Chapter 2

"Getting a Nose Job"

I don't know how long I was out. No one had bothered to wake me. But it was dusk when I recovered.

"Hey, you're not dead," someone I didn't know told me in a thick southern accent. "Too bad, I wanted a run through your pockets." The man was blonde, and the smile on his face was far from pleasant. He took a drag from his cigarette as he talked.

Being too weak for a snappy comeback, I simply rolled over and staggered to my feet. The blood on my nose had dried, but dull pain still hammered in my head.

The other man sauntered away, blowing puffs of smoke as went. Other crash survivors were just standing around with forlorn looks on their faces, clearly not sure what to do. Claire was among them, standing in the surf, looking out into the sea as she rubbed her stomach protectively.

A couple of bonfires were going, lighting the dusk and giving off big clouds of smoke. I figured that someone here was trying to signal for help. Based on our current status it didn't seem to be working.

Doing nothing is something I can't stand, so I figured I'd make myself useful. I intended to look for my luggage later. Since nobody seemed to be doing that now, I figured that I wouldn't either.

An Arab man and another shorter man in a hoodie were hurling logs onto one of the fires. I headed over there, figuring they might want a hand. The shorter guy had a blond-brown beard on his face, with a mop of blonde hair on his head.

The Arab man saw me first, half turning and nodding at me before throwing another log onto the fire.

"Hey," I addressed him as I headed over, "Need any help?"

The man looked at me. "Don't enjoy standing around?" he asked. His accent was very thick, making some of the words difficult to understand.

"That obvious?" I replied with a half laugh, trying desperately to project a humor I didn't feel.

The Arab smiled, more out of courtesy than out of any sense of amusement. "Indeed. But I would be grateful for the help." He looked at the stack of wood next to the bonfire. It wasn't the most inspiring pile. "As I told Charlie, we need fuel to keep the fire going; otherwise the rescue team won't notice us. So . . ." He nodded in the direction of the jungle. "Could you go get some? Mr. . . ."

"Timm," I replied, offering my hand, "Alec Timm."

"Sayid," he answered, shaking it firmly.

I dashed off after the man in the hoodie, who I assumed was Charlie. Four hands could carry more than two.

I'd lost my watch in the crash, so I had no way of knowing how long I moved wood for. I was thoroughly exhausted by the time we finished. Going hard since that crash with no real time to break had drained me. Sayid picked up on it. "Alright that's enough," he told us. "We can last the night with this." In the light of the fire, he got his first good glimpse of my nose.

"You might want to get that looked at," he told me with the tone of an order rather than a suggestion.

"It's not that bad anymore," I replied without much confidence.

"What about infection? You're caked in sand and mud. We don't know the conditions of this jungle. My advice? See the Doctor as soon as possible."

"Thanks for your concern, Sayid," I replied to the Arab. "I'll take what you've said into consideration."

"You don't want to go out through infection, Alec. I've seen men die that way; it is not a pleasant end." The way he said it really made me believe that he had seen men die of infection. I realized that he knew what he was talking about.

I'd heard as much from various other doctors and soldiers. It didn't seem like the way I wanted to go. So I decided to find Jack and see if he could check me out for infection or splinters in the bone or anything dangerous.

The sun was setting seriously now, the light fading away from the beach rapidly. Despite the dark, and my missing contact, finding my way around wasn't too difficult, something that surprised me.

People had started gathering around the bonfires, trying to keep themselves warm despite the chill in the air. Hurley was handing out objects wrapped in tinfoil to everyone he could find. I couldn't see them very well but I felt it was a safe bet to assume they were plane lunches.

Jack was off on his own, with some brunette woman I didn't recognize. He had a flashlight in his hand as he was looking over a gash on someone's arm. A bag of assorted medical supplies he had no doubt salvaged from the plane sat next to him, ready to be used.

"It's not bad," he told the man, playing the beam of light over the wound. "Just a light cut. Your veins and arteries are all good. I'm going to clean the wound a bit, bandage it up. You'll be fine."

The man didn't reply, simply nodding. He looked a little pale, but that was to be expected from all the excitement. Jack poured some alcohol from a small bottle over the gash in the man's arm and then bandaged it up with some white stripping I recognized from his dress shirt.

Jack slapped the man on the shoulder, smiled and nodded his head, giving the man a clean bill of health. The man went away, scratching his arm a bit, but looking otherwise fine.

Jack saw me standing patiently and waved me over. "Alright, what's your problem? I haven't got much to work with, but I'll see what I can do."

Jack looked decent considering the trial we'd been through. He was scruffy from not shaving and a bit battered, but better than most. I almost didn't want to think about how much better he looked than the ones who weren't breathing.

"I've got a broken nose. I think it's fine, but Sayid told me I should get it checked out."

"Hmm, broken nose, eh," Jack mused, shining his light over the crumbled mess that used to jut out straight. He had a pair of tweezers that he used to prod the bone. It wasn't comfortable. "Thanks for your help on the beach today," Jack told me as he worked. "I couldn't be everywhere at once, but people like you are the reason we're still alive."

I don't handle praise well. "Thanks . . . I guess . . . I just . . ." This was really awkward. "I try to do my bit to help out."

"Glad to hear it," Jack murmured, taking another prod at my nose. Another tinge of pain racked my body. "Well, that man trapped under the wheel owes you. So does the pregnant woman. If you and the big guy hadn't pitched in . . ." He shook his head. "I doubt she'd have made it."

"You're Jack, right?" I asked him, trying to change the subject. I didn't want to think about other people dying, not after so many had already done so.

He nodded. "You? You got a name?" he asked me, putting the tweezers down.

"Alec Timm." I replied, not yet understanding why he had put the tweezers down.

"And where do you live?" he asked me in that same soothing voice he'd used on Claire. It made me a bit nervous.

"Ontario, Canada. Why?"

"No reason," Jack replied. Then he smacked the shattered bone in my nose with the palm of his hand. I hissed in pain as it slid back into place with a squish.

"The bone's broken. I'll clean it and splint it. You'll be fine." That soothing voice was a bit infuriating, considering just how much I was hurting. Pain was better than being dead, though.

I couldn't reply through the pain; I just grunted at him. A pair of toothpicks and some of the shirt went over my nose after Jack poured some of the alcohol on it. It smarted. The makeshift cast was taped down with some packing tape, and, like the other man, Jack patted me on the shoulder. Well, until he noticed me squinting.

"You okay?" he asked. "In the eyes, I mean. You're squinting."

Feeling a bit abashed, I rubbed a hand through my hair. "Yeah. I, uh, lost a contact lens during the crash. I've got a pair of glasses in my suitcase. Haven't gotten a chance to look for it yet, though. I'll be fine for now with one."

"Don't worry; we're going to look for stuff in the fuselage tomorrow. Assuming we haven't been rescued by then." He added that last bit with a smile I was sure he didn't feel. I'm a pretty good judge of people, and Jack didn't seem to have placed much faith in a rescue. Truth be told, I didn't either.

I nodded and thanked him for his help, then proceeded back to the others. Hurley was about done handing out lunches. He waved me over. "Hey, dude, figured you'd be hungry." He handed me one of the tinfoil wrapped meals, as well as a plastic fork and knife.

"Thanks, mate," I replied, tearing the plastic wrapping off of the cutlery. "I'm starving! Any idea what it is?"

The heavy-set man shrugged. "No clue. It's airline food, though, so I doubt its any good."

I chuckled a bit. "Not a bad assessment. Thanks again." I looked over the beach, "Everyone got one?"

"Yeah," he replied, looking over at the people, "Except him." Hurley pointed a finger at the Southern man who'd told me he'd wanted to rummage through my pockets. He sat on his own, smoking his cigarette, with a pile of the lunches next to him. It was about enough to feed him three meals for three days.

"Jack-hole beat me to one of the carts. Been hogging all of them for himself. I asked him if he was going to share. Guess what his answer was?" Hurley asked me pointedly.

"Judging by the stack of food next to him, I'd guess he wasn't feeling generous," I replied with a slight tinge of humor in my tone.

"Got that right," Hurley snorted before trudging off in Sayid and Charlie's direction. "Take care, dude," he told me from over his shoulder as he departed.

I waved after him. "You too, man." I looked around for a good place to sit and enjoy this . . . pasta dish, I think. It was kind of a potato salad type mush. Not that my grumbling stomach minded eating it at this point.

Most suitable areas were already occupied. Besides that, most people were already sitting with someone.

Claire, on the other hand, was sitting by herself, on a metal pipe, eating the mush alone. She looked rather lonely. I decided I was going to sit with her. I tried to convince myself it was because the pipe was the only open spot; it was a lie I didn't believe, but I mustered up some courage and went over to her anyway.

When she saw me approaching she gave me a dazzling smile and a wave. I suddenly felt very warm despite the cool air.

"Is this seat taken?" I asked jauntily, trying to sound suave, and failing miserably.

"No, you can sit here if you want," Claire told me, her accent punctuating the words in a way I found very exotic and interesting. "I've noticed most of the other spots are already occupied."

I sat down gingerly on the pipe next to Claire, keeping a few inches between us. Without much enthusiasm, I jabbed my fork into the salad-type mush. After taking a bite, I found that it was the best salad-type mush I'd ever eaten. The first bite was soon followed by another, and another came after that one.

We ate in silence for a while before I spoke. "How are you feeling Claire? Any more baby problems?"

She shook her head. "No, I'm fine, they've stopped." She looked at me seriously. "Thank you so much for your help today. I've already told Hurley, but I felt that you should also hear it. I'm so grateful that you noticed and helped me."

"Well," I said. Hoping the darkness would hide my blushing, "My parents always told me I had White Knight Syndrome."

Claire chuckled at that. "I'm no damsel," she said, smiling.

"But you were in distress," I pointed out, grinning back.

"There is that," she replied.
We sat in another period of silence. "Was he on the plane?" I asked her out of the blue.

"Who?" she asked, raising a blonde eyebrow, mouth half full of food.

"Your husband," I responded, nodding toward her belly.

"I'm single, actually," she responded, a little embarrassed. She rubbed her enlarged stomach instinctively. "How modern of me."

I felt a strange combination of relief and hope. "It's alright, I was just curious."
"I know, I get it a lot," she paused staring into one of the fires. "Most people aren't as kind about it as you and Hurley."

"We're all in this together," I told her, meaning every syllable.

"Until we're rescued," Claire replied, a sparkling smile in her eyes.

I wasn't cruel enough to let her in on my suspicions. I got the impression that we'd be here a long time.

Sleeping was an interesting predicament. No one had any beds or anywhere particularly comfortable to sleep, so we ransacked the surviving suitcases. Towels and blankets were in abundance and everyone sort of made makeshift beds for themselves.

I found a suitcase belonging to some overweight, middle-aged guy with a horrific taste in colors and floral arrangements on clothing. His balled up Hawaiian style t-shirt made a decent pillow. After crumpling it up, I placed it against the pipe that I'd been eating on earlier with Claire. Sure, most people weren't sleeping just yet, but I was tired. I glanced around at the others. Jack was over by the fire talking with the brunette woman, Sayid and Charlie were sitting on a log by a different bonfire. Charlie was writing on his canvas wrapped knuckles with a marker.

I'd found a Bolero in the man's suitcase. It looked cool, so I put it on and tilted it over my eyes to shut out some of the light. I shifted a bit, trying to get as comfortable as possible before closing my eyes.

Then the weird stuff happened.

I heard this loud groaning, growling noise. Quickly I snatched the Bolero off of my face and stood up, glancing towards the jungle where the noise had originated. People were dashing over and soon there was a crowd.

"That was weird, right?"

"What was that?"

"Was that Vincent?"

I didn't know who any of those voices belonged too, but they all hushed up when it happened. A pair of huge palm trees in the jungle began falling as if something had knocked them over.

Claire was standing in front of me, gazing wide-eyed at the forest.

"Did anyone else just see that?" she asked, looking back at Hurley and me.

I just nodded a blank look of terror on my face. Hurley managed to get out, "Yeah."

Everyone was gathered before our camp in a line looking into the jungle. The growling increased and a whole row of the trees collapsed as if the beast was thrashing around.

We just stood, staring as the trees fell. No one spoke. I was close enough to Charlie that I managed to hear him speak. "Terrific," he said.

Needless to say, I didn't sleep too well that night.

I woke up twice in the middle of the night, forgetting where I was. The jungle was dark and ominous, not a pleasant sight later in the evening on a strange island. When I finally woke the next morning, I had shifted in the night and had a branch sticking into my rib cage. The sand had leaked into my ears and something, probably a rock, had scratched me during the night. At least I hadn't been eaten by the monster. Small comforts.

The morning sun was warm, providing a mild comfort. I hadn't had the foresight to pack anything with sleeves. I had been in Australia. My T-shirt left my limbs almost numb from the chilly night air. People were in various states of activity, mostly eating, so I decided to do the same.

Those who were eating had supplies left over from the plane. A quick search of the wreckage-covered beach yielded me a battered, yet still full can of Pepsi and two bags of salted peanuts. I've had better and worse breakfasts over the course of my life; this one was more worse than better. The blonde southern man, I noticed, was eating another packet of the mush meal and washing it down with something that looked remarkably like a bottle of whisky.

Probably found the alcohol cart.

Finishing the Pepsi, I crumbled the can and pitched it without much concern. There was so much garbage on the beach, I doubted a little more would hurt. I shot a glace out to sea for any signs of a rescue. There where none, not that I expected any. Since I figured that I'd be here at least another day, I decided to see if I could find Hurley, maybe strike up a conversation with him. I didn't really know anyone else. Well, Claire, but I couldn't see her anywhere. She was probably still sleeping.

A group of people huddled near where I was. Charlie and Sayid were among them, so I figured I'd get to know some of the other people. A quick glance over my shoulder showed me that Jack was again talking to the brunette woman, alone. She seemed to have fallen into the faithful-friend-slash-advisor type of role. She seemed nice enough. Hot, too, if I was honest with myself.

Sayid and Charlie were in the ring with a black man and his son, plus that lifeguard-type guy I saw doing CPR and some blonde woman about the same age as him. I wasn't sure what they were talking about but they didn't seem to mind me coming over.

"Sayid," I said by a simple way of greeting.

"Alec," the Arab replied, looking up as I approached, "Come sit with us."

"Now that you're done poking around at the trash on the beach," the blonde woman sniffed at me, nose tilted slightly.

"He's the smart one, Shannon," the lifeguard replied, "at least he's eating something."

"Yeah, peanuts," the blonde scoffed. "I'll eat on the rescue boat, Boone."

"If there's a rescue boat," Charlie muttered under his breath.

"We have a black box in the plane," Shannon told him matter-of-factly as if talking to a small child. "The rescue team's going to find us."

"Shouldn't they have been here by now, though?" I asked innocently enough.

Shannon sent daggers at me with her eyes. "Listen, Canada-boy," she smoldered, "They'll be here, okay? Might be a storm or something. But they're coming."

Not wanting to argue the point, I simply nodded and grunted an affirmative noise.

"What about the crash, then?" Sayid asked, trying to change the subject and deflect the brewing tension between Shannon and myself. "Did anyone notice anything during it?"

"The plane fell apart," Shannon muttered.

"Real helpful," Boone replied in an even tone that sounded genuine to me.

"We lost both the cockpit and the tail," the black man stated, "and we survived. The odds of that are so minimal it's negligible. What caused it? That's what I want to know."

"Felt like turbulence to me," I replied. "The whole plane just started shaking and then, BOOM!" I clapped my hands to emphasize the point.

"I can second that," Charlie replied, his English accent putting an interesting slur to the words. " I was in the loo when it happened." He gave an embarrassed smirk. "Not a pleasant place to be at that time."

"It was something very strange, and we're fortunate to be alive," Sayid added to the conversation.

"Well it wasn't natural, that's for sure," the black guy responded, dropping a hand instinctively on his son's shoulder.

There was a pause in the conversation as no one had anything left to say, so Charlie spoke up. "Does anyone have any sunblock?"

I fought down the urge to laugh out loud. It was such a ridiculously random thing to say. Mind you, the sun was beating down, and maybe Charlie burnt easily.

There's something familiar about that guy. He sounds so familiar.

I couldn't place my finger on just what it was and it was bugging the heck out of me. I knew Charlie from somewhere. I just couldn't place it.

Of course, Shannon had sunblock. "I've got some," she told him, offering the bottle. It was then that Hurley decided to make his presence known.

The heavy-set man came walking over, from the direction of the plane crash, shielding his eyes from the sun's rays with his hand. "I was just checking out the fuselage," he told us solemnly as he knelt in the circle. "Its pretty grim in there. Do you think we should do something about the . . ." He looked at the black man's son and decided not to say it. "B-O-D-Y-S."

Everyone had a perplexed look on their face, myself included. I could hear Charlie muttering the letters, puzzling them out.

"What're you trying to spell, man?" the black guy asked, "Bodies?"

"B-O-D-I-E-S," the little kid told us without looking up from the image he was drawing in the dirt.

"That sounds like a good idea," Sayid stated without much emotion.

"No," Shannon blurted out, sounding very much like someone in denial. "They'll deal with it when they get here!"

I was about to tell her that I doubted very much that "they" were coming. But before I could, Jack decided to join in the conversation.

"We're going to go look for the cockpit," he told us, kneeling inside the circle, "see if we can find a transceiver. Help the rescue team." He looked at Boone and then at me for some reason, as if leaving us in charge. "You're going to need to look after the wounded." Then he looked more to the circle in general. "If the guy in the suit wakes up, try to keep him calm, but don't let him remove that piece of shrapnel, understand?"

"Sure. I know a bit about that sort of thing. He'd bleed out if we removed it, right?"

Jack nodded at me. "I'll see what I can do for him when I come back, but I don't want him bleeding out while I'm gone."

I nodded once more, to let Jack know I was on top of it.

"Alright, cool," Boone replied. "Hey, what about the guy with the leg? The tourniquet guy?" he asked Jack, sounding concerned.

"I stopped the bleeding last night. He should be okay," Jack replied.

"Cool, good job," Boone told him, sounding sincere about the comment.

"Hey, I'll come with," Charlie stated, standing. "I want to help."

"No, I don't need anymore help," Jack replied waving his hand at the Brit.

"No, its cool, I really don't feel like standing still." Charlie argued. Jack shrugged in surrender as the pair walked off with the brunette woman. I could just make out the sound of Charlie's, "excellent," as they departed.

I looked over at Boone. "Well, shall we take a look? No time like the present?" I asked him, wanting to get it out of the way.

"Not a bad idea," Boone replied, rising from his seat.

I stood as well. With a nod to the others, we began to search the beach for the wounded, like Jack had asked.