A month passed like that, with them sharing the bed and Sawyer making fun of him whenever he had to slump over to the sink and clean the dishes. Charlie ran Sawyer through a few different programs, just getting him used to everything again. Sawyer seemed to remember just about everything to do with his fighting technique.

But that was all, it seemed. He was still baffled by Michael's coding and couldn't care less about the politics they indulged in. He'd only been out of the apartment once or twice, when he'd accompany Charlie down to the market on Saturdays, but that was it.

He seemed a little too interested in the Program, though – he'd told Charlie a few days ago that he preferred it to the real world. That made Charlie's skin crawl, but he couldn't pin down an exact reason. As he slipped the visor on, closed his eyes, and nodded at Michael, he couldn't help but feel that maybe he should have been encouraging Sawyer to integrate with the real world instead of continuing with his 'training'.

He opened his eyes and found himself standing in the middle of a shopping mall. There was a neat crowd of people milling around; a couple of shop fronts; a few escalators. Charlie'd guess that they were up about three stories. He smiled, able to feel the strands of his hair tickling against his forehead; that was the one thing he loved about the Program, having his hair back.

Once his eyes had adjusted to the sudden rush of light and so many people, he looked over to Sawyer, who seemed to be quite impressed by the setting. He was looking around with a grin on his face.

"So what d'you want to do?" Charlie asked, but he already knew the answer: beat something up.

The answer he got was therefore fairly unexpected: "You," Sawyer said, before Charlie raised an eyebrow. It was then that Sawyer seemed to realise what he'd said, because he shook his head and backtracked quickly. "No, you asshole. I mean I wanna fight you. Think I could beat you now."

Oh. Well, that sounded painful. Charlie thought that he preferred the idea of Sawyer just doing him.

But he shook his head. "Nah, definitely not. I can take on four Cleaners."

"Yeah, and get the shit beaten out of you."

"Oi, I saved your life, remember?"

"That was ages ago."

"That was a month."

"Yeah. Ages."

"Piss off, that's no time at all."

They'd started circling each other by now, smiling as they spoke. Charlie still wasn't sure if this was a brilliant idea, but he seemed to have consented to it without even meaning to.

"It's enough, believe me. Come on. First to get the other pinned wins."

"Pinned for five seconds."

"Easy."

"Alright then. Mike, put me on manual?" Charlie asked, and was pleased by the look of confusion on Sawyer's face. There were times when it was nice that Sawyer didn't remember any of this stuff; it made him feel smart. However, those times were greatly overruled by the times that Charlie just wanted his Sawyer back.

He felt that overwhelming rush of control as Michael did as he asked. Charlie didn't really like it – it was complicated to have to focus on suspending gravity yourself while also trying to keep your mind in the fight, but otherwise Michael wouldn't be able to do this all at once.

He nodded, and didn't give Sawyer any warning at all before he'd launched himself into the air, a spinning kick directed at Sawyer's head. Sawyer ducked it easily, crouching down to the ground just as Charlie had expected him to. He released his hold on gravity at just the right moment – and fell down heavily on top of Sawyer.

Sawyer flattened down onto the ground with a grunt, as his legs tried and failed to hold up Charlie's weight on his back. Charlie lost his balance and hit the ground too, but managed to slip into a roll as he fell. He bounced back to his feet, only a little bit hurt but a big bit dizzy.

As he was trying to convince his vision to stop spinning and impersonating a roundabout, Sawyer got up and dove at him. They both went flying like a set of skittles. Charlie's back hit into the wall next to the mall's lifts. Sawyer trapped him there, managed to pin him there, but it didn't last long before Charlie slipped away and ran off, free again. Laughing to himself, Sawyer chased after him.

The crowd around them didn't even react.

They continued like that, mock fighting like a pair of schoolboys, until Charlie lost track of time. They traded punched and kicks but nothing serious, nothing designed to hurt. Once or twice Charlie succeeded in pinning Sawyer, but he'd always jump up and run away before they could count to five. He didn't want this to end.

Sawyer caught his waist and clung on as he tried running past him, laughing. Together they lost their balance and went tumbling down the escalator, a flailing mass of limbs. Sawyer hit the ground first, and Charlie had the good fortune to land on top of him – his fall was cushioned by strong muscle and tanned skin.

He shifted to pin Sawyer properly, while the other was still dazed from the fall, but his hyper mood fractured when he realised how hard Sawyer was. The mood disappeared entirely when Sawyer's hands didn't move from where they'd landed carefully on his ass. Charlie froze, and just stayed perched on top of Sawyer, panting for air. He had to say something, didn't he?

But his mind seemed to have frozen as much as his body had, because all he could process was that Sawyer was staring at his lips – Sawyer was staring at his lips. Long moments passed between them. Was Sawyer about to kiss him? Really?

Suddenly his world flipped over and he found himself on his back. He was frowning, and still trying to work out what had just happened when he heard Sawyer's voice, low by his ear. "5, 4, 3, 2, 1. I win."

Charlie kept lying against the tiled floor of the mall. He glared at Sawyer, briefly. "Cheater."

What the hell were you doing?, Sawyer asked himself as he helped Charlie clear away the dishes from the table that night. He'd been asking himself that one question ever since he'd 'cheated' during their fight. His hands were still convinced that they could feel Charlie's ass underneath them. Stupid hands.

But, damn, this place was bad for him. There was something in the water or they were drugging his food or something. Anything – any excuse that would stop this from happening, or at least stop it from being his fault. He wasn't gay, alright? He refused to be. Yet, as Charlie stood by his sink, his rambling voice accompanied by the splash of water and the clink of cutlery, Sawyer couldn't stop the way his gaze roamed over the body in front of him, exploring every inch.

Ordinarily, he didn't deny himself anything. If he wanted something, he went for it. If he wanted a woman, he went for her. But men? No. No way.

He could still remember perfectly well what his father had had to say about gay people: Goddamn fags, ain't good for nothing 'cept gettin' themselves sick. Don't worry, kid. AIDS'll get 'em. Just wait and see.

Sawyer wasn't going to be a 'goddamn fag'. It'd make his father turn circles in his grave. Murdering bastard or not, Sawyer still wanted his old man to be proud of him. That was only natural, wasn't it?

He couldn't be proud of these urges that Sawyer had been having for the past month. No one could. They were unnatural, sick, and so very wrong. It was all Charlie's fault. If Charlie would just stop prancing around like a pansy, Sawyer'd be able to go back to normal.

But, no, that was asking for way too much from Charlie. Instead he had to sleep next to him shirtless, and agree to play-fights, and look at Sawyer with those deep blue eyes of his and –

"Sawyer?" Sayid asked, and Sawyer could detect a hint of amusement in his voice. "Is everything alright? You've been staring at Charlie for quite some time now." That prompted a round of giggles from around the table, even while Rose attempted to hush them. Sawyer realised that he'd zoned out, holding a pile of plates and staring blankly through the open door to the kitchen, where Charlie was singing along to the radio now.

He scowled at Sayid. "Everything's just fine, Sayid. It'd go a lot quicker if you got off your Iraqi ass and helped out."

"Now, Sawyer," Rose scaled, while Sayid just smirked. "I won't have that sort of language in my house – you know that, honey. And Sayid, don't tease him. You're not in preschool any more."

No, they definitely weren't. So why the hell was she talking to them like they weren't even five yet? It was patronising, and Sawyer hated being patronised. "Shut up, Rose."

A stunned silence fell over the table – Sayid's smirk disappeared and clouds gathered on his face. He'd said worse stuff to everyone else, but this was different. This was Rose.

Still, screw 'em right? He needed a drink. "And grow some damn hair while you're at it. You and Ana look like you're cross-dressing." That was a low blow, but he just turned away.

He headed towards the kitchen and kicked the door shut behind him. It slammed shut and rattled in the doorframe. Charlie turned around, hands coated with frothy washing up liquid. He smiled, but it was uneasy. Sawyer supposed that Charlie had a right to be unnerved like that, with the frustrated anger coming off of Sawyer in thick waves, and the way he'd slammed the door behind him.

"What's going on? Things were starting to sound a little…" Charlie shrugged and turned back to the washing up.

Crossing the room, Sawyer dumped the plate into the suds-filled water with a heavy splash. There were no leftovers to have to deal with – there never were. You didn't waste food here.

He positioned himself next to Charlie, drying the dishes with a thin blue towel. His movements were jagged, so he wasn't surprised that Charlie was tense and jumpy.

"Sawyer?" Charlie asked, worried when Sawyer didn't immediately answer. Sensitive little gay-boy; he'd probably cry if one of his Barbies went missing, his father's voice hissed in his mind. "What happened? Did one of that lot say something?"

Charlie moved away from the sink, ready to go and pick a fight with Ana or Sayid; ready to go and defend Sawyer's honour. Christ, no. Sawyer didn't need to be rescued. He wasn't like Charlie, wasn't a limp-wristed girl. Wouldn't be. Wouldn't allow Charlie do that to him.

Yet, when Charlie tried to walk to the door, and Sawyer caught his wrist and held it, small shivers rushed up his spine from the contact. There was such a large part of him that wanted this. That part wanted to shame his father in the afterlife, wanted to give in, give up, and do whatever he wanted.

(fag, fag, fag, fag, fag)

His hand hadn't let go of Charlie's wrist yet – he wasn't sure if he could even do that. Charlie's eyes were wide and questioning, but he couldn't look at them for more than a few seconds at a time. His attention was drawn, moth to the flame, down to Charlie's mouth all he (fag) wanted to do (pansy) was kiss (fucking gay shithole) him.

"Sawyer? Tell me what's –" Sawyer placed a finger over Charlie's mouth to shut him up. It worked, because Charlie froze immediately, mouth half-open. Sawyer could feel the tickle of his breath by his finger.

He glared at him. "I hate you." There, he'd said it. That made it true.

Charlie looked a little scared now, and tried to back away from him. Sawyer still had his wrist and held it tightly; Charlie would have bruises there in the morning but, in the meantime, he wasn't going to go anywhere. "You hear me? I hate you. You and your kind. Disgrace. Gonna die off, though. My dad said so. Gonna die off 'cause of AIDS."

He felt light-headed now, the world spinning around him so that he couldn't think clearly; he couldn't think at all. He moved his hand from Charlie's lips to his chin, holding him still.

Then he kissed him, softly at first, and felt Charlie respond immediately. God, that was good – that was what he'd needed for one full, desperate month. Charlie's lips were soft, like a woman's; Sawyer could almost forget that this was a man he was kissing. If it wasn't for the burn of stubble against his chin, he would've been able to fool himself completely into thinking that Charlie was a man and that this was okay.

Charlie's wet hands gripped his shoulders, tight through the t-shirt, and Sawyer walked him backwards quickly until his back thudded against the counter top. He pressed Charlie's body there while trying to work out what they were doing, what he was doing.

Charlie's legs lifted up and locked around his waist – Sawyer's hands moved under him and held him up, glad that he'd started doing press-ups again in the mornings. Charlie broke the kiss and looked bewildered, but Sawyer just looked a little flushed. Right now, he was preoccupied with trying to work out how they could get to the bedroom without having to pass by the rest of the group.

Deciding that they couldn't, he instead released Charlie and indicated for him to jump down. The second he did, Sawyer spun him around and bent him over, so that he was crouched over the kitchen sink. It was right about then that he realise he didn't have a clue what they were supposed to do next. He knew the basics of gay sex, but it was as basic as slurred insults in bar fights ("you like takin' it up the ass then, do ya?").

That knowledge probably wasn't enough, he realised as he stayed neatly behind Charlie. He bit at the side of Charlie's neck, trying to work this—

"I love you, Charlie. You better remember that, 'cause I'm not going to say it that often."

Curled up naked together, in front of the radiator, with Sawyer slowly tracing circles on Charlie's chest.

"I know. Don't worry – I can say it enough for both of us."

"Alright. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love—"

"Hey, stop! You'll ruin it."

"Will not."

"Will too."

The flashing image faded and Sawyer finally snapped out of the insane mood he'd been in. He backed away from Charlie, disgusted with himself. He was supposed to be straight. Maybe it was about time he started acting like it.

"Fag."