Apologies this has taken so long, I have been pretty busy the last few weeks and I have to admit I took a bit of time off writing to binge The Umbrella Academy (I definitely recommend if you haven't already watched it). Enjoy!

The third snare was as empty as the first, although thankfully not destroyed as the second had been, the rope ripped from its moorings, the sticks snapped and the fruit a sticky mulch trampled into the ground. Sarah sighed and looked down at her hands, braced against the fallen tree she sat astride. She felt a slight spasm of regret when she noticed her now lean and tanned forearms, no longer attractively plump and pale, but quickly quashed it. She swung her leg easily over and hopped down the other side of the tree. Perhaps one of the final two traps would be more successful.

Although the immediate danger had passed, Billy's recovery was a slow process. The fever had robbed him of his strength and he still slept most of the time, lacking the energy to leave his bed. His hands shook noticeably with effort and the gauntness of his face lingered. It had become very clear to Sarah that he was impatient of his frailty and moody and irascible as a result. A long sleep, taken after his fever had broken, had refreshed her and so she was able to bear his temper with equanimity. That being said, she appreciated the long periods he spent napping when she didn't have to put up with his grumbling over his enforced bed rest.

Her main concern now was their lack of food supplies. The days of his illness when she had been afraid to leave him, even for short periods, meant that their stocks had dwindled alarmingly. She had used up the last of the dried fish several nights ago and they were now surviving on what she could gather in the day. Although she had been able to spear several fish and harvest some crabs it was not enough, Billy needed meat to regain the weight he had lost in the throes of his infection.

She had spent quite a considerable time pondering her options. She had quickly discounted the gun, hitting anything would be nigh on impossible and she preferred to conserve their shot for Billy's expert marksmanship. To chase something down armed only with her knife seemed both foolish and extremely unlikely to yield any results so that idea was quickly set aside as well. Billy had taught her to tie snares only days before his fall, explaining both the manufacture and setting of them in detail. This seemed viable. Provided she set them correctly it was possible that some inquisitive swine might blunder into her trap and the rope would do the work for her. That had been her plan, and when she had set the snares and baited them with a fruit of which the pigs of the island seemed particularly fond, she had been quietly optimistic. That optimism was rapidly fading in the face of her empty or ruined traps but nevertheless she sent out a quick, fervent prayer that something would be tempted.

She paused to pull up some roots and then skipped over another fallen tree. It was nice to be unimpeded by the drag of her skirts. The trousers she had borrowed from Billy's trunk might look absolutely indecent, clinging suggestively to her hips and thighs, but they were considerably more practical for her forest jaunt. Billy would not mind her purloining of his clothing, she was sure. They had been buried at the bottom of the trunk under his spare clothes and they were clearly made for a man more of her own height than her giant companion's. Admittedly the previous owner was considerably less rounded in the hip, but the cloth was worn soft and had enough give to accommodate her without being uncomfortably tight. Other than a slightly musty odour of disuse they were perfectly sound, as was the shirt she had taken at the same time. A scarf tied around her head to keep her hair confined had completed her hunting attire. She had been relieved that Billy had snored on obliviously throughout her quiet appropriation of the clothes. She had no wish for him to see her in such scandalous garb but she had to admit it really was very comfortable.

Approaching the fourth snare there was a hush in the air that made her pause. When she peered carefully around an obstructing tree trunk her heart leapt at the sight of a pig caught in her trap. She wanted to do a little dance of happiness but as she watched she quickly realised that the coiled cord had failed to do its work. Perhaps she had made the loop too big because the animal had somehow got both its head and one of its forelegs through and though the snare had tightened stopping its escape, the pig's leg had prevented the intended quick strangulation. Instead the creature was trapped and distressed but very much alive, the motion of its flanks showing its rapid breathing.

Sarah's heart sank. She was going to have to kill it. She checked that her knife was securely tucked in her waistband and crept forward slowly. The failure of her stealthy approach was immediately apparent when her intended victim began to struggle, stumbling on three legs as it tried to dislodge the cord. There was nothing for it, she took two hasty steps, grabbed hold of the rope and fell on the animal. The pig let out an almighty screech. It began to writhe in earnest, its flanks heaving as it laboured against her groping hands. She managed to pin its unbound front leg, catching it under the snout with her other hand. It was stronger than she would have imagined. A hind foot slammed into her thigh and she gave a grunt of pain. Shrill squeals accompanied the swine's thrashing. Her knife was still tucked into her trousers and both her hands were otherwise occupied. Letting go of its leg she reached for the knife but the pig, sensing weakness, heaved suddenly and she lost her grip. It kicked her again and tried to run. Sarah felt her shoulder wrench as she grabbed for the rope to prevent the pig's escape. It flung itself frenziedly about while she clung to the rope. The rough weave grazed her fingers and she fought to keep hold. She was panting with effort, sweat rolling down her neck. With a huge groan of exertion she pulled on the taut rope, dragging the wildly wriggling animal towards her. When it was close enough she leapt again, slinging her whole arm around its body and pushing up its snout. She fumbled for her knife. The pig gave another ear-piercing squeal that ended abruptly in a gargling sigh as she dragged the knife across its throat with all the power she could muster. Warm blood gushed over her hands and the beast gave a wet snort, its sides heaving as impending death sapped it of its remaining strength. Under her pitying eyes the creature gave one or two shallow, bubbling breaths before collapsing to the ground.

She sat back on her heels, her breathing laboured, sweat stinging her eyes. The forest was still for a time, as if holding its breath, marking the death of one of its own with a moment of silence, and then gradually the raucous calls resumed. Sarah regarded her kill for a long time as she caught her breath and then fierce pride at her accomplishment surged through her.

The weight of the pig slung across her back caused her to stagger as she entered the clearing and when she dropped the limp carcass to the ground she rolled her shoulders with a groan, wincing a little at the sharp ache. She turned towards the fireside and almost jumped out of her skin when she realised Billy was standing motionless, one hand braced against a tree, the other trembling visibly at his side, his face pale and anxious. He had a blanket draped loosely around his shoulders and sweat dripped down his neck. Sarah put a hand to her chest and blew out a long breath.

'Good grief! You scared me. What are you doing up?' she said, moving smoothly to his side.

'I'm sorry,' he said, closing his eyes for a second, exhaustion evident in the dark circles under his hollow eyes. 'I thought I heard screaming.'

Sarah looked at him blankly for a moment. Screaming? She hadn't been screaming. Then it dawned on her. The shrill squeals of a terrified animal probably sounded a lot like screaming.

'It was the pig,' she explained. 'It wasn't too keen to be dinner.'

'You caught a pig? That's great.' The smile he gave her was genuine, if a little listless but then she saw him take deep breath and his smile broadened. 'Really brilliant. You won't need me at all before long.'

She nudged him gently with her elbow.

'Don't be silly, who do you think it was taught me to tie snares? I think it counts as a joint effort.'

Taking his arm she hustled him back to bed but he refused to lie down, stubbornly decrying his need for rest. He did deign to sit however, admitting irritably that he hadn't realised how weak he was. She settled a blanket over him and turned to get his cup. When she turned back to him he was frowning.

'What are you wearing?'

She looked down. She had forgotten the trousers.

'I found them in your trunk, I thought they would be a bit more practical for hunting.'

She must look like an absolute fright, not just because of her indecent clothing but the strands of sweaty hair escaping from her scarf, the dirt on her shirt and the blood on her hands. Billy watched her with a strange expression on his face as he scrutinised her from her head to her bare toes. He swallowed and cleared his throat as if he would speak but silence followed.

To fill the uncomfortable pause she blurted out, 'I had not intended for you to see me dressed like this.'

Under her fascinated eyes his throat bobbed as he swallowed again.

'You look…ferocious,' he said, his voice oddly gruff.

She tried to quell the feeling of pride that his words rekindled, she should be mortified but she wasn't. She felt powerful and capable and couldn't find fault with his statement. Casting a rueful glance at her blood caked hands she said, 'I look like a pirate.'

'Scourge of the seven seas.'

She flashed him a grin. 'Something like that.'

The cool water of the stream washed the worst of the blood from her hands and then Sarah set about preparing the carcass for cooking. Once it was spitted over the fire she turned her attention to Billy. He needed a wash, as did the blankets he had been sleeping on for the last seven days. The air in the hut was fetid with the rank odours of illness and unwashed man. He was still sat up when she came in, his eyes closed and his jaw slack, but his eyes flicked open when he heard her enter.

'You need a wash, you smell and I need to change your bedding,' she said briskly, paying no attention his groan. 'I'll check your wound afterwards and bind it with a clean dressing.'

It was obvious that he wanted to shrug off her supporting hands, annoyed by his own frailty, but equally clear to them both that he needed her help. He allowed her to lead him outside and sit him next to the bucket of water and the soap that she had prepared for him.

'Are you going to help me with this too?' he said with a hint of resentment in his tone. She ignored both the slight tightening in her gut and his frustration induced spite.

'I think you can manage that by yourself,' she said, her lips forming a prim line. 'Besides, I have the singular joy of washing your blankets.'

He grimaced and picked up the soap to dip it into the bucket. As he began smoothing soap over his arms she stooped under the doorway and surveyed the dwelling. Gathering up his filthy bedding she tossed it into a pile near the door. The rush mattress she dragged outside and slung over the line to air. Bundling the blankets in her arms she turned in the doorway to find she had an excellent view as Billy stood up shakily and upended the bucket of over his head to rinse away the soap. The rivulets of water trailed down his body drawing her eyes with them until she saw pale skin, untouched by the sun's rays. It took her a moment to realise that he had stripped off his dirty trousers. Her mouth went dry and she whirled away, ducking back into the hut to lean against the wall, heart hammering.

She closed her eyes trying to forget what she had just seen but her treacherous imagination helpfully filled in every breath-taking detail. Despite the ravages his fever had wrought on his body he was still a work of art, the epitome of masculine perfection. Where had that thought come from? Objectively it was true but she shouldn't be thinking it. Neither should she be dwelling on the jut of his shoulder blades and the flexing of muscles across his broad back nor the obvious demarcation where bronzed skin met ivory. She bit her lip and silently chastised herself. The faint sound of fabric flapping told her that he was drying himself, and hopefully would at least be covered. Straightening her spine she took out a spare pair of trousers from the trunk and carried them outside laid on top of the blankets. She kept her eyes averted from him, bending to pick up his discarded trousers and dropping the clean pair with barely a glance in his direction. Pretend nothing was wrong, that seemed like the best course.

The sound of his voice arrested her retreat to the stream. She looked up unwillingly but he was, if not decently attired, at least covered from the waist down by a blanket, the clean trousers in his hand.

'Sarah, I'm sorry I keep being such a bastard.'

She cocked her head at him and raised an eyebrow.

'Are you suggesting that is something new?'

His face fell almost ludicrously and she fought to stifle the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. It took him a moment but she saw the instant he realised she was joking. He grinned at her and then said seriously: 'I really am sorry, I just hate feeling so useless. You shouldn't have to do everything for me.'

'Given that there was a time you did everything for me, I think you've probably earned a break from you labours while you recuperate.'

A few days later Sarah sat basking in the sunlight, her hat discarded at her feet. Her embroidery lay in her lap waiting for her to pick it up again but for the moment she was content to enjoy the peace and quiet, a short reprieve from the exertions of the last couple of days. Billy had disappeared but she wasn't concerned, he wouldn't have gone far. He was being oddly secretive but she couldn't fathom his reasons and she was far too intent on enjoying the warmth of the sun on her face to give it much thought.

When he did return she was dozing and his dry comment of: 'You'll burn if you sit there much longer,' drew a startled exclamation out of her as she opened her eyes to find him standing over her, his hands behind his back.

'Where have you been?' she asked rather ungraciously.

'Funny you should ask, I've been finishing your gift,' he said ignoring his less than enthusiastic reception and sitting down next to her. He looked tired but the brightness in his eyes had returned and the tremor in his hands had disappeared.

'My gift?'

'Yes, I made you a gift.'

'Why?' she said without thinking and then realised that that was probably not the most mannerly of responses.

'I'm reasonably certain that it is still the done thing in polite society for gentlemen to give gifts to ladies they hold in esteem. Now I know I'm not a fucking gentleman but still, I thought it would be alright for me to give you some token.'

She immediately became a little flustered, 'Yes, it is, I suppose but you didn't have to…I don't need a gift.'

'Don't say that, I've just spent several days making this, you can't refuse it.'

'I didn't mean that I didn't want it, I just meant you didn't have to do that…' she trailed off uncertainly.

He smiled at her, 'Sarah, thank you for nursing me back to health despite me being a grumpy bastard, for making my meals so much more palatable and for helping to restore my sanity which was well on its way to being lost before you came here.' He ducked his head almost shyly and brought his hands out from behind his back. 'I hope you like it.'

She took the object from him, a perfect set of embroidery hoops made from beautifully smooth, dark wood. She looked up at him doubtfully.

'Where did they come from?'

'I made them. Well, carved them really.'

'For me?'

'Of course for you! Jesus, have you never received a present before?'

'Not like this.'

'I know it's not the finest gift but it was the best I could do given our circumstances…'

She leaned forward and impulsively embraced him, effectively cutting off his next words. He tensed as she put her arms around his neck but then relaxed, his hands coming to rest cautiously on her waist.

'Billy, stop talking. I love it,' she said quietly. He abruptly pulled away from her and stood, swaying slightly but looking pleased with himself.

'There's more actually,' he said and then walked into the hut. When he came out he was holding what looked like a ball of yarn, which he deposited in her lap as he sat down again.

'It's silk for your embroidery, you said you were running out. I unravelled one of my scarves.'

Her hand crept up to her cheek as she stared at the silk threads, a mixture of dark green and gold.

'What have I done to upset you, you look like you're about to cry?' he said sounding worried.

'Nothing, nothing,' she said wiping her eyes. 'It's just such a thoughtful gift.'

She embraced him once more and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek. Allowing her cheek to linger for a moment against his, she savoured the scrape of his stubble on her skin and the masculine scent of him. His fingers flexed on her waist and she supressed a slight shiver. She reluctantly pulled away and said fervently: 'Thank you.'

He rubbed his cheek absently, looking a little embarrassed. Feeling he deserved some sort of explanation for her overly emotional response she clasped her hands possessively around the hoops and silk and said, 'Woodes used to get me gifts occasionally but they were never…things that I would appreciate. They were things he thought I should appreciate. Books on subjects he enjoyed, when he knew our tastes differed wildly, jewellery befitting his wife but not that I liked, that sort of thing.'

'To be fair, there's not a lot of jewellery or books to be found on this island, otherwise I might have accidently got you a gift you hated.'

She shook her head, taking no notice of his attempt at levity. 'I don't think so, you see people.' But what she really meant to say was, 'You see me,' and that thought was intoxicating in a way she couldn't fully explain but it both scared and comforted her. 'He gave me his own book for my birthday once.'

'As in the one he wrote?'

'Yes, that one.'

'Perhaps he thought you would enjoy it?' he said rather lamely. She gave him a faint smile.

'I think perhaps he forgot, my birthday that is. He'd signed it, made a great show of the fact it was signed by the author.'

'Jesus Christ!' Billy muttered. 'And did you enjoy it?'

'No,' she looked at him guiltily. 'I thought it was pompous and derivative.'

Billy snorted. 'I take it you didn't share that opinion with him.'

'Strangely enough, I thought it better left unsaid.'

I can't seem to help myself from writing Rogers as a terrible person. I'm sure I didn't hate him this much when I watched the show!