Like following an aural trail of breadcrumbs, Kate found Sawyer by tracking his occasional groans. He lay terribly still on the jungle floor, a bright splash of gold and crimson among the deep foliage. The blood was everywhere.

When she knelt beside him Sawyer painfully turned his head, then cracked open the eye that wasn't swollen shut. It seemed to take some time for him to register who she was. Finally he smiled, the split lips crooked in a parody of his usual cocky grin. "Hey, Sweetheart," he managed. The confident Southern purr was gone, replaced by a raspy whisper. "Come to take... another... swing at me?"

"Shut up." Kate rummaged through her pack, her mind frantically working. He was bad. Much worse than she thought. She knew next to nothing about first aid, just the basics really. So much blood...

"Figures." He sighed, the eye dropping closed again. "More abuse."

She said nothing, but moments later brought the cool, damp cloth to his face, starting the process of tending what she could see. Privately she despaired at what she couldn't see.

At her first touch he jerked in surprise, then lay passively, allowing her to work. She focused first on his face then moved down to his chest, mentally counting down to another smart remark or wise crack regarding such an intimate gesture. Sawyer said nothing, which worried her far more than insults would have. When she gently turned his head to reach a particularly dense clot of blood she discovered why.

The cut across the side of his throat was not deep enough to kill a man quickly. Perhaps not at all. Perhaps it was intended as just a warning. But that much steady blood loss, combined with the rest of his injuries... for several long moments Kate just stared, unable to comprehend just what she was seeing. This had been deliberately done to him. Only two could have done it: Jack or Sayid. She couldn't connect either to such a senseless act of violence. Not yet.

"That bad, huh?" His voice had gained a little strength, somehow. The slanted humor was back, she could hear the smile.

"Not good," she shrugged. What else could she say? The man had to know. She reached for the rag again.

"Kate." Something in his voice stilled her hand. She turned to meet eyes a calm, dazzling blue. "Leave it."

"I'm just going to..."

"Leave it. Come here." Reluctantly she dropped the rag then, after consideration, carefully stretched out beside him, her face next to his so he wouldn't have to strain. It seemed to suit him because he closed his eyes once more. "Nothing you can do. Just... stay a while. Ok?"

"Ok." His calm stillness set off warning bells which Kate tried hard to ignore. She tried not to think at all. Instead she reached for his hand, gently twining her fingers through his. He didn't react, the skin cool to the touch. She wondered if he could even feel it.

As the shadows lengthened around them Sawyer began to talk, the words coming in short, controlled bursts. He fought for each breath and she concluded early on that either a lung had collapsed altogether or perhaps a rib had punctured through. He sounded like he was drowning. Not even Jack could fix that. But Jack wasn't here. Jack had done this. Maybe.

Sawyer rambled on about time spent in New Orleans, the beauty of the city, the Mississippi at dawn. When he described something called a beignet her mouth watered. Then the conversation took a more serious turn. Opening his eyes every so often, maybe to confirm in the dim lighting that she was still listening, he began to softly describe his life. He chose his words with care, making each one count against the struggle to draw breath. Stripped to the bare bones his simple declaration carried a power she wasn't expecting. They had spent nearly two weeks together, yet Kate felt she was seeing Sawyer, the real man, for the first time. And as the night progressed the realized that it was true. He wasn't all that different. It wasn't Jack she thought of though. In his tale of struggle, misunderstanding and accusation Kate had found a kindred spirit.

Finally the words slowed. He seemed exhausted, his breath shallow and ragged. But the smile returned as he slowly tilted his head toward her. "I put you to sleep?"

With her free hand Kate slowly reached out to gently run her fingers through the matted hair. "What's your name?"

Either the gesture or the question caught him off guard because he drew in a quick breath. It was enough to trigger a spasm of coughing so bad Kate thought he might black out. But finally he lay still again, chest heaving, fresh blood running from several re-opened wounds. But when she moved to tend him he shook his head.

"John. My name's... John Derek Sawyer." He seemed to consider. "I haven't told anyone that... in fifteen years."

It was so dark by now she could only make out his shadow. She moved as close as she dared, trying not to cause further pain. "Pleased to meet you, John. I'm..." she fought down a sudden panic attack, determined to go through with this. "I'm Adrienne." She suddenly grinned. "Adrienne Monique du Merle."

The smile shone through his voice now. "Yeah?" He coughed again, fought off another attack then lay back. "Suits you. More than Kate." He sighed. "Pretty name."

After that he was still. Through the long darkness, broken only by the silver track of a half moon, she watched. It was all she could do. She didn't know what would happen if that thing tracked them, perhaps drawn by the scent of blood. She only knew that she would not leave him until morning. But nothing stirred around them except the occasional small animal foraging and the ever present wind in the trees. It was the longest, coldest, darkest night yet spent in their new home, allowing her plenty of time to think. Too much.

When dawn finally painted the jungle floor in shades of pink and gray she stirred, her body once again protesting another night spent on the ground. She knew. She had known for some time. But she had to make sure. In the pale light she slowly withdrew her hand from his. No one should be that cold. She knelt and listened for any sign of breath, but it had stilled long ago in the deep darkness. John Derek Sawyer was dead. On impulse she slowly leaned in to brush a single, gentle kiss across the slightly parted lips. It was the only goodbye she could think of. Then, without hurry, she packed her gear and headed back toward the beach.

When Jack saw her emerge from the foliage he came at a run. "Kate! Where were you? When you just left like that..." He stopped as she continued walking, ignoring his presence. "What?"

"Sawyer's dead." Without fanfare she dumped the contents of her pack on the ground and started reaching for supplies, loading it anew with water, food, clothes.

Jack watched this, arms folded. "Going somewhere?" She didn't respond. Didn't even acknowledge him. "Look, the guy had it coming. He..."

"He's DEAD, Jack. That's it. That's all." She finished stuffing a blanket into the top then snapped the pack shut.

"That's not all. Kate..." He reached for her but she pulled away.

"Good bye Jack." She slung the pack and began walking, down the beach, away from the caves.

"WAIT a second. You can't just leave. Not like that." She ignored him. "KATE!"

She stopped, turned and looked at him one last time. "My name's not Kate."

Jack watched until her figure dwindled to a black dot in the distance, and was gone.

End