Takes place after they have escaped from captivity. CONTAINS SPOILERS FROM ALL EPISODES FROM SEASON THREE!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything, except for maybe my computer and my mind, still, nowadays, you can't be so sure... The title is from the song Shoreline originally by the Swedish band Broder Daniel. I prefer the version by Anna Ternheim. Lyrics can be found at www letssingit com search for Anna Ternheim.
water welled over his feet with every wash of the waves, and then drew back silently, taking the sand tumbling down with it. The sun burned in his face, but he couldn't be bothered to move to the tree line. What was the point? He drew his hand through his hair; longer now than it had ever been since they crashed, partly due to the fact that he had been at Ben's camp for the past three months. Partly due to the fact that in the long run it didn't matter, and he quite simply couldn't be bothered to do something about it. He rubbed a little at his neck, stiff from sitting in the same position hours on end. The pain didn't bother him; he just merely accepted its presence. Just like he had with so many other things in the last three months. He shifted a little, not much, just pressing his feet a little deeper into the wet sand. He thought of Kate, and accepted that pain to. He smiled inside at the memory of when she explained the concept of sinking to him. He wished that it might have worked. He wished he had taken her hand back then and sunk with her; away from the island; away from the hell that awaited them. But he hadn't, and both of them had been forced to live through it all. He wondered bitterly if it was too late now.
He glanced to his right, instantly spotting several of the other survivors. At one point, he had been grateful that he had survived the plane crash, that he had been given a second chance in life, when there were so many who died. That feeling was long gone. Now, instead, he secretly wished that he had died. Instead of having the responsibility for everyone and everything. Instead of being the only doctor. Instead of being lonely. He was still amazed at their audacity. He had merely been back in the camp for an odd ten hours before the first person showed up in his tent asking for medical advice. Hollow laughter bubbled in his throat at the thought. The woman, he didn't know her name and he didn't care either, had scraped her arm and wanted something to wash it with. He had laughed in her face and pointed her to Sayid's tent instead. A few more had come in the following hours but after receiving pretty much the same treatment they had given up.
Only Rose had tried to really talk to him since, and he had been back for more than three days now. He had seen Kate in the distance several times. He had seen her look at him out of the corner of his eyes, but she had never made any attempt to come near him, or talk to him. He told himself that he didn't care; his insides were already numb, already beyond repair, already dying, so her rejection only brought him a little bit closer to the edge he longed for. He had watched her a lot. Watched her talk with Claire, carefully holding Aaron to her body as if he might break. He had watched her talk to Sayid, bent over his maps, ready for adventure. In the evenings he would see her around the fire, laughing with the others: Hurley, Charlie, Claire and Sun. Sometimes she would help Rose with the laundry, or disappear with Sun to the garden. Most of her time, however, she spent either in the jungle or by Sawyer's empty tent.
He had never meant for it to happen the way it did. He had only ever wanted her to be safe. He had thought that their threats were empty; just a way to get to him. Because they had known how much he cared for her, and she in turn for Sawyer. How was he supposed to know that Pickett held such a grudge? How was he supposed to know what went on out by the cages when he asked her to go? How was he supposed to know that his killing Ben would lead to them killing Sawyer?
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The sun was setting, blood red light spreading across the sky. The wind had picked up a little, but even though he felt cold he could not be bothered to move or leave. An untouched water bottle sat next to him and next to it was an empty coconut shell filled with some cooked boar meat and a variety of fruits, all courtesy of Rose. He had touched neither. He was never hungry anymore. He rubbed his hands over his arms, warming them a little, and glanced along the shoreline to his left, away from the camp. When he had come trailing along there tree days before, he hadn't imagined it being like this. Even though he liked to believe that he had known it somewhere deep down, he had still imagined the feel of Kate in his arms, welcoming him back, glad to see him. Walking through the jungle it was what had kept him motivated when the cuts on his back had hurt too badly, or when he was thirsty or tired. The smile he had imagined on her face had kept him going; thinking that somewhere in all the darkness there was still something good. What hurt most was that he had been wrong.
He didn't notice John sitting down next to him until the other man cleared his throat. He held out another plate with food, fish this time, offering its contents to him. When he just turned away John sat it down next to the other food, but didn't make to leave.
"They are worried about you, Jack." John said; his calm voice soothing to Jack's ears despite all their past differences. "Rose, Claire and Sun." Jack was sure that they both noticed the fact that he didn't mention Kate, but he chose to ignore it. He had almost convinced himself that he didn't care if she avoided him.
"It's hard, isn't it Jack? Realizing that things aren't what you imagined, or wanted, them to be." John continued still calm, not in the least accusing. Jack bent his head further, his eyes still set on the shoreline far off to his left. He wondered how it was the Locke always seemed to know what was wrong. "It's hard, but you need to accept them the way they are now." Jack dug his feet deeper into the sand, a silent refusal to what Locke was saying. "Everything is a challenge, Jack, but if you overcome it, you will turn out much stronger than you were before." Jack wanted to yell at him, like he might have done in the past. He wanted to tell Locke how wrong he was, how he was too late. You can't win a fight you have already quit.
"Is this really what she wants you to do?" Jack involuntarily followed John's gaze to Kate, hunched by the fire, staring into the dancing flames. Charlie was sitting some meters from her on her right, strumming his guitar. Claire snuggling a sleeping Aaron was sitting next to him. There were others by the fire too, Rose, Bernard, Sun and Jin and Hurley, amongst others, and although they were all engaged in talk and laughter Kate managed to look as if she was all alone.
"I killed the man she loves, John!" Jack spat; the first words he had said in three days. Locke looked at him for a minute, not answering. Jack turned his gaze away again, certain he had made his point. He could hear Locke brush the sand from his khakis and stand up.
"You see that's where I think you are mistaken, Jack." He said quietly, his hand finding Jack's shoulder. Jack's head snapped up, piercing John with a hostile glare. Locke merely smiled softly, turning to leave, but stopped. "On the other hand, if you keep this up," he gestured at the untouched food and water; "then you will."
Please review, I have more, but I just wanted to know if you liked the idea, before I posted more. Comments are love, you know!