Thanks for the reviews to those who took the time, although I may have to start threating the rest of you with a Kate/Kevin reunion. It seems to work for other writers! I'm glad no one thought Jack killing Ethan was a stretch. (Before anyone points it out, yes, the first part of this chapter reminded me of Through the Looking-Glass too!)

Chapter 40. Why?

"Ethan… I… I killed him."

Kate felt sick at Jack's words, unable to reconcile them with what was happening, not even when she noticed the blood on his hands. Jack wasn't a killer. What was it that her father would have said? He didn't have murder in his heart, not like her.

She glanced helplessly at Ana, desperate for an explanation, but the other woman just nodded in grim agreement. She wasn't sure what to do, so, taking over from her, she steered him towards her tent, their tent, she remembered with a pang, sitting him down as she set to work cleaning him up.

He didn't move as she dabbed at the blood on his knuckles; there wasn't much, and some of it was his own, making her wonder how he'd done it. His knife was gone, but he could have lost it in the struggle; she tried not to imagine it buried to the hilt in Ethan's chest.

"Did he hurt you?" she asked, peeling off his bloody shirt so that she could check him over for injuries, but she couldn't find so much as a bruise. Physically, he seemed fine; she wished she could say the same for the rest of him.

He didn't seem capable of speech beyond his brief confession, still stuck in the dream like state she knew all too well; glancing over at Ana, who was hovering nearby, she repeated, more forcefully this time, "What happened?"

"I dunno," she said, shaking her head as she tore her eyes away from him. "He just… lost it. Started beating the crap out of him when he wouldn't talk. Sayid tried to pull him off, but it was like he was possessed or something. I guess he musta hit him one too many times, because the next thing we knew, Ethan was dead."

Listening to her description, Kate shuddered, finding it difficult to imagine the sweet, gentle man she knew doing something so violent, so… savage. She wished, not for the first time, that she could've been there with him. Maybe she could've done something to stop him.

Ana shifted her attention back to Jack, looking fearful as she asked, "Do you think he's gonna be all right? Killing someone… it's a lot to live with."

For a moment, Kate wondered if she was speaking from experience, but she shook the thought off, reminding herself that Ana was a cop. She must have spent a lot of time around killers. "I don't know," she agreed with a grateful smile, touched by her concern. Whether or not her feelings were romantic, it was clear that she cared about him. "I hope so."

God, I hope so, she added to herself as, with one final glance at Jack, Ana left them, afraid that with that one action, the man she loved had disappeared forever, replaced by this sad shell of a human being. He was a healer: he would never recover from taking someone's life, no matter how necessary it had seemed at the time. Her only comfort was that, of all the people on the island, she was one of the few who could honestly say that she knew what he was going through.

He didn't move from the spot she'd placed him in all afternoon, remaining there, like a statue, well into the night. She couldn't get more than a few words out of him, even after the shock began to wear off, and he wouldn't touch his food, not even when she only half jokingly offered to feed him.

He wouldn't sleep either, so, around midnight, with Libby's help, she managed to sedate him, and eventually, he was drowsy enough to let her lead him into their tent. Needing something normal to do, she'd moved his stuff across earlier; undressing him like a child, she folded his clothes and put them into a pile with the others she need to sort through, helping him into bed, and laying down beside him so that their faces were only inches apart.

"Why did you do it, Jack?" she asked softly, now that his guards were coming down, stroking his cheek as she watched his eyelids flutter, fighting sleep.

He turned away from her, and she was sure that he wasn't going to answer, until he said, swallowing hard, "I couldn't let him hurt Claire again… or you."

A lump formed in her throat, and instead of anger or fear or disgust, she felt an overwhelming surge of love for him. He'd done what no one else in her life had ever tried to do: he'd gone out of his way to protect her, and it had cost him dearly. She wasn't even sure she deserved it.

Taking his shoulder, she pulled him towards her, guiding his eyes back to hers. "It's okay," she told him, wrapping her arms around him, and while he resisted at first, slowly, he allowed himself to sink into her embrace.

"It's okay," she repeated, pressing soothing kisses to his face, his neck, his jaw, adding, as the first sob wracked him, "Hey, she's fine, I'm fine, the baby's fine. We're all safe now because of you." She wasn't sure she believed it, but she needed him to.

"Forgive me," he choked out, and she hugged him tighter, so tight that it almost hurt.

"No, because you didn't do anything wrong," she told him, cupping the sides of his face in her hands, forcing him to look at her so that he could see how serious she was. "You were just protecting your family." She could have been speaking about herself; with a tearful nod, he dropped his head against her shoulder, too worn out to argue with her.

"Thank you," she whispered, stroking his hair, and kissing him again, but he'd succumbed to the medication, his eyes closed, his lips slightly parted, looking peaceful for the first time since he'd left to take up his shift.

The next morning was better, with Jack leaving tent at sunrise to resume his rounds, but there was a darkness to him that hadn't been there before. He seemed older and sadder, and more introspective, and when he disappeared into the jungle without a word during breakfast, Kate knew it was to bury Ethan.

She wanted to go with him, to stand beside him at the graveside while he tried to make sense of what he'd done, but he'd made it clear by his silence that it was something he needed to do alone. She was afraid that if she pushed, he'd withdraw from her again, and she'd lose him forever, and she couldn't, not when she needed him to be okay.

He was gone a long time, busying himself with practical tasks when he returned, not seeming to want to make idle conversation with anyone, even Kate. He chopped wood for the signal fire, finished setting up the infirmary and arranging the medicines, and tended the usual scrapes and bruises brusquely, anything to avoid her and Claire, who seemed confused by his sudden coldness towards her.

Kate could see her watching him from across the campsite, waiting for him to check on her and Aaron, but this was the one house call he didn't seem to want to make, forcing her to seek him out herself.

It wasn't until dinner that she seemed to work up the nerve to confront him, ambushing him outside the tent that he now shared with Kate, when it was too dark for him to find an excuse not to speak to her.

"I wanted to ask you something," she began, hovering beside him, as if unsure of whether or not she should sit down. Shifting her weight, she seemed to decide that it would be best to remain standing, towering over him in a way that, on anyone else, would have been intimidating.

"Is it about Aaron?" he asked, seemingly annoyed by her intrusion into his thoughts. "Because he's fine, Claire – exceptionally healthy."

"No, it's about you, actually," she continued, standing her ground, though Kate could tell by the way she was fidgeting with Aaron's blanket that she was uncomfortable.

"What about me?" he asked, feigning ignorance, but he seemed to know, or at least, suspect, what she was going to say, glancing down at his plate to avoid looking at her.

"Why is it that every time I turn around, you're there, looking after me, protecting me? Is it because you feel sorry for me, or is there some other reason you're not telling me? Some reason you think you have to treat me differently to everyone else?"

Her eyes were flashing with the same Shephard stubbornness Kate had seen on Jack, making them look more alike than ever; he met them with resignation, and Kate was sure that he was going to blurt out the whole story, until he ducked into their tent, causing her to exchange a confused look with Claire.

When he reappeared, he was holding the diary, and understanding dawned her: he was going to tell her the same way she'd told him. "Do you remember what this is?" he asked, offering it to her.

Claire gave him an incredulous look as she reached out to take it. "Yeah, it's my diary – I've been looking for it since Aaron was born. Did you take it out of my bag? Did you read it?" she added, affronted.

Jack let out a hollow sound that almost passed for a laugh. "No, I didn't read it, Claire," he assured her. "But I did see the article you've been carrying around – the one about your father. Christian Shephard."

It was evident that her father was a sore point with her; her indignation increased as she tucked the diary into the folds of Aaron's blanket, giving him a cool look. "I don't see how that's any of your business."

"It's my business," he said dully, swallowing, as he prepared to utter the words that would change both of their lives forever, "because he was my father too."

Yes, I'm mean, cutting it off there, but next chapter, we'll see Claire's reaction, and some bonding. I'm also toying with the idea of a conversation between Kate and Kevin, but what direction that takes may depend on reviews... ;)

By the way, if anyone's wondering why I had Kate say "thank you" to Jack (it may have seemed a little weird), it's because she killed Wayne to protect her mother (at least as far as we know), and Diane never acknowledged that. So I figured Kate would relate to Jack's need not only for forgiveness, but for some sign that she appreciated what he did for her, rather than the contempt that her mother showed her.