When she leaves the bunker, she goes looking for Jack. It takes awhile because she doesn't want to ask anyone where he is. She wants this to be private. When she finally finds him, he's chopping wood again - dressed only in a pair of low slung, faded jeans - and her mouth goes dry with desire.

She watches him for awhile, her eyes skimming over the muscles rippling in his back as he rhythmically hoists the axe over his shoulders. The blade makes a satisfyingly hollow echo as it slices through chunks of wood.

She waits until he finally stops, sweat running down his back as he lifts his head and reaches for a bottle of water. She clears her throat and, when he turns around, she gives him a smile. He stares at her, and she wiggles her fingers in greeting to which he finally smiles, raising his eyebrows in query.

He asks if she's okay and she nods, suppressing the tremble of happiness inside her, when she tells him that Sawyer is still eating, walking, still cracking very bad jokes. He asks another question, something about temperature or fluids - something doctorish - but she shakes her head. She really doesn't want to talk about Sawyer. This isn't why she's here and she tells him so.

He raises his eyebrows again and she clenches her fists for half a second before running across the clearing to him.

It's she who instigates the kiss, and it's her hands that slide down over his abdomen to unbutton his pants. He's surprised at first, confused, but then her tongue stabs against his and she knows, from the growing bulge in his groin, that he'll give in. His fingers join hers in frantic ripping of clothing until they're both naked.

He says something into her mouth. A question. Is she sure? She doesn't know and doesn't really care. She just wants to fuck him. She says yes. He asks again and she just says it over and over until he falls silent and kisses her with an intensity that she's not used to.

He's kissing her everywhere. Face, throat, chest; his fingers pinching her nipples until she pushes them down between her legs and he takes the hint, and starts stroking her clit. She knows she's already wet, ready for him. From the moment that morning when she first kissed him, she knew she was also going to fuck him. She has to.

There aren't many men here to do it with - men who are safe, gentle, loving. She has to have Jack. She can't have anyone else; won't let herself have anyone else. And if she doesn't snap him up, then someone else will get him. She's staking her claim now.

She doesn't know when they'll be rescued; randomly a thought flashes through her mind that maybe they have to repopulate eventually and wouldn't their kids be gorgeous. Not that she's planning on having kids. Not with the 'bad seed' gene in her family.

She wants to speak as he touches her. Wants to say how much she likes the feel of his hands against her skin; the nipping of his teeth on her neck; the coarse, dark hair on his chest tickling her bare breasts. Wants to shout his name when she comes. She feels her body tense itself but she's not ready yet. She wants to make this last as long as she can, and she knows that Jack is such a gentleman that he'll make sure she has her pleasure before he has his. She's never had a man like that before.

She wants to look at him when he enters her; when his cock slides into her body, making her gasp. Wants to stare into his eyes when he comes. Wants him to stare into hers. She uses one hand to help him inside, guiding his progress, but as she does so, she stares over his shoulder. He growls her name into her neck and she blinks back tears. He tells her how incredibly soft her skin is and she tries not to scream.

She wants to chant his name in return. Wants to tell him how big and strong and manly he is. How good his cock feels inside her. How much she likes him. She does like him. She doesn't think she loves him but she'll try to learn to. Her mouth gapes like a fish; she can't say it. Doesn't want to say it. It feels wrong.

She doesn't want to be pressed against a tree, the bark scraping at her back. She wants a bed. Fresh sheets. Candles and jazz. Maybe Ella. It doesn't matter, really. She just wants it to be nice. Clean. She doesn't want it to be dirty. She doesn't want it to be like this.

Her shirt is on the ground, in a puddle of muddy water. She's going to have to wash it later. And her jeans. And her panties. She's going to wash everything and then she's going to use her hot water allowance and sit in the shower in the bunker. She's going to cry until she can't cry any more, and then she'll scrub her entire body until it's clean as well.

Maybe this is supposed to be a new start for her - the crash, that is - and for everyone on the plane as well. Part ways with their past; start again. Fresh beginnings. Who she was back then isn't who she's going to be now. Who she wants to be. She tells herself that she does want Jack. Jack is the right choice for her.

His hands are supporting her thighs which are clenched around his waist. She looks over his shoulder again, focusing her gaze on a clump of bushes. There's an animal sniffing around the base of one. If she wasn't fucking Jack, she'd have her jeans on. Access to her knife. A nice, non rationed, non seafood dinner. But she's naked, and she can't even see her jeans, flung somewhere in the desperation of the moment.

He's gasping a question at her. Wanting to know if she's ready, telling her he can't wait anymore and she lets herself go, and comes against the hand he's thrust between their bodies. She breathes deeply through her orgasm, feeling it wash over her - for a brief, flickering moment, she relaxes; lets the pain fade away; the worry, the loneliness. But he's coming as well and calling her name and she wishes he'd shut up for just five seconds so she can enjoy the moment completely.

He hears her unspoken plea, and falls silent as his movements slow, and she closes her eyes for half a second and pretends, for just that half a second, that the hands on her body belong to someone else. That the lips on her throat belong to someone else. That the orgasm she just had was because of someone else.

For only half a second, Jack is someone else. But it really is only half a second, and she opens her eyes and finally looks at Jack, sees only Jack, hears only Jack. He smiles at her and kisses her forehead and they disentangle their sticky, sweaty limbs.

She retrieves her clothes, scattered around the ground, and dresses, studiously avoiding his gaze. He clears his throat, wants to know what happens now; she knows they need to discuss the situation but she's not ready and tells him to give her a few minutes to... recover or something.

She's also not ready to go back to the beach yet so she sits at the base of the tree they've just violated and stares up through the leaves. The sunlight washes over her face, warming her. Jack sits next to her, picks up her hand, squeezes tightly. There's silence, broken only by the soft twittering of birds, the rustles of the bushes in the breeze.

He asks her is she's okay and she shushes him, irritably. She doesn't want to say anything to him at all. She needs to figure things out but she can't do it when his voice is in her head. She doesn't want anything in her head; there's too much noise, too much confusion. She knows what she wants isn't Jack but also knows what she wants is not what she needs. She needs safety. She needs security. She needs Jack.

Everyone will eventually pair off. Like Adam and Eve. Keep the species going. It's an excuse. Something. The best she's got. She's chosen Jack for that but she knows she's still not going to have children. Jack's a doctor and she'll make him take care of anything that happens.

She hears Patsy Cline in her head; a hint of a southern drawl - male or female, she really can't tell.

She's sitting in the dirt, having just fucked the man she's planning - if they're not rescued - to spend the rest of her life with. His hand is wrapped around hers and when she looks down at their entwined fingers, she realizes she still doesn't know where she is. That she's still lost.

She closes her eyes and, even this far inland, she can smell the ocean.