"Wow. . ."
"I never thought a. . ."
"I know, I feel like I just watched a three hour long action movie. . ."
"Whoo. . . Was it worth waking up that early?"
"Ehh. . . I wouldn't go that far."
"What would make it worth it?"
Hurley and Libby were walking back to the beach shortly after dawn. Their fingers were entwined as they gently tramped the underbrush, staring at the new lit sky. Both of them pretended not to notice their hands as they walked quietly, Libby afraid of Others and Hurley afraid of the other survivors' opinions. Libby was still considering how she should phrase her answer.
"I think we know what would make it worth it," she decided on. "I mean, it is sort of. . . custom. . . after a first date."
Did she have to say "custom?" he thought. "This was a date?" he said aloud.
"On an abandoned. . ." she paused for a moment to consider, "well, semi-abandoned island, what do you expect to do? Kraft Dinner and the Orientation video?"
"I can't say. . ." Hurley stopped walking and took his hand from hers to put on his hip. "How did you know about the Orientation video?"
"A good psychologist never gives away her sources." Then, under visual scrutiny from Hurley, "Oh, fine, Eko told me."
"Big guy with the Jesus stick Eko?" he asked.
"There's another one?" she answered.
"There is?" he questioned, astonished.
"You are. . ." she trailed, trying to find a proper adjective. "Hurley. You're Hurley."
He blushed, smiled, took her hand and resumed walking. By the time they got to the beach, the sun was fully up and the early birds were rustling from their huts. He walked her back past the campfire and to her tent.
"Well, here we are," she said.
"Yep."
"You walked me home."
"Well, my place is just a couple blocks from here."
"Ooh, a gentleman and modest."
Hurley chuckled, then leaned over and kissed Libby on the forehead. "Seeya. . . today."
"What was that?" she asked, grinning.
"Huh?" he said, catching her mood.
"You pecked me on the forehead, you dope," she said with a chort.
"Well. . ."
"Here's how you do it, Casanova," she said as she took his face in her hands and kissed him full on. Hurley was scared stiff at first, and then just eased into it, slipping his arms around her waist. Libby's hands dropped to join at the back of his neck. Just as he started to pull her closer, she broke it off saying, "Nuh uh. Not on a first date."
"Jit–dit–you–awww. . ." he managed to choke out, smiling.
She pecked him once more on the lips. "Good night, Hurley." And with that, she turned around and closed herself into her tent.
"Wooo!" "Go Hurley!" "Ow-OW!" random male voices cried from the surrounding area.
"Yeah, yeah, keep it down," Hurley replied with a shushing gesture.
"I fink Hurwey's in wuv!" said a different voice from by the beach.
"Yeah, shut it, Warren!" he yelled back. He started to make his way back to his hut–he was, after all, a chapter or two into that detective novel, and it seemed really cool–when he met Locke outside Claire's tent.
"Hey, Hugo," he said, pulling up, lazily chopping at a weird fruit only he would know was edible. "I take it things are going a little better for you?"
"Hurley and Libby, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N–!"
"Libby!" Hurley yelled, turning around to where he'd just been.
"Sorry! Couldn't resist." With a flash of teeth and a flurry of blonde, she was hidden from view again.
"Yeah," he said, turning to Locke again, "I think I'm cool."
"How's Charlie doing?" Locke asked, taking a bite of. . . what was that, anyway?
"He's. . ." Hurley stopped to keep the anger at bay. "He's my friend, dude."
"I'm sorry?"
"You're not asking because you care about him," Hurley said, anger rising in his tone. "You're asking because you think he's trying to hurt us all. He's not trying to hurt anyone."
"I never thought that–" Locke began.
"Is that why you socked him into the surf after rescuing Aaron and playing the hero?" Hurley paused, shook his head, took a deep breath and let it out. "Sorry, dude. I gotta get back to my hut. Catch a couple missed Zs. No hard feelings, man," he finished walking off down the beach and leaving Locke speechless.
Walking back from getting water that day, Hurley felt a bit better. For one, he'd gotten some form of momentary resolution from Bad Twin and for two, it felt like he'd gotten a load off of his chest by saying what he said to Locke.
"'No hard feelings', eh?" he heard in a heavily accented voice. He turned to see Claire, leaning against the front post of her tent, and grinning. Freaking customs. . . he thought fleetingly.
"Well. . ." he started cautiously.
"Don't worry, he's at the Hatch," she explained. "If he can hear what you're saying now, he deserves to."
"He was a dick," Hurley stated.
"And Charlie did light the forest on fire and steal my baby," Claire retorted.
"To babtize it! Can you think of anything more inane?"
"Oh, perhaps a walk in the woods, a toddle down the beach, changing his nappy. . ."
"Rescuing him from Armed Crazy Women? That's inane alright. . ."
"Why are we fighting?" Claire asked, walking over to Hurley. "I know what you're trying to say, it's just that I don't really trust him right now."
"I can be there. With Charlie, while he's seeing Aaron," he suggested. In fact, it's what he'd been thinking the entire time. He really liked the little guy. The baby, not the–hold up, what was she saying now? "Huh?"
"I said," she replied, "that sounds like an okay idea."
"Oh, kickin'." Hurley walked over to actually stand near Claire's tent, instead of halfway down the beach. "So, how are we gunna work this out? Like, alternate Tuesdays?"
"I dunno," Claire said, sitting down on the bench set out by the back wall to look over the crib where Aaron was sucking his thumb contentedly. "How badly does Charlie want to see him, anyhow?"
"I don't really talk to him about you, or Aaron, or Locke," Hurley admitted, looking for a place to sit down. "I mean, he doesn't really know that I'm doing this, is there somewhere I can sit?"
"He doesn't know?" she gasped.
"Uhh, not really?" he said, squinting guiltily. "Seriously, anywhere? Cos that bench only seats me and a midget. . ."
"I think there's a stump back. . ." she began, getting up and walking around her tent to indicate behind her, "here."
"Oh, thanks," he said, taking the stump back around front and sitting across from the bench.
"So, why doesn't he know?" Claire asked.
"Cos, if you'd said no, I wouldn't want him to get his hopes up, you know?" Hurley said, putting his pack down beside him, and taking out the water.
"Yeah, I get what you're saying," she said with a sigh, leaning back on her tarp. "So, when Charlie's seeing Aaron, you'll be there?"
"Yeah."
"Can I be there with you, you know, later on?" she asked, leaning forward and speaking quietly.
"Yeah, sure. He really wants to see you." Hurley took another gulp of water and looked at Aaron, who looked at Hurley. They both sat wide eyed, staring at each other, sizing each other up, when Aaron smiled. "Hey, little guy. . ."
"Hurley. Hurley! Eyes up here, I just asked you something!"
"Nguh?"
"I thought you said you didn't talk to him about these things," she restated.
"We don't," he answered. "There's no need to talk about it. It's sorta like me in a roomful of midgets–all of the midgets know I'm there, and none of them talk about it, cos it's kind of obvious that there's a huge fat guy in the room."
"What is with you and little people?" Claire asked, narrowing her eyes.
"There aren't any around to offend," Hurley admitted to the sand.
"Oh. So, we're trying this out tomorrow then?" she asked briskly.
"Yeah, yeah, I'll go tell him."
"So, what are you here for, Hurley?"
"Well, I got a bit of a surprise for you. . . What are you doing, man?"
Charlie was doing odd structural work with a lot of bamboo and rope, and Hurley couldn't quit hack out what it was. Not that he cared, or that Charlie would care in a moment's time.
"Tables. I'm helping Sayid out. See? Two friends more than Locke."
"In the words of Dr. Phil," Hurley said, continuing in a southern accent, "you have to let go of your anger."
"That'll be easier once. . . But. . . You know. . ." Charlie replied, sitting on the edge of the table to talk to Hurley.
"So, where's Sayid right now?" Hurley asked, looking around.
"In the underbrush." Charlie indicated with his hand. "He's been in and out of there all day, all sweaty and pale. I think he had a bad case of mango."
"We got mangoes?" Hurley gasped.
"Yeah," Charlie said casually. "There's a bunch a mile or two in."
"Man, when I am done here, I gotta get me some fuckin' mango. I have like, a mango craving," Hurley gushed, looking at the forest.
"What do you mean, when you're done here?" Charlie asked, hopping off of the table to stand eye to chin with Hurley.
"Well, back after the food stunt, you remember how you always wanted another jar of peanut butter?"
And so, Hurley filled Charlie in on his conversations with Claire over the past two days, from the one jar of peanut butter to just moments ago.
"And she said 'we're trying this out tomorrow then,' and I said 'sure,' then I came to tell you."
"Wait, hold up. You kept a jar of peanut butter just to bail me out of the doghouse?" Charlie asked incredulously.
"Have you been listening since the beginning? Do I need to repeat everything?"
"No, it's just. . . Why would you do that for me?"
"If you're gone, who am I going to talk to?"
"Real sentimental, Hurley," Charlie said, stepping back up on top of the table. "Tres Brokeback."
"Huh?"
"Sorry, you wouldn't get that," Charlie said absently. "Obscure literary reference. Story by Annie Proulx. It's about two gay cowboys over the years. I read it on the road, found it in a 'banned books bin' in Alabama. Not actually banned, but, well, you know."
"Sounds. . . pretty empty," Hurley said.
"Hey, Hurley," Sayid said, emerging from the underbrush. "What do you want?"
"Uhh, nothing, I was just booking," Hurley said, turning to leave. "So, we on for tomorrow?"
"Yeah, we're on," Charlie responded.
"What was that about?" Sayid asked, passing up a log as Hurley walked back home.
"Nothing of importance. . ."