Fall From Grace [Part 1: The Bridge]
Title: Fall from Grace: One
Summary: Slightly AU since S4. Takes place after TTLG where Jack is found on the bridge by Sawyer who isn't too thrilled about having to save one "Doc Kamikaze" from himself. He reluctantly brings Kate into the mix, but matters are only complicated when she gets into a car accident while picking up Aaron from school. With everything Jack truly cares about on the line will he be able to man up enough to save Kate and be a constant in Aaron's life? Or will his alcohol and drug problem send him deeper into depression? Sawyer is not prepared to be friendly.
Pairing: Jawyer, Jate
Rating: PG-13 for some language and violence.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything that has to do with LOST.
Part 1: The Bridge
“We are like sheep without a shepherd
We don’t know how to be alone
So we wander round this desert
And wind up following the wrong gods home
But the flock cries out for another
And they keep answering that bell
And one more starry-eyed messiah
Meets a violent farewell-
Learn to be still”-Don Henley
The muscles across his shoulders eased their grip on his back as he leaned forward, both hands clenching into tight fists as he swayed slightly, trying to keep his balance. The lights around him were blinding in their splendor, hues of neon pink and green mixing with the deafening lull of the city below. The traffic around him skated by, unyielding to his shaky footsteps. Just one foot after the other at a pace that was almost painstaking.
Jack bit his lip and shifted his gaze downward toward the thundering water. The canal was almost overflowing after the bout of record breaking rainfall that had troubled the city for almost a full two weeks. He watched the swells of the current numbly, the black water thrashing like a caged lion through the low laying fog. It was enough to make him shuffle back a step and grab the railing out of instinct. As though his body had been running on just share nerve alone, he pressed his entire back against the cold steel and shook a handful of tiny white pills from his pocket.
To cushion the fall, he assured himself as he flushed them back with a hurried draw from his hip-flask. The clear white spirit splashed over his chin, damping the wiry growth of hair that stretched across his face. He licked his lips to catch the last few drops on his tongue.
Somehow he thought dying would be a lot more painful than this. The thought ghosted across Jack’s mind with a sort of jerk that made his heart beat just a little bit faster. He had seen more deaths in his line of work than most people would experience in their whole lives, yet it always looked so painful, so hard-but this- this was easy.
He loosened his grip on the rail again and took another swig from his flask. His muscles felt pleasantly fluid from the alcohol as his thoughts slowed down to a laborious creep that kept him feeling almost euphoric. He was comforted by the fact that in a few short minutes he would not have to think. He would not have to drag himself out of bed in the morning to go to work... he would not have worry about the greater good.
Watery kneed, he pushed himself forward before he lost his nerve. It felt so damn good to finally let go. Like the curtain dropping at the end of a play he was plunged into blissful darkness, too out of his wits to feel the initial burst of water creeping into his lungs.
It was as though he heard the air splitting splash before he saw the body fall. It happened so quickly he practically crashed his Cadillac Escalade into the shoulder of the road and dove out before the wheels even stopped spinning. The rush of adrenaline that propelled him into the canal was exhilarating and he bit back the frigid water with a powerful kick forward. His mind felt as though it had been set to overdrive, acting on instinct as opposed to rationality. He was sure he saw someone fall.
James “Sawyer” Ford closed his eyes to the sting of the spray, paddling a full circle around the deeper section of the canal. He thrashed his head violently back and forth, scanning the water; it was difficult to see with only the hazy golden afterglow of the city to go by.
“Damn it!”
He hit something hard with his foot and pitched under to latch onto it with both hands, it was definitely human and he grunted as he tugged it upward.
“Son of a bitch,” he sputtered, cursing as the stagnant water lopped over his head making it hard to judge direction.
With a few fast kicks, Sawyer managed to haul his load out of the canal and onto the dusty shoulder of the road where his knees buckled out from under him. His hands broke his fall, scraping the gravel as the prone body tumbled supine to the ground below. He cursed again, heaving up the excess water he had taken in with several guttural coughs before turning to his companion.
“Shit.”
His first reaction was a wide-eyed look of confusion that was replaced by fear with the realization that he was staring at the prone form of none other than Dr. Jack Shephard. Pale and motionless, Jack’s fiery brown eyes were glazed and half open in the hollow moonlight. The expression, plastered across his features was lopsided and mostly masked by the bushy overgrowth of his beard. His pallid torso remained unmoving to the world around him.
“Don’t you dare die on me,” Sawyer yelped, he thrust his wrist toward Jack’s neck and tilted the dark haired man’s head back. Crimson water spewed outward over his fingers as he scrambled to find a pulse without luck.
“Damn it!” He growled, fumbling and lowering his head so that his ear hovered just over Jack’s chest, hearing nothing he pealed back the layers of clothing and tried again.
“Come on now, breathe damn it!” The sandy haired man administered a determined shake and spread his fingers wide to match the wingspan of eagle, crossing one hand over the other on his friend’s chest.
Jack’s muscles lurched forward under the force of the blow.
“Come on you stupid son of a bitch,” he barked with another push, then another.
“2…3…4…5…" Sawyer counted off the seconds before starting the second round of compressions. He failed to notice the bluish tint forming around Jack’s lips to match his icy skin. There was no air getting into his lungs.
“You need to breathe,” he encouraged again, this time tilting the other man’s head back and forcing a large breath of air into his thoracic cavity. He could taste the sickening mixture of vodka and whiskey on his breath but paid it no notice as the other man started to sputter. Sighing, he rolled Jack to his side and patted his back to help heave up the rest of the water.
“That’s it, easy.” He watched, somewhat relieved as Jack took in a few slow, shaky breaths. He reached down to grab the older man’s wrist to find a bounding pulse.
“So the Doc finally cracked,” he said dully, somewhat wishing he hadn’t felt the urge to go banging around the clubs tonight. He ran a quivering hand through his dripping hair and bit down on his lip. Now what the hell was he supposed to do...drop him off at the hospital and pretend none of this had ever happened? That was the logical choice but was it the right one?
“You’ll probably try to impale yourself with a God damn IV pole,” he muttered, staring fixedly at Jack who had started to tremble under the cold air.
Sawyer’s expression faltered as he shook himself out of his leather jacket with a wet sucking sound. The midnight blue shirt and faded jeans clung awkwardly to him as he slid into the driver’s seat of his Escalade and adjusted the heat to full blast.
“Alright then Doc Kamikaze, looks like you’re crashing at my place.” Part of him winced as he said this, but a bigger part of him knew that he owed this man, sallow and trembling at his feet, far more then he could ever repay.
Jack was somewhat lucid by the time Sawyer managed to half carry, half drag him into the passenger seat. His world was starting to sharpen again, as though the curtain he was behind had lifted just enough to distinguish blurred shapes and hazy outlines. His hands clenched and unclenched in the molten light flowing in from outside, but he took no notice and shifted toward whatever was enveloping him in a bath of heat.
Sawyer watched him, moving the driver’s seat ahead and setting both arms on the steering wheel. He contemplated switching the radio on but decided against it, adapting to the occasional incoherent mutterings of his companion as he drove.
At one point during the trip, Jack turned a little too green for even Sawyer’s liking, forcing the sandy haired man to scowl and put down the windows in order to let the air flow through. They were in the middle of a six lane highway, which rendered them unable to pull over even if they wanted to. Sawyer tapped the steering wheel grimly.
“Don’t you dare go losing your lunch in my seventy thousand dollar car, Doc,” he warned.
If any of what he had said made it through to Jack’s drug muddled brain his response was in the form of a slight whimper that matched his white and clammy pallor.
Sawyer frowned, maybe this wasn’t such a bright idea after all, but the hospital was in the other direction and he cared too much about his polished leather interior to risk turning around now.
When they finally reached his beach side flat it was well past three and the Pomeranian next door was barking at them as they rolled into the driveway.
“Ah shut up you stupid mutt,” he glowered at the dog, walking around to open the passenger side door for Jack.
“Well here we are Doc, home sweet home. Oceanic was good for something after all.” He gestured to the elegant house with its well manicured gardens and pale golden trim that arced to reach the expanse of ocean behind it.
Jack mumbled something but did not move. His head was resting against his chest and his eyes remained closed.
Sawyer stood in the driveway and crossed his arms. “Come on, Rip Van Winkle, I didn’t even get to buy you dinner first.”
He snorted and slug Jack over his shoulder as if he were a sack of potatoes, weaving his way up the front step, through the house, and into the guest bedroom at the end of the hall. Grunting, he let the doctor slide onto the bed and surveyed the sight in front of him.
“Damn I wish this was a hot Latino chick instead of you Jack-Ass.”
Sawyer unbuttoned Jack’s shirt and pulled it completely off, next moving to unfasten his belt and tug at his jeans so that they were no longer around the Doctor’s hips.
“Don’t worry, you really aren’t my type,” he added, covering the doctor with a pile of old quilts that had been spread out over the bottom of the bed. He set the clothing on the bureau at the far side of the room, frowning as his eyes fixed on the half empty bottle of Oxycodone that had rolled under the chair.
He took another look at Jack and shook his head.
“What the hell happened to you Doc?”