Summary: Hurley was just trying to be nice. He had no way of knowing Sawyer's dislike for clementines…or how much he really, really hated that song. Simple little oneshot placed sometime in S. 2 or 3. Doesn't mean much.

Author's Note: How could someone be expected to resist writing something like this after discovering Sawyer's daughter's name? (Never mind the fact that that this was two to three seasons ago.)

Hope you enjoy this one, folks! Please give us a bit of your thoughts before you go.

"Oh My Darlin', Clementine"

-xXx-

"Dudes, you'll never guess what I found!"

Sawyer didn't even look up when he heard the familiar shout. He didn't care what had Hurley so excited this early in the morning: probably found a particularly pretty shell washed ashore and just had to share with everyone, and they would admire it accordingly. Their friendliness made him sick.

So when the large man called out again, Sawyer, from his spot where he was settled comfortably just outside his tent 'door', did nothing but turn the page of the magazine he was flipping through—the latest treasure for his hoard, an outdated, well-worn Playboy magazine. It was immensely entertaining.

But Hurley, for some reason unknown to Sawyer, stopped in front of him this morning, holding an armful of some kind of orange fruit. "Dude, Sawyer," he said, slightly breathless. "Look what I found." He held one up for Sawyer to see.

"Clementines," he said happily.

Immediately following Hurley's words, Sawyer's eyes flashed and he dropped his magazine and looked up at Hurley, his expression holding untold amounts of anger and surprise. He couldn't believe his ears. Through clenched teeth, he managed to demand of Hurley: "What did you just say, Cream Puff?"

"I found a tree full of clementines this morning," Hurley said, not noticing the look on Sawyer's face. Or if he did see that the Southerner was even less friendly than usual, he had grown so accustomed to his attitude that he didn't care anymore. "They're delicious, dude. Here, try one." He held one of the orange little fruits out to him.

Sawyer didn't take it. Instead, he looked down at the sand; his lips curled up into a sneer. "Clementine," he muttered, his voice low. It wasn't just a dumb piece of fruit—it was a name, a stupid name that no mother in their right mind would give to her child, should she want it to love her when it got older. But Sawyer knew of someone with that name.

His daughter.

If Sawyer had been an animal, he would have growled or snarled, baring his teeth, at the mere thought. But since he wasn't, he instead settled for a mere grimace, and snatched up the magazine from its spot in the sand, tearing it open so harshly it was a wonder the paper pages didn't rip right in his hand. He intentionally didn't look up, ignoring the man looming over him.

"Your loss, dude," Hurley said, lowering the arm that had offered Sawyer the clementine. He began peeling it for himself, but to Sawyer's endless annoyance, he didn't move. Instead, he leaned casually against a nearby tree, humming a light, familiar tune.

Sawyer stiffened. This was not happening.

But Hurley's quiet hum was steadily getting louder. The tune was unmistakable now. And as Hurley's humming began to reach the point of actual words, it happened. Oblivious to the effect it was having on the man beside him, Hurley started singing the only song that one could while eating clementines.

"Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darlin', Clementine!"

Sawyer tried to ignore him. He really did. He raised the magazine closer and closer, until it was literally right before his eyes, touching the tip of his nose. But he didn't see the pictures of women inside. He saw only one woman, one picture…it was of a little girl…

"You were lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine!"

Sawyer's jaw quivered from the pressure of his teeth clenched together so sharply. His hands—were they shaking? His hands were formed into tight fists, crushing the pages of his sacred magazine.

What was wrong with him? What was that song doing to him? That stupid song...it was making him think about things he'd spent his life not thinking about...remembering memories he'd forgotten, and memories he'd never made with...

"Oh my darlin', oh my darlin', oh my darlin', Clementine! You were lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry…CLEMENTINE!"

"DAMN IT!" Sawyer yelled furiously, unable to stand it--any of it; not the song, not the singing, not the thinking, not the remembering. He dropped his magazine and jumped to his feet, his face right in Hurley's face.

"Sonuva bitch," he shouted, "shut—the—hell—UP!"

Hurley started, amazed by his outburst. He took a step back to study him, not afraid, but wary; and he looked at Sawyer like he'd just lost his head, or grown an extra one.

"Calm down, man. They're just clementines." His tone was soothing, as if he were reassuring a child that there were no monsters in they're closest, and that it would all be all right.

"Don't ever show me one of those damned things again, understand, Porky?" Sawyer said harshly, threateningly. Hurley opened his mouth, perhaps to say something in response, and Sawyer's anger grew.

"Get outta here!" he ordered, and Hurley jumped into movement, racing away towards the beach like a horse out of the gates. But as he went, Sawyer was certain he heard him say, quite clearly:

"If you didn't like clementines, dude…you could have just told me."