A/N: Originally supposed to be a short oneshot, it's now turned into ANOTHER off-island fic that will be maximum five chapters and may or may not have a happy ending. Angst is fun, but fluff is too. Hmm...
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He felt empty inside. She had been his rock, and now, she was suddenly, irreplaceably gone. Had it really only been two months since their rescue? Only two months since she'd been ruthlessly torn from his arms by two US marshals as they stepped off the plane at the Los Angeles airport.

She had changed in the months they had been on the island. He hadn't known how much he could love a person until Kate. In turn, he taught her that running was not always the best option. As their time on the island had slipped into its fifth month, less uneventful than ever, the camp gossip about their relationship snowballed out of control, until the morning Locke had entered Jack's tent and found him sleeping, shirtless, his arm around Kate's bare shoulders. They had been through too much together to deny any feelings for each other any longer.

Rescue came in early May, and they were all thrilled when they spotted the small plane hovering over the island. It landed, and the pilot spoke briefly with Jack and Sayid before taking off again, promising to bring help as soon as possible. They expected a ship or large plane the next morning, but instead they endured heavy rain for a week straight. Jack ordered everyone down to the caves, while he, Sayid, Locke, Sawyer and Eko stayed on the beach to wait for the rescue party to arrive. It was at least ten days until their coast guard rescue boat arrived, and the captain explained as they boarded how the ship had been nearly blown off course in what the officers said was the worst storm they'd ever seen. The ship wasn't at all damaged, and once the survivors were aboard, it left for Australia. Things would never be the same, of course. Their joy at being rescued was clouded by the small hillside on the beach of the island that had been their home for eight long months: the graveyard that held the bodies of those they had lost after the burning of the fuselage. Joanna, Scott, Boone, Shannon, Ana Lucia, Libby, Craig, Neil, Tracey, Lance. No one had wanted to dig up the bodies, families had to leave without their loved ones. Jack's original mission, to bring back the coffin containing his dead father was a failure. He had long ago found the coffin, but never his father's body.

The trip back to Australia had been entirely uneventful. Upon arrival, the survivors had spent a day in Sydney, given a voucher from Oceanic to buy any necessities. They were told to follow the schedule given to them, report to their hotel by nine that night, and be up and ready to leave for the airport at five in the morning for the flight to LA at six. An alternate route was planned—fly north, over Southeast Asia, stop in Tokyo to refuel, then on to LA. None of the passengers wanted to risk flying over the South Pacific again.

She had stuck with him while they were taken to a small store to make their purchases. He lost her in a crowd, his brow creased with worry, until he spotted her lounging on a bench near the checkout, waiting for him. She was wearing a pair of black sunglasses to hide her eyes, and she raised her head when he approached.

"What'd you buy?" He had asked her. She gave him a bittersweet smile.

"Just some stuff for the trip home."

They were both too exhausted to say much that evening, and declined to join the others for dinner in the hotel's restaurant. They curled up in the soft king-size bed in each other's arms, content to just whisper, dream. He talked about them getting a house together, starting a new routine. He skirted the issue of marriage and children--they had both talked about the latter, but had decided not yet, especially not with the risks on the island of something going wrong. Now, he knew that he was ready for the committment. He wasn't sure if she was just yet, but he wasn't complaining. He wanted her to himself for a while anyway.

They woke up early the next morning in each other's arms, showered together, made love, dressed, went down to the considerably early breakfast with the rest of the survivors. With their meager amount of luggage, the group was loaded onto buses to the Sydney airport. During the flight, they all traded contact information, promised to have yearly reunions, keep in touch. The ride to Los Angeles was, understandably, nerve-wracking, and when the voice over the loudspeaker announced they had safely arrived at LAX, a cheer arose from the passengers. The group left the gate to go home and were suddenly slammed by a rush of people, fighting through photographers, journalists, news crews, scientists, talk show hosts. Everyone wanted to meet the survivors of the mysterious Oceanic Flight 815. Jack held Kate to his side, afraid to lose her in the pressing crowd, searching for the nearest exit. Their bags were carry-on, and he wanted to get to his car as fast as possible, assuming it was still in the parking lot. Kate kept her head down, sunglasses on, as they pushed their way through the crowd. So naturally, he saw them first. In retrospect, he should have realized how easy this all seemed, for them to get off of the ship and for there to be no police there to arrest her. He should have done more to protect her, get her away from there, thought quicker. He should have...

Sunlight streamed into the tall windows in the loft apartment. With his surgeon's salary, he could afford much better, but the simple fact of the matter was that he wasn't used to luxury anymore. He discovered he missed the simplicity of life on the island, and when he bought his new apartment, he bought only the essentials. Of course there was a washing machine and dryer, a fridge, oven and microwave. But he didn't need a big-screen TV or fancy exercise equipment. He had lost enough weight on the island, and he could make do with the small color TV in his bedroom, although he rarely watched it. Before the crash, he'd been nothing more than a promising spinal surgeon from Los Angeles. After the rescue, neither his home nor his mother's home was safe from people wanting autographs or taking pictures. There was no reason why being a plane crash survivor should warrant this much popularity. He'd nearly had to quit his job and was close to leaving the state. He just wanted to get away from people wanting book or movie deals. It was too much, too overwhelming. He thought about New York, where he imagined he could fade into anonymity. It was so populated here that people didn't care who you were and rarely recognised you. He never made good on his threats to leave, and his life became a dull, daily monotony. He got up, showered, maybe had breakfast, drove to work, operated, had lunch, filled out paperwork, went home, ate dinner, thought about Kate, maybe called one of the others to see how they were doing, took another shower, went to bed. Some days, he split his life into three: He spent a third of his day at the hospital, a third sleeping, and a third contacting every jail and police station he could to find her.

It was a hot morning in July when he Jack went to the bathroom and turned on the hot water in the shower. The heat of the summer baked Los Angeles and he slept in nothing but his boxers, so it didn't take too much effort to undress and get into the shower. The hot water droplets stung as they reached his skin, and the shower door fogged over until he couldn't see through it. His skin burned red with the heat, and he rubbed his damp hands over his face, shaking sleep out of his eyes. The music from the radio on the bathroom counter rose over the sounds of the water. Everyone knows I'm in over my head, over my head. with eight seconds left in overtime, she's on your mind, she's on your mind...

He had frozen. His mind screamed at him to move, but his body refused to obey. She stopped with him, puzzled, confused, looking at him, then up, her face contorted in horror. The five US marshals approached them and two of them jumped forward to wrestle Kate to the ground. He opened his mouth to protest, but no sound came out, and all he could do was watch helplessly as they handcuffed her. He sensed the attentions of their welcome committee shift to the scene unfolding in front of him, and was suddenly surrounded by camera crews, photographers, journalists, As they pulled her up off of the ground, one of them bluntly stating her rights, he saw that she had a defiant look on her face, as if daring the people surrounding them to say something. Nearby, the other survivors moved away, as if embarrassed to watch, and Jack hated them for it, hated that after all she done for them, they were ashamed of her. The two large men began to lead her away through the crowd, with the three backups guarding them. She hadn't looked at him from the moment they'd captured her, no eye contact at all. Suddenly, his body and his voice kicked into gear, and he ran after, calling her name:

"Kate!"

They stopped, confused at first, and she turned. He tried to get closer, but one of the other marshals held him back. Their eyes finally met, and she starred at him blankly. He saw that she was fighting back tears. and he fought to think of something to say, anything. The guards were pulling Kate forward and she turned away, her long brown hair covering her face.

"Kate!" He pushed the third marshal off of him and ran to her. The guards holding on to her looked at each other, then at him, and the taller one shrugged. "You better say what you gotta say, pal, this one's going away for a long time."

She wouldn't look at him. Fear gripped his heart. He was never going to see her again.

"I love you." He said bluntly, but honestly, words he had said time and time again. "I will wait for you. I will get you out." Her head snapped up and she was looking at him with those wide eyes, the same look she'd given him the day they first kissed, right before she ran. This time, though, there was a faint smile on her lips.

"I know. I love you, too, Jack." He struggled with himself for a moment, fully aware of the media frenzy going on at his back, but he suddenly felt like the sound had been sucked from the room and it was only them, alone, together. He leaned down and kissed her, the way two people kiss when they know they're not going to see each other for a long time. "Don't forget to count to five," He whispered, his forehead touching hers. The guards pulled them apart, led her away. She looked back at him and they locked gazes until she had passed through a doorway and dissappeared from view. He stood there, starring at the door, until the shrill voice of his mother rang out, sounding horrible, grief-stricken, and he tore his eyes from the door and went to tell his mother about his father.