Title: Another Day, Brother - Chapter 3

Author: jbdean ©

Rating: G

Summary: The next day.

Desmond stirred in his bunk. Without the mattress, it was not a comfortable sleep. For a brief moment he missed his top bunk bed back in his old living quarters. But as he caught a whiff of the sea air, he quickly tossed that longing aside and concentrated on his new-found freedom. As he sat up, stiff from the night's sleep, he slowly stretched and then swung his feet over and onto the floor. Placing his hands at his side, to boost himself out of bed, he touched Fiona's letters -- still tied in the red and green ribbon. He turned his head and looked down on the small bundle and smiled a half smile. He took up the bundle and placed it in the inside breast pocket of the DHARMA coveralls he was still wearing. Bending over, he slipped on his boots and laced them up. One more long stretch and Desmond headed for his backpack where he removed one small tin and a can opener. He had grabbed the few food items so quickly that he wasn't sure what he'd come away with. But it didn't matter. He was hungry and happy to have something to eat until he could forage and find more food ... something he knew he had to begin doing that very day. The tin was sardines in oil. How he wished he had some crackers to go with them but wishing wasn't going to make it so, something he'd come to accept after three years of being a prisoner in that bunker, so he ate the sardines on their own and was glad for it. He then took a bottle from his backpack and, finding a glass on a shelf, poured himself a few fingers of the whiskey he'd brought along. It didn't mix too well with the oily fish but it was wet and gave him a warm feeling in his stomach, for which he was grateful. A little liquid courage never hurt, he told himself.

Desmond stepped up onto the deck of The Nairne and looked out at the horizon. The day was bright and clear and the waves were barely visible as they gently rolled up onto the shore. Turning his glance toward the sky, he saw only a few clouds and could already feel the strong tropical sun as it warmed the deck railings beneath his hands. Slowly, he glanced around and took in his full surroundings. He could see the vine covered mountain base that hid the entrance back into the bunker that was the main DHARMA post on the island. To the right of that was a dense grove of bamboo and palm trees that led into an area of jungle that he had yet to explore. To the left he saw more beach that was cut off from outsiders by a small grove of brush and a jut from the mountain ... another area he had yet to explore. Slowly he stepped back down into his cabin to retrieve his fishing pole and tackle box.

Back on the beach, Desmond had cast his line into the fairly calm waters and secured the pole in the sand. With nothing yet to bait the hook, he had little hope of catching anything and set off quickly toward a tidal pool he noticed a few yards away in hope of finding something ... a crab, a sea urchin, anything he could use for bait. Luck was with him because no sooner had he stepped up to the tidal pool than he spotted a sea slug. This would make for good bait, he thought. He carried it back to his boat where he sliced it up and then went directly to his pole to add it to the hook. As Desmond cast his line back into the sea and repositioned his pole, he looked out at the huge ocean and felt a wave of panic as he knew he had to find fresh water soon. While the whiskey would do for a bit, he'd dehydrate if he didn't find water quickly. Deciding to let the fishing go on its own, he turned and headed off into the bamboo grove.

It was hard making his way through the close growing stalks of bamboo and it slowed him down more than he'd hoped. But there soon appeared a small clearing where he also found a large coconut tree that, upon closer inspection, appeared to have four or five ripe coconuts ready for picking. He untied his boots and slipped both them and his socks off and went directly to shimming up the trunk of the tall tree. He was glad, again, that he had kept up his exercising while in the bunker and while it wasn't an easy feat, he managed to get to the top in a fairly short time. Balancing himself with his feet and one free hand, he reached into his left hip pocket and produced a knife whose blade shot out with the press of a small trigger on the handle. Quickly Desmond went to work to cut down as many of the tree's fruit as he could. Managing to sever four, he then let the knife drop and shimmied back down the tree's trunk. On the ground again, he folded the knife and returned it to his pocket. He'd forgotten to bring his backpack so in order to carry the large coconuts, he slipped off his coveralls and placed them inside. He then zipped up the suit, tied off the legs and arms, and hoisted the homemade pouch over his neck and one arm like a sling and headed back to the beach.

No sooner had Desmond emerged from the small bamboo grove than he noticed his fishing pole bobbing up and down. He had a bite! Slipping the coverall-sling off, he dashed to his rod and reeled in his catch. It wasn't as big as a swordfish but it was big enough to fill him up. He unhooked the fish, used his knife to kill it and then proceeded to gut and scale it. He laid the fish on the deck of his boat and removed a small hand ax from a storage seat on deck and took it down to the coconuts he'd left in the sand. After removing one from his coveralls, he skillfully hacked at it until he came to the shell inside the thick green husk. He took it, the other coconuts and coveralls and the fish back into the cabin and began to prepare his meal.

Pulling out a chopping board, Desmond began to slice the fish in thin strips and thought about all the Japanese cuisine he'd had over his lifetime. What he had before him would have cost a pretty penny in a nice restaurant and he chuckled to himself at having caught it on his own and on nearly his first try. He took his knife out again and bore through the eyes of the coconut and poured the sweet milk into a new glass. Whacking the nut on the edge of the counter, it split and he pulled the pieces apart to get at the meat. It wasn't a meal set for a king but it was good and filling. Desmond ate every last bite and downed the coconut milk. He then went back out to bring in his fishing pole and tackle box as he didn't want to take any chances that someone might see them and know he was there. He doubted that Jack or Locke or the girl would find him this quickly but he did recall that Locke had told him there were over 40 other survivors of that plane crash and he didn't know if they were as likeable as Locke or as hot headed as Jack and he didn't want to take any chances.

He took a seat on one of the two benches the small cabin offered and propped himself up with a couple of faded pillows. He was a little sleepy after his meal and thought a nap would do him good. As he began to doze off, he thought of the letters in his coveralls and reached across to the table where they lay to retrieve them. Again he put them to his nose and inhaled deeply. Fiona wore a lovely scent that reminded him of roses and heather. She made the perfume herself from wild flowers and no other woman had ever had the same scent as she did. He wondered if she still wore that same perfume and if some other man was now enjoying its intoxicating smell. He clutched the bundle of letters to his chest and let his eyes, now very heavy with sleep, close slowly. As he drifted off to sleep he could see Fiona standing on the dock as he set sail for his solo race around the world. Her blonde hair picking up the sun's rays and her soft skin pink from the flush of the warm day all came back like a wave washing over him. He just let himself enjoy her image and hoped it would continue into his dreams.

TO BE CONTINUED