Don't listen to me when I say I'm having a break: I'm a workaholic, even when it comes to my hobbies! Thanks for your final reviews for "Picking up the Pieces". I'm glad you're all happy with the conclusion. As promised, here is the first chapter of my Butterfly Effect fic, picking up from after the oatmeal scene in Catch-22. I finished beating out the plot tonight, and it's not the same as the movie, but it borrows the idea that you can't change the past without creating ripples. Now that I have the complete picture, I'm pretty excited about it: it spans four alternate timelines, one for each season, and one flashback one, and includes several main character deaths. I may change the rating to M later, depend on how dark and violent it gets. ;)

Chapter 1. Regrets

More than anything, Kate wished that she could change the past.

The first time this thought occurred to her, she was five years old. Her father had told her that he was moving to Washington, so they wouldn't see each other for a while, and she couldn't help thinking that if she'd kept her mouth shut about the man who came over when he was at work, he wouldn't be going, and she wouldn't be getting a new daddy, one who called her "Girl", and smelt like an ashtray when he tried to kiss her.

Ironically, the second time she had this thought was when she blew him up.

Since then, she'd lost count; it seemed like there was always something new to regret, something she'd done, or hadn't done, until she felt like she was drowning in a sea of mistakes that she couldn't seem to get away from, no matter now far, or how fast, she tried to run.

Today was no different.

Today, it was Sawyer.

He'd been following her around like a lovesick puppy for days, ever since they'd escaped from the island he referred to as "Alcatraz", and all she could think about was Jack, and how he wouldn't look her in the eyes anymore.

Not that she was sure she deserved his respect; she felt dirty, tainted by the knowledge that he knew, that he'd seen. She just wished she knew how to fix it.

Watching him hand a bowl to Juliet and sit down, she wished that she could go back in time, to the days when it was the two of them sitting on the beach together, watching the waves. She missed the way their shoulders brushed against each other when they moved, his laugh, the smile he sometimes gave her, the one she'd thought meant something, until Juliet came along, and made her doubt it.

It wasn't any one thing, she just missed him, even when he was right there in front of her.

She wasn't all that serious about doing the dishes; she just wanted him to offer to help her like he would have in the old days. She wanted to spend time with him, but that wasn't easy when he was avoiding her, making it impossible for her to explain, not that she was even sure what she should say.

And so the cycle continued.

She thought about taking Sawyer up on his earlier offer, if only to get Jack out of her head for a while, but the last time she'd given in to temptation like that, it had backfired so thoroughly that she shuddered to think how much worse things could get if Jack saw her sneaking out afterwards. There would be no excuse this time: she wouldn't be able to convince either of them that it didn't mean anything.

So instead, she bypassed his tent, leaving him to his book, and heading along the beach, away from him, away from Jack… away from everything. It would all still be there in the morning, but tonight, right now, she wanted to forget.

She knew that Desmond and the others were somewhere nearby, on their boys' own camping trip, but all around her the air was still, except for the crash of the waves, and the rustle of the breeze; out here, she could pretend that she was all alone on the island, like Rousseau.

Free.

She hadn't meant to take more than a brief walk, to clear her head, but before long, she was so far out that she couldn't see the light of the campfires anymore. She couldn't see much of anything as dark clouds settled over the horizon, blocking out the stars.

The silence wasn't peaceful anymore, each slight sound making her tense; realising that alone, in the dark, she was easy prey for the Others, or the monster, or whatever else was lurking in the jungle, she decided to turn back. If she was lucky, she could be safely inside her tent before the storm hit.

Changing course, she headed back in the direction of home, but her progress was slow as she crossed the coastal shelf in the dark, and she cursed herself for not realising how far from the campsite she was getting. She was sure that Jack would have something to say about it when she got back, something along the lines of his "Live together, die alone" speech. Not that it mattered. He already thought she was a screw up.

She was still trying to make her way across the rocky outcrop when the rain began to fall, a sudden, sideways kind of rain that made it difficult for her to see more than a few feet in front of her, and it was all she could do to keep her sandals planted firmly on the ground. She thought about finding somewhere to wait it out, but there was nothing but jungle for miles around, and she was deathly afraid of it after seeing what had had happened to the pilot.

She was so confused as to which way to go that she didn't realise she was actually moving closer to the edge until she took a step back, and there was nothing there; she tried to regain her balance, but it was too late. Her head smacked hard against rock on the way down, and she could feel herself losing consciousness, but the harder she fought to stay awake, the more it hurt. Her lungs started to burn as soon as she hit the water, sinking beneath the surface, and it was almost a relief when she blacked out entirely.

She was sure she must be dead when she came to again, and realised that she was lying somewhere dry, until she became aware of a voice telling her to, "Come on". Her first thought was that Jack had come for her; that it was him pouring his breath into her lungs; until she let out a involuntary cough, expelling the water that was lodged in her throat, opening her eyes to see Desmond kneeling over her, his face lighting up with relief when he saw that she was all right.

"You're either really brave, or really stupid," he said as he helped her to sit up. "So which is it?"

The fire in her chest was too intense for her to answer as she struggled for each breath, but she managed to choke out, "How did you…?"

"I heard you scream," he told her quickly, which was strange, because she couldn't remember making any noise. It had all happened too fast; one second she was on the ledge, the next, she was in the water. "You're lucky our campsite isn't too far away."

She wasn't sure what to say to that; as her breathing returned to normal, and her heart began to slow, she realised how careless she'd been, how close she'd come to dying alone, in the ocean, and she felt sick. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her eyes burning with tears. "I guess it was pretty stupid."

To this credit, he didn't dwell on this point. "We should get you back before you get into any more trouble," he said with a kind smile, standing and offering her his hand.

She accepted it gratefully, letting him pull her to her feet, her own legs shaking too hard to give her much leverage. "Thank you," she told him, leaning heavily on him when she realised that she was too dizzy to walk on her own, the back of her skull throbbing where it had connected with the rocks.

Even though she knew that she should let him examine her, she hoped that Jack was asleep when they returned; if he was, maybe she could convince Desmond not to wake him. She thought that she was in the clear when they arrived at the campsite to find it deserted, everyone in bed, until Jack came barrelling out of the pantry area, taking over from Desmond as soon as he reached them.

"Where've you been, Kate? What happened?" he asked as he slipped his arm around her, helping her to her tent, removing her hand so that he could examine the back of her head.

She was still shaking from cold and fear, so he draped a blanket around her shoulders to warm her, and she just sat there, too ashamed to answer, the lump in her throat growing as she tried to hold back her tears. When she didn't speak, Desmond detailed his side of the story, the look of horror on Jack's face convincing her that he at least still cared about her, in spite of her earlier fears.

"Do you have any idea how stupid it was to go wandering around the middle of the night?" he demanded, accepting a bottle of peroxide and a cloth from Desmond, who had the grace to slip off and give them some privacy; as he continued to berate her, his harsh words in sharp contrast with his delicate touch as he cleaned out the wound, she wished the earth would open up and swallow her so that she didn't have to hear anymore.

"I'm sorry," she whispered for the second time that night, feeling small and insignificant, but he just shook his head, switching gears into clinical mode.

"You should get some rest. Looks like you hit your head pretty hard – call me if you feel sick, okay? I need to know if you have a concussion," and with that, he left.

When he was gone, she sank onto her bed, letting the tears fall, wishing that she could take it all back: the lies, that kiss, Sawyer, everything, even tonight.

And then, somehow, she did.

Next chapter: Kate wakes up in the past, but where, and when? ;)