Title :His Name Was Tom
Rating: pg-13…for now
Pairing: Sawyer/Kate
Summary: Why was is that they always seemed drawn to each other, like a moth to the flame? Why was there always so much that kept them coming, when all they really wanted to do was run? Why couldn't they let their pasts plague them alone, instead of the constant bits and pieces they gave each other? Where was this going? My take on Season Two. Spoilers from Pilot to Exodus.
Warnings: I got nothing. Swear words in later chapters, hints of sexual encounters.
Status of fic: WIP
Author's Notes/Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this story, nor do I own any rights to the television show "Lost". They were created by JJ Abrams and Damon Lindelof and they belong to them, Touchstone, and ABC. Damn.

Chapter 1- Sand

He opened his eyes slowly, to be accosted by the pounding in his head and a dull throb in his arm. He turned his head to stare into eyes and a face he did not know. She was pale as death, with long, nearly colorless hair and icy blue eyes. Upon catching sight of Sawyer, she turned her head to look farther into what looked like a tent.

Shocked momentarily, he began to remember things. Pushing off from the island, his voice echoing in his head. His words, "There ain't nothin' on this island worth stayin' for." Sailing on the raft, Walt's incessant questioning, the rudder breaking off, the man in the tugboat taking Walt. Pulling the gun, getting shot, the searing pain as the bullet bit through the skin of his shoulder…darkness.

"Ana, he's awake!"

He tried to lift himself up, to sit, leaning on his left elbow for support as he pushed up with his right, but pain shot from his elbow up to his shoulder and he fell back with a dull thud.

"Why is it that all you men are convinced you're invincible?"

The voice came from the outline coming towards him from the semi-darkness down farther into the tent and he frowned when he saw her, knowing he'd seen her before but unable to place quite where. He tried to sit again, careful not to put pressure on his left arm, and his stomach gurgled oddly.

He glared at the woman coming into view as he managed to sit up, and she sighed, exasperated. "All of you. It's like if you have a male anatomy you just can't accept help. What do I care? I've got my own problems. So why am I here, fixing you up and making sure your arm doesn't get infected to the point we just have to cut it off?"

Well, he'd heard that before. He glanced up from his examination of his hands in his lap. "You expect me to answer that, or was that rhetorical, Sassy?"

"My name is Ana."

She moved to stand at his side, reaching for his arm, and only then did he notice the wrappings. She began to carefully pull gauze away, and he glared offensively as she pulled a new roll out.

"You ain't puttin' that anywhere near my arm, sweetheart, let alone on it."

An eye roll was her only response, and she bit her tongue, and continued to pull at the old bandages. "Ana. And you don't have a choice."

"I'm not going around looking like some fruit with that pink gauze shit on my arm."

"You're lucky we even have this pick gauze shit."

"Oh?"

"That's always fun. You and everyone else and their grandma and their goddamn double talk and monosyllabic answers."

"Angry much?"

"I've been stuck on this island for 47 days. No one is coming. I've had 7 people ask me if it's "that time of the month" today, and frankly, I don't feel like small-talk with the sarcastic ass from the other side of the island. So sit still."

He was quiet for a few moments, examining her, and then he saluted her with his free arm. "Yes ma'am."

She made a face, and continued in silence. Sawyer let a small grin inch onto his face, watching her work, and, steadily, she began to smile back, both of them silent.

The fire crackled before his eyes, and he shoveled fish into his fingers, dropping it into his mouth and making a face. "I goddamn hate fish."

Ana smiled, eating the sliced fruit with relish. She glanced over at him, and nodded at his arm, the pink wrapping conveniently hidden by the long arm of the black shirt he wore. "How's your shoulder?"

He shrugged. "I'll live."

They were silent, staring into the fire again.

"Can I ask you a question?"

He glanced over at her, her eyes focused on him, curious question in them. Sawyer snorted. "You'll do whatever the hell you damn please, whether you get my permission or not."

She grinned. "Who's Kate?"

His head shot up, his glance wary, before he shook it off. "Damn, she has a following. Michael talk about her too?"

"Michael's never said a word about her." She paused. "You talk in your sleep."

He was quiet.

"So she's on the island too, then?" Ana asked. "She's on the other side with the rest?"

"She ain't no-one special."

She took it as he'd hoped, nodding softly despite the query in her eyes, keeping her theories to herself, and they were quiet until all the food was gone. He turned to look at her as she stared into the fire. Her eyes looked…haunted, and he realized she wasn't really looking into the fire.

"Can I ask you a question?" He asked, and she blinked, her memory cast from her mind.

"Do I have a choice either?"

He steadied himself, bending his knees so that he was in a squat, then grinned. "Is it that time of the month?"

She stared, aghast, then leaned over to smack him. He stood, and broke into a brisk walk away from her, darting behind trees and tents when necessary, and Ana struggled to get up. He heard, rather than saw, feet padding toward him, and then he was tackled to the ground.

"You jack ass!" she cried, hitting his shoulder so that he cried out in pain. He tried to get up, but she was straddling him, in the perfect position so that, to get up, he had to lean on his bad arm. Instead, he used his other arm to grab hold of her waist and squeeze. She shrieked, rolling off of him and into the sand, and he turned, straddling her before she had the chance to get up.

"What you call me?"

She squirmed, and he tickled her again. "Stop! Stop it!"

"Well? I ain't got an answer yet."

"I called you a jack ass!"

"Now, why would you do that?"

"You were playing off my weaknesses."

"I don't know your weaknesses. All I know is you gave me the bait."

"I did not."

"Hell, woman, you were yelling and screamin' at me. You gave me the bait."

"Fine. I did. Get off."

"How do I know you won't just get me back?"

"I promise there will be no retribution."

"Oh yeah? You gonna spit in your hand and shake on it?"

"That's disgusting."

He repositioned himself, leaning back. "I could fall asleep right here."

"Okay, okay, I'll spit in my hand and shake on it!"

He grinned. "That's disgusting."

Apparently she'd had enough. She hit his shoulder again, and continued to do so until he grabbed her hand and stood, pulling her with him.

"Fine. You win."

"Ass."

"I need sleep. And I don't have a pillow. You, conveniently enough, have three or four. Catch me if you can." And he took off down the beach at a sprint, back toward her tent. She just shook her head, following behind at a lag.

Jin had no idea what was ahead for him. After he'd managed to pull Sawyer out of the water (it had been a fantastic shot that had run right through Sawyer's shoulder, sending the man reeling back into the water) and pulled as many things off the raft as could be saved, his mind had fallen back to his wife. They'd been drifting for years, and the island had only made it worse for them, separating them by language so that Sun had finally had to reveal her secret…one of the many, he imagined.

Truthfully, he had wondered, sometimes, if the next day was to be his last with Sun. He'd expected to come home one day and find her gone, a bag of clothes missing from her drawer, a small amount of money missing from their savings, the dog lazing on the floor, not a care in the world, and him, standing in the middle of the room, knowing Sun was gone forever. He'd spent two days, floating on a piece of the plane left from the burned out raft, thinking about his wife, thinking of all the things he'd done wrong, wondering if his penance was never to see his wife again. The third day, as the sun rose above the water, he'd lost consciousness.

No one had been conscious when they'd washed up on shore, but he'd awoken to a roaring noise, people's voices in his ears, and sand plastered to the right side of his face. And when he'd opened his eyes, he had immediately pushed away anyone offering help, looking for his wife, before realizing… he didn't recognize any of these people. None of them. There was no man with a British accent and blonde hair cradling a baby, no large man with copious amounts of unruly, curly brown hair, no doctor helping to save people, no blonde haired girls, or bald men bringing food. There was no one else outside of that group, either, the ones not part of the clique that had formed, that, though he was loathe to admit it, he was a part of. He stood quickly, realizing these were not the same people.

Jin stood, taking stock of his surroundings. People were crowding around the wreckage they had been floating on, and one woman…dark skinned, with a booming voice…was orchestrating everyone's moves. She was a perpetual leader, someone whom everyone seemed to realize knew better than they did what was going on, and how to handle things. Currently, she was gesturing to a few of the stronger looking men, and, he realized, trying to get Sawyer some help. Michael was being jostled awake by a scrawny boy with wild hair, his voice echoing through the crowd. Even Jin could understand what he was saying. "Dude, c'mon get up. Seriously, like…wake up. Dude."

Jin moving closer, and tenderly shook Michael as well, speaking fluent Korean. "Wake up."

Michael's eyes flew open, after a moment, and he sat hurriedly, not bothering to apologize when a hand smacked into the boys shoulder, searching, Jin knew, for his boy. Jin also knew he would not find Walt.

When Michael realized the same, he stared resolutely down at his lap. Jin watched for a moment as Sawyer was carried towards a tent, then began to speak to Michael. "Should we help them? He is hurt. Do you think we should help?"

Michael shook his head. "Sorry, man. I can't tell what you're saying."

"Should we…" he thought for a moment, then gestured to Sawyer. "Sawyer…" pausing again, he struggled to find the word. He grabbed his shoulder, "…hurt." Michael nodded.

"Yeah. I know. He was shot."

At this, Jin nodded. "Shot…gun. Need…help. Doctor."

"Jack isn't here."

Now Jin shook his head. "No. No Jack. Doctor."

"I'm not a doctor."

Jin gestured between himself and Michael. "You, I help."

He grimaced, knowing how horrible he must sound, wishing there was a way he could say things without sounding like a broken record.

"Man, I think they got it covered."

Jin sighed, nodding absently. "I am sorry about your boy. Walt."

Michael's eyes clouded over, but the message Jin was trying to convey rang clear. Tears sprung in Michael's eyes, and Jin, respectfully, looked away. After a while, Michael began to shift, taking stock of his surroundings as Jin had earlier.

"Thanks," he said softly. "I don't know if that means anything to you, but thanks, man."

Jin teetered on the verge of words for a moment, then spoke, in Korean, "Kamsa hamnida."

"I…I wish I understood you, man."

"Thank you."

"Uhuh."

"Kam-sa hawm-nee-da."

"I…wait. Thank you. Kamsa hamda."

Jin shook his head, smiling slightly. "Kamsa hamnida."

"Kamsa hamnida. Right? That's thank you?"

Jin nodded. "Kamsa hamnida."

"Kamsa hamnida. Okay. Got it. Kamsa hamnida."

"Yes."

"Right. Cool. Okay. So, teach me something else. Uh…" he pointed to the sand below them. "Sand. What's sand?"