Fic: A Particular Science (1/1)
Title: A Particular Science
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Hugo "Hurley" Reyes, Jacob, Benjamin Linus
Word Count: 4,630
Summary: The Island Adventures of Hugo and Jacob. For primarycolors92, who requested “Team Science” at The lostsquee 2010 Lost Summer Luau. Spoilers through 6.17 - The End.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: For primarycolors92: You asked for Team Science, so I tried to give you a sampling -- from physics, to medicine, to engineering to sci-fi to architecture, all of which are grave stretches in their contexts, but still. The sentiment was there. I hope you’ll forgive the fact that I totally managed to couch those intentions entirely in Team Faith in a strange sort of way *facepalm*
A Particular Science
i.
It’s only after -- after Jack’s gone and Desmond’s coughing hard enough to resplit his lip, and Ben’s being... well, kinda cool about everything, considering; it’s only after that Hugo realizes that this whole Being-Jacob thing was probably an all-around really lame idea.
“It’s hard at first, I’ll grant you.” Hugo jumps, almost topples over; would’ve, if not for the hand on his arm steadying him, keeping him upright -- drawing him level with those cool blue eyes he’s learned to fear less and trust more, even with the way thing’s have been turning out; maybe because of it. “But it’s not so bad, once you get the hang of things.”
“Dude,” he whispers, like someone might overhear, like he’s not quite sure that he’s not dreaming this, or hallucinating -- like maybe the whole thing was crazy from the get-go, and seeing Jacob here and now is just as not-even-a-little-bit-real as watching him from the far side of that cab outside of jail.
Jacob smiles, like he knows exactly what Hugo’s thinking -- probably does; nods a little indulgently when Hugo swallows hard, picks up a stick near the base of a tree nearby and pokes aimlessly at the smoldering embers of Hugo’s dying fire, waiting until the flames start sparking again, like that proves something.
“You never let people leave the Island,” Hugo finally says, thinking of Desmond snoring back at Rose and Bernard’s camp; thinking of Ben, going off to scout the perimeter or some other James Bond thing that Hugo’s pretty sure should involve tuxedos and code-names; figures that, even if Jacob is a figment of his imagination, he may as well try to glean some advice off of the guy.
Because at this point, it really can’t hurt.
“You’re right, I didn’t.” It means more than Hugo thinks he gets, but that’s cool. He’s alright with not knowing; s’easier, and he could kinda use some easy right now, just for a while.
“But,” Hugo says slowly, bites the tip of his tongue as he thinks it through, tries to put too-confusing thoughts into less-confusing words; “if we let people leave the Island, how will I find someone to take my place?” He chances a glance at Jacob, who’s just kind of looking, kind of watching. “You know, when the,” he swallows, sniffs hard to level out the words as he stares away from Jacob, straight through him; “time comes.”
Jacob’s still got his eyes trained on him, with that piercing sort of look that makes Hugo feel like he’s eleven years old again, staring at an empty space in the garage and just not getting it.
“When he gets back,” and Hugo doesn’t miss the way Jacob stresses the ‘when’ in particular, like he’s making sure it’s not mistaken for an ‘if’, “ask Ben to tell you about the DharmaTel network.”
And... yep, Hugo doesn’t really see where the hell this is going.
“Have him show you how it works.” Jacob reaches over, touches his shoulder and grips -- he’s back in that damn taxi with a guitar case between them, and there’re choices, sure; but it doesn’t really matter anymore. “I have a feeling it’s just what you’re looking for.”
Jacob’s gone again before Hugo can ask any more questions. S’probably for the best.
~
Within a week, Desmond’s got a bearing and all of Penelope Hume’s extensive resources set on finding him before sundown. Hugo looks for Jacob, but can’t find him.
He whispers a quick Thanks to the trees, and figures, given the givens, seen or unseen, the man probably knows it.
ii.
He’s staring out into space, tracing logos into the dirt with his finger: he’s got Superman’s, the Bat-signal, and Green Lantern’s down, working on Captain America’s shield off to the side, when he gets that weird sensation, that little prickle on the back of his neck that tells him he’s not alone.
“Bad day, Hugo?”
Even if he was almost expecting it, he still flinches a little, half-glares over his shoulder where Jacob’s standing, watching him with lukewarm-curiosity as he doodles on the ground. “Dude, I’m totally going to put a bell around your neck.”
“If you want,” Jacob indulges him good-naturedly, or else, good-naturedly enough. “Not entirely sure it’ll do much good, though.”
Hugo pauses for a second, picks the soil from underneath his fingernail before going back to his drawing.
“Want to talk about it?” It’s taunting, egging him on, but it’s also honest, in its own way -- the way Jacob says it, sits down next to him in the grass.
“I’m just...” and he knows he’s going to sound like he’s ten and there’s nothing on T.V., but he’s so beyond caring right now. “I’m so bored, man. I just want to, you know, do something. Watch cartoons. Play Mortal Combat. Build a...” he thinks, tries to come up with something -- he’s too bored to even think, jeeze; “a catapult, or something.”
He pulls a fistful of grass from between his crossed legs and throws it down with a vengeance for emphasis, and yeah, he’s pretty much ten years old right now. Whatever.
“Well,” Jacob says, plucking blades of grass from the ground next to him one by one, in time with his words, almost hypnotic in a weird, swinging-pocket-watch, bunny-out-of-a-hat kind of way; “for all of its perks, the Island can’t manage to keep a satellite television contract for long. I think it’s all the address changes,” he says, straight-faced, and Hugo can’t help but chuckle. “You know, they say they’ll come and install your equipment for free when you move, but apparently, they don’t mean it.”
“And unfortunately the last gaming system that found its way here was an Atari.” At that, Hugo brightens, because Ataris are freaking sweet. “And it’s been broken for a good decade and a half, at least.”
A whole square inch of grass is sacrificed to Hugo’s disappointment at that.
“A catapult, though...” Jacob tilts his head from side to side, as if weighing his options, the feasibility of whatever he’s thinking, before he fixes Hugo with a hard stare.
“How good were you at physics?”
Hugo turns to him, cocks an eyebrow in his direction, and tries to remember if he even took a science class in high school. “Physics, dude? Seriously?”
Jacob sighs. “This is going to take a while.”
~
It does take him a while -- better part of a week and a half, and little else gets done. Ben bitches about supplies and organizing resources and updating technology and all sorts of things that Hugo agrees are actually really important, but he kinda needs this little distraction, this thing that he’s doing just to blow off some steam.
He pokes around some of the old Dharma digs, finds supplies and all sorts of cool mathematical tools to make his measurements, and Jacob pops in and out when he hits a roadblock in his design, but mostly it’s pretty straightforward, once Jacob walks him through the basics of construction, and stuff he just never had any reason to learn, like, you know, how to put stuff together like that. He was never very handy around the house, really, except in the kitchen -- tools weren’t his forte all that much.
Well, like, he made a model airplane once. But it ended up looking kind of like a duck, so yeah.
But all in all, the project itself turns out to be a technical success, if not so much a practical one. The thing works like a charm; slings whatever he puts in it a good thirty feet, lands it within about a yard, pops a bunch of makeshift water balloons made from tied-off rubber gloves like clockwork -- he’s happy with the result.
He tries suggesting using it as a means of supply transportation to his Number Two, but gets an eye-roll and a pointed-lack-of-response for his efforts. So it’s pretty much a bust in terms of it being any actual use to anyone.
The look on Ben’s face, though -- when Hugo launches all the overripe mangoes he can fit directly at his head -- is so totally worth the shitty honey glaze that Ben slathers on the next month’s worth of ham for revenge, hands freaking down.
iii.
“The Death Star could totally take out a Borg ship.”
He’s thinking out loud, at first; only notices that he isn’t alone when a second pair of footprints -- light, almost invisible -- cuts into his vision as he stares at his feet where they sink in the sand.
“There is absolutely no fathomable scenario in which the Death Star would be able to take out a Borg ship.” If Hugo hadn’t been used to it by now, he’d probably have stumbled and fallen on his ass at the unexpected interruption, but he’s grown accustomed to Jacob popping up uninvited like a whack-a-mole. “A standard Borg cube can wipe out an entire Federation fleet, not to mention the Collective would assimilate the whole Imperial crew before Tarkin could so much as blink.”
Hugo huffs at that, even if Tarkin was a douche. “Whatever. Millennium Falcon definitely beats out the Enterprise, though.”
Jacob chews at his lip -- Hugo’d say the motion’s almost too human for him, if he didn’t know any better, hadn’t learned enough to see. “Enterprise-A or Enterprise-D?”
See, ‘cause Jacob’s kinda as human as any of them.
“Any Enterprise, dude. It’s the Millennium Falcon.”
Jacob kicks at the sand and slips his fingers into his pockets as he stares out toward the sea beyond the sea, whatever he can make out that Hugo can’t, just past the colors at the horizon line. “I stand by my ship,” he finally proclaims. “Besides, hyperdrive? Warp drive is so much more sophisticated.”
“Dude,” Hugo huffs, because this guy’s just wrong; “Vulcan mind meld versus Jedi mind tricks. You at least have to admit that’s no contest.”
“It obviously depends on what your ultimate goal is,” Jacob says, like it’s obvious. Like he actually has a point, which of course he doesn’t, because there’s not even a question here. Duh. “Outright coercion or... something a bit more refined.”
“Because sticking your hands all up in someone’s face is totally civilized,” Hugo tosses back flippantly. “But that’s right, I forgot,” he snorts, a little bit derisive, but a lot-a-bit good-humored; “We all have a choice, right?”
There was a time, before, where the jab wouldn’t have happened, wouldn’t have worked; now, though, Jacob just smirks and keeps walking.
“Lightsabers beat out phasers,” Hugo finally offers, even though it’s not an offer, just a statement of fact. “Bar-freaking-none.”
Jacob stops in his tracks, ponders, frowns. Hugo readies himself to defend the truth of his claim.
And then, in a rare and unexpected display of actual taste, Jacob replies: “That I’ll concede.”
iv.
“Dude.” He’s staring, he knows he’s staring stupidly, and being useless, and staring. It’s just... “She’s...”
“I know.” And Ben; they’ve been on this Island together long enough for Hugo to know that tone, to know that Ben’s scared just as shitless as he is.
“Dude, she’s-”
“I know, Hugo!” Ben snaps at him, eyes wide as the sharp cut of his voice is drowned out by a long moan from the woman sprawled out on the bed behind them, gripping her husband’s wrists through another contraction -- Reina and Jasper, newlyweds on a doomed flight home from their honeymoon in Bali, had only just washed up from the wreckage of their United flight a week before, and Reina, well, Hugo’d been sure to ask her when she was due right away so they could get her back stateside before she went into labor.
She’d laughed and told him not to worry; she still had another month to go.
“Get...” Ben sighs, eyes flickering back and forth, uncertain, but his hands don’t shake; “get towels. Water. Blankets. Just...” he breathes deep, runs one of those steady hands over his face and looks away, behind them -- looks nowhere, at nothing: “Get things.”
“Right.” Hugo turns to do just that; nods, like any of this makes any sense. “Right.”
~
It takes him three tries to get the cabinet with the linens open, his hands shaking; he drops everything he’s carrying to the floor as he yelps upon turning, seeing a familiar blond figure standing just inside the doorway.
“Jeeze, man,” Hugo hisses through clenched teeth, surprise on top of panic on top of... god knows what else. “Now’s, umm,” he takes a steadying breath, tries to compose himself, tries not to freak out; “Now’s not-”
Reina’s cries echo from the infirmary, and Hugo freezes, just stops; doesn’t know anything logical or meaningful for a good full minute except babies and here and never good, never good.
It’s only Jacob’s hand on his shoulder that shakes him, that snaps him out of it. “I know, Hugo,” he says softly, his eyes caught in the low light, the sympathy there like something warm, something bright.
“Breathe,” he urges, his grip on Hugo’s arm firm but reassuring, and so Hugo breathes, because Jacob’s a convincing son-of-a-gun; “it’s alright.”
He lets out once last deep breath, his whole frame deflating with it, before he asks: “Will you help?”
Jacob smiles, though the expression is strained, tight; “It’s why I’m here.”
~
Later, Hugo walks out onto the porch, settles next to Jacob where he’s sitting, staring into the dark. Hugo wonders if he’ll ever be able to see whatever it is that Jacob always seems to see when he stares like that.
“So what,” Hugo says finally, after the silence just starts to get weird; “are you like a doctor or something?” He doesn’t think there’s any other reason for a guy to know that much random medical stuff, but it seems like an important thing to have answered for sure. Maybe.
Important’s got a different meaning now, than it used to.
“I don’t think any hospital would have me,” Jacob chuckles, a little humorlessly, a little sad; “but when you’ve been around as long as I have, there are very few things you don’t try at least once.”
Hugo doesn’t like to think about being around as long as Jacob has.
“Though medicine was something I always had something of a talent for, I suppose. At least, in comparison to other things.” Jacob chances a glance in Hugo’s direction then, a glint in his eyes that’s a little lighter, a little better. “I’m a terrible welder, for instance,” he confesses, like it’s a sin that his Ma made him tell the priest at their church. “And an absolutely useless mechanic.”
Hugo laughs, then, because it’s funny, the way Jacob says it with the little tail-end of a smile; and because he likes laughing, and he feels like he’s accomplished something when he makes Jacob smirk. “Never worked at the motorpool in Dharmaville, then?”
Jacob grins a little wider; not a real smile, by normal standards, but for him, it’s something. “Not quite. I did do a stint in the kitchen for a bit, though, so I could snag some of your mayonnaise. That stuff is absolutely fantastic with my fish.”
“Dude, that mayo was epic, wasn’t it?”
Jacob barks out a quick laugh that almost sounds genuine before sobering again; once more, for him, it’s actually something.
“It was the first thing I learned when I left here, when I went to the world and saw what lay beyond the Island for the very first time,” he picks back up, and it takes Hugo a few moments to remember what they’d be talking about, to put it back into context as he moves away from wondering why he hasn’t whipped up any of that mayo in freaking eons, ‘cause now he’s got a monster of a craving.
“In exchange for shelter, a local, well,” Jacob pauses, backtracks, “what would pass for a physician at the time, at least, he took me in and trained me as an assistant. This was... long before modern medicine, of course, but it sparked something of an interest.” He grins a little wryly in Hugo’s general direction, still mostly staring out at the trees. “You didn’t think Mittelos Bioscience was only a cover company, did you?”
Hugo hadn’t really given it much thought, honestly -- just knew that’s where a nice chunk of the money came from when Ben brought him bank statements and stuff. He generally associated a warm and fuzzy feeling with said money-making company, but beyond that, it’s not really high on his priority list. Probably somewhere between stepping on jellyfish and ever eating boar ever again.
He goes with a shrug as a response, and Jacob’s smirk comes back, so he thinks it was probably a decent choice.
“Mittelos was the name I used when I enrolled in medical school for the first time,” Jacob says, and hey, that’s interesting. “I never graduated, I mean, there wasn’t much of a need, but I did try to drop in and hone my skills when the opportunity presented itself over the years. Before things became... complicated.”
Hugo tries not to cringe at the memory of his part in that whole ‘complicated’ thing; of the people lost and the time wasted, and hurts that no one could prevent.
“Is that why you liked Jack so much?” he asks, half because he’s curious and half to distract himself, to springboard off of the fact that Jack’s tear-streaked, blood-stained face outside that damned Cave of Light is the last image that flashes behind his eyes before he makes it stop. “Because he was a doctor?”
Jacob takes a moment to answer, but it feels like it’s an answer he already knows. “Jack’s a lot like me.” Hugo really wants to know why Jacob talks about Jack like he’s still here, like he’s not gone; he wants to know, but doesn’t know how to ask. “In his own way.”
“I like Jack because he reminds me that there’s still hope,” Jacob says, direct and without prevarication, almost wistful. “I like to be reminded of that, sometimes.” His expression loses it’s lightness, turns a little bit stony, a little bit hard. “I need to be reminded of that.”
“I think, probably, that we all do,” Hugo says, after thinking about it for a second, after thinking about Jack and letting it go. “You know, need reminding.”
He knows he does, at least.
There’s a quick cry, but it’s a sweeter one now, that punctures the quiet; new life, still feeling its way through.
“You certainly rose to the occasion of it today,” Jacob says, with something warm in his tone that Hugo finds kinda awesome, truth be told. “What was she named?”
Hugo smiles to himself, thinks of the little baby he’d held, all wrapped up in Dharma blankets, sniffling and squinting at the world at large. “Claudia.”
Jacob swallows hard; hard enough that Hugo can hear it. “That’s a beautiful name.”
v.
He doesn’t know what prompts him to do it -- maybe it’s just something to do, maybe it feels like it’s time. Mostly, he thinks, it’s because he’s got a feeling Jacob wants it done, and Hugo’s developed kind of a soft-spot for the guy, over the years. So he kind of expects him to be happy about it.
He doesn’t expect this.
“All it took was getting the supplies here, mostly,” Hugo says, breathing deep of the cool ocean air up here. He’s still not sure how Jacob never figured it out, never came to see him when he was up here, working -- he thinks maybe the Island itself had something to do with that, but that might be pushing it, even for him. “I figured the rest out pretty quick,” he continues, just looking to fill the gaps, still not all that good with silence, even after all this time. “Took me a while,” he adds with a grin, “but I think I’m starting to get the hang of this whole ‘King of the Island’ gig.”
Because, like, a person’s house is their castle -- that’s what his Ma used to say -- and you’re always supposed to take care of your castle. And now the whole Island’s kinda like his castle, his home; so leaving the Lighthouse like it was just seemed wrong, really, when he thought about it, like ignoring the fact that your linen closet had caved in.
Only, like, probably more important than that by a lot.
“It still shows all the places it used to, I think. Or else, it seems like it does. Not that it matters so much anymore, right?” Hugo laughs softly, quickly, as he pulls on the chain and moves the dial around, the numbers getting bigger, getting close to the point where they’ll start small again. “But then, here,” he stops, hits the mark for zero-degrees; “this kind of looked like it might be something different. Like it might be...” he coughs, unsure, but... really, it’s like a scene from Gladiator or something, and there are only so many people that it can mean something to. “For you. Maybe.”
Jacob blinks at the image, pale but steady; Hugo’s much more sure, now, about who this was meant for.
“I,” Jacob starts, but the word, the sound’s only half-formed, half-there; in all the time he’s known the man, Hugo’s never seen Jacob less than composed, let alone... well, kinda overwhelmed, from the looks of it, from the way he stares, a little bit slack-jawed and more than just surprised. “I don’t...”
Hugo doesn’t know if it’s the reflection of the sun, the glare from the glass or what, but he thinks there’s something damp on Jacob’s cheek when he turns just so, and he’s not sure how to feel about Jacob and emotions -- not sure what Jacob wants him to feel about it -- so he just lays a hand on Jacob’s shoulder, smiles, lets it soak into his voice so it’s real and it’s there.
“S’okay, man,” he says, and that’s all that needs to be said.
Hugo keeps his hand where it is, and Jacob keeps quiet; his shoulders lose their tension, though, and it’s comfortable, now -- the silence.
“Hugo,” Jacob finally says, his voice brittle and choked with something Hugo’s not gonna name, because it’s not his place -- they both know what it is; “thank you.”
Hugo smiles, squeezes Jacob’s shoulder and leans in, a little half-hug: “Don’t mention it, dude.”
-.
S’getting quiet, dark; coming down, now, and Hugo thought he’d be more afraid than he is, really. He’s glad he was wrong.
“It’s done, right?” His voice doesn’t even sound like his voice; he’s sweating, and shivering, and it all feels real distant, real far away -- everything but the soft hand on his forehead, the cool touch keeping him from getting scared, from being lonely.
“For you, Hugo,” comes the voice the hand belongs to, the voice that’s been everywhere and anywhere for more years than Hugo knows; he stopped counting a long time ago, stopped paying attention when it didn’t matter anymore. “For you, it’s finally done.”
Hugo nods, and it stings, but again -- it’s not really there. Like... a Force Ghost, or something -- half-there, but not all there. “Think I might miss it,” he says, doesn’t have to explain. Jacob knows.
“It’s never really gone,” Jacob assures him, cradles his head so he doesn’t strain, doesn’t hurt so bad. S’nice of him, really.
“It was good,” Hugo says, and it’s true. It was.
“It was, wasn’t it?” Jacob agrees, like he’s only just figured it out, like maybe Hugo helped.
“S’not easy,” Hugo adds, and Jacob lets out a little puff of laughter -- agreement, without humor.
“No,” he says, “it’s a particular science, making it work,” he breathes out slow, and Hugo can feel it against his skin like the breeze; “but it’s worth it.”
Hugo smiles; yeah, it totally is.
“Will I see everyone again? My friends? M’family?”
He can feel Jacob nod in the way it moves his wrists, shakes his palms where they cup at Hugo’s neck. “They’re already waiting.”
He coughs a little; his throat’s dry -- he hopes it doesn’t matter, wherever he’s going, or else, he hopes there’s water there. “Ben?”
“He’ll come, in time,” Jacob murmurs, his thumbs rubbing careful over Hugo’s temples, and Hugo wonders how many times Jacob’s done this; whether he’s ever done it before. “He has his own path to follow, but you’ll see each other soon.”
He wonders if Jacob still has questions, like he does, even now.
“You?”
He can hear the smile in Jacob’s voice, and he knows, then, that there are questions -- because there’s sadness and there’s hope, and both are in the words: “Maybe someday.”
“Maybe?”
Jacob feels like he’s right there, feels a world away, and it’s really coming down, now; getting close. “I hope, someday.”
“Me too.”
Hugo shudders, but Jacob keeps a firm grip, anchors him. “It’s cold,” he forces past his lips, and he’s pretty sure it’s the last thing he’ll say, the last of his energy spent on the consonants, and damn, but that’s kind of a really lame thing to say, if it’s the last thing you’re ever going to say.
“That’s okay,” Jacob whispers, lowers his head to the ground and leans in so Hugo can see him, even as his vision blurs; it’s a reply to more things, many things, and Hugo feels like it is. You know: okay.
“You were the best of them, Hugo,” Jacob says, his eyes tired but wide with something heartfelt, and Hugo tries to smile, can’t tell if he manages or not. “The best of any of us.”
He blinks once, twice, and then he can’t seem to make it a third time, because his eyelids are heavy and they just won’t move.
There’s a warm hand over his eyes, and it feels alright.
“Sleep, now,” he hears, like the rush of the ocean in the curve of a shell, and he loves that sound, so he listens.
He sleeps.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Hugo "Hurley" Reyes, Jacob, Benjamin Linus
Word Count: 4,630
Summary: The Island Adventures of Hugo and Jacob. For primarycolors92, who requested “Team Science” at The lostsquee 2010 Lost Summer Luau. Spoilers through 6.17 - The End.
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: For primarycolors92: You asked for Team Science, so I tried to give you a sampling -- from physics, to medicine, to engineering to sci-fi to architecture, all of which are grave stretches in their contexts, but still. The sentiment was there. I hope you’ll forgive the fact that I totally managed to couch those intentions entirely in Team Faith in a strange sort of way *facepalm*
A Particular Science
i.
It’s only after -- after Jack’s gone and Desmond’s coughing hard enough to resplit his lip, and Ben’s being... well, kinda cool about everything, considering; it’s only after that Hugo realizes that this whole Being-Jacob thing was probably an all-around really lame idea.
“It’s hard at first, I’ll grant you.” Hugo jumps, almost topples over; would’ve, if not for the hand on his arm steadying him, keeping him upright -- drawing him level with those cool blue eyes he’s learned to fear less and trust more, even with the way thing’s have been turning out; maybe because of it. “But it’s not so bad, once you get the hang of things.”
“Dude,” he whispers, like someone might overhear, like he’s not quite sure that he’s not dreaming this, or hallucinating -- like maybe the whole thing was crazy from the get-go, and seeing Jacob here and now is just as not-even-a-little-bit-real as watching him from the far side of that cab outside of jail.
Jacob smiles, like he knows exactly what Hugo’s thinking -- probably does; nods a little indulgently when Hugo swallows hard, picks up a stick near the base of a tree nearby and pokes aimlessly at the smoldering embers of Hugo’s dying fire, waiting until the flames start sparking again, like that proves something.
“You never let people leave the Island,” Hugo finally says, thinking of Desmond snoring back at Rose and Bernard’s camp; thinking of Ben, going off to scout the perimeter or some other James Bond thing that Hugo’s pretty sure should involve tuxedos and code-names; figures that, even if Jacob is a figment of his imagination, he may as well try to glean some advice off of the guy.
Because at this point, it really can’t hurt.
“You’re right, I didn’t.” It means more than Hugo thinks he gets, but that’s cool. He’s alright with not knowing; s’easier, and he could kinda use some easy right now, just for a while.
“But,” Hugo says slowly, bites the tip of his tongue as he thinks it through, tries to put too-confusing thoughts into less-confusing words; “if we let people leave the Island, how will I find someone to take my place?” He chances a glance at Jacob, who’s just kind of looking, kind of watching. “You know, when the,” he swallows, sniffs hard to level out the words as he stares away from Jacob, straight through him; “time comes.”
Jacob’s still got his eyes trained on him, with that piercing sort of look that makes Hugo feel like he’s eleven years old again, staring at an empty space in the garage and just not getting it.
“When he gets back,” and Hugo doesn’t miss the way Jacob stresses the ‘when’ in particular, like he’s making sure it’s not mistaken for an ‘if’, “ask Ben to tell you about the DharmaTel network.”
And... yep, Hugo doesn’t really see where the hell this is going.
“Have him show you how it works.” Jacob reaches over, touches his shoulder and grips -- he’s back in that damn taxi with a guitar case between them, and there’re choices, sure; but it doesn’t really matter anymore. “I have a feeling it’s just what you’re looking for.”
Jacob’s gone again before Hugo can ask any more questions. S’probably for the best.
~
Within a week, Desmond’s got a bearing and all of Penelope Hume’s extensive resources set on finding him before sundown. Hugo looks for Jacob, but can’t find him.
He whispers a quick Thanks to the trees, and figures, given the givens, seen or unseen, the man probably knows it.
ii.
He’s staring out into space, tracing logos into the dirt with his finger: he’s got Superman’s, the Bat-signal, and Green Lantern’s down, working on Captain America’s shield off to the side, when he gets that weird sensation, that little prickle on the back of his neck that tells him he’s not alone.
“Bad day, Hugo?”
Even if he was almost expecting it, he still flinches a little, half-glares over his shoulder where Jacob’s standing, watching him with lukewarm-curiosity as he doodles on the ground. “Dude, I’m totally going to put a bell around your neck.”
“If you want,” Jacob indulges him good-naturedly, or else, good-naturedly enough. “Not entirely sure it’ll do much good, though.”
Hugo pauses for a second, picks the soil from underneath his fingernail before going back to his drawing.
“Want to talk about it?” It’s taunting, egging him on, but it’s also honest, in its own way -- the way Jacob says it, sits down next to him in the grass.
“I’m just...” and he knows he’s going to sound like he’s ten and there’s nothing on T.V., but he’s so beyond caring right now. “I’m so bored, man. I just want to, you know, do something. Watch cartoons. Play Mortal Combat. Build a...” he thinks, tries to come up with something -- he’s too bored to even think, jeeze; “a catapult, or something.”
He pulls a fistful of grass from between his crossed legs and throws it down with a vengeance for emphasis, and yeah, he’s pretty much ten years old right now. Whatever.
“Well,” Jacob says, plucking blades of grass from the ground next to him one by one, in time with his words, almost hypnotic in a weird, swinging-pocket-watch, bunny-out-of-a-hat kind of way; “for all of its perks, the Island can’t manage to keep a satellite television contract for long. I think it’s all the address changes,” he says, straight-faced, and Hugo can’t help but chuckle. “You know, they say they’ll come and install your equipment for free when you move, but apparently, they don’t mean it.”
“And unfortunately the last gaming system that found its way here was an Atari.” At that, Hugo brightens, because Ataris are freaking sweet. “And it’s been broken for a good decade and a half, at least.”
A whole square inch of grass is sacrificed to Hugo’s disappointment at that.
“A catapult, though...” Jacob tilts his head from side to side, as if weighing his options, the feasibility of whatever he’s thinking, before he fixes Hugo with a hard stare.
“How good were you at physics?”
Hugo turns to him, cocks an eyebrow in his direction, and tries to remember if he even took a science class in high school. “Physics, dude? Seriously?”
Jacob sighs. “This is going to take a while.”
~
It does take him a while -- better part of a week and a half, and little else gets done. Ben bitches about supplies and organizing resources and updating technology and all sorts of things that Hugo agrees are actually really important, but he kinda needs this little distraction, this thing that he’s doing just to blow off some steam.
He pokes around some of the old Dharma digs, finds supplies and all sorts of cool mathematical tools to make his measurements, and Jacob pops in and out when he hits a roadblock in his design, but mostly it’s pretty straightforward, once Jacob walks him through the basics of construction, and stuff he just never had any reason to learn, like, you know, how to put stuff together like that. He was never very handy around the house, really, except in the kitchen -- tools weren’t his forte all that much.
Well, like, he made a model airplane once. But it ended up looking kind of like a duck, so yeah.
But all in all, the project itself turns out to be a technical success, if not so much a practical one. The thing works like a charm; slings whatever he puts in it a good thirty feet, lands it within about a yard, pops a bunch of makeshift water balloons made from tied-off rubber gloves like clockwork -- he’s happy with the result.
He tries suggesting using it as a means of supply transportation to his Number Two, but gets an eye-roll and a pointed-lack-of-response for his efforts. So it’s pretty much a bust in terms of it being any actual use to anyone.
The look on Ben’s face, though -- when Hugo launches all the overripe mangoes he can fit directly at his head -- is so totally worth the shitty honey glaze that Ben slathers on the next month’s worth of ham for revenge, hands freaking down.
iii.
“The Death Star could totally take out a Borg ship.”
He’s thinking out loud, at first; only notices that he isn’t alone when a second pair of footprints -- light, almost invisible -- cuts into his vision as he stares at his feet where they sink in the sand.
“There is absolutely no fathomable scenario in which the Death Star would be able to take out a Borg ship.” If Hugo hadn’t been used to it by now, he’d probably have stumbled and fallen on his ass at the unexpected interruption, but he’s grown accustomed to Jacob popping up uninvited like a whack-a-mole. “A standard Borg cube can wipe out an entire Federation fleet, not to mention the Collective would assimilate the whole Imperial crew before Tarkin could so much as blink.”
Hugo huffs at that, even if Tarkin was a douche. “Whatever. Millennium Falcon definitely beats out the Enterprise, though.”
Jacob chews at his lip -- Hugo’d say the motion’s almost too human for him, if he didn’t know any better, hadn’t learned enough to see. “Enterprise-A or Enterprise-D?”
See, ‘cause Jacob’s kinda as human as any of them.
“Any Enterprise, dude. It’s the Millennium Falcon.”
Jacob kicks at the sand and slips his fingers into his pockets as he stares out toward the sea beyond the sea, whatever he can make out that Hugo can’t, just past the colors at the horizon line. “I stand by my ship,” he finally proclaims. “Besides, hyperdrive? Warp drive is so much more sophisticated.”
“Dude,” Hugo huffs, because this guy’s just wrong; “Vulcan mind meld versus Jedi mind tricks. You at least have to admit that’s no contest.”
“It obviously depends on what your ultimate goal is,” Jacob says, like it’s obvious. Like he actually has a point, which of course he doesn’t, because there’s not even a question here. Duh. “Outright coercion or... something a bit more refined.”
“Because sticking your hands all up in someone’s face is totally civilized,” Hugo tosses back flippantly. “But that’s right, I forgot,” he snorts, a little bit derisive, but a lot-a-bit good-humored; “We all have a choice, right?”
There was a time, before, where the jab wouldn’t have happened, wouldn’t have worked; now, though, Jacob just smirks and keeps walking.
“Lightsabers beat out phasers,” Hugo finally offers, even though it’s not an offer, just a statement of fact. “Bar-freaking-none.”
Jacob stops in his tracks, ponders, frowns. Hugo readies himself to defend the truth of his claim.
And then, in a rare and unexpected display of actual taste, Jacob replies: “That I’ll concede.”
iv.
“Dude.” He’s staring, he knows he’s staring stupidly, and being useless, and staring. It’s just... “She’s...”
“I know.” And Ben; they’ve been on this Island together long enough for Hugo to know that tone, to know that Ben’s scared just as shitless as he is.
“Dude, she’s-”
“I know, Hugo!” Ben snaps at him, eyes wide as the sharp cut of his voice is drowned out by a long moan from the woman sprawled out on the bed behind them, gripping her husband’s wrists through another contraction -- Reina and Jasper, newlyweds on a doomed flight home from their honeymoon in Bali, had only just washed up from the wreckage of their United flight a week before, and Reina, well, Hugo’d been sure to ask her when she was due right away so they could get her back stateside before she went into labor.
She’d laughed and told him not to worry; she still had another month to go.
“Get...” Ben sighs, eyes flickering back and forth, uncertain, but his hands don’t shake; “get towels. Water. Blankets. Just...” he breathes deep, runs one of those steady hands over his face and looks away, behind them -- looks nowhere, at nothing: “Get things.”
“Right.” Hugo turns to do just that; nods, like any of this makes any sense. “Right.”
~
It takes him three tries to get the cabinet with the linens open, his hands shaking; he drops everything he’s carrying to the floor as he yelps upon turning, seeing a familiar blond figure standing just inside the doorway.
“Jeeze, man,” Hugo hisses through clenched teeth, surprise on top of panic on top of... god knows what else. “Now’s, umm,” he takes a steadying breath, tries to compose himself, tries not to freak out; “Now’s not-”
Reina’s cries echo from the infirmary, and Hugo freezes, just stops; doesn’t know anything logical or meaningful for a good full minute except babies and here and never good, never good.
It’s only Jacob’s hand on his shoulder that shakes him, that snaps him out of it. “I know, Hugo,” he says softly, his eyes caught in the low light, the sympathy there like something warm, something bright.
“Breathe,” he urges, his grip on Hugo’s arm firm but reassuring, and so Hugo breathes, because Jacob’s a convincing son-of-a-gun; “it’s alright.”
He lets out once last deep breath, his whole frame deflating with it, before he asks: “Will you help?”
Jacob smiles, though the expression is strained, tight; “It’s why I’m here.”
~
Later, Hugo walks out onto the porch, settles next to Jacob where he’s sitting, staring into the dark. Hugo wonders if he’ll ever be able to see whatever it is that Jacob always seems to see when he stares like that.
“So what,” Hugo says finally, after the silence just starts to get weird; “are you like a doctor or something?” He doesn’t think there’s any other reason for a guy to know that much random medical stuff, but it seems like an important thing to have answered for sure. Maybe.
Important’s got a different meaning now, than it used to.
“I don’t think any hospital would have me,” Jacob chuckles, a little humorlessly, a little sad; “but when you’ve been around as long as I have, there are very few things you don’t try at least once.”
Hugo doesn’t like to think about being around as long as Jacob has.
“Though medicine was something I always had something of a talent for, I suppose. At least, in comparison to other things.” Jacob chances a glance in Hugo’s direction then, a glint in his eyes that’s a little lighter, a little better. “I’m a terrible welder, for instance,” he confesses, like it’s a sin that his Ma made him tell the priest at their church. “And an absolutely useless mechanic.”
Hugo laughs, then, because it’s funny, the way Jacob says it with the little tail-end of a smile; and because he likes laughing, and he feels like he’s accomplished something when he makes Jacob smirk. “Never worked at the motorpool in Dharmaville, then?”
Jacob grins a little wider; not a real smile, by normal standards, but for him, it’s something. “Not quite. I did do a stint in the kitchen for a bit, though, so I could snag some of your mayonnaise. That stuff is absolutely fantastic with my fish.”
“Dude, that mayo was epic, wasn’t it?”
Jacob barks out a quick laugh that almost sounds genuine before sobering again; once more, for him, it’s actually something.
“It was the first thing I learned when I left here, when I went to the world and saw what lay beyond the Island for the very first time,” he picks back up, and it takes Hugo a few moments to remember what they’d be talking about, to put it back into context as he moves away from wondering why he hasn’t whipped up any of that mayo in freaking eons, ‘cause now he’s got a monster of a craving.
“In exchange for shelter, a local, well,” Jacob pauses, backtracks, “what would pass for a physician at the time, at least, he took me in and trained me as an assistant. This was... long before modern medicine, of course, but it sparked something of an interest.” He grins a little wryly in Hugo’s general direction, still mostly staring out at the trees. “You didn’t think Mittelos Bioscience was only a cover company, did you?”
Hugo hadn’t really given it much thought, honestly -- just knew that’s where a nice chunk of the money came from when Ben brought him bank statements and stuff. He generally associated a warm and fuzzy feeling with said money-making company, but beyond that, it’s not really high on his priority list. Probably somewhere between stepping on jellyfish and ever eating boar ever again.
He goes with a shrug as a response, and Jacob’s smirk comes back, so he thinks it was probably a decent choice.
“Mittelos was the name I used when I enrolled in medical school for the first time,” Jacob says, and hey, that’s interesting. “I never graduated, I mean, there wasn’t much of a need, but I did try to drop in and hone my skills when the opportunity presented itself over the years. Before things became... complicated.”
Hugo tries not to cringe at the memory of his part in that whole ‘complicated’ thing; of the people lost and the time wasted, and hurts that no one could prevent.
“Is that why you liked Jack so much?” he asks, half because he’s curious and half to distract himself, to springboard off of the fact that Jack’s tear-streaked, blood-stained face outside that damned Cave of Light is the last image that flashes behind his eyes before he makes it stop. “Because he was a doctor?”
Jacob takes a moment to answer, but it feels like it’s an answer he already knows. “Jack’s a lot like me.” Hugo really wants to know why Jacob talks about Jack like he’s still here, like he’s not gone; he wants to know, but doesn’t know how to ask. “In his own way.”
“I like Jack because he reminds me that there’s still hope,” Jacob says, direct and without prevarication, almost wistful. “I like to be reminded of that, sometimes.” His expression loses it’s lightness, turns a little bit stony, a little bit hard. “I need to be reminded of that.”
“I think, probably, that we all do,” Hugo says, after thinking about it for a second, after thinking about Jack and letting it go. “You know, need reminding.”
He knows he does, at least.
There’s a quick cry, but it’s a sweeter one now, that punctures the quiet; new life, still feeling its way through.
“You certainly rose to the occasion of it today,” Jacob says, with something warm in his tone that Hugo finds kinda awesome, truth be told. “What was she named?”
Hugo smiles to himself, thinks of the little baby he’d held, all wrapped up in Dharma blankets, sniffling and squinting at the world at large. “Claudia.”
Jacob swallows hard; hard enough that Hugo can hear it. “That’s a beautiful name.”
v.
He doesn’t know what prompts him to do it -- maybe it’s just something to do, maybe it feels like it’s time. Mostly, he thinks, it’s because he’s got a feeling Jacob wants it done, and Hugo’s developed kind of a soft-spot for the guy, over the years. So he kind of expects him to be happy about it.
He doesn’t expect this.
“All it took was getting the supplies here, mostly,” Hugo says, breathing deep of the cool ocean air up here. He’s still not sure how Jacob never figured it out, never came to see him when he was up here, working -- he thinks maybe the Island itself had something to do with that, but that might be pushing it, even for him. “I figured the rest out pretty quick,” he continues, just looking to fill the gaps, still not all that good with silence, even after all this time. “Took me a while,” he adds with a grin, “but I think I’m starting to get the hang of this whole ‘King of the Island’ gig.”
Because, like, a person’s house is their castle -- that’s what his Ma used to say -- and you’re always supposed to take care of your castle. And now the whole Island’s kinda like his castle, his home; so leaving the Lighthouse like it was just seemed wrong, really, when he thought about it, like ignoring the fact that your linen closet had caved in.
Only, like, probably more important than that by a lot.
“It still shows all the places it used to, I think. Or else, it seems like it does. Not that it matters so much anymore, right?” Hugo laughs softly, quickly, as he pulls on the chain and moves the dial around, the numbers getting bigger, getting close to the point where they’ll start small again. “But then, here,” he stops, hits the mark for zero-degrees; “this kind of looked like it might be something different. Like it might be...” he coughs, unsure, but... really, it’s like a scene from Gladiator or something, and there are only so many people that it can mean something to. “For you. Maybe.”
Jacob blinks at the image, pale but steady; Hugo’s much more sure, now, about who this was meant for.
“I,” Jacob starts, but the word, the sound’s only half-formed, half-there; in all the time he’s known the man, Hugo’s never seen Jacob less than composed, let alone... well, kinda overwhelmed, from the looks of it, from the way he stares, a little bit slack-jawed and more than just surprised. “I don’t...”
Hugo doesn’t know if it’s the reflection of the sun, the glare from the glass or what, but he thinks there’s something damp on Jacob’s cheek when he turns just so, and he’s not sure how to feel about Jacob and emotions -- not sure what Jacob wants him to feel about it -- so he just lays a hand on Jacob’s shoulder, smiles, lets it soak into his voice so it’s real and it’s there.
“S’okay, man,” he says, and that’s all that needs to be said.
Hugo keeps his hand where it is, and Jacob keeps quiet; his shoulders lose their tension, though, and it’s comfortable, now -- the silence.
“Hugo,” Jacob finally says, his voice brittle and choked with something Hugo’s not gonna name, because it’s not his place -- they both know what it is; “thank you.”
Hugo smiles, squeezes Jacob’s shoulder and leans in, a little half-hug: “Don’t mention it, dude.”
-.
S’getting quiet, dark; coming down, now, and Hugo thought he’d be more afraid than he is, really. He’s glad he was wrong.
“It’s done, right?” His voice doesn’t even sound like his voice; he’s sweating, and shivering, and it all feels real distant, real far away -- everything but the soft hand on his forehead, the cool touch keeping him from getting scared, from being lonely.
“For you, Hugo,” comes the voice the hand belongs to, the voice that’s been everywhere and anywhere for more years than Hugo knows; he stopped counting a long time ago, stopped paying attention when it didn’t matter anymore. “For you, it’s finally done.”
Hugo nods, and it stings, but again -- it’s not really there. Like... a Force Ghost, or something -- half-there, but not all there. “Think I might miss it,” he says, doesn’t have to explain. Jacob knows.
“It’s never really gone,” Jacob assures him, cradles his head so he doesn’t strain, doesn’t hurt so bad. S’nice of him, really.
“It was good,” Hugo says, and it’s true. It was.
“It was, wasn’t it?” Jacob agrees, like he’s only just figured it out, like maybe Hugo helped.
“S’not easy,” Hugo adds, and Jacob lets out a little puff of laughter -- agreement, without humor.
“No,” he says, “it’s a particular science, making it work,” he breathes out slow, and Hugo can feel it against his skin like the breeze; “but it’s worth it.”
Hugo smiles; yeah, it totally is.
“Will I see everyone again? My friends? M’family?”
He can feel Jacob nod in the way it moves his wrists, shakes his palms where they cup at Hugo’s neck. “They’re already waiting.”
He coughs a little; his throat’s dry -- he hopes it doesn’t matter, wherever he’s going, or else, he hopes there’s water there. “Ben?”
“He’ll come, in time,” Jacob murmurs, his thumbs rubbing careful over Hugo’s temples, and Hugo wonders how many times Jacob’s done this; whether he’s ever done it before. “He has his own path to follow, but you’ll see each other soon.”
He wonders if Jacob still has questions, like he does, even now.
“You?”
He can hear the smile in Jacob’s voice, and he knows, then, that there are questions -- because there’s sadness and there’s hope, and both are in the words: “Maybe someday.”
“Maybe?”
Jacob feels like he’s right there, feels a world away, and it’s really coming down, now; getting close. “I hope, someday.”
“Me too.”
Hugo shudders, but Jacob keeps a firm grip, anchors him. “It’s cold,” he forces past his lips, and he’s pretty sure it’s the last thing he’ll say, the last of his energy spent on the consonants, and damn, but that’s kind of a really lame thing to say, if it’s the last thing you’re ever going to say.
“That’s okay,” Jacob whispers, lowers his head to the ground and leans in so Hugo can see him, even as his vision blurs; it’s a reply to more things, many things, and Hugo feels like it is. You know: okay.
“You were the best of them, Hugo,” Jacob says, his eyes tired but wide with something heartfelt, and Hugo tries to smile, can’t tell if he manages or not. “The best of any of us.”
He blinks once, twice, and then he can’t seem to make it a third time, because his eyelids are heavy and they just won’t move.
There’s a warm hand over his eyes, and it feels alright.
“Sleep, now,” he hears, like the rush of the ocean in the curve of a shell, and he loves that sound, so he listens.
He sleeps.