Lost and its characters belong to JJ Abrams, Bad Robot and crew. I'm just borrowing to have some fun at work. Summary – Kate remembers painful memories when going to Jack for help.

Lost – Pulling Teeth
By Mystic
October 17th

Kate watched Jack's eyes stare into hers as he took her hand in his. She might classify his expression as pensive, tentative, curious, scared? Kate hated trying to pinpoint his emotions. He could hide them as well as anyone else. Maybe it was because she was too close. She read into him more than anyone else.

She never sat around trying to figure out what Sawyer was thinking, or Charlie, or Sayid. It wasn't that she didn't care, she just made up her mind about it and that was what they were thinking. That was how they were feeling. With Jack, she second guessed herself. Everything he said, she questioned for hours, days, nights on end.

When he said good night and his tone was low, she told herself he wasn't mad at her, only to turn around and think he was livid. She'd spend half the night going through her day wondering just what she'd done. How had she made him so angry? The next morning he'd smile and give her that look, the one where he raised his eyebrows and cocked his head and he'd walk off. She'd think he liked her, then convince herself he hated her.

Kate frustrated herself with Jack. She obsessed about Jack. She spent time on the beach staring at the ocean trying to figure him out. She wanted to know how he worked, how he thought. She wanted to know how to be around him, what would make him happy, what would piss him off. Didn't always work, of course. He wasn't perfect and neither was she.

But she tried. It was what mattered to her at the end of the day, whether he was telling her to go to hell, or playfully stealing bits of her food. She tried. Kate hadn't felt for anyone the way she felt for Jack in more years than she could count on her hands. Not even Tom.

It went beyond Tom.

She watched the sweat forming on his brow as he took in a long breath and closed his other hand over hers. "Ready?" He asked her. She didn't say a thing, her bottom lip was firmly pressed between her teeth and she intended to keep it that way. His eyes went down to her hand a moment and then came back up to meet hers as he pressed gently into her right forefinger, feeling the place where it was broken.

"Ready?" He repeated.

She never liked the question. It always meant something bad was going to happen. Something that would make her heart pound and her head get cold and her stomach turn. She could remember the first time she heard it. Her father tied a string around her front tooth and sat her up on the counter of the bathroom and stared her in the eye. "Ready kiddo?"

Kate tried to be brave for him. She took in a long breath and felt the strands of white sewing thread lying harmlessly against her chin. She looked him in the eye because that's what she thought her father wanted. He wanted her to be his little soldier.

He had sad old eyes. Grey eyes that made her tremble with a fear she couldn't comprehend at the time. She was scared because she didn't know what he was thinking. Her father changed in the blink of an eye. His rough features could bend themselves into a hearty laugh and a pat on the back, or they could fold into a sneering frown and a smack across the cheek.

She'd only been six at the time. That stubborn front top left tooth wouldn't budge, not with all the wiggling and pushing and prodding she'd done with her tongue. Not even getting punched in the face by her neighbor's obnoxious son Willy pried the damned thing free. Now her father stood in front of her, his face blank and his fingers twirling around the ends of the string tied tightly to her tooth.

Kate remembered nodding her head slowly, then she started to shake it, but he yanked. She thought she knew what he'd been trying to do, trying to keep her calm, but it never worked. It never worked because it wasn't his intention. Her father wasn't the calming type. She'd gasped, her hand swinging up to cup over her mouth as she started to taste the blood that now flowed freely from the open hole in her gum.

"Put some water on it," her father instructed, half annoyed that she was crying, her face growing redder by the second.

Jumping off the counter, she let go of her mouth, feeling the blood roll over her chin and drop along the front of her t-shirt. Her tears dripped off her just as fast as the thick dark liquid and they mingled in the sink with the tap water. Her father grabbed the back of her neck and pressed her forward, cupping his own hand underneath the faucet and bringing it to her mouth.

She choked on it, coughing and sputtering reddish water all over the bathroom mirror and sink. Her father released her then, taking a step back from her before throwing a small beige towel down next to her right hand on the counter. "Clean yourself up, Katie, it's just a goddamned tooth."

She never got to see the tooth. It fell somewhere on the ground and she never looked for it. She suspected her cat ate it one day, or her mother picked it up and put it somewhere special. Kate didn't care. Her father was upset with her. Was he upset with her? She knew how she was supposed to act and she couldn't bring herself to do it. She couldn't bring herself to be brave, to be strong.

Kate was a coward. She went to sleep that night in tears, her mouth as sore as her heart. Her father didn't tuck her in, he didn't say goodnight. She yanked her own teeth from then on. Sobbing, ten feet in a tree, with a bottle of water in one hand and a rag in the other. So what if it bled, so what if it hurt, suck it up, Katie, it's just a goddamned tooth.

"Kate?" Jack touched her chin and she opened her eyes. "You ok?"

"Is it done?" She asked him, her voice hard.

He nodded quickly, his eyebrows falling visibly as he brought her hand up to show the flat bamboo tied to her finger with strips of old clothes. "You should lie back," Jack told her, standing and pressing on her shoulders until she was laid out on the make-shift bed he had set up in his medical area.

Kate swallowed, resting her injured hand on her stomach. Her head felt empty and heavy at the same time. She thought she might vomit, but she smelled something sweet and she turned her face to see what Jack was doing. He squeezed a fruit into a cut off water bottle and licked the excess off his fingers, smiling at her when he noticed she was watching.

"How's about a little mango-tea?" Jack told her, grinning and swirling the liquid in the cup at her.

She laughed, watching the way his eyes disappeared behind his smile. "What?"

Jack sat at her side and held the water bottle to her lips, helping her drink slowly. "You look pale." It was concern, she knew concern. That was the one emotion Jack couldn't hide, because he felt it all the time, for everyone on the island. Kate sipped slowly, watching the way he stared down at her.

The liquid was cool and sweet and made her feel a little better. Or was it Jack? Kate watched his hands, careful not to over-tip the cup. She watched his legs, braced against the bed, not half-standing – ready to leave. Jack was there. He was all there. For her. She shook the thought from her head, knowing Jack would be there for anyone who just broke a finger. In her heart, she knew there would be a speech, they would argue, and then she'd go on her way wondering what he was thinking again. But he licked his lips as he watched her drink and Kate felt her cheeks go red.

Some of the juice dribbled down her chin as she backed away from the cup and Jack cleaned it quickly with a small rag, dabbing the spot at the base of her neck where it pooled just before her chest. She nodded her head slowly and then laid it back, taking several long breaths.

"What were you doing?" He motioned towards the finger.

"Trying to catch a boar," she frowned. This was it. Where she always screwed up. Jack wanted her to be sitting at the caves, or on the beach. He wanted her to behave like a good little girl. Jack didn't want her to get into trouble.

Jack lowered his eyes to the ground, leaning his elbows on his knees. His eyebrows furrowed on his head in that contemplative pose and he didn't look up at her when he told her, "You don't have to do everything, Kate."

"I know." She relaxed. He wasn't mad. Concerned. She repeated the word over to herself in her mind.

"Let John catch the boar."

"Ok," she relented, watching the way his forehead smoothed as he turned to look at her.

"You sure you're ok?" He laughed, gently and she shrugged. "'Cause you're awfully cooperative."

"Talk to me again when I have full use of my fingers," she teased, raising her bandaged hand and letting it drop back down with a grimace.

"Does it hurt?" Jack asked slowly, turning slightly to face her again.

Kate shook her head. "Just gotta suck it up is all. It's just like pulling teeth."

"Breaking a finger is nothing like pulling teeth," Jack offered. "It's ok to tell me you're in pain. I can give you…"

"No, it's good. It's fine." She touched his arm, stopping his ascent from the spot he was sitting at. "I'm just… a little… I was scared." She took a breath. "My nerves were jumbled a bit, I guess."

He grinned, giving her a single nod of his head and she knew, instantly, that everything was ok.

Finis