Thanks for the reviews. I'm still amazed by the reception this fic is getting. All of the comparisons to the show are extremely flattering. ;)

Chapter 3.

Los Angeles, California

Kate opened the door on the third knock to discover Margo waiting on the other side. It was the first time that she'd come to the house to see her. She hadn't even known that she knew where she lived. Jack must have given the address when they were living together, she realised. After her trial, she'd made sure that it wasn't listed in the phonebook. "Come in," she told her.

Margo stepped into the foyer and Kate pushed the door closed behind her.

"I have something for you," she said, taking an envelope from her purse.

She seemed smaller somehow, less imposing now that she was no longer on her own turf. Kate couldn't imagine what she had to give her. She glanced from the envelope, back up to her as she opened it. Inside was a cheque, made out in her name. "This is over a million dollars," she read aloud, staring at her in shock. "Margo, I told you I don't your need money. I'm doing just fine on my own." Financially, at least.

"It's Jack's share of the settlement," she explained. "They sent it to me because I'm his next of kin, but it should've been you. You were there. You're the one who's suffered the most."

Regardless of whether or not she deserved it, Kate couldn't bear the thought of profiting off his death when she would give it all back in a heartbeat for even just one more moment with him. It terrified her that she was already starting to forget things, like what his skin smelt like. She still had one of the old dress shirts that he'd missed when he'd packed his belongings and moved out, but it wasn't the same as being near him.

"I appreciate what you're trying to do but I can't accept this." She slid the cheque back into the envelope and handed it back to her.

"Fine." Margo tucked it back into her purse. "I'll just use it to set up a trust fund for the baby," she told her, lifting her gaze back to hers with a defiant smile and Kate couldn't help smiling back at how Jack-like this was.

"I can see where he got his stubbornness from." She pressed her hand to her stomach, which was just beginning to curve outwards, the tiny bump already straining the buttons of her jeans. It wouldn't be long before she had to make the switch to maternity clothes. "Let's hope he doesn't inherit it too or else we'll both have our hands full."

Margo arched a thin eyebrow at her. "He?"

It was still too early to know for sure, but somehow she'd gotten it into her head that her child was male. She wondered if it was because, secretly, she wanted him to be just like Jack. "I think it would be nice if it was a boy," she admitted.

"Me too," Margo agreed. "How are you feeling today?"

She couldn't remember ever being this tired in her life, but that was less to do with being pregnant, and more to do with the effort she'd been putting into keeping up the pretence that she was fine. That she didn't sob into her pillow every night when there was no one around to hear her, until she fell asleep herself. That there wasn't a small part of her that wanted to die too.

"Still a little nauseous, but aside from that I've been lucky," she said, even though she didn't feel particularly lucky. She hadn't had any complications yet but then most women who did had their husbands or boyfriends to help them get through it so the two things kind of cancelled each other out. "So far it's been a pretty easy pregnancy."

It was too soon for Margo to go home. The drive back across town would take her at least half an hour with traffic. "Would you like to stay for coffee?" she asked her.

Margo hesitated as though afraid she was keeping her from whatever she'd been doing before she came to answer the door. "Coffee would be great," she agreed finally.

She followed Kate through the living room, admiring her surroundings as they went. "This is a lovely place you have here."

"Thank you," Kate said automatically, her eyes straying to the pictures of the three of them, still on the mantel. "Jack helped me pick it out."

"As you can see, it's very spacious – perfect for a growing family," the real estate agent announced as they trailed into the foyer with Aaron – now almost five months old – nestled in a sling across Kate's chest.

It wasn't the first comment like that that she'd made. She seemed to be under the impression that the three of them were a real family. Kate couldn't say that she blamed her. She probably would have arrived at the same conclusion after seeing them pull up in the new silver Volvo she'd purchased with her compensation money. Her eyes locked briefly with Jack's, the flicker of tension between them causing them both to look away.

After a moment of awkward silence, he cleared his throat. "I like the hardwood floors." He tapped one of the floorboards with the toe of his boot. "Is this oak?"

"As a matter of fact it is," the agent agreed. "White oak." She shifted her attention to Kate. "The best thing about oak floors this is that they're easy to clean. What's your little boy's name?"

Her words prompted the usual surge of pride, followed by the now familiar guilt as her thoughts turned to Claire. "Aaron."

"So say Aaron spilled his grape juice. You could just mop it right up. No fuss."

So far it all sounded good to her, but then wasn't that the point? "What's the area like?" she asked. She wanted Aaron to grow up somewhere safe and middle class. Somewhere where he wouldn't know the horror of her own white trash upbringing.

"It's a very popular neighbourhood for families with young children. There's a low incidence of crime, good school within walking distance, a park just down the street. I think you could be very happy here. Why don't I show you the upstairs? Then I'll leave you alone to discuss it."

They climbed the stairs after her and she took them down the hall, pointing out the bathroom, the master bedroom and three smaller ones, any of which she suggested would be ideal for a nursery. Kate wasn't sure what she would do with two spare rooms. She had no use for a home office and she couldn't imagine a scenario in which she would have guests. Maybe she would turn one into a playroom for Aaron when he got older.

"Do you have any questions?"

Kate didn't, so she glanced up at Jack. "No, I think that about covers it," she told the agent when he shook his head.

"Well, then, why don't you two compare notes while I go make a few phone calls?" She took her cell phone from the inside pocket of her coat and disappeared back out onto the landing.

Kate waited until her footsteps receded down the stairs before she spoke. "So, what d'you think?"

"I think you're the one who's gonna be living here," Jack said, as if to remind her that it wasn't really his place.

"I'm serious, Jack." Buying a house to raise her son in was one of the most important decisions that she'd ever had to make. She had no idea what she was doing and she was afraid of getting it wrong, so as usual, she found herself looking to him. That was why she'd asked him along today: because she trusted his judgement above all others'. "What would you do? If you were me?"

He shoved his hands into the pockets of his worn leather jacket, staring up at the ceiling as he considered this. "We've been all over LA and I don't see how you're gonna do any better than this, especially for the price they're asking. If I were you, I'd take it." He turned back to her. "What about you? What do you think?"

She had a good feeling about this place, like maybe she really could be happy here. She smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of Aaron's bald head. "I think we're home."

"I'm actually thinking I might sell it once Claire and Aaron move out," Kate confessed. The idea had been running on a loop inside her head ever since they got back. "If I do it in the next few months, I could be settled some place else by the time the baby's born." Deep down she knew that it was crazy because if she went through with it, she would still be unpacking boxes and rearranging furniture well into her third trimester, but grief was making her crazy. She just wanted it to stop.

She could see that Margo didn't approve. "Why on earth would you do that?"

As she moved over to the sink, going through the motions of filling the percolator, she thought of all the times she'd watched him stand in that same spot, his hands touching the same objects that hers were now. He was everywhere in this house. It was hard not to think about him. "Some mornings I'll be down here making breakfast and it stills feels like he's right upstairs," she confessed. "Like any minute he's gonna come down those stairs. Or I'll be lying in bed, trying to sleep and I'll swear I hear his truck pull up outside." She turned around so that she was facing Margo again, leaning back against the bench while she waited for the coffee to brew. "How can you stand it?" She'd stayed in the same house for three years after losing her husband, and now that Jack was gone too, she still didn't show any signs of wanting to leave.

"It's my home," she said simply. "Some of my best memories are in that house."

As painful as it was sometimes, the same was true for her. The first real happiness she'd ever experienced was here in this house. Maybe she shouldn't be so quick to get rid of it.

Before she could tell Margo this, Aaron came barrelling down the stairs, a flustered-looking Claire on his heels. She caught him by the arm, pulling him around to face her. "Aaron! What have Kate and I told you about running in the house?"

She tensed when she noticed Margo standing at the island, as though she'd guessed right away who she was. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"

Kate shook her head. Their meeting was inevitable. She was just glad that it was happening now, before the baby arrived. "Claire, this is Margo Shephard. Margo, this is Claire," she introduced, each word loaded with hidden meaning.

Margo stared at Claire as if she'd seen a ghost. In a way, she had. "You look just like your father."

"Thanks," Claire said, her voice rising as though she were asking a question, looking uncertain, as if she were trying to figure out if this was a compliment or an accusation.

An uncomfortable silence fell over the room. "Well, it was nice meeting you, but we should probably be going," she said, taking her son's hand. "I promised Aaron I'd take him to the park today."

"Wait," Margo called after her as she led him over to the door and she stopped, turning back towards her slowly. "I understand how difficult this must be for you, Claire – seeing me here, like this – but you don't have to rush off on my account. Kate and I were about to have coffee." She flashed her a tentative smile. "Why don't you join us? Then maybe we could all go together."

Tunisia

His quick thinking had made him a legend in the hospital and the nearby village, which meant that two things had changed: one, he was assigned his own patients to take care of, and two, instead of 'You!' or 'American', he was now affectionately referred to as 'Doc'.

As frustrated as he was that he hadn't been able to remember anything about who he was or what he was doing so far from his homeland, it felt good to finally have a purpose.

Rayhan, the boy whose life he had saved, had returned to full consciousness after the surgery without any sign of permanent brain damage, much to the relief of his mother. Since then he had been keeping a close watch over him, but he was almost fully recovered now.

"Doc! Doc!" He was checking the sutures of a woman he suspected had been beaten by her husband, but he looked up to see Rayhan pointing to the old TV set mounted on a bracket in the corner.

He followed his finger to the screen, to what appeared to be a news report. What interested him about it, however, was the video they kept cutting back to, showing a bunch of dishevelled people climbing out of a life raft on the beach. He recognised the face of one of the men. It was the same face he saw every day when he looked in the mirror. "Turn it up!" he shouted and guessing what he wanted, someone did, but his heart sank when he heard that it was all in Arabic.

"Amir! What are they saying?" he asked, calling his friend over.

"Indian airline Ajira Airways has been forced to close its doors after an almost unprecedented fifty million dollar payout was awarded to the families of the forty-two passengers killed when their flight crashed on route to Guam last month," he translated, speaking quickly as he tried to keep up with the anchor. "Just five passengers survived the crash, along with the pilot, who managed to get the plane to Papua New Guinea before making an emergency landing. Among the dead are four members of the so-called 'Oceanic Six', who gained infamy in 2005 when they became the sole survivors of another air disaster. Sayid Jarrah, Hugo Reyes, Sun-Hwa Kwon, Jack Shephard and Kate Austen, along with her newborn son, were confirmed dead along with three hundred and twenty-four other passengers, but later discovered alive when their life raft washed up on the Indonesian island of Sumba. While their reasons for travelling to Guam remain unknown, it is believed that Jarrah, Reyes, Kwon and Shephard all perished in last month's crash."

Tunisia was a long way from Guam, but at least he knew that there were people looking for him. That he hadn't just fallen out of the sky. At least not alone.

From there, finding out his name was just a simple process of elimination. He clearly wasn't from the Middle East, nor was he Hispanic, which only left one choice. "Jack," he repeated, trying it out. "Jack Shephard."

It felt right.

Next chapter: Someone from Jack's past pays him a visit. ;)