Author's Note: I've taken Tawney's advice for now and brought down the rating. Whether the cursing becomes more apparent (and it does), I'll take it back up. Maybe I'll catch a few more people this way, though the fiction isn't really meant to be a crowd pleaser.

"I know what I want: you just take me through the motions.
I know what I want, and that's more than you can say."
Sum 41

Chapter Four

Within the week the two are nearly inseparable; she takes him fishing from time to time, they share meals. When Heather asks to look through his stash in his beach shack, Sawyer grudgingly allows her, but when she asks him what hole he is hoarding the rest of it in (she knows him enough to know that there is more, and that he's hiding it), he looks away. They go through the motions of bonding, but there's always a distance to it, a weariness. There's physical bonding in the sense of small pushes, shoulder nudges, and giving each other a hand up from time to time.

"So what do you think is happening between them?" Charlie asks Jack as Jack drops off fresh water. Jack looks up, follows Charlie's gaze to Heather and Sawyer. They watch as she plants a boot on the seat of his pants while he's kneeling over something; Sawyer however seems to have expected as much, spins on his heel and grabs her ankle. With a sharp tug she falls, undignified but laughing. He stands over her, offers a hand. She looks at it with suspicion for a moment, and Charlie and Jack can't tell what Sawyer is saying to her, but he bends lower, smile widening. She takes his hand, and he hoists her to her feet. Charlie snorts whenever Heather sticks her leg between Sawyer's, and topples him with an elbow to the chest.

"That's low!" They hear him shout, though in good humor, as Heather wriggles free and takes off down the beach, scooping up her backpack on the way. When she looks over her shoulder they can see her laughing. Sawyer shakes his head, sighs, and brushes the sand off. He looks about ready to settle down and read, but instead picks up the book and follows after Heather, walking.

"Well?" Charlie asks, and Jack sighs. He doesn't seem so amused by the display.

"They're both trying to use each other, and neither of them knows what for."

"Do you think there's any chance that-" Charlie starts, but stops from the look on Jack's face.

"I don't know."

"Yeah, sorry."

- - -

"Think you're funny, don't you?" Heather hears Sawyer coming up behind her. It's only shortly past one, about twenty minutes after their scuffle by his tent. She is gripping the fishing rod and leaning against a tree—this is not a part of the beach, but rather where the land is grassy, drops off straight into the water, better for the fishing she is doing. It's the place she came to fish her first night here.

"Funny? No. Clever though, I have my moments," She replies without looking up, eyes half-closed, almost dozing. Then she does look over to him slowly, tilting her head in a way that directly mirrors Sawyer's habit. Sawyer feels his heart jump in his chest, knowing that she's mimicking him, and doing a damn good job of it. On impulse he bends, kisses her brow, and can feel her go rigid against the tree, uncomfortable. There is a pause, where Heather can feel his breath warm at her temple, can smell that he wears cologne even on a stupid island. "Sweet of you," she exhales, and then looks away.

"I have my moments." Sawyer sits down, not directly next to her, probably wary that he has overstepped some kind of boundary. Heather goes back to her more relaxed position, and he settles into his book.

Awkward, Heather thinks, risks a sideways glance at him, though he is further behind her than to the side. And then, eyes forwarding again, feeling a tug at her line (thankfully taking her mind off of it), she adds: Awkwardly enjoyable.