her expression wary as she reached for him again, and before he could take another step, his leg buckled and he fell to his knees.
"Damnit," he hissed, humiliated, when it failed to take his weight a second time and he tumbled back into the water.
"Are you done, or do you wanna fight me some more?" she asked him when he stayed down, admitting defeat, the corners of her lips quirking into a tiny smile, and he almost laughed himself. He'd only known her a few minutes, and already he liked her.
"I'm done," he agreed, allowing her to slip her arm around his shoulders and pull him back up.
She tried to take a step forward, but he could tell she was struggling, straining under their combined weight. "A little help," she cried, and an Arab man a few years younger than himself rushed forward to take his other arm.
Between the two of them, they managed to get him to the shade at the edge of the tree line, setting him down in the sand. Everything seemed louder, brighter, as he glanced down at his shin, at the mess of bone and blood protruding from his skin, but he forced himself to remain conscious, to listen to what the others were saying.
"Would you like me to set your husband's leg?" the Arab asked in a kind tone, and the woman's cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
"He's not my husband," she corrected him, her left hand falling self-consciously to her belly and Jack saw that she wasn't wearing a ring. She wasn't married, or engaged; he wondered if the father was on the plane with them, or if she was alone. "We only just met."
"I'm sorry, I just assumed…" the Arab began with an uncomfortable glance between them.
"No, it's fine, really," she assured him, blanching as her eyes darted to Jack's leg, then away again. "But if you could do that, that would be great – I think I'm going to be sick."
She took a deep, calming breath as the Arab hurried off to gather the materials, and Jack was afraid that she was serious, until she crouched in the sand beside him. "What's your name?" she asked, taking off her shirt to reveal a tank top underneath. "I never got the chance to ask." Tearing open his pant leg, she balled the fabric up and pressed it to the wound, focusing her attention on his face and not the crimson seeping into it.
"Jack," he told her, and she smiled.
"It's nice to meet you Jack – I'm Kate."
He forced a weak smile as the Arab reappeared with a handful of vines and a pair of branches the size and thickness of broom handles. "I'll help you put it back into place," he told Kate, "but there's a man over there who's badly wounded—" he gestured somewhere to their left "—so I'll need you to do the splint yourself."
"Okay, sure," she agreed, nodding as she removed the bloody compress, but Jack could tell that she wasn't as confident as she sounded. In fact, she looked terrified. "What do you want me to do?"
"Hold him down," he ordered, and obediently she moved around so that she was behind him, lifting him so that his head rested in her almost non-existent lap.
On the count of three, she pushed down on his shoulders and the Arab yanked his calf upwards, bringing the two halves of the bone back into alignment, and Jack cried out, tears coursing down his cheeks as he collapsed back against her.
"Hey, it's okay," she murmured as the Arab got up to check on the rest of the injured, her damp curls brushing his cheek as she leant over him, stroking his side of his face to soothe him while they both got their breaths back. "The worst part's over now."
She let go of him once the pain had subsided, eyeing the sticks with a frown. "I wish I'd taken First Aid now," she quipped, her voice trembling as she picked up first one, then the other, laying them alongside his leg. "You wouldn't know how to do this by any chance, would you? I wouldn't wanna cripple you."
"You need to immobilise the joint, but don't wrap it too tight," he instructed, propping himself up on his elbows so that he could supervise, giving her an encouraging nod as she hesitated.
"You a doctor, Jack?" she asked as she bandaged the wound with strips of fabric from her shirt.
"A spinal surgeon," he agreed, and she smiled.
"I guess you should be doing this then."
She used the vines to bind the sticks to his ankle and thigh, sitting back beside him when she was done.
"Are you okay?" he asked, pushing himself up against a tree when she flinched, settling her hands over her belly, afraid that all the stress of the crash and his leg had brought on an early labour. He was in no shape to deliver the baby himself, and as adept as the Arab seemed at basic First Aid, he doubted he would be much good to her either. Besides, he had his hands full with the other wounded; Jack could see him barking out orders to a young, rotund Mexican man as he did what he could to save them. It was hard to tell, but so far, there only seemed to be about eight of them alive.
"Just kicking," she assured him with a smile, as if sensing his fears, and he relaxed.
"Do you mind…?"
"Go ahead," she agreed, and he laid his palm between her smaller ones, probing gently until he felt the telltale thump of a fist or a foot.
"It seems okay," he told her, returning his hand to his lap, conscious of overstepping his bounds. "You must be what, seven, eight months along? When are you due?" he asked, hoping for her sake that it wasn't soon. It wouldn't be long before the coastguard arrived; he needed her to hold on until they were safe.
"A couple of weeks," she said with a shrug that was a little too casual, and he couldn't stop himself from looking incredulous.
"You don't know the date?" he repeated, raising a sceptical eyebrow. "Your OBGYN must have told you."
"Of course," she agreed with an airy laugh, "I just didn't know you wanted me to be so specific," but when she answered, it wasn't with the certainty he was expecting. "October 24th."
He wasn't sure why, but something about the way she wouldn't look him in the eyes gave him the distinct impression that she was lying. "A month, huh? You must be eager to get back to the baby's father," he told her, deciding that he couldn't have been with her on the plane or else she would have seemed more concerned.
"He's out of the picture," she confessed, forcing a smile as she stroked her belly, but he thought he saw her eyes fill with tears when she pushed herself to her feet to go see what she could do to help the Arab, and he wondered if this was the whole truth.
Next chapter: The first night on the island... (And feel free to make suggestions about who you think the sixth member of the Oceanic 6 might be, because I haven't decided! And to speculate about Kate's pregnancy!) ;)