A/N: I'd like to say that this is the chapter I figured I'd never get to write. It was one of the main reasons I started to write this story so it's like a milestone. That being said, I'm über excited to write another particular chapter two or three chapters away. Also, more characters will be added starting next chapter, although they may not be permanent fixtures in the story, they'll pop up a few times. A second also, the next chapter will be the mythical Sawyer chapter. Finally thanks for reading and reviewing and enjoy.

Live Together, Die Alone

Chapter 7

Sharp Shock

Only one of his feet is clad in his dress shoes. He knows because the very first thing he does when he regains consciousness is wiggle his toes. He forces his chin into his chest while watching the tip of the once white, now sullen sock bow with movement. Without wasting a moment, he sucks in a deep breath testing his lungs and ribs relieved to find that there's not an devastating amount of pain. Then he allows himself five seconds to regroup.

He only gets three. As soon as he closes his eyes, there's a cool slick hand on the side of his face incessantly tapping harder than the rain to get his attention. When he opens his eyes to the fog, there's a contour of someone blocking his view of the drifting smoke against the muted sky.

It's the Asian woman, and although his eyes are open, her hand is still rhythmic on his cheek. Her voice is silent for a moment, only her mouth miming the words gives any indication that she's actually speaking. Then as the ringing in his ears subsides, her voice becomes low both audibly and in cadence but after a few more seconds of struggling her words are finally clear.

He can't understand a single one of them because they're in another language, but the panic in her voice doesn't need translation. He pushes his body back to get away from her hand, and finds his arm wraps awkwardly around a solid chunk of concrete. It's not broken, but the muscle is sore and under the pressure of his weight it buckles.

Sun holds his shoulders keeping him in a sitting position while ranting and pointing. The idea of head injuries preoccupies him and he feels lucky to find no immediate or overwhelming pain and he doesn't feel dizzy or lightheaded. She speaks again nudging his shoulder he stands.

Stumbling to his feet, he's careful not to hit Sun, as she sidesteps him and also takes care to notices the debris that has sharp edges or is still smoldering. Then she's tugging on his jacket and jabbing her finger towards a condense wall of fog. She speaks, and then mimics the action of strangling or choking.

He nods, half-understanding but knowing he has to move swiftly. So he picks his way over the larger pieces of wreckage to a clear path that he follows at a slower pace. His feet kick smaller amounts of debris and the rain eases into a light drizzle that doesn't do anything to make the situation more uncomfortable. It's not even enough water to put out the remaining fires. Behind him over the sound of the crackling fires and popping embers he can hear Sun following him.

Familiar coughing interrupts the mundane sounds and he finally realizes what Sun was trying to tell him. "Shannon?"

He stops walking after he calls out her name so he can hear her response, but it's fruitless because even if she does hear him she's going to have to stop coughing long enough to give him a reply. The only thing that answers him is another fit of coughing and he can't see where Shannon is through the fog.

Sun seems to sense this and with foreign words points to the left with three urgent pokes and a pair of raised eyebrows. With a low grumble from the sky, the clouds lighten for a moment and he notices two parallel cuts on her cheek and one that ripped the top of her buttoned up sweater. There's a good amount of blood, but nothing that classifies as a medical emergency.

After a few quick steps the coughing grows louder and he can see Shannon's form leaning over on all fours suggesting that she attempted to move into a sitting position, but the coughing fit interrupted.

"Shannon," calls as he approaches so he doesn't scare her into a more strenuous attack. She glances up through watery, squinting eyes and almost falls over until he pulls her into a sitting position. "Shannon, where's your puffer."

Her head jerks an answer as her coughs grow more ravenous. Her gasps for air become so harsh that Jack can hear the air ripping at her lungs. She's hot to the touch and when she heaves; her body almost turns concave with the power of it.

"Shannon," he kneels before her, and turns her face towards him, "You need to breathe though your nose okay."

Again she shakes her head at him and a piece of hair plastered to her forehead with sweat and ash falls free.

"Shannon," his voice is harsher, because he's afraid he might not be able to help her, especially if she's not willing to listen to him. "Like this," he shows her again, loudly inhaling through his nose.

She starts to follow his suggestion, her nostrils flaring with the force, but starts to cough while exhaling. A tear falls from her eye clearing a path through the dirt smear on her cheek and she moves to lean over.

"No," his hands hold her bony shoulders in place so she can't move, "Shannon, do it again. I know you can do it."

Her nostrils flare and a wheeze emits from the back of her throat, but she manages to keep her mouth closed. Her body starts to shake as she repeats the action until her chest heaves are finally under what he considers normal.

"See," he tells her, smiling at her accomplishment. In his peripheral he sees Sun smiling as well. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

"No," her voice is soft and raspy. He knows that it hurts her to talk, so he only thinks of vital questions.

"Where's your inhaler?"

"I," she clears her throat and a pair of new tears fall, "I gave it to Sawyer. For safe keeping." He closes his eyes momentarily at the idiocy of the remark and she speaks in her defence, "I lose them a lot. My brother always kept them be—"

"It's okay," he tells her because he doesn't want her to have another attack caused by anxiety. "Kate got a bag of them." He reaches to his own shoulder, forgetting momentarily what happened.

"Where are they," her eyes are glassy and almost innocent.

Without answering he stands, trying to survey the area for the dark blue bag, but can barely see three steps ahead of him. They need to find that bag, or find Sawyer. Then he strains his flogged memory to remember the others. Charlie and Kate, the last time he saw either of them they were in shock. They could be seriously injured without even realizing it.

"Don't worry," his attempt to comfort the younger girl is lame as he places a limp hand on her shoulder, "I'm going to see if I can find Sawyer and the others. Just stay put until I come back."

"But what if—"

"If you have another attack just do what I said. Breathe through your nose and focus on Sun."

She nods, too fatigued to fight. The thought of explaining how to help Shannon to Sun hinders him for a moment. He could give directions, but he's not sure the woman wouldn't understand. He can only hope that Sun will stay with her while he looks for the others.

The rain is starting up again, making the fog and the smoke swirl into a thicker concentration. He isn't able to recognize things until just before he passes them. A gurney, a row of waiting room seats, and a piece of the wall mural from the children's ward all decorate the ground. It makes him wish that he was at home with Juliet curled up on the couch watching that stupid sitcom that she TIVOed three times a week and eating the spaghetti they always had on Thursdays.

Instead he yells the names of people he hopes are alive. He hopes that Arzt isn't alive, not that he didn't care for the man, but being that close to the explosion probably blew him to pieces.

"Sawyer," he cups his hands around his mouth as he climbs a large piece of concrete that was once probably a piece of foundation. His shoulder is stinging more and the fresh rain falls feather light but without a break.

He remains perched on the edge of the concrete, his shoeless foot gripping the rough edge. The only thing he can see is an overturned black van with the side doors torn off. Calling out their names again, he wonders if he should retreat to Shannon and move her somewhere with fresh air.

As he makes the decision and steps off of the concrete a voice calls, "Doc?"

The voice is faint, but echoes off the hospital's gutted shell. "Sawyer," his voice is louder now as his body spins at three intersections made by the van, the concrete and other wreckage.

The other man beckons again, and Jack makes an intuitive guess, running by the van and what looks like a good chunk of operating room four until the size of the rubble seems to diminish as he moves further away from the hospital. The downside is there is nothing to break up the fog so there's a higher concentration.

Within the flat plain, he spots a figure moving and a few seconds later he reaches the man. Sawyer sits on the ground, there's a streak of blood running from his hair down the side of his face but other than that there's no noticeable injuries. Jack is about to ask him about the inhaler when he notices who Sawyer is attending to.

"The couch landed on her," he points to the green floral patterned loveseat that Ethan donated to the surgeon's lounge when he couldn't sell it at his yard sale. "And she's got a cut under her eyebrow but she ain't talking."

"Kate," when he says her name, she doesn't respond. She sits, her knees bent and her sneakers flat on the ground. Her eyes are blank, staring into the remains.

Her face is covered in blood, most of it is Hurley's, but there's a long gash that runs the length of her eyebrow but half an inch lower. The blood is bright and it threatens to flow right into her eye so digs around in his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief and pressing it into her brow. If she feels the pain, she doesn't show it. She doesn't even blink.

Sawyer shifts over so that Jack can attend to her injuries. His hand is in his hair, supposedly holding the point of impact. "What's wrong with her?"

"She's in extreme shock," he grips one of her wrists; her skin is ice cold and sticky with sweat and blood. His fingers press tight against the veins underneath so he feels her pulse, but he can't concentrate because it's fast and weak and the rain is falling so hard it's washing the blood off her face.

"How do you fix it?" Sawyer's face skews in comprehension through the rain. He's resting on two feet with his knees bent and his arms hanging over them and keeping good balance.

"I'll take care of Kate," he's already shouldering off his jacket because she's starting to shake, "You need to take Shannon her inhaler." Sawyer raises a questioning eyebrow at his request, "you do still have Shannon's inhaler, don't you?"

The Southerner pulls another face but relents, "Yeah, I got it," a hand reaches back and pulls the inhaler out of his jean pocket. As he twists the object in his palm he adds, "I just don't really remember why."

He grasps Kate by the forearm, and gently directs her arm into the jacket. It's already drenched, but it will keep her warmer. "You hit your head?" he doesn't look at Sawyer while addressing him because he wants to see if Kate will answer the question too. She doesn't.

"Yeah," Sawyer holds a palm to his forehead, "It ain't that bad."

"If you can't remember, you could have a concussion causing retrograde amnesia," he turns his attention to the other man. The rain is removing most of the blood and there's only a small laceration on the crown of his head.

"Maybe you should concentrate on Freckles," he points to Kate obviously uncomfortable with the examination, "I ain't the damsel in distress type."

Sawyer stands from his spot without so much as a waiver. "Wait Sawyer," he holds out three fingers, "How many fingers?"

"Four," Sawyer answers as he takes a few steps.

"That's not right."

Sawyer turns back, a sly grin on his face, "I was counting the one I was giving back to you."

Ignoring the Southerner as he treks off towards Shannon, he turns his attention back to the mute and unresponsive woman in front of him. "Kate," he feels like he's imploring her just to give him some attention, "just look at me."

Minutes pass, the rain drums against a slanted piece of sheet metal a few feet away as neither of them speaks a word. He glances to his watch, wondering how long it's been since he's found her, but hands are frozen on 8:15. The same time that Claire died.

He sighs, covering his mouth with one hand. He wants to check on Shannon and the others and he's not leaving her here. So he stands, water rushing off of the suit pants, the fabric glues to his legs. "Come on Kate," he reaches down and grasps her biceps, and for a minuscule moment, the muscles underneath stretch and tense at the contact.

"Don't take me back," her body is shaking violently, her hands disappear underneath the extra sleeve material and the cut is beginning to make her eye swell.

He has to think a moment before the answer to his question is clear, "You mean the prison?"

"He left me there," she sobs, her tight lips breaking free of their stoic expression.

"The guard?" He bends his knees so he's eye to eye with her and he's so close that he can hear her quick breaths.

"Please," her voice cracks and disappears.

"Were not going back there," he reiterates and presses the blood soaked handkerchief back into her brow, "But we do have to leave."

She flinches from cold, then swallows loudly and nods, "Where?"

"To get Sawyer, Shannon, Sun and hopefully Charlie. Then to a hotel or somewhere to spend the night," he smiles, hoping to calm her, but she doesn't react.

Standing again, he holds out his hand, offering to help her up and the pads of her fingertips tremble as they touch his palm. She stands, wobbling precariously on her feet like a fawn, but after a few steps, and slowing his pace several times they seem to keep a decent speed.

Her words, her unbridled revelation and extreme fear of returning to the prison intrigues him. Not that she's a case in a medical textbook, but the way she talks about the prison, her first words after an hour of silence are about the building where she was abandoned. The shock that was apparent after she saw Hurley shot might not have manifested if it wasn't for the prison. He's beginning to think that something else happened in that prison before he got there.

She walks close to him, her hand compressing the cloth on her head and her free arm crossing her chest. Her hair is in tangles and would be crusty with blood if it weren't for the incessant rain, and he knows within the next day that her eye will be swollen shut.

He's not a psychiatrist. Juliet was after an abrupt job change. He wonders if the two of them ever met, Kate and Juliet. It would give him a believable reason on why when he's with Kate he doesn't think of Juliet. He spent three years of his life with the same woman. Abandoned his parents and moved to Sydney with her so she could change jobs. He went to bed with her every single night for over two and a half years. He doesn't know why she disappeared this morning, or where she went but he forgets about everything that happened to him in his entire life before the moment he saw Kate.

"My head hurts," her declaration blares through the pensive silence. The words are so misplaced that it seems logical they're the first ones she speaks freely.

"You hit it. Does you back hurt?"

She rolls her shoulders, then arches her back without a kink, "Not really."

"A couch landed on you."

"Really?"

"Actually it was a love seat. It's back there," he turns and points to the space where he found her and Sawyer, but the fog is already shrouding the view.

"Jack," her hand on his shoulder turns him around, "You're back is bleeding."

"What?" He looks over his left shoulder and finds that his white dress shirt is bright red. He tries to reach it with a hand, but the gash is at an obscure angle. She reaches out a tentative hand, and lightly touches where his blood permeated his shirt. He flinches away from her, hissing in pain.

"How did you not feel it?" she moves closer and tries to peer down the back of his shirt to get a good look at the injury.

"I don't know," he undoes the top button to loosen the shirt for her, "maybe I was in shock."

"Yeah?" she pulls at the material, easing it away from the wound where it's stuck. "What's that like?"

A/N Pt. 2: Don't worry, Charlie is fine. I can't kill them in back-to-back chapters. That's just tacky. Also a strong kudos to anyone who noticed the irony of Sawyer having Shannon's inhaler since originally in Lost Sawyer was thought to have stolen them. Yeah, I'm deep like that.

Next Chapter - How did our heroes fare after the explosion? Plus Sawyer's big day out and some flirty birdies. Oh and a new person makes a brief but enticing appearance.