AN: For one, this is kind of out of linear order, as this is five or six days after Kate left, and the Kate's chapter is hours after she left, but I think…I needed to do Jack's thoughts before I ventured into Kate's mind.

It was raining. He couldn't feel it, couldn't see it, but he could tell it was raining. He could hear it, pounding against the canopy of wide grape and palm leaves above the caves, and occasionally he would see a drop fall to the ground, splattering in the dirt, water spreading out around the initial point of impact.

He was reminded, vaguely, of the way his heart had tugged in a million different directions only a few days before. He'd wanted to run into the forest after Kate, tackle her to the ground, and pound sense into her. He'd wanted to run into the forest after Kate, kneel before her, and beg for forgiveness. He'd wanted to drag her back to the caves with bodily force, and kiss her senseless. He'd realized he needed to stay, was morally obligated to keep to the caves, where he could assist anyone who needed assisting. He'd known that he couldn't go out there, not only because of obligation, but because…if he went in there after her, she'd keep running. The closer he got to her in this state of emotions, the farther she was going to move away from him.

Maybe she already had moved too far away from him. He didn't know exactly where he stood in her mind, what kind of place he held---if he even held a place---in her heart.

There had been times, in the past month or so, that he'd given thought to the inane theories, things like the Bermuda triangle, or, perhaps, the occasional Purgatory. But that didn't make sense. He felt, he saw, he knew there was a way off this island. And what would purgatory be, without the devil waiting on one side of the River Styx (or so he liked to imagine) while they sat on the other side, waiting for an inevitable end. Would his life flash before him while he sat, watching, with St. Peter?

Hadn't he already begun to remember things he'd kept locked tightly, caged in his mind with no chance to be free?

Was he being punished? Were they all?

Sidling back into his thoughts, he wondered what had happened to him to make him so beyond irrational, so un-Jack like. He couldn't explain why he had called Hurley an overweight man with an active imagination. He couldn't explain why he had insulted Kate, thrown her past at her because he could, and because he knew it would hurt. And Hurley…well, Hurley had forgotten, momentarily, that dinosaurs were extinct, so there was some rationale.

Ha.

While he was being critical of himself, he decided to do it thoroughly, going over all the things he might have done wrong to lead them to this point.

What he kept coming back around to was that he hadn't kept Kate as close as he should have, hadn't been forward enough, hadn't given her an idea that he was interested in more than friendship. But then, he just wasn't LIKE Sawyer. He didn't come out and say ludicrous things that could be taken as a joke or entirely seriously at the same time, but that made his intentions clear either way. He didn't do innuendo and double entendre. It just wasn't his deal. And maybe that was why Kate and moved away from him. Maybe after she'd scoffed at her and Sawyer's so called "connection" she'd really begun to think about it. And maybe after she'd kissed him, she'd thought it over again.

Because, if he was willing to admit it, that was when she'd begun to drift away. More and more when he visited the beach they were together, sometimes just talking, sometimes sitting in silence, sometimes Jack would just notice the protective look in Sawyer's eyes, or the curious one in Kate's as they passed each other.

But she hadn't left him totally until he had refused to trust her. The look in her eyes when she realized the dynamite sticks weren't in her bag—no matter that she'd run without dropping her pack and would likely have exploded had he not double-crossed her—was enough to make him realize that she was now trying to let go of whatever feelings she'd had for him before. Her voice had been disimpassioned when she'd said that she had his back, and she'd looked defeated.

He wondered, vaguely, if he had purposely done what he'd done to be spiteful, because he'd seen the longing look she gave behind her, toward the beach where the raft was leaving.

Kate had been drifting, then. She'd sought peace away from the rest of the camp, away from Jack, and hidden in her little hovel for the most part. On one occasion, a few days after blowing open the hatch, he'd walked by the place she had set up in the caves, late at night, for water, and had heard soft sobs escaping from the depths of the cave.

He hadn't heard them again, and he suspected that those were the last tears she would shed for him. She'd probably promised herself that.

Unconsciously, he realized, he'd been tying strings of rope together, and now looked down to find out that he'd made an exceedingly long piece of rope. As he stared at it, he wondered if it would ever be of any use. At the rate they were going, they might never finish.

He sighed, and stood, moving off towards the front of the camp, where there was sure to be enough work to keep his mind occupied. For a while, at least.

He didn't know what to think. He didn't know what to feel. All he know was that, for all intents and purposes, he really, really wanted to be drunk right now. And he was just too tired to stand up and walk into the kitchen to grab a beer. He'd broken his promise. He hadn't been able to protect Sarah.

He remembered vividly the call he'd received, a long and harsh 12 hours before. The man had had a crisp, authoritative voice that was immediately bad news to Jack's ears.

"Mr. Shepherd?"

He didn't bother to correct him. What did it matter if he was really Dr. Shepherd? "Yes."

"Your wife…was attacked this morning on her way to work. Carjackers stole her car and…ran her over when she didn't move out of the way fast enough. We have them in custody now, and I'll need you to--."

"What about my wife?"

"Mr. Shepherd…"

"It's Dr. Shepherd," he snapped irritably. "My wife. How is my wife doing?"

"Not well. She's suffered severe internal injuries and--."

"How bad? Will she live?"

"Dr. Shepherd…I don't know what kind of doctor you are, but it doesn't look good."

He'd spent the next five hours standing in an unfamiliar hospital, calling family and friends.

Then he'd sat around in the relative room for 4 more hours. A doctor in a white had emerged from a back room, and gravely announced that they'd done everything they could.

He'd promised he could save her. That he'd always protect her, and be there for her.

What was it she'd said? "I'm letting you off the hook."

The words haunted him.

"I'm letting you off the hook."

For the first time that night, he felt tears rolling down his cheeks, waves of wet, soggy tears that would definitely dry up his cheeks later on. He fell into his bed, curling into a ball like a little kid.

When he woke in the morning, he would have no recollection of the horrific nightmares that plagued him, or the chill of waking from his own bloodcurdling cries.

I don't know exactly how I'm going to do it, but I am trying to stay away from Ana's background story for now. She is going to be a main character, at least for a little while (no knowing how long any of them will last on the island) and I just don't want to take on her story and totally screw up what will be a no doubt awesome backstory written by real writers of the show. So for now, I'm not touching on Ana Lucia Cortez. This isn't a tail section chapter anyway. Don't hurt me.