The kickback was unbearable, she had fired a gun before, but not under these circumstances. The air all around smelled of gunpowder. Can you say stupid? Yeah, that was possibly one of the dumbest things she'd ever done. Shooting at a US Marshall. Not the best idea. At least she'd missed. Naturally, there would have been hell to pay had her aim been good that morning. She stood there, stunned in the still air, staring at the man who still stood pointing his service revolver at her, a small, sly smirk crept over his face, "Gotcha. Bang bang."

Kate looked down, her hands were covered in gunpowder residue, the right sleeve of her green lace-up blouse scarred with the pungent black mark. She looked around, there had to be a way out. There was always a way out, it was just a matter of finding it, she reasoned with herself. Her ears were still ringing from the gunfire, it seemed she had silenced the whole city. No cars drove down the street. Yet in the background she could barely make out the faint noises of sirens.

"Drop the gun, Kate," the man said squarely, his tie flapping up into his face clumsily as a slight breeze kicked up.

Crouching, Kate set the black handgun softly on the ground, raising her hands into the air in surrender. Looking down, she racked her brain for an idea. Was he actually going to shoot at her, anyway? If she could just get out into the plaza, it wasn't that far away... The marshall began striding towards her in a self assured manner. Now or never, do or die. Kate bolted, her slender legs carrying her away from his cries of protest and, 'I'll shoot'. Out into the plaza, where she was greeted by the frightened stares of bystanders as she ran with the devil at her heels. Her boots thudded on the basket-woven plaza brickwork, in pattern with her frantic heart.

"Kate," Sawyer half screamed, "slow down!"

For a split second, Kate chanced a glance at her legs, working away to carry her far, far away. Just seconds ago she had been speaking to Sawyer, but had failed to catch his last response, she had been overcome with an unbearable urge to run. Away. Far away. Not forever, just now. Not very safe to run into the jungle, she knew, but this was hardly uncharted territory, Locke wandered it all the time, she reassured herself. With the wind in her face, whipping her hair out behind her, Kate looked up, shifting her weight to avoid crashing into a tree.

"Kaaaate," came Sawyer's yell again, this time closer by.

Avoiding her name, Kate continued to run. Too late to stop now. Trees and dirt and noonday sky flew past her in a blur. All she could hear was the thudding of her own feet, the shallow beating of her heart in her chest, and her ragged, gasping breaths. She was tired, she had to stop running. But she couldn't. She had always wanted to run away as a little girl. To get away from the people who shunned her, those who did not love her. How was this any different?

Dodging trees and running just as fast as he could, Sawyer found it very hard to keep up with her pace. Once he had been but a few feet behind her, but he could not catch her. She was an unreachable goddess, a butterfly, and he needed to catch up to her, to find out what was wrong. Whether she hated him or not, he was worried, and he cared. He could admit it now, it wasn't that hard. Determined, he sprinted on, delighted when he could see her figure amongst the trees again. He had long given up on calling out to her, she wasn't listening, she wasn't going to.

The plaza bricks were hard, even through thick rubber soles. She didn't want to stop. But her efforts to gain breath were becoming desperate. There was no way she would get away from him if she stopped running now. Her feet continued to carry her further, not losing or gaining speed, just beating down repeatedly on the plaza bricks. If she could get out of the city square, she thought, just out of here, everything would be okay, she would get away. It became such a struggle to breathe that she began to dully think things over in her tiring mind, just to keep it off the next agonizing breath. Everything would be okay if she could just make it past the edge of the plaza. Her sins, gone. Her loneliness, gone. Her fears, banished. It would all disappear if she could just make it there. Just a little further.

This wasn't like the plaza at all, she had no idea where she was going. She couldn't breathe well, but she couldn't stop, either. This time everything would be fixed, she just had to get... somewhere. But where? Kate ran on, oblivious to Sawyer's pleas for her to slow down, to come back to him. Life without her insecurities, life without her sins, it would be beautiful, she just had to get to the destination. It was here, somewhere.

There it was, the end of the plaza. The border was marked clearly by a different pattern of bricks, these bright red. Everything would be okay when she crossed that red line. She would make it out okay. Crossing the line, she felt an enormous weight lifted from her shoulders. She gathered the strength to charge down an industrial back alley, where, finally, she found a wall, and slid to the ground, breathing more heavily than ever before in her life. Her sides ached. She looked around, where was the marshall? An awful feeling of betrayal invaded her body, she was still afraid. She still felt guilty for her sins, guilty, in every waking second of every day. How silly of her, she realized, it had been, to think that crossing some line of bricks would right her wrongs. Her chest heaving up and down, she felt hot tears spilling from her eyes. It was never going to stop.

Where am I going? Kate wondered, frightened that she seemed to have lost herself in the green whir of the jungle. She had even lost Sawyer. Fearfully, she stopped running, the change in momentum causing her to tumble over herself and fall, hitting her head against something... hard. Opening her eyes, the world was a swirling mess. No one was there to lift her from her fall, and her head was throbbing wretchedly, the last thing she heard before passing into a deep slumber was a panicked cry of her name. The last thought that found its way into her mind was that she did not want to forget what Sawyer sounded like.

Dazedly, Kate blinked away the bright light pouring into her left eye. What the hell? She tried to sit up, but winced as her head was crushed with the movement. Closing her eyes, she lay back down, reaching a hand up to feel her head. A rough cloth-like material greeted her touch. Why am I bandaged? Her ears were ringing excruciatingly. Much to her discontent, when her vision was fully restored from its blurred state, the first thing she saw was Jack, leaning over her with a cold cloth. Blinking again, more heavily now, she looked uncomfortably around. She was on the same bed where Sawyer had been treated, down in the hatch. Puzzled for a moment, memories came rushing back to her like light pouring into a dark room. She had been... running... why? There was something she needed to get to. She remembered recalling the plaza, for some reason. Why the plaza?

An enormous surge of diappointment filled Kate suddenly, she hadn't even found what she was looking for. She felt angry, and felt the familiar hot tears spilling down her cheeks. She hadn't even found it. How was she supposed to fix her problems if she couldn't even get to the place where that could happen? A small voice in the back of her mind suggested that it was all a childish fantasy. She shunned it tearfully, it didn't make sense. She had run, she had gone so far and so fast, and nothing to show for it.

"You hit your head," Jack said tenderly, dabbing the cloth on her forehead.

"Am I... okay?" Kate asked tensely, looking around the room.

"Yeah... just a gash, you'll be alright in a day or two," Jack almost cooed, surveying her face.

"Oh," she breathed, eyes still searching the room.

A question appeared on Jack's face, "What are you looking for, Kate?" He looked uneasy. He knew what. The ornamental question irritated her, he could see.

Panic filled Kate's heart again, as it had when she realized she had not found what she was looking for in her running, "Where is he?"

"Sawyer?" Jack asked, numbly.

"Yeah, where is he?" Kate answered, trying to sit up again, eyes widening in spite of herself.

"He's around here somewhere. He carried you back after you passed out," Jack said, indifferently, giving her a gentle nudge, indicating she should lie back down.

"I want to see him," Kate demanded firmly, still struggling to sit up.

Jack looked tired, upset, perhaps, she fancied, even jealous, "I'll go find him," he murmured obediently, nonetheless, "just as soon as you lay back down."

Kate sat quietly back on the bed, waiting. Several minutes later, Sawyer approached the bunkbed, his expression impassive. Was he angry?

"You okay?" He asked gruffly, keeping his face turned away from hers.

"Yeah," Kate breathed again, "I'm... sorry."

Sawyer slumped onto the corner of the bed, "Why were you running from me?"

"I wasn't," Kate began, upset that he had thought of it this way, "I... I was looking..." The answer sounded like a poor excuse even to her. She winced, looking carefully up at him.

"For?" He asked, not amused.

"Help," Kate said flatly, "I just needed help."

Sawyer sighed, a long, deep sigh, "I tried to catch up with you."

"I know," Kate answered sadly, looking away.

"You run fast," Sawyer added frankly, "I couldn't."

"I know," Kate said again, looking down the length of the bed at him again.

"You're crying," Sawyer noticed, a flicker of worry crossing his features.

"I am?" Kate sniffed with a little laugh, "Sorry."

Sawyer leaned over and wrapped his arms about her, holding her closely, arching his neck over her shoulder. Is this a good time? It felt awkward, but maybe it would work. Kate buried her head in his shoulder, blinking away tears and lost thoughts. Guess so. Maybe he doesn't hate me. Maybe she doesn't hate me, Sawyer wondered as he comforted her.

Kate was reminded, painfully, on her third day revisiting Sawyer in the hatch, the terror she had felt when she had seen him being carried, on the back of another to the hatch. The man she had loved, slumped over the shoulders of someone else, in a most vulnerable state. There had gone her hero. Upon speaking with him, on that third day, she had regained her belief in him, in that he, too, was just a human being. Not flawless.

"You can't run forever," he said roughly.

"I know..." Kate murmured in acknowledgement, voice singing with regret.

"I tried to," he whispered uncomfortably.

"I'm no saint."

Kate looked at him with drooping eyes, "Who is?"

He chuckled dryly, "I'm still out for blood," he added, his voice becoming stronger, darker.

"I gave up on that a long time ago," Kate whispered gently.

"I can't. Can't let go," He looked pitiful, lying there, still sick, not only physically but mentally, too.

Kate had held him in her arms then, too, in retrospect, this was probably the most he had ever confided in someone else about himself, people were not to be trusted in this world. He was still her idol, then, at least, and today had reassured that belief. Maybe he didn't hate her. She knew, after that, that he was human. He had feelings, a heart. Thoughts of his own, a soul. Weaknesses. He wasn't an unobtainable god, a man who was immune to all earthly doings. She had known this, on a more superficial level, since she had read the letter. But for him to admit a weakness, she knew, was a great step for him.

Now as he held her, she felt a little spark of hope in her heart, they could mend the wounds. "We can fix this," she whispered, almost inaudibly.

His silence seemed to be one of agreement, he paused, holding her tight, choking almost on his words. Could he actually say it? "Kate... I..."