Short lost fic, Kate's POV, post Homecoming. Kate wants to know why Jack didn't give her a gun. Lost belongs to those people, I'm just borrowing for fun.

Lost – Gunplay
By Mystic
February 2005

He wouldn't give me a gun and I can't figure out why it bothers me. It's been a couple days now and everyone's back to normal. As normal as it can be on this island. Sawyer's trading clean underwear for cigarettes and hoarded boar meat; Claire's slowly remembering (or at least trying her best to live out her journal) and Charlie's gone back to playing protector.

No one's giving Ethan a second thought.

I should be happy. From everything I gather, Ethan wanted Claire because he saw her as a fertile woman. I'm starting to wonder if whoever 'they' are, if they have no women. It's a radical theory, but why else want the woman having the baby. Ritualistic sacrifice? It kind of makes my skin crawl when I'm alone in the jungle. Not that I'm scared. I could probably have taken Ethan out a lot quicker than Jack, it's just unnerving because there are women back at the camps – the caves and the beach – who can't protect themselves if they were attacked and taken.

Why wouldn't he give me a gun?

It's kept me up at night and I don't know what to make of it. Jack's a smart guy, he seems to be a smart guy. Maybe I think that because I want to and he's actually a brute like every other man.

Four guns; four men.

Four men. Like men do everything better. Like because they're men they can aim a gun better than a woman, shoot a gun better than a woman, take out the bad guy better than a woman. I'm used to people thinking that way. Women are the weaker sex, it's a common misconception. Or at least it is in my head. Was it because of how I was raised, or because of the experiences that I've had?

Or maybe it's not that.

Maybe what he tells other people is a front. A lie to cover my lies. It almost makes me feel guilty. It does make me feel guilty. Maybe he's afraid because those guns came from the case of the US Marshall that was escorting me back to the United States. Those guns belonged to me.

He's afraid that I am dangerous. If only I could just tell him the truth. It's something that pinches at me every time I look into his eyes and see him asking me. He just wants to know what I did, to make his insides stop turning at the thought that I was a cold-blooded murderer. I'm not. I wish I could tell him that and make him believe me. Seems like it should be simple, but I know better.

"You think life is simple, Kate? Take a good look around you, nothing is simple in life. You have to be on the defensive at all times. Calculate your next move and then strike without reconsidering."

Dad was always going on about life as a war and the ones with the better game plan won. I always thought he was way too into his job. Sometimes Locke reminds me of him. I tend to stay away from Locke. Dad was the first person to hand me a gun. I wasn't too old, barely bigger than the gun itself. It was a rifle. He held me steady and made me shoot a deer while I cried that I couldn't.

I remember the way it jerked and ran. Then it slowed and fell. My father made me watch it die and told me it was just the way life was: The weaker animal died, the stronger one survived. We had meat for diner and I vomited all night. Now the nine milometer pressed firm against my stomach and I felt the familiar nausea float up my throat.

"Hey," Jack says softly. I turn and notice he's got the briefcase in his hands, the key around his neck again. It makes me look away, guilty.

There's silence and I smile up at him. "This a social call, or are there more pressing matters of urgency." It's a joke and he gives me a small laugh in response.

It's easy for me to make jokes when I'm angry. It's the biggest lie I can tell.

"I'm collecting the guns." He pats the silver briefcase.

"Don't think Sawyer's gonna give his up just yet."

Jack shrugs and stares off for a moment, as if controlling repressed anger. It's one of Jack's biggest problems. If he'd just let it out, he'd be better off. "He feels it's a fair trade for the one he gave you."

"You're not going to press him on it?" I ask, curious.

Jack shakes his head. "I'm kind of hoping he shoots himself in the foot."

I laugh and it's honest. I wouldn't mind seeing that. Of course, on this island, who knows what infection might settle into him and kill him. My smile vanishes and I go back to staring out into the ocean.

"Uh. Kate?" Jack half-whispers.

"Yeah?" I ask, pulling my feet out of the sand so I can turn properly and watch him hold out his hand. It's almost like asking me to give up a body part. I've already gotten used to it tucked away on my waist again. I touch it gently, the metal warm from the tropical head, and then pull it out, palming it a moment.

"It's going under Lock and Key, Kate." He tells me. As if assuring me. Warning me?

"I know," I tell him, my arm still not reaching. I look up at him. "Why were you so reluctant to give me a gun anyways?"

His whole body sighs.

"Well, I think it's a valid question." I pulled the gun closer to myself instinctively. It felt safer that way. The three days I've had the gun, I've felt safer than I had in months.

"Kate, please give me the gun."

"No," I told him defiantly. I lowered my eyebrows at him, watching the way his stances changed, it became desperate. "Are you afraid of me with a gun?"

He shakes his head.

"Why don't I believe you then?"

"Kate, are you pissed 'cause I didn't want you in on the Ethan hunt? Is that it?" His eyes widened, making him look just a bit manic. He doesn't know I'm used to that threatening stare from men. It doesn't scare me one bit.

"I want to know why you completely left me out, yes! Why we had to go to Sawyer for someone to finally trust me."

"He doesn't know you!" Jack shouted at me.

It stung and I looked away, feeling my eyes burn. I can't remember the last time a man hurt me like that. I could almost see Jack soften when my eyes defy me. I hold out the gun, but he doesn't take it.

"Kate. I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"I know what you meant, Jack."

"It's just, that's not the reason I didn't want you to go."

The gun I still held out between us as I turn back. "Then why?"

"For the same reason Charlie didn't want Claire to be the bait."

I smile, it's hard not to do when thinking about Charlie. "But Jack, Charlie's in love with Claire…"

The sentence hangs with the gun. I almost feel ashamed to have said it by the look on his face. It's surprised and a bit red. He looks away. "I just don't want you to get hurt. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Not if you'd just said so," I tell him, touching his hand and showing him the gun that I'm getting tired of holding.

He opens the briefcase and I dangle it over the other three. My grip tightens and I look up at him. He's watching my eyes, watching the way I'm torn. I smile to try and relieve his questions and let the gun drop onto the pile.

Finis