Another dark fic...
Would you believe I'd forgotten all about this story and discovered it two days ago tucked away on a memory stick? It's got a slight similarity to Vitality and 57, but a bit more smutty...still pretty damn dark though...

Title: Ghosts
Characters: Jack/Sawyer, some Kate, Sayid
Rating: R, for mature themes
Spoilers: None really
A/N: A long one, 3,000 words +. Set after the end of season two. Goes a bit screwy towards the end. Poor old Jack...

He’d tried to read the label as they drew out the syringe, but his head was pounding, and his vision was blurred, and he could only guess at what the clear liquid was.

A drug. Obviously. Sedative? No, doesn’t make sense. I’m not exactly a threat right now. So, what? Tests. They want to do tests. So something to do with a test.

But he couldn’t think straight, and it was too late anyway, because there were hands on him, holding him, and there was a flash of silver out the corner of his eye, then a pain in his arm. Almost too quickly his head was spinning, and they left him as silently as they’d come, shutting the door to the room quietly.

He tried to stand, but the room yawed and pitched around him, sending him sprawling. He shut his eyes tightly and yelled with anger, no real words, just a noise of frustration and fear as he dug his fingers into the dirt floor, reassuringly solid beneath him.

‘Christ, look at yourself.’

He froze, all of him; for a terrifying moment he thought his heart had seized up too. For half a minute or so there was silence, and he could almost start to imagine there would be no more, but the same sharp voice, dripping with disdain, came back out of the darkness.

‘You’re a disgrace. A goddamned disgrace.’

And all of a sudden Jack knew what he would see when he looked up, and the knowledge somehow lessened the fear. Because he’d been here before. He raised his head, opened his eyes, and saw his father. Not as he’d looked in the body bag, no. His dad looked like he did the day he’d first found out about what happened in Thailand, and what had happened afterwards. So Jack sat back in the dirt, and looked up at his father, and grinned.

Christian had been drinking, that wasn’t a surprise, but the reason for it was subtly different. This time, he needed some Dutch courage. Jack knew that because Christian didn’t quite look him in the eye, and Christian normally prided himself on a steely blue-eyed stare.

‘I saw you, Jack,’ he said, quickly, then seemed to regret saying it.

Jack didn’t answer. He stared out the window of his parents living room. He didn’t trust himself to answer. He didn’t know how he’d react until he heard his dad say the words.

‘I saw you…kissing…’ Christian couldn’t finish, as if it was too disgusting for words.
Jack tensed up, flicking his gaze to his dad briefly, before staring back into the comfort of the night.
‘How could you, Jack? You have responsibilities, to your family, to Sarah-’
‘Sarah is gone, dad. She left me. She isn’t coming back. And I don’t want her to.’

It was as if Jack had insulted Sarah, and this galvanised Christian into animation.
‘Nooo, of course you don’t! Because you’re found something else to occupy your time, haven’t you? Some new fancy-’
‘He has a name,’ Jack said quietly, but firmly, and then his dad was suddenly right there, and his hand was gripping Jack’s forearm fiercely, nails digging into the tattoo as if it was somehow responsible for everything that had happened since it was inked into Jack’s skin. All of a sudden Christian didn’t have a problem meeting his eye; his stare was hot, and full of rage.

‘He is a fucking queer, son, and you will stay the hell away from him, you will stay away, and you will talk to someone, because you need help, you will talk to someone and I will talk to Sarah and maybe-’
Jack shoved his dad away, a hard shove in the chest, and he stuck his arm out, brandishing its ink like a bullfighter’s flag.

‘You see this, dad? You see this? I got this because I went to Thailand and I met a man, a Maori, and he had tattoos all over his body, and I thought they were the most incredible thing I had ever seen. I got to see them all, dad, every single one, and it was a fucking epiphany. I do not need fucking help – what I need-’
He took a deep breath, and continued more quietly. ‘What I need is for you to try and understand, dad. Try and understand. This is who I am. I know it seems sudden, and new, but believe me. Believe me. This is who I am. I loved Sarah, I did. But this is who I am.’

In the darkened room, with his dead dad looking down at him, Jack threw his arms open wide.
‘This is who I am, dad! Get used to it!’

His voice sounded deafeningly loud in the bare room. His dad was gone, there one minute, not the next, and the surge of bravado that had made him shout out trickled away. They would be back. And they would give him more of whatever was in the syringe. And it would be worse, much worse.

---

Sawyer woke, and for a moment thought he was back home, coming round with a raging hangover. Then he felt the rope digging into his wrists, felt the solid chair beneath him, and it was all too real. He laughed bitterly, once, more of a huff than a real laugh, before raising his head slowly, gritting his teeth against the scream of his neck muscles.

He saw a small, dark room, and he saw Jack slumped against the wall, facing him.

‘Doc?’ His throat was raw; he must have been shouting, yelling, but at what, he couldn’t remember.
Jack twitched, and slowly opened his eyes. But for some subtle, terrifying reason, it didn’t look like Jack.
And when Jack spoke, it wasn’t his voice.

‘Jamie? That you, boy?’

Sawyer’s heart lurched, but he didn’t notice. He was overwhelmed with a surge of anger, and he held onto it tightly, because underneath was a cold, stark terror. They couldn’t do this, not this. They had no goddamned right.

He’d only been young, but his memories were startlingly clear.

Jack shifted forward slightly, squinting in the darkness, his open mouth set in an expression so familiar it made Sawyer feel like he was going to puke.

‘Can’t be,’ Jack murmured, and the accent, cain’t be, was so strong, so completely unlike Jack’s, that it cut through Sawyer’s anger like a hot knife, piercing the fear and letting it flood through him.

‘No,’ Sawyer whispered, paralysed, pinned by Jack’s dark stare. Jack was on his feet, unsteady, like he was drunk, but he was coming forward. He stopped a few feet from Sawyer, swaying backwards.
‘Ah don’t like your hair, son. Long hair’s for fags.’
Jack drew out the last word, caressing it with his new-found drawl. Only it wasn’t Jack. Sawyer pulled at the rope tying him down, suddenly desperate, but only tore the raw skin round his wrists.

Jack leaned in close, one hand reaching past Sawyer, onto the back of the chair for support. His eyes searched Sawyer’s face, and Sawyer couldn’t look away.
‘You grew up big, J. Handsome devil too.’ He paused. ‘Wish I coulda been there.’
‘Jack, stop it,’ Sawyer whispered; he’d been meaning to yell it, scream it, but all he could do was croak. Jack’s face twisted, like he was in pain.
‘Don’t be scared, son. I ain’t…I ain’t gonna hurt you.’
Jack reached up, his hand trembling, and Sawyer pulled back, as far as he could twist in his binds. Jack dropped his hand, opening his mouth to speak, then closing it. He pushed himself off the chair, looking around the room, and then he was blinking back tears.

‘I never meant…I never meant any of it, Jamie. She just…she just made me so goddamned angry. I couldn’t help it.’
Jack moved suddenly, on his knees pushing in between Sawyer’s legs, grabbing at either side of Sawyer’s face roughly. His expression was fierce, insistent. Sawyer swallowed down a surge of bile, his heart thudding violently, but frozen again, pinned again.

‘I am sorry, son. I am so fucking sorry. I wish I could take it all back, but I can’t. It’s too late. Your momma…she loved you so much…’
And at that Sawyer crumpled, gasping as the tears came, the grief and fear heavy in his throat. He forced his eyes shut, dropping his head, shaking it, as Jack’s hands suddenly loosened their grip.

‘Sawyer, don’t.’
Sawyer snapped his head back up; it was Jack’s voice, and it was Jack looking back at him; horrified, shaking, but Jack. They stared at each other for a long moment, then Jack took a breath, and fixed him with a fierce look.
‘Don’t. Don’t give in. It’s what they want.’ Jack’s voice shook, but there was still some strength there, some undercurrent of steel. He took Sawyer’s head in his hands again, gently, wiping the remnants of Sawyer’s tears with his thumbs.

And then the door was opening, but Jack didn’t look away.
‘Don’t give up. Don’t let them win,’ he said, as they pulled Sawyer to his feet, pulling him towards the door.
Sawyer found his voice only as they almost had him out the door.
‘You too, Doc,’ he shouted, his voice hoarse. ‘You fucking too.’



There was no chair the second time round; they opened the door and shoved Sawyer through it roughly, so that he tripped and went sprawling on the dirt floor. His hands were bound again, behind him, so the fall knocked the wind out of him, and he lay still for a few moments, catching his breath, idly wondering why, if Jack was in the room, he hadn’t come to help him up.

He struggled to his knees, tossing his head to flick his hair out of his eyes, and saw Jack in the corner of the room. A chill passed through him at the sight; Jack was facing the corner, kneeling, with his head in his hands, completely still apart from shallow breaths. The fear that Jack might not be Jack right now was a fierce, tangible thing, but Sawyer refused to let it beat him, refused to let them beat him.
‘Hey doc,’ Sawyer said lightly, ‘Fancy untying me here?’

Jack shuddered, but didn’t otherwise move.
‘Don’t,’ he said in a strangled whisper. Sawyer felt the chill again, a little colder this time. At least it was Jack’s voice.
‘Don’t what? You all right? They hurt you?’
Jack raised his head slightly, reaching out with his hands to touch the walls penning him in.
‘Don’t talk, Sawyer. Please. Just stay back and shut up.’ His voice wavered, and as he spoke he caressed the walls. There was something strangely sexual in the way he did it.
‘What? Why? What they do to y-’
‘Jesus, shut up,’ Jack gasped. ‘I can’t…’
He bent his head again, shaking it, now shaking all over. ‘I can’t…’
‘Jack, you’re kinda freaking me out-’
Sawyer jumped as Jack punched the wall, he couldn’t help it. Jack slammed his fist over and over again into the bamboo, half a dozen times, splitting the skin and drawing blood.

He stopped, and paused, gasping for breath.
‘They want me to hurt you, Sawyer, they gave me something to make me…but I won’t, I won’t, but you have to be quiet…’

So Sawyer was quiet, aware of how loudly his heart sounded in his chest as he tried to shift into a more comfortable position as silently as possible. He was scared, hell, maybe even a little bit terrified. Jack knelt there, blood from his hand dripping onto the dirt floor, breathing heavily, occasionally twitching, his hips thrusting forward in a jerking motion, and suddenly Sawyer realised what Jack had meant by ‘hurt’, and his mouth went very dry.

‘No, no, no,’ Jack murmured, and then moaned lightly, one hand disappearing from view, and Sawyer knew that Jack was stroking himself through his jeans, and despite everything, Sawyer felt his cock twitch.

With a grunt Jack brought his hand back up, forcing both palms flat against the walls, gasping now, groaning, shaking his head and whispering to himself. Sawyer couldn’t stop watching him, couldn’t despite the swell of self-disgust he felt, because part of him wanted to urge Jack on, and he didn’t know why.

Jack went very still, balling his hands into fists, and then suddenly he was moving, undoing his jeans, and even with his back to Sawyer, Sawyer could tell he was touching himself, masturbating, jerking himself hard and fast with his head bowed and one hand high up on the wall. And Sawyer was still watching, his cock half-hard, breathing shallowly, as Jack shuddered and moaned and his hips jerked, once, and twice again. Jack slumped, and as his hands went to re-fasten his jeans Sawyer could hear his breath hitch, could hear him cry quietly.

‘You fucking bastards,’ Sawyer whispered to the air.

---

The third time, they paused outside the room, and without preamble suddenly laid into him, vicious punches to his face mostly, a few to his ribs, and as he stumbled in their grip, he knew why, and hate started to crystallise hard and fierce inside him.

They shoved him through the door again, onto the floor, and one of them went to Jack, once again huddled in the corner.
‘He’s hurt, Dr Shephard,’ the Other whispered into Jack’s ear. ‘You’ll have to touch him now.’ Sawyer nodded, despite the blossoming pain across his face.

You fucking bastards.

They dumped a bag on the floor next to him, and left the room. Sawyer lay on his back for a moment, just breathing. After a few moments he turned his head; Jack was looking at him, still in the corner, and the look on Jack’s face made him catch his breath, made his heart hammer. Jack looked like he was going to be sick, but his eyes were hungry.

‘They gave me more of it,’ Jack whispered, staring at him unblinking.
Sawyer swallowed.
‘I know. But I’m okay. You don’t need to fix me up.’
Jack’s face twisted; for a moment he looked like he was going to cry, then he grunted, shifting his hips.
‘You’re bleeding. You’ve got open wounds. They’ll get infected.’
Sawyer stared back at him.
‘Then be quick, doc.’

Jack crawled over to him, and upended the bag, panting, glassy-eyed. He pulled out a bottle of antiseptic, cotton wool, a needle and thread. With shaking hands he soaked the cotton wool and wiped it somewhat clumsily over Sawyer’s face; Sawyer hissed at the sting. Jack tried to thread the needle, his hands shaking, and as he tried over and over again, Sawyer let his eyes drop to Jack’s crotch, to the erection clearly straining against his jeans. He looked back up at Jack, licking dry lips.
‘I could help you out, doc…’

Jack twitched violently, shaking his head.
‘Don’t, don’t, it’s not like that, they want me to hurt you…’
He stopped, thread and needle in hand, and stared down at Sawyer, and Sawyer stared back, stared into pain, desperation, longing.
‘And I won’t,’ Jack whispered, as tears began streaking his cheeks silently. He shook his head, mouthing ‘no’, as he succeeded in threading the needle, and with a deep, shaking breath, he started stitching Sawyer’s wounds.
Sawyer watched for a while, making silent promises. I’ll fucking kill them, Jack, I’ll fucking kill the bastards.

---

There was no fourth time; Sawyer woke to the sound of running, shouting, in the corridor outside the room he slept in. He rolled off the thin, hard bed, stumbling when he got to his feet, rubbing his eyes, wincing at the suddenly ferocious throb of bruises and swelling on his face. He shook his head, trying to clear the vestiges of sleep from it, and banged his fist on the door.
‘Hey! Hey, what the hell’s going on?’

There was no answer, but the noise outside the door suddenly cut out. Sawyer could hear nothing but the liquid thump of his heart. Then the sharp, gristly sound of a key in the lock of the door. His heart stuttered and he took a few involuntary steps back as the door swung in, as Jack smiled crookedly at him.

Sawyer froze, pinned by Jack’s stare, his impossibly black stare, by the thin trail of blood that ran from one nostril.

‘J-Jack,’ he stuttered, completely unnerved. ‘What the hell’s going on?’

‘Jailbreak,’ Jack whispered, but his mouth didn’t move, and Sawyer felt his whole mind spasm as he realised the words really had arrived in his brain without Jack’s mouth moving at all. Jack was still grinning, but it was a smile that made Sawyer wish for sunlight. There was movement behind Jack, and Kate stepped into view; she looked like Sawyer felt; petrified.
‘Come on, Sawyer,’ she said, obviously trying to keep her wavering voice level. ‘We’re getting out of here.’
Sawyer looked from Kate, to Jack, back to Kate. She nodded slightly, and he let her reach for his arm and pull him out of the room, out into the corridor.
‘Okay, Jack. How do we get out?’
Sawyer didn’t like the way Kate grew more nervous as she spoke to Jack; he didn’t like it at all. Something’s really not right here.

Understatement of the year, J.

‘Follow me,’ came Jack’s soft words, and he headed down the corridor. Kate tugged on Sawyer’s arm, and they followed, walking quickly, but not running, Jack striding ahead without looking back.
‘You all right?’ Sawyer whispered to Kate. She was still clutching his arm, clutching it tightly.
She darted a look at him, her mouth set in a tight line.
‘I’m fine. You okay?’
He gestured to his face. ‘Fine, considering.’

Kate suddenly flinched violently, biting down a cry; one of the Others had turned into the corridor ahead, was coming towards them. Jack stopped, cocked his head, and Sawyer realised he never, ever, wanted to see whatever expression was on Jack’s face right now. The man had raised a gun, but now his hand shook, and his eyes went wide, and he dropped the gun on the floor, and turned, and ran.

Jack looked at them over his shoulder.
‘Come along now,’ came the words, but his lips were still, and Sawyer found himself hoping that maybe, just maybe, he was dreaming all this. It was a lonely hope, and a precarious one.

Jack led them out of the compound, into the jungle, and the journey swiftly became a blur. Jack never once looked back, as if confident there would be no pursuit, but Sawyer couldn’t be so sure, found himself flinching at every snapped twig, darting a glance behind, his eyes fitfully searching the ubiquitous undergrowth.
They moved swiftly, and silently, but every now and then Jack would chuckle to himself, and because he was ahead of them, facing forward, Sawyer couldn’t tell if he’d really made the sound out loud. He would catch Kate’s eye now and then, and her face would be tight in a frown, and she would nod almost imperceptibly. What they were communicating Sawyer wasn’t sure, but it made him feel a little bit less like he was losing his mind.

---

After several hours, the trees started to thin, and all of a sudden they were on a beach, and there, right there gently bobbing in the tide, was Desmond’s boat, and Sayid was on deck, watching with binoculars. Sawyer made a noise, an unintelligible noise of relief, a feeling something like salvation flooding through him, even as Jack stumbled in the sand.

‘Oh,’ Sawyer heard. ‘Oh, fuck.’

He lunged forward, just managing to catch Jack as he fell, a sudden, shocking dead weight, just managing to break his fall so Jack landed not so hard on the ground.

‘Jack!’ Sawyer yelled, grunting as he pulled Jack over onto his back. Jack’s head lolled; he was out, utterly, and as Sawyer watched a fresh trail of blood started oozing out of his nostril.

Kate was there, next to him, and wordlessly they took Jack between them, hurrying down to the water’s edge, wading in, wading out to meet the small boat that Sayid was doggedly rowing out to them.

To be continued...?