Disclaimer: "Lost" and all related characters, and pretty much everything else in the world, belongs to ABC. Nothing belongs to me, got that? NOTHING!

Written Post-"Confidence Man" and pre-"Solitary". Make of that what you will.

Connections

Kate knew what was wrong, and she knew why, but she didn't know how to talk to him about it, and she didn't know what to say.

"Tell him to let go Freckles, we already made out, I've got nothing left to live for."

When Sawyer said it, Jack, in his typical fashion, had said nothing. But he had looked at her. Not at Sawyer, at her. She had seen, in the second before he controlled his expression, something in his eyes that she couldn't get out of her mind. Disbelief, disappointment…even anger.

He didn't say anything to her about it, but she wished he would. A reaction, no matter what it was, would be better than the polite, formal coolness he was treating her with now. To anyone else on the Island he was acting the same way he always had, but Kate felt that they had lost a connection, a camaraderie, an intimacy, for lack of a better word, that she hadn't realized existed until it was gone. There were no teasing comments, no catching his eyes at odd moments, none of the small smiles or casual touches that she had become accustomed to, even in the short time they had been there.

She leaned back against the shade of a tree, staring out at the beach. It was late afternoon, nearly sunset, and everyone had retreated to where ever they could get away from the blazing heat of the sun, so she felt strangely alone. The number of people still on the beach was dwindling anyway; she had seen Charlie and Claire heading off into the jungle with her things. That was probably for the best, in her condition Claire ought to be out of the sun and close to a doctor. Sayid had been gone almost two days, off to map the island and wrestle with his demons, and none of them could be sure he would come back at all. Kate wasn't sure if she still believed that rescue would come. With every day that passed she believed it less.

And despite the situation, she was sitting there brooding over a man like some kind of smitten teenager. She glanced up and saw a lone figure standing on the beach, and moved back into the shadows. She didn't want Sawyer to see her. Since the revelation about who he was, or wasn't, he hadn't really spoken much to her, or to anyone. She hadn't told anyone his secret, it wasn't hers to tell, but there was nothing to say between them. She pitied him, as much as he didn't want that, but she also hated him, in a way. He had forced her into that kiss. She didn't know the girl, Shannon, at all but that didn't mean she could allow her to suffocate, and he knew that. It had been emotional blackmail, nothing else. The fact that she had felt something…she was only human, and she had been running for so long. The look in his eyes had been the same. Need. Kate had known men like Sawyer. It was because of men like him that she had ended up where she had, handcuffed to a U.S. Marshall on that plane. It was because of good-looking, smooth talking men exactly like him. Yes, she had felt something, but it had been purely physical.

"We're not savages Kate. Not yet."

Of course Jack wasn't. She had never known anyone so controlled. She knew his calm, sometimes clinical exterior was the result of his medical training, and it was what they had needed directly after the crash. When chaos had reigned on the beach, they needed someone to take charge, to tell people what to do, to save lives, and to not fall apart. There were only a few times she had seen him come close to losing it. When Sawyer shot the Marshall and didn't kill him. When he told her, abruptly and without her asking, that his father had died in Sydney. And when Sawyer would not hand over the medicine they had been so sure he had.

"Baby, I'm tied to a tree in the jungle of mystery. I've just been tortured by a spinal surgeon and a genuine Iraqi. Of course I'm serious."

They had gone farther than she ever would have expected from Jack, she had heard the screams. No matter that Sayid had done it, Jack had been there, he had watched. The doctor, the hero, had a dark side. She thought of Jack as different, as better. He didn't belong here, and he didn't belong with a woman like her. He ought to be in a nice big house in the suburbs, with his pretty wife and minivan and good schools for his 2.5 children.

But he was here, and she had, since that first moment she had stitched up his back, felt a connection to him. He had accepted her even after he knew she was a fugitive, and he had insisted it didn't matter.

"Three days ago we all died. We should all be able to start over."

There had been moments she had forgotten everything but him. The time they had come back from the hunt with Locke and his biggest worry had been the cut on her cheek. He had wonderful hands, maybe that was needed to be surgeon. The time she had teased him about checking her out, he had been so embarrassed he had actually gone red. The time she had asked him about his tattoos, though she'd still not gotten an answer. Those moments, when she forgot all the dangers and fears of their situation…he had a way of doing that, of making her forget and feel safe even though their world was so uncertain.

There was a sound from the jungle behind her, a rustling of trees, and she tensed, afraid it was the strange, mysterious monster they all feared. A moment later he emerged from the jungle, about twenty feet from her. He didn't see her, hidden by the shade of the trees in the fading sunlight, and she did nothing to alert him, but instead watched him. Yes, there was an attraction to Jack. Not as raw, as obvious, as what she had felt when Sawyer kissed her, but somehow deeper. She felt a draw to him, not Sawyer, but to Jack.

"He says we have a connection."

"Do you?"

"Please."

She did have a connection with Sawyer. They were not so different. They had both been on the wrong side of the law, but she didn't want that any longer. Jack offered her something different. It was unknown, it was frightening, but she wanted it.

He was coming back towards the trees, now with a backpack slung over his shoulder. Something someone had forgotten there, something someone needed, and of course he would come get it. She stood, brushing off the sand. He would never say anything unless she confronted him.

"Jack?"