Hello! I'm new to the Lost fandom; I write mainly for Community, but since that was put on hiatus in December, I ended up watching Lost in its entirety on Netflix and fell in love with it. This is just something I thought of the other night and then contemplated for a few days before posting it. Constructive criticism is always welcome, but it's my first Lost story, so be nice, yeah? Thanks!

The first part is set post-6x14 "The Candidate," the second part is set post-6x18 "The End," and the third part is set sometime in the future. The song used is "Lullaby" by Jack Johnson and Matt Costa.

Heartbreak Melodies

The weather is particularly typical for this time of month; balmy, breezy, a hint of chill to the air. It's dark enough to be after midnight, but the horizon isn't turning pink with the promise of morning, so she's guessing it's that spotty in between time; too late to still be awake, too early to be just waking up. Somehow the sand is still warm from the sinking evening sun and a crisp breeze threads through the air, tousling the palm fronds and making the roaring fire in front of her dip and wave languorously, sparks flying and meeting the sand grains, forgotten.

Shivering is supposed to be the body's attempt to reheat itself, so why does Kate Austen still feel so cold? She hadn't stopped shivering since she clambered ungracefully out of the icy sea water, stumbling over her own feet and clinging to Hurley mercilessly. She had glanced around fearfully, almost desperately for any sign of Jack and had been, thankfully, rewarded with his presence, slumped over Sawyer's unconscious frame. Now she is fading in and out of consciousness herself, watching the flames dance and flicker before her eyes as the wind continues to chill her bones, but something is stopping her from falling into the comfortable confines of sleep.

She can't remember a time when she was ever this cold and she's shivering, shuddering violently as she scoots closer to the fire, careful not to get too close, careful not to burn. Her terrible frigidity may be because of her clothing, which is still soaked from their failed attempt at escaping the Island and, combined with the chilly night air, is freezing her from the outside in. It could also be because of the tiny, dime-shaped hole in her shoulder that is still oozing blood, taking away her source of warmth and, coinciding with this, her sense of life.

Kate is numb; she doesn't feel the stabbing pain in her left shoulder, irritated even more by the burning, salty sea water, anymore. She doesn't feel like she can feel anything; it had all been so surreal. The gunshot, the blinding pain, the submarine; Jack was there and gone and there and gone and everyone had been frantic but then, suddenly, everyone's attention wasn't on her anymore. She barely had time to understand what was going on before she saw Sayid's retreating frame and the next thing she knew, a fiery explosion caused her to awaken from a momentary lapse in consciousness in Jack's arms, bearing awful news to a fearful Hurley; there is no Sayid! On the beach, the bearer of more bad news- Sun and Jin had not made it out, either.

Heartbroken and numb, Kate slumps against the trunk of the tree and wonders how they ever got to this point. Live together, die alone had always proven to be a steadfast motto, but when Boone died and the possibility of the group's members not being invincible came into play, they all were forced to sit back and reevaluate their overconfident egos. Kate knew Jack had always believed if they survived a plane crash, they could survive anything- but this wasn't true. And as they continued to lose members of their once large, strong group- Shannon, Libby, Ana Lucia, Mr. Eko, Charlie- they realized death was imminent and it was coming for them, one by one.

She glances over at Hurley, who's just a few feet away, slumbering restlessly, snoring lightly, and wonders how he could possibly sleep at a time like this. Three of their closest friends died right in front of their eyes and while Kate, unable to sleep, shivers and mourns them, Hurley had sobbed and is now fast asleep. And while Sawyer is lying on his back in the wet sand cavern Jack had first left him in, his excuse being he is still unconscious, Hurley really had no reason not to be mourning with her. But he is different, she knew; he mourned in the moment and then he let go. Kate wishes she could be that resilient.

She panics momentarily when she realizes she can't find Jack, and please God no, not again, but visibly relaxes when she sees him at the water's edge, taking a moment to compose himself, allowing himself to escape to what was most likely a pit of guilt. She hates his hero complex and that he blames himself for everyone's deaths; that because he's the doctor, he's supposed to be able to save them all. She hates that he puts so much pressure on himself to be the most upstanding, reliable, responsible human being, because, as Kate well knows, everyone makes mistakes. She hates that he has absolutely no faith in himself, no self-confidence that will help him get through the difficult times, and she curses his father, a dead man, a man she never met, for imposing these horrible qualities on his son.

But mostly, she loves Jack, because there's some part of Kate Austen that just cannot help herself.

She watches him head back up the beach, her teeth chattering so loud she's sure he can hear her from his distance, and observes as he checks Sawyer to be sure he's still breathing. He gives a half-chuckle despite the situation at Hurley's slumbering form and then does a double take when he notices she's still awake and watching him intently. Despite the cold, despite the pain in her shoulder and in her heart, she gives him a weak smile and, puzzled, he returns it, settling in the sand beside her.

"You look like hell," Jack says softly, his fingers warm as they come into contact with her skin. He brushes the sodden hair off of her shoulder as if she was made of porcelain and gently tugs on her shirt to inspect the wound. "Does it still hurt?"

"No, I'm okay," Kate manages through her clattering teeth. "You should see the other guy."

How they manage comedy in the current situation is unimaginable, but Jack chuckles quietly anyway. He covers the wound again, saying, "The bleeding's stopped, but I can't really see it. I'll have to wait until morning to stitch it for you."

She nods painfully as he sits back against the other half of the tree trunk, sighing. "You should get some rest, though. You've lost a lot of blood."

Struggling, Kate shakes her head. "Every time I close my eyes, I relive it all over again. The gun, the bomb, thinking I lost you… I can't… Jack, I don't know what I would have done if… If-"

"Hey, hey, I'm here, okay?" He tells her, his voice calm and reassuring. "I'm here, with you. You don't have to worry. You're going to be okay. I'm going to get you off this island, Kate. You're going to go home."

Kate's eyes, usually a vibrant, thrilling green, are now desolate, somber, and sad. They fill with tears once again and she shouldn't be shocked, but yet she is, because she wasn't sure she had anything left in her. Jack takes one look at her and that's really all it takes, one look. Kate can see everything he's feeling; the love, the respect, the fear, the desperation. She feels like she knows everything about him and yet, she can never know enough. She wants him around forever, she wants him for the rest of her life, but she knows, in the pit of her stomach, in the bottom of her heart, that when she leaves here, finally leaves here, he won't come with her.

So, she'll take what she can get.

"Come here," His voice is pleading, pain-filled, because she knows he can sense how much pain she's in, how cold she is, and it's killing him to see her like this. He wants to do something about it, she can see it in his eyes, but he's already built a fire and that's really the best he can do at this point. Still, he slips an arm around her shaking frame carefully, wary of her bullet wound, and pulls her as close as possible, as far into his body as he can. He wraps the other arm around her too and Kate snuggles in deeper, resting her weary head against his chest and only then realizing how incredibly exhausted she is.

"Your skin is like ice," Jack says and there's a hint of guilt in this as well, as if he wanted to be able to remedy this hours ago. "Just hold on, okay? You'll get warm soon."

She will, she knows she will, but Kate also knows she won't be falling asleep anytime soon. She keeps seeing Sayid race away with what she assumes was the bomb, keeps seeing a giant flash of fire that resulted in the submarine breaking apart, keeps hearing the shouts of terror emanating from the corner, where Sun was trapped behind falling debris. Her last memories of her friends consist of them in a struggle; Sun fighting for her life, Jin fighting to free her, Sayid risking, and losing, his life to save everyone else. Every time she's on the brink of sleep, just on the cusp of falling into unconsciousness, she remembers these horrors and is shaken awake again. Kate feels incredibly guilty and why shouldn't she? She's here, she's safe, she's alive… and they are not.

Jack glances down at her, then, sensing her discomfort and rubs his hand up and down her arm, soothingly. "It's going to be okay, Kate. Try to go to sleep."

"I can't," She finds herself saying, her body begging for it but her mind unrelenting. "Every time I try, I see them… He's still out there, Jack. Locke."

Jack is quiet, but nods slowly. "I know."

It's worrying her how calm he's being, like he's made a decision and hasn't yet told her what that entailed. She buries herself even deeper into chest, pulling herself closer, closer, because she can't get enough of this, can't get enough of him. He responds eagerly, holding tighter, gripping her as if she's his last chance at life. And maybe she is. He begins gently running his fingers through her slowly drying hair, the curls tumbling delicately through his fingers in an attempt to lull her to sleep. And when that doesn't work, after all, Kate's sleepy green eyes are still fixed on the fire, he tries a different approach.

"When you're so lonely, lying in bed. The night's closed its eyes, but you can't rest your head," He croons quietly, almost inaudibly, and Kate turns, her eyes now fixed on him. "Everyone's sleeping, all through the house. You wish you could dream, but forgot to somehow. Sing this lullaby to yourself, sing this lullaby to yourself…"

And at first this seems ridiculous, but as he continues, Kate listens and instantly feels his calmness, his serenity, his belief that everything really would turn out okay. She suddenly feels like they have a plan and that, when executed, everything would work itself out. Sayid, Sun, and Jin's deaths would not have been for nothing; they would be avenged. They would go home, they would mourn their friends, and they would move on together. She felt almost at peace and slowly felt herself drifting into a restless slumber.

It had been a particularly awful day and an unfathomably terrible evening. But lying here, listening to the sounds of the Island at night and falling asleep to the rhythmic beat of Jack's heart, Kate somehow feels strangely at peace.

The feelings of peace didn't last long, but then again, nothing ever does.

She watches the plane ascend higher and higher into the blue sky, hair and clothes still sticky with Jack's blood and wet from the constant Island downpour, and wishes for engine failure. She prays the plane will fall out of the sky, prays they'll run out of gas, prays more than anything for the plane to come to a crashing halt on the sandy beach below. As much as she wants Claire to be happily reunited with Aaron again, as much as she wishes for Sawyer to turn his life around and for Miles and Lapidus to go home to their families, because they never asked to be involved in this, Kate wishes for everything to end.

It doesn't. And fourteen hours later, they land safely in LAX.

Their appearances are gruff and dirty; clothes dried stiffly, they're still full of sandy memories, hair frazzled by wind and drying in stale cabinet air, faces raw and sun burnt. Kate's right hand still bears remnants of Jack's gaping wound in his right side, blood stained dry between her fingers and in her palm, a reminder of who they left behind. She and Claire visit the bathroom to freshen up, or at least make themselves slightly presentable, but Kate refuses to wash the blood away.

She's hoping Carole Littleton has spent these two weeks explaining to the toddler that Kate was not in fact Aaron's mother, because, as they hail a taxi and head home, she realizes she cannot bear anymore heartbreak. Sawyer bids them an awkward farewell, promising to keep in touch, and tells Kate to keep her head up, that she'll get through it, and that if she needs to talk, he's one to turn to, because he too knows how it feels to lose the one you love. He says this with a touch of bitterness in his tone and Kate spends the cab ride wondering if it's because he's still hurting or because he still blames Jack for Juliet's death.

It turns out, Carole had explained, to the best of her ability, that Claire was in fact Aaron's mother and the two share a tearful reunion. But when Kate steps into the house, the house she'd lived in for the past three years raising Aaron and cohabiting with Jack, it's too much. She cannot stop seeing birthdays, Christmases, weekend trips to Disneyland. She cannot stop hearing the child-like laughter emanating from Aaron's lips while he and Jack watched ridiculous Saturday morning cartoons, cannot stop hearing the funny voices Jack used to read him to sleep, cannot stop hearing the loving intonation in his voice when he used to speak to her. She cannot stop reliving every moment and it's getting to be too much, especially since she knows she'll never live any of these again.

Apologizing and promising a swift return, Kate slips out of the front door, heads down the driveway and gets behind the wheel of her car, feeling strange to be driving after such a while. This had all been so surreal. She's still waiting for Jack to call, to plead with her to return to the Island. She's driving blindly, turning here, continuing straight there, not caring about the outcome; just wanting to get away from the house that no longer seems like a home. Instead, it serves as a mausoleum of memories she'd care not to relive.

She remembers that night after the submarine explosion when she had felt so calm and chuckles bitterly at the fact that it had once seemed so simple. She can't pretend she didn't know it was the end; she knew when Jack agreed to be "the new Jacob," she knew when they had finally defeated Locke, she knew especially in that damn kiss goodbye. But a part of Kate, the overly optimistic part, believed she could still change his mind. She could still make him stay with her, sew him up and bring him home, and they could have the life they had always planned on. She thoroughly believed this, even as she watched him stumble away with Hurley and Ben.

That kiss had been her last resort. She knew he was leaving and he knew she knew he was leaving, but with everything she had, she did not want to let him go. When she felt Jack pull her closer, Kate honestly believed she had gotten through to him. So she deepened the kiss, pleading in longing for him, hoping he would understand; I need you, please come with me. But it's almost as if he read her thoughts and as much as it was killing him to leave her, she could see it in his eyes as they pulled away, he was still adamant on his departure. I love you, she had sobbed, hoping to express everything she was feeling, hoping he would understand this was killing her.

And he did, because when he, in relief, sadness, and adoration, responded, I love you, she could see it was killing him too.

Kate ends up at Jack's old complex, which she should have seen coming, and walks up to his third-floor apartment completely numb. Her spare key is still dangling from the chain she'd always kept it on and she turns the lock monotonously. Pushing the door open, she flicks on the lights and the entire apartment jumps to life, even if its previous and current occupants cannot do the same. She inhales deeply and only then do the tears fall. The room smells like liquor, coffee, and expensive cologne. The room smells like Jack. The room smells like home.

Mindlessly, Kate walks through the apartment, room by room. In the kitchen, there are dishes collecting dust in the drying rack and she recognizes the two coffee cups they'd tentatively sipped out of the morning of the Ajira flight. Her stomach sinks as she encounters a framed photo of herself and Aaron resting on the countertop beside the phone. The tears fall harder at the photograph of the two of them just a few feet away. She turns away and passes through the dining area, where his long, glass windows show the evening sky growing darker and darker as the sun sinks lower into the lavender horizon.

The rug resting beneath his coffee table in the living room is uneven, so she graciously straightens it and then proceeds to remove the dust with her hand. She notices his cell phone lying on the couch cushion behind her and grabs it eagerly, longing for some piece of Jack, no matter how small. Thumbing through his endless outgoing calls to her own phone, Kate feels a sense of guilt and of shame for turning him away innumerous times. She presses the number one and waits for his voicemail to pop up on screen, but instead the screen flashes a message- speed dial #1- Kate Austen. But at this, she smiles, because he had always been her speed dial one, too.

Her next step is his bathroom, which is surprisingly clean for a so-called bachelor pad. She's beyond caring how unseemly her actions might be and, without thinking twice, she pulls off her clothes. The dried, caked blood on her right hand is still there and since it's been over two weeks since she's had a shower, she decides it's time. Stepping into the warm flow of water, Kate again finds tears filling her eyes at the sight of her own soap in Jack's shower. She foregoes this and washes with his soap instead.

As if she didn't already smell like him, she pulls a white button-down of his over her freshly-clean body when she exits the shower and spends the rest of the evening in his bedroom. His bed was neatly made before she climbed into it and this is when she begins to sob. She smells like him, his bed smells of him, everything she opens, sees, or touches smells of Jack and she wishes more than anything he was right there, by her side. She wipes at her tears furiously, but it's futile, and even as she wets her lips, she realizes she still tastes him; his lips on hers left a lasting mark.

But it wasn't the kiss that was the hardest, that day. It wasn't watching him bleed, listening to his half-hearted joke about thread and counting to five, or even when he told her he loved her. The worst part was the silence that followed those lonely, agonizing minutes as she watched him walk away. He was slipping away from her, slipping away from the world, as he staggered up the hill, Ben and Hurley on either side of him. He didn't have much time left and she knew it; she knew he would never let her watch him die. He kissed her, expressed his love for her, and then walked away, because even though their mantra had always been live together, die alone, Kate knew that Jack would much rather die alone than die in front of her.

She buries her face into his pillow, deeply inhaling and sobbing violently, wanting sleep to overcome her because if she couldn't see Jack in real life, she knew she'd see him in her dreams. But sleep does not come easy for Kate; it hadn't ever since Jack made the executive decision to stay and protect the Island. She snuggles deeper into his bedcovers, tosses and turns into many different positions, begging sleep to come- begging Jack to come. And, as if he has heard her pleas from wherever he is at that specific moment, Kate remembers that cold, awful night on the beach and begins to whisper softly, painfully, to herself.

"And if you are waiting, waiting for me. Know I'll be home soon, darling, I guarantee," She croons softly, almost inaudibly, just as he had. "I'll be home Sunday, just in one week. Dry up your tears, if you start to weep. And sing this lullaby to yourself, sing this lullaby to yourself."

Tears consistently flowing and soaking Jack's pillow beneath her head, Kate Austen somehow manages to fall asleep.

A shrill infant's cry pierces the calm, evening air and Kate Austen awakens with a start, having been ripped from yet another dream consisting of a certain spinal surgeon and a sandy island setting. It takes her a moment to gain her bearings and she glances at the glowing clock beside her- 4:08 a.m., she still can't escape those numbers- before pushing back the duvet, her bare feet immediately finding the cool, hardwood floor. Rubbing her eyes blearily, Kate navigates the apartment blindly, having done so many, many times before. In just moments, she reaches the opposite side of the hallway, where her son, previously sleeping soundly, is screaming.

The day she found out she was pregnant, she was both overjoyed and deeply saddened. She cried for three weeks, inconsolable to both Sawyer and Claire, who attempted everything to make her feel better about this unfortunate situation. The baby was the only piece of Jack she had left; the reminder that there once lived a man named Jack Shephard and he had been the bravest, kindest, most generously loving human being she had ever encountered. The only thing she regretted was not having Jack here to experience being a parent; having to parent alone under these circumstances was an absolutely trying experience.

She still couldn't face returning to her previous home, so Claire bought the property off of her and lived there with Aaron and her mother, while Kate used the money to purchase Jack's former apartment. It was the only place she felt truly safe and comfortable, which only made sense, considering Jack always made her feel this way. At night, she'd lie on the couch and talk to the baby, telling him stories of the Island and informing him all about his magnificent father. Sometimes these stories would make her cry and she'd curse furiously, because she knew that someday, these would all have to be repeated to her child face to face.

Halfway through her second trimester, she realized that although their child no longer had a living father or maternal grandparents, Jack's mother was still living just a few towns away. Kate gathered her bearings, visited Margo Shephard, and together the two cried tears of joy, but also tears of mourning, tears of sadness, tears of regret. Margo is a strong, wonderful woman, but Kate knows there are things she wished she'd said to her son before he boarded the Ajira flight. It always makes Kate feel guilty that she hadn't tried harder to keep Jack from staying.

The infant turns out to be a carbon copy of his father; blue eyes, strikingly gorgeous features, and a full head of dark, smooth hair. The only piece of herself Kate sees in her son is the smattering of freckles across his tiny cheeks and these she doesn't even notice until her son is almost six months old. She returns to Jack's apartment- now her apartment- and uses his spare bedroom as their son's room, decorating it in a pattern of blue, brown, and white. It's a cozy sanctuary for the baby, a safe haven, and every time she glances down into those innocent baby blues, she sees peace and the hope for a better tomorrow. It's everything Jack has always wanted for her.

The cries grow louder when she enters the room and wane as she coos to him from the doorway. His eyes are filled with unshed tears, his cheeks wet with those that have already fallen, and his entire visage just screams displeasure. Kate assumes he must have had a bit of a fright and leans over the crib, assuring her presence, assuring he was safe from harm. She scoops him up, taking in the damp weight of the seven-month-old infant, and rests his tiny head against her shoulder gently, kissing his forehead and breathing in that sweet baby smell.

"Hey buddy. Shh, it's okay," Kate whispers quietly, crossing the room to take a seat in the old-fashioned rocking chair Margo had given her. "Mommy's here, bud. You're alright."

But whatever frightened her son did a fantastic job, and even though he's a bit more complacent, he's still crying intensely and refusing to calm. So Kate begins to rock fluidly back and forth, back and forth, in the old rocking chair and, slowly, softly, she begins to sing. She sings that special lullaby that brought her calmness that terrible night on the beach, the song that got her through her darkest hour, the song that seemed full of hope and promise. Her son ceases crying, eyes fixed on his mother as she sings lowly.

"Lullaby, I am not nearby. Sing this lullaby to yourself. Don't you cry, no, don't you cry. Sing this lullaby to yourself," Kate croons softly, almost inaudibly, just as Jack would, if he were here. "'Cause when I arrive dear, it won't be that long. No it won't seem like anytime that I've been gone. It ain't the first time, it won't be the last. Won't you remember these words to help the time pass?"

The infant's eyes droop slightly as Kate continues, yawning herself. "So when you're so lonely, lying in bed. The night's closed its eyes, but you can't rest your head. Everyone's sleeping, all through the house. You wish you could dream, but forgot to somehow. Sing this lullaby to yourself, sing this lullaby to yourself."

"Sing this lullaby, sing this lullaby," Kate finishes, pressing a kiss to her sleeping son's forehead. "Sing this lullaby to yourself."

That night, like many others, she dreams of Jack.

But that night, unlike many others, the dream has a happy ending.