Lost belongs to JJ Abrams and all the wonderful people working on the show. I'm borrowing for fun. Sawyer gets an unexpected visit.

Lost – Strings
By Mystic
March 2, 2005

Sawyer leaned back in his cot and smiled into the wind. It was getting near that time, he knew, when the skies would open suddenly and drench them all. The kid would complain, the dog would bark, people would scream. Like they didn't know it was coming, he thought to himself. He wondered how they hadn't learned the schedule. Maybe, he wondered, they didn't want to know there was a schedule. Sawyer was many things, but he wasn't stupid. He knew there was more to the island than just a jungle and noises.

There were polar bears. He was pretty sure no other island in the area had polar bears. His smile fading, he remembered the growling bear with the white fur full of mud and grass. His heart had charged that day and he'd shot it dead. Sure, he wasted half the bullets in the gun, but he shot a bear. It made him smile with a sort of certainty – he'd make it on the island. The tarp over his head flapped viciously, but the rain wasn't ready yet.

"Sawyer?" Came a female voice that made him open one eye curiously.

"What brings you to this neck of the woods?" He asked her. Claire touched the underside of her belly and seemed to dance in place, as if she were trying to think of words to put her thoughts into. "Come on, spit it out, ain't got all day."

Claire cocked her head slightly to the left, letting strands of thin blond hair spill over her shoulder. "I was wondering if maybe… I could barter you something for a pillow."

Sawyer smiled. "What, Doc ain't got you set up with all the pillows at the caves?"

Shaking her head, Claire glanced behind her and then back at Sawyer, "Just, can you?"

"Who you lookin' for Bright Eyes?" Sawyer passed a glanced towards the beach and saw Charlie fiddling with something that looked suspiciously like a home-made fishing pole. He made a mental note to rig up a few that worked. He had the metal and the wire, all he needed were strong enough bamboo rods.

"I don't have much…" Claire started.

"Look, not startin' trouble 'er nothing, are you?" His eyes narrowed at her playfully.

"No," she told him adamantly. "I just want another pillow."

"Got yourself a hemorrhoid or something, darlin'?

Her face burned red.

Sawyer let out a hoot of surprise and sat up. "Well, whatcha got to trade me for it?"

Claire put a hand on her waist and smiled through her embarrassment. "Who's to say you even have it."

Pulling a suitcase from under his cot, he zipped it open to reveal several small pillows and a set of neatly folded blue plane blankets. "Oh, I got the goods."

She bit her lip, trying to think. Watching her, he could almost feel sorry for her. Who the hell survives a plane crash eight months pregnant and then gets through the last month. Hungry, tired, swollen, kidnapped, memory loss. Sawyer stopped himself, if he thought on it further, he might just give up the pillow for nothing. He didn't' want them to think he was soft, it would ruin his position as island trade post.

"Look, whatcha got?" Sawyer asked, sounding annoyed. He didn't mean it that way and he could see by the way her eyebrows furrowed that she was angry at him for it.

Claire dug into her pockets. "Got Aspirin," she showed him the small bottle. Then she removed a small red brush. "Got this, I'm sure some girl on the island would find a use for it."

"Seriously? Aspirin and a hair brush?" Sawyer gave her the smile, the charming smile that used to get him everything back on the mainland.

"I'm not here to play games."

"Neither am I, Sweetheart."

Claire nodded her head, pocketing the objects again. "So, you're aren't going to give it to me."

Sawyer watched her stance change uncomfortably. He grabbed a pillow out of the case and then slammed the case shut. Lifting it into the air, Sawyer turned away while her gaze went from the pilot to him and back to the pillow. "Just take it."

"Really? No strings attached?"

He smiled again. "Oh, there's always strings." He pointed at her belly. "I'm guessing that's about ready to pop."

"Yeah," Claire responded, her eyebrows falling on her forehead.

"What it does," Sawyer laid back on his cot. "Keep it far from me."

"What, don't like kids?"

Shaking his head, Sawyer shrugged. "Not that I don't like 'em, I just don't want it interrupting my mid-afternoon naps."

Claire smiled. "Not a problem."

Sawyer listened for her footsteps to leave his tent. It went back to the quiet there was before and he liked it that way. Then he peeked an eye open and watched her waddle back to Charlie, who pointed at the sky and the duo went towards a small shelter seconds before it began to pour. Sawyer sighed, listening to the torrent come down on his tarp.

Finis