Most of his life, he had never particularly cared about what his mind got up to while he slept. What dreams he remembered were usually either pleasant fantasies (like the one in which he was the filling of a Ewan McGregor and Catherine Zeta-Jones sandwich), or bizarre nightmares obviously brought on by too much stress (like the one in which he’d been heavily pregnant and abandoned at a Fleetwood Mac concert). His indifference changed to a consuming need for answers when his dreams began sabotaging his love-life.

The lovely Margaret had simply left him one day with nothing more than an impenetrable stare from her green eyes and a quiet, “You talk in your sleep, Jack.”

One morning two months later his new boyfriend, Greg, had demanded, “Who the hell is Charlie?”

“I don’t know,” was the only answer Jack could give. Greg had pierced him with a stare disturbingly like Margaret’s, for all that his eyes were blue, and left that very day.

That had been two weeks ago, and during that time Jack had only had one dream. Or rather, he’d had several, but they were all identical. In them, he is alone in a dim landscape, wandering purposefully, but lost all the same. A figure appears before him, indistinct in the distance, and he stops. Jack knows it is a man, and there is something about him that speaks to Jack of youthfulness. He catches the edges of a tune the man is humming and strains to hear it all. The outline of the figure glows as if he is too full of something to contain it; Jack can tell that it is love. Though he cannot see his face, Jack is aware of the man smiling at him. He opens his mouth, and a name falls from his lips like a benediction: Charlie.

The dream ends there, with a longing ache lodged in Jack’s chest for the man he can never quite see. It gets stronger, lasts longer into his day each time, and Jack just wants to know what it all means.

At the moment, however, he was just grateful that it had been a relatively slow night. There had only been a few minor injuries due to intoxication and, miraculously, no automobile accident victims since he’d come on duty at ten. It was well past midnight now.

He checked the clock; he only had to make it until three A.M., then he would be free to go home and sleep. Sleep might bring the dream with it, but Jack couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing. It only bothered him when he was awake because he didn’t understand it, and if he ceased having it, it would stop bothering him. There was, however, the possibility that one of these times it would all become clear to him.

In the meantime, he was going to go get a cup of coffee from the doctors’ lounge to stave off sleep until his shift ended in two hours.

At a quarter until three, the only serious case of the night was brought into the ER. Adrenaline was a wonderful thing, and despite the exhaustion he’d been feeling not five minutes before, Jack leapt into the fray, hyper-alert and focussed.

The patient was a young man in his mid-twenties, Jack guessed, smaller than average though well muscled, with a scruffy beard and filthy blond-tipped hair, nails sporting chipped polish, a heavy silver ring on one finger, and leather cuffs snapped around his wrists. His respiration and heart rate were both virtually non-existent, his lips were blue, and Jack wasn’t at all surprised when the paramedic who had brought the man in informed him that they’d found a nearly empty baggie of heroin with him when they’d responded to the anonymous 911 call.

“We’ve got a heroin overdose here,” Jack called to the nurses assisting him. “Get me one milligram of Naloxone and have a couple more injections ready in case they’re needed.”

The nurses responded in their usual efficient way, and Jack forgot all about going home to sleep as he fought to save this one life.

“Hello, Mister Pace, I’m Doctor Shephard. I was the one who worked on you when you were brought into the emergency room last night.”

The patient’s lips moved slightly, and Jack wasn’t certain but he thought the man mumbled, “Lucky you.”

“Do you know why you were brought in?”

For the first time, the young man looked directly at Jack. His dark blue eyes were filled with sorrow and he didn’t maintain the eye contact for long, looking down and nodding in response to the question. Jack felt an inexplicable surge of tenderness and had to fight to keep himself from reaching out to caress the young man’s face. Instead, he gave him a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“How do you feel?”

“Fine, I guess, considering.” His voice was surprisingly deep, slightly gravely, and he had some form of an English accent, though Jack didn’t know enough to tell what part of England he was from.

“Any trouble breathing?”

“No.”

“Good. I’m going to keep you here for another day at least, Mister Pace.”

“Charlie.”

“What?” Jack’s heart nearly stopped at the too familiar name, and he hoped fleetingly that his eyes weren’t protruding from his head as far as he thought they were.

“M’ name’s Charlie. Well, Charles, really, but everybody calls me Charlie. I’d rather you called me that than Mister Pace.”

“Okay,” said Jack, managing not to sound strangled, “Charlie it is.”

“So, one of the nurses tells me you’re in a band.” Jack was pleased that he’d managed to sound interested rather than disgruntled. The nurse in question, a pretty little thing named Sheila, was obviously quite twitterpated with Charlie and could speak of little else. Jack could easily envision how she must fawn over the young man and found her antics highly irritating.

“Let me guess: Sheila?” At Jack’s nod, Charlie grimaced. “She’s constantly in here simpering at me. Don’t suppose you could do something about that?”

Jack’s spirits lifted, and he laughed. “I can try. No promises, though.”

“Fair enough.”

Silence descended, and Jack gave Charlie a little prompt. “So, tell me about this band of yours.”

“Drive Shaft. Ever heard the song You all Everybody?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Oh. Well, that’s us. I wrote it. I play bass and guitar sometimes, too.”

“Ah,” said Jack with a gentle smile, “handsome and talented. No wonder the nurses are all a-twitter.”

“Don’t mock me.” Charlie’s expression went hard, closed-off, and his eyes glittered with anger.

Jack was startled by the transformation and he struggled to redeem himself. “I wasn’t mocking you, Charlie. Why would you think that?”

“I know I’m not handsome. I’m funny-looking, lopsided; always have been. The best I can manage is cute.” His tone was defensive, but his pain was plain to see.

“Just because you’re not classically handsome,” said Jack carefully, “doesn’t mean you’re not at all handsome. I happen to think you’re very handsome.”

Charlie flushed and looked away. “Oh. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Now, get some rest. I’m supposed to be out of here in ten minutes and I still have a mountain of paperwork to get through. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Morning. Right.”

“I figure you have two options here, Charlie. Either I discharge you tomorrow morning, and you go back to the way things were before, or you agree to let me check you into the rehabilitation program upstairs and you beat this addiction.” Jack matched Charlie’s stare, glare for glare, willing the younger man to see reason and say yes. Willing him not to throw himself away for an easy out. “I know you can do it, Charlie.”

For a moment, Jack thought Charlie was going to make a biting reply, but he looked away instead and asked quietly, “Will you come visit me if I do?”

Jack smiled. “Everyday after my shift ends, if that’s what you want.”

“Yeah,” said Charlie, looking back up at Jack and smiling for the first time since he’d been admitted to the hospital, “that’s what I want.”

“Alright, then that’s what I’ll do.”

He had just excused himself to return to his own duties -- he had two surgeries scheduled and needed to be available if there was an emergency -- when he heard Charlie call him back.

“Doctor Shephard?”

“Jack.”

Charlie cocked his head, screwing up his face into a confused expression. “What?”

“My name,” said Jack with a smile, “is Jack.”

Charlie’s lips quirked a little, and he said, “Would you do me a favour, Jack?”

Jack said yes and thought he would be blinded by the radiance of Charlie’s smile.

Jack was glad of the opportunity to simply sit back and listen passively. He’d lost a patient in OR that afternoon, a kid no more than fifteen years old, and it weighed heavily on him. Charlie seemed in a pensive mood himself, and Jack knew he ought to ask his friend about it, but his conscience hadn’t yet been able to motivate him through his depressive haze.

As it turned out, Charlie beat him to it.

“Jack? Do you want to talk about it?”

The guitar had fallen silent, and when Jack looked up, he saw Charlie looking at him with concern shining from his blue eyes.

“Not just now, Charlie. Thanks.”

“Anything I can do?”

“Keep playing? That was a pretty piece just now. What’s it...”

Jack’s question was cut off by the door flinging open and then slamming shut again behind a furious looking man in his early thirties. Shocked, all he could do was stare as the man began to shout at the equally surprised Charlie.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Charlie?! You swear to me, swear to me that you’re gonna go clean so I’ll start sending you a share of Drive Shaft’s royalties, then I don’t hear from you for months. And then I read on a fucking fansite that you’re in a bloody hospital in L.A. because you bloody o.d.’d!”

“Liam, I’m sorry. I just...”

“Don’t. Just don’t. I don’t want to hear any more of your excuses, Charlie. I know you don’t give a shit about yourself, but you could show a little fucking consideration...”

“Hey!” Seeing Charlie begin to crumple under the onslaught galvanised Jack into action and he leapt from the chair to place himself between Charlie and Liam. “Back off, man.”

“Who the hell are you?”

On the surface, Liam couldn’t have looked less like Charlie. He was much taller, with an angular, sculpted face that was undeniably handsome, but the accent was the same, and so were the eyes that looked out through the black-and-clear framed glasses.

“I’m the man who saved your brother’s life.”

Liam blinked and took a step back before recovering himself and demanding, “And are you just going to let him go back out there and throw his life away again?”

“He’s not going to throw his life away.”

“No? Because he’s been doing a pretty good job of it so far.”

“Didn’t anyone tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“This floor is the rehab centre. Charlie checked himself in three days ago. He’s working on keeping that promise to you.”

Liam had no response to that, save to step around Jack, gather his brother into his arms, and cry.

That was exactly what had happened two days ago. Jack had gone up for his habitual post-work visit with Charlie, only to be told by the nurse that he had left with his brother earlier that afternoon. The forwarding address he’d left was for his brother’s house. In Australia.

It hadn’t been until Charlie was gone that Jack realised he hadn’t had the dream that was such a plague to him since Charlie had been brought into the ER that night. He’d almost forgotten about it. The night Charlie left, though, it was back, maddening as ever, except that now he knows what it means.

Jack has to find Charlie.

Sometime between saving Charlie’s life and having him steal out of his own, amongst their conversations and shared hospital cafeteria dinners, Jack had fallen in love with the scrappy musician. If some of the looks he’d caught Charlie giving him were any indication, Jack thought there was a good chance that Charlie felt the same about him. He guessed that Charlie was scared; that or he hadn’t yet realised what he felt and had simply let his brother bundle him off to be taken care of by family for a while.

From their conversations, Jack knew Charlie didn’t need to be taken care of. What Charlie needed was someone to take care of, someone to provide him a focus. Jack took care of people all day long. He didn’t want to do it when he got home, too. Nothing would please him more than to be the one Charlie took care of.

Jack just hoped he wasn’t deluding himself; he’d already arranged for vacation time and had purchased a plane ticket to Australia.

“Can I help you?”

“I hope so. My name is Jack Shephard. I’m looking for Charlie Pace.”

“Doctor Shephard?”

Jack brightened. “Yes, that’s me.”

“Charlie’s at his therapist’s right now, but he and my husband should be back soon. Would you like to come in and wait?”

“Please.”

She stepped aside to let him in, and when the door was shut behind him asked, “Is there something wrong with Charlie, Doctor? It’s a long way from Los Angeles to Sydney.”

“No, there’s nothing wrong. It’s a personal visit, not a professional one.”

“Oh.” She sounded surprised, and Jack couldn’t blame her. Even he thought his actions were a little crazy. “Charlie told us about you visiting him, sticking by him in rehab. I’d like to thank you for that, for being a friend to him.”

“Believe me,” said Jack, a little embarrassed, “it was my pleasure.”

An awkward silence settled between them as they stood facing each other, and it wasn’t broken until the door swung open to admit Liam, already speaking, with Charlie on his heels.

“Karen, we’re home. Have you and Megan had tea yet?” His voice trailed off and he came to a halt as he caught sight of Jack.

“Jack?” Charlie stepped around his brother, his expression incredulous.

“Hey, Charlie.”

“What’re you doing here?”

With the eyes of the man’s family on him, Jack was struck again with the misgiving that this had been a bad idea, but it was too late to back down now. “You didn’t say goodbye.”

“I didn’t want to.”

Jack looked down at his feet and bobbed his head in acceptance. “Okay.” He started toward the door, but Charlie’s hand shot out and latched onto his bicep, staying him.

“No, Jack, I didn’t mean... What I meant was: I was afraid. I didn’t want to say goodbye to you, but I thought that, if I told you that, you’d say I had to and I didn’t want to be hurt. So I snuck away. It was a cowardly thing to do. I certainly never intended to hurt you.”

Jack lifted his gaze to Charlie’s face and brought up his free hand to cup the side of it. “I wouldn’t have told you you had to say goodbye.”

Charlie smiled up at Jack and said, “Yeah, I think I know that now.” He slid the hand on Jack’s arm up to the back of Jack’s neck and pulled him down for a kiss.

Jack went willingly and when the kiss ended he whispered, “Come home with me, Charlie. I need you.”

“Need is a strong word, Jack.”

“So is the way I feel about you.”

“Well then,” Charlie smiled crookedly, “my answer is yes.”

Surging forward, Jack caught Charlie up in a full-body embrace, claiming his lips in a triumphant kiss. Charlie returned it with enthusiasm, and the pair were completely oblivious to anything else until Liam’s slightly raised voice cut through their happy haze.

“You know, baby-brother,” Liam paused and waited for them to separate slightly and turn toward him before continuing, “Dad’s going to have a heart-attack when you bring him home for Christmas.”

Liam stood with his arm draped around his wife’s shoulders, his eyes sparkling with mischief despite his attempt at keeping a serious face, and Charlie just laughed. “Dad’ll be fine, Liam. Jack’s a doctor, after all.”

As they all stood laughing at Charlie’s joke, Jack slipped his own arm around the smaller man, relaxed and at ease for the first time in days. He’d found his answers. His searching was over.

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