Lost 1. Chapter 1

**LOST**

**Pilot – Part 1**

**Script by: JJ Abrams and Damon Lindelof**

* * *

I – ISLAND

Laying there like a corpse in the tall grass Jack Shepard awakes with a start. Light. Blinding. His eyes shoot open and the sensation is dilating, causing his pupil to shrink from a large black ring to a much smaller one. In them is reflected the sky; blue, just as blinding. A sharp pain stabs all throughout his body; his back, his knees, his shoulders. His head aches with an intense inner soreness, pounding away like a migraine. But it's unlike any migraine he's felt before. The world slowly starts to fade in but it's an alien one, full of disorientating sights and sounds. As his senses come back he notices the smell of smoke and exhaust smog. It's a contrast to the world above which looks pristine in it's clarity. The radiant blue sky outlined only by the tall stock of bamboo trees that erect from the ground and surround him like prison bars. _Am I alive? _If it wasn't for the pain consuming every limb in his body he would be more inclined to consider the question. However, the blood rushes up into his head and he feels the pressure surging like it's about to burst. _Yeah, I'm alive._

Suddenly, a sound... _Crack!_

It comes from the left and startles Jack, causing him to quickly snap his neck sideways. His cheek rests against the matted down grass, wet with dew. If he had any grasp on the world surrounding him the noise might have induced a small measure of fear. But instead he just narrows his eyes and looks into the depth of the jungle curiously.

Another sound... _Bark!_

His senses are fully restored and yet his ears weren't deluding him. It's the universal sound of a canine and even before Jack can comprehend the strangeness of the distinction a pale yellow Labrador Retriever stomps out from the cavern of trees, his ears perked and his tail wagging. There's something almost childlike in the way Jack absorbs the scene. His eyes widen with bewilderment and he loudly exhales a breath of awe. The dog stares at him and whimpers before quickly dashing across his face, almost trampling his cheek, and into the jungle on the adverse side.

_Bark! Bar! Ba..._ The sounds grow fainter as the canine disappears into the far distance and everything is silent again.

_What hap... where am...?_ No time to think. Jack stops himself mid-thought and cranes his neck. He takes in the jungle engulfing him and notices how clean it all looks, untouched and saturated with an almost unreal green. He sits upward and for the first time feels the sharp pain also being emitted from his torso. _God that hurts!_ His fingers grip the sturdy trunk of a bamboo tree and as he levels himself onto his knees his nails burrow deeper into the thick wood. He holds his breath and closes his eyes and with a single courageous tug pulls himself to his feet. _God!_ His gasps and moans echo into the trees, bouncing off and reverberating back like whispers surrounding him. The blue suit he's wearing is torn and lightly singed at the cuffs. As Jack leans into the support of the bamboo he feels something pressing into his chest. He pats his upper pocket and feels a bulge. _What the... _He removes the small object and turns it in his hands. It's a sample bottle of vodka, like you'd find on an airplane. _That's right, there was a plane!_ His last concrete memory resurfaces. He remembers screaming and shaking; violent and chaotic. _A plane crash!_

Jack looks around in every direction but they all seem the same, just an endless labyrinth of trees. He shoves the bottle back into his jacket pocket and instinctively takes off in a straight path. He knows that somewhere there's a plane, somewhere close. Each step ignites his aching body and as he stammers past the repetitious scenic backdrop the only sound is that of heavy panting and wheezing. However, he's moving too fast to care and the adrenaline acts like a morphine. The light from the sun whips past, quickly shining brightly in spurts before hiding behind a cluster of vegetation. Without any other logical sense of navigation Jack follows the brightness. Out of the corner of his eye is a small glance of white. Without stopping he narrows his gaze directly to it. It's a shoe. White. Hanging from a tree by the lace. _Strange. But at least I'm headed in the right direction._ He moves on with a new-found energy and neglect to the pain, now with a purpose.

The trees are getting less dense and the path on the ground is seemingly starting to widen. Suddenly, more light. Even more blinding than before. The sun is no longer masked by the forestry and blazes down from the sky. It's without clouds and against the entire canvas of blue the only splash of color is the yellow sphere that threatens to overtake it. In the mid-section of the horizon is more blue, but darker. It's cuts the view perfectly in two. Water. _The South Pacific. _As far as the eye can see is the brilliant color of the ocean, just as clear and crystalline as the sky. It ends at the shore and calm waves clash up the beach, wiping across the clean sand and taking some with them. It's a peaceful scene, tranquil and static.

"Help!" From a distance. "Help me!"

Jack is so entranced by the clash of color that the sound had faded out. It comes back very familiar. Screams and shouting; violent and chaotic. He looks right. Nothing. He twists his neck left and sees a bend in the beach that cloaks the distance with more trees. He takes off in the direction and cuts right through the small inland. When he reappears on the beach there's a new backdrop in front of him to behold. _Oh my God!_ The sounds that he had just muted a minute ago were now deafening and from all around. _Well, I found the plane._

Scattered across the picturesque beach is shards of metal, loose debris, and distorted mechanical parts, still ignited with fire. Jack's eyes trace the damage right up to the source and then all he can do is gawk, mouth agape and eyes wide. Before him is the entire front body of the Boeing 777, wings still attached but flapping at the sides like a set on a bird._ Oceanic 815_. People are scattered about like ants, some dead and some who look just about dead. A young man seems dazed by the whole scene, stumbling around in a stupor next to one of the jet engines, still operational and spinning violently. A man shouts something in Korean while another shouts for his son in English. There is a blonde woman planted firmly in place a short distance away who isn't screaming for anyone, just pouring her heart out in terror through an almost animistic cry.

"Help!" It's the same voice as before. "Somebody help me!"

Jack snaps back to the reality of the situation and notices a heavy set man pinned under one of the plane's landing wheels. _Just count to five. One, two, three... Damn it, no time for that. Just pretend you're in the emergency room._ He composes himself and with a leap of faith jumps down from the inland and dashes towards the hellish disaster.

* * *

**The opening sequence is one of my all time favorite moments from "Lost". There's something alien about it, it's completely unlike any scene I've ever seen before in film or TV. I hope my re-write captured that feel. I'm going to try and re-write the entire first part of the pilot episode segment by segment, using the individual tone of each. I'm also going to try and add some character thought from Jack without giving away too much about his character. It wasn't until "White Rabbit" really where all the traits we associate with him came into fruition.**


	2. Chapter 2

**LOST**

**Pilot – Part 1**

**Script by: JJ Abrams and Damon Lindelof**

* * *

II – PLANE CRASH

_Let's do this! _Jack dashes through the burning wreckage with a target in mind, ignoring the grinding from the engines above and the screams from all the fallen survivors. All he hears is the sound of his heart beating and it's growing more intense. He jumps over a large piece of the exterior and comes sliding to a halt in the sand just above the wounded man. His right leg is wedged between the beach and a metallic piece of the landing wheel. Using all his strength Jack grips and pulls on the debris but to no effect. His own body is practically in shambles and it feels more like the object is tugging on his arms, forcing them out of their sockets. _Shit! _He looks around frantically and spots another man just standing yards away, in shouting distance. He's bald and clad in typical business casual attire, starring up at the sky in awe. Jack follows his gaze and is surprised how marvelous it is. If it wasn't for the pillar of smoke clouding the scene it could have been an image right out of an advertisement for a cruise or something. _Pay attention!_

"Hey you!" Jack cups his hands around his mouth and shouts. The man turns at the neck. "Get over here, give me a hand!"

He's relieved to see the man show no sign of hesitation and quickly start jogging over. He swings right to a couple huddled together, a man and a woman, and shouts the same plea. Their faces are painted with reluctance but they grudgingly join and each take a side of the heavy piece of metal.

"On the count of three!" He screams over the whirling of the engine and background wails. He doubts that anyone can clearly hear him and uses his hands to count up. "One, two, three!"

They tug upward with all their strength and the piece finally starts to give way, the gap between beach grows wider and wider. The wounded man groans loudly.

"Okay!" He releases the object and again uses his hand to visually convey his command. "Hold it steady!"

As the group of three push their shoes deeper into the sand and continue to keep the piece of metal just barely lifted Jack grabs the wounded man by the arms and tugs quickly, sliding him out from under the debris. He gets a glimpse of the man's leg, hanging on by a thread and spurting blood. _Tourniquet! I need to stop the bleeding!_ His hands instinctively fumble for his tie and he whips it off his neck. _Not a tourniquet but it'll work._ He wraps it just above the knee and yanks on both ends tightly. For a moment Jack forgets that he's on a beach and even the odor of the emergency room seems to be coming back. He glances up half expecting to see a room full of nurses but instead is met with the horrified gazes of the three strangers. There was no way to be sure but he was positive from the looks on their faces that not one among them has had any medical experience. However, he's dealt with interns before. _Keep them busy, keep the adrenaline and excitement pumping and they won't have time to be afraid._

"Okay, get him away from the engines!" He screams and makes it a point to look directly at each of them. "Get him out of here! Don't let that tourniquet come off! Go!"

The two men from the group instantly grip the wounded man from both shoulders and raise him to his foot. His other leg is still dangling by the skin. Once Jack's satisfied that they've got it under control he turns to help another fallen man.

"Help me! Please help me!" A shrieking voice stops him in his tracks.

It's coming from the shoreline. He twists in the direction and sees a blonde woman on her knees, cradling her stomach with both hands. _Shit!_ All the muscles in his face clench together. _She's pregnant!_ At least seven months he figures based off her large bump. He looks at the man and back to the woman, grimaces, and takes off for the shore. As he gracefully maneuvers through the wreckage he sees a large, heavier man standing just feet away from the pregnant girl looking on in utter horror and disbelief. He pushes past him and slides to his knees, grabbing the woman's back and supporting her upright.

"Please help me!" She bites down on her lip and moans loudly. "I'm having... I'm having contractions!"

"How many months pregnant are you!?"

"I don't... I'm... I'm nearly eight months!"

It's worse than he thought. _Eight months! What the hell kind of OBGYN let's their patient travel eight months in?_ He's distracted by a sight in the background and his attention retreats from the girl. A young man is attempting to give CPR to an older African American woman but has her head tilted at the wrong angle and is pushing far below her lungs. _Everyone thinks they're a doctor!_ He recognizes the woman, she sat next to him on the plane. He remembers her husband was in the restroom and he promised to keep her company until he returned. The plane started to shake and he told her that everything was going to be fine._ Isn't the first time you lied to a patient._ Mentally, everyone here is a patient. Every once in a while Jack has to remind himself that this isn't the hospital, and he's in just as much danger as anyone else. As he anxiously watches the younger man deliver faulty medical service his brain multitasks and keeps the conversation going with the pregnant girl.

"How far apart are the contractions coming!"

"I don't... I don't know they just happened. Maybe like..."

_BAM!_ Like a shock-wave sand is kicked up from all around the beach and a fiery explosion blows the engine up from a distance into the air. It was the engine the wounded man and the bald guy were next to and Jack grits his teeth. _Let's hope they were fast! Hope they got out of there in time!_ Debris starts flying from the sky and Jack jumps over the pregnant girl, using his body like a shield. He hears the _ping_ and _clang_ sounds as metal slams against other metal, the beach, and running survivors. He pulls back and sees that now the girl is in tears, her face is traumatized and on the brink of insanity.

"Listen to me! Look at me! You're going to be okay!" He shouts in a whisper and rubs his hand down her back. "But you have to sit absolutely still! Okay?"

She doesn't reply and just whimpers in fear. _Damn it!_ Jack glances around and spots the heavier man still standing there in shock.

"Hey you! Come here!"

Jack stands and signals to the man who walks over glacially slow and with so much resistance that he's practically dragging his feet in the sand.

The man looks at Jack with an absent gaze and points to the center of destruction. "There was a plane crash."

He's dealt with people in shock before and ignores it. "I need you to get this woman away from the fumes! Stay with her!" The man glances back up to the body of the plane and Jack grips his shoulder and turns him, and his attention, back. "If her contractions occur any closer than three minutes apart, call out for me!"

With no time to waste he starts jolting over to the young man, still haphazardly trying to save the African American woman. _What was her name? Rose wasn't it? That's right, Rose. It's always worse when the patient has a name. _It wasn't just the name bothering Jack but that she had a husband, maybe even kids. Among the scattered bodies of fellow flight members she was person, an individual.

"Hey!" From behind him. "What's your name!?"

Jack turns back to the heavy set man and screams his name in reply. _Please don't tell me yours! There's already enough to worry about._ He then jumps over the young man and crouches down on the other side of the Rose's body.

"Stop!" He pushes the man's hands aside and takes up the procedure himself. "Her head's not tilted far back enough, you're blowing air into her stomach!"

"You sure? That's exactly what I was doing! I'm a lifeguard, I'm licensed!"

_A lifeguard lecturing a surgeon on how to perform CPR._ Jack can feel his temper rise, for a moment forgetting that he's just as much a stranger to him. He looks up at the man's boyishly innocent face and tries to control himself.

"Yeah, well you seriously need to think about giving that license back!" He counters harshly and instantly regrets it._ He's just trying to help._

The young man points to his throat and makes a jabbing motion with his hand. "Maybe we should do one of those hole things! You know, stick a pen in the throat!"

"Yeah, good idea! You go get me a pen!" Jack shouts sarcastically and is dumbly surprised when the young man gets to his feet and quickly runs off in search for the writing instrument.

He chuckles to himself, impressed at the man's stubbornness and earnestness. _Those are the kind of guys you want in the emergency room_. He quickly returns his focus to Rose and gives her three hard pushes.

"Come on! Come on! Come on!"

She let's out a large gasp for air, sucking it in and exhaling just as violently. Jack smiles and gives an equally loud sigh of relief. _No time of death today._

A sound... _Creak!_

Like the plane has a sense of sardonic humor his breath of relief is cut short and his eyes glance up towards the body of Oceanic 815. One of the wings flaps more erratically and is held together just by a small piece of binding metal, which is just about to snap. He looks down and sees that just below the wing is... _Shit! The pregnant girl!_

He gives a final look of acknowledgment to Rose before standing and dashing down the beach, whipping past the wreckage in the exact opposite direction that everyone else is making their way to. He shouts a warning to the heavy man but can't even hear his own voice above the sounds of grinding metal and electric whirling. With his finger he points towards the sky and watches as the man's face follows his signal. The man looks upward and his expression drops. He grabs the girl by the shoulder and helps her to her feet. Jack pushes past the bald guy and is relieved to see that he's still alive after the previous engine exploded. He grips the girl's other shoulder and all three of them quickly hobble down the beach.

_BAM! CLANG! KABOOM!_ Jack, the heavy man, and the girl are all knocked to their faces in the soft sand. The entire plane goes up in smoke and flames, each piece igniting another and sending a deadly chain of constant explosions down the beach. One of the engines is erupted into the air and lands with a thud down in the sand, right next to the man who was stumbling around in a daze in front of it before. After the plane is completely obsolete and every single part eviscerated the noise calms down. Jack's relieved to be finally able to hear and speak without shouts and to be safe from the danger of flaming debris. He looks at the girl, she's alive. Terrified, but alive. So is the heavier man who lays on the ground groaning like he just woke up.

"You!" Jack yells to him. "Stay with her!"

"Dude, I'm not going anywhere."

Jack means to thank him. He often forgets that not everyone has his medical knowledge and it sometimes frustrates him when he has to explain things slowly. However, he doesn't have the energy and instead just gets to his feet and slowly limps down the beach. He takes his time. Now that the excitement is over and the adrenaline is dying down he feels the complete exhaustion kick in, coupled with the pain still shooting up from all over his body. Particularly his torso. He makes his way to the now smoldering fuselage and gazes upward into it. There are still bodies strapped tightly to their seats but their skin is charcoal black and smoking. _That could have been me! It was that close to being me! _The reality of the situation finally sets in. _It very well might be me_. He has survived the plane crash but what other dangers did this strange new world offer? And how long would it be before rescue came valiantly up the shore? A day? God forbid, a week? _Hopefully not a week._

Suddenly a figure rushes past from behind and approaches Jack on the right. It's the young man from before, oddly holding a handful of pens.

He's out of breath but eager. "I don't know which one would work best!"

Jack flashes him a smile and gives him a pat on the shoulder. "They're all good. Thanks." He grabs the pens and saunters off, leaving the young man to stare up into the fuselage alone.

_Those are the kind of guys you want in the emergency room. Who knows, maybe those are the kind of guys you want here."_

* * *

**I hope you are enjoying this. This chapter was a bitch to write because the sequence is just constant things happening and I'm not really skilled at writing action. I hope I did a fair job at capturing the tension, excitement, and energy of the scene. Next is the scene with Kate and I think it will be much easier to write and flow a lot smoother. I realize what I'm doing is essentially pointless, just transcribing scenes to text, but I'm trying hard to incorporate some new inner thought without revealing too much about the character (because the episode itself was pretty surface level regarding Jack). Thanks for anyone out there who is reading though!**


	3. Chapter 3

**LOST**

**Pilot – Part 1**

**Script by: JJ Abrams and Damon Lindelof**

* * *

III – THE WOMAN

Jack scans the shoreline for the heavy guy and the pregnant girl but they're nowhere to be seen. At the present most of the survivors are roaming up the beach towards where it meets the jungle. Now that the people were removed the crash site took on an even more eerie and alien appearance, just occupied by twisted metal and loose luggage, most singed and burned beyond use. Jack had already looked through about a dozen bags so far without coming across what he was after. It felt weird to be digging through the personal baggage of strangers but odds are they were either already dead or not in the state to care about their material effects. He tears open through another suitcase and his fingers grasp the object at last. A small sewing kit. He grimaces as he holds it, pushes his eyebrows together, and curses.

He makes his way invisibly up the beach and past individual crowds of people. A dark skinned man with curly hair is trying to start a fire while the young man from before holds his cell phone in the air for reception. _Good luck! _He sees the African American woman, Rose, standing by herself grasping a gold ring. Her husband was the one in the restroom. He hadn't noticed it until now but the entire back half of the plane was absent from the beach. _It must have broke off over the ocean_. The restrooms were in the back half.

However, he doesn't have the time to dwell on individuals and would prefer not to start putting names to faces anyhow, it just makes it all the more difficult. He already felt obligated to Rose and the pregnant girl and that was more than enough. He sneaks down the sand and through a small inland, comprised of a cluster of trees and shrubs, and emerges on the other side to a private sector of the beach. He looks left and right and fortunately only sees the jungle blocking the view in either direction. He quickly slips out of his suit jacket and tosses it into the sand. He glances down to his torso and sees that his shirt is bloodied with a gaping hole in the left side. _Son of a bitch!_ He pulls the shirt off over his head and hangs it over a protruding branch from a nearby tree. His skin is torn open and spurting blood. He falls to his knees and grabs a handful of sand in frustration. _Damn it!_

_Snap! _From just forward.

He cranes his neck up and a wave of fear washes through him, though he doesn't know what could possibly have triggered it. He half expects to see the Labrador from before come tromping out but is even more surprised when he makes out the discernible shape of a human. A woman. Clad in tan cargo pants and a white button down, unbuttoned and frenzied. She walks anxiously through the jungle sobbing silently and rubbing her wrists nervously. He can only make out her long brunette hair and realizes that she's looking in the opposite direction.

He shouts a whisper, trying not to startle her. "Excuse me!"

It doesn't work and she jumps and comes to a screeching halt. She has a look on her face like she's been caught and glances left like she's considering continuing on quickly. However, she knows that she's been seen. She wipes her hands across her face and hesitantly paces closer.

"Yes?"

Jack knows that revealing the wound right away would very possibly scare her down the beach. He shields it with his arm and tries diverting the conversation.

"Did you ever use a needle?" Her reaction is blank. "Do you sew?! Have you ever used a needle?!"

He hates to con the woman but there's no way he can sew the wound himself. If he asked her directly she would probably reply that she's never used a needle in her life and continue on her way. Most people would have.

She exhales and shakes her head at the seeming absurdity of the inquiry. "What?"

"Did you ever... have you ever patched a pair of jeans?"

"I uhm..." She shakes her head and fumbles to grasp the question and provide a cohesive response. She lands in his trap. "I made the drapes in my apartment back when..."

"That's fantastic!" He quickly interrupts. The question was purely rhetorical and Jack ignores her reply, he knows that time is of the essence. "Listen do you have a second? I could really use a hand."

She sniffles and wipes a strand of hair from her eyes. "With what?"

"With this," he cocks his body sideways, revealing the bloody wound.

The woman turns in disgust and covers her mouth. "You want me to sew that up?!"

"It's just like the drapes."

"No, with the drapes I used a sewing machine!"

"You can do this!" He exclaims loudly and notices the woman glance back into his eyes. "If you wouldn't mind."

_Please! _He's practically pleading her with his eyes and watches in suspense as the woman bites her lip and contemplates. It's obvious she just wants to get the hell out and run but there's also an empathy evident in her face that goes against her better judgment. Jack can see her cheek muscles clench together and she suddenly steps forward and gives a compassionate nod.

"Of course I will," she sighs.

Jack's reply is just as earnest and equally grateful, "Thank you."

She wipes a tear off her chin and sniffles, instantly regretting her choice. However, Jack knows that if faced with the dilemma again her answer would remain the same. If she wasn't as strong willed as he had hoped she would be halfway down the beach by now. He tosses her the sample vodka bottle and she turns it in her hands curiously and squints to read the label.

"Save me some for the wound," he instructs and adds, "it's for your hands."

She looks up curtly. "I know." She snaps the cap off and douses her hands. Afterward she gives them a sniff and recoils at the sour smell.

Jack chuckles at the woman's reaction. "Not a big drinker?"

A smile actually forms across her face and he's relieved. "No I've just... I've never done this before." She tosses the bottle back.

_Well, obviously. _Before he closes his eyes and braces he sees the woman turn away and mask her face with her forearm. He tilts the bottle and the acid like liquid flows down his side. When it makes contact with his open skin it feels ignited by fire. He gasps loudly but tries to control the intense pain by tightening his fists. The woman is already scared enough and he doesn't want to further push his luck. _But God that hurts!_ Especially now that the adrenaline that masked the pain before has died out. He bites on his teeth and digs his fingernails into his side, outlining the skin of the wound.

After taking a minute to compose himself he opens his eyes and glances back to the woman, her mouth is held open in disbelief and her arm is still raised across her chin. _Please don't throw up! _He flashes her a forced smirk and shakes his head. "This better be the worst day of my week."

She smiles and exhales a laugh but more of of instinct than anything. Her gaze is still transfixed on his wound and her eyebrows are pushed together worriedly. Jack tosses the bottle aside and hands her the small sewing kit.

She grudgingly takes it and fumbles through it familiarly. Her lips shape into a faint grin. "Any color preference?"

Jack laughs much louder than the joke would usually permit, trying desperately to lighten the situation. "No, just standard black."

The woman holds the needle up close to her eyes and attempts to painstakingly thread it. "I could never do this," she chuckles as she speaks to herself in deep concentration, "I always relied on my mother for this part."

Jack's distracted while still observing his wound and replies half absent minded, "Well, too bad she isn't here right now."

The woman's face drops like she's said too much and she instinctively throws him a concerned glance. Jack notices it and curses internally at his awkward reply. _Damn it!_ For all he knew her mother could have been a less fortunate passenger on the plane.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean..."

"Oh no, it's nothing like that," she quickly responds to what they're both thinking and watches the relief wash over Jack's face, "it's just... I don't see her much anymore." The thread pierces the needle.

Her tone silently screams for Jack to drop the conversation, so he does.

"Okay, so how do we do this?" She stutters.

Jack leans forward on his knees and twists to the right, exposing his gaping wound. "Start at the bottom," he dictates slowly and patiently, "work your way up. You have to pull the thread tightly but not tight enough for it to break, otherwise we'll have to start all over again."

The woman nods like she's taking in all the information but Jack can see her expression is still painted with doubt and reluctance.

"It's very simple, we have first year nurses who do it all time," he adds and gauges her reaction. It's not that of confidence. "I believe in you."

"Okay," she nods and creeps over nervously to Jack's back and crouches down. "Okay, so... I'll start... I'm going to start now."

He let's out a loud exhale and gasps a mouthful of fresh air. He probably could have fetched a stick from the jungle to bite down on, he realizes, but it's too late now. The needle presses firmly against his skin and with a sharp push, penetrates it. Jack jolts forward in place and moans.

The woman quickly stops. "I'm sorry, I..."

"It's fine, you're good. Just keep... just keep going."

As she continues threading the needle back and forth Jack struggles to keep perfectly still. He wishes he could see her face to assess how she was holding up, but she is too far behind him.

"I might throw up on you." There's nausea in her voice and she speaks softly like she's trying to keep her lips pressed firmly together.

Jack tries replying strongly but his own voice is growing weak. "You're doing fine."

"You don't seem afraid at all." She says offhandedly, her voice still nasally from keeping her nose closed. "I don't understand that."

_If only you knew!_ That's the reality of the answer, but not the answer she needs to hear. He contemplates what to tell her to keep her calm. _Come on Jack! Think of something, some anecdote from the ER. _It's been so long since he's felt anything during a procedure that it's hard to remember. It all becomes mechanical to a surgeon after a while; the sight of blood, the smell of antiseptics, the sound of crying. It wasn't since all the way back in residency that he could recall actually being afraid._ Count to five._

He does his best to look and sound confident. "Well, fear's sort of an odd thing." He mentally dictates the memory in his head, recreating every sight, sound, and smell. "When I was in residency, my first solo procedure was a spinal surgery on a 16 year old kid, a girl. And at the end, after thirteen hours, I was closing her up and I... I accidentally ripped her dural sac."

His voice seems to grow stronger with the story and reality slowly fades out. At the present he was back in the emergency room and could almost feel the tangible terror and anxiety. "I Shredded the base of the spine where all the nerves come together, membrane as thin as tissue. And so it ripped open. And the nerves just spilled out of her like angel hair pasta, spinal fluid flowing out of her and I... And the terror was just so... crazy. So real. And I knew I had to deal with it."

He feels the woman still weaving the thread back and forth and knows that she's still listening. Though, if his words are providing any measure of relief is beyond him. The story is becoming less directed to her and more of an internal comfort and as he continues on it feels almost like he's speaking solely to himself. "So I just made a choice. I'd let the fear in, let it take over, let it do its thing, but only for five seconds, that's all I was going to give it. So I started to count..."

"One", the thread weaves right.

"Two", then left.

"Three", right again.

"Four", left.

"Five", as if on cue he feels the thread tie at the end and the woman give it a sharp tug.

"Then it was gone." He turns back to look into her face for the first time since she started and sees that she looks oddly sad, almost on the verge of tears. "I went back to work, sewed her up and she was fine."

The woman smiles bravely and hands him the needle as a souvenir. "If that had been me, I think I would have run for the door."

He returns the smile, a twinkle in his eye. "You aren't running now." He slowly stands to his feet and grabs his shirt hanging from the tree branch. "I think you would have handled yourself fine."

"Just count to five, huh?"

Jack nods and slips back into his shirt. "Works every time."

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter. This is such a pivotal scene in the series history and between these two characters and I hope I did it justice. I'd love to hear your thoughts on how the re-write is going so far and I'm always open to suggestions. I'm really excited to get back into some more of the action orientated scenes, especially with the monster. I love writing the island as an alien like landscape and the following chapter will certainly permit me that opportunity. As for how I'm going to handle the flashback I think I'll just omit it completely. I've already conveyed the scene between Jack and Rose through inner thought and that's sufficient. It took forever to write this and if anyone out there wants to help just PM me.**


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