A/N Hello, hello! This is the sequel to Waiting for the Music to Begin. For those of you who've read it, THANK YOU! For those of you who haven't, I'll sum it up the ending for you: Kate is out of jail after almost a year, and has just come to live with Jack. Unfortunately, the transition won't be smooth, because even though she is ecstatic to be free and with Jack, she is seriously depressed – more than she'd like to let on.

Kate woke up in the sleep position that she usually was in – her legs tucked up to her stomach and her arms wrapped around them, like she was cannonballing into a pool. But this time, instead of her face being smothered by a flat prison-issued pillow, it was buried in Jack's chest. This was the first thing she noticed on November 20th, the first day of freedom.

She opened her eyes with a start. The first day of freedom. She didn't even know what she would do with it. She wondered if she could even think of something worthy of such an important day. But she decided quickly that doing anything with Jack was what she wanted to be doing. She lifted her sleepy eyes. Her head was just above Jack's shoulders, her loose hair brushing against his neck. He was still asleep, she saw.

Eager to get up, make coffee, do something, she slid soundlessly from the bed without stirring Jack. At the end of the room, she turned and looked at him. She couldn't help but smile. A swell of gratitude made her want to wake him up, just to tell him how thankful she was. She wasn't the kind of person who got all sappy and emotional, but her eyes filled with tears all the same as she wondered for the millionth time how she'd gotten Jack. The question almost hurt her every time she asked herself; what was so great, what had she done?

But here she was.

She walked down the hall barefoot, the carpet cool and soft beneath her. She opened the fridge first – it had been a while since she'd actually cooked, but she could at least make an attempt, right? There was barely anything in there at all – condiments, a couple of take-out Styrofoam boxes and some suspicious-looking milk. Men. She searched the cabinets, looking for some lame attempt at something edible. She discovered the very last few Folgers coffee grounds on the counter. There was enough for maybe one cup.

Kate smirked and rolled her eyes, though there was no one to see her expression. Then it hit her – she didn't have to wait around for food. She could just get up, open the door and find a grocery store.

"You idiot," she muttered to herself, but she was thrilled with the simple idea all the same. How could something so normal seem so wonderful?

Scrawling a quick note to Jack on a post-it, she threw on her shoes and pocketed the ten-dollar bill that he'd left on the counter the night before.

She knew she was just wearing a pair of gym shorts, the t-shirt she'd worn yesterday, and her ratty tan prison boots, but the second Kate opened the door to the apartment and her foot hit the pavement, she knew she was going to run. She was going to run as fast as she could, for as long as she could. Forget food; it could wait. She hadn't run in years, not unless she was actually running away.

It was the perfect day – not hot, exactly, but warm for November. The sky was a picture book sky with the brightest blue and a few tufts of little clouds here and there. The sound of her heels contacting the sidewalk made a rhythm that coursed through her. The buildings became a blur, and all she thought about was how yesterday, she was sitting on her bed staring at the same page of a newspaper for an hour, watching her roommates sleep and argue with one another.

She didn't know how long she ran, or notice when she got a cramp in her side and her breath became more labored. Her dizziness came on suddenly, with a lurch. Surprised, she bent over and gulped in air. She sat down on the curb and closed her eyes.

A minute passed before someone stopped. "Are you okay?" A man's soft voice said.

She squinted. "Yeah, I'm fine… I might throw up." She said, changing her mind.

"Let's get you off the road, okay?" he said, and without waiting for a response, he half-pulled, half-dragged her across the sidewalk so that she was leaning her back against a brick wall.

After a minute, Kate ventured to open her mouth. "Thanks. I'm… starting to feel better…" she lied. As long as she walked slowly back to the apartment, she should be fine. She opened her eyes all the way and looked up at him.

He was handsome, about thirty, with his head bent down towards her. As she lifted her head to look at him, his eyes widened, and he took a step backwards.

"Jesus Christ!" he gasped.

"What?" Kate was confused. There was surprise in this man's face, but there was also a hint of… recognition. Did she know him? She didn't think so. And then she realized. How could she have been so stupid? For a few moments, she had forgotten that everyone knew her face, and that she had killed her own father.

The stranger knew who she was. Soon after he identified her, she saw fear flash across his eyes. She felt a pang of self-pity. This man was taller and stronger and probably weighed twice what she did. She was sitting on the ground, about to pass out. And he was afraid of her. This was what it was always going to be like. The grief quickly disappeared, and was replaced with a hot fury.

She stood up; steadying herself against the wall and seeing purple pinpricks dot her vision. "I'm not going to murder you, don't worry." Kate spat at him.

He looked even more shocked than he was a second ago. She turned and began to walk back towards Jack's with any dignity that she could muster up, but she stumbled after only a few steps, a new wave of dizziness flooding through her. Dammit.

She shuddered as the man grabbed her arm and led her without a word gently into the café she was passing. She sat down, averting her eyes, furious that she had allowed him to help. She pressed her forehead to the table, feeling the cool surface against her burning skin. It also covered her face from any other asshole that recognized her, she noted.

The man bent to her ear and whispered, "Sorry. Okay? I was surprised. Are you all right?"

Turning her head, she glared at him, still angry but also the slightest bit curious. He sure changed his mind quickly about her being a danger. And though she'd never admit it, she was thankful for that. The café was dark and air conditioned, and she was starting to feel better already.

"Should I call 911?" he asked. She studied his face. It was actually very kind. His eyes crinkled at the corners as if he smiled too much, and concern was etched across his face.

"I just… do you have a cell phone?" She wanted Jack to take her home so badly that a lump formed in the back of her throat. She felt stupid and babyish, and swallowed a few times.

The man let her call Jack, and after giving a few directions, Jack promised he'd be right there. She could hear the worry in his voice as he hung up. She gave the phone back, muttering thanks.

"No problem." He said. "Are you feeling better?"

She nodded. There was an awkward silence as they both looked at each other. Kate was reminded painfully of a shy boy named Matt who she'd dated when she was fourteen.

"You're probably wondering who the hell I am." The man said, smiling slightly. "Luke March. I'm a social worker." He extended his hand.

Kate hesitated. Oh, the irony. Then she grudgingly shook it, letting her hand drop in her lap. "My guess is, you already know who I am." She said, slightly bitterly.

"Sure," was all he said. He reached into his pocket. "I even have a business card." He said brightly, laying it on the table between them. "So, if you ever need any help with anything…" he let the sentence remain unfinished.

"What, am I just here for a sales pitch?" Kate asked, but she was smiling now. She had begun to like this guy. For his benefit, she took the card and shoved it into her shorts pocket. "You really don't know who you're dealing with."

Luke smiled back. "I don't at all." He was suddenly serious. "I apologize. It was utterly inhumane of me to act the way I did. You're not a monster."

"You don't know that either." Kate shot back at him, resting her chin in one hand.

"You're not." He repeated. "I can tell that now."

"That's not what everyone else says. I've heard it. Just because I was…" she lowered her voice. "Just because I was in prison doesn't mean I don't hear what they say. Everyone was shocked when they heard my sentence. Someone compared me to O.J. Simpson… Scott Peterson…" Her voice was hard and cold.

He shrugged. "That's just one person."

"Everyone does."

Luke raised his eyebrows. "Does he?" He looked past Kate's shoulder.

She turned. Jack stood in the doorway. In an instant, he was by her side. "Kate? Are you all right?" He wrapped his arm around her waist and helped her up. Kate looked between the two men; one that she loved and knew her inside and out, and the other that was a stranger but seemed to know everything that she didn't.

She answered Luke. "No."

Jack paused, looking confused.

Luke smiled almost lazily at Kate. "Neither do I. And that's already two people."

She looked at him for a long moment. "Thank you." She said thoughtfully, and they both knew she was not thanking him for pulling her off the sidewalk.

Her gaze switched to Jack. He looked troubled; seemingly worried that he was on the outside of something important. She gave him a reassuring look, a loving look that she gave no one else in the world.

She had no idea it would be this difficult to function, but Jack would be here through it all.