Disclaimer: Lost is owned by ABC Television and was created by Jeffrey Lieber, J. J. Abrams and Damon Lindelof, produced by Bad Robot Productions. I don't own it but I love it!

A/N: Reader – This One-Shot is a slightly modified version of Chapter 5 of Desperately Seeking DC-3. I understand not everyone has time to read Multi-Chapters.

This is for the One-Shot Readers. The One-Shot Seeds follows this chronologicially.

Dedicated to ForeverErica, Queen of Jate FF. Thanks for the wisdom and push!

"We all do things we desperately wish we could undo. Those regrets just become part of who we are, along with everything else. To spend time trying to change that, well, it's like chasing clouds." -Libba Bray

I made my way to the caves. I had reached the end of my rope.

I found Jack there with Sun going over some medicinal herbs she had in make-shift from plane bowls and parts. I walked up as Sun was explaining something to Jack using gestures. I waited a few minutes until they were done. He finally turned to me as Sun went back to what she was doing.

I didn't want to involve Jack but getting the marshal's case from Sawyer sticky-fingers was not only difficult but crossing the thresholds with me.

I can't tolerate being touched or straddled sexually if I'm not a willing participant. Who would? Sawyer seemed to take my attempts to get the case back as an open invitation to wrestle, pinning me to the ground in one compromising position after another.

I had a knife for cutting fruit. A feeling of anger and desperation crept over me the last round of trying to retrieve the case. I don't want to hurt Sawyer but I loathe being physically overpowered and vulnerable. It was bringing up painful memories I tried to keep under lock and key.

I also couldn't find the marshal's grave. Only Jack knew where it was. With no body, I had no key to open the case.

I had been thinking it over and knew guns would come in handy since the Others were a threat. They kidnapped Claire and tried to kill Charlie. Our camp had no weapons to defend ourselves from another attack or kidnapping. I was hoping that would pique Jack's interest to get the case.

"Jack. We've got a problem." I stood with my hands on my hips. He looked up to see me. Sun did too. She was wrapping up the herbs she showed him and put them away.

Jack gave me a questioning look. "We've got a problem, or you've got a problem?" His tone was light but he reframing it as a personal problem, my problem. Truthfully, it was, except for the guns.

I looked over at Sun who was listening. I knew she only spoke Korean but didn't want to talk in front her or anyone else.

"Jack. You're the only one who knows about me." I said and paused. I watched Sun out of the corner of my eye. She moved off to another area. I continued to talk after that. "Before I left Sydney, the marshal who was escorting me, he had a silver case."

Jack listened carefully, examining my face. The case caught his interest but otherwise his face betrayed nothing. We both sat together on a rock ledge at the bottom of the cave infirmary.

I took a breath. "The airline wouldn't let him bring it on the plane. It was hard enough talking them into letting him carry a gun on his ankle, but the case, they made him check it."

Jack's face didn't change. "What was in it?"

"Some traveling money, cash, some of his personal stuff . . ." I looked down at my fingers. I had been picking at a little callous forming on the tip of my thumb precisely where I held the knife when cutting fruit. I looked up at him again. "And four Sig-Sauer nine millimeters and a few boxes of ammo."

Jack's looked changed. "Guns."

I nodded.

"Where's the case?" He asked.

"Sawyer has it."

Jack's face changed at the mention of Sawyer sitting on four nine millimeters. "Uh huh." His face darkened and he went from relaxed to tense, clenching his right fist and placing his left hand over it. His hands were large and powerful.

Sawyer thought he was living in the wild west on this damn island. He had already used the fifth nine-millimeter from the marshal's ankle holster to put 9 bullets in a polar bear. The 10th bullet he put into the marshal's lung in a botched attempt at a mercy killing. Jack had to finish the job himself.

I bit the side of my lip. "He hasn't been able to open it up yet . . ."

"Lucky us." Jack commented.

"Yeah, but he will. Sooner or later. If there are guns on the island we need to keep them safe." I said firmly.

Jack looked at me for a moment. "So, what do you need me to do?"

"I know where the key is. He, the marshal, kept it in his wallet. It's in the back of his pants." I hoped he would agree. I needed him to agree.

Jack listened, absorbing the information. He shook his head at me. "I buried him, Kate."

"I know." I said. "Where?"

Jack gave me a piercing look. "What else is in the case?"

"What?" I asked.

"What else, Kate?" He asked again. He suspected I was hiding something.

"Nothing." Nothing of consequence, I thought.

I couldn't bring myself to tell him there was a small, plastic plane in there, a lifeline to me and my only connection to my past. I pursued it at any cost, even my own life, to possess it. Once it was in my possession, I clung to it like a life preserver. It used to belong to my only childhood friend, Tommy.

It's small cargo hold and wings carried memories that had sustained me during my darkest moments. I was on the run for three years as a fugitive and had it just over two years until it was taken away by the marshal and locked in the Halliburton case after he taunted me with it.

The plane meant everything to me. It held innocence lost and dreams that died under abuse fueled by alcohol and rage.

Tommy was dead.

Only the marshal knew about it. Now he was dead.

It was all I had left.

"That's the truth?" Jack watched me.

"Just the guns." I stated.

Jack sat next to me, looking deeply into my eyes. I saw a mixture of belief and a trace of skepticism. I had nothing else to sway him. I would think Sawyer being in the mix would be enough.

I couldn't bring myself to mention the toy, to explain. There was an fissure inside of me that threatened to split. I needed it back in my possession to seal it shut.

Desperation nipped at me.

"You want my help?" Jack continued to stare into my eyes intensely. I didn't waver. "We open the case together."

He was testing me.

I nodded, not breaking eye contact. "Okay."

"Okay." Jack said. He looked down for a moment, then put his hands on his knees and stood.

He left the cave. I stood and followed him.

It was afternoon. Jack hiked into the jungle with me and came to an area surrounded by trees. It was remote, farther down the beach than any of them wandered and hidden. We had to climb through a thick grove of small trees to reach it. Most of the walk was done in silence.

I felt the levity of what we were about to do and didn't try to make conversation with Jack. He had put the marshal out of his misery after Sawyer's botched attempt. Edward was already dying. Afterwards, Jack stayed up all night. He buried the body under the cover of darkness.

I saw him the next morning on the beach. That's when he talked to me about us "dying three days prior" in the crash and said "We should all be able to start over." He wasn't just talking about me, but it meant a lot. He still hasn't told anyone about my being a fugitive.

We stopped when we reached the grave. It was a dark and secluded space. The job ahead of us was grim. Jack had made a cross out of two sticks and tied it with fine vine. It was staked at the in the ground.

"I never figured you for the religious type." I said quietly.

"It's just a grave-marker." He responded. I could tell he wasn't happy about returning to this spot.

I looked up at him. "Why didn't you just put him with the others when you burned the fuselage?"

Jack didn't make eye contact and stared at the marker. "Because I needed to bury him." He gave no further explanation and didn't need to. He took a large bag off his back and put it on the ground. Inside were two make-shift shovels from poles and bent pieces of sharp fuselage.

He looked at me and tossed one over. I looked down at it, the reality of what we were about to do hitting me. It gave me a cold chill. I watched Jack as he dug up the first shovelful of dirt, then joined him in exhuming the body.

It was hot, difficult work, despite the grave being shallow. We reached the body after digging down three feet. The shovels removed the last of the dirt, then the smell hit me. I covered my nose and mouth with the back of my hand, willing myself not to vomit. I kept thinking of the plane, not about what we were doing.

I was closest to the marshal's torso. Jack had dressed him in his clothes before burying him. The last time I saw him, he had no shirt on and his jacket was hanging in the infirmary. That was after he asked if I was going to "do it" as in put him out of his misery. I refused. I couldn't.

"You all right?" Jack asked. He sounded concerned.

I couldn't hold my breath any longer and gagged. After it stopped, I turned to him. "Compared to what?"

Jack's brows were knit together. "You want me to . . .?"

"No. I'll do it." I said. I held my breath again and lifted the corpse. It was stiff and lighter than a person, already like a husk. I tried not to think, only get the damn wallet as quickly as possible without gagging again. I pulled it out of his pocket and climbed out quickly with it upside down in my hand. I felt the weight of something drop into my hand.

Jack came closer. I opened the wallet. It was full of maggots. I flung it to the ground, disgusted, my left hand lightly clenched. He picked it up and brushed off the maggots, then examined the contents. His fingers brushed through the bills and he checked the change department.

He looked at me. "It isn't here."

"It isn't?" I looked disappointed but my insides were squirming. Somewhere down deep, I despised myself as I looked in his eyes.

He stepped forward quickly and grabbed my left wrist. His touch wasn't friendly. His jaw was clenched. I knew I was busted. "No, but that was a nice sleight of hand, distracting me with the wallet."

He turned my hand over and squeezed it. "Open it."

I had no choice. I had palmed the key when I first got the wallet out. Jack still had a hold of my hand. He stared at me with a mixture of confusion, betrayal and other feelings that I couldn't read. I knew he was angry. My heart pounded.

"Jack . . ." My throat was dry. I wanted to explain even though I knew the words wouldn't come. Shame washed over me.

"Don't!" He snapped. He took the key and stormed away leaving me with the corpse and job of reburying him. My heart plummeted into my shoes. I knew what I was doing and why. I would have given Jack the case after removing one little item.

I deserved his anger and hatred. I didn't care about other people's opinions so much, but this was Jack. He was the one person whose perception of me mattered. I didn't want him to see me that way.

I turned away, silent tears falling, and started to shovel dirt over the body, disgusted not only with the smell but myself.

It was sunset. People were still hauling pieces of usable plane down the beach. I sat near the fuselage staring at the ocean, heartbroken.

The waves came in and pulled out whatever it could grab from the fuselage with higher tide. I was sinking into more than despair. It was the inevitable. I lied to Jack. I palmed the key.

I was stuck on hell-hole of an island with no place to run or hide from him or myself. My eyes burned from crying and the feeling of being unmoored was back. I had nothing and nobody again, not even the plane full of memories.

Two weeks on the island had brought me slivers of hope and enjoyment of what it might be like to belong and have friends. I didn't have growing up except Tommy. Instead, I felt solitude reached out with it's dark and thorn-laden arms to embrace me.

I heard someone approaching but didn't look.

Eventually, a tall figure crossed in front of me. It was Jack. He was carrying the case. I didn't stare at it now. There was no point now.

"Kate." His voice was determined. I was silent. "We're going this together." He held the key and was ready to walk off.

I was confused why he wanted to do that, to have anything to do with me. "Why?"

Jack turned to look at me. "Because that's what I said we would do." He walked away, expecting me to follow.

I tried to understand why he would include me. I lied. I used him. Why should he keep his word to me? I stood slowly and swallowed.

I followed several yards back with a sense of doom. He was going to find it. I doubted he was going to just give it to me after what I did to him. He would want answers.

Jack took me back through the jungle to the caves and sat in a secluded spot. The case was in front of him and he held the key. I sat near him but kept space between us, avoiding any eye contact.

"Anything you want to tell me?" He asked. I could feel his frustration and disappointment rippling off of him.

I looked at him with no answer.

I was barely holding back my tears and panic.

It felt like my lungs were in a vice, making me breath rapidly.

It didn't matter if I told him or not, even if I was capable of explaining. He wouldn't understand.

Maybe he would hate me more because the reason I lied was over something small, something that only I cared about.

Obsessed with it for all those lonely years, I threw away his trust over something with no worldly value that fit in the palm of my hand.

Jack opened the Halliburton with the marshal's key. I looked away, avoiding it.

I felt like a dog, beaten for good reason, unable to look at the contents as he began to take them out.

I heard him take out item after item but stared in the opposite direction. I wished I was back on the beach, in the jungle, anyplace but there. It was only a matter of moments before he discovered it.

He continued on and eventually paused. I refused to look at him, my face damp from sweat and tears that started to escape again.

I thought I didn't have any more to shed, but they showed up again under his righteous scrutiny.

"Is this it?" He asked.

Something was stuck in my throat, holding back words.

"Is what you wanted?"

I turned my head slightly and saw the worn, teal green envelope. I sat, slumped forward, waiting for him to open it.

Instead, he handed it to me and leaned forward to watch. I automatically tipped the unsealed envelope it so he could see the contents.

It fell into my small palm, the tiny Douglas DC-3 airplane. I glanced down at it.

"What is it?" Jack asked. His voice was soft now. He looked at me with the questions in his eyes, wanting to know, maybe understand. I looked away, my eyes and nose both running now.

"Nothing." I wiped my nose with the back of my wrist, put the plane back in the envelope and stood up. I tried to get around him.

I was about to take off and run away but had to get past him to escape.

Jack blocked my path. "What it is it, Kate?" He was angry now, his raised voice echoing in the cave.

"You wouldn't understand." I shook my head, tears scattering, wanting to tear away.

He grabbed me by my left forearm and spun me around back to him. His brown eyes drilled into mine.

"I want the truth. Just this once." His voice was still low and face inches from mine. I was pressed lightly against the cave wall and tried to shrink further into it, not looking at him. He only saw my profile.

"What is it?" He pressed me again.

Tears poured down my face again. He wasn't going to let me go without an explanation.

"It belonged to the man I loved." I choked out.

"The truth!" He raised his voice, gripping my arm even tighter while pulling me in close.

"It belonged to the man I loved!" I raised my voice with his, desperate to tear away from his grasp and escape from him and myself.

"Stop lying to me!" His fingers dug into my arm as he escalated.

"I'm not. I . . ."

"TELL ME THE TRUTH!" Jack was in my face, his eyes filled with rage fueled with a mad passion behind it, forcing words from my mouth to end this.

"IT BELONGED TO THE MAN I KILLED!" I shouted.

The fissure inside of me cracked when I said that. I bent over at the waist and started to sob.

His grip was suddenly gone.

I couldn't stop. I staggered back to a rock to sit and hide my face, aching all the way down to my core.

The sobs started trickling, then came out in a roaring flood. It was a grand purge, with no beginning and no end in sight. I was reeling at the image of Tommy's dead body, etched inside my brain.

I began to keen as I sobbed. My chin quivered and guts wrenched uncontrollably. My body forced it all out, wave after wave, like poison.

He paced a few minutes, then the case was packed. I heard the clatter of things being tossed in and then the click of the lock. Jack left the cave.

He was gone.

Both of them were gone.

All I had left was something small and hard clenched in my hand.

I was once again alone.

It was night. I had stumbled out of the caves having no idea what time it was, only that it was twilight. Wood was still available in the stack. I made a small fire far from away from anyone and sat alone, propped against a rock.

My solitary companion was the one thing, only thing I had cared about until recently. Now it looked like I had killed that too.

It didn't matter how much Jack hated me. I hated myself more and my overwhelming need for this little toy. I hated my inability to explain it because it dipped far into my past, a bleak labyrinth I was afraid to step into.

My eyes were puffy red slits by then. I couldn't eat or drink.

I heard distant, evening sounds around the camp. Everyone gave me a wide berth. I didn't know what they sensed or knew but it didn't matter anymore. I had no voice or purpose. I felt like a ghost.

Somewhere, Jack was making his nightly rounds, going from fire to fire to check on everyone.

I held the plane by the tail and looked at it. It was lit up by the flames, a hellish red and orange.

My body was empty, drained of an ocean of tears.

I examined the DC-3 and felt nothing for the first time. There was no conjuring up the past with the golden-haired boy, giving me hope and keeping the darkness at bay. No memories of childhood joy flooded my mind as it took flight, propelled only by my small fingers. It was empty.

Instead, I smelled the fresh soil and grass when digging up the time capsule, excited to find it and the plane inside. I could taste of warm beer we drank while examining the treasure trove of two inseperable ten year-olds.

I felt the mind-numbing horror and wetness of blood as I touched Tommy's chest, his kind heart stilled by police bullets. He refused to leave me after my yelling several times to get out of the car.

I saw the faces of terrified bank customers as I put them in harm's way to get the DC-3 from the safe deposit box. Mark Hutton, the nice manager, almost got a bullet in the head by an idiot accomplice wanting to "clean up" just because he took off his ski mask.

I heard Jack's voice yelling at me, demanding the truth while his fingers dug painfully into my arm. My tongue failed, unable explain to him the details he demanded, to go there.

Everything was my fault.

I palmed it and looked into the fire. The spell was finally broken.

I floated inside a broken and empty space. Inside that, only one thread pulled at me.

It was the only thing I cared about as I stared flames.

My eyes were stinging, reflecting my sore, flayed heart.

The other end of the thread was tied to him, but once again, I had crossed a bridge, lit a match, and burned it behind me.

It was always my fault.

He had walked by me with only a slight pause before continuing his solo journey down the beach.