A/N: Ok, I need to make something very clear; Jate fans may appreciate a part of this chapter, but I am not one of them! Don't worry; I am still a 100 Skater! Let me explain myself; recently I had a very bad case of Jate Fever. That part was written in the climax of my illness, lol. But never fear; I am all better now! So, now that's out of the way, let's take a look in the mail bag;

October Sky: Actually, I've never seen Cheers, is there someone called Malone in there? And I'm guessing 'Eeek' is good? Thank you thank you thank you, and wow, that WAS a long review!

Raven2004: Little Sawyers sprinkled on top! Well, how can I say no to that? takes little Sawyers gives you update Pleasure doing business with you!

hottietom: Wow that was a strong reaction! Stronger than Jack's to his drink on the plane, anyway. Sorry, could resist, lol! You thought he was dead? No, no, no! I couldn't kill Boone! Not again! Boy, would that suck!

Orlando-crazy: lol, again… thank you.

COLEHARLEY: When you're good, you're good! But, could there be a factor that you haven't considered? Read on… sweeps cloak

Pen Lidden: Yay! Finally someone thinks it's scary! Thanks pen, and in answer to your question, I'm not sure how many chapters I'm going to end up doing, but I'm thinking somewhere around 30-40, maybe more. I'll be doing more than normal because my chapters are quite short. And just to bum myself out, this chapter is nearly 3000 words, so I guess that's not entirely true, but this one is unusually long.

So, let's get on with it, then!

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Charlie's first instinct was to run. Perhaps he should have. But no, if he ran, Boone may follow, and possibly hurt other people. Possibly hurt Claire. Besides, at the moment, he didn't seem to post too much of a threat.

Wait. Charlie thought, the cogs in his brain suddenly clicking into action. Didn't Sayid say that Richard was the cause of Jack's illness? He must have gotten Boone while he was taking care of him.

"Boone?" Charlie asked tentatively, poised ready to run, should he move. "Mate? You ok?"

"Dude, of course he's not ok!" Hurley said, sweating, like he did whenever he got nervous. "He caught the crazy!"

Boone let out a tiny laugh which made them both jump, as if just to illustrate Hurley's point.

"We've gotta tell someone!" The bigger man insisted.

"What and just leave him here on his own?" Charlie asked skeptically. "What if he, y'know…" He trailed off and Hurley knew that his friend was recalling the attack on Sawyer.

"Ok, we gotta tie him up, then." Hurley reasoned. "Got any rope?"

"There must be some around here somewhere." Charlie began searching through the med. tent, always keeping a wary eye on Boone, and he watched him back, which wasn't the most comfortable of all feelings.

"Dude, over to your right," Hurley directed his friend to the roll of masking tape sitting on top of a box. He had positioned himself firmly by the entrance of the tent, and he didn't plan on going any closer. Charlie spotted the roll of tape and snatched it up.

"Good enough." He said, making his way back over to where Boone sat in his seat. His eyes were fixed on Charlie, but it was like they saw right through him. He really didn't want to move him. "You think we could just sorta, y'know, tape him to his seat?"

"Nah, I don't think so, dude." Hurley replied, and pointed to a metal pole driven into the ground which was holding the tent up. "You're gonna have to put him over there." Charlie's face fell.

"Oh, alright." He grumbled, and took a few careful steps towards Boone. "Hey, mate. I'm just gonna move you over there." He looked at the man, frightened. "Please don't attack me."

"Yeah." Hurley added sarcastically. "That'll help."

Charlie frowned and turned to his friend.

"Well, I don't see you helping." He snapped, irritated. "So unless you'd like to -"

"Nah, I'm good." Hurley replied quickly. "I'll just… guard the door."

"What a noble act of bravery." Charlie muttered under his breath, as he carefully slid his arms under Boone's, and dragged him out of his seat, grunting from the effort. His face was turning red as he finally plonked Boone down in front of the pole.

"See?" Hurley said. "That wasn't so hard."

Charlie gave him a withering look as he got down on his knees behind Boone, roughly pulling his arms behind the pole and taping his wrists together. He wound the tape around 5 times, then bit the end off with his teeth.

"You think that'll be enough?" He asked, sticking the end down into place.

"Should be." Hurley said, moving anxiously from foot to foot. "Now, lets go."

"Wait, wait wait." Charlie held up a hand, rising to his feet. "I think one of us should still stay with him."

"Uh, ok…" Hurley's face fell. "I'll go find Sayid."

"Hey, I don't think so!" The smaller man argued. "I will go find Sayid, and you can stay here and watch the crazy guy… seeing as I moved him and taped him to the pole."

His face fell even further.

"Fine." He muttered under his breath, and took a seat in the opening to the tent, legs crossed. Being in the tent with Charlie and Boone had been scary, but all alone with the mad man was downright terrifying.

"Uh… hey dude." He stammered, attempting a conversation to lighten the mood. "Whatcha doin'?"

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Jack was still reeling well after Sayid had disappeared from sight. He had talked. Actually talked. He had opened his mouth and formed words. If he could have smiled anything other than the eerie smirk, he would have. If he could have danced, he would have done that, too. If he could have done cartwheels and somersaults, he would have done them until the sun disappeared far below the horizon. That had been the closest he'd come to breaking out of the blinding fog that covered his conscious mind like a thick woolen blanket.

His neck still hurt like hell. It hurt, but it didn't seem to be effecting him. There was no (additional) dizziness, excessive bleeding or any vertigo other than what he was feeling now. Sayid had been kind (and brave) enough to patch his would for him, a feat, he was (nearly) sure, no one else would have dared attempt, probably not even Kate. He would certainly need a few stitches, but that didn't bother his right now.

What did bother him, though, was whatever it was that was happening to him. He could still taste Sawyer's blood in his mouth; still hear his screams echoing in his ears. He shouldn't be thinking about doing cartwheels just because he was able to form a few words. For now, he was blaming whatever was wrong with his on some unknown disease… but the symptoms were unlike any disease he had every heard of in his entire medical career. It was like an anchor, dangling on a long chain; he could never see the source of the problem, but it was always there, dragging him down slowly, one inch at a time, preventing him from moving, speaking or acting on his own free will.

He had seen the looks the rest of the castaways had been shooting his way. They were scared of him. Hell, they were terrified for their lives. Absolutely terrified that they would be next to feel his teeth sink into their shoulder… or worse. And how could he blame them? After what had happened with Sawyer, he was scared, too.

He couldn't control himself, that's pretty much what it all came down to. He was like a spectator in his own body. He could see what he was doing, see the awful, disgusting things he did, but there wasn't a goddamn thing he could do about it. Jack didn't want to think about what he must look like now; grinning like a maniac and rocking back and forth like some lunatic in an insane asylum. Not to mention he was covered in cuts, bruises and a thick layer of blood.

But, what hurt the most, what utterly ripped his heart out and tore it into pieces, was not the gaping wound in the side of his neck where Sawyer had plunged the pen only a few days before, nor was it the fearful glances he was constantly being given, the way parents tugged on their children's hands if they got too close, or the little 'Shhh!' uttered by anyone having a conversation where Jack's name was mentioned. No, the absolute most gut-wrenching, hurtful thing in all of this, was that Kate had not paid him a visit, not once.

Until now.

He saw her petite frame appear over the horizon some time in mid-afternoon, a few hours after he had 'talked' to Sayid. At first, he didn't believe that she was coming to see him; he thought she must just be passing by. But no, as she got closer, a small, (if slightly forced) smile appeared on her lips, and she was looking at him.

In a way, he longed for her to come closer, to stay with him and never leave; even if he couldn't show that he knew she was there. But in another way, he wanted to scream at her to go, to run as fast as she could, and never look back. Yes, he was scared of himself. But he was scared for her.

Kate reached him and knelt down, taking her backpack off and laying it on the ground beside her. Every movement was careful, as if she was handling dynamite, stuffed into a precious heirloom. She may as well have been; Jack knew he could have another fit any minute, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it. What's more, there was no guarantee that the chains holding him to the piece of wreckage would be able to withstand one of his bouts of rage.

He felt his head move slightly so that his eyes were in line with hers, but not fully meeting. Kate brushed a strand of dark, wispy hair out of her face, her attention never leaving Jack. She looked so sad, almost hurt by his pain. Maybe she was.

"Hey." Kate said, forcing a smile onto her face which didn't last long. "I… I, um," She stopped, uttering a small, nervous laugh. "I don't know why I'm even talking to you… you can't hear me, can you?"

Yes! Jack screamed in his mind. Yes, I can hear every word!

Kate opened her backpack, and took out a cloth and a bottle of water. Carefully, she tipped some of the water out onto the cloth, and pressed it to Jack's forehead. The cool water felt wonderful running down his face. Slowly, she began rubbing the cloth gently over his skin, wiping away the dried blood and dirt.

"I - I wanted to apologize." She began. "For - for everything. I'm sorry that I never visited you, I'm sorry I couldn't even look at you after… after…" She couldn't finish her sentence. It was just too painful.

She gave another forced laugh, and dipped her cloth back into the bottle. He eyes raised and met his, and she wasn't smiling anymore, the words she had rehearsed saying over and over in her head about to come out.

"I'm sorry I was scared of you, Jack."

Kate's eyes began to water and she looked away, the pain she was feeling showing through on her face more than ever before, her brows knotted tightly in the centre of her forehead as she forced back the tears. Jack's heart went out to her, and every muscle in his body was screaming out to comfort her, to tell her that he was alright, on the inside, anyway. But all he could do was sit there and stare at her (or, an inch or so to her left, at least) through vacant eyes.

No. He thought suddenly. I've done it twice now, I can do it again, and for her, I know I can.

Kate began wiping his face again, and talking to him, but Jack wasn't listening. All his thoughts now, were focused on sending his thoughts from his brain to his mouth for Kate to hear.

It's ok. He thought desperately. I can hear you, and I'm ok.

Slowly, his lips began to part.

Yes, yes! He thought. Almost there.

He kept repeating what he wanted to say in his head, willing the thoughts towards his lips. He could feel them moving ever-so slightly; vaguely mouthing the words, but no sound could come out. The effort it took to do such a simple task was unbelievable, and he knew he must be sweating like a pig.

Finally Kate stopped, her attention focused on his mouth, and her eyes were wide.

"Are - are you trying to talk to me?" She asked in stunned disbelief.

Jack knew there were no external signs of the struggle going on inside, other than the slight movement of his lips, but he was about ready to burst. Kate was staring at him in such hopeful anticipation, but he didn't know how much longer he could keep this up.

I. He concentrated on each word at a time. Can. Hear. You.

But still, nothing escaped his mouth. The stress was excruciating, he would break any minute, he knew it.

No! He yelled in his mind. I WILL talk to her! She WILL know I can hear her!

But, no sooner had he thought that, something snapped, and it was all over. The battle was lost.

Kate's face fell once she realized there was nothing more coming. Wiping a small tear from her cheek, she put the water and cloth back in her backpack.

"No." She said quietly. "Of course not." She stood up and slung the bag over her shoulder. "I'll see you later, Jack."

Kate turned and walked off before the tears came, leaving Jack alone once more, the disappointment washing over him like a wave of nausea.

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Mr. Richard Malone;

We received your application and considered it, but we regret to inform you that the job has gone to a more suitable candidate. Our deepest apologies and best wishes for your future.

Sincerely

Bob Hilton

Hospital C.E.O.

They were the words he had never thought he would read. Not this time anyway. Not again.

It couldn't be right. There must have been a mistake, some sort of mistake.

Picking up the phone, he pressed speed-dial, 5 and held it to his ear. It was answered on the third ring.

"Richard." The voice of an elderly man said. "I take it you got my letter?"

Richard flinched. It had always given his a fright when people answered the phone with his name. Damn Caller ID.

"I did." He replied calmly, still holding the letter in his hand. "And I've got to say, there must be some kind of mistake."

"No mistake, Richard." Bob replied harshly. "You didn't get the job."

"I - What?" For a second, Richard almost stopped breathing. He had expected a lot of things, but never this. Finally, he continued. "What do you mean, 'I didn't get the job'?"

"Just what it sounds like." Bob replied. "It went to a more suitable candidate."

"But there were no 'more suitable candidates'!" Richard protested. "I was perfect for this job!"

"I'm afraid there were." Bob answered simply. "But, at least you tried."

"No!" Richard shouted, suddenly losing his temper and slamming his fist down on the counter. "I'm tired of being the underdog! I have had a goddamn pile of also-rans, and I don't need another one! I was bloody perfect for this job and you know it, you smug son of a -"

"Richard." The older man cut him off, seemingly unruffled by his outburst. "I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do."

Richard stopped and took a few deep breaths. He couldn't believe he'd lost control of himself like that. Finally, he spoke.

"Bob, we've been friends for years now, how could you do this to me?" He asked quietly. "I want this job. I need this job. I flew all the way from goddamn London to get this bloody job!"

"I understand that, and I can pay for your flight back home." Bob said. "I'll book you a connecting flight from L.A, so you can be out of here by tomorrow."

"No, you don't understand!" Richard attempted once more. "I am a good doctor, I can do this!"

"No, you can't." Bob said matter-of-factly. "Fact is, you just don't have what it takes to be Head of E.D. Why don't you set up a small G.P's office in the countryside, that sounds more like -"

"No!" Richard shouted again, and he could feel himself slipping back into his state of rage. "Don't you get it? I don't want that job, I want this job!"

The line was silent for a few seconds, then Richard finally spoke again.

"Who?" He asked deathly quietly. "Who got my job?"

"It was never your job, Malone." Bob replied harshly. "And I can't tell you his identity, especially not in the mood you're in now."

"What, you think I'm gonna go kill him or something?" Richard asked, raising his voice. "You think I would do that, Bob? For God's sake, I just want to know his name!"

There was a pause, and then Bob sighed.

"His name is Jack." He revealed reluctantly. "He's a surgeon. That's all I can tell you."

"A surgeon?" Richard yelled, unable to keep himself under any sort of control he may have had before. "You gave my job to a goddamned surgeon? What the hell were you -"

Click

The line went dead.