The sun shown in soft, but brilliant orange through the trees. It would go down within the hour, so Lina decided she should start to get back to the beach. She'd just bent down to pick up a nice sized log when she heard the sound of someone crashing through the underbrush off to her right. She looked up, and that big southern man was running Hell bent for leather towards her. He saw her and waved his arms, frantically gesturing her away.

"Run! Run!"

She only had time to drop her load of firewood, before he came up on her, and snatched her by the arm, jerking it harshly, and dragging her along with him.

"Move!" he ordered. She struggled to keep up with his long-legged strides. In the trees behind them, she could hear the distinctive trumpeting of the thing that stalked the island. She felt and heard the trees being uprooted just behind them as they ran. Clods of dirt pelted her back.

"There!" The man hollered, shoving her left, into a small bamboo grove. He crowded in behind her, as she weaved between the stalks as fast as she could manage. He stepped on her heel, tripping her up, and she fell, knocking her shoulder on a rock. A big rock. He stepped over her, and bent to pull her to her feet. She caught his wrist.

"Look! There's an opening here!" She started to crawl into the hole, but he grabbed the waistband of her jeans to stop her.

"You crazy? You don't know what's in there!" He admonished.

"I know what's out here!" she countered. As if in response, the Monster cracked a few ten inch thick stalks of bamboo like they were uncooked pasta. She crawled into the opening with him hot on her heels.

After only a few cramped feet the tunnel opened into a modest cavern. Lina reached into her ever-present "Survival Pouch" and pulled out her for-emergencies-only flashlight. She crouched and surveyed the small cave. It was roughly round in shape, maybe 20 feet in diameter, and (as evidenced from the thunk and following swear that came from just behind her) almost tall enough for him to stand up straight in.

The bamboo outside suffered greatly as the thing kept tearing at it for a few more minutes before it went quiet.

"You think its gone?" she whispered.

"You're welcome to go take a look," he replied, skillfully tweaking his sarcasm so that the offer sounded almost sincere. She snorted. He smiled at her in the dim glow reflected by her flashlight beam on the rock cave walls.

"Thanks, I'll pass." Her sarcasm was no less well-honed than his. She turned away from him, going over the area with her light. Branches, large and small, and dead leaves littered the cave floor, but nothing seemed to move among them. She pointed the light up. A large crack ran along the ceiling, almost from wall to wall. She bent, picking up a medium sized piece of wood, and knocked it lightly against the rock face above her, listening for pebbles, or creaking, or any sign of instability. It seemed fairly solid.

"What the Hell are you doing?"

"Checking the ceiling," Lina told him. When he gave her a Huh? look, instinctively, she dead-panned. "Don't worry about it. It's over your head."

"Funny."

She flicked off the flashlight, and a faint blue-gray glow could be seen along the crack. Okay. Flicking the light back on, she handed it to him.

"Could you clear out a space, here," she pointed at the floor, just to the left of him. "As big as you can."

"I could, but why would I?"

"The sun will be down soon, and I want to build a fire."

He made a little, "Ah" sound, and bent to his task. She started gathering and sorting the sticks and twigs. It was accomplished rather quickly, and now she sat in the middle of a cleared space that took up almost the whole floor of the cave, arranging twigs and leaves to make a base for the fire. He held the flashlight for her, and in a few more minutes a healthy little campfire was born.

Both sat staring at the flames for a short while, in silence. Lina knew many things about the man, but she didn't know him. They'd never actually met or spoken, except once on the plane when she had said, "Excuse me," as they'd passed in the isle each heading the opposite way to and from the bathroom. She remembered he'd smelled nice, but that was pretty much it. At least, she thought that was him. There had been another tallish blonde man on the plane; it could have been him. He'd been seated in the tail section of the plane.

Occasionally, she added wood to the fire. The smoke rose up and out, the crack in the ceiling making a perfect vent. She watched him across the flames, covertly, knowing he was not the kind of man who took kindly to being watched. He was idly shredding a palm frond with his nails, eyebrows drawn together in thought. Her stomach gurgled silently. Once again she thanked Bob for making her so obsessive compulsive and slightly schitzophrenic, if not for those tendencies, she wouldn't have had the things she did have in her carry-on, and she wouldn't have them now. She was either crazy, or psychic. She was never sure which one she preferred.

"You hungry?" she asked. He looked up from his revery.

"Yeah, you got something to eat?"

She nodded, rummaging around in her bag. She came up with two star fruits, and tossed him one across the fire. "Appetizer?"

"Thanks," he said. His voice held a hint of confusion, which she interpreted as a smidgeon of surprise. Whether he was surprised she had it on her, or surprised she'd offered it to him out of no where did not really concern her.

Lina set to pulling this and that out of her bag. She heard him shuffle across the floor as he moved to get a better look at what she was doing. Her simple tin mess kit clanged on the rock floor, followed by a bottle of water, more fruit, and a few packets made from the precious tin foil she'd had the presence of mind to keep when Hurley had handed out the remaining airplane meals. She heard him chuckle.

"You carry all that around with you? What, were you gonna run away and start your own civilization?"

"I like to be prepared," she said simply. "You never know when you might end up stranded with no food or water." She ended the sentence by gesturing with her hand at their current location.

"Well, ain't I lucky to be stranded with a girl scout," he sniped.

She answered with a simple, "Yup."

Opening the packets one by one, she revealed smoked boar meat, salted fish, and dried fruit slices. She opened the mess kit and separated the plate section from the frying pan section, dividing the meat and dried fruit between the two. She also filled the tin cup that came in the kit with water, and handed both over to the big blonde.

"Bon appetit," she said, dismissively, and started gnawing on her own tough piece of boar. He actually gave a little grunt of appreciation when he bit into the food.

"This tastes different than the stuff Locke cooks up," he said. She nodded. "How did you do this?"

Her first instinct was to toss out a nicely edged sarcastic reply, It was the meat fairy, haven't you seen her? But, she didn't know him, and didn't feel comfortable with the idea of possibly antagonizing him. Especially in such an enclosed space. So, she answered candidly.

"I make a paste out of fruit and some other plants and such, and brush it on before I smoke it. It's not difficult. Takes a while, but its not like I have anything better to do all day. Plus, the smell and smoke keeps people away."

"Not much of a people person, Specs?"

She ignored the nickname. She mused for a moment if he gave them to people, because he wasn't bright enough to remember their actual names. No, she thought she knew the real reason.

"Yes and no. This place… people are forced into familiarity, and I'm not well-forced in that way. I don't want to spend all day talking just to be talking."

"You spend a lot of time talking to the pregnant girl," he pointed out. She was taken aback a bit by the statement. But, then she reasoned, someone like him would keep a close eye on the people around him. Probably subconsciously.

"She only talks when she has something to say. Granted she has a lot to say, but its not just for the sake of saying it."

She wasn't sure why she was explaining herself to him, and hoped it wasn't just for the sake of explaining it. But he nodded, as though he understood, so she assumed he did. A few more moments passed, as they ate in silence. He handed her back his plate, and she filled his cup with more water.

"So, what's your name, anyway?" he asked.

"What, Specs not good enough?"

"No, Specs is fine, I'm just curious. Scared to tell me your name?"

She rolled her eyes. "Lina," she informed him. "And you're the one they call Sawyer."

"That's me," he proclaimed, flashing a grin with more teeth than a chain saw. She narrowed her eyes in a very cat-like manner.

"Scared to tell me your name?"

The grin vanished, replaced by that hard-eyed glare that might make you wet yourself in the bad way.

"How do you know it's not my real name?" Sawyer asked, between his teeth. Lina's gaze didn't waiver. You don't take your eyes off a viper that's ready to strike.

"The thing about a beach; there's no walls. You have to be careful. The wind can carry all kinds of things to uninvited ears."

She could almost hear his teeth grinding together as his jaw clenched.

"I'll have to remember that," he ground out. He continued to glare at her, she assumed he was trying to stare her down. Her instinctive, if not entirely wise, sense of defiance kicked in and she kept her eyes locked with his. Just because you've got a hard edge, doesn't mean mine isn't just as hard, she said with her eyes.

"You do that," she said out loud. Then, she tilted her head back slightly, lifting an eyebrow in an arrogant, expectant manner. His jaw relaxed some, and his eyes narrowed, one side of his mouth quirking upward ever so slightly. Alright, I got your number, the expression said.

"James," he told her. She was more than a little surprised he'd actually told her. The almost triumphant way his lips curved upwards told her that she had not been very successful in hiding her shock. Now, one might think he would give a fake name, just to gain the reaction, but he seemed more the kind of man who would give the real name, just to sharpen the edge.

She nodded, and looked away, busying herself with the mess kit and tin foil. He swallowed the rest of his water, and gave a satisfied "ahhh," then held his cup out to her to be refilled. She didn't have to look at his face to know he was smiling amusedly.

"So, what were you back in the real world? A cop, or a lawyer?" he asked, in a knowing tone. She shook her head.

"Neither, actually. I'm a writer."

"Writer? Really?" Sawyer's voice held surprised amusement. "Children's stories? The Happy Bunny Goes to Christmas Town?"

She couldn't help but laugh. "Not, quite. High school English text books."

"You're shitting me."

"No, I actually did write one of those last year. Mostly, I write brochures for hotels and resorts."

"That why you were down under?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

It wasn't exactly a lie. She wasn't sure if he could tell she was holding something back. He gave no indication that he didn't believe her.

Again, they lapsed into a companionable silence. The fire crackled and popped soothingly.

"The thing is gone, we should head back," Sawyer said, standing. Lina just looked up at him. Then, she laughed. He frowned down at her from way up there. "What's funny?"

"Head back."

"Yeah, head back. Back to the beach."

"Oh, yes. A romantic moonlight stroll, through the jungle. Sounds lovely," she laughed again, and gestured toward the cave opening. "Be my guest, Peaches."

"Peaches?" he repeated back to her, momentarily distracted. "What, 'that because of my accent?"

"No, just a stock nickname. I'd call you Jack, actually, if I didn't think it would offend you. Unlike some, I don't personalize my impersonals. But, anyway, you go on, have a nice… loooong walk. I'll just wait here till morning, thank you."

"Fine, you do that. I don't need to worry about people going through my stuff while I'm out here hiding in a damn hole in the ground."

"Good luck finding your way back. In the dark. I mean, I wasn't really paying attention to landmarks while I was running for my life, but I bet if you yell 'Marco' really loud, they'll yell 'Polo'."

"Shit," he said, running his fingers angrily through his hair. But it was in that annoyed, Southern drawl of his, so it came out more like: Shee-yit.

Lina, chuckled at him, and scooted a few feet back from the fire, she fluffed up her bag as though it were a feather pillow, and layed down. Sawyer huffed walked back to the other side of the fire, plopped down, and leaned back against the wall. She could head him grumbling quietly to himself.

"Night, Peaches," she said, sweetly.

"Ah, shut up."