A/N: Well, here they are, the next two letters. For those people who've asked if there's more than just letters to this story, the answer is probably yes (I have some semblance of a plot sketched out for these) but not until much later in the story. shrug Other than that, please read and review!

Dear Mr. Shepard,

Oh God Jack.

He's back.

Sawyer's back.

He showed up slung over a tall, Jamaican guy's shoulders, feverish and half dead and I'm so scared for him that I'm practically out of my mind.

He's lying on a little cot, looking like he's about to absolutely die and I don't know what to do.

I'm so scared.

I know you're doing everything you can, but I'm so scared that it won't be enough. I'm scared that I'll never get to say the things to Sawyer that I suddenly think I might need to say. I won't be able to demand explanations from him, ask him what happened, tell him I'm sorry.

I'm not sure if I'm sorry or not, but I'm pretty sure I am, though for what I don't know, and I just want to tell him that. If he dies…I don't know. I don't know what I'll do.

It's funny how you don't realize what something means to you until it's almost gone. And even now, when he may be almost gone, I'm not sure what he means to me.

I'm going to go insane.

He's sitting - well, lying - there on this little cot, sweating, mumbling indistinct words to no one at all, and I'm watching over him, like I think I'm some kind of guardian angel. Laughable, me, an angel. You're doing some doctor-like thing, and I demanded that I be allowed to stay and watch Sawyer, so I'm watching him. You're gathering fruit I think, and talking to Sayid about Shannon, being the hero, the leader, and I'm in here, watching some guy who's been nothing but rude to me for the past couple of months, and yet I know this is what I have to do.

Sincerely,

Kate

Dear Mr. Shepard,

It's been two days now since Sawyer was brought "home" and I'm still here, watching him. You keep telling me to get some sleep, to eat something, but I just can't do it. I can see that it might be getting to you just a little, the fact that I care this much about Sawyer, enough to keep a watch like this. But it doesn't matter right now.

You know who Sawyer reminds me of Jack? Wayne.

Wayne was my dad, and I blew him up. Blew up him, and his bed, and his room, and his house. He beat my mom, and he took over my house, this house I'd always lived in, and then it turned out he was my real dad. That almost killed me, so I blew him up. Yeah.

That's who Sawyer reminds me of. So why in the world am I so attached to him, why am I watching him now when he reminds me of a man I killed?

Is it because I'm sorry? Because I feel guilty? Because of some deep-rooted complex in which I really loved my dad, and all this time later I'm trying to make up for the fact that I killed him (can you tell I've been to my share of psychologists?). Or is it just the fact that he reminds me of my old life?

I don't know.

It seems there's a lot of things I don't know. Maybe nobody knows, or maybe I'm the only one.

But every time I look at Sawyer? I see a little bit of Wayne.

Jack, please save him, at least long enough for me to explain this to him, to tell him what's been going on between us, to tell him what this is all about, and to get answers from him.

This doesn't mean I love him Jack. At least, I don't think it does.

Is this what love is, feeling so scared for a person that you're scared for yourself, going through what they're going through every step of the way, and hoping against hope that they'll come out of it alive?

If that's what love is, I love both of you.

Imagine what a problem that would be.

Sincerely,

Kate

A/N: Thanks to everyone who's reviewed. I'm trying to review all your stories, and I will get around to it - things have just been a little weird at my house lately. The reason I'm updating so fast is that I'm sick, and that I've got several of these letters written.

Thanks so much for reading, and please review!