thanks again so much for the reviews, hope you guys are enjoying :D a couple of notes first.

A.N.1: like I said not so sure where I'm going with this, but I know now that it is not plot fic per se, with a specific story, plan, storyline… it's not a post-season-2-scenario-for-season-3 kind of fic. I don't know who the Others are and what they are doing to JKS, I guess there are tests, experiments, torture sessions… but I don't think I will be explaining why they took them, what they are doing to them, or how they will escape, if they do. It will basically be descriptions of scenes or moments as experienced from Jack's POV primarily of being held captive, with all the tests, experiments, torture, mind games… he could be experiencing. Make any sense? Is it worth it? Let me know ;) oh and Sawyer might seem a bit OC in this, but not all that much, just think of Sawyer in "?"

A.N.2: In italics are quotes from Gibran Khalil Gibran's The Prophet. And there could be more in coming chapters if there are coming chapter. Depends on you guys. Tell me if it works.

Disclaimer: Lost is not mine. The Prophet is not mine. The earphones I am using are actually my sister's.

Captivity

Chapter 3

Wakes up in a new setting. Mind goes back to most recent memories. Remembers being taken by Henry and three others to a new room. Clothes, food, mattress, notebook, camera. Remembers the smell of gas. Then drowsiness.

They put him to sleep. Moved him to a new room.

God knows what else they did.

Eyes travel to his arms. Wounds cleaned. A forth needle mark. Rubs his forehead. Frustration and fury.

Investigates his new surrounding. Same white walls. Same concrete floor. Same metal door. Only no furniture but a chair, a notebook and marker, and a monitor hung on one of the walls. Eyes scan the ceiling. Surveillance camera.

Shakes his head in despair. Takes a moment to contemplate. Curiosity gets the most of him. Walks over to the monitor. Flicks it on.

Arms crossed as the blurry image takes a moment to focus.

A room. Similar to the one he was taken to earlier. White walls, concrete floor, metal door, no windows. Slightly bigger. More rectangular than square. Not a single mattress but a wooden bunk bed. A single table and chair. Two plates.

Attention travels to lower bunk. A familiar form sitting tensely. Back against the wall. A book in hand. Gibran's The Prophet. Sawyer. Clean and shaven. New clothes. Teal shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. Dark jeans. A new pair of glasses.

His attention diverts as a new figure walks into the shot. Pacing away from the camera. Hair tied carelessly with a blue hair band. A green shirt. Beige pants. A bruised left shoulder. Turns to face the camera. Face pale and tear stained. Teeth biting nails mercilessly. Worryingly frail. Probably has not eaten for days.

His eyes travel to the table in the corner. Two plates. One empty. The other untouched. Chicken. Shakes his head.

"she's a vegetarian," mumbles to himself.

"hey, Kate," the southerner puts down his book and pulls himself to the edge of the bed, "you have to eat something."

"I'm fine." Stubborn.

"You're not fine!" he snaps, "starving yourself to death ain't gonna bring him back," voice lower and compassionate.

She swallows a sob. Jack's fingers rub his forehead.

"It's been ten day, Sawyer. Ten days! And they have told us nothing about him, where he is, what they have done to him," her voice shaky, "I don't know if he's alive or dead. I don't know if I will ever see him again. Sawyer, I can't…"

She drops herself hopelessly on the bed and stares ahead. Sawyer scoots over to her side.

Let not the waves of the sea separate us now, and the years you have spent in our midst become a memory. You have walked among us a spirit, and your shadow has been a light upon our faces.

"Kate," he treads on foreign territory, tries to help and get through, "Kate, this is Jack we're talking about. He's the smartest guy I know, and he's got damn good survival skills. If anyone of us is fine, it's him. As much as I'd hate to say it, he is the one who has kept over fifty people alive for two months, I'm sure he can take care of himself. And you know he would not want you to be doing this to yourself, he'd want you to eat something, stay healthy and strong. We will see him soon. Ok?"

Your friend is your needs answered. … that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain.

A surprised, grateful crease to Jack's brow.

Discretely unconvinced, she nods, a thankful smile momentarily on her lips.

One last check, a pat to her shoulder, and Sawyer scoots away, one eye on his book, one watching her.

Kate drops herself from the bed. Arms around legs tucked close to her chest. Stares longingly at the camera above.

And ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation.

The screen goes blank. Frustration uncontrollable. A chair thrown towards the door. A fist hit forcefully against a wall. Bleeding knuckles. He does not care.

Bloodshot eyes glare at the camera,

"I want to see her. LET ME SEE HER!"

Veins pop from a creased forehead.

"I need to see her."

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