Just a short little nothing fic. Plan for three chapters, to get back into the groove of things before delving into the realllll stories. Reviews, please, and I'll hug and review you back!

"We don't need all three of them," she said, staring in the three dark holding cells. "It's more work to have all three, to keep them ignorant. Let the man go."

"No," he said in reply, his voice low, angry, cold. "No."

The staturesque woman pursed her lips, looking as though she were going to argue with him again. Instead she said nothing, just walked over to the computers again, and looked into the windows. The doctor was sitting silently against the back wall, head down between legs, a slight hitch in his breathing that only sign that he was still alive. The woman was sitting too, at the moment. But any second she might stand up and begin the anxious pacing again. And the third man was still pounding on the walls, his fists bruised and bloodied, some of the bones probably broken by now.

Her leader came up behind her, placed one heavy hand on her back. "Bea, I know this is making it more difficult on our people."

"We don't need them all," she said again.

"I know," he said, a small smile breaking the icy shield of his face. "But I want them."

Jack couldn't move. He couldn't stand up, couldn't even kneel. All he could do was sit there, shaking just the tiniest bit. It was all his fault. The litany of his sins ran through his head, all the things he'd done wrong. It was all his fault.

Suddenly the door at the end opened, a small light filtering in. He raised his head, blinked, unable to believe what he was seeing in front of him.

"Dad?" he asked. Christian Shepard smiled back at him, those familiar lines forming around his eyes once again.

"Hello, Jack," he says, and his voice is different somehow, but Jack can't quite figure out just how that is. "I need you to help me with something."

He knows that tone in his father's voice. It's the one he uses when he's been drinking, when a surgery is going wrong and he needs good ol' Jack to step in and save his ass. Jack sighs, closes his eyes. He can't do it any more. He couldn't during that drunk operation, and he can't now.

"What's going on?" Jack asked, and he wasn't referring just to the help that was needed. He looked around the small, dark cell. The Others had captured them, him and Kate and Sawyer, that much he could remember. They'd been walking through the forest when his head had been hit by something hard, and everything had gone black. But now where was he? And where had his father come from?

"Jack," Christian shook his head, almost reproachingly. "We don't have time for questions. Come with me."

Unthinking, brought back to childhood days of trustfully following his father around, Jack fell into step behind him. He walked, unhandcuffed, unbound out of the holding cell, and into the bright, antiseptic white of a hospital hall.

"Where am I?"

"Gethsemane Health," Christian said, picking up a pace. "The very best hospital on all the island."

The island. Jack wanted to cry. Was this the bad dream, or everything before it? How could there possibly be a hospital on the island? Unless Michael had been lying even more than they'd thought.

"In here," Christian said, suddenly darting into a small operating room. He grabbed scrubs and a mask, began pulling them on. Jack dutifully did the same. He noticed the empty table, the lack of surgeons.

"What do you need help with, Dad?" he asked. "There's nobody here."

"There will be in a moment," Christian replied. "She hasn't been injured yet, but she will be."

Jack shook his head. He should be planning an escape. He should be finding Kate and Sawyer, and getting back to the beach to warn everyone. But somehow this wasn't feeling threatening. It felt almost. . .right, to be back in doctor mode, to have his father by his side, sober and comforting.

A moment later the door was flung open, and two armed men walked in.

"Secure!" the first one yelled. A moment later two bodies were thrown to the floor, the thudding against linoleum accompanied by a small gasp from one, and a muttered oath from the other. Another pair of armed men followed them, guns fixated on the figures.

Jack dropped instinctively to the ground, and pulled the bag off the head of the smaller one, his heart torn between despair and exultation. Sure enough, brown, curly locks cascaded over his hands the instant the bag was off. He grabbed Kate's hands and pulled her to her feet.

"Are you okay?" he asked her. She nodded, her green eyes huge and frightened. He pulled her to him in a quick hug. Sawyer stood up slowly beside them.

"Where the hell are we?" he breathed. One of the men slammed his back with the butt of a rifle and he fell to the ground. Kate, surprisingly, didn't say anything, she just shrank against Jack.

"Sorry," Sawyer groaned, holding himself up by both hands and knees. "Forgot the whole no talking thing." This earned him another swift attack. Kate closed her eyes, and began to tremble.

"That's enough," Christian said sternly. Sawyer took a deep breath, and shakily stood up. He brushed the hair back out of his eyes. Kate reached out a hand, touched his shoulder tenderly, and he smiled down on them.

Now Jack was even more confused. Why were they in a hospital, why

And then Henry Gale walked in.

"Well, well, well," he said, a twisted smile on his face. "Reunited. Feels good to be together again, don't it?"

"What do you want with us?" Jack growled. Gale's face widened into a greater smile.

"What's that?" Sawyer growled. "He can talk but I can't?" This time it was a swift pistol whip to his cheek, that caused a short yell and intake of breath.

"That's pretty much it, yes," Gale said. "Now then. We just need you three for a few short tests. If you're willing to cooperate with us, you can be back home in a week, maybe less."

Sawyer glared at him murderously. Kate gulped. Jack nodded his head.

"Fine," he said. "What do we have to do?"

"Glad you asked, Jack," Gale said, and motioned with his hand. One of the armed men lifted his pistol, and with a fluid motion turned to Kate and shot her. She gasped, and stared down at a blossom of red on her stomach.

"I want you to do what you do best, Jack," Gale said. "Fix her."

"That was a little harsh, wasn't?" She said disapprovingly. Gale swivelled around in his chair, taking his eyes away from the screen for the first time in almost half an hour.

"Perhaps," he said. "Psychologically undoubtedly. But that's why we're here, isn't it?"

"I thought we didn't even want him," she said, confused. "I thought you were interested in the deceivers."

"I was," Gale agreed. "Initially. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that our little doctor Jack Shepard is more interesting. Lots more interesting."

"We're not here to investigate what's interesting," she protested. She was beginning to wonder about the sanity of their leader. Perhaps it was time to appoint another chief, by force if necessary. "Remember what the stakes are in this, Gale."

"Trust me, Madame Klugh," he said, returning his gaze to the television monitors. "I want to get off this god-forsaken rock as much as you do. And Mr. Shepard just may be our ticket to Hawaii."

Sawyer caught her as she slowly slid to the ground, gasping in pain-stricken breaths.

"Damn you!" he growled. He wanted nothing more than to lunge after that bastard and wrap his hands around his neck, but his arms were a little full of a bleeding Kate at the moment. Damn girl. Second time she'd let his revenge get away, right between his fingers.

He glanced down at the woman. Her eyes were still open. That was good, right? He glanced over at Jack, who was staring, eyes wide and disbelivingly, at the hole in the middle of Kate's shirt.

"Let's get her to the operating table," the old man said calmly. Sawyer turned to look at him, and felt a sudden jolt when he saw his old drinking buddy from Australia. Hadn't the doc said he was dead? Still, there was no time for questions, as Freckles was quickly turning a rather unsavory shade of grey.

He tried not to move her too much, as he brought one arm under her legs and raised her up, carrying her close to his body. Ruined another shirt, he thought distantly, as he felt the hot rush of liquid over his chest. He laid her down carefully on the table.

"Now what?" he asked. He turned to look at Jack. The doc was just standing there, arms still at his side, eyes still wide. "Doc! What do we do?"

When there was no response again, he turned to Mr. Tequila. "You're a doctor. Fix her!"

"Actually, I'm not a doctor anymore," he said calmly. "Remember, my license was revoked."

"Well you sure as hell are closer to a doctor than me!" Sawyer growled. He turned to Kate, ripped open her shirt. "Hell, Freckles, been dying to do that to you since day one. Sure wish it were different circumstances."

She laughed a little, red bubbles appearing around the edges of her mouth. Sawyer gulped. He might not have a damn MD, but he was pretty sure that was a bad sign.

He winced when he saw the wound, straight through the stomach. He could see a small, black-blue glint in the middle. The bullet.

Come on, Jimmy, he thought to himself. You pulled a bullet out of your damn shoulder with one hand, you can sure as anything do the same for her, seeing it and everything. But it was different, somehow. Because this was Kate, and it was her stomach. There were organs there, things she needed to live. He couldn't do this.

"Jackass, get over here!" he yelled, and he moved aside to give the doctor room. He stationed himself by Kate's head, brushed back her hair. "She's gonna die if you don't do something! Fix her!"

Something in his tirade seemed to get to the doctor, and he finally ran to her side. He looked down, and then glanced up at Sawyer. "All right," he said, and his voice was back to brisk, cold, in-control Jack. "I'm going to need tweezers, bandages, hot water, needle, thread, alcohol. . ."

He continued to rattle off equipment as Sawyer ran back and forth, searching for whatever Jackass asked for. No questions this time, no debates. Freckles' life was at stake.

"Sawyer," she rasped, and he dropped everything next to the doc and ran to her head.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Jack," she breathed again. The doctor didn't say anything, just bit his lip as a bead of sweat dripped slowly down off his nose. He held a pair of forceps in his hand, slowly pulled the skin back from where the bullet was lodged.

"He's here, too, sweetcheeks," Sawyer breathed. He ran a hand along her cheek. Freckles stood out bright against her pale face. "He's gonna make you better, let you climb up them crazy trees again."

She turned her head a little, eyes attempting to focus on his face. "You didn't sign the letter," she said. It took him a minute to figure out what she was talking about. She sighed. "I don't even know your name."

"James," he said, and it didn't hurt him at all to say the name out loud. "James Ford."

"Oh," she said. "Where's Jack?"

"He's right here," Sawyer said again. "Like I told you. He's a man of action, ol' Jacko is."

"Oh," she said again. "Tell him I met his wife."

Her eyes drifted closed. Sawyer closed his own in response. He didn't try to wake her up, didn't beg her to breathe. It was over. Just like that.