She would have appeared sound asleep to the three men behind her if one wasn't already sleeping, one wasn't tossing and turning, and one wasn't trying not to watch her and pretend he didn't care. Her small frame did not betray her insomnia. Her breathing remained steady and controlled. She didn't jolt suddenly, startled by the rumbling cacophony of snoring. She didn't raise herself to pound his backpack into something a little more like a pillow. She only let herself listen to the story her back was turned to.
From his restlessness, she knew he wasn't asleep and he wouldn't let himself sleep, even though he was exhausted, perhaps more so than the rest of them. They had decided to walk a few hundred yards just to distance themselves from their disturbing rendezvous with the Others, before setting up camp because of the late hour. No one really had volunteered for lookout duty and she assumed that was all just as well; he would have fought them down anyway.
So he sat, staring at the fire when he was not tending to it, and she ignored, pretending she didn't hear.
Still, Kate thought as she pulled the fleece airline blanket tighter under her arm, it was soothing to know he was there. She had made him an agreement, a pact through some sort of mutual trust, that she had his back. It seemed he had hers as well. Even though, she would never admit it aloud, she liked having him there, watching over her, protecting her.
The chilly breeze blew her loose hair across her face, and she sighed tiredly, thankful for the blanket and his shirt. Jack's shirt. The one that had hung lazily from the tree the day she had met him, blood stain removed. The one that had gently brushed hers countless times as they sat on the beach, words left unspoken. The one he had handed to her in front of Sawyer and Locke and she had accepted with a swallow and a soft thanks. It wasn't a downy parka but it was still something to ward off the jungle air. It was still something of his that she was allowed to hold onto.
She snuggled deeper into it, letting herself imagine its comfort was more than just light cotton against her skin, was more like the reassuring embrace when she had fallen apart in his waiting arms. The soft fabric still smelled like him, and Kate inhaled deeply, letting the blend of sweat, salt, hydrogen peroxide and something intrinsically Jack wash over her. For a moment, she could close her eyes and not feel the gun against her pulse, but could feel his arms around her protectively, just like that protective look she had seen in his eyes. For a moment, she could pretend this night had been erased and could see him sitting next to her on the beach, saying nothing and everything in their silence. For a moment, the tear running down her cheek wasn't from frustration and was really, if she let herself imagine, just a rivulet of sweat from the intense rays of the evening sunset beating against their faces.
She had been fine when they had kidnapped her; she had been caught on and off so many times, slipping back into that game of cat and mouse had been easy. Just to keep them at bay, she had locked down on her emotion, sitting stone-faced when they had asked questions, glaring when they had threatened, rolling her eyes when they had screamed. But the second she heard his voice challenge that bearded man, everything she had spent years learning and perfecting her craft as a fugitive simply washed out to sea like it had been caught in his riptide and nothing she did could escape his overpowering undertow.
Something about Jack Shephard allowed him to walk right through the walls she built separating herself from the outside. Barriers that had taken too much blood, too many tears, too many broken hearts and too many aliases and towns and too many stories and something about him just simply pushed them over as if they were made of nothing but playing cards. Something about him made her want to break down and confess and cry and she did break down and she did cry and Kate Austen did not cry in front of anyone damn it!
Except him. For Jack, she had buckled, she had caved in, she had given up, she had surrendered all control… she trusted.
Maybe that was why she always ran from him.
She and trust were like a cat that gets along with water. It didn't happen. Ever.
Kate swallowed tightly past the knot threatening to choke her in its growing strangle hold. Once again, the thought of him had broken her but after tonight, Kate wished that was all thoughts of him would do. Hugging the much too long sleeves around her body, she sighed, falling back into the comfort of the arms that weren't there, breathing in the scent of the traces of him, hoping that she hadn't destroyed everything in one moment.
Because for Kate, the loss of him would be even worse than a simple breakdown.