I didn't have time to polish this one up because I just wanted to get it posted before Christmas and then get to work on my Secret Santa fic. So, it may be rough in parts, or just blah, but I'm still psyched about the direction it takes the story in.

They're sitting in Jimmy's car, still in Kate's driveway. He's turned the ignition, but still has his hand on the parking brake release. He turns to look at her. "So, listen, no pressure, and if you're not OK with it, just say so, but how 'bout we have dinner back at my place?"

That sounds just perfect. This is their third date after all, and why did she get Cassidy to babysit, if it wasn't because she wanted (hoped) to stay out all night? Besides, going to dinner? Well, there are always just times when she gets that "Kate Austen? Oceanic 6, right?" from some random fellow diner. And if not, she feels people looking at her, whispering about her, even when they're not. So, yeah, dinner at Jimmy's sounds PERFECT. Except . . . how desperate does she want to seem? Doesn't she want to make him work for it? Just a little bit?

He's staring at her with his head tipped back, kind of looking down his nose at her, eyes narrowed. "Come on," he says. "Just dinner."

"All right," she answers. "Dinner." He breaks into a huge grin, turns to stare out the windshield, releases the emergency brake. She kind of chuckles, too – she's pretty sure they just agreed to a whole lot more than dinner.


His place is nice. A high rise apartment with views of the city. Even more than the views, she notices a delicious smell. "Something smells good," she remarks.

"Baked ziti." He points to the oven.

She's not sure whether to be charmed by his confidence, or pissed at his presumptiveness. "And if I'd said 'no' to coming back here for dinner?"

"You didn't." He grins.

"But if I did?"

"You didn't."

OK, she's maybe a little bit pissed, but a little bit turned on, too. Where does he get the balls big enough to act like everything's a sure thing? Unless he's just putting up a false front? He's doing that thing now where he stares at her and she just can't tell what's going on. He points to the ceiling. What the hell is that supposed to mean? She shakes her head, widens her eyes, raises her palms.

Jimmy smirks. "My upstairs neighbor. He has a key. I was supposed to text him if it was a no-go. He was gonna come down and get the ziti himself."

Kate laughs, and it feels so good. All right, so he didn't think she was a sure thing. Probably does now, though, given that she is, indeed, here in his kitchen. He's pulling carrots, peppers out of the fridge. "I've got to make salad."

"No rush," she says. "Can I help?"

"Help yourself to some wine," he points to a bottle on the counter, two glasses. "Pour me some, too, and then just make yourself at home."

He's busy chopping, and she's sipping wine, staying close to him in the kitchen. She peruses his refrigerator door. And for one quick second, she's back at Tom's house again, looking at family photos on a refrigerator. But no. Jimmy's more Spartan than that: A printed-out hockey schedule. A magnet with the schedule for the just-finished Dodgers season, another for the just-started Lakers season. A bunch of takeout menus. Toward the bottom and off to the side is a photo of Jimmy in a tux. And, well … crap. Not just Jimmy in a tux. Jimmy in a tux with a woman. Kate's heart falls just a wee bit. His ex-girlfriend, huh? She shouldn't be jealous. She's got a framed picture of Jack in her entrance hall for crying out loud. She shouldn't begrudge Jimmy a picture of his ex stuck near the bottom of his refrigerator.

It's just . . .he looks good all dressed up. And his ex? Well, damn. She's probably as tall as his shoulders, and doesn't have this ridiculous height gap Kate feels every time she's around him. She looks perfectly at-ease in her little black dress . . . her plunging neckline little black dress, and, hell, if THAT'S what turns Jimmy's head, well, let's just say she's got assets Kate doesn't have.

"This your ex?" She lifts the picture from the fridge, trying to keep the tone of her voice totally light. Like it's totally no big deal if your ex is sophisticated and gorgeous, because, even if she is, she didn't survive a plane crash, right? She's not internationally famous, huh?

Jimmy glances up from his chopping, actually grimaces. "Geez. No! That's my sister. What . . . hand it here. I don't even know what this is doing on there."

She hands over the picture.

"Oh yeah, that's some charity ball about a year ago. We have to go to these things sometimes." He flips it over. There's a bunch of stuff written on the back. "Yeah, she gave this to me when I had to take care of Jefferson. Vet's number, in case of emergency, all that nonsense." He hands back the photo. "You can just toss that." He indicates the garbage can.

But she sticks it back on the fridge, using an ancient "Disney World 1988" souvenir magnet. Somehow she feels this is a victory. She looks at the picture again, and yeah . . . she supposes she can see. Yeah, this is his sister. Her hair's a bit darker than his, much curlier, and, in this picture at least, her eyes aren't nearly as blue as Jimmy's, but yeah . . .total family resemblance. Phew.

He's finished putting the salads together, and she appreciates the effort he's making. They sit, eat, talk. He's the new faculty rep to the science club and he's all excited about it. That and the fact his hockey team has started the season 6-0.

Now he asks, "Tell me something about yourself that would surprise me."

Oh, gee, where to start? I'm not Aaron's real mom. There were a lot more survivors. Banyan trees are a good place to hide when a smoke monster chases you. We just left them all there. Because the Island disappeared right in front of our eyes.

God, how she wants to tell him this. Some of it. She hadn't considered it when the rest went back, but now she's the only person in the whole world with the knowledge of what really happened, and sometimes that's just crushing. Maybe just "The Oceanic 6 story wasn't quite true." She can say that, see how he reacts, and then decide exactly how much she wants to tell.

What she actually says is "I used to have a huge crush on Joey McIntyre."

He stares at her blankly. She thinks this means he has no idea what she's talking about. Hey, maybe she's getting a hang of figuring out what it means when he just stares at her like that.

"He was in New Kids on the Block," she clarifies, and he laughs at that. "How about you?" she asks.

"Claudia Schiffer. I had a huge crush on Claudia Schiffer."

Now it's her turn to laugh, but it wasn't the answer she was looking for. "I mean, tell me something about yourself that would surprise me."

He stares at the ceiling, considering, leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. Is he doing that on purpose? Because, damn, crossed like that over his chest? Oh, yeah, she's glad she agreed to come here tonight. Glad she doesn't have to rush home.

"Ah!" He's come up with a surprising fact. "I knew someone on your plane."

Kate's pretty sure all the air just got sucked out of the room. Her mouth goes dry, and she swears she feels sweat building up in her armpit. Jimmy just goes back to spearing carrot chips with his fork.

Most people didn't survive. Surely it wasn't someone she knew. She thinks of what she knows about Jimmy, compares it to the list running in her head. Claire? No. Sawyer? Hell, no. Rose? Bernard? No, no. . . it hits her. She feels a metallic, sickly taste in her mouth. Boone. Of course. Same age, or close to. Gotta run in the same social circles. It's all a lie, Jimmy, I'm so sorry, Jack couldn't save him. You wouldn't believe how he tried.

Jimmy's just eating his salad, crunching loudly on carrots. La de dah. He's not going to tell her? Well, no. As far as he knows, she didn't know anyone on that plane. They all died.

"Who?" she rasps, and he doesn't seem to notice her distress.

"A guy from my department – chemistry teacher. We only overlapped one semester. Leslie Arzt. The students called him The Arzthole. I hate to speak ill of the dead, but . . . they were kinda on to something."

She smiles a weak smile. He exploded right in front of me, Jimmy. See we had to get dynamite . . . these people – The Others – we thought they were coming. We thought they were like scary superhumans or something. We wanted to blow open the hatch.

Arzt exploding. The Hatch, it's all coming right back. Beep beep beep. It's the alarm.

"Ziti's ready!" Jimmy brings her back to reality. He clears the salad plate. When he takes hers, he stops. "Hey, you OK?" he asks. He's so close, and smells nice. His face is so open, honest, kind. She is going to sleep with him tonight. She's going to forget about all this other crap. Screw the Island.

"Fine," she says, takes a big gulp of wine, and smiles a real smile. He pats her hand, leaves his hand on hers a bit longer than necessary.

Then he's off in the kitchen pulling out the ziti, serving it on plates. He's now talking about his new principal – who he hates. It's nice and safe and . . . NORMAL.

He returns with dinner plates, and they start eating.

"My God," Kate says with a mouthful of ziti. "Jimmy – this is delicious." She remembers the takeout menus on his refrigerator door, and wonders if someone else cooked this for him. "Do you cook much?"

"Nope. Honestly? This is my one go-to meal. It's my Impress a Woman Meal."

She laughs. "You have a meal specifically for impressing women?"

"Yep."

"Do you think it might lose some of its power when you tell the woman it's supposed to impress her?"

"Maybe, but then I just have to impress her with my other charms." He leans a bit closer and smiles a big smile. He clearly knows what his other charms are, but his slight hint of awkwardness keeps him from seeming too annoyingly arrogant.

"Well, it's good," she says, taking another bite of ziti.

"My dad says 'Three sure-fire ways to impress a lady.' Number 1, you gotta bring 'em flowers." Check, thinks Kate. "Two, cook 'em a meal every now and again." Check. "Three, remember important dates – birthdays, anniversaries, stuff like that. Follow those three rules, and you're golden."

"He sounds like a wise man," Kate remarks.

"Ah," Jimmy dismisses that idea with a wave of his hand. "He talks a big game. Truth is, he just found someone to put up with his shit."

"Isn't that what we're all looking for?" Kate asks, suddenly serious. Should she have been better about putting up with Jack's baggage? She should have been.

"I guess so," Jimmy answers, thoughtful.

The rest of dinner is nice and safe and fun and Jimmy is so easy to get along with, and she so appreciates the efforts he's making. She's here in his apartment. It's their third date. He has to know what that means, and yet he's going through all the motions – wine, dinner, conversation. It's nice, and normal, and she's relaxed and happy.

He clears the dinner plates, and heads to the iPod dock in his living room. "I'll get dessert ready, but first some music," he says. He presses play, and the song that starts up is familiar. She can't quite place it . . . Jimmy's eyes go super wide, his eyebrows up to his hairline. He's punching 'pause' as she realizes she's hearing the opening strains to Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing."

"Oh geez. That's . . . . that's, uhm, that's inappropriate," he winces. This – this is the awkwardness that blunts his self-confidence and utterly charms her.

"You know," he says, thoughtful, "when I was a kid, after my sister and I went to bed, my parents would listen to old Motown stuff and dance. When I was little, it was comforting, just to know they were out there dancing. Like everything was right with the world . . ." He trails off. Kate wonders where this is going. What happened? What made it stop being comforting?

"And?" she prods.

"And when I was thirteen I actually paid attention to the lyrics to 'Let's Get it On.'" He shudders. "Gross, right?"

"Yeah," she agrees. But not really. Truth is his parents can dance to "Let's Get it On." Hell, his parents can get down and dirty on their kitchen floor for all she cares. She's just so, so happy to be on a topic that's far, far, far away from that damned Island.

He's got new music going, and steps back into the kitchen to put together dessert. "It'll just be a sec," he says, takes her hand, squeezes it, and lets go reluctantly. Oh, this is going so so well. She shivers in anticipation - it's going to be so so good, she can tell.

He's put some INXS on the iPod, and she can't quite see how "Need You Tonight," is any more appropriate than "Sexual Healing," but she'll tease him about it later. She's busy looking at his apartment. A nice, big flat screen TV and Xbox. Of course. A bookcase full of books. He does talk about books a lot. Three hockey sticks propped in the corner. She's looking at the books on his shelf and sees a plaque for "2008 Science Teacher of the Year: James C. LaFleur." A photo in a cheap frame – Jimmy and two other guys in hockey gear. A stack of baseball cards wrapped in a green rubber band.

On a lower shelf she sees a photo she has to look at closer. She picks it up. Oh, family photo, and oh! Look at Jimmy! He must be six, and he's got socks pulled up to his knees. This is delightful! His sister has no teeth. And . . . and . . . and . . .

She jerks her head up. No, please, not here. This is going so well. It's just this Arzt thing. She needs to clear her mind. She squeezes her eyes shut. Opens them and wipes them. Looks at the photo again. Wipes the thin layer of dust from the photo frame. Looks again. No. No. No. No. No. No. Her hands are shaking.

What the fuck is this? A set up, right? Oh, they're good. Really fucking good. When did she first meet Jimmy? That's right, back when Ben was trying to get everyone to go back. And, tonight his oh-so-casual mention of Arzt. And his "innocent" question (Tell me someting about yourself that would surprise me). And now, what is this? Photoshop? Plant that little seed. Make her think of all the people they left behind.

She thinks of all the times she's almost told him some truth. Wanted to so badly. Oh, he's good. Jimmy LaFleur. What sort of ridiculous name is that? And is he one of them? An Other? Or did they just hire someone to play the part? Because Others Central Casting is really damn good.

Shit. Aaron. Cassidy. Clementine. Are they safe?

She approaches the kitchen. He's got brownies on plates and is squeezing whipped cream from a can. He sees her standing there, and waggles his eyebrows at the whipped cream. OK, he doesn't know she's onto him yet. Maybe she should play it cool. Pretend she feels sick. Please take me home. But then what? If they are so determined to get her back, they'll keep trying, won't they? This is her life – forever. She's not playing their games.

"Who's this?" she asks/accuses holding out the framed picture to him.

"Uh, me," he answers. Noticing her agitated state, he volunteers, "I don't wear my socks like that anymore, if that's what you're worried about."

She steps close to him. How dangerous is he? She wonders. She looks at the yellowish bruise healing on his face. Hockey injury, my ass. "No, who're they?"

"That's my mom and dad."

Oh, what a load of bullshit. Who the fuck are you and how much do you know? And what do you want?

All Kate knows is she has to play this cool. As long as he doesn't know she's on to his game, as long as she plays dumb, she's got the upper hand. Once she lets on that she knows the people Photoshopped into his "family photo," she's toast.

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE!