A/N: Jack finds a bundle of letters Kate wrote to him many years ago, and remembers how they got to him. It's definitely a weird story, but stick with it, and in no time, I'll have you saying "What the hell is she on?"

Real life.
Letters.

Get it?

Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine, the Lake House isn't mine. But to write this story, I needed the characters, and to think of a plot line, I needed to kind of halfway borrow the Lake House's plot line.

The Letters

September 22nd, 2012

Jack had just gotten home from work, still in hi, and he pressed the 'play' button on his answering machine. A couple messages containing numbers he already knew blasted across the speaker, and then the machine turned over a new voice.

"Hey, Jack, guess who this is." A small forced laugh from a fragile voice. "Pick up your mail, would you? Look for my letter…" A click, then a mechanical voice repeating what time of the day it had been left. It wasn't possible. How could it be that the message had been left six years ago? He – they – had still been on the Island back then. She had still been alive back then.

How it was even in the realm of thinkable, he didn't know. He flipped through the other messages, replayed them again. Same date as today. The twenty-second of September, 2012. But hers was left on the twenty-second of September, 2006.

Doing as she asked him, he went to go retrieve his mail. Shifting through all the other letters, his eyes quickly found her large loopy writing, his namewritten across the front of it in her familiar writing. But the return address stumped him. It read, 'Kate Austen, Cave Town, The Island In The Middle of Nowhere.' The envelope was tired and worn with time, it's edges already starting to turn a shade of cappuccino brown.

Opening it slowly, he unfolded the letter, and his eyes quickly scanned the page, looking for a date.

September 22nd, 2006. He read it over and over again, not able to comprehend it the first few times. His chocolate brown eyes shifted over the to the first line of writing.

Dear Jack,

Well, it's been two years since we've been on this Island. Two long, dreadful years, on this very day. I don't know how I knew the date today, but it was just a feeling in my gut. Locke had lost track of the time long before this, so who knows, it could be the fifteenth of June instead of the twenty-second of September. I suppose you'll just have to live with it.

I guess this is more a time capsule then anything else. I doubt it'll ever get delivered since we have no postman, plus Sawyer takes everything worth mentioning from the tents anyway. If he finds this, he'll probably just laugh, rip it up, and throw it into the fire, waiting until you come along, so he can say "Nice letter, doc. Too bad the fire got to it before you did." And wink at you.

Maybe someday we'll get rescued, and finally the postman could deliver this to you.

Or, maybe in a couple years, when we've grown older, I'll show them to you myself. Whatever time brings us to. I know for a fact that you're mad at me right now. Just a few minutes ago, you came in here, mad as anything, and started screaming at me. I have no idea what for, actually, I was so shocked that I couldn't hear anything. You know how sometimes, time seems to stand still? This was definitely one of those. Something about me trekking off into the woods again, with only a knife as protection. I have a tendency to forget the gun, but you never seem to understand that explanation. Maybe since I remember everything else, you figured I'd remember the gun. One of my bad habits, forgetting what you tell me. I know it sounds stupid, but it seems like every time you talk to me, I try to remember what you say, and it ends up that I try to remember so hard that I forget what I was trying to remember in the first place.

I know, you're probably shaking your head, laughing, thinking 'what the hell is she talking about?' but it at least makes sense to me, and that's what matters since you'll never be getting these letters anyway. Probably. Hopefully. I mean… It'd be embarrassing, not to mention a myriad of other things.

Hurley's now "knocking" at my tent flap, asking if everything is okay, so I'd better end this before he gets suspicious. I suppose I'll put this in the Hatch mailbox. No one ever checks there anyway…

Yours,
Kate

Jack didn't know how to react. How did she know his phone number? He left the letter sitting on the counter, and went to go take a shower. When he came back out, the letter was still there, still with the same date. How could he be six years in the future, and get a thing like this? How did the whole phone message thing work out?

He felt stupid for thinking and feeling it, but he had a sense of yearning to write back. But he shook off the feeling, and went to bed.

The next day, the letter was still there. At breakfast, Jack scrawled a quick note on a post-it…

This has to be some mind game, right? Whoever's writing these letters, please stop. It's an upsetting subject for me to think about.
-Dr. Jack Shephard, September 22nd, 2012.

… And slammed it in his mailbox outside, along with a bunch of other mail. Setting the red marker up, he went to work.

When he came back that night, he found another letter.

Dear Jack,

The weirdest thing happened to me today… I found this bright yellow post-it in the mailbox, with the words 'This has to be some mind game, right? Whoever's writing these letters, please stop. It's an upsetting subject for me to think about. - Dr. Jack Shephard, September 22nd, 2012.'

Did you find my letter? Did you read it? What's up with the date? It's not 2012, it's still 2006. I can't believe you read it, then passed by me today without a word! How dare you! Why the hell is the Island an upsetting subject for you to think about? You said to me just yesterday that this place was becoming more your home then the real world ever had been!

Stop reading my letters, and stop freaking me out with the whole date thing, okay?

Kate

Jack couldn't believe his eyes. He quickly wrote another note down on a post-it.

Kate,

The year is 2012, believe it or not. Here's a piece of paper with my appointments for the day written down. I don't understand… This can't be happening. How are you still back on the Island? We were rescued almost a year ago, Kate.

Jack

Boston General Hospital
Appointments for M.D. Jack Shephard – September 23rd, 2012.

Surgery – 06:15 am – Denny Tolk, for a spinal plate replacement. Interns: Aurelia Lily and Luke Mattenson
Follow-up – 11:30am - Denny Tolk, see how he's faring.
- Lunch – 12:30 – 13:30 –
Surgery – 14:45 – Deb Gilmore, for a spine needed to be straightened. Interns: Aurelia Lily and James Druff
Follow-Up – 18:30 – Deb Gilmore, see how she's faring.
On-Call for the rest of the night.

See? I'm not lying, it's not a joke.

Running downstairs, he quickly shoved the post-it into his apartment mailbox, and waited for the response.

A shuffle of mail could be heard a while later, and Jack checked it.

On the same piece of paper, she had written:

No fucking way.

A/N: It should be an interesting story. And this one, unlike others, I shall keep on updating, regardless. This has become my number one priority right now. Please, read and review, even if it's one word... say... "Crayola." Or name off what you think's wrong with the story. Or name off what you like about the story. Whatever. A letter of the alphabet, even. I don't care. Just something telling me you read it.

I think next chapeter might be all letters... I don't know yet. Or I could switch around to Kate's POV, and show her reaction to this... Depends.