Disclaimer: I still can't believe I'm sitting here trying to come up with a witty way to say that I'm not J.J. Abrams and I don't own Lost. Yes, I just said it, but I don't feel satisfied because it wasn't witty.

Thanks for the reviews: Even the ones I got three years since I've updated! You guys are troopers. A tip of my hat to you.

A/N: WTF. I'M BACK. I don't know how, I don't know why, but it's true, America (and other countries). I'm back. Yes, it's been three years since my last chapter. Yes, much has happened in the Lost universe that renders my story now completely impossible. Yes, all of you people who cared about this story who have me on alert will most probably have to read all the chapters before this because you forgotten what the heck this story was even about, but I urge you to please give me another chance! I'm so sorry I abandoned you! And really, I read all the chapters before this in approx. 30 minutes...they are pretty short chapters. SO ANYWAY...what am I trying to say? 1) please give me another chance to finish this story. I've found that since this story is really old and my writing wasn't at its peak back that (not to say it sucked, but I digress), I can really race through writing these instead of obsessing over everything because if I don't obsess, it flows better with the other chapters.

And the main question: Why am I back from the dead? My lovely reviewers, that's what. I just randomly stumbled upon this again and read some of the reviews I got. Some of you guys were really invested in this story, and I feel like a total douche bag for leaving you hanging. So I'm going to finish it. For you guys. And also, for once, I'd love to actually finish a story. So hold my hand, pray, and we'll get through this together. With that said, enjoy this three-years-overdue chapter!

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What an idiot.

Locke would've loved to reflect on everything that was wrong with Jack deciding to make the first move and shoot, but at the moment he didn't have much time. Already they had reacted, almost as soon as the bullet entered the man's chest and he fell, face first, onto the jungle floor. There was a brief, almost-nonexistant pause, and then the all too familiar sound of a gunshot erupting into the thick, sweltering air. He didn't have time to see who shot or who was hit; all he knew to do was leap for the ground. That is if I don't want to die today...

For the few moments of observation that he gained from his position, he watched with wide eyes as Jack kneeled at the base of a nearby tree, pointing his gun towards the remaining three shooters, one eye cocked and frowning deeply as though he were the gritty hero in some classic, long-ago Western. He saw another man go down- a rather big, bald guy, and crawled over to the nearest tree, gun held very firmly to his chest. He had to give it to Jack. For a doctor, he was a good shot. But then again, you can chalk a lot up too pure, dumb luck. And an insane desire to win, of course.

That's the thing about Jack, he thought as a bullet whizzed by his ear and took a chunk out of the tree. He's too stubborn to die. Locke pointed his gun very expertly at the man with his gun aimed at Jack and took a quick shot, watching the bullet enter his shoulder with clean, trained precision. The Other- a redheaded, stringy-looking man- winced and threw a hand over his wound, but he didn't go down.

"Alright," he muttered, very quietly to himself as he raised his gun up again towards the same man. "If you want to be difficult about it..."

Suddenly, a very piercing and chilling sort of pain shot up from his side and he dropped his gun, cursing loudly. Blinking rapidly, he brought both hands to the new wound and swore again, staring with a rapt sort of wonder at all the blood on his hands. Well that's not good, he thought in a very good humored fashion, almost grinning to himself. "That's not good at all."

He lost his footing and stumbled backwards, head spinning.

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Claire was too caught up in everything to really bother with panicking. She'd considered it for the briefest of moments before deciding it wasn't really in her best interest. Besides, she was already too shocked with what she'd already done, there wasn't too much of a point in debating what she could and couldn't do. She'd leapt from her place of hiding and, she supposed, started the battle that was raging on behind her, before jumping into another heavily shrouded bush. Thankfully the Others that had been advancing on her had been distracted by the two men with guns, and the person she was really concernedwith wasn't that heavily protected at all. Just Zeke and the sobbing woman, both of them hovering over Charlie and concealing him almost completely from her view.

But she was close now. Too close. No matter that Charlie wasn't moving at all...no matter that the woman was sobbing and the bearded man had such a crippling look of defeat in his eyes that it almost, for the briefest of seconds, made her feel sympathetic. I don't have time to worry about that, she thought quickly, swallowing the lump in her throat. Once again she felt close to tears, but she wouldn't accept defeat. She couldn't. Not until she was close enough to touch him...close enough to place her hands very timidly over his chest and feel nothing there. Then she would have time to cry. Time to mourn. Time to hate herself forever for pushing him away when she knew full well that she couldn't stay apart from him if she tried. But that time was not now.

Not even knowing what she was doing, she groped the jungle floor blindly around her, dirt piling under her nails, and grabbed the biggest rock she could run her hands over. Claire didn't give herself time to think- time to question her actions. She just acted. Squinting, she focused on the back of the sobbing woman's skull, said a little prayer, and threw it with all her might. Gaping, she watched it fly through the air, connect, and fall to the ground in unison with the woman, bringing up a haze of dust as she hit the ground. The sound of her wailing instantly stopped.

"What the-?" Zeke jumped up, away from Bette, swatting at the dust in the air. "Show yourself!" He shouted until the cords showed in his neck, sweat practically poring from his brow. In this very moment, he looked like a madman. Like the embodiment of insanity.

So Claire did as he asked. Very calmly she walked out from her place of hiding, petite, little pistol pointed directly at him. She held it with both hands, eyes narrowed down its slick, metal body at him. It took all of her power not to break her gaze and look at Charlie, but she knew if she did she'd lose all focus completely. Who knows...if it was really bad, she might drop the gun completely and rush to his side. And that, of course, would help no one, she gently reminded herself, breathing shallowly. "Step away from him right now, or I will shoot."

Before she could even revel in the look of defeat on his tired, worn face, she felt the horrible sensation of something small and hot on the small of her back. Something that felt very similar to the muzzle of a gun. And then a familiar, broken voice. "No...you step away."

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He was laying belly up on the leafy ground, almost completely covered by the wild undergrowth as the midday sun stared directly down at him with all its mighty, awful gaze. John Locke looked at the sky around it, the way it rippled and sweltered like a mirage, and closed his eyes. He could feel the pain in his side but knew almost instantly that there was no entry wound. A good deal of blood, yes, but no bullet hole. Just grazed, he thought in an almost fragmented manner, grabbing the gun by his side and sitting up quickly, ignoring the bolt of protest near the base in his ribs.

"I'm getting tired of this," he spoke clearly to himself, standing up in the open space and pointing his gun at the redheaded Other who'd taken a little chunk out of his torso. There eyes connected, very swiftly, and Locke offered him a brief smile before shooting him in the stomach. He went down with a lurch. "You're welcome."

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She didn't bother looking behind her. Claire knew very plainly who it was. "Freddy," she started calmly, dropping her gun and taking in an unsatisfying breath of stale, hot air. "Please think about what you're doing-"

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding more pathetic than she would've thought possible. "But I can't let you hurt him-"

Zeke didn't let him finish. Instead he advanced on both of them, head tilted forward and fists balled up at his sides. Once again, Claire didn't allow herself even a glance at the body on the ground, knowing she'd lose every sense of bravery and resolve in a matter of nanoseconds. No, she needed to save all her focus for the next following minutes. For they, she knew, would determine everything. "You idiot," he started lowly, staring past her forehead at Freddy.

Claire heard a sharp intake of breath behind her, followed by the softest of whimpers. "I-I didn't want to, Boss, but...they said they'd kill me, and I can tell she really cares about him. She's nice, Zeke, she really is! I don't understand why we have to hurt people-"

"Of course you don't understand. You never understand anything! The will of this island is too complex for you. His will is too complex for you. Even I don't understand it, so how could you possibly begin to fathom what Jacob asks of us?"

"Jacob?" Claire spoke the name aloud without even meaning to. She was ignored by both of them.

"He told Ben to tell us to take the child. He told us to kill whoever we had to take the baby. We don't have time to question his requests or get muddled up in fear or doubt or, God forbid, pity! We always do as he says. It's as simple as that! But now you've ruined everything, haven't you? You brought them to us." Zeke paused, seething through his nose. "But I suppose this is all still salvageable. More people just have to die this way." Finally, he narrowed his eyes at Claire, speaking in a very hollow voice. "Kill her. At this point we've already waged war. We'll just have to send an army to their camp tonight and take the baby by force."

A momentary pause.

"Well, do it already, you idiot."

Claire supposed death was coming, so she allowed herself to look down. There he was, lying very peacefully on the ground. She'd supposed he would look much worse than that, not to say he looked particularly good. His clothes were ripped to shreds and caked in dirt, half of his shirt and his jeans hard with dried blood, a little exposed circle of mangled flesh at his side. He looked like hell, that was for sure, but there was something oddly peaceful about his face that made her lip tremble with some emotion she couldn't pinpoint. Maybe it was the knowledge that she was about to die, too, that made all the panic and fear and dread float out of her like a vapor. Just as a last effort, she lunged weakly towards him, but Freddy held her back. Crying silently, she closed her eyes and waited for the sound of the gunshot to reach her ears- the sensation of something metal and foreign entering her spine.

That's when she heard the gunshot. But she didn't feel anything.

Nothing at all.

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Just one left. But he was a quick one. Jack didn't give himself any time for mental pats on the back or recognition of what he'd done; if anything, he just wanted to end this. Besides, Zeke was the one he really cared about, and if he was ever going to get to him he had to kill this nameless Other, and in a hurry, too. If he wanted the answers, that is.

And I always want the answers. Part of him felt guilty when he paused to think about it...he'd came all this way under the ruse of saving Charlie, and in the back of his mind he really did care for the guy. Jack could remember it like it happened yesterday, being stuck in the rubble of the collapsed cave, watching the small, hooded figure worming closer and closer to him, that familiar loopy grin on his dirty face. Yes, Jack wanted to save him. Jack wanted to fix him, for he knew without a doubt that if he were still alive, he'd need a good deal of fixing. But above all, there was that burning, overwhelming desire that shadowed everything else. He wanted to know why. Who gave the orders? Where did these people come from?

What was so special about this island?

It was then that the last one rolled out from his spot of cover in the bushes and let out a spray of bullets at Locke, maybe ten feet away from Jack. He had a clean shot at him. Before even checking to see if Locke was okay, he smiled to himself and pointed the gun at the nondescript man with gray hair, shooting specifically for his chest; a vital point, so he'd go down like a pile of bricks. Jack knew the head would be the most effective, but even he couldn't bring himself to do that. He'd feel like an executioner or something. An assassin.

He took the shot. And just as he suspected, a little spurt of blood jumped out of the new hole in the man's chest and he fell down at once, a little flock of birds darting out of the tree branches behind him. Then, complete silence. Feeling accomplished, Jack allowed himself a second's recognition. That is, until Locke's voice brought him very roughly out of his reverie.

"Jack!" He opened his eyes in a bolt and looked at Locke, questioning. "Claire!"

And then he looked to the little patch of clearing maybe twenty feet away from them and saw it- Freddy with his gun lodged in Claire's back.

"No-!"

He blinked and heard a gunshot.

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Heart practically doing backflips in her chest, Claire very slowly opened her eyes, blinking thickly. The sensation of the gun on her back was gone, replaced by the aftermath of the gunshot ringing like an explosion in her ears. Timidly she looked up to see Zeke, eyes as wide as saucers, staring at a spot above her forehead, hands clutching at his stomach. And blood, pooling out and streaming between the spaces in his trembling fingers.

"Freddy?"

He fell down in a heap, dust leaping up into the air. Very numbly she heard Freddy drop his gun and rush forward, blocking Zeke from her view. But she didn't care about that right now. Not at all. Claire fell to her knees and crawled beside Charlie, tears already obscuring her vision and pouring down her hot face. She took his hand in both of hers, grits of dust and dirt locking in her fingers. "Charlie," she spoke clearly, swallowing a hitch in her throat. "Charlie, can you hear me? It's me...it's Claire."

He made no movement, and Claire panicked. For the first time in what seemed like awhile, she allowed herself to panic.

"Charlie?" She brought one hand to his cheek, cradling it, pushing the plastered, blonde hairs off of his temple. With a quick gulp of air, she decided she had to do it. Claire let her hand slide down his temple, past the curve of his cheek, over the sharp jut of his jawline, and over the side of his neck. Over all the cords, veins, and pulse-lines.

She let out a little shriek.

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Jack watched Zeke slump over and hit the jungle floor, hands grabbling at his stomach. He saw Freddy throw his gun to the ground and rush to his side, throwing his arms over him like a son to a father. And that was all Jack allowed himself to observe before grabbing his gun and running out into the open, the sound of Locke following him re-assuredly behind him. It took only moments to reach them.

"Back away from him, Freddy," Jack uttered roughly, gun pointed. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Locke stand over the two of them briefly before rushing to Claire and Charlie, setting his gun to the ground. He wondered very dimly whether or not he was okay with a little trickle of blood staining the side of his tan shirt. He wondered very dimly if Charlie was alive, feet away and face up in the dirt. But those thoughts came and went quickly as Freddy looked up and shook his head, bottom lip jutting out like a small child who'd just done something very, very bad. "Do it, Freddy. I'm not going to hurt him. I just want to talk."

Finally and very slowly, he backed away from Zeke until he was completely in his view, exposed and huffing for air in the mercilessly bright sunlight. There wasn't anything frightening or even slightly fearful in his eyes. If anything he looked...defeated, Jack thought to himself, lowering the gun. The bearded man rubbed his flaking lips together and sighed, meeting his gaze very nonchalantly. Blood bubbled down the curved slump of his stomach. "What do you want, Jack?"

"I want to know everything, Zeke" Jack said, breathing loudly and wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Who are you? Why are you doing this to us?"

The old man smiled, crescent-shaped wrinkles branching away from his mouth. "Because Jacob wills it. I don't ask questions when I know I won't understand the answers, Jack. And neither should you." He laughed and threw his bloodstained hands up. "It's all about faith!" The he coughed sharply and winced. "By the way, my name is Tom."

Outrage flared in Jack and he seethed. "Who is Jacob? Tell me, who is he?" Tom laughed again and Jack grabbed him by the collar roughly, bringing his face only inches away from his. "Tell me!"

Tom smiled and took in a strained, screaming breath. Jack could see blood on the inside of his lip. "Can't say I've ever met him." Then he closed his eyes for the last time.

No....no, no, no, no. Jack shook the old man, hands still gripping the frayed collar of his shirt. "No you don't," he uttered firmly, staring at his still, lined face. He let go of him at once and placed his hand on his neck, feeling around for a pulse. Nothing. Breathing sharply, he threw his face in his hands and peeked at Freddy through the gaps in his fingers. "Freddy....do you know who Jacob is?" Then, feeling more desperate than he could remember feeling in a long time, he half-crawled over to him and grabbed his shoulders, staring evenly and intensely at him. "Can you take me to Jacob?"

Freddy's eyes never left Tom. "I've never seen him either." Quietly, he stood up, looked around at Tom and Bette, and stalked off into the jungle, sniffling. No one followed him.

Jack watched Freddy walk away until he was nothing more than a shadow passing through the jungle, undistinguishable from the shade of the trees or the gaps in the sunlight. Then he looked down at Tom again, the deep red of his blood trickling away from his body, beads of it on the surrounding leaves. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry almost, but for some reason he thought of Kate waiting for him back at the beach and a momentary calm washed over him. It was strange sometimes, how that happened...

But the calm didn't last for long. "Jack." He heard someone shout his name gruffly, and he turned around to see Locke's face, completely taken in a look of utter panic. "Jack, come here right now."

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A/N: Now for a dose of reality. I hate to be like this, but if I don't get reviews I don't have much motivation to finish this thing. I don't want to be the passive aggressive kid and say, "The more reviews I get, the more likely I'll keep going," but...I just said it. It's out there now. Really, though. If you enjoy this story and you want to see it end as much as I do, let me know you care by a friendly, neighborly review! I hate to call people out, but all those people who've favorited this story or put it on alert who've never reviewed...please do it just this once! I'm beggin' ya.

SO R&R! Unless you want me to die again for another 3 years! (AND YES THAT IS A THREAT)