Fall from Grace
Part 1: The Bridge

Summary: What if the car accident that prevented Jack from jumping off the bridge had never occurred?
Characters: Yup this one is going to be a Jate with some Jack and Sawyer friendship.
Rating: PG-13 for some language and violence.
Disclaimer: I don’t own anything that has to do with LOST.

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 *****,” 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, digging in hard to 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.

“Damn.”

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 *****,” 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.

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