"Mistaken Assumptions"
Sawyer's feet itched and it wasn't from any rash. He was going stir crazy and his feet were just fidgeting to be somewhere - anywhere - else. He was not a man accustomed to staying in one place for so long and this stranding on Hell's Acre Island was not improving his desire to start now. The first few days were tolerable, especially in light of the fact that it meant he wasn't one of the poor stiffs that had died. But as soon as the excitement and relief had worn off, he was left feeling trapped - something he despised feeling.
In the beginning, he could pass the day idly wisecracking on the others, especially that firecracker Kate, but people seemed to be getting immune to him now. Hell, he couldn't even get a rise out of Freckles anymore. She'd just give him that look that mothers must surly pass on to their daughters in some secretive, sadistic charm school. And son of a bitch, if it just didn't take the fun out of it when she gave him that little "knock it off" frown of hers. Trouble was, he figured she was just too similar to him to fall for his crap. And that just plain took all the joy out of it. Although, he mused, the kiss had been a hot little perk. Not that he'd repeat the torture and the experience of being stuck like a pig in the arm to do it all over again, mind you. But at least it had been a little bit of spice. He wouldn't have minded pursuing that frisky little path; she was a fiery little package with a mouth like sinful honey, after all. But he could see that she was looking at Doc Wonderful up in Cavetown, and this Southerner was never one to go begging after someone else's crumbs. The whole damned island could see there was something between those two, and Jackass would too, if he'd stop trying to fix everything here.
His lips pulled back in a feral smile, causing those deceptively choir boy-looking dimples to wink out. Ah yes, Dr. Jack, he thought to himself. At least he could always count on him for entertainment. Didn't take much poking to get a rise out of him either. Damn boy was one of the only sources of amusement left to him. He couldn't tell which he enjoyed more; ribbing Florence Nightingale directly, or tweaking him about Freckles. He didn't consider it in the least bit mean spirited. In fact, he felt it was for the doc's own good. Sure he'd been pissed at their little field trip of pain, but it was more Omar that had cheesed him, what with those friggin' bamboo toothpicks and shiny little knife. And truth be told, he knew it wasn't anything he hadn't brought on himself by egging them on about Stick's puffers.
He knew Jack didn't rate him much higher than the spit on a shoe-shiner's cloth, but hey, give the boy credit, he helped him regardless, even if it was without a warm and fuzzy bedside manner. Hell, he didn't even rate himself much higher either, so why expect someone with a perfect life like the doc to? Besides, what would Mr. Perfect know about guilt and regret anyway, he snorted.
Truth was, he'd never been one to make friends - that kind of connection was just too risky in his line of work. And as long as he kept moving from one con to another, he was able to keep his solo life from making him feel lonely. But here, with nothing to do but brood and read, it was getting harder to convince himself of that belief. He'd made his own little bubble of isolation early on in this camping trip of doom, and he figured it was too late to change that now.
He picked up the dog-eared pages of 'Watership Down' and frowned at the book. As long as he read, he could keep putting his introspective thoughts further away. The last thing he wanted, or needed , was to start feeling sorry for himself and his self executed alienation. If he did that, he'd be forced to look at his feelings of guilt, loss and longing, he thought, as his mind drifted back to the creased and smudged letter he kept in his back pocket. And there was no way in Hell he was going to open that can of worms.
So he forced his eyes back to the adventures of some rabbits, wondering why on earth anyone would want to write a book about a roaming pack of rodents. He had just found the page where he'd left off when he heard a commotion on the path to the caves.
He flicked his eyes up to the forest and saw Freckles emerge from the undergrowth, wearing the same clothes as yesterday. Not too much surprise there, he thought, as they had yet to find the island laundry-mat. But when he saw Dr. Do Right step out right behind her also wearing the same clothes from yesterday, he raised his eyebrows, kicking aside the little flair up of jealousy.
"Well now. Ain't that sweet. You two just coming home from the movies now? Tsk Tsk. That's how rumours get started, kids."
Kate shot him a withering glance that said 'oh grow up, Sawyer' as clearly as if she'd actually voiced the words. Standard frown and eye roll from Kate ... nothing new there. But Doc didn't look too hot.
"Aww, why so sad, Dr. Know? Lover's spat?" he said, unable to resist the opportunity to poke Jack.
Jack's only response was a defensive tensing of the shoulders and a thin lipped shake of the head. He shook out a pill from his bottle of antibiotics and dropped it onto Sawyer's book.
"Here. Take it. Don't take it. Whatever." he said wearily before walking off without a backward glance.
Disappointed in the lack of sparks, Sawyer wondered at the doc's tired response. He watched as Kate's eyes followed Jack's progress across the beach and felt a pang of envy at the connection between those two.
"The boy looks done in, Freckles. If he can't keep up with you, there's always room in my tent," he goaded.
She looked slowly away from Jack and met Sawyer's eyes. Her only response was a disdainful look and a shake of her head before she walked off in the direction that Jack had taken.
"Aww, Hell," he muttered to himself. "These folks are just no fun at all."
He swallowed the pill dry and glared at the page he'd been reading. He resented her look of condescension almost as much as he resented the hurt he was feeling at her rejection.