Again, many thanks for the reviews. Have now planned out the basic outline for the whole fic and it's gone in a completely different direction than originally intended! For those who are questioning whether or not I've killed off Jack, you'll have to wait a bit longer to find out… Italics still indicate flashbacks. This chapter is much more J/K focussed.

Day 10

She takes an antibiotic tablet and washes it down with water. It sticks in her throat uncomfortably. She downs more water. Despite the fact that Jack is no longer with them, she has learned enough about medicine under his tutelage to know how to prevent wound infection.

As the days have gone on, his absence strikes her harder. She begins to realise just how big a part of her life he was. He is.

She misses his seriousness, his teasing, his protectiveness. She misses her first glimpse of him in the day, particularly on days where he wore a sleeveless shirt so that she could wordlessly try and interpret his tattoos.

She finds it near impossible to get the image of him out of her head.

She finds it near impossible to get her words to Sayid out of her head: "They're going to kill Jack. They're going to kill all of us." She tries to remember why she had such conviction that this was the case, but she fails. She still cannot remember anything beyond the first few days, and it increasingly frustrates her.

She hopes desperately that her convictions were wrong; that Jack is not dead and that she had no part to play in his potential demise.

But she cannot convince herself of this; her life experience tells her that those who get close to her are ultimately doomed, and she doesn't expect that Jack is the exception. Jack, who was just a good guy and could do so much better than her.

She tries to get on with her life, but finds that there is so little to occupy her mind that she cannot help but dwell on things that have happened.

Her sleep is increasingly interrupted with scenes and moments that may not have happened but that haunt her in her waking hours none-the-less.

She doesn't talk to the others so much any more. She doesn't like their questions, mostly since she cannot answer them. She cannot stand their sympathetic looks; the idea that she needs to be comforted. The pain is self-inflicted and she needs no one to help her with it.

She uses the crutches to assist her with getting to the beach. She has been practicing over the last few days and has grown in confidence. She sits down near to the water and thinks about all the times in the past when she has taken this position.

Claire comes to sit beside her. And she hates more than anything the way that she misses Jack; the way that she wishes it was him who came to sit next to her. They don't talk and she prefers it this way, just listening to the sound of the water caressing the sand. It gives her something to focus on as she tries to piece together her missing days in hopes that she can answer the questions that she most wants to know.

"You okay?" Claire asks eventually.

"I'm fine," she replies, but the more she hears herself say this, the less she is convinced.

These days, all she knows is that things are not the same without Jack. And she hates herself increasingly for needing him.

---

The concrete is cold against her back. Her neck aches from maintaining an awkward position and she moves it side to side. She opens her eyes, adjusting to the light coming in through the door, and takes more than a moment to remember where she is.

She hears the sound of something scraping across the floor, a metallic sound, and she doesn't like its harsh reverberations.

"Morning, sunshine," a patronising voice greets them, and she cannot see its face because of the silhouette effect of the light. "Breakfast is served. Everyone get ready to use the bathroom in twenty minutes." And then the door screeches on its hinges, metal against metal as the lock is put in place, and darkness returns.

It takes a while for her eyes to get used to the darkness. Eventually, she see Sawyer lying on the floor opposite, awake but unmoving. She feels Jack still to her right as he shifts and moves his limbs.

"Well, it's like a five star hotel here," Sawyer comments grumpily as he looks at their food offerings. "What's next, chocolates on the pillow? Maid service?"

She doesn't blame him for being irritable, but she is too hungry to think too much about what the lumpen objects consist of.

Her anxiety hasn't lessened any with sleep. She wants to know answers: why are they here? What is going to happen to them? And a million other questions that she hasn't yet got the words for.

True to his word, twenty minutes later she is dragged outside, hood over her head, to a makeshift bathroom. It is clean, that she can say at least.

She is returned to the holding cell, and for a few minutes she is alone. As the time passes she begins to worry about what has happened to Sawyer and to Jack, but then the door opens again and a figure is pushed through.

It is Jack. And she is relieved that at least the two of them are safe. She waits for the return of Sawyer, but twenty minutes later he is still missing.

She would pace if she felt that it would have any benefit, would shout and bang on the door and ask what the hell is going on, but she is acutely aware that the others don't plan on divulging their actions.

She moves over to the door, waiting for his return. She gets increasingly agitated.

"Where is he, Jack? Where is he?" she demands, although she knows as well as he does that he cannot answer.

He walks over to her, places a comforting hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her, but she recognises that he is as equally fraught as she. "He'll be alright," he promises, trying to convince himself as much as her. "He's Sawyer," he says as if this is an explanation.

She concentrates on the feel of his hand on her shoulder in an attempt to ground her emotions and prevent herself from a panic that will benefit no one.

But it is no use. There are too many unknowns and too much fear and she finds it difficult to cope. Her breathing hastens, her throat aches with tears she refuses to shed, and her mind slideshows every worst possible scenario.

And then she hears his voice. "1…. 2…. 3…. 4…. 5…." She joins in mentally. And then she finds herself in his embrace, her head against his neck, and she is calmer.

"We're going to make it through this, Kate. Sawyer's gonna be fine and we're gonna make it out of here."

And she tries to believe him.

---

Finis