Lost and its characters belong to JJ Abrams, Bad Robot and crew. I'm just borrowing for fun. Written for the losthohoho fic exchange. Libby and Locke have their first exchange after her arrival.

Lost – The Secrets We Keep
By Mystic
November 30th 2005
Libby felt like it'd been years since she'd worn a clean outfit. She sat on the beach, tugging at the edges of the orange tank top a brunette had handed her straight from a dryer. It was still warm and smelled of a fabric softener from her youth. She was vaguely aware that she was wearing someone else's underwear; someone else's pants, someone else's shirt and bra, but she pushed the thoughts into the back of her mind. Normally she would have been uncomfortable. The idea of putting on someone else's outfit made her itch.

For a moment she wondered who her outfit belonged to. What story did it have to tell? What fights did it go through? What lovers had it been torn off by? She stared down at a brown stain that hadn't come off, that wouldn't come off. Blood. Her mind raced. Who's shirt was she wearing? She took a breath, slow and shallow and stared at the fire in front of her. She watched the flames dance and she ignored the feel of the fabric resting softly against her skin.

"Hello there." The voice was male, gentle and was coming from behind her. Libby jerked slightly, not really from fright, but from habit. She looked up, an awkward smile spread crookedly across her face as she stared at the bald man who grinned down at her. He had a fruit, cut in half, held out towards her and she felt her arms hesitate, twitching before reaching up and taking the piece from him. "Mind if I join you?" He asked, his head nodding towards the sand next to her.

"No, not at all," Libby responded as politely as she could manage. "Wouldn't mind the company."

Locke laughed and it floated on the cool night breeze. Libby hadn't noticed how truly quiet it was. She was surprised to find that she felt strangely calm for the first time in a month. Not even the secure bunker they'd found with its gentle hum calmed her. She glanced around, seeing groups of people huddled around three other fires. They kept their distance from her. Libby didn't blame them. She was the newcomer, the outsider. She was the one they all had questions about but were too afraid to ask.

"So what's your story?" He asked

Turning, Libby eyed him for a moment. "What's your name?" She asked, just a bit more flirty than she'd intended. Her eyes scanned his, looking for a reaction, but he just stared back, blank. Libby had many patients who were good at hiding what they felt. She called them challenges and this man had just put himself on her growing list. Behind Kate, Jack, and Eko. Among others.

"Locke," he took a bite of his fruit. "Heard Ana Lucia call you Libby back there. You were having a fight?"

"Ana Lucia doesn't fight," Libby corrected. "She stubbornly stomps her foot until we go along with her plans."

He stifled a laugh and found the woman in question sitting with Eko in front of their own fire. "Doesn't sound like you hold her in high regards."

Libby shook her head. "On the contrary, she really did help keep some of us alive," Libby considered. "Well, she kept us moving anyways."

"So, what is your story?" Locke pointed at her with his fruit and crossed his legs under him. He sat straight, same as he stood, and she watched a moment, looking for some sign that he was trying to impress her. But it was just the way he sat. She wondered how he'd gotten so rigid.

Smiling, she took a bite of her fruit and raised her eyebrows. It was better on this side of the island. Didn't have the hint of death on it like everything they picked on their side. "Tail broke off in mid flight, watched a couple people whip out of their seats and go flying into the sky. Then we hit the water."

"How did you survive?" He questioned her curiously and she narrowed her eyes at him just enough for him to narrow his back.

It could have been mistaken as a tease, but Libby pressed her lips together in a smile and gave a small chuckle. "How did any of us survive?" Libby paused and thought about it a moment. She didn't like to think about it. She didn't want to question it. "I swam out before the tail went under and made my way to shore. Lots of people had. At least twenty three. Well, twenty two if you figure one of us wasn't one of us." She nodded at him. "What about you?"

Locke remained silent a moment. He was trying to figure her out. Libby wanted to laugh and tell him to stop trying to hard. People who kept secrets usually had them pinned right to their sleeves; you just had to know how to find them. Mostly, you had to have patience. She saw Kate and Jack walk past on the beach. They were silent, her staring out at the ocean; him staring down at the sand. Libby turned back to Locke and waited. "Woke up on the beach, flat on my back."

"That seems highly impossible," she creased her eyebrows.

The man shrugged. "Just telling you what happened."

"Whatever the case, we're all lucky to have survived. The impact of the plane against the water and land should have killed us instantly, or at least done more damage than I saw." Libby bit into her fruit again, hearing the snap of a broken leg from a long time ago, and the moans of agony the hours before he died. Ana was digging the grave before his pulse had left him.

"More than luck," Locke told her, his voice low.

Her eyes came up to meet his and she saw a twinkle in them. The look of a man with a grand idea. Libby waited, listening to the trees swaying behind her. She missed the sound of the wind in the trees without whispers and rain, or screams and stomping. "What? Fate?"

Locke's grin widened and she looked away from him. "What if I told you us being here was part of some bigger plan."

"I'd prescribe some medication, but my med pad is at the bottom of the ocean," she snarked with a laugh.

Suddenly the grin vanished. Locke stared at her with an expression she would have classified as dumb shock. She'd seen it before. On dates. Most guys thought she was the doe-eyed idiot who'd be an easy lay. The girl who couldn't possibly know what they were thinking. So when the pager went off, or her cell phone rang, and she told them it was a patient, they were curious. When they found out she was a psychologist, they clammed up. All the pretty words that had been flowing suddenly dried up and crackled.

"Locke?"

"You're a psychologist?" He asked the question cautiously and she got the feeling there was more than just a simple question. She read it on his face instantly and wondered how she should respond. People with previous experience with psychologists who weren't happy with that experience were the most difficult to deal with.

Her mouth dropped open and she shrugged her shoulders. "If it means anything, I'm pretty open-minded."

Locke nodded, his eyes dropping, breaking the connection with hers. It made her feel sorry for him. He'd been hurt in his lifetime by someone in her line of duty and she knew he wasn't the first one. "My mom was admitted to a psychiatric ward when I was younger. No one on the island knows."

"You don't have to confide in me because I'm a shrink," Libby smiled. "It's ok to keep secrets."

Locke waved a hand. "Wouldn't be a point, you'd figure it out. Probably had some notion already." He smiled at her. "Besides, I don't mind confiding. You seem the type to keep secrets well."

"Well, I promise not to tell anyone," Libby affirmed for him. He smiled back up at her, in that curious way he had. She was beginning to like him. Not necessarily him, she didn't know him, but they way he played his games. Libby smiled at the thought of figuring him out. "You have lots of secrets, Locke?"

He purse his lips and frowned a moment, then grinned up at her. "Don't we all?"

Finis