Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. If I did, Charlotte wouldn't have died last week!
Author's Note: Okay, please bear with me on this chapter. This definitely isn't my favorite chapter, I'll tell you that. It's not particularly good, and it's poorly written. But the next one will be so much better! I promise! Enjoy!
I wake up the next morning (or rather afternoon) alone. No Sawyer. Not that I really expected him to still be sitting here; it's the middle of the day for Pete's sake.
I stand up, shaking out my cramped legs. Looking 'round the camp, I see that people are generally in a better mood than last night. I assume Jack told them what happened with the Marshall. It's nice to see people getting along; not like last night. Last night, people were scared.
I finally spot Sawyer sitting on some wreckage, fiddling with his pack of cigarettes. His eyes look downcast and sullen, and he doesn't move with the same ruggedness that I'm used to. I make my way over and take a seat next to him. He doesn't even look up at me. I start to count in my head; I reach 42 before he finally speaks.
"You want something?"
"Not particularly," I reply.
I start the count over again. This time I only get to 23 when I decide to break the silence with a little encouragement.
"You didn't mean for it to happen. It's not your fault."
He says nothing to this. I try again.
"You did what you knew was right. It's okay to feel bad."
Silence.
"You're thinking way too much about this. Come on, Sawyer, don't be like this. What's done is done. As horrible as the notion was, it was the best thing for him. What was the point in letting him suffer?"
My question is met with no response.
I cease trying to start a conversation with him - if he wants to be sullen, let him be sullen - and gaze off at the people around me. Hurley is sitting on some wreckage listening to a CD and emptying the mountains of sand from his shoes. Boone walks over to Shannon and hands her a pair of sunglasses; she smiles. A Korean man kneels beside his sleeping wife and lightly brushes the hair from her eyes. Sayid walks by, tossing an apple in the air.
Unexpectedly, as Sayid passes, he tosses the apple to Sawyer, and continues to walk on by.
Sawyer looks at the apple for a few moments, the pain on his face clear. I want to say something that will relieve him of his burden, but I don't have the words. My heart goes out to him. Slowly, he looks at me and hands me the apple. It's his subtle way of reaching out for a friend. I take it and give him a slight smile, my subtle way of being here for him. This small exchange passes, and he looks away. I take a bite and feel a warmth grow inside of me that has nothing to do with the apple.
Sawyer is special to me. He's like a childhood security blanket that's been stored in the attic for years, and now that I've taken it out, it's like having an old friend back. Sawyer is my security blanket, my friend. I hate to admit it to myself, but Sawyer reminds me of my brother; except for the part where he - Sawyer - is an ass.
I look back out at the camp. Everyone seems decently content. One couple is sorting through luggage, Walt is playing fetch with a yellow Labrador, and a round-faced man is struggling to pull a long piece of wreckage through the sand. With one final glance at Sawyer, I stand up and run over to help the man.
"Wait. Hold on," I say, picking up the other end of the wreckage. It's a steel I-beam that's pretty intact considering we fell 30,000 feet out of the sky.
"Thanks," he says, smiling. "Thanks a lot."
His face is slightly chubby, and his short grey-brown hair is flattened to his head. His eyes look tired, and judging from the wrinkles in his forehead, I would say that he is in his early 40s.
We carry the beam further down the beach to a pile of bamboo, a blue tarp and a slightly smaller I-beam.
"Okay, set it down," he says.
"What's all this for?" I ask, placing my end of the wreckage on the ground.
"Oh, I'm gonna build a shelter," he states. "Some other people are starting as well, incase it rains again today."
"Makes sense," I say. I look at him for a moment, then introduce myself, "I'm Lenny Hume."
"Ethan Rom," he says, shaking my hand, smiling. It's contagious; I smile too.
"You want some help, Ethan? I'm not busy."
"Great, thanks."
Ethan takes the lead with the construction, and I help in any way I can. Within half an hour we have built a decent frame, slightly lop-sided, but decent nonetheless. We take a break, and he hands me a bottle of Oceanic water.
"Not bad for my first time building a shelter, huh?" he asks, amusement apparent in his voice.
"What, you've never been stranded on a deserted island before?"
"Funny," he chuckles.
I laugh too. It feels good. I've missed laughing.
"So," Ethan begins, making conversation, "what were you doing in Australia, Lenny?" He sits in the sand, inviting me to take a seat next to him. I do.
"My friend Donovan was doing some research…" I begin, unsure of how much to tell him. Before I can really decide whether or not to share with him about my life, everything starts spilling out. "I was leaving Sydney early to visit my brother's grave in L.A. Last week was the 3 year anniversary of his death."
"I'm sorry," he says sincerely, if not a little taken off guard. "That must've been hard on you and your parents."
"No. My parents are dead as well." Where is all of this coming from? "I live in England with Donovan."
"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to bring this up." I can hear the embarrassment in his voice.
"No, it's okay. You didn't know…." Oh gosh, I can feel it. It's all about to come out. "He was the coolest brother. He was like 25 years older than me, so he had already moved to England before I was born. But he always found time to call and see how I was doing. I looked forward to his calls so much. Then when my parents died, he moved back to America to take care of me. 8 months later, he died too. That's how I came to live in England with his best friend Donovan. He's been a big help."
"Wow," he says, after I've finished spewing out my life story to a man I've known for less than an hour. "I'm sorry. I had no idea."
"It's okay."
I take a sip of water and stare out at the crashing waves. Still no sign of rescue. Good.
"My wife," he begins slowly, "died in child birth… and our baby didn't make it either."
I stare at him, grief welling up inside me. He's a good guy. I'm sorry for his loss.
"I know all too well what you're going through," he says. "So if you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."
"Thanks."
"Shall we get back to work?" he asks, changing the subject.
"Alright."
We work for another 15 minutes trying to secure the tarp down - which is a lot harder than it sounds. When we finally finish, Ethan steps back to admire the craftsmanship.
"Home sweet home," he says, smiling. "Thanks. This easily would've taken me all day."
"No problem." I give a friendly smile back. "Hey, do you mind if I take the spare bamboo?" An idea had been forming in my head as we were working on his shelter, and now I think it's time to put it into action.
"All yours."
"Thanks. I've gotta go. I'll see you around."
"See ya," he says, as I make my way back up the beach.
Fortunately enough, I find Sawyer in the same place I left him an hour ago.
"Get up," I demand, standing in front of him.
"What?" He looks annoyed. Great, he's already a step closer to being good-ol'-jackass Sawyer again.
"Get up. We're going to build a shelter."
"Says who?" I can hear the snarkiness creeping back into his voice. I'm glad.
"Says me. Now get up off your ass and come help me build a shelter."
"No." Short, sweet, and to the point.
"Fine, get rained on in the middle of the night. See if I care."
"Okay, I will!"
I feign a look of indifference, turn around and walk away. My plan will work soon; I can feel it.
I grab Ethan's leftover bamboo and find a clear patch of land for my shelter. It takes some time - roughly an hour- but I manage to make a smaller, less complex version of Ethan's frame. Now all I need is…
"Here." Sawyer is suddenly behind me, handing me a piece of blue tarp for the roof. Perfect!
"Finally decided to join me?" I ask.
"Nope. Just came to give you the tarp and a friendly reminder to stop trying to con a con man. I know all the tricks, darlin'. You can't win."
"Really?" I ask, smugness emanating from me. "Because I think I just did." His eyes narrow in quiet confusion.
"Come again?" he asks in the Southern accent.
"Well, you're not moping around anymore, are you? That means I win." I stick out my tongue in a child-like manner to further aggravate him. This is fun.
"That was your whole plan? To get me to stop feeling sorry for myself?"
"Pretty much." I smile.
"Well, I hate to burst your bubble, Sassafras," he states, his voice dripping with smug, "but the two smokes I just had helped me with that little problem, not you. So that means I win." He tilts his head toward me in victory and walks away.
The smile drops from my face. He just has to be an ass, doesn't he? Can't have any fun once in a while, can he? Let him build his own shelter. I hope it falls apart in the process.
I secure the tarp down and take a step back to view my new humble abode. Not bad for building it by myself. It's not a five-star hotel to be sure, but it's not falling apart at the seams either. It's perfect.
"Lenny!"
I turn to see Jack hurrying toward me, a mix of shock and concern on his face.
"Hey, Jack. What's going on?"
"What're you doing?" He sounds slightly agitated. "I though I told you not to use your arm."
"My arm is just fine, Jack. Look." I show him the faint scar where the metal had been embedded into my flesh just three days prior. The jagged white line is the only remaining evidence that such an event even occurred.
"May I?" he asks, indicating my arm. I nod.
He takes my arm, inspecting the skin, scrutinizing the raised line. He runs his warm fingers down the length of my arm before looking up at me expectantly.
"I guess I'm just a fast healer." What else am I supposed to say? I can't tell him I think it's the island that healed my arm. He'd think I'm crazy. Something tells me he wouldn't be as open to the idea as Locke.
"What about the bones? Your arm was broken in the crash. You shouldn't have been able to build this shelter like this by yourself."
He releases my arm from his hold, and I demonstrate its normality. I move it up and down, side to side, back and forth. I twist and untwist it. "I told you before that it was fine."
He looks at me in disbelief, as if he thinks I'm lying. But the evidence is staring him right in the face. I don't know what to tell him.
"Alright, well, let me know if it starts to hurt again," he says as he turns to leave.
"Sure. No problem." But there's no doubt in my mind that everything will be fine. I know the island healed my arm.
I turn back to my shelter, surveying it. It looks empty, with nothing to set it apart from anyone else's. I should try to find my luggage and put it here. I wouldn't put it past Sawyer to move all his stuff in and claim it as his own. I'd better work fast before he gets any ideas.
I head over to a group of people sorting through different bags, searching for nametags so they could identify their owners. Claire is one of these people. I make my way toward her and kneel down in the sand.
"Hey, Claire, you haven't seen my bag, have you?"
"What did it look like?" she asks, turning her attention toward me.
"Probably like every other piece of luggage here," I say, gazing at the field of suitcases. "But it had my name in it."
"Lenny, right?" she asks. "I think I remember seeing it earlier. It might be in that pile over there." She points to a pile of unclaimed bags.
"Thanks," I say, standing up.
I rummage through the mound, digging through satchels and cases, finding every name from James Ford to Sun Kwon. Finally, I find my bag. It's the one buried at the very bottom of the pile. Trying to pull it out should be loads of fun.
I grab the handle and heave, and just as I suspect my suitcase doesn't budge. I wipe the sweat from my hands and try again. This time, half-way through yanking at the bag, my hands slip and I stumble backward, falling to the ground. Perfect.
"Want a hand?"
I look up to see a bald-headed Locke standing over me. He offers me his hand and pulls me into a standing position.
"Please."
Within a matter of seconds, he wrenches my bag free of the mound.
"There you go," he says, still smiling. He looks at me in that knowing way, like we're exchanging an inside joke. His gaze makes me feel uncomfortable, and I have the sudden urge to be far away from here.
"Well, thanks," I say timidly, taking my bag and heading back to my tent. I feel his eyes on me the entire time I walk. It's unnerving.
When I finally get back to my tent, I can breathe easily again, and as I turn back to see where Locke is, he is nowhere to be seen. A silent shudder courses through me.
Fortunately enough, Sawyer has not staked claims to my tent, and I can move my stuff into my new home in peace. There's nothing to unpack. All that I have with me is a week's worth of clothes, some bathroom items and a deck of cards. Everything can stay in my bag for now. I have no use for any of it yet.
The rest of the day passes by uneventfully. Walt and I finish our game of backgammon as well as starting and ultimately finishing two more games. He beats me two out of three. I make a mental note to practice so I can give him a run for his money the next time we play. He's a good kid.
As it nears dusk, Charlie joins me by the fire, accompanied by dinner - yet another in-flight meal. Driveshaft comes up in conversation again; he tells me that since we've crashed, he's composed a new song in his head. Unfortunately, without his guitar, he has no means of hearing how it sounds. I know how it feels to lose something important to you, I tell him (absentmindedly, I fiddle with the silver cross around my neck). I encourage him not to lose hope.
I retire early tonight, exhausted from single-handedly building my tent. I climb under a blanket I pulled from the wreckage and lay my head on a dirty pillow. The last thought that flows though my mind before I succumb to weariness is that this could be where I spend the rest of my life. This is home. I am home.
And it feels like everything is right with the world.
Author's Note: Okay, yes, I know this chapter wasn't as good as it could have been. But I just needed to introduce Lenny to Ethan and have them start to form a slight friendship. Please stick with this story. The next chapter will be better. Oh, and don't forget to vote for you favorite Lost characters in the poll on my profile! So far, Daniel and Charlotte are in the lead. Show your favorite characters some love by voting!! And don't forget to watch Lost tomorrow!! Bye-bye!