Kate must have fallen asleep on the short drive home – it was understandable, she guessed as she opened her groggy eyes. She was drugged up on so many things at the moment that she literally couldn't see straight. Each medicine seemed to give a different side affect so that she wasn't only in pain, but she was also dizzy, nauseous and sleepy all at the same time.

Jack opened the rear door and slowly helped her out of the car. She bit back a yelp as she half-sat up. His kind eyes hurt her the most. She was being tormented by kindness. God.

They made their way at a snail's pace out of the garage and into the apartment building, her arm over his shoulders for balance and his protective hand on the small of her back.

When they finally made their way up all of the stairs – why wasn't there an elevator? – and they were standing in front of the apartment door, Kate realized. She had to tell him she was leaving. She had to tell him now. Kate could not go into the place she had already begun to call home. If she stepped into that place right now, she would stay there forever, she knew it.

"Jack?"

Fumbling in his pocket for the keys, he looked up. He didn't suspect anything, she realized. It was as if the fight they had had, the fight that had almost killed them both, had been erased from his mind completely.

Now. Now. Just spit it out and get it over with.

"I can't stay here anymore." She blurted.

He gazed at her, not fully understanding. "What?"

"I can't live here. With you." She gasped, even though it hurt tremendously, her eyes already beginning to well up. "I can't take the anti-depressants. I can't give away my control over myself. I haven't had much to hold onto, but I've always had control over myself. My emotions and my decisions. Some of them were wrong, but they were still mine."

"Kate, you don't have to take those pills. You don't. I understand now. I swear I do. You can get over this without them –"

"But that's the thing!" Kate smiled sadly through her tears. "I don't think I can."

There was a silence as Jack took in the immensity of what she had just said and looked seriously at her for the first time. She could tell that he knew that these were not the babblings of a delirious, over-emotional version of herself. A glint of nervousness showed in his eyes.

"Bringing you down isn't fair. Don't you get it?" Kate cried, looking earnestly at him, shaking with despair. "I won't take anti-depressants and I won't get better. You've wasted a year of your life on me, maybe more if you count the island. You can't waste anymore." She allowed her head to sink onto his shoulder. "I'm sorry." She choked.

After a moment, she heard the door click open.

"Let's just sit down and talk inside." He said, and she could tell he was trying to retain his own sort of control over the situation. He was trying to remain calm.

"I can't go in there." She whispered.

"You have to."

She felt her defenses breaking down, and before she knew it, she was lying on the couch with a quilt pulled up to her chin and a bowl of soup next to her that she knew she wouldn't touch.

"Do you want the tv on?" Jack asked, avoiding her eyes.

"We can't drop this."

"I know." He sat down, looking like he was resisting the urge to pace up and down in front of her; tension was in every muscle of his body.

"You don't want to quit your job. Not really." Kate said.

"Yes, I do."

"Don't be a child, Jack." Kate's voice suddenly had a bite that she hadn't even prepared for. "You love your job. And…" she swallowed hard. "I love you and that's why I have to leave."

He looked at her helplessly. He opened his mouth, not knowing what to day. Finally, he said weakly, "I need you to stay, Kate."

"You'll be fine in a few months." The cold clarity in which Kate said this hurt him more than anything she'd said; she could see that immediately. She could see the protective barrier he suddenly put up between them.

He stood up. "You need to get better. You're staying here until you get better, and then we can talk about this again. Okay?"

She gave him a long look. She searched his face for every detail. She realized she didn't even have a picture of them together and now they never would. The falseness of her soft "Okay" hurt her ears and Jack didn't notice.

At two-thirty AM, Kate got up and silently pulled a backpack from underneath the couch. In it was some water, a few apples, her meds and the goddamn plastic plane that she tried to throw away but couldn't. In her pocket was two hundred dollars. It was Jack's.

She pulled the backpack on and wrote a note in the darkness on the pad of paper that rested on the counter.

Jack – I'm sorry I took your money. I'll pay you back. I'll send you money when I can. I'll pay for the lawyer too. I'm sorry but I never asked how much she cost. I guess I'm sorry for a lot of things. Don't worry about me. I've run with worse than a couple broken ribs.

She laid the pen down carefully and listened for Jack's quiet breathing from the next room. She wanted so badly just to walk into the room and lie down beside him, feel his warmth, be happy. She wanted to wake up and love him and then go to sleep at night and do the same thing over and over.

Kate closed the apartment door with the slightest click. She quietly walked down the stairs and out into the chilly air. Then she wiped her teary face and ran.

Jack woke to the sound of nothing. The first thing he saw was his blank ceiling, sunlight reflecting off of it. He sat up with a start. Something was wrong. It was completely silent in the house. He looked at the alarm clock next to his bed.

8:42. Kate should be up by now, making noise as dishes scraped against silverware, or humming. Kate hummed sometimes and she didn't even know she was doing it. Jack would ask her to stop if he was reading something, and she'd look at him, puzzled, and ask, "Stop what?" Jack shook his head, clearing his jumbled thoughts.

Don't be ridiculous. He told himself. She just got back from the hospital, exhausted. She's probably still sleeping on the couch. She said that sleeping in the bed would hurt her; he moved around in his sleep too much. He knew she had to be lying.

"Calm down." Jack said out loud. He was being so paranoid, and it was insensible. He got up and forced himself to take his time to cross the room. She was going to be sleeping on the couch. She wasn't really serious yesterday; she wasn't in the right state of mind. Kate wouldn't leave in the middle of the night.

But before Jack laid eyes on the empty living room, he knew that she would. Leave in the middle of the night was exactly what Kate would do.

Nevertheless, he stood, frozen in despair at the sight of his apartment. The quilt lay folded neatly on the arm of the couch. Kate's coat was gone. There was a note on the counter.

Jack shakily sat down on the barstool and picked up the note. He read it twice, very slowly. He reached for the phone, dialed the hospital secretary.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Liz. It's Jack Shepherd. I won't be in today."

"Are you sick? There's a nasty flu going around –"

"I'm not sick." Jack told her firmly. "I'm quitting."

"What?"

"I'll be in to sign the papers tomorrow." He slammed the phone into its cradle. Jack let out his breath in a long hiss. He rubbed his hands over his eyes until he saw a mixture of purple spots and salt cloud his vision. He picked up the quilt and squeezed it so tightly to his chest that it hurt. He sank onto the couch.

He'd lost her so many times that he began to wonder if he'd ever found her at all.