Hurley sat and Hurley stared. He was sitting up the beach, watching the waves roll in from in front of the forest. As he stared, he thought. He thought about blondes. He thought about fate. What he was mostly thinking of was clinical psychology. Specifically blondes employed in the field. He also thought about fate. It was weird that the conversation he'd had a couple days ago had come out to be true. Looking for him and didn't know it? Weird.
Ooh, crap, here she is now, Hurley thought as she walked down the beach close to the water. It's an abandoned island, it's not so weird to just say 'hi' to someone who was on your plane when it crashed, he thought. Listen, what did you always tell Johnny-boy back in high school? Worst they can say is no. . .
Libby walked along the water, staring at the sea. She'd managed to find new clothes, so she didn't smell like she'd spent fifty days in the ones she was wearing. You know, cos she'd spent fifty days in her old. . . yeah. Libby smiled at her weird thoughts. She paused for a moment and stared at the setting sun.
"Hey," she heard from behind her. She turned and there he was; the fabled fat guy. Rumours had gone around the camp that he'd won the lottery, the story of the food from the hatch, the food from the plane, the golf course. She'd completely forgotten the living legend's name, of course. It added to the mystique.
"You're one of them tailies, aren't you?" Hurley asked. He'd heard about her. Clinical psychologist, blonde, never talked too much about herself. Tailie. From the tail-section. He'd heard about the trials and tribulations of that group already. Course, he thought it'd be better if he acted like he didn't know her name, but he did. Libby. Cool name. . .
"And you're that fat guy!" Libby said brightly. They shared a chuckle.
"Darn," Hurley said afterwards. "I was hoping you'd say the guy who built the golf course!"
"Would've," Libby said, "but I thought you'd've gotten tired of that old one. In fact, I heard about most of your stories, food maestro." Truth was, she thought the fat guy was kinda cute, in an everyman, big guy sorta way. "Name's Libby, by the way." She extended her hand to shake his.
"Hurley," he said, holding her hand by the fingers, bending and kissing it. "Been a while since a guy's done that, I gather." Hurley looked Libby in the eye and smiled.
"First in a while, I'll admit," Libby said, looking at the sand. She averted his eyes for a while, thinking he might prove to be a bit creepy. Then she remembered the food-stunt, and decided a man decent enough to do that deserved her time. She looked him in the eye, and asked jokingly, "Aren't there babies, or puppies you could be saving? Or possible elections you could set up?"
"Nah," Hurley said modestly. "I only do the extraordinary stuff when everyone is way stressed. Elections would just stress everyone again. Have you met Jack?"
"Your leader-of-sorts?" Libby asked. "Oddly short hair, crush on Ana?"
"Oddly short hair, yeah," Hurley agreed. "Dunno about the crush on Ana. Didn't she–?"
"Kill Shannon, yeah," Libby said. They both paused for a moment to contemplate how they knew each other. "Well, after that pessimistic start, this can only go up!"
"You got it. . ." Hurley said.
"You going anywhere in specific?" Libby asked. "Cos, if you were, could I walk with you? I gotta hear about the census, cos that was pretty cool." Libby and Hurley started to walk down the beach together.
"Well," Hurley began, "the census was an invention of necessity. . ." Hurley paused a moment, and asked, "Has anyone told you about a guy named Ethan?"
Minutes of retelling, gasping and laughing later, they arrived at Hurley's shelter. "Well, this is my. . . hut." He laughed feebly over it. "Trust me, I have milked the fact that I live in a hut dry. It is just unfunny."
"I'll have to take your word for it," Libby said. "My short stint in stand-up failed miserably."
"Oh," Hurley said, "what happened?"
"The rest of my grade booed me offstage," Libby admitted. "Grade 10, a year you try anything to be accepted. Needless to say, jokes about blonde mothers don't go over well."
"Ah, amateurs," Hurley sighed. "We're the best comedians. Don't let it getcha down, kid. You'll be just like us yet." They stayed silent for a moment in the intended laugh time, and stared at their feet. "So, you, uh. . . wanna come in? I can't offer coffee, cos I gave the grounds away, so. . ."
"No, no," Libby said. "It's cool, I don't need an excuse to enter a strange man's hut." At this, they both burst out in warm, spontaneous laughter.
"I guess it could be made funny again!" Hurley said happily. "Here," Hurley said as he drew back the curtain that acted as his door. "I don't think it's much compared to Charlie and Claire's down the beach, but, it's still–"
"Oh my Lord. . ." Libby said in awe. "You've had time to build a hut this big out of airplane wreckage? And filled it with. . . those are the clubs!" She said pointing to a distant corner, and turning to Hurley for approval. Hurley nodded in her direction as she turned to the other side. "And, those papers. . . the manifest?" she asked, looking at a precious piece of paper that could have saved them so much violence and doubt.
"The manifest," Hurley replied, "the census, a couple maps, some weird manuscript, a couple documents from the Hatch. . ." Hurley trailed off as he tried to remember what else was in that pile. "Anyway, there's my bed. . . or sheet. . . . The fire pit's out back, but we haven't had boar for a while. Though, toasting potato chips is fun."
"You guys had potato chips?" Libby shouted in mixed jealousy and awe.
"Whoa," Hurley said, raising his hands defensively. "Easy off, there. I kept a bag of ketchup from the food stunt a half-a-week ago. We didn't have these luxuries all the way along."
"I was about to say. . ." Libby said quietly looking at the rest of Hurley's things. "Wow. . . this place is as big as my place during med school, and has double the stuff in it."
"You think this is something," Hurley laughed, "you should see double C's."
"'Double C'?" Libby asked.
"Charlie and Claire," Hurley explained. "Guess what they got? A crib. Know what else? A baby. Real, live little person. BABY. Now, I coulda sworn he convinced her to move away to the caves with him, 'bout a week after the crash. . . Anyway, they're on the beach now. I guess the ocean is better to. . . do. . . stuff. . . to. . ."
Libby turned to face Hurley and grinned as she looked up at him. "It's weird, that a great guy like you, who can make everyone happy, can't talk about two other people meeting their needs. . . Curious, one might say. . ."
"Oh, ho, do not analyze me now, girl," Hurley warned. "That is a can of worms we should get into later. And by later, I mean, we ever find any alcohol that wasn't on the plane, and use that fire pit for something other than cooking. After that. A long time after that."
Still grinning, Libby looked Hurley in the eye and walked within an inch of his chest. "You, are the sweetest guy I have ever met on a deserted island," she said, sighing. "How do you do it?"
"Well, um, I just. . . uhh. . ." Hurley said awkwardly, trying to simultaneously be somewhere a thousand miles away and not look away from her green, green eyes. "Look, we just met, and. . . uhh. . ."
"People in bars get a lot closer and a lot heavier in shorter amounts of time, you know," she said, coyly looking at the ground, and meeting his eyes again, causing him to stammer harder.
"Yeah, but they're drunk!" Hurley insisted.
"Fine. I'll make you a deal. You sign me and Mr. Eko, and Ana and Bernard up on your little census, there, and we'll see about dinner. Do we have a date?" She asked, staring him in the eye. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, faking that her slip was a mistake, "I meant to say 'deal'. So, deal?"
"Um," Hurley said, panting, "yeah, deal, whatever. . . you want. . . . Toasted potato chips okay?" He asked lightly.
"Anything is cool," she said slowly, letting him watch her lips move. "Long as it's with you." Keep cool, Libby, she thought to herself. He's caught, he's staring, yes! I just got a date with HURLEY!
"Tomorrow cool?" Hurley asked, finally beginning to get comfortable with the situation and Libby's proximity to him.
Libby, noticing he still couldn't sentence properly, answered. "Yeah, tomorrow's fine." She began to walk out, when she turned back and said, "Do me a favour. Don't dress up. We're on a mystery island, I can't possibly judge if you're going to provide for my children by your clothes."
"You have kids?" Hurley said, regaining his tongue every time she backed away.
"Not yet," Libby said. She grinned at Hurley, turned and left. Hurley leaned out of his hut door to watch her go, his eyes roaming over her legs, up to her back, back down halfway. . . Dude! he scolded himself. Keep your eyes where your hands haven't gone yet! He promptly returned his eyes to the back of her head, watching her blonde hair flow in the breeze.
Cool, Libby, she told herself walking away. Given how fast he became speechless in there, I'd gather he's still watching you walk away. Libby decided turning and saying goodbye would be embarrassing to him and decided just to let him watch. She felt brave, and confident that she'd actually had that effect on someone. You kidding me, Libby? she told herself. All natural blondes do. For effect, she ran her hand through her hair, hoping Hurley was still back there, watching. She smiled to herself as she thought about what she'd just done, and looked forward to tomorrow.