A/N: Are completely unnecessary for now.

Disclaimer: Don't own anything you recognize. This story I wrote while listening to Franz Ferdinand's 'Auf Acshe'.

Auf Acshe

You see her, you can't touch her;
You hear her, you can't hold her;
You want her, you can't have her;
You want to, but she won't let you.
-Franz Ferdinand's 'Auf Acshe'-

Jack Shepard lay in his bed, just like any other night, the hard rain pattering away at the roof and windows of his apartment. It reminded him oddly of the Island, yet he supposed everything did. Any product from the fruit aisle at the local supermarket to people passing him by on the street.

One time, he swore he saw Sun and Jin pushing a stroller down a busy New York street, and another, he thought he saw Hurley riding a bus at the intersection he crossed to get to work. Sawyer's face littered a wanted poster in his neighborhood post office, right next to Kate's. Day after day, Jack passed them, pausing just a minute to stare at the familiar faces. Then one morning, he just strode on by, not even bothering to stop.

What was the point? He knew there was a one in a million chance that he'd ever lay his eyes on the flesh and bone of Kate Austen's face once more. So he avoided it. He went to another mailbox on another street, took a different route to work, and stopped going to the coffee shop next door. Jack felt that it was best to just let go. So he was.

He didn't keep in contact with anyone anymore; despite the fact that when they went their separate ways the former Islanders swore up and down they'd e-mail and call each other frequently. Jack kept all the phone numbers and addresses safe in his bedside drawer, though he knew they were just gathering dust. Jack even had Kate's cell phone number in there. Well, what used to be her number, probably.

The letters and calls had stopped coming back in late September. Hurley was the last one who had contact with Jack, inviting him to a party, and that was on New Years. While all the survivors got together and watched the ball drop, Jack sat on his couch, a bag of chips and a beer his only company.

She had come to see him the morning after. Kate didn't even make it to the front steps, before she turned around, and headed back down the avenue. Jack had watched her back retreat through the open window as his ears heard the constant cheers and old fireworks going off. He didn't understand why she hadn't rung the bell, hadn't wanted to talk to him.

The week after, he had stopped walking his usual way to work.

And as Jack lay there in the bed, he realized something he had been denying for almost a year.

He loved her. He, Jack Shepard, loved Kate Austen with all his heart. Yet as soon as the feeling came to him, it left within a second, and everything was back to normal. The rain still beat on the roof, he was still in bed, and Kate was still out there somewhere, eluding her presence to almost every FBI agent in the country.

He turned over, and stared at the drawer, willing it to open. But it didn't. It sat there, closed. His cell phone sat on top of the bedside table, next to the clock that blinked its green numbers. 4:16am. Jack, taking a major leap of courage, yanked open the drawer, rifled around until he found the scrap of notebook paper with her curved handwriting on it.

He flipped open his cell, and typed in the number, his finger resting on the green call button.

Within a minute's time, he had pushed it, the usual cool lady-like voice telling him he had eight-hundred and twenty-four minute to make this call.

A mantra started through his head, the lady-like voice coming on, and saying 'Sorry, we are unable to connect this call. Check the number, and please try again.'

Instead, he heard a distant ringing in the background, and his heart lifted.

"Hello?" Her voice was filled with tired laughter as he heard it.

Taking a deep breath, Jack, shifted the phone to his other ear, and said quietly, "Hello, Kate."

A/N: So, what'd you think of it? Think I should continue, or just leave it be? And please, be kind, and leave a review. I don't care if it's just one sentence composed of one word, or a paragraph pointing out every single grammatical error Microsoft Word, nor myself, didn't catch. (Though I'd pick the first option over the second any day.) J

(Oh J... Why oh why can't you take form of your true self and be a smiley for these people?)