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When it’s three in the morning, he’s rolling out of bed with a cramp in his left shoulder that wasn’t there the day before. “Ah, son of a bitch,” he pulls on yesterday’s pair of jeans and an old long-sleeve at the bottom of his dresser drawer. Hours away from daylight, and he’s not sure why he picked this job. Most days feel like today like he woke up way too fucking early and his head isn’t screwed on straight. Nothing feels familiar until he walks through the front door with hot black coffee and sunglasses in his hair despite the pitch black out of their office windows.
“Hey, Enos.”
“Hey, Jim.”
That’s familiar, somehow.
—
When it’s four in the morning, he’s already up, well into a busy day. He’s already checked the fridge in the break room; sure enough, someone’s eaten his lime yogurt already. Shit. A cold hand grips his shoulder and he spins around to see familiar lines on his forehead and a disapproving look he used to blow to blow his birthday candles out and wish would go away.
Too bad eight-year-old Jack, it didn’t work.
“You’ve got the Whitlock surgery today?” Jack smiles, “Yeah, Dad, they’ve already got him prepped and-”
“I don’t know if you’d be the best to lead on this.”
His hand leaves your shoulder and you feel chilly when he walks off. It’s familiar. That’s what wakes him up. He groans, rolling over in bed to see that it’s actually three in the morning, and his Dad is still gone. He takes a shower and tries to focus on the scalding water instead of the grief. When he gets to work, he checks the fridge just to realize he never actually brought any yogurt.
He walks over to the vending machine and it gets stuck, again. He’s pressing his forehead against the glass in a frustrated silence when the click of her heels pulls him away, she’s unplugging the machine and crouching down, and handing it to him, “Apollo bar, huh?”
“I don’t know, felt like trying something new,” He tells her, unwrapping it and taking a bite. His brows scrunch up, “Not your favorite?” Juliet asks. Jack shakes his head, “I’ve had it before. Can’t seem to remember when, though.” She smiles, “Still heading to that concert with me?” He smiles back, “I’d love to.”
—
James processes three people, each one more unbelievable than the last. A murderer, a triple murderer, and a guy who just shows up confessing he ran over a disabled man and beat the shit out of a teacher. “It’s like they don’t even want us to chase them,” Miles whines, filling out another stack of paperwork. “We’re detectives! if I wanted to fill out forms all day I would’ve become an accountant. Funny story, that’s what my mom wanted me to be.”
He brushes his hair out of his eyes, “How is that funny?”
Miles scoffs, “Hello? Me, as an accountant?”
James shrugs, “Well, Austen was a runner. The Jarrah guy would’ve been too. That last guy… well he drove away the first time.” Miles takes a break, grabbing one of the sandwiches the uniforms grabbed for them. “Ugh, pickles. Well, I just think it’d be nice if these criminals would give us something interesting I feel like I’m dying here at this desk.”
“What? You’d rather be gettin’ shot at?”
“At this point? Yeah, probably. Hey, are you still coming to that concert with me? The one my Dad invited us to.” James rolls his eyes, “Redhead that hates me gonna be there?” Miles grunts, agitated, “Not at our table, Jim.” James leans back in his chair, “Yeah, I’m coming.” He takes a quick glance towards the front door, maybe someone else feels like coming in and confessing a crime. Nobody yet, so he steals Miles’ pickles and throws some at him instead.
—
Jack slumps onto the couch in the break room, another round of condolences from the nurses and it seems his four hours of sleep is catching up with him. He’s nearly asleep when he feels a palm against his forehead. He stops himself from muttering ‘Dad’ when he realizes the touch is warm instead of cool, “Go home, Jack.” Juliet says, and you feel the pit in your stomach when you can tell she’s disappointed. “Stop looking at me like that, I’m not disappointed in you. You need rest, we’ll go do something another time.” He looks down at his shoes, scanning over the laces like they’ll unravel and trip him.
“Four hours. Then I’ll head home.”
She sighs, knowing by four hours he means eight.
“Sure.”
—
Miles helps James with his tie, “The blue will bring out your eyes,” he tells him. James huffs, “I don’t think your Dad will be all that bothered if I show up in pink paisley.” Miles ignores him, at least James assumes he does until he feels his airway constrict about forty percent, “Ow, shit, hey!”
“My bad.”
It’s a shorter drive than James thought, with minimal traffic. He’s carefully avoiding talking to anyone when Miles starts shouting, “JAMES!” that’s when he knows it’s bad. He rushes over to the street where he’s clutching his right leg, He huffs and goes to call ‘officer down’ when he realizes there’s no blood.
“The fuck? What’d you—” Miles drops his head against the pavement, “tripped over a speedbump. Think my leg is broken.” James laughs, “If you didn’t wanna stick around for that crap they call music, just say that.”
“I happen to like ‘You All Everybody’”
James helps him up, walking them back to his car, “D’ya hit your head too?” Miles scoffs, leaving over to buckle himself in, “Just take me to the nearest hospital before I switch departments.” It’s an empty threat and they both know it. James drives a little faster anyway. He tries not to think about throwing Miles out of the car when he plays with the radio and the live version of ‘You All Everybody’ blasts through his surround sound.
—
Jack’s four hours go by quietly. It’s both strange and delightful that nobody needed him, and he wonders if he missed out on not going to that event with Juliet. He’s ready to call it a night until he’s colliding face to face with a guy in a leg cast, knocking them both over. Another man rushes over, an apollo bar in his hand. “Are you okay?” He asks, like Jack’s just been in a car accident instead of a simple fall-on-your-ass at the hospital.
“Oh don’t worry about me, I’m only your partner and everything.” The other man winces, and the blond rolls his eyes, “they just gave you painkillers, shut up.” Jack just sits there on the linoleum, the other man laying down as the other squats, looking Jack over. He should get up and head home to crash. Somehow, he’s having a staring contest with the friend of the guy who knocked him over. “I’m Jack,” he says, regretting it immediately. “James,” he replies, extending his hand.
Jack takes it, and it’s like a fire is lit under his feet. James looks like he’s been burned when he lets go of Jack’s hand. They're both on their feet now, standing and looking at each other like this is some bad acid trip. The other guy screeches again, “You can exchange numbers after you help me up!” Jack flushes and James’ eye twitches when he moves to help up his friend. Jack supports his right arm while James grabs his left, Miles stumbles over a bit and they both grab him at once, fingers touching just barely. It’s enough to send them the rest of their memories. James lets go of Miles so harshly, Miles stumbles back over, falling with a string of various curse words and threats. Jack feels his face softly cupped, “Hey Doc. I never thought I’d see you again.”
Jack leans in, it’s all stubble and cinnamon. Kissing him is new, something a few years ago Jack never would’ve imagined doing. Much less both of them crying in a soft embrace. Sawyer pulls back, a glint in his eyes Jack swears used to only be for Kate. But this one’s stronger, more love than lust, more affection than desire. “We left that damn Island, and you were still there.” Jack doesn’t know what to say, I had to, doesn’t fit the moment. Plus, Sawyer already knows that. So, instead, he tells him something new.
“I love you.”
Miles shouts from the floor, “you literally just met!”
Jack and Sawyer laugh at him, that’s familiar. But together? That’s new.
END.