Title: Johnny Survivor

Rating: PG-13 for a curse, drug use and Hubert H. Humphrey.

Disclaimer: I still own nothing. If I did, I would have remembered to say it these past couple of chapters. I'd really like to own all of the Survivors, but I'm too poor. I'll just stick with SJ then.

Summary: We're 3 days and 1 Survivor closer to the end. Epic battles and intense revelations be here. Anyone for a sing-along?

Author's Notes: No Johnny-cide! Woo hoo! There are some amorous overtones of a turtle for a man, but it's nothing that was terribly vague, right? And you can be sure I'll actually take initiative and stop this before it gets too far. I'm prepared this time, you see. Chapter dedicated to the late, great Hunter S. Thompson.


I Will Survive

Last time, on Johnny Survivor…

In the face of adversity, the remaining Survivors on the island were expected to catch creatures. Larger catches garnered more brownie points and some of the spectacular creatures included a tuna named Harold, two sea turtles named Babbette and Sonny, and Sam, the Survivor. Incidentally, the turtle named Sonny as caught by Captain Jack Sparrow was the largest of the group and earned Captain Jack immunity.

Varua- Tribal Council

There was no doubt the game had either gotten to the point of no return or something was amiss in the administration. Whatever it was, everything was trying desperately to be as normal as possible. Heh. Normal. The host was as cordial as ever while the tribe filed into their customary seats. He waited for everyone to situate themselves before speaking.

"Welcome back, Spencer."

"No thanks to you," Spencer smiled coldly.

"I calls 'em as I sees 'em," the host shrugged. "As long as it's in the past."

"Sure. Whatever you say, governor." The smile didn't waver. Several Survivors rolled their eyes at the antics or exchanged tired looks. Spencer got a rest. That really wasn't fair. He had no right to be peppy.

"I hate to ask what happened this last-go-round, but I've got to. Mort, does that happen often?"

"I'm going to assume you mean Shooter."

"Sure, if that's his name."

Mort wanted to say something along the lines of 'Shucks, Pilgrim, don't ye like me?' Then he thought twice about all the problems that would cause. It didn't seem to be worth it. So he said, "No. Not usually. I think it's just because he's taken a liking to Bon-bon."

"So hopefully no more of that in the future, right?"

Sands said nothing, much to Mort's relief. He could feel the stares boring into his back. He wouldn't have recovered from the caustic tongue of the agent, no matter how mild the jibe. Things were too unsteady upstairs.

"Hopefully," Mort shrugged.

"That's very reassuring. Bon-bon, any comment?"

Oh no, Mort thought.

"Comment? About the fact that there is a potential killer on this island who wants to ravish me and treat me like the girl I am? Well, I'm of two opinions, since you asked. One, less maiming. Two, no coddling." She ticked them both off on her fingers.

"No coddling? I don't know; you strike me as the type of person-…"

Bon-bon glared at the host who raised his hands in a non-threatening gesture. There was a period of silence where the central bonfire popped uncomfortably.

"No coddling," Bon-bon repeated.

"Fair enough," the host answered quietly. It clearly wasn't his place to exert authority. "Anybody else have anything to say about the past three days?"

"Is Easter Island inhabited by spiteful moai demons?" Sands piped up.

"Excuse me?"

"You're excused, but is this placed overrun with evil moai gods that run everything from the challenges, to the overall luck, or even say… the wildlife?" he asked seriously.

"Some people believe that, but I'm not really of that opinion," the host seemed puzzled.

"Just checking," Sands nodded.

"If that's done, Jack, are you going to keep immunity?"

"Aye, mate."

"Very well then. The only thing different this time would be the addition of the jury. Whoever gets voted out tonight, becomes the first member of the jury. The jury is very important, it will be comprised of your fellow Survivors and they will ultimately choose the top Survivor. If you annoy them, you may not be in the best situation come the Final Two. Understand?"

"Sounds dangerous," Sands quipped.

"Oh it is. Jack, would you cast the first vote?"

"Captain Jack, if ye'd be so kind." Jack got up and stretched. He took a last look at the weary travelers before wandering over to the voting circle.

Jack

"I'm votin' fer you, mate, because I think a lotta trouble could'a been avoided if ye'd only been aware. 'S bad luck t'turn yer back on th'likes of us."

Spencer

"I don't know what I missed that day and frankly, I don't care. I just don't want it to happen again if it's going to turn into another one of those mushy 'Get to Know Your Survivor' things."

Sam

"Please don't hurt me."

Varua- Tribal Council

Axel returned to his seat happy to be the last one to vote for once. The host nodded, knowing that the group could probably recite his formalities in their sleep.

"You'll go tally the votes?" Donnie asked.

The host winked. He turned to grab the Pot of Doom and returned back to his table and placed it on top like always.

"Once the votes are read, the decision is final. The person voted out will be asked to leave Tribal Council immediately," several Johnnies chorused.

"That's my job you're stealing," the host rolled his eyes before pulling out a name. "First vote. Donnie."

Donnie snorted.

"Second vote. Mort."

The paranoia that had taken a day to shake returned in a rush up Mort's back.

"Duke."

Duke shrugged. Sam's name came up twice, and Donnie got another nod. Bon-bon got a vote, and Spencer. Donnie, however, got the last vote.

"Bring me your torch," Donnie mouthed, his shoulders slumping. He stood up and hefted his bag onto his shoulder. He presented his flame to the host whose mouth was twisted into a sad smile.

"Sorry I'm so predictable Donnie, but I've gotta' say it. The tribe has spoken."

He snuffed Donnie's flame.

Donnie

"Well, that bites."

Mort

"I'm not sure, but I think those could be the most nerve wracking moments of my life. I'm going to find grey hairs tomorrow, I know it.

Varua- Night

In the grand scheme of things, eight members had made it through another three days. And every single one of them was slated to come back repeatedly, if only to look sinisterly at the remaining Survivors. That was the optimistic viewpoint. The realists were taking it one day at a time and the pessimists were keeping quiet.

Varua- Morning

Sands was vaguely aware that he'd been sleeping and it would probably be in his best interest to wake up. To better get a jump on the day's activities and all that carp. As he slit his eyes open, he smiled sourly at the thought. It certainly seemed as though his days of cursing like a sailor were over.

Sailor.

He forced himself not to react as he climbed to stiffening feet. There'd be time for a freak out later. Now for breakfast.

As the earliest riser of the tribe, Sands had been placed on breakfast detail. Not that it was anything special, just the repetitive heating of yucky water and the soggification of uninteresting rice. Several Inaga members had tried it with fruit, hoping for the illusion of Cheerios and bananas, but hadn't quite found it up to par. That left sticky, spongy, nasty rice. Sands himself preferred a heaping bowl of Cookie Crisp, but it wasn't something he boasted about.

"Sailor."

His jaw clenched. He had the distinct feeling of eyes boring into his spine The hairs on his arms were prickling. It wasn't FEAR, though his Fight or Flight mechanism had definitely kicked in. Certainly not. It was the extreme feeling of ANGST coupled with a strong sense of Uncertainty of his fate. There was a difference.

"Sailor!"

"¿Qué es tu problema?" he sighed.

"Oh, I love it when you speak Spanish!" The voice giggled and approached. "It's even more adorable when you pretend not to know why I'm here."

"That's me. Adorable."

"What's my problem, sailor? My problem is that you made me a promise too good to refuse. I'd like it if you could make good on it."

"We lost. Deal's off."

"No, no, no. You said you'd do anything if I helped you. You never said anything about winning or losing."

"Because I didn't think you'd lose and make it an issue," he replied sharply.

"You're just itching for a snog, you know that, sailor?"

"What if I say no?"

"You think this shell is just for decoration?" She had him. She thoroughly and utterly had him.

"Usted me molesta."

"I annoy you, huh? Let's see what you say when I'm through with you."

Varua- Midmorning

The rice was still on the fire when Sam woke up. The bottom of the pan was scorched and the food was no more than a white, congealed mass in the shape of the pot. That meant someone had started breakfast, but had gotten distracted or killed or… something. It was when he attempted to glean a clue from the surroundings that he saw the note scratched into the dirt.

Got abducted, be back soon. Tell Spence to eat his vegetables.

Love, Sands

Sam frowned, wondering if he should tell someone. As it were, Spencer had read the note over Sam's shoulder and promptly said that Sands was a big boy and could take care of himself. He stalked away, scuffing the note with his toe. Sam's face fell. Mort, in a rare show of wakefulness, traded concerned glances with the polka-dotted man.

"Should we set up a search? I don't know much about tracking, but I'd be willing to give it a try," Mort cocked his head.

"Things are generally better at catching me," Sam admitted. Mort glanced at the nonchalant Varua, feeling his muscles clenching at the unfairness. It was a game and nobody, not even someone like Spencer, let alone Sands, deserved to be dragged into the woods by an aborigine. That was Mort's guess. He didn't know of many animals that let their prey write notes before they were eaten. Cannibals were a long shot, but a better one than a cougar or whatever it was that lived there.

"Think he left tracks?" Mort asked.

"He did. And something else did too," Sam murmured. He was pointing at a great swishy trail beside a set of human footprints. They led down the beach, away from camp.

"Let's get Jeffrey back."

"Who?"

"Jeffrey. You know… SJ. Sands?"

"Oh," Sam nodded and smiled.

Varua- Afternoon

Duke popped the capsule into his mouth and swallowed. They could take away his cursing and his cigarettes, but they'd never get his case, smeep it. The case was what kept him going in a straight line. Reminded him why he was here. It wasn't so much the prize; it was the idea of being the one Survivor and conquering these swine. Today's pig is tomorrow's bacon. That's how Duke played the game.

Varua had thinned to a manageable size. He only counted four people out and about. Possibly only two if he accounted for double vision, but he thought it better to trust his judgment. None of them were doing anything especially exciting: eating, sunbathing, swimming and the like. Duke had had his swim and all that was left was to spook someone into action. The bats chattered in agreement. He let out a high pitched screech that sounded like a monkey on an electric fence. He did it twice. Bon-bon and Axel skidded to a halt in front of the casual Duke.

"What happened?" Axel panted.

"Are you hurt?" Bon-bon asked.

"I'm bored, actually," Duke raised an eyebrow.

"You screamed because you were bored." Bon-bon's face was blank.

"There a problem?"

"You ever hear of the boy who cried wolf?" Axel remarked wryly.

"Are you calling me a liar?"

"No."

"Because it sounds like you support the World Bank."

"World what?"

"Did you know that money goes to Italy?"

"Italy?"

"Did you vote for Hubert Humphrey?" Duke hissed.

"No, I swear!" Axel yelped. This was not something he'd counted on. Whoever this Humphrey was, Axel sure hadn't voted for him. He didn't think. It didn't seem as if he should, either. Bon-bon clucked and eased her way between the two men.

"Down, boy! No harassing the nice guy." She put a hand on Duke's shoulder and gently held him back as she urged Axel beyond reach. "What's your problem?"

"Me? I haven't got any problems It's this swine that likes Hubert Humphrey!"

"I've never even heard of Hubert Humphrey!"

"Enough! Both of you! Axel, do you like Hubert Humphrey?" Bon-bon glared at Axel.

"No! I don't think," Axel blinked.

"Good. Duke, what's your Humphrey fetish?"

"It's not a fetish," Duke snarled.

"Well, you've mentioned nothing but this Hubert character for the past five minutes. If that's not a fetish, what is it then?"

"It's not a fetish!"

"So we've established. But what is it? An obsession?"

"I am not obsessed with Hubert Horatio Humphrey! I have perfectly reasonable fear and loathing for the man. That it!"

"You sure?"

"Yes!"

"Because I'm of a different opinion."

"I'll bet you are-!"

"Just… hear me out. Axel, you can leave if you want. I don't think Mr. Duke will mind."

Axel backed away slowly until there was only Duke and the eerily nonchalant Bon-bon.

"Now, what's this about fear and loathing?"

Sam and Mort- Afternoon

"They stopped," Sam frowned.

"What stopped?" Mort asked.

"The tracks."

"What do we do now?"

"We can't turn back. He's gotta' be close."

"You're an optimist," Mort grumbled. They'd been following the strange trail for hours now and Mort was getting tired. Tired was BAD. Shooter came when he was tired. The waking up early didn't help one bit. If they didn't find Jeffrey soon, there was no telling what would happen. Sam looked alarmed.

"You hear that?"

"What?" Mort snapped.

"It sounds like voices."

"We're probably back at camp. We walked all over the island anyway."

"Bon-bon doesn't sound that feminine. This is definitely female."

Mort finally shut up and listened. There were voices, and they came from behind a stand of trees. One voice even sounded suspiciously like Jeffrey's. He glanced at Sam and quirked an eyebrow. Sam just grinned.

"Should we go get him?"

"Maybe we should wait? If whatever's in there with him is dangerous, I'd like to be able to run away without worrying about my legs turning to jelly on me. I'm kinda' tired," Mort admitted. Sam looked disappointed, but nodded. They sat down on their separate rocks and rested.

Mort

"I hate being me."

Sam and Mort- Afternoon

Mort didn't take a nap, he just sat. No harm in sitting. But thinking was another matter. His mind was a very annoyingly active place to be. He felt things bouncing around in there like jumping beans on crack and they were talking. They were talking and talking and the only thing Mort had done was sit down. Unless he'd been too preoccupied walking and searching to notice the activity before.

You can't rest! Your only friend is possibly hurt on the other side of those trees!

Friend? That ain't no friend, Pilgrim! That's a killer who ain't above offin' ye fer his own despicable ends!

He cares for Mort more than anyone else!

That Bon-bon-

Don't you dare bring her into this!

She cares 'bout him more!

Cared. There's a difference!

"Please shut up," Mort croaked.

Quiet, you! We're havin' a meanin'ful discussion 'bout yer loyalties.

He should choose his own loyalties!

Ah AM him!

"Mort? Mort, snap out of it. C'mon…" From the looks of things, Sam had been trying to get Mort's attention for awhile. Ever since Mort had passed out on the rock, in fact. He'd been unresponsive for a whole ten minutes and Sam was ready to throw caution to the wind and get Sands to help when Mort stirred.

"Mort?"

"Lemme up, I gotta' take care uh some business," Mort growled. He rolled onto his side and all but lurched to his feet. Sam backed off in fear as Mort lunged into the foliage. There was an animal howl and a sharp intake of breath.

"Mort, get out of here!"

"Ah ain't Mort 'n you need to be taught a lesson, pilgrim."

Sam finally gathered his courage and crashed after Shooter. Whatever had happened on the rock had clearly not been beneficial. Now Sands (Jeffrey?) was in twice as much trouble as before. Or so it seemed. In the middle of the clearing was a turtle. With that turtle was a man in boxers sporting a ponytail. He was crouched in preparation for a quick flight. Shooter was standing before them menacingly.

"Shooter, don't make me do something rash," Sands warned.

"Ah don't think yer in a position t'threaten me in yer undergarments," Shooter cackled. Sands vaulted over the turtle's shell to meet Shooter face to face.

"I know 17 different way to kill you with a rock, Shooter, I'd say I was pretty well off. What about you?"

Shooter took out the dreaded shovel from his back pocket. He had an evil grin on his face. Sands nodded, rolling his eyes and kicked Shooter's legs out from under him. As the southerner toppled, Sands stood on Shooter's chest to prevent further movement. He scooped up the shovel and used it to help keep his balance.

"What was that, John Wayne?"

Shooter grunted and Sands leaned more forcefully on the foot atop Shooter's chest. He gagged, trying to breathe, but the pressure kept building. His mouth gaped, fish-like in the hopes of gleaning precious oxygen.

"I didn't kill you last time because I wasn't allowed to. Why shouldn't I now?"

"Mort," Shooter spat. It was all he was capable of.

"If I can keep a murderous psychotic at bay like Mort seems to think, I'm sure there's a way for Mort to be rid of you. All it'll take is one more crack to the head. Whadduya say?"

"You don't," Shooter wheezed.

"Hm? I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."

"You don't… keep… psychotic… at bay!"

"Well, it certainly sucks to be me then. But right now, I wouldn't want to be you." Sands leaned even more heavily, "You're going to leave me alone because I can do some strange, horrible and non-fatal things to you. Can you dig it?"

Shooter snarled. Sands pressed harder until Shooter finally passed out from lack of air. SJ finally relaxed and sat beside the quiet body.

"What was-"

"Not the time, Babbette."

"You can't ignore me."

"I can and will."

"You owe me!"

"I'm sorry, but when you have someone come after you with a shovel, then I'll forgive any quirks you may have developed. Until then, this cabana boy schtick is off. What are you looking at, Keaton?" Sands noticed Sam in the brush, a look of horror on his face. "Haven't you seen a turtle with good taste before?"

"Good taste! You're a prick! A pretty prick, but a prick!"

"As you can see, we've got a marriage councilor appointment to get to," Sands shrugged. "I'd take Mr. Shooter here and get him back to camp before I beat the… crap out of him."

His sense and sarcasm were returning. He was thinking about his word choice again. He no longer had the overwhelming, spine-tingling urge for nicotine. He didn't have to kill Babbette or Shooter anymore. If his Angel didn't appreciate his self-restraint, he'd stick it out with the turtle. Sam still hadn't spoken.

"What?" Sands fought not to snap.

"Babbette?"

"What about her?"

"That's… the turtle?"

"I think you deserve a prize for that deduction."

"Turtles don't talk."

"This one never shuts up."

"I resent that, sailor!"

"No le importa, chica," Sands rolled his eyes. She did not need to be angry and if he just admitted it didn't matter—nothing mattered—they'd all be a lot better off.

Sam bit his lip. "Did it just talk?"

"You didn't hear her," Sands answered blankly. Sam shook his head.

"Turtles don't talk."

"Babbette, what are you pulling?" Sands whirled to face the stoic reptile. Sam tried hard to listen for any kind of communication between man and turtle, but only heard the angry rants of a crazed lunatic. Joon, at least, had never gotten to the point of talking to forest pals.

"I know that look. You think I'm crazy," Sands murmured.

"Mort called you Jeffrey."

"Middle name."

"Alter ego."

"You think Babbette's an alternate personality? So having one schizophrenic on this island isn't enough for you people?"

"I never said that. I just know you've got some… issues… to work out. You and Mort both," Sam glanced at the unconscious writer. "Whether you do it together or not is up to you. I'm going back to camp to leave you to your belly dancing."

Before Sands could come up with a proper rebuke, Sam had disappeared. This left Mort on the ground and Babbette with an accusing look in her eye.

"You haven't told them about us?"

"Do you really think they'd believe me?"

"I believe you, sailor."

Sands snorted and stalked into the trees. Babbette let him go, understanding the turmoil he was going through. It had sent her last human friend to an institution for a very long time.

When Mort finally woke up, Jeffrey/Sands was parked on a log in full brooding mode. He was fully clothed.

"C'mon, we've gotta' get back to camp. Sam left without us and I'd really hate to miss out on that special rice Jack makes."

Mort didn't ask what that was about.

Varua- Night

The two intrepid travelers arrived at Varua's camp tired and sweaty, but okay. More or less. Their physical selves were fine, but their mental states were going haywire in their own separate cells of thought.

Sands found camp almost exactly as he'd left it, with the exception of the wakeful state of the Survivors. He felt compelled to go lie down and take a long nap, but that'd show weakness he definitely couldn't display. He compromised by simply making himself look worse than he really felt and sat quietly in front of the fire. Let them think he was traumatized. He'd show them later, when he wasn't so out of it.

Mort knew he'd lost it again. There were only so many times this could go on before one or the other of them was dead. He never once assumed Jeffrey wouldn't eventually get fed up and wind up killing Shooter. And Mort, incidentally. It would be ideal to talk to Jeffrey before it ever came to that. Maybe Mort could get some insight on having multiple personalities, but he didn't see that happening. Jeffrey would sooner suck on the lit end of a highway flare than admit something was wrong. Or maybe that was Sands. Mort could never keep them straight anymore. Sparing a glance for the vacant expression shared by his only comrade in arms, Mort sighed and continued brooding.

Bon-bon was rather proud of herself. She'd encouraged a major breakthrough in the quirky one. She'd learned things he himself hadn't known. It hadn't been the easiest of purgings, but it was successful. She'd be kidding herself if she thought it was the root of his problem; he still claimed to see bats. She did hope it was a step in the right direction. He was taking to the information better than most people she'd done this to previously.

Duke… was. He'd come down off his high to the lowest of lows. Or so it seemed at the time. Bon-bon had been ruthless in her prodding and struck psychiatric gold. Gold that had nothing to do with Duke's trademark fear or loathing. Apparently, Duke had a secret love of Hubert Humphrey.

"Aren't we balls of sunshine today," Spencer commented dryly.

"You would be too if people thought one of the numerous personalities you never knew you had was a turtle who had a thing for you," Sands answered sweetly. Spencer quirked an eyebrow as Sam buried his head in his hands.

"I just realized the man I've been opposing all these years is nothing more than a manifestation of my lack of a good guy friend," Duke muttered. "You'll forgive my cheerful demeanor."

"We're all in rough shape, aye?" Jack asked quietly.

"Not me," Bon-bon shrugged. Cuba had thrown worse her way.

"But you're full of optimism," Axel pointed out.

"Now I wouldn't say that. I've just got the right attitude."

"What's that, mess with your enemies' minds as often as possible?" Duke grumbled.

"You know, there's a song that I believe in quite strongly and I think it's appropriate considering the circumstances. It's good advice if you have any intention of not moping for a minute."

" 'Paint It Black'?" Sands asked.

"It's a little song by Gloria Gaynor called 'I Will Survive'," Bon-bon glared at the agent.

"First I was afraid, I was petrified. Kept thinking I could never live without you by my side," Axel hummed.

"But I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong. I grew strong. I learned how to carry on," Bon-bon added.

"And so you're back from outer space. I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face!" they belted.

"I swear they do this just to annoy me," Spencer sighed. This only got Sands singing in an acceptable baritone into Spencer's ear, at which point the alien slunk back to the shelter. Mort blushed at the show and was finally poked into song by Jack. The pirate sang loudest of all when he knew the words and even when he didn't. It took several stanzas and choruses before Duke gave into his inner disco diva—probably thinking it was what Hubert Humphrey would do—and wailed on a pair of bongos he pulled out of Mort's pocket. Even Sam caught the beat.

"Oh no, not I! I will survive! As long as I know how to love, I know I will stay alive!"

Spencer

"If it was possible to be any more off key, I'm sure my eardrums would explode. As it is, I'm thinking that maybe something drastic will have to be done. I need immunity. Then I'll pick them off one by one, get into the final two and having taken someone like Bon-bon with me… I'll cream them. Not that I'll ever get Sands' vote but with all that alienation going on, Bon-bon's my best bet. I'm rested up, I'm feeling great. That prize is mine."

Varua- Night

"I love that song!" Jack cried happily.

"See? What'd I tell you?" Bon-bon smirked.

"Well, mate, I like jes about any song so long's it's good t'sing to," Jack admitted.

"A regular… Barbra Streisand," Duke snorted.

" 'ow come we never sang back at our camp?" Jack accused.

"Because… I don't sing," Duke replied.

"And we didn't see you whistling a tune, either," Sands pointed out.

"I was bemoanin' me rum! I was too busy t'sing!" Jack stopped short, a haunted look in his eyes. He hadn't had rum in ages. Rum. Where was the rum? Why was it gone? Why didn't he have any?

Duke snapped open his case to check the contents. Things were in check, despite the gaping hole where the rum bottle used to sit. The levels in all bottles, baggies and containers were lower, but not so much that he had to start rationing. He took another look at the shaking pirate. He clearly needed something.

"I don't have rum but… uh… I have other things. Help snap you out of your funk."

"Need rum!"

"You sure? I've got uppers, downers, screamers and laughers."

"Rum!"

Duke furrowed his brow, remembering another time and place. Medicine! MEDICINE! Medicine? Oh yeah, medicine! Duke reached out and dipped his hand into Mort's back pocket. Furry, leathery, papery things assaulted his fingers, but nothing glass yet. When he finally found the bottle of rum, Jack had curled into a shivering ball.

"Hey!" Mort yelped. Duke, simply rolled the bottle at Jack, hoping for the best.

"Rum!" Duke announced.

"Rum?" Jack whimpered.

"Rum!"

"Rum."

"RUM!"

"Rum!" Jack glared at Duke. The journalist motioned at the bottle lying in the sand. The pirate glanced down and gaped in shock. "RUM!"

"Rum!" Duke grinned a big, fine smile. Jack wasted no time in uncapping the bottle and doing what pirates do best. Besides pillaging, plundering, rifling and looting, of course.

"So… if I start shaking and twitching, does that mean I can get a tequila and lime?" Sands asked.

"That was an emergency," Duke rolled his eyes.

"Well, I think this is an emergency too."

"You're not shaking and twitching."

"Do you want me to?"

"Jeffrey, can I ask you something?" Mort winced.

"What's up, sugarbutt?"

"Somewhere… else?"

Sands had a hunch he knew what was coming. He wasn't sure he really wanted to discuss it in front of a tribe of people who had the power to vote him off if they thought he was unsteady enough. And if it was Shooter—he doubted it, but it was better to cover all bases—he knew how to take care of that situation.

"Lead the way, Mort."

The campfire crew dwindled, leaving 5 Survivors in a loose circle.

"Maybe we should go to bed?" Sam asked quietly. He rather wanted to see that Mort and Sands had a productive talk. Nothing killed a conversation faster than eavesdroppers.

"But… the rum!"

"Jack, Mort's pocket is bottomless. There'll be more tomorrow," Axel pointed out. Jack held the near empty bottle close to his chest and pouted.

"Cuddle with the bottle later, tomorrow's challenge day, remember?" Bon-bon pointed out.

There was an assortment of grumblings. Were the 39 days up yet?

Varua- Morning

Axel had been having the most wonderful dream about flying and fish and Roo and all the things he'd been missing at home. Like a bed. He no longer counted how many times he'd been startled awake by rolling on top of a particularly sharp rock. He was sure that one morning, he'd just pop like a balloon. That would be something.

He cracked open his eyelids and peered into the predawn light. The fire had burned low during the night and all the Survivors were asleep, save two conspicuously absent shapes. What made it even stranger was the fact that one of the missing persons wasn't an early riser. Axel had two choices to consider: the two hadn't returned last night or one of them had managed to kill the other and has slunk away before someone found out. Axel sincerely hoped it was the former. He maneuvered carefully out of his niche between Bon-bon and Sam and backed out of the shelter. He felt the boot on his back before he saw the person it belonged to.

"Move another inch, I might have to do something neither of us will like. What are you doing?"

"Wondering where you and Mort wandered off to."

"We're fine."

"Where's Mort?" Axel ground out.

"I'm okay, Axel," Mort spoke up.

"What's with all the sneaking around?" the still sleepy Axel yawned. Sands removed his foot and had retreated, allowing Axel to stand.

"It's the secret meeting of 'Unbalanced Anonymous'," Sands snorted. "I'm Sands, Jeffery and Babbette, he's Mort and Shooter. Nevermind that Shooter hates my guts, the rest of us get along fine."

"You ever thnk you might be taking this too far?"

"I don't want what happened four days ago to happen again. I needed help and since Jeff-… Sands seemed to have a better handle on it than me, I asked him his opinion on things." Mort's voice conveyed the blush flooding his cheeks in the gray morning.

"Dr. Sands. That's another personality," Sands nodded seriously.

"Are you ever not sarcastic?" Axel asked.

"All the time, Fish Head."

"It's Fish Boy."

"You actually have a name Fish Boy?" Sands looked bewildered.

"Spencer calls me that," Axel cocked his head.

"Well, that explains a lot," the agent rolled his eyes.

"As it is, things are better off," Mort interrupted with a glare for SJ. "Even if I'm too tired to see straight. What the-!" Mort spun around and backpedaled into Axel. Jack was on his knees with a bottle of rum clutched in his dirty fingers. He had the grace to look sheepish.

"I was thirsty, mate," he grinned.

"Jack, you can't just use my pocket willy nilly," Mort frowned. "Its powers should really only be used for good."

"Why's that, mate? S'there a malevolent god tha' gives yer pocket its powers?" Jack smirked.

"It's not a… god… per se. But it is supernatural and I wouldn't goof with it if I were you," Mort eyed the pirate. It wasn't clear whether Rainey had succeeded in intimidating Jack, but a definite tense moment had passed before Duke wobbled into the middle of the fray. He looked concerned.

"I had a dream. It had-…"

"Hubert Humphrey." they chorused.

"-and he had this horrible outfit on. The bats… they seemed to… accept him. The were swooping at him and chirping and chattering. And he had… chocolate oranges. It was…"

"Duke," Axel winced.

"-and he was giving me the 'Come hither' finger and I wanted to-…"

Sands covered Duke's mouth with a free hand.

"You're using up all my air, sugarbutt. Calm down. Forget it."

"Bbtuhatz!"

"Nuh uh. If you're shouting, you're not calm. Take a capsule, any capsule. I don't want another repeat of last detox session, savvy?"

"Ubuhumpy!"

"Now you're going to listen to me because I'm the law on this island. Donnie got bumped, I've got rank. Now if you think my head's too big for this itty bitty island, I beg you, please bring it up at tribal council, but for now, you're giving me a headache and I don't want that. You have no Hubert Humphrey fetish. You've got issues, yes, but it's a very… healthy focus."

"Ayedolum?"

"No. You don't. It's not Dr. Bon-bon, is it?"

"Nuh."

"That's right, it's Dr. Sands."

"Uh?"

"You weren't there for that, huh? Trust me. I'm going to let you go now, and you're not going to mention that mean old Hubert anymore, right?"

"Aight."

"Good. You'll be just fine." Sands removed his hand and clapped Duke on the shoulder instead. "You're doing fine."

Duke nodded dumbly. It looked like one of those days where one couldn't help but witness a landmark moment in Survivor history.

"I think I'm going to go check the mail. For my health," Axel said quickly and ducked into the brush.

"Aye! 'N I'll jes be startin' breakfast," Jack smiled and ambled towards the campfire. Sands shrugged and came off the offensive. He'd done enough damage for one morning.

Varua- Midmorning

Axel had dawdled on his way to the moai mailbox. The camp was just getting too weird for him. But he couldn't spend all day alone with the clue. He'd gotten out of it all he could and there was little left he could do by way of analysis.

Run, run, as fast as

You can, you can't catch me, I'm

The Reward Challenge

It wasn't a rhyme and as a haiku, it was rather lame. Acel could only guess some kind of race. Or possibly a gingerbread man making contest. It didn't seem appropriate to Survivor though, so he was back to a race.

The sun slowly topped the lowest branches, leaving Axel in the cool shade. He would have to go back soon, but he'd gotten up early to be faced with creepy and unsettling island mates. He wanted a nap. The breeze ruffled his hair seemingly in agreement.

"They won't miss me," Axel sighed and flopped onto the ground. He pillowed his head in his hands and drifted while fish swam overhead.

Varua- Afternoon

"Didn't he say he was going to get the clue?"

"I hic! 'eard 'im!"

"Quite a few of us did."

"Think he ran away?"

"Why would he run away?"

"Well, do you think that maybe a pirate, a pair of psychos, a cross-dresser, a showman, a druggy and an alien would be the last thing you wanted to meet on a deserted island? Or not, it could just be me."

"Nice, Sands. Real nice."

"I don't sugarcoat things."

"Do you have a sugar problem?"

"Shut it, Bon-bon."

"Maybe he got taken by the polar bear."

"Duke?"

"Or was that Lost?" The bats don't remember either."

"Maybe we should search for him?"

"Didn't we try that already for a certain Sheldon Sands?"

"Thanks for volunteering, oh Spence, oh buddy, or pal-o-mine. I'd try the moai if I were you."

"I didn't-!"

"Thanks Spence!"

"You're a real nice guy."

"I don't want-!"

"Don't let the bugs eat you on the way out."

Moai- Afternoon

Spencer hadn't stopped snarling and swearing since he was sent on the search. Not that he'd been on it long, only about five minutes had passed. It still served to fuel his hate-based rage for the pushy, bull-headed government lackey. General Brasco had been bad in the beginning. Then he lightened up and things were good between them. But Sheldon… he was just mean.

"Fish Boy, get out here and let me stop looking for you," Spencer yelled. He hadn't gone to the moai at first, just to spite Sheldon. Now that he'd skirted the perimeter of the camp, he decided to curse the man later and just find Axel now. There was a groan from under a stand of trees. "Fish Boy!"

"Spence?"

"what, may I ask, are you doing out here?"

"Huh? I took a nap and-…"

"Forgot to wake up?"

"Axel sat up, blinking back the crust of sleep around his eyes. He sought out Spencer's annoyed expression and shook his head slowly. "I could have sworn the sun just got into the trees."

"Well don't let it dapple you upside the head now. Come on, we're late for the challenge. What is it anyway?"

"Beats me."

Varua- Late afternoon

"Little late, are we?" The host addressed this to the last Survivor to enter the clearing. The host looked miffed.

"Blame Fish Boy. It's been a rough ride and he wanted a break." Spencer shrugged. Axel blushed bright red and began mumbling apologies again. Spencer laid a hand on the stuttering Johnny's shoulder and nodded knowingly.

"I see… well, whoever's to blame, it doesn't much matter right now. We've got to make up for lost time, you see. We've got a special reward today," he slapped the side of a hut. "I imagine you guys must be missing your homes a bit."

It was Mort's turn to blush, having seen his Angel most of all. Sands snorted, knowing he wasn't going to be seeing much of his Angel until the gig was over. At least it was easier to focus on the game that way.

"We got videos from home. The winner will get to see his."

If that didn't get their attention, there wasn't much that would. Sam felt his breaths come lighter and lighter. Rollie! A message from Rollie!

"The winner will also pick a companion to share lunch and a flick. Namely, your messages. It'll be dinner and a show, drinks, sandwiches and the like. As you can tell, it was supposed to be lunch.," the host rolled his eyes. The wind blew to a stop in accordance with the general heart rate of the gathered Survivors. Food.

"And all you have to do is follow the arrows in an agility course which will end… in an unexpected place. The Survivor with the fastest time is the winner. Any questions?"

"Arrows?" Duke asked.

"Arrows."

"Doesn't sound safe."

"It is. We've tested it."

"Are you sure?"

"Do you want to test it first?"

"Of course not!" Duke snapped.

"I'll go first," Axel volunteered.

"You're a brave man, Axel. The starting line is over there and I will meet you at the end with your time. Good luck."

Varua- Midafternoon

"Ready? Go!"

Sam followed the bright cerulean arrows. It wasn't quite that simple, but that is what he did. Sam ran through thick plant growths, dodged trees, climbed the unclimbable. The path zigged and zagged and all the while, Sam knew he was getting closer to the ocean. He'd watched first Axel, then Jack and Spencer run the track and watched them falter at the last obstacle. The watch was stopped as soon as the Survivor jumped off a cliff and hit the water below. A speedboat would come and pick up the sopping contestant and ship him back to shore with his time. The best was Spencer's, at 3:14. But every single one of them had paused before the jump. That wait on top of their time errors was what kept them above two minutes. Sam wasn't counting on stopping. He catapulted off the cliff, limbs flailing in the dying light.

Sam struggled back to the surface, more tired than he could ever remember. When his head broke the surface, he heard shouting and a drone off to his left.

"Two minutes, thirty seconds exactly! Sam is now in the lead!"

He nearly gasped in relief, but he had to settle for sucking in any air he could into his aching lungs. He was dragged aboard the boat and that was all he remembered.

Bon-bon

"Sam moved fast but… I'm going to win. I'm lonely and I want food. Sam is my only competition. Nobody else beat his time, but I will."

Varua- Early Evening

"Bon-bon, on your mark, get set, go!"

Bon-bon took off, barely taking the time to slow down before hitting certain obstacles. Thorns and branches ripped at her but she couldn't slow down. She needed to win this reward at all costs. She took everything at a sprint, skidding before particularly nasty pitfalls and attacking them with as much vigor as she could muster. It wasn't long before she saw the cliff. She'd have to take it like she took the rest of the course: at high speeds without time for thought. But she was afraid of heights…

Her feet were digging in against her will. She was stopping. She couldn't do it. She was giving up. She had to. She couldn't go over the cliff.

She could.

She all but tripped over the edge, tumbling into the sea. She came back up stuttering and spitting trying to orient herself. And there was the boat, and the host looking disappointed.

"I'm sorry Bon-bon, not quite good enough to catch Sam. Two minutes and thirty-two seconds. Sam wins the award."

Varua- Night

Bon-bon was shipped to the island shivering under a towel, her hair mussed up and makeup smudged. She was utterly miserable. It didn't stop her from stepping off the boat with dignity and grace to rejoin the rest of the tribe.

"The winner of the reward challenge is Sam. Congratulations."

Sam felt his heart melt.

"Who will you take with you to your private cinema?"

This was the part he'd been dreading. He didn't want to pick someone. He'd have to discriminate and there'd be alliances and all sorts of issues. He didn't want to deal with it. Nobody met his gaze, except one stubborn Survivor.

"I pick Bon-bon," Sam smiled slightly.

"All right. Varua, you may return to camp, Bon-bon and Sam will catch up with you later tonight. Again, congratulations.

Mort

"Those guys were… wow. I take hikes but… wow. Maybe I should work out or invest in pep pills. That was impressive. I don't begrudge them one bit."

Sam and Bon-bon

"Sam! Hello there love. I miss you so much! Poker night just isn't the same without you. On the bright side, the other night I finally won Thomas's soap on a rope! You really can't tell it's been slightly used...anyways! I can tell how hard you're working. I'm so proud of you for staying out of trouble. I hope you're doing alright since the lizard incident! That must have been an experience. That Duke is a curious one...

"Not many updates from home. Benny and Ruthie are good, the Group Home is holding up okay...we all miss you though. I can't tell you how lonely it is doing the roll dance all alone though. Ruthie's afraid to try ever since you hit that waitress. Oh well, I don't want to complain. Mike still can't find those hubcaps...always amusing to watch! And don't worry, I'm keeping his tree safe for you.

"Well, I don't want to hold you up much longer. I can't wait til you come home, but DON'T GIVE UP! You are so wonderful, you've almost made it! Have fun, sweetie. Oh, and before I go... Sam... I-I love you."

The VCR crackled and white noise filled the hut. Sam said nothing, unable to speak. He loved his Angel so much. Bon-bon respectfully waited for Sam to pull himself together before talking.

"That's a sweet Angel you have there."

"That she is," Sam whispered.

"You're lucky."

Sam blushed, "You'll get one someday."

"I'll have to share her with Victor," Bon-bon tossed her head. "Do you think they'd let me have Gabe?"

"I doubt it," Sam grinned.

"Me neither," Bon-bon sighed.

"Hey, you got a video too, you know. Want to watch it?"

"I guess," she shrugged. Sam bit his lip, but popped the movie in anyway. The TV glowed to life.

"You said it at tribal council, girl. Improvisation. You are the queen of improv. You've had to fight the hardest of any Johnny on that island to not get voted off and you're doing GREAT! You're showing self-control, kindness and resilience…just keep being yourself and you'll be fine. You'll do good to make friends with Sam—he is loyal to the core. Take care of him and he'll take care of you.

"Hang in there, Bon-bon! You're doing me and all the unangeleds proud! We're your hardcore fanclub…especially Lt. Victor. He said to tell you that you can smuggle his contraband anytime. Boy, feel the love! Truly, BB, you are the most amazing shemale I know. You go, girl! You can do it!

"Your angel-til-you-get-one, DB."

"Think she meant what she said about making friends with me?" Sam laughed.

"I have no reason to believe she didn't. That was a little scary, wasn't it?" Bon-bon giggled.

"Can she see the future?" he asked.

"Nobody knows. She's mysterious like that," she answered cryptically.

"I'm sure she appreciates the ambiguity. What do you think? Should we go back?"

"Probably. It's late and the longer we wait, the more we'll be despised."

"We should bring them leftovers, huh?"

"Are we allowed?"

"Forget the rules. I'd hope they'd do the same if they won."

Varua- Morning

Sands woke up with no ill effects. No turtles, not Cuisinarts… it was grand. He was having a stretch by the fire when he noticed a baggie on a stump. His first thought was that it had to be left over from Duke's late night binge. Closer inspection yielded food. Not just food, but good food. Chips, sandwiches. Remnants of what was Sam and Bon-bon's dinner.

"Well, imagine that," Sands murmured. "We wouldn't have had to jump off the cliff after all."

"Still mad at me?" a voice murmured.

"I don't get mad."

"Sorry," Sam whispered.

"Don't be. There's no reason to be."

"Are you always this callous?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

Sands sighed, "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. I just find it hard to believe someone can just be sarcastic all the time."

"It's how I play this game. Keeps me… sane," Sands smirked.

"So it's been working," Sam glanced at the agent out of the corner of his eye.

"What's been working?" Axel yawned.

"Nothing, nothing," Sands waved it off.

"Hey, is that food?" Axel pointed at the bag.

"It is," Sam nodded.

"Food we can eat?"

"What else would it be?"

"Oh thank heaven!" Axel sat beside the stump and took out a sandwich. "Famished!"

At Axel's announcement, more Survivors wandered out having heard the magic words. It's amazing what a person would do after living off of crappy rice for almost a month. Sands watched as the others dug in, not quite ready to take something himself. He'd regret it, he knew he would.

"I'm going to go see if the mail's in. See that we get it on time and all," Sands announced before taking the hike into the woods alone. Nobody stopped him.

Varua- Midmorning

"I hope everybody's got good hand strength. It sounds like a long challenge," Sands said, having returned once the feeding frenzy died down. Sands still hadn't eaten, but he didn't feel any worse for it. "Some kind of endurance test or something.

You must hang on

Stay up for long

For if you fall

It might be you that's called

"How lame," Mort rolled his eyes.

"Incredibly," Spencer agreed.

"It doesn't change the fact that we might as well head out. I don't think we're in his good graces," Bon-bon shrugged.

"Graces? Bah, who need 'im, anyway?" Jack snorted.

"He runs the… thing," Duke motioned. Jack sighed.

"We should go. It's about time anyway," Sam pointed at the sun's position. The remaining eight Survivors moved out.

Varua- Afternoon

"Glad to see you made it today!"

"Are you going to harass us for the rest of the game?" Axel asked.

"I might. Any trouble last night."

"Nobody killed anyone," Mort supplied.

"Good, good. Ready for the challenge?"

"As if we have a choice," Spencer answered.

"Right. This one is a simple one. You're going to hang in the middle of the ocean. No harnesses, no anything. Just going to hang from a pole by your hands. Last man still up wins immunity. Easy?"

"As Nestle Toll House." Sands' mouth twisted into a small grin.

"Alright you guys, let's go."

Twenty minutes later, all eight Survivors were dangling as the host had said. Some were already showing the strain.

"I broke a nail!"

"Bon-bon-…"

"This is serious!"

"Uh huh."

"Do you want to jump, Bon-bon?" the host called.

"No," she sulked.

Minutes passed. Mort felt his eyelids growing heavier. He could understand that it was the boredom and the lack of engagement for his brain. It didn't make it any more enjoyable to suddenly snap to alertness and feel his fingers slip off the pole. He yelled as he plummeted into the drink.

"Mort's down! Seven left. Who will win?"

Someone began humming the Jeopardy! theme song. Several began swinging slightly to ease some feeling back into stiffening fingers. Jack decided there were better things in this world to do and followed Mort into the water. He might be sympathetic and offer a bottle of rum.

Duke suddenly gave a shriek and dropped like a stone. The only clear words anybody could make out were "Manta Ray." Sam dropped. Axel dropped. Sands and Spencer glared at each other.

"I dare you to let go," Spencer sneered.

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're tired."

"I'm not weighed down by a bellyful of pastrami and cheese."

"That only helps. Carbs, my friend!"

"And what do you think rice is? Your body can't process that! Your digestive system is going haywire right now! Why, I even bet you're going to experience Montezuma's Revenge."

"Monte-what?"

"The Hershey's squirts! The runs! Or you could go the other way and get all bound up, but you're really not going to have fun until your back to eating rice again."

"What makes you so sure?"

"I'm human," Sands smirked.

"Hardy har," Spencer growled.

An hour passed. The Survivors who got out were becoming restless and the Survivors still up were getting tired. Sands needed to move his frozen muscles and get rid of his shirt. The sun was beating on the black cotton mercilessly. He let one hand go and slid it out of the sleeve and out under the hem of the shirt before wrapping his hand around the pole again. He repeated the process with the other arm until he was finally able to tug the shirt over his head and let it float down to the ocean below. The wind blew up, regulating his temperature to a manageable degree. It was somewhat distracting, to be honest, and there was a little squeal as Bon-bon went sailing into the sea. Sands stifled his laughter and instead set to swinging back and forth

"Hot yet, Spence?" Sands called, swinging gently.

"On fire."

"You should take your shirt off. The breeze is to die for."

"You just want me to fall."

"Yes. But it's better than getting heat stroke, don't you think?"

"You're horrible."

"Thanks."

Spencer let one hand go to do the shirt trick. Just to show Sheldon up. To prove he was just as good. He didn't count on the weakness of his fingers. His hand slipped before he had a chance to grab hold again. He splashed into the ocean.

"Congratulations Sands! You win immunity!"

"Good thing." He let himself released his tense fingers and fall into the waters below.

A/N: Congrats to Rollie and DB for winning the contest! And thanks to SS and Lynx for helping judge. That helped a lot. hugs to all