Title: Hot Child

Author: Lazuli

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: Lost is owned by that glorious bastard, J.J. Abrams. Love you, sugarplum.

Summary: A mercilessly hot day on the island inspires Shannon Rutherford to "take a day off". Swims, laziness, and hanging around the men of the island seem like a perfect way to pass the time. More importantly, she wants to know why Sayid has been avoiding her…

Chapter Three

"….In his Mind"

-1 week earlier-

Vicious, he thought, the word shaping up like spikes in his head. It's torture, and it's wrong, and I hate it. It went against everything he thought he knew, everything he thought was right in the world. But he could not look away, did not dare move his eyes, for fear that he would be distracted, turn away for the briefest second, turn back….and the moment would be gone. Impossible to recover in the physical sense. Impossible to forget in the mental.

He didn't mean to stumble upon her taking a bath. It had truly been an accident. He had been wandering throughout the jungle, frustrated and bored, hacking away at the trees, trying to think of something, ANYTHING, that could help them get off the island. Every possible idea had been exhausted, plans drawn up in the early hours of the morning, when the sun had just started to peek over the never-ending horizon of water, only to be ripped up minutes later. Sometimes he would grind his teeth; sometimes he would punch the sand. Most of the times, he felt like a huge sob was in the back of his throat, clawing to make it's way out. It was that feeling which was the worst, and often was the cause for him to abruptly stand and try to walk that sense of utter hopelessness off. Which led him to the jungle. Which led him to the waterfall. Which led him to her.

It amazed him how fast his emotions could change. What was once a cold and black pit of despair had been filled suddenly by a rush of heat and attraction. That feeling that twisted your innards with a death grip, causing the entirety of your body to become dizzy and unbalanced. And when it was brought on by a person, it changed into something dark, something hungry.

He had heard humming and splashing up ahead, and slowed down his steps, instantly falling back on his soldier training. Days in the Guard had taught him to be silent and swift, like a wolf stalking its prey. So he had instinctively crouched down while he walked, hiding himself in the tall grasses that surrounded the pool. He could see the top half of the cascading water, practically picturesque in its pure and untouched form. If the situation hadn't been so damn serious, he would have wished for a camera, to preserve that beauty forever. The sound of humming turned into singing, and he inched forward, until he was on the edge of the pool, hidden in the bushes. Pushing aside a few branches, he strained his eyes to make out the source of the sounds. What he saw took his breath away.

She was completely naked, her back to him, the lower half of her body completely submerged in the pool. The water made her hair shine and ripple as she swung it around her head. Soapy suds formed a protective circle around her, her hair and back dripping with frothy white bubbles from the scented shampoo she applied. He inhaled the scent. Citrus. It smelled like fresh oranges. An odd choice, he would have expected a more feminine one. Lavender, perhaps or rosemary. Not bright and bubbly oranges. She worked in the shampoo, though, still humming, her fingers massaging her scalp, shoulders tensed up as she continuously rubbed. He would have given anything to see her face in that moment. Unfortunately, she still had her back to him, which gave both a sense of relief and disappointment. He didn't think he could handle it if he saw her in her full glory. Not yet, anyways.

He drew in a breath which caught in his chest as she suddenly dipped below the water for a few seconds, frantically washing the soap out of her hair. She burst back up, breaking the surface like a mermaid, gasping for air and rubbing water from her face. Only this time, she was facing him.

A voice in his mind screamed, turn around and walk away. Leave before it gets too late. Yet he was rooted to the spot, helpless to move, eyes locked onto the beauty of the woman before him. She was so slick, so fresh and young. Suddenly, the idea of oranges made sense. It appealed to him, and seemed a right choice for her. Juicy and sweet, waiting to be bitten into. She was the orange.

"I want you," he caught himself whispering in a bated, pleading tone, "I want you. I want you." She couldn't hear him of course, rinsing off the rest of the suds in her body, never stopping her humming. Her eyes were half-closed, still with the glaze of sleep upon them. He didn't recognize the tune, but already knew that the melody would be forever burned into his brain, a never-ending soundtrack that played in the back of his head. This moment, this small space in time, was completely screwing up his head. Already, he felt that familiar feeling in his lower body, that sense of want and utter animalistic hunger. It had been awhile since he had been with a woman, and the close quarters with this lithe, blonde beauty was a constant reminder of yet another thing the island had denied him. He was hot, hungry, and horny as hell, and crouching down, watching a gorgeous woman splash around naked in a pool like a pathetic Peeping Tom was doing nothing for their problems. Wonderful. He was turning into Sawyer. He had forsaken his honor and respect for woman to become something he hated.

As she reached over to a nearby rock and picked up a bar of soap, he felt his stomach drop a thousand fathoms deep, and knew he couldn't stand to watch her rub it over her body. Closing his eyes, he drew in several fast breaths through his nose, and backed away through the brush, as silent as he came, though definitely not as steady. As he retreated farther and farther away, he rose to his feet and began to stride at a swift pace towards the safety of his makeshift shelter, stripping off his shirt and unbuckling his pants. The next few hours were not going to be fun.

Waking up later in the day, he rubbed the traces of sleep out of his eyes and stretched. He hadn't meant to fall asleep after…everything. It was just that the despair, so suddenly cast out of existence by one young woman, had finally caught up with him. All those sleepless nights had culminated in one epic moment, and he found himself exhausted and gratefully accepting the over-encompassing loveliness of rest. Not to say, however, that his dreams were passive. On the contrary, he dreamed of her, of her body. Of her face, or her voice, humming quietly, laughing softly, and then screaming his name. They all ended the same, in that burst of passion that made them soar heavenwards. It had been such a welcome distraction from the futility of their situation that he had greedily accepted each dream as they came.

Voices swirled in the faraway distance. Being a loner, it was only natural that his tent was set a little ways off from the others. Jack, of course, disapproved, but he knew better. A soldier always guards the perimeter.

Pulling on his pants, he wearily stumbled out of the tent, kicking his blanket back inside. He trotted down to the edge of the ocean, stopped at the edge, then cupped water in his hand and slapped it on his face, achieving a sense of awakening. Leaning over, he cupped more water and poured it over the back of his neck, flinching as the cold liquid seeped down his bare back and chest, stimulating his still sluggish nerves. It seemed like a good idea, her taking a bath. The cold water felt like Heaven on his body, and he submerged his hair, scrubbing as he had seen her done, until he reared back and felt the wet curls slap his body. He leaned over one more time, reaching for more water, when out of nowhere, he felt something splash against his back, and an infectious giggle that followed immediately after. Well, of course. Because irony didn't need to kick him in the throat enough these days.

Rising up, the water pouring down his body, he slowly turned around to face her, pasting a grin on his face. She was dressed in a pink tank top and a short denim skirt, and stood holding a cup which contents had been displaced onto his back, and she was smiling.

She giggled again, "Sorry, too tempting," He only shook his head.

"And if I were to do the same to you?" was his only response, raising a mocking eyebrow. He received that trademark withering look almost instantly. Of course. No one dicks around with the Princess and lives to tell about it.

"I'd love to see you try," she teased, flouncing a few feet away from him, then stopping.

"I'm bored," she said, her eyes squinting against the harsh sunlight, "Boone went off to play hunter again. Maybe if we're lucky, he'll bring back a dead mouse or something."

"Your faith in your brother's tracking abilities astounds me," he responded dryly. She fell into step with him as he walked towards his tent, in a more upbeat skip than his.

She brushed bits of sand from her skirt, "It's all he ever does these days, besides screwing up watches and finding every opportunity on Earth to insult me." They stopped at his tent, and he dropped to his knees to rummage through a bag in order to find a shirt. While he focused on his task of finding something suitable, he missed the way her eyes began appreciatively roaming over his bare chest, painfully aware of the lack of clothing.

"Did you just wake up," she asked him. Finding a shirt, he shrugged it on, not looking at her, and nodded. She fidgeted for a moment.

"I was thinking of going to the caves to get some more water," she continued, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, "You feel like coming? I hate walking there by myself." He met her eyes. A vision of bare bronzed skin dripping with water flashed into his mind, and his stomach contracted slightly. It was sad, and it was wretched, but he couldn't ignore the back of his mind which practically screamed, I saw you naked!

He realized she still stood before him, her clear eyes looking into his expectedly, almost nervously. For the first time since he had made her acquaintance, he realized how young she actually was. Hurley had said she was in her early twenties, just emerging from the awkward shell of the teenage years. Something told him, however, that her being a teenager was anything but awkward. He felt like a dirty old man, but he couldn't stop absorbing in that beautiful, petulant, face.

"I'm sorry," he found himself stammering out, suddenly eager to escape from her enthralling presence, "I have work to do." Her eyes lit up.

"Anything I can help you with?" She burst out, then immediately blushed after realizing how desperate that tone made her sound. He shook his head no.

"It's complicated, Shannon," he said, slightly biting the inside of his cheek. Don't leave, that persistent shout again, Don't leave me. She played with the end of her ponytail, clearly disappointed.

"No problem," that bitter tone he hated so much was back, "I'm just gonna go ask Sawyer then." An attempt to make him jealous. He saw right through it. "I guess I'll see you later, Sayid." More of a statement than a question.

Shannon turned around and slowly made her way back to the main camp, stopping briefly at Sawyer's tent to nag him about escorting her to the caves. Sayid watched bitterly as the charming Southern man lazily climbed to his feet and walked away with her, saying something which caused her to shriek and smack him on the arm. He was furious at himself for thinking that he'd be above her childish little game. It was clear to him that avoidance would be the key. By staying away, hecould focus more on what had to be done to get him off this island, away from the people, away from the polar bears, and more importantly away from her. Because being around her wasn't just painful.

It was intoxicating.

Author's Notes: So endeth Chapter Three. How'd you all like, "Homecoming"? Of the good? Of the bad? I'd give my opinion, except due to technical problems….I didn't see it. OR "Alias", either. WAAAAAAAAH And I even heard there was a nice little Shayid moment at the end. DAMMIT. Pissed to all hell. Must refrain from throwing VCR out of window for denying me my weekly fix of Lost/Alias. Lost was harder to bear, because or Claire coming back and the aforementioned moment. Alias was a little easier because frankly, until my boyfriend Mr. Sark comes back, I'm really not that interested. Oh God. Lost/Alias crossover. Sark and Sawyer, vying for my attentions. Two blonde, accented, bad boys. I don't think my libido could take it.

Read/Review! Tell me you love me! Feel bad for me! Wail with me on the episode missage!