THE BIGGEST LIE
(part one: i'm waiting for the train)
by: AliLamba
rated: T/PG-13, for language and innuendo
quick thanks: To MoonlightGardenias, who is slowly kicking me of my dash habit. And to PatriotJackie, who is both humble and wise, and who I adore with the fire of a thousand suns.
notes: So...this is an adaptation. It took me a long time to come to that conclusion, as it's an adaptation of a Sailor Moon plagiarism I read sometime in high school. That in itself is problematic, because I don't know the exact name of what was being plagiarized, only that it was a direct one (with the words Darien and Sabrina ? filled in where appropriate, etc.). The story has unfortunatfely stuck with me ever since, to the point where I ended up scouring the internet for it a few years ago, even though it had mostly been entirely purged because of the fact that it was, well, a plagiarism. It finally surfaced in mostly bits and pieces, but it's been stored on my hard-drive ever since. This, what I've posted, is my own writing, yes, but the plot, for the post pafrt, is something I couldn't even come close to taking credit for. Some of the scenes follow exactly like they do in the "original." Even some of the characterizations I think I adapted from LOST to fit the story…

Actually (sorry for this being long), I think I have to say that the characterizations I think at least partly fit. I could've pressured this story on a lot of other fandoms I've been involved with over the years, but they wouldn't have fit as well as I think this story suits Jack and Kate. Also, the setting has completely been changed, and I've done a lot of my own research to make it work. So yes, I've definitely adapted the "original" work…but that doesn't make me feel any better about sharing this. Maybe if I ever figure out the name of the original novel, I can post it, but until then… Oh well, it just needed to get out of my system. If this offends anyone, or they think that I'm in any way cheating, then I really encourage you not to read it, and let me sort of feel guilt about it all on my own.

That being said, I really hope you enjoy this story as much as I always have.

Cowes Week, Britain's largest and oldest boat racing event, was typically an eight-day excuse for the socially elite to rub elbows with each other, spending as much money as possible during the first week of August to distinguish themselves for Fall's social season. And yet—for all of the galas, the lunches, and the ceremonial boating, no family ever established itself beyond the Humes. Wealthy enough to own several third-world countries (and there was rumor they did), their empire touched practically everything, and it was no little-known fact that many key political and entertainment figures were heavily indebted to their favor.

On that Saturday afternoon in early August, the Humes were hosting their annual Hume-Widmore Polo Match and Luncheon, and it was predictably attended by almost 150 of the most well-known faces the Western Hemisphere had to offer. In the middle of the throng was as always Christian Shephard, accompanied this time by his new wife Nikki. An attractive man even in his late sixties, Christian's gray hair and sharp eyes nevertheless defended his intelligence and cut-throat mentality.

Obviously, Christian was not a Hume by name, as his own father had tried to abandon his famous inheritance over the course of his lifetime, committing himself instead to a life of good deeds and medicine. Christian had adopted this tradition, as he had made his own son, though by the time old man Shephard had died, Christian was practically salivating to reclaim his Hume entitlement. In shady corners, people often speculated as to the coincidental death of Christian's only competition (his own cousin), some going so far as to imply that Christian was in the vicinity when William Hume the II accidentally drowned twenty miles off the coast of Cape Verde.

However his having got there, Christian considered himself a force to be reckoned with (and in most cases, people didn't). He created a standing example, especially when compared to the last living Hume by royal standards, the young Desmond, who rarely went a month without splashing some drunken scandal across the front page of every tabloid known to people who could read. It had been written into the dead old Hume's will, however, that Desmond was to reclaim the entire empire by the time he turned 35, a mere two years away—a fact that when mentioned, made Christian very, very irritable.

But on this particular Saturday, amid the pleasant gardens outside the Ryde Castle, a woman stood alone, unusual in the way she was observing the crowd rather than mingling within it. Her wavy brown hair was tied in a conservative knot at the nape of her neck, light make-up applied to a heart-shaped face and pale green eyes. Other guests were too busy rubbing noses or watching the two old families compete on the polo field to acknowledge the single girl, though admittedly, many a man's eye dragged away from their wives and daughters to look the young woman up and down.

Kate tried to look casual as she took a slow sip from the crystal flute of Champagne. The bubbles tickled her throat, and she had to swallow a cough painfully in an effort to save the satin of her dress. She tried to look unaffected as she touched her throat tenderly, though a heady wave of relief wasn't far behind. Kate had spent the last penny she owned on what she was wearing, and she would rather die now than let that rental return money slip away.

It was a nice dress: pale yellow, slim to her curves, the straps twisted casually over one shoulder. It was a dress she could spend an entire day just touching to feel the silkiness slip over her fingers. A dress that was appropriate for the famous Hume-Widmore Polo Match at Cowes.

Which is how she had crashed it so easily.

Kate grimaced distastefully at the memory of how the guard had leered at her so suggestively ("Monica Callis, huh?" "Yes, Jane Widmore's my mother. I-I only stepped out for a moment.") and tried to cover the bile with another sip of Champagne. Yes, the dress was an inch or so shorter than she was comfortable with, and she never really was one for foundation, but to a certain extent she had felt it necessary. She was only praying it would work, when she finally met who she was looking for.

A group of people laughed amid the mingling guests to her right, and Kate turned to watch. No one that she recognized, really, and that meant none of eponymous Humes or Widmores, whose families she had studied so obsessively over the past two weeks in preparation for her attendance.

Kate propelled herself forward, as much to avoid looking conspicuous as to sample some hors d'oeuvres. Hopefully something with caviar; if she was going to exploit these people, she had decided she was going to go all out, and live without regrets. She hadn't had a real meal in two days, anyway, and it would probably be the best food she would taste in her life.

A waiter stopped and offered her something with shrimp on it, and Kate took it with a gracious smile, bringing to her lips. Suddenly, however, something rammed into her elbow, propelling the dead crustacean in an arc to the ground. Kate looked around sheepishly, but it looked like no one had noticed, so she turned to look at what had cause the potential faux pas.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" a girl was saying, her voice heavy with an Australian accent. She had thick blonde hair that trailed down her back in a long braid, amazing eyes, and the sort of softly curved figure that invited men to fantasize: Claire Hume.

Kate shook her head softly and smiled, trying to placate the obviously jittery younger woman.

"No it's fine," Kate's expression dropped into mock sincerity, "I've been trying to go vegetarian anyway."

Claire froze for a second, like she wasn't sure how to interpret Kate's joke, and then the girl's painted lips stretched into a smile, and unexpectedly she started to laugh. Kate suddenly found herself laughing with her, in the middle of the party, and they both seemed to realize it at once, mouths clamping shut even as they wiped tears from the corner of their eyes.

"Oh God," Claire murmured, her mouth dropping open as she felt for any smeared cosmetic around her eyelashes, "Oh God I needed that."

Kate surveyed Claire, a smile fixed firmly in place. At twenty-two, she was three years younger than Kate, and already she was wealthier than Kate could ever dream to be. The young blonde was born humbly, yes, part of the extra-marital affair of one Christian Shephard and a Carol Littleton of Sydney. Christian Shephard being the unofficial patriarch of the Hume fortune, whose acceptance of his illegitimate daughter right before his first wife's untimely death (and right after Claire's mother's) had created quite a scandal six months ago. If it weren't for the fact that by nature Claire was reserved, and had been avoiding getting to know her new-found family, Kate would have gladly attached herself to the girl. Still, she decided to explore the contact.

Claire was now dressed in a turquoise cocktail dress Kate recognized from some sort of fashion week, a pretty, wide-brimmed hat perched effortlessly atop her head. Laughter and amusement abated, she was now peering curiously at Kate, her lower lip caught between her teeth.

"Um, who are you? If you don't mind my asking?"

"Not at all," Kate answered quickly (too quickly?) as she extended her hand, "Monica Callis. You know, Jane's daughter."

"Oh, right," Claire nodded slowly, though her eyes were somewhat penetrating as she took Kate's hand and lightly shook it. "So, um…you here for the races?"

Kate smiled, and almost laughed again as she looked down at her shoes, "You know, I don't think either of us needs to pretend we know anything about what's going on here."

Immediately, Kate knew she had said the right thing. Claire's face melted into a puddle of gratitude. "Oh my God, thank you," she enthused, "You have no idea how sick I am of trying to remember how many types of…spinnakers there are."

Kate's smile was still closed as it stretched against her teeth, and Claire looked her over.

"I am not letting you leave my side all day, Monica Callis. You are far too normal."

The smile Kate had kept in check now blossomed, and she nodded towards the polo field. "C'mon, let's go see how many cute butts we can see before lunch. And by cute butts I obviously mean the horse's."

Claire laughed again, though the action was more controlled, as she hooked her arm around Kate's and started walking towards the field.

Thank you, Kate almost whispered to herself, thanking the very sky for the first thing that had gone right for her in months.

The two approached the edge of the field at just the right time, bugles sounding their punctuality and the end of the match. Roars of applause erupted as the dark blue-shirted side threw up their arms in exuberance—the Humes had won for the second year in a row.

Kate began to frantically search the men for the face she was looking for, and suddenly, there he was.

Desmond Hume.

Kate wasn't usually one for the sort of assignment Edward Mars had given her, but as the last of her money had begun to run dry, he had proposed it to her exactly when he knew she couldn't say no.

"C'mon, Katherine... With your looks…" his voice had tried to be caressing, in the way that made obvious what was playing in his mind's eye, and Kate instantly recoiled.

The job was simple: Get close to Desmond Hume, and get any sort of gossip that wasn't being reported already. The filthier, the better.

She wanted to say no, was holding out hope that someone would pick up one of her photographic essays, but she knew she couldn't wait blindly. And, if she was honest, she had a very ulterior motive. It was the Humes who were responsible for her even being in England in the first place, were the ones who had funded the project that drew her out of her graduate program at the University of Iowa, then ruthlessly pulled the plug at the first whiff of failure, leaving Kate and dozens of others out of work within two weeks. Unlike the others, Kate was left stranded, and it didn't take long to find out that her particular expertise was in very short demand on this side of the pond.

So Kate had given in, agreed to try to find more fodder for the tabloid flame on Desmond Hume, knowing she would be paid only for results.

"Monica?"

Kate started at the sound of her given name, and blinked to find Claire staring at her curiously.

"Sorry," she started bashfully, drawing a hand to her temple, "Alcohol and sun, I guess."

Claire bit her lip, a worried frown on her forehead, and Kate had to swallow a cold, guilty lump. She was surprised to find it there.

"I was just saying that I've got to go and make some rounds," Claire turned her eyes up and shrugged, trying to convey how annoying she found the prospect. "Will I see you for lunch?"

Kate's stomach grumbled softly at the mere prospect, and she was glad that the excited hollering from the Hume's hoisting the coveted polo medallion above their heads had covered it up. She nodded, and Claire grinned before slipping off with an assistant-type Kate hadn't noticed. Damn, Kate whispered to herself as she watched Claire leave, and downed the last of her Champagne. Suddenly, she felt a presence behind her left shoulder.

"Hey, another American, right?" it was a low, Southern lilt, and for barely a moment it brought her back to Iowa. Kate flinched away from the hand that had touched her upper arm, but turned. He was tall, with streaked blonde hair that fell into his eyes. His polo uniform was tinted gold—a Widmore. So no use to her.

Her smile was reserved, "Right on the mark." Not wanting to encourage conversation, Kate's gaze explored the crowd, recognizing Penelope Widmore talking animatedly with a gaggle of young men.

The stranger grinned slowly, as his eyes swept her frame when he thought she wasn't looking. "Let me guess…Colorado."

Kate inwardly sighed, but she flashed him a smile, "Right again."

Silence descended shortly but swiftly, as if he was waiting for her to say something. "I'm from Alabama, in case you were wondering." There was a teasing in his voice that made Kate realize she was being rude.

"Sorry, it must be the heat, messing with my head. How did you end up here?"

The stranger gave her a curious look, and then pointed to his jersey. "I was sort of recruited," he explained, though his voice betrayed his pride.

"Of course," Kate nodded, "I guess I've just been away from home too long."

The stranger's lips broadened into a grin, "You, then, need a drink."

Kate laughed faintly, "You know, maybe I've had too much to drink."

"Ah, you can never have too much to drink," he countered. It took her a moment to recover from the subtle inuendo, but then Kate grinned mischeviously.

"Says the loser."

The stranger's face fell, and then he laughed, shaking his head, before extending his hand.

"Sawyer. Sawyer Ford," he introduced. Kate looked warily at his mud-streaked palm, and took it gently.

"Monica," she offered simply.

The man called Sawyer dipped his head and kissed the back of her hand, and Kate forced a smile when he looked up at her. Alright, this was nice and everything, but she had things to do. It was time to get rid of him.

"Actually, I might be able to use that drink," Kate tilted her head to the side. "Do you think you could get me something cold?" and then she added, to stall him longer, "With lots of ice?"

Sawyer's grin quirked even broader as he took her offered champagne flute, "Don't go away now, Freckles."

Kate had to use more than one facial muscle to suppress the grimace. If there was one thing she couldn't stand about her appearance, it was the smattering of childish spots across her cheeks.

The sun beat down on the back of her neck, and Kate looked longingly towards the lunch tents. Suddenly, a wave of dizziness actually did sweep over her senses, and Kate stumbled.

A hand shot out and steadied her elbow.

"Hey now," Kate felt the fingers wrap around the joint—long, thin digits that betrayed a strength that propelled her upright, "You okay?"

It was another polo player, but with one glance, Kate felt her hopes rising—he was wearing the blue of Hume. "Yeah, I'm fine," she smiled warmly and tried to shrug it off, "Just hot, I guess. Must've misplaced my ridiculous hat."

He was handsome—dangerously handsome—and tall, with cropped brown hair and warm brown eyes. There was dirt smudged across one of his cheeks, but it looked deceptively good on him. Her mind gave a mental itch; he looked familiar…

"Jack Shephard," he introduced, and for the second time that afternoon, a hand shot out in greeting. Kate didn't even look down as she took it, as her heart had started beating a hundred times a second in sheer disbelief. Jack Shephard, no. Not Christian Shephard's son. It was like stumbling across the mummy in the pyramid, or a Van Gogh original in a corner antique store—Jackson Shephard wasn't a very attention-seeking individual.

Jack blinked and looked down at their clasped hands, and then a wince crossed his features as he shrugged his own away, "Oh, I'm sorry, think I got some dirt on you there."

Kate had to look down, and did indeed notice the smear of earth. She thought it could have been Sawyer's. "Oh," she smiled, and tried to dust if off with her other hand, "Who knows where I got that. Probably from all that, you know, mulching I was doing a second ago."

Jack smiled a bit awkwardly, a little lost by the look of him, but seemed to accept her joke. Kate's smile almost faltered.

"Sorry, I didn't get your name."

"Oh!" Kate back-pedaled, "Right. Monica. Monica Callis." Kate sucked in a breath. She had honestly almost said her real name.

Jack chuckled, "Well, alright Monica Callis, what brings you to this awful excuse for a gathering?"

She had to appreciate his honesty, and forcing herself to relax, Kate pointed towards her midriff. "I was recruited, hello."

Jack laughed, and his voice was warm. "Well, then, I'm not sure we can be having this conversation. You are, after all, the enemy."

Grinning, Kate made a show of leaning in towards him, placing her hand on his forearm, "Actually…" she stage-whispered, "I'm not technically supposed to be here." Jack arched an eyebrow at her confession, but the smile still played across his face, "A friend of mine was invited, and couldn't make it, so he gave me the invitation."

Jack leaned back, and appraised her in mock solemnity, "You have my word, I'll take your secret to the grave."

Kate beamed at him. "I take it you're not often at these sort of things, or you would be giving me a harder time."

He chuckled, and the sound was rich from his throat. "I'm actually mostly in medicine," he explained, "Not that I'm allowed to practice much."

"You need more practice? Wow, maybe I should leave you now then." She touched his arm again, as he laughed.

"No, I'm just expected to maintain the Hume interest in the hospitals we're a part of now. I still get dragged into the occasional medical mystery…but mostly it's a lot of traveling. Setting up clinics and attending to board duties. It's not a very rewarding life."

She raised her eyebrows in his direction. "You really don't enjoy saving peoples lives?"

Jack shrugged in mock-humility. "Well, you know...when I can."

Kate found herself laughing.

"Oh, just admit it. You love the God complex."

That elicited another laugh from Jack, and this time, he took his time eyeing her from head to toe, letting her know exactly how appreciated her comments were.

Kate beamed at him, and then decided to press her luck. "Actually, I don't really know anyone here… Do you think you could introduce me to anyone?"

If Jack's smile hitched, it was almost imperceptible. But he took a longer pause than was comfortable, before nodding slowly.

"I actually couldn't say I know many people here besides family," Jack started walking, allowing Kate to follow alongside him. "And a lot of those people are doctors, too, so you know, inherently boring. But let's see…" Kate's heart leapt, feeling she was close.

…But it was the wrong family.

"Monica!" Claire was obviously relieved to see her, and the young girl's expression was open, "And—Jack! Wow, I didn't know that you knew Jack."

Kate slid her gaze towards him. If he had brought her here on purpose, it was very covertly hidden.

"Actually, we just met," the half-brother leaned in and kissed Claire's cheek, but she shrank away with playful disgust.

"Yuck, Jack! You're all dirty and sweaty."

"You say to the one who just helped us secure a victory?"

Claire rolled her eyes, and was about to speak, but whatever she was about to say was mute to Kate's ears. As walking towards them, making small talk as he passed people he knew, was the exact person she wanted to see.

"Oi, Jack, your father tells us we're to clean up for lunch," Desmond's wavy, light brown hair hung around his beaming face, and he was clearly reveling in his victory. His dark brown eyes were liquid intensity, like always, and his chin was covered in a sexy shade of stubble. What he lacked in height compared to his second cousin he made up in the confidence that he was wanted, and that he knew what was coming to him. He was walking magnetism—people couldn't help but be drawn in, to take an interest in the heir.

"Good," Claire injected, "Because you both smell awful."

Desmond grinned wickedly, and moved to tackle her, but Claire yelped and made a dive behind Kate, who tried to dodge but found the younger girl's arms locked around her waist.

"Oh, hello," Desmond's grin dropped as he seemed to just notice her. A flick of his eyes took her all in, and it made Kate feel suddenly bashful. "I'm not sure we've had the pleasure."

"I'm Ka—"

"It's Monica—"

Kate and Jack said at once, though Jack's voice was clearly louder.

Desmond smiled appreciatively. "Well, Monica, will we have the pleasure of lunching with you today?"

"Uh, actually," it was Jack who answered for her, and Claire used the distraction to disentangle herself from Kate's protective custody. "Dad says we're supposed to be splitting up for lunch."

Kate suppressed a thwarted frown, but barely, as Claire moaned. "Oh, but I wanted to share a table with you two…"

Desmond knocked her affectionately on the head, before his eyes glanced over Kate again. "You're forgetting our guest."

"Freckles!"

All eyes turned in the direction of the interruption, as the man from Alabama strode directly into their hearing range. No! Kate's mind mentally panicked, as she fought to control a physical reaction, No, not now! You'll ruin everything!

"Jeezus, Freckles, I was looking for you everywhere. The ice all but damn near melted, so I had to drink what I got you myself."

Kate blanched, and turned back to the trio she was talking to, but they were in turn staring at the newcomer. Jack's gaze flickered between the two of them, the crease between his eyebrows deepening with every sweep. Oh God, she mentally moaned to herself, knowing exactly how this looked.

"Oh, I'm sorry brother, I didn't know we were keeping the lady." Desmond's voice was accommodating, too accommodating for Kate's intentions.

"Oh, sorry, this is…" Kate deliberately forgot everything about him in a heartbeat, willing him to never have existed and to merely go away, "I'm sorry, I don't remember your name."

Sawyer nodded to his fellow polo players, and his grin turned decidedly sardonic, "It's Ford, James Ford. People call me Sawyer." The others smiled obligingly, and Desmond took the duty of making his family's introductions.

"Were you looking for Monica?"

"Oh, yeah." Sawyer obviously had a hard time not staring at the beautiful blonde shifting awkwardly between her two male relations, and Kate inwardly shrank."Yeah, I told her to wait while I got her a drink, but she sorta got away from me…" he winked at Kate, and she felt worse.

"Sorry," said Jack, as Desmond smiled calmly. "We didn't mean to steal her away from you."

Kate forced a grin, "I guess I just don't respond well to authority."

They all laughed, though Sawyer's was a bit confused.

"Well, gentleman, I feel it's time we stopped delaying our well-earned lunch." Desmond interjected, and the three men left to the locker rooms after a final nod to the two women.

They had barely gone, when Claire raised her eyebrows at Kate suggestively, the implication clear. Kate just shook her head, slowly and definitely, indicating she wasn't at all interested in the man from Alabama.

As her luck would have it, Kate got stuck with Sawyer during lunch. The Hume men were called to the front table with the Widmores, the charming Penelope sitting calmly between the two Kate had just met. Claire managed to include her two new American friends at her table, albeit at the opposite end. Well, to be honest, Claire had forced Kate (plus her straggler) to join her table, as it became clear that her father was intending her to socialize the meal away with her new step-mother, Nikki. The woman couldn't have been more than half a decade from either Kate or Claire's age, though she couldn't have been more different. Nikki laughed loudly, and oozed charm, and had something to abandon when she had joined the Hume empire; her modeling days had made her a short-list celebrity, and she knew it along with everyone else.

Claire, it became abundantly obvious, had trouble hiding her resentment towards the woman, and Kate found quickly that she couldn't blame her. The up-and-down Kate was beginning to expect at these sort of functions was cold, though Nikki had taken to Sawyer instantly, and he seemed to soak up her attention.

They had barely sat down when Kate noticed the caterers fussing a few yards away; it seemed that they had finally realized there was an uninvited guest in their midst. Kate felt her stomach plummet, and cast an angry glare at the unseeing Sawyer, feeling her hopes of ever getting close to a Hume male dissipate with his insistent association with her.

Lunch stretched languidly, and Kate found it hard to keep up her displeasure in the face of the best tasting food she'd had since leaving America. As her stomach filled quickly and pleasantly, she also found it harder to hold such a grudge against Sawyer, who couldn't be blamed for the way her life had turned out. So what, she found herself thinking, What's one more blown chance? Enjoy it, Katie, while it's here. Let life come back tomorrow.

She soon found herself laughing at the stories he could tell about life back home, and his anecdotes about adjusting to his British vacation. Sawyer admitted he was only half-drafted for his skills as a polo player, but would be competing with the Widmores in most of the boat races over the course of the week. This part made her smile; the Hume-Widmore rivalry was legendary, and after today's polite formality of an event, the two clans would be avoiding each other for the rest of the week, until Friday's annual Firework Ball (an event no one missed, three generations of not-so-friendly competition or no).

So Kate's smile was actually genuine by the time the last plates were whisked away, her laughter glittering under three different types of wine. As people started to stand from their tables and mingle for one last glass of sherry or port, Kate excused herself to the restroom.

Even this part of the party would be something she could never forget. The marble sinks were deep, the water luxuriously warm, and along the counters were rows and baskets of various lotions and perfumes, set out for the guest's disposal. Kate lingered, then selected a light and flowery fragrance, dabbing it to her wrists and inhaling the way it mixed pleasantly with her skin.

When she resurfaced, it was clear that people had already started to depart. Not so far away, she could see Desmond and his family: Claire, Jack, Christian and Nikki, each smiling obligingly as they chatted with their guests. The Widmores (most notably, Charles and his lovely daughter Penelope) were standing next to them, though it was clear that the two patriarchs were growing impatient with each other's company.

Kate didn't exactly notice, then, when Sawyer sauntered up to her, a glass of fine port wine in his hand.

"Hey there, Freckles, I'd thought you'd all but disappeared." Kate smiled to pacify him, but looked back towards the Humes, noticing with delight that Desmond had noticed her.

Sawyer leaned forward, just a bit, and breathed deeply. "Mmm," he murmured, "You smell good."

She wasn't sure what made her think to do it. Under other circumstances, she certainly wouldn't have, but Kate seemed to move in slow motion as she pulled her hand back, and then in one clean sweep, sent a slap across Sawyer's cheekbone.

But it worked.

"How dare you make such a—a lewd suggestion!" Kate voiced with hushed venom, and the people within earshot turned to stare in shock.

Desmond and Jack had materialized at Sawyer's side.

"Sorry brother, but I think it's time for you to leave." Desmond's Scottish accent had run cold. "My cousin here will see you to the gate."

"Hey, now you wait a damn minute—" Sawyer started, his voice angry and confused.

"It's this way." Jack grabbed Sawyer's arm, but the blonde man resisted, his bewildered gaze searching out Kate's face. She couldn't look at him, had to turn away, and Sawyer's expression chilled as he finally understood. With a wounded expression Kate didn't see, he shrugged off Jack's grip, turned, and started to stalk away on his own. Jack followed him with a threatening frown.

"I'm terribly sorry about that, miss…Miss…"

"Monica Callis," Kate supplied, her voice sounding relieved even to her own ears, even if Desmond had forgotten her name. "And really, I'm fine."

"I'll take you inside." It was Claire, who had shown up at Kate's side without her realizing it.

"No." Kate tried to wave her off. "Really, I'm okay."

"But your dress…"

Kate looked down, and with budding horror realized that the once sunny satin was now stained with deep red port... There would be no getting that deposit back now. Nodding numbly, Kate allowed herself to be led inside, barely noticing that when she passed Christian and Nikki Shephard, both their gazes were coldly appraising.

end notes: Thanks for reading! Drop a review on your way out, if you can. Mostly I'm just afraid that these chapters are too long! Let me know if I should shorten them for easier reading...