Author's Note: I'm aware that walkie-talkies aren't used exactly like telephones, and can't possibly be used over such a long distance, but I'm taking a creative liberty and saying that the ones Sawyer and Miles use are incredibly advanced.

Chapter Eleven: In Which Richard Is Unrestrainedly Happy, and Sawyer Hangs Up On Miles

Richard could tell that Miles was starting to be annoyed by him, but he didn't care. He was off the island! Off!

Nothing could be better, and for the first time in. . . well, hundreds of years, he was excited.

No Jacob, no Man in Black, no stupid leaders, no intruders, no Dharma. No rules, no beach, no danger, no jungle. No horrible off-island excursions, which tantalized him.

Go find more recruits, Richard. No, you can't look at anything, Richard, just do what I say. No you can't have a day off, Richard.

He was partially glad Jacob was gone, not because he hated Jacob, but because, well, as long as Jacob was alive, he was still stuck being the advisor to leaders like Benjamin Linus, Charles Widmore, and Pretend John Locke.

Needless to say, it was a serious job, being defender of the island. He was only ever the rule-following little crony of Jacob's. It was all he'd ever been. . . well, except when he'd been normal. Isabel was unforgettable, but the rest of it was like a dream. Such a long time had passed, he barely knew what he'd been like at all.

Regrets? Some. But not today. Today, he could be whatever he wanted to be.

"Stop smiling for Pete's sake, you look like you're using botox or something." Miles snapped miserably, fiddling with his walkie-talkie.

"What's botox?" Richard asked.

"It clears up wrinkles." Miles told him.

"Oh. I kind want those." Richard said. He was quite sick of looking the same age, after all.

Miles rolled his eyes. "Yes, we all know you're the dermatological wonder. Now please get you and your stupid grin somewhere else, you're driving me crazy."

"Sorry." Richard apologized. "It's just. . . I like smiling."

"Good for you." Miles said.

"Well, if you'd been stuck on an island for 200 years you'd be happy to leave too."

"You got to leave to get recruits and stuff." Miles reminded him. "Juliet told me."

"It's not the same. I left the island physically, but. . . it was always on an errand. I still belonged to Jacob."

"Listen, pal." Miles snarled. "I'm not in the mood to hear your life-story at the moment— I'm trying to get a hold of Jim, cause last I checked he had two days to live, and that was the day before yesterday, and he's not picking up his stupid walkie."

"He's probably out of range." Richard told him calmly.

"Or dead." Miles said.

"Or the walkie is." Richard suggested. "See how it isn't turning on?"

"Isn't turning on? Oh yeah, I guess it needs new batteries—" Miles began sarcastically, looking down at the walkie-talkie. "I actually think you're right. Uh, thanks."

"No problem." Richard replied.

"I'm gonna go grab some batteries." Miles told him.

Richard smiled widely, suddenly flooded with memories of his younger brother, Miguel, who had died long ago. Well, he assumed so, it had been 200 years. He had been cut from the same sarcastic mold as Miles, and Richard found himself missing the brotherly bond they'd had all those years ago. Part of him saddened as he realized how much he'd forgotten about Miguel as time had past. . . he could barely even remember his face. He nearly teared up, sad for a moment, that he hadn't died when he was supposed to. Sad that he had been immortal.

But he could die now, and he really couldn't be happier about it.

Miles shoved the batteries into the walkie, and hurriedly pressed the button.

"Jim?" He said. "If you're there you'd better answer."

"Hey chief." Sawyer's voice said from the walkie-talkie. "What's the matter?"

"Just checking on you." Miles said, sighing in relief.

"I been trying to get a hold of you for hours." Sawyer told him.

"The radio was outta batteries." Miles explained.

"Ah. Well, I've been back from Florida for a while now. Juliet's sister thinks I'm a nutcase, so that mission was a dud." Sawyer replied. "And the second was just as successful."

"You were going to see Clementine, right?" Miles asked.

"Yeah, but they weren't home." Sawyer said. "The neighbor said they wouldn't be back for a couple a days, and that was this morning."

"Well, don't go running around trying to track them, okay?" Miles warned.

"I ain't." Sawyer said weakly. "I've stopped for now. Found a hotel."

"Where is it?"

Sawyer gave him an address hastily, and Miles jotted it down.

"Can you send Kate there?" Sawyer asked. "I need to talk to her about something. But don't you dare mention that dang spider bite."

"Is it bad?"

Sawyer said nothing.

"Jim!"

"It's bad." Sawyer admitted. "I can't hardly see straight, can't hardly walk straight, I feel like I'm gonna throw up, and. . ."

His voice trailed miserably, as though the poison's pain was indescribable.

"You need to go to the hospital!"

"No way. They'll pump me full of drugs to slow the poison down. It won't do nothing, and then I'd spend the rest of my life either loopy or asleep. And I ain't too keen on that idea."

"Or they could possibly give you some pain killer!"

"That's what I just said!" Sawyer snapped. "And I don't want none."

Miles heaved a frustrated sigh. "Listen, you're not Bruce Willis, and life isn't Die Hard. So drop the—"

"Yippi-kay-yay, Miles." Sawyer interrupted jovially.

"You're very funny. Now get some help or something— actually, I'm gonna call 911 for you."

"You do and I'll kill you." Sawyer snapped.

"You couldn't kill time in your state." Miles growled.

There was a fit of violent coughing on the other side of the radio, and Miles tensed.

"I'm gonna come see you, okay?" He said nervously.

"No." Sawyer coughed. "Stay where you are. . . it's gonna make it harder."

"But you wanted Kate to-"

"I need a favor from Kate, and I ain't telling her I'm sick, okay? I'm faking it out." He paused. "I really appreciate everything, Miles. But don't come. I know you don't want to, cause you've probably seen enough people die to last a lifetime."

"I'm coming, Jim." Miles said staunchly.

"Oh no, you ain't. You set one foot in here, I'm calling the police and tellin' em you stole them diamonds." Sawyer replied.

"You wouldn't!"

"I would." Sawyer said. "And I mean it."

"Why are you doing this?" Miles asked furiously.

"You've been my deputy for years, Miles. Closest friend I ever had. And I know how you are, talkin' to dead people in all. You hate to be around anything to do with dyin'. Creeps you out. But you feel obligated to come, and even though I said I didn't want ya too, you'd feel guilty. So I ain't given' you an option. Kapeesh? And I'm gonna hang up now, since I never much liked goodbying and all that. I know you don't much like it either, so I'm takin' the batteries out of my radio. Don't forget to take back the money I borrowed."

And with that, he hung up, leaving Miles slightly irate.