Lost 1. Chapter 1

**1. (Juliet)**

The jungle's rapid tempo has slowed momentarily to allow all the different shades of greens to merge together into a tedious curtain, and in between the small valleys of leaves, speckles of dancing light spill down and pull apart at its darkened blanket. Pale blue eyes dart back and forth anxiously from behind the little windows of a wiry net. The island's voice whispers softly through the calming breeze, engaging with its avid wildlife into song. The attentive blue hues darken slightly, afraid to add to the waterfall of sounds that crash all around.

A shuffle of new sounds begins to crackle loudly in front of her, the distinct echo of fallen tree branches being crushed under foot. Those searching eyes widen in terrified anticipation of what will emerge from the greenery of the jungle. There's a wave of excited whispers that encircle her, growing louder with every passing moment. Her slender fingers grip tighter around the wiry skeleton of the net that traps her high above the ground. Its scratchy material tickles her skin, as she fights harder to maintain her view through one of the small openings in the net.

Agitated panic begins to seep into her every vein, drowning out any sensible thoughts. Her steadily chimed heartbeat pulsates faster with a much deeper fear urging it desperately to reach her feet so that she can start running hastily in the opposite direction. She coughs anxiously on the ludicrous notion, as her fingers turn a shade whiter around the netted fabric, giving a solemn tut at her misfortune to get caught up in a make-shift trap.

There's no logically reasoning behind such a large, direct trap, which she assumes has only one primary purpose; to capture a person. There is no explanation at hand that she knows of as to why someone would want to capture another person. She hasn't even seen anyone since she landed up in the net over a night ago. She inwardly shudders at the acknowledgement that she might have to end up spending another darkened night in the tight prison, alone and afraid.

The distant echoes are getting heavier against the jungle's fragile backdrop, instantly shifting her attention back to the limited view. She's momentarily startled to actually see someone, anyone, standing just below her net, looking curiously back at her with an awe of wonderment before the stranger's face turns colder with an air of suspicion clouding their eyes.

Her words instantly die as soon as she tries to form them on her tongue, unable to convey what she wants to say without sounding as frightened as she is. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She watches silently at the new woman that has appeared from out of the jungle's unruly curtain. She's not seen anyone for a while and while the stranger's eyes are narrowing together in a wild array of scepticism, it's still overwhelmingly relieving not to be entirely on her own anymore. She drinks in the woman's shaggy appearance, the way her dark, matted hair falls in great waves across her shoulders, the dirt that stains the woman's old and torn clothes, and she wonders if this is what she will look like in a few days time.

"Over here." She hears the woman speak for the first time and her first words are more than confusing for her to listen to. She would have thought the woman would have addressed her directly, wanting to know what she was doing in her trap for one thing. It's definitely this woman's trap, she's sure of it, why else would she have come armed with a rifle? She replays the stranger's words again over inside her mind, frowningly lightly when she thinks she's detected a hint of an accent, but she can't place where the accent is from.

"Don't get to close." Once again the woman doesn't direct her words at her, instead she calls them out, as more crackling sounds creep out of the jungle. She's heard the accent again, it's definitely a foreign accent, she determines, definitely European. Finally the echoes of footsteps trudging through the overgrown come to a halt, and she watches from behind the safety of her net at the four other people that have come to stand next to the unknown woman. She gulps hastily at the air around her, the ardent fear rising so far up her throat that she feels she might suffocate on its powerful taste.

"She's one of them," the woman states loudly, rising her rifle a little higher towards the net, "You can't trust her." French, she declares in her mind at the woman's distinct accent, and it starts to disturb her at the thoughts of how lost she really is to have landed in a French woman's trap. She sees their eyes scanning her with the same initial amazement before they turn harsher, measuring her against the French woman's words.

She swallows against her bruised pride, knowing that she has kept onto her timid silence for far too long. She's thirsty and hungry. She grabs onto the fraying material of the net a little tighter and feels the anxiousness slip out of her mouth, coating her words in apparent fear for all five of them to hear, "Help me, please." There's a moment where she thinks that all of them are just going to laugh and walk away, since none of them move or say anything. She begins to wonder if any of them speak English, are all of them French?

"Cut her down." There's a ripple of anger that cuts through the humid air, as one of the three men points to the single rope attached to the opposite tree, the only thing that is keeping her at her current height. She watches his eyes grow with frustrated determination, his shaven head turning to look at one of the other men. American, she notices with a sigh of relief, at least there's some familiar ground that she has with one of them.

"You can't trust her," the French woman snaps back, her eyes darting daringly at the American man. He shakes his head in rage making the faint hairs that trace his chin catch some of the fallen rays of light. "Cut her down, now," the American enforces again, and she assumes now that he must have some sort of authority with the others, since one of them obediently takes his knife and slices it across the rope holding her up.

She gasps at the sudden drop, the world momentarily blurring from her vision, before the smacking pain jolts her whole body back into focus. It's only when the numbness subsides and the real agony of her fall sets in that she realises her ankle is sprained. She shifts uneasily around, untangling herself out of the mass of netted material with a sharpened grimace sitting restlessly on her dry lips. Everything is stinging with an avid rawness and the casual scrapes that she's accumulated over the past few days have reopened into a bloody mess across her arms.

"What were you thinking?" She stays quiet as the tall, dark haired American turns his frustration onto one of the other men in his group. Her attention quickly falls onto the man in question, his darkened eyes set rigidly on her, as his muscular arms flex with the weight of the rifle in his hands. His skin is darker than that of any of the others that she can see; his face is covered in an unkempt black beard, hiding most of his strong jaw line.

"If she is one of them, then we have to be careful," he tells the American flatly in a foreign accent of his own. She can't place it, not this time, it's too distant for her to recognise. She pushes herself weakly from the ground, bits of the jungle's floor sticking to her clothing as she tries to brush them off herself instinctively. She instantly regrets putting some weight on her sprained ankle, feeling the waves of pain bite at her skin, but she forces it off her mind not wanting to appear anymore vulnerable than she already is. Instead she's frowning at the hostile tone in the young man's tone and the way his narrowed eyes are glaring at her from behind his rifle.

"Do you speak English?" Her head turns at the abrupt voice that is daring enough to address her directly for the first time, instead of just speaking about her amongst themselves in terms she doesn't fully comprehend. He's the last one of the men to speak, he's American too she concludes, and much less intimidating than the others since he isn't holding any sort of weapon at her. His bald head reflects the shimmering light and it defects her attention from his crooked smile for a moment, before her eyes dart around at the other faces screwed up in keen suspicion. She nods quickly when she hears a click from one of the guns cocking in its treat to fire at her.

"Who are you?" Her eyes are drawn to the last remaining person before her that she hasn't heard speak, seemingly ignoring the question being thrown harshly at her from the darker man. The woman appears to be much younger than any of her tribal friends, yet she seems just as capable of using her rifle as the rest of them from the strong stance she asserts in her chosen spot. She's intrigued by the woman who has decided not to chime in with her friends' interrogation; she's interested to know what accent she possesses to, whether she has one at all.

"You're wasting your time," the French woman mumbles, "whatever she says will be a lie." She frowns instantly, insulted at the notion that these people have already made their minds up about her and that they somehow already know exactly who she is. The truth is, they don't have a clue about what she's been through to be here standing in front of them all, they don't appreciate how difficult the whole overwhelming experience has been for her. But she reasons with herself being reminded that they have all probably gone a little mad from the island's furious heat. They probably view anyone else who isn't apart of their cosy little group as an outsider, someone who lies.

"Why don't we just let her answer the question," she hears the bald man grow irritable, as he waves his right hand suggestively at the French woman, "then we can decide whether she's telling the truth or not." All eyes turn to her expectantly, yet out of all of them, the younger woman's eyes appear more scrutinising, and that she determines, is quite a feat judging by the death stare she is receiving from the darker man.

"Well?" he asks her, his black beard dancing around his chin as he speaks, "Who are you?" She swallows anxiously, fixing the flattened line between her lips to be even more rigid than before.

"Erica," she replies hoarsely, realising that it's the first time she's spoken in a few days.

"Erica what?" his hostile tone doesn't waver a single note, as he readjusts the rifle slightly in his hands. "Evans," she answers obediently, trying her utmost to remain unmoved by all the guns being pointed at her.

"And what are you doing here, Erica Evans?" he continues his impatient questioning, as the others look on expectantly. She drops her gaze from all of them, great sadness falling on her when she's finally granted a moment to recall the tragic reasons why she's here on this island.

She licks awkwardly at her dry lips, shaking her head regretfully, "It was suppose to be one hundred percent safe."

Naturally he bites back at her cryptic response, demanding to know what was meant to be made so safe.

"The hot air balloon," she dares to look him in the eye, "I don't know how we crashed."

"We?" It's the ruggedly handsome American's turn to fire the questions now, picking up instantly on the news that there are more people in her party than they first realised. Her eyes momentarily widen in coming to understand what she's just let slip, but then her face saddens before she gives a weak nod. "My husband and I," she clarifies, "We were travelling around the world, but we crashed."

"And where is this husband of yours?" the darker man is back to throwing his darts at her, expecting her to fall victim of one. She beckons with her head gently out into the jungle, "I buried him." An uncomfortable silence hangs thickly in the air, as they're obviously trying to fathom out the woman's story, pulling apart all the details to gain a better insight as to what she's doing there, in their part of the jungle.

She watches helplessly as they exchange glances between one another, their guns never dancing away from their marks. The French woman mutters something under her breath to the younger woman, something that the men don't seem to pick up on, and she stares as the younger woman nods her head slowly, determination blinding her eyes. She frowns at their continuous silence, while the niggling pain is still pulsating heavily through her body and not one of them has offered to help her, not one of them has offered her a drink, or some food.

She's abruptly thrown off guard when the tall American speaks up, smashing through the muted cloud that has rested on all of them. "Who are you? Where did you come from?" She feels the confusion dripping fast onto her broken brow, she's already answered those questions, she's already told them what they want to know, yet they still persist on asking her the same thing. She spots their trap quickly, they want her to slip up the second time of telling her story, for whatever reasons, these people are highly suspicious of her and they won't rest until she makes a mistake.


	2. Chapter 2

**2. (Kate)**

Something about the woman alarms Kate from the outset.

Something isn't quite right.

It's the general consensus around the group that caution is advised. They would be fools to take this stranger at her word. Especially when she has come telling such an outrageous story. A hot air balloon crash landing on the island? She could have thought up a better tale than that. Kate isn't alone in her initial mistrust. But she is very much alone in instant intense dislike for the woman.

There is something about her. She is dirty and dishevelled, something you'd expect from someone living alone on this island for any number of days. Her perfect complexion is marred with scratches. Yet something sets her apart from Kate, from the plane crash survivors. Kate can't quite put her finger on it. Something about this woman's countenance that just doesn't ring true about the fact that she is supposedly stranded here, alone, at the mercy of this island.

There was underlying cleanliness beneath the surface dirt and grime. The woman moves gracefully, elegantly. In a way that just doesn't belong on an island like this. Even with Jack and Sayid holding her at gun point, this woman never wavered. It wasn't natural.

"Who are you? Where did you come from?" Jack asks the question again, falling naturally into his leadership role.

"My name is Erica Evans." She answers in a fast, yet steady voice. "There was an accident. I'm stranded here. There is no need to shoot me."

She was speaking quickly, as one tends to do when several guns are aimed in their direction. Her voice soft somehow, innocent. But it was her eyes that sent off alarm bells in Kate's head. Not even the slightest flicker of fear in those clear blue eyes. Jack, Sayid and Kate still holding her at gunpoint, and Rousseau nervously shifting from one foot to the other, hissing "She is a liar, She is one of them."

Sayid briefly turns his attention to Rousseau, silencing her with assurances that they will get to the bottom of this.

"And who are you?" The woman asks boldly. It may have been intended as a general question for the group, but her eyes were locked with Jack's.

"Don't answer her." Rousseau warns. "Don't tell her anything!"

The strangers blue eyes were sparkling, completely lacking the desperation you'd expect to find in someone stranded, half starved, fighting for her survival and afraid for her life. That maddening desperation that had taken over the rest of them. She was too calm. Too sure of herself. Too beautiful. And she knew it.

Her hair was messed up, but unlike Kate and the others on the island, there was underlying order to the chaos. As if she had tried to make it look messy, and failed. As if her perfect golden hair was not capable of looking so dishevelled. Even the scratches on her face were perfectly neat and parallel.

"She is lying." Kate utters her agreement with Rousseau.

The three men, for their part, say nothing.

The stranger shakes her head wearily "Well, ok. If it makes you happy to think I'm lying, so be it. Go on then, shoot me. I've really had enough of this place. I'm stranded here, alone, lost..." It was then her voice wavered, and a solitary tear escaped the woman's eye. And Kate could feel the men soften beside her. This woman had managed to get under their skin with her performance.

"I don't think that will be necessary." Jack manages to mumble in reply. And yet none of them lower their weapons. "We just need some answers."

"Answers?" The woman asks. And gone is the sad desperate facade. "I'd like some answers myself. Where the hell is this place? What are _you_ doing here? Who is it that you think I am that has you holding me at gun point?"

"You know exactly who you are! You're one of them! We see through you! You won't get away with this!" Rousseau screams as she lunges toward the stranger. Sayid manages to pull her away, once again to calm her, telling her that they will deal with this woman.

"You want answers Sayid, you're going to have to make her talk." Rousseau insists.

"Not yet." Sayid replies. He hasn't dismissed the idea of torture entirely, but he is prepared to see how far then can get without it. He pushes Rousseau away from the stranger, he pushes her towards Kate, with a look on his face telling Kate to deal with her, to keep her somehow out of the way. And Kate resents that this task falls on her, as if she is the expert on crazy women. But she does take Rousseau by the arm and pull her back away from the woman.

In the mean time, Locke and Jack are exchanging awkward glances. Neither seems to know what to do with this woman. Finally it is the woman herself who speaks again, breaking the awkward silence that has fallen over the group.

"Have you got any water?" She dares to ask, even as Jack and Sayid had not lowered their weapons.

Her voice was now hollow, but not cracking or rasping like someone thirsty, like someone who didn't know where to find clean drinking water on this island and hadn't taken a drink for days. Just low and sweet, and downright seductive. And even though the men were not quite prepared to take her at her word, not quite foolish enough to believe this woman was no threat, they all turned their backs on her, scrambling around trying to find a water bottle for her.

Rousseau rolls her eyes in disgust, and neither she or Kate lowers their own weapon. This woman might be able to captivate those men under her spell, but Kate could see right through her. And something was not adding up. It was more than simple mistrust in the woman. It was now compounded by jealousy at the way the men were falling over themselves to be the one to give this stranger a drink. But that shred of jealousy that had taken hold of Kate's heart had twisted itself already a little deeper. Kate finds herself sickeningly envious of this woman, her calm composure, her seductive power, her beauty that shines through even in this hellish place.

Kate is careful voicing her opinions about the woman aloud. She is wary about being seen to agree with Rousseau. Kate is aware they all think Rousseau is insane. Paranoid. Desperate. Deluded. Pathetic. Downright crazy. And Kate does not want to find herself viewed in that same category. Especially in front of this 'Erica Evans.'

Kate waits, until the decision has been made to escort the woman back to the hatch, to keep it secret from the rest of the crash survivors until the woman's story is confirmed. And as the woman walks ahead of them, several guns still aimed in her direction, Kate pulls Jack aside.

"Rousseau is right." Kate whispers. "She is lying."

Kate can't help but notice that the woman is holding her head high as she walks. It seems so unnatural for someone who is basically a prisoner at their mercy.

"Rousseau lost the plot a long time ago." Jack answers. "I wouldn't put too much trust in her judgement."

"It would be stupid to take the stranger at her word, Jack, It would be dangerous."

"I know!" He hissed back, irritated. "I don't need you to tell me that. We'll take her back to the hatch."

"And do what? Keep her as a pet?" Kate asked incredulously.

"Keep her under surveillance until we can confirm or deny her account."

The woman turns then, to look over her shoulder, and catches Kate's eye. Almost as if she knew Kate was talking about her, when in reality there was no way she could have heard from so may feet ahead.

"Keep walking, eyes forward." Sayid orders the woman.

And before she obeys, and turns her head back around, the woman smiles. Right at Kate. Kate turns quickly to see if Jack has seen it. He must realise this woman was playing games with them. But Jack has already quickened his pace and turned his attention to catching up with Sayid.

Erica Evans is appropriately awed by the sight of the hatch in the middle of the jungle desolation. "This is nice." She says to no one in particular. "You built this?" She asks.

"_We_ ask the questions." Sayid tells her, as he pushes her inside.

And it makes Kate feel a little better to see they are still treating her as a prisoner, as an enemy. That they will give her no answers, that Sayid will shove her about a little to show that he is in control, and not her.

"What _did _those people do to you?" Once again, Erica Evans asks a general question, seemingly addressed to no one in particular. Her tone borders on sarcastic, almost as if she is making fun of them for their extreme reaction to her presence on the island. As if they were all just as crazy and deluded as Rousseau. This woman is looking down on them, judging them. And all this when she is the prisoner. When she is the one with no power what so ever. Kate reassures herself that the men must see there is something very very wrong with this picture.

"I said, no questions." Sayid tells her again, this time he pushes her up against the wall, his face only an inch from her own.

Jack pulls him away. "Hey" He protests.

The woman apologises. "I'm sorry. I talk a lot when I'm nervous. Say the wrong thing. And this is a rather unsettling situation." She flashes a hesitant smile at Sayid, and Kate can see his muscles instantly relax, the anger dissolve from his gaze. It makes her own blood boil. Sayid must be able to tell she is playing them. Maybe Jack is starstruck, But Locke and Sayid, they must know, they must hear the insincerity in her so called apology.

"I think it's best if you stay in here for the mean time, Mrs Evans." Jack tells her gently.

"Erica. Call me Erica." She tells him.

"You can call me Jack."

"Oh please." Kate mumbles under her breath, but no one pays her any attention.

"It's for your own safety, too." Jacks adds. As if he has to convince her to step inside the locked room with his words. As if he and Sayid and Kate weren't still holding loaded weapons.

"Well, it's better than another night in the jungle." Erica tells him, and compliantly steps inside the room.

"I'll bring you some food shortly." Jack tells her. Even though she had not made a single request or demand. This was clearly not Sayid's idea of how to treat a prisoner, as he angrily called Jack away from the woman.

"We have to talk Jack, Now. Shut the door and lock her in."

Reluctantly Jack closed the door, locking Erica Evans inside the room.

Moments before the door clicked tightly shut, Kate catches the woman's eyes. Again. There was nothing 'prisoner' about her. Not that wild fear, that injustice, of being locked away when she had supposedly done nothing wrong. No desperation in her eyes, no anger, no pleading. Just a too sweet, if somewhat sad, smile. And two deep blue sparkling eyes that seemed to penetrate right into Kate's soul.


	3. Chapter 3

_**3. Juliet**_

She tries her hardest to ignore all the questions that bubble away at her surface. She wants to know more, a lot more about this bunker that she's been taken to, who built it, why it's there, what does it do? She understands of course that these people are in no stable frame of mind to answer anything that she wishes to know. Having already tried to make polite conversation with them, dropping hints to try to gain a better insight whenever she could, she falls back into her quietness, allowing them to decide amongst themselves about what they're going to do with her.

There're no introductions, apart from one. The sincerity of the tall American has thrown her off guard, not expect his voice to soften like it has. Apparently his name is Jack. It only comes as an afterthought though, she suspects, since she told him not to address her so formally by her surname, but still it's encouraging that she can now apply a name to one of four remaining faces. The French woman has long since disappeared, Erica can't even recall seeing her following them to the underground bunker, yet she notices that none of the others seem all that concerned that one of their people has just disappeared at their own whim.

There's a low mumble from the younger woman straight after the American gives his name, she doesn't catch what was said, but isn't foolish enough to believe it was anything nice. She can remember hearing the woman's first words back in the jungle, it had taken a while for her to voice her opinion, but when she did her condemning words were full of resounding judgment, as though she had measured Erica up in the first few moments of seeing her. She assumes she's American too, from the small phrases she's heard, but she can't be sure.

She finds herself warming instantly to the caring nature that Jack has shown her in the small amount of time of knowing him. He's the only one who has seemingly taken any interest about how she might be feeling after several days without any proper food or water, immediately informing her that he'll bring her some food. She's grateful for his kindness, comparing him to the other much colder faces that stand accusingly in the room, and deciding that she definitely has a lot more common ground with this young American than any of the others.

The darker man stiffens quickly at Jack's peaceful promise of food, tugging at his arm harshly and pulling him away from her. "We have to talk Jack, now, shut the door and lock her in," he commands Jack sternly, making her wonder who is exactly in charge around here. She watches the reluctant glow overshadow his dark eyes, before Jack gives a regretful wince and shuts the door behind her. She understands more than he realises, she admits to herself.

She catches the painfully narrow eyes of the younger woman just before she's blanketed in a softened light from within the confined room. It's a threatening glare she receives from the brunette, nothing new from when Erica first saw her at the netted trap, but yet there's a tiny detail that seems to be present there that wasn't before; caution. Maybe that's why she refused to ask her any questions, maybe that's why she's stayed quiet on the whole for most of the time, Erica comes to conclude. It's different with the others though. They're busily still trying to sum her up, working out the structured risks from trusting her as apposed to not trusting her. But with her, this younger woman, it's almost like her mind is already set on sabotaging any chance of Erica finding salvation amongst these people.

The stealthy darkness wraps her up beyond the faint orange glow of the overhead light, and she's aware that the room is no bigger than a typical closet. She's never noticed until now, how the small space seems to grip at her lungs every time her eyes scout the four narrow walls. Never before has she felt so incredibly trapped. Even inside the netted prison hanging from one of the trees in the jungle hadn't been so terrible for her, at least she had been able to breath in the fresh island air blowing in from the coastal shores. This room is suffocating, the air growing thin and warm with every breath she dares to take.

She lied, she would have preferred to have stayed out in the cooler elements, watching with an anxious gaze out into the jungle's wilderness, instead of cooped up inside this damp, windowless cell, afraid of who might open the door next. She doesn't have to wait long at all for the wooden door to slide open sharply. The sudden burst of light almost blinds her, but she shows nothing in her face to suggest the vividness is hurting her eyes.

Her fraying smile looses its edge at the corner of her mouth, startled to see the young, nameless woman entering her prison with a look of pure revulsion painting her pale skin. She doesn't say anything, she doesn't even attempt to say anything to her, instead she slams the plastic tray that she's been carrying complete with a plate and a cup of water, down onto the small table. It's only piece of real furniture in the room, there's nothing else, no basic comforts of a chair or bed.

Erica's blue orbs travel across from her pale hands down to the tray, eyeing up the food hungrily, not quite believing how famished she actually is. But her calm and collected interest reverts back to the woman, curious as to why she doesn't have any questions of her own, or at least appears to not have any questions for her. She watches quietly, as the woman disappears out of the wooden door as quickly as she had appeared from it, but not before she sees the glimmer of fear slip in between the girl's darkened pupils.


	4. Chapter 4

**4. (Kate)**

"What are you doing, Jack?" Sayid hisses after Erica had been safely locked inside.

"She needs to eat. She is a human being. She's been stranded here for days, caught in that trap all night long..." Jack explains.

"We can not afford to take her word for anything." Sayid reminds him.

"It won't do any harm to feed her. She is locked up. We are armed. What is she going to do to us?" Jack declared.

"We need to get to the bottom of this. It is imperative that we maintain our control. We can not let her think she has any control over us." Sayid continued.

"I suppose if you had your way we'd just beat the truth out of her?" Jacks eyes narrowed in accusation.

"Let's hope it won't come to that." Locke interceded to keep the peace.

"What ever happened to innocent until proven guilty?" Jack asks the group.

"You don't believe that story do you? Crashing in a hot air balloon? Seriously?" Kate scoffs at him. "She is hiding something, Jack."

Locke nods in silent agreement. And Sayid subconsciously takes a step back, willing to let Kate have her turn at trying to talk sense in Jack.

"_She_ is hiding something?" Jack repeats. He talks slowly at first, calmly. But then he raises his finger and points towards that locked door, and he is almost yelling by the time he continues "_She's_ some kind of terrible person, is she Kate? _She's_ committed some sort of unspeakable crime? Well that's rich coming from you."

Kate recoils from his harsh words, from the venom in his tone. His accusation has caught her off guard. So much so that she can not find a single word to defend herself. She can only stand, stunned. Hurt. Silent. Since when did she become the enemy in Jack's eyes?

"If we could get back to the topic at hand." Locke intercedes once again to keep the peace.

"Starving a confession out of her is barbaric and unnecessary." Jack insists, but his gaze is fixed to the floor, as if he is afraid to catch Kate's eye. Almost as if he is ashamed of his angry words. And yet he makes no apology.

"I think Jack has a point." Locke concedes. "I don't think starving her is going to gain us anything. If she _is_ one of them, she is not likely to break because she is hungry."

"Good, we're agreed." Jack sighs, relieved.

"Not so fast. I don't think you're the right person to take that food to her." Locke finishes.

"And why is that, John?" Jack is fast losing patience with this whole conversation.

Locke shrugs his shoulder awkwardly.

"Jack, it's obvious you find her attractive." Sayid says the words before Locke is able.

Jack doesn't deny it. "So what? You'd rather starve her, beat her, torture the truth out of her? Maybe we'll actually get a little further with a more gentle approach." Jack suggests.

"That might well work if it were _she_ attracted to _you_ and not the other way around." Sayid points out. "She already has you wrapped around her little finger, and that's no use to us at all."

Jack is silenced by this. As if he is deeply offended by this implication that Erica does not find him attractive in return. Never mind the implication that he is too caught up in her beauty to see the truth. But he has far too much pride to admit it aloud.

For a moment, no one speaks. Jack looks to the ground shaking his head in disbelief and annoyance, Sayid smirks at his perceived victory, and Kate can't help the flicker of satisfaction that crosses her gaze at Jack's discomfort.

It's Locke that first makes the absurd suggestion. "Let Kate take the food to her."

"Me?" Kate asks incredulously, certain she has mis-heard him. She has forced her hands into her pockets, to hide the fact that she is still shaking from Jack's earlier comments.

"Yes. You, Kate."

"That's not a good idea" Jack warns, and silently Kate agrees with him. Although at this point in time she simply refuses to be seen agreeing with him on anything.

"I'm not sure it would be wise" Sayid agrees with Jack.

"I think it might be useful to establish some sort of female bond with her." Locke explains. "She is a beautiful woman, she is no doubt used to men falling all over her, she probably expects it. I'd like to see how she interacts with another woman."

"Bond?" Kate repeats. "With her?"

"Of course you'd be pretending." Locke continues.

"It's not really my thing, female bonding." Kate protests.

"Kate doesn't even like her, she's made that clear, this isn't going to get us anywhere John." Jack voices his opinions once again.

"It doesn't matter if Kate doesn't like her Jack, she is a prisoner, Kate's not supposed to like her, neither are you." Sayid reminds him. "This is ludicrous. Waiting on her hand and foot, providing food at her every request..."

"She never requested anything!" Jack interrupts, and by this time both men are shouting. "And you're making the assumption that she is one of the 'others', how about giving her the benefit of the doubt?"

"...And now you want to give her some sort of best friend? It's ridiculous, playing these games. We need a proper strategy." Sayid insists.

"In the mean time, while you come up with your fool proof strategy, there is no reason for her to starve to death!" Jack responds.

While Jack and Sayid continue in bitter pointless arguing, Kate quietly takes the plate of food from Locke's hands. It was the way Jack looked at her moments ago that convinces Kate to agree to the plan. Looking at her as if she isn't capable of forging a connection with another human being. As if John's idea of 'female bonding' is just not conceivable, as if she is somehow less of a woman than this Erica Evans, as if she can't put her anger aside for five minutes for the good of the cause. Doesn't Jack realise that the past years of her life have been nothing but acting, manipulating people? What about that poor policeman who married her? He hadn't the first idea who she truly was. Neither did Jack. And if she had to cosy up to this Erica Evans to somehow trick the truth out of her, then she would do it. She would do it to prove herself right, that her instincts had been spot on, that Erica was bad news. She would do it for the safety of the others at the beach camp. She would do it, mostly, just to prove that she could. To wipe that smug look of satisfaction off Jack Shepherds face.

"Fine, I'll do it." Kate utters quietly.

"This is a mistake, John." Jack warns again, turning his attention from Sayid.

"You want her to eat, she's going to eat." Locke tells him.

"Let her try." Sayid finally suggests. Although he is far from happy with the arrangements, he too does not wish to be seen in agreement with Jack.

And, Jack, outnumbered, raises his hands in defeat.

"It's not going to be easy, Kate." Locke warns her "If she is one of them, she's a damn fine actress. Be on your guard."

"I can handle Erica Evans." Kate responds, growing fast irritated by the continued implication that she is no match on any level for Erica Evans.

"I think the two of you actually may find you have a lot in common." Locke tells her.

Jack snorts in disbelief "Such as?" He demands to know.

And despite the fact that Kate had been thinking the exact same thing, it irritates her to hear Jack say it aloud. But, really, what could she possibly have in common with that woman? Kate wasn't blind. She could see that the woman was beautiful, she could tell she had been well educated, somehow superior to Kate on every level. Jack was right, there wasn't a whole hell of a lot of common ground.

"I think it might benefit the situation if you told her your story." Locke explains.

"My story?" Kate wants to know. "What would you know about my story, John?"

"Perhaps you have some understanding of the situation that Erica finds herself in." He answers carefully.

"What are you trying to say? That I'm a hearltess criminal, just like the 'others'? That I should be locked up too?.."Kate wants to know.

"Well that's just a fact Kate, you are a fugitive." Jack pipes in over the top of her, but she ignores him.

"...That I have some deep understanding of Erica Evans because we are both terrible people? You think we're going to sit around and swap stories of all the crimes we've committed? You think she is going to confess her deepest sins to me because what? Because i'm an even worse person that she is and it will make her feel better about herself?"

"I'm not asking you to bare your soul to her, I just feel there are some elements of your experiences that might be helpful. That's all." Locke explains calmly. He doesn't come right out and say - _Well, you __are__ a killer, you __are __a criminal, you broke the law, more than once, by rights you should be locked up, so yeah maybe you do have something in common with the 'others'. Something Erica Evans might relate to. _But that's what he means.

"What about him?" Kate points the finger at Sayid. "He's not exactly Mr innocent citizen. Send Sayid , I'm sure they have a lot in common too. Would have a great time swapping torture stories. Not like I'm the only one here who is far from perfect."

Now, Kate is angry. Now, she is defensive. Because she can be with Locke. Because it's easier. Because Lock's words don't stab her through the heart the way Jack's do. She still feels a flicker of guilt though, pointing the finger at Sayid, rubbing his past in his face. After all, he was the only one not accusing her.

"I told you, this is a bad idea, she can't keep her cool for five minutes." Jack protests.

It is that which makes Kate take a deep breath. Plaster a smile on her face as she snatches the tray of food from Locke's outstretched hands.


End file.
