Chapter 10

"A Trio of Fishermen"

Claire came back to me a while later, a queer sort of look on her face. I'd just about emptied the plane's remains but this point. I was taking the last couple bags out.

"So," I asked her, dropping another set of bags in the rapidly growing pile we were assembling, "what did Jack say?"

"Funerals aren't his thing," Claire told me, sitting down in the sand. "He sounded very upset when I mentioned the idea of him leading it."

"So I guess our good doctor isn't going to be running the memorial," I answered as I took a seat next to her.

"No, he's not," she responded, turning to face me. Her hair bounced a bit as she did so. It was very cute. I was glad to see that the scar on her chin had just about healed.

My stomach grumbled a bit, but I tired to ignore it. Either Locke, Michael and Kate would come back with food, or they wouldn't. It was that simple.

"He suggested that maybe . . . I do it?" she half-told me/half-asked me, tilting her head. She sounded almost embarrassed by the concept of her leading the memorial.

It actually made sense to me. "I think you'd be good," I told her simply, my tone neutral.

"Why?" she asked me. "What makes me qualified? I don't know the first thing about funerals." She seemed upset.

"Because you're the most compassionate person I've ever met," I told her simply, "You're kind and gentle and intelligent. You'd be perfect."

As soon as that all tumbled out of my mouth I realized what a love-struck idiot I sounded like.

Claire nodded appreciatively, "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Alec," she returned, "it was sweet." She stood up, not noticing me blush. "I better get to work, finding passports and whatnot. Might as well make sure this funeral is a decent memorial. See you around." She smiled at me and headed off on her own, no doubt to sort through the piles of personal documents and papers.

I stared after her as she walked away, hair blowing in the wind, a spring in her step despite the baby.

Wow.

"Hey, mate, admiring the view?" A British voice cut into my daydreaming.

I spun around rapidly, falling down in the sand as I tried. My eyes gazed up to look into the face of one Charlie Pace, grinning like an idiot.

"She's nice, isn't she?" he asked me, his smile taking up his entire face.

"No! Yes! Well, that's not important!" I babbled out, realizing just how stupid I sounded as I said it

"No? Yes? Made up your mind?" Charlie pressed me, no doubt enjoying himself.

"Yes, she's a nice person," I admitted, "and pretty."

"You're too easy to tease," Charlie joked, slapping me in the back. "I was wondering if you could help me with something. Hurley's in on it, too."

"Sure. Why not?"

"Excellent," Charlie headed off towards the beach, a smirk on his face.

"So, what did I just agree to do?" I asked him nonchalantly as we walked along.

"Nothing much, just a little fishing trip, that's all," he answered, handing me something. It was a long branch, almost as tall as me, with a jagged chunk of metal tied to the end.

"I'm using this?" I asked, not quite sure if he was serious.

"Of course! We don't have many fishing rods around here." He paused, as if thinking. "You have gone fishing before, right? "

"Uh, a long time ago, with my grandpa. Long story. My grandparents looked after me a lot. Haven't in years, truth be told."

"It's alright," Charlie continued, undaunted, "between the three of us I'm sure we can get something!"

"What's the fish even for?" I asked him, my curiosity getting the better of me.

"Uh," Charlie looked away, scratching his head, "Shannon."

Oh. Well, I suppose I can help my mate out.

I didn't press him about it. There was nothing to gain.

Hurley was already standing waist deep in the water, jabbing into it with a similar sized spear.

"Any luck yet?" Charlie asked excitedly.

"Dude! I just started five minutes ago! I don't even have bait!" Hurley snapped back.

"Sorry, mate." We joined Hurley, up to our waists in the water. It was crisp, but warmer than I expected.

The fish were dashing around underneath us. Out of curiosity to see how good I'd be, I jabbed my spear into the water. The fish darted away, before I even got close. This was going to be harder than I thought.

Hurley made another quick jab into the ocean, managing to catch nothing.

"I guess you're not much better at this than me," I told Hurley in a bemused tone.

"Dude, I'm pretty good with a pole and bait! This is trying to stab a rapidly moving creature with a sharp stick!"

"Appreciate the help, guys," Charlie told us as Hurley continued to poke at the water, growing more and more irritated with his lack of success.

"Hey, anything that keeps me far away from that fuselage," Hurley stated, eyeing one lazily floating fish eagerly. "And that freakin' redneck jerk!" He stabbed furiously, shouting the last word like a battle-cry. It was hard not to laugh at the fish that kept swimming by undisturbed.

"AUGH!" Hurley screamed in frustration. "Dang it! Crap! Crap! Son of a—!" He smashed his spear into the water furiously with each cry, causing little tidal waves.

"Do you want me to have a go?" Charlie asked, offering his hand to take the spear.

Hurley looked back at him. "Knock yourself out," he stated calmly, handing Charlie the spear.

"Don't poke yourself in the foot now!" I told the Brit with a chuckle, perusing a fish of my own with the point.

"Thanks, mate," Charlie replied sarcastically. I just shook my head.

Charlie took the spear, hunching forward ever so slightly, eyes intently on the same fat fish Hurley had gone after.

Hurley went into some sort of fishing-mentor mode, standing behind Charlie, "Shift your weight like that. Wait for it." Charlie shivered with anticipation but he waited. "Wait for it . . ." Hurley commanded. The fish swam even closer to the Brit's foot. "NOW!" Hurley roared.

Charlie threw his full weight behind the stab, overextended his reach and went underwater with a great splash.

Hurley and I started killing ourselves laughing as Charlie emerged from the water, soaked and sputtering.

"Try pinning it!" I suggested in between laughter.

"No, did you see how close I was?" Charlie asked, rising up again, holding his fingers in such a way to represent the distance. "Hurley said to corner it." Hurley kept laughing, pulling Charlie up with one hand.

The three of us laughed heartily, even after the large wave bowled us over onto our backs.

It was then, lying on my back, water in my ears, gazing at a sky of the purest blue, the sound of laughter ringing in my ears that I had a profound realization. I was happy. My spirit was calm. A peace had descended over me, one I hadn't felt in a long time. These men were my friends, my good and true friends. The feeling quickly passed but it left a strange sense of euphoria. One I'd remember forever.

"Alright, then. That was fun," Charlie murmured, not bothering to rise.

"That fish got the better of us, dude," Hurley mumbled, still on his back.

"We going to try again? Or is our little 'Three Stooges' expedition over?" I asked my friends.

"We should change our names to Larry, Moe and Curley," Charlie said, struggling not to laugh anymore, "We've even got the build! I'm short, you're tall and Hurley's big!"

"Hey!" Hurley cried out indignantly, before he started cackling. I followed and soon we were laughing again.

I wiped little tears of laughter from my eyes, chuckling heavily. "Alright, guys, we've got a fish to defeat."

In the end it took well over an hour to snare a fish. Our jabbing poles proved to be less than effective. We ended up in a tangled mess, pinning the fish with the sheer weight of our bodies. Charlie managed to hang onto the aquatic animal long enough to get it on shore. Hurley managed to catch it as it made another escape attempt. Bashing its head against a stone several times proved to be an effective method of stopping it.

Hurley handed the now limp prize to Charlie. "Here you go man. I hope it was worth it."

"Thanks, guys. Really," Charlie told us, taking the fish and one of the poles. He cocked his face into his best British smile and headed off to find Shannon.

"Dude, I haven't had that much exercise in a long time," Hurley grumbled.

"Me neither," I answered, a bit embarrassed by that. "Dang fish."

Hurley snorted. "Got that right. Man, I hope Locke and the others come back with meat. Stuff I don't have to work for!"

I smiled at him. "Anyways, I should head back and help Claire prepare for the funeral tonight. And pitch in to set up the flammables. For the pyre. And stuff."

"I think I'll keep fishing," Hurley told me, wiping his hand off on his shirt, "I don't like the fuselage."

I shook my friend's hand. "No problem, mate. Don't worry, I won't rat you out."

"Thanks, dude."

I saluted my friend and headed toward the beach. The fuselage was starting to look like cloth and wood, as opposed to its former metal self. Claire was surrounded by a smile pile of papers and booklets. Her blonde hair was pulled back into a pony-tail as she sorted everything into little piles.

My approach wasn't unnoticed by her. "You're wet," she observed casually, her tone completely neutral.

I shrugged eloquently. "I was fishing."
"All this time?" She didn't sound like she bought my story, which ironically enough was true.

"All this time," I echoed, trying to ignore how ridiculous it sounded.

"How much did you catch?" Claire asked, not looking up from her sorting.

"Between Charlie, Hurley and I? One fish."

"Really?"

I nodded sheepishly.

Claire chuckled. "You really are terrible fishermen."

"That we are," I responded. My eyes caught up the piles of documents surrounding her. "So, how are preparations coming along?"

"They're coming," Claire answered honestly. "How well, I don't know. It won't be the best funeral. That's one thing I know."

"Claire, you're going to do great."

She finally looked up at me, her eyes shinning with gratitude. "Thanks, Alec."

"Happy to help," I told her, maintaining my composure and not grinning like an idiot.

I'd do anything to see you smile, to see your eyes twinkle like they do.

"You'll never guess who gave me this," Claire challenged me out of the blue, waving a passport at me.

"Sayid?" I asked her. She shook her head. "Jack?" Again no.

"Sawyer," she stated simply. "He gave me this, said I should use it in the funeral."

"Sawyer?" I asked incredulously. "You mean Mr. Hoarder? He gave you something?" I didn't buy it. It seemed too farfetched.

"Well he did," Claire answered. "Sounded awfully embarrassed about it, though, like he had never given anyone anything in his life."

"He probably hasn't," I stated confidently with a smirk. She smiled at that.

"I'm just about finished with preparations," Claire mused aloud, sounding embarrassed. "Could I ask you a favor?"

"Um, yeah, sure. No problem," I answered, trying desperately not to reveal just how ready I was to do anything she asked.

"When I do the funeral tonight, could you . . ." She paused. "Could you hold the torch and stand next to me? I'd like it if someone I knew were with me. Confidence boost and all that."

"Claire, I'd stand with you all night," I phrased it to sound like I was deliberately exaggerating, but she had no idea just what a true statement that was.

"What?" I asked her as she gazed past my face, looking at something I couldn't see.

"It's the hunting party. They're back. And Michael looks hurt," Claire informed me, holding a hand over her eyes to shield them from the sun.

I took off towards them, Hurley had arrived and was bracing Michael as best as he could. Walt beat me to them, calling out to his father.

Kate stood off on her own; I could see no sign of Locke. I grabbed Michael's other arm and me and Hurley began to walk him back to our little camp.

"So, like, what happened out there?" Hurley asked from Michael's other side.

"Hey, dad!" Walt called out. "Your leg's all messed up! Does it hurt?"

"It's okay, it's not as bad as it looks!" Michael answered cheerfully.

I kept glancing around looking for Locke but there was still no sign of him.

"Michael, where's Locke?" I asked, cutting off Walt's next question.

He's face turned grim. Walt looked up expectantly.

"Locke . . ." Michael paused, "didn't make it."

"What?" I asked, shocked. "What do you mean?"
"He just sorta went off on his own," Michael grunted. "I was out of it at the time, that's what Kate told me. We haven't seen any sign of him since."
I dropped Michael's arm and went after Kate. If Hurley was angry that I left him, he didn't say anything. I guess he could tell how upset I was.

Kate had just wrapped up a conversation with our Arab companion when I approached her. She looked up at me, reading the angry look I must no doubt have plastered on my face. I didn't have time for pleasantries. "Where's Mr. Locke?" I asked her sharply, my tone still even.

"Look, Alec . . ." Kate started.

"Where's Locke!" I roared in her face. I don't know why, but the thought of losing the older man had upset me greatly. The things he'd said to me had struck a cord, whether I wanted it to or not.

"We got separated," Kate started, her eyes sad. "A boar attacked Michael. I told Locke we'd have to go back to camp. He stood up and walked off into the woods on his own, muttering something about 'not telling him what he couldn't do.' "

"And you just let him?" I snapped at her.

"Yeah! Michael was bleeding out and Locke was gone! What was I supposed to do?" she yelled back at me.

"We have to go back for him!" I stated fiercely, running towards the tree line.

"Are you crazy?" Kate yelled, dashing after me. "You'll be torn apart in the woods alone and unarmed."

I didn't care. The thought of anyone alone in those jungles sat in my brain like a needle. I had to help him.

I broke though the tree line, Kate on my heels. I then realized how foolish I was for dashing off into the jungle, unarmed.

Almost instantly I heard a rustling in the jungle and it chilled me to the bone. My lower back tingled in fear and my legs wobbled. I glanced around with rapid jarring movements, trying to get a glance at whatever was making the crashing noises. Kate stood behind me, eyes wide.

"What is it?" she asked me, sounding nervous.

"I don't know," I breathed back as the bush in front of me started rustling. I balled my hands into fists and leaned back on my foot, even though my puny fists would have absolutely no impact on a boar or whatever else was living in this blasted jungle.

My eyes widened as I saw what came out of the bush. A very battered, bloody, but still alive Mr. Locke. He had a blood-stained knife in one hand and he was dragging a dead boar with the other.

"I brought dinner," he stated nonchalantly.

"Locke, you're alive!" I said, my tone joyous.

"I don't intend to die just yet," he replied with a pleasant smile. "Could you give me a hand carrying this thing? It's getting a little heavy."

"How'd you kill that boar?" Kate asked, staring at the corpse in awe.

"With a knife," Locke answered, taking up the boar's front legs with one hand as I struggled with the back two legs, with both hands. This boar may have been only a piglet, but it was heavy.

"By yourself?" she asked in a tone implying that she didn't believe it.

"Yep," was the older man's only reply, a slight smile on his face.

We began to carry the hog back to camp, Locke's blood-stained face beaming with triumph.

"Did you see the monster?" Kate asked suddenly, as she walked beside us.

"What?"

"The monster, did you see it? It was headed right for you."

"No way!" I said. "Whatever that thing was, you beat it!"
Locke chuckled a bit at my enthusiasm. "No, Kate, I didn't see it."

She didn't ask any more questions, but Jack certainly did when we dumped the boar at his feet.

"What's this?" he asked in surprise.

"Supper. Should go nice with some spices. Unfortunately, I haven't had time to go into the jungle and look for any yet, so plain roasted boar meat will have to do for tonight."

"I though you were dead."

Locke just smiled.