I have to apologize for the long wait, I intended to have a chapter up for Valentine's day, but a lot of personal issues kept getting in the way. I'm back in a groove though, and I've got some time, so I'm planning on getting a few chapters first drafted at least with my open schedule. More reviews and responses to stories always make me want to post faster as well - so that's something to keep in mind. ;)

Disclaimer: I don't own Lost, it would've ended a lot differently if I had.

"The human voice is the organ of the soul." - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

I remember when the earth's terrain, the body's of those who didn't rise again, or who had been exterminated by those ensouled with fight left in them, was difficult to travel over - physically and emotionally. When I used to go out of my way to walk around the bodies grouped together, avoid the individual limbs and miscellaneous body parts strewn about the road ahead of me. What a sentimentalist I used to be back then. Now when I'm on the move I set my eyes straight ahead on my path and climb over bodies piled over each other. I don't even really notice the way that the body compresses on itself, the sound of brittle bones crunching or the squelching sound of the infected blood being forced out of it's casing, not anymore.

I used to feel bad about clambering over the dead like that - I used to feel bad about killing the infected ones. I'd run as fast as I could, hide, stay quiet and hope that they would just walk past me, I'd only swing at one if it was an emergency. My weapon of choice was an axe - something I'd gotten out of one of those 'In case of emergency' boxes at a hospital originally - until I could get into an outdoors-men store to get a real quality axe. Not a gun, a gun made too much noise and drew them close. Though at one point I'd locked myself into an old library and found myself with plenty of time to read, and I'd found this book of a wide collection of quotes and run across something from this old guy - Henry Wadsworth Longfellow - who talked about humans souls being connected to their ability to speak (It was, you know, more elegant, but then again I bet the old man wasn't running from a horde of flesh eating creatures that had all but wiped out the earth's population, if it was I'd have more of a bone to pick with history for THAT cover-up.) and it sort of rearranged my priorities. If you've ever has the misfortune of encountering an undead, you'd know that they don't moan out the words 'brains' and shamble about in a hunt. They move slow and silent for the most case. Sometimes you can hear this low, guttural sound leaving their throats, that's when they're eating, it's a horrifying sound, being so close, hearing death's victory song echoing in your eardrums, haunting you. There's this sort of grunt they make when they die, it doesn't really sound pained, not even resembling a protest to having their heads ripped from their shoulders, or the initial impact of a bullet, just noise for noise sake. Not a voice - that leaks out the moment they change. The voice - the soul. I stopped looking at them like they were people with infections and started recognizing them for what they were - animals. A plague-An infection that ripped out the soul and stole a humans face. After that I became much more of an adept hunter - back to a hunting store - equip with rifles and bullets, and went to town, curing infections with a bullet to the head, watching it ooze from it's hiding place. I survived.

Maybe I'm getting a little ahead of myself though. I should probably have started from the beginning, it's difficult to remember a time when the earth wasn't run by Infections, even more difficult to drudge up the memory of when it all started - how it all started. But for the sake of documenting a history for future life, if there's any to be had after this, I do it now.

It's amazing how dumb the justice system could be sometimes. I cleaned out my bank accounts before leaving, raised red flags, but by the time it got through and was reported, I was long gone anyways and close to being reported missing anyways. Then they assume that with all that cash I'm going to be surrounding myself with /that/ kind of life, lap of luxury, or at the very least not settle for the rodent-infested hotels that I had always called home during the first years of running. While they were scrounging about, ripping into rooms of the privileged citizens who housed up at the Ritz and other high-end temporary dwellings, I was off living it up with three-channel TVs, bed sheets that got washed maybe once a year, and those famously tasteful coin-operated vibrating beds.

I got a few makeovers, haircuts and dye jobs, practiced a few different makeover styles, eventually I decided to go as far as to invest in some of those colored contacts (in order to do that I had to shack up with some guy for about a month, asked him to have them sent to his place because I didn't want them going to a hotel, I even let him help pick them out. I think his name was Steve... it could have been Scott though. I got a honey brown color for practicality, and a crimson red pair - because Steve/Scott was a big fan of some ridiculous vampire saga where the vampires had red eyes, it was sort of a fantasy of his, and a condition for my ordering the contacts... freaky little man he was.

At the end I was donning the brown contacts, hair bleached blonde, red tips, cut up into a curled bob style, I was wearing ridiculous heels, red with straps wrapping about my feet, curling about my ankles, this red halter dress that cut off about mid-thigh, fit like a second skin, and yes, I was about to go out with the man who had supplied the diamond necklace that hung about my neck and those matching earrings that danged down, my newest cover boy. We weren't going anyplace fancy really, just his place, I was ready to take a break from the run-down life and stay a night or two with Mr. Warm Body, I stopped off to find some champagne to bring along, resting against the counter while I twisted the bottle about, twirling it around between my fingers while he checked the storage room for a better year than the 1965 I had brought to the front of the store - not a good enough year for a girl like me apparently. I was almost considering just taking the year and leaving the store already, but I wasn't in the mood to run again this fast - and I really didn't want a new makeover, I wasn't looking to go any shorter on hair, and all the dye jobs were starting to get to me, so instead I waited as patiently as I could muster for the return of the man with a new bottle.

The door chimed as another prospective customer came in and I didn't even flinch or glance in the direction of the person who entered, his footsteps were slow and purposeful and when he reached me he let his hand fall to my back, slowly slipping about to rest on my stomach before he tugged be back to press against him a bit, his touch was sensual, and as always my breath got caught in my throat and I closed my eyes and chuckled. "You can't tell me you didn't cheat this time."

"I swear it baby. I gave you your head start and everything, didn't have you followed or nothing. I just know what to look for." His face buried in my hair, his hands clamping on my waist and I just enjoyed that warm breath puffing out on my neck, arching back slowly, my head falling back on his shoulder, still keeping my eyes closed as I set the bottle back down against the counter decidedly and I could just hear that smile that came over his face, feel his gaze travel and then one of his hands moved up to grasp the necklace. "Guessing this isn't a way for you to spoil yourself is it?"

"Mmmm. A gift from the newest in a line of benefactors." I spoke with a slight smirk.

"I see… poor sap. I'm afraid that his investment was wasted."

I shrugged my shoulders at his words. "It's cubic zirconium anyways. It's not like he's out too much." I felt his hands turning me about and I finally allowed my eyes to slip open, arms slowly moving up to wrap about the back of his neck, leaning up on my toes to press a soft kiss up against his lips, and then I had to pull back, because soft kisses weren't our thing, it couldn't be, the both of us had tried love, had love, and we knew it wouldn't work. Who would risk something like that again when you found something that actually worked? So I had to chuckle, moving into him a bit more, and playing up the sensual angle again. "You better be staying someplace nice, if you expect me to spend my night with you instead."

"Who said anything about spending the night? Maybe this time I'm actually here to take you in, turn you in to the feds and get you locked up like the criminal you are Austen."

I rolled my eyes at him and shifted to lift myself up onto the counter, drawing him close by wrapping my legs about his waist and closing them more, urging him towards myself while my arms slipped about his neck. "Never happen Ford." I moved one of my hands up to tangle in his hair, absently thinking that he needed another cut, toying with the idea of doing it myself, but that would involve hanging out with him a lot longer out of bed than usual, and that wasn't our style either. One night together, then I skip town and hide again and wait until him and his bountiful contacts locate me again and bring him right back to my bed. It was the way that things worked, it kept me sane and in contact with someone, and it gave him that edge of danger that he was constantly seeking out. Once again I had to cut off thoughts and leaned forward to catch his lips, my hand balling into a fist as I clung to his hair and held him there in a full out kiss, lips parting and groaning out for him to give more, and he obliged easily enough, exploring my mouth, hands at my back, holding me painfully tight as if he were going to keep me from escape this way - not that I'd ever run before a release with him, but still, it's nice to remember that someone wants you around. It was nice to feel needed, even if it was only for a few hours.

I don't have a memory of how we got from Point A to Point B. Half the time I feel like we just willed ourselves from one place to the next. The counter disappeared and then I was tangled in the overabundance of comforters at the Hilton, losing my own soul over and over again with a man that dedicated those moments to reminding me that I was alive. Some of the last moments of his life.

I don't remember falling asleep - but I remember waking up, feeling completely rested and content, because that was the way it always happened. The only place Jack's kisses and Jack's touches couldn't follow me was into Sawyer's bed. It was the kind of thing that made you want to burrow a place there by his side and never leave, but that puts you at risk of getting someone else's kisses and touches too much, starting to need them too. If there was one thing I was always certain of, it was that I couldn't afford to need James Ford. So that's why I did it, every time we fell into bed together, I woke up, disentangled myself from the sheets and his arms, and took a shower. I'd dress and then we'd set the ground rules, sometimes he could start off looking from here, sometimes he had to go back to LA and then start all over again. It was a sort of way to show how easily I could be tracked down, mostly it was a game for us, two broken souls just looking for distraction.

When I came out of the shower, toweling off and searching for my shirt, he was sitting up in bed, watching the bathroom door with that look on his face and I had to groan softly, shaking my head at him. "No, Sawyer. Not now… not this time. Please…"

"I didn't say anything Freckles." He raised his hands up, but that disappointment was clear on his face as he reached down to the ground to grab his pants to slip them on.

"It's just not a good idea." I dropped the towel before pulling my shirt on over my head, turning back to face him and tilted my head to the side. "I like the way things are right now. Isn't that enough?" He didn't say anything and I reached back to pull the ends of my soaked hair from where it was tucked into the back of my shirt, grabbing the towel to dab at my hair. "You can't run with me Ford, you got a little girl to take care of."

"When I see her." He shot me a look as I hit the sore spot, getting up to search the room for his own shirt. "'Sides Freckles, girl's got a Ma that she loves, takes real good care 'a her. They got along fine without me before, ain't like I'm gonna take the money I gave 'um to live offa."

"Don't-"

"Who's taking care of you?" He ignored me and kept making his point, looking up to me and raising an eyebrow. We both just kind of let that sit in the air, silently looking at each other and that time I almost cave in. I almost crawled into that bed again and asked him to take care of me. Almost.

"It wouldn't be you." My voice cracked as I struggled to find it again, struggled to force out those words. "If I wanted to be taken care of- if I let someone… it would never be you." I kept my eyes on his, not letting myself look away, I couldn't back down, I needed more time away from him to clear my head and heart of anything I was starting to try to build up with him.

He didn't back down from that gaze though, just looked disappointed in my answer and moved to pull the door of the hotel room open, tilting his head to the side with a heavy sigh. "It always has been." His voice was simple, just stating a fact. It wasn't an argument though, an invitation to stay - it was his final punch, his goodbye. My heart was in my throat as I shook my head, but I couldn't get anything else out. I moved to start to leave again, but he caught my arm and I let him pull me to a stop, still silent. "Clem's birthday's next week. Gonna go home and be a Daddy… I'll start looking again by the weekend."

I cleared my throat and took a deep breath. "I'll be running again before the day's out." It was our agreement for things to be the same as they had been, for now. Change was in the air, a big change. Either he would win, or we both would lose, and I had no hope for the former, I couldn't hope for it. All I could do was nod to him and dig in my pocket to pull out the small box and offer it to him with a sad smile. "Tell Clem Aunt Kate misses her." I made sure my hand didn't touch his as I dropped the box into his hand, watching the way he opened it to look at the locket I'd bought for his daughter for her birthday. I waited for his nod before I nodded back and turned to leave him there once again. Always leaving.

I made my way to the kid's house, snapping the cubic zirconium back into place and busying myself with that task of another guy to wash out the Sawyer from my system. I moved up to the doorway of his large house and found the door slightly ajar, figuring one of his cleaning ladies had forgotten to close it. I had to stop and think for a minute to remind myself of the kid's name. (It's not something I'm proud of). "Allen?" I grasped the banister and tried to peer upstairs as I called out to him.

That was when I heard the crash.

Hope you enjoyed it! Please R'n'R!