To all you readers, especially those of you who've commented –MWAH!

And I'm very sorry for the hiatus. Summer –spring, too, come to think of it- has been absolutely batshit insane so far. But here are two decent-lengthed chapters to make up for it! Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 23

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry about yesterday. I'm so sorry. You were so . . . " I made a gesture like I was weighing two watermelons, in reality trying to find the right words. "And I was so . . . " I made another gesture like crunching painfully on a jawbreaker while curling my fingers to frustrated claws. "And it wasn't right and I'm really really sorry."

I probably should have went over this conversation at least once in my head beforehand. Maybe it would've gone a bit smoother.

Sawyer just laughed, pulling me through the doorway and into his tent, into a hug. "I've been worrying about you."

"I talked to you less than twenty-four hours ago. Why would you worry? I've been right over there." I pointed vaguely towards my tent, fifty yards away.

"I know. But after everything that's happened in the past few days . . . everything you told me yesterday . . . I was just worried. You've got a lot to deal with, and you're only fifteen. I'm amazed at how strong you are, how well you handle everythin'."

"Uh, thanks. I'm okay. Really. I've actually been more freaked out about . . . what I said yesterday."

"What, about what happened in Australia? I thought I told you," he rubbed his hands across my back, pulling me tight to him. "That I don't think worse of you. That I think you're fantastic. And you know I won't tell anyone. Never."

I felt overwhelmed. "No, I meant . . . something I said later. Kind of the last thing I said to you yesterday."

"No, no, it's fine. I get it. It's perfectly reasonable for you to be a bit emotional right now. God, you have every right to be ripping people's heads off and eating their still-beating hearts and stuff. And that's only the situation, not even considering the hormones that must be racing through your body right now."

"Eating still-beating hearts?" I repeated, a bit confused. "I meant . . . one of the things I said, about . . ." About how I love you. "Never mind. I'm glad to see you're in a good mood."

And he was. He was cheerful and warm and affectionate. And touching me. Holding me. Intimately.

"I just . . ." he sighed. "I'm glad you're okay. Jack wouldn't tell me whether . . . are you sure, now? That it's all . . . over?"

"Yeah. Pretty sure. I don't know why, I don't know how, but I miscarried."

"Good. I mean, not to be insensitive, but that's really good, right?"

I sighed. "Yes. Definitely. It might just take me a while to get over it fully, y'know?"

"Well . . . while you get over it, d'you want to hang out here? With me? I found s'more luggage way down that way," he pointed vaguely down the beach. "And I was gonna organize it, see if there's anything good."

"Shouldn't you see if it belongs to anybody, first?" I had to ask.

He rolled his eyes. "Fine." He left the tent and strode a good distance into the little encampment. I watched him from the tent-flap. "Is there a Darrel Bowman anywhere? Anyone know if there's a Darrel on the island? Not at the caves, either? Alright, then, guess he's dead." And he was back, with a 'there you go' expression as though he'd just sawn off his own arm at my request.

"Thank you. Sorry, I can't help being decent."

"I noticed." He grumbled, before a smirk spread onto his face. "It's part of what makes you so sweet and insufferable."

I looked down, probably blushing. "Well, you know what I think? I think you don't mind decency so much yourself."

"Maybe there's a time and a place for decency," he condeded, "But as a general rule I prefer indecency." And when he said it, it was clear he wasn't talking about not turning in found luggage. This flirty, carefree Sawyer excited me, flustered me, made me nervous.

"So, you're serious? About hanging out today?"

"Thursday, trust me. You're the one person on this island whose company is actually worthwhile. I've spent a lot of my life alone, but somehow being on this island makes me feel like the only person left on earth. And not in a good way at all. Everybody's got somebody, it seems like."

"I don't."

"There we go, then. You'll be my somebody. And I'll be yours. If you want." He seemed almost shy. This heart-on-his-sleeves Sawyer was going to take some getting used to.

"Whoa, there. Alright, I can be a somebody, I guess." I kicked the newfound luggage with my toe, gently. "There isn't much in here, is there? This won't take us very long. No, we need a bigger project." I eyed the little trapdoor to his stash.

"No way. Nobody goes into the stash. If I'm a leprechaun, that's my pot of gold. I'm not lettin' nobody go through it."

"Well, luckily you're not a leprechaun and I'm not nobody. I'm somebody." I strode towards the stash and yanked the covering-board up, revealing a crazy hoard of goodies.

"Holy crap."

"Cammy, get outta there."

"Think you have enough Playboys? Honestly, you can't possibly need that many. And it's amazing that so many were on the plane. I mean, who travels with Playboys? If you're on a short trip, go without. If you're on a long trip, buy some freaking Australian nudie mags."

"You're ranting about porn." He commented, sounding surprised, confused. I turned to see his face red and his eyes refusing to meet me.

"Christ, Sawyer, lighten up. S'not that big a deal. I'm a teenager, which means I have teenage boys for friends, back home. I'm not someone's grandmother. I was just commenting on the sheer volume of them. You have, like, a nude encyclopedia here." He was about to say something else, but I cut him off. "And razors! Holy crap, you have women's razors." I turned my best puppy-dog eyes on him.

"See, this is why I don't let anybody in my stash. I'm not about to start giving out goodies just 'cause you think you're cute. You don't need anything, anyway."

I stuck a bare leg out to him forcefully. "Go on, feel it."

"No."

"Feel it." I insisted. He did, running a large, rough hand down my calve and back up. I shivered.

"See? Hairy as hell." I said, triumphant.

"I wouldn't say that . . . " he hedged. "I'd say soft. Natural. Maybe you're making a statement about women's liberation or some such."

"Do you see me burning my bra? No, I'm perfectly happy to be a slave to your gender if it means silky smooth legs again."

"Was that a generalization, or an offer?"

"What?"

"When you said you'd be a slave to . . . never mind." He smirked.

"Oh, shut up. I'm alphabetizing."

"What?"

"Okay, categories. No, may as well just go issue number." I made separate piles for different magazines, plain old Playboy being the most proliferous.

"Somethin's wrong with you, Thursday."

"I know. I'm too bored. Do you know you have duplicates here? Honestly. That's just ridiculous."

"It's not exactly my own personal collection. They just turned up with the rest of this junk."

"And you haven't even gone near them, I'm sure." I smirked.

"Oh, stop fantasizing, Cammy."

My turn to blush. I continued organizing, though, until not only the magazines but his entire stash was neat and tidy.

"Aw, Christ." He said, sitting back on his haunches after we'd finished. "If anybody sees this place, they're gonna know a chick's been in here. No self respecting man has his shit this neat."

"You have a point. But this island is doing weird things to me."

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not a neat freak. If you saw my bedroom back home . . . "

"And when would I be in a position to see your bedroom, Miss Cammy?"

I rolled my eyes. "That's besides the point."

"Is it?"

"Was that a boner pun?" I asked, uncertain.

"I'm not sure." He laughed.

I was silent a moment. "You shouldn't have-"

"No, I wouldn't. Don't. Never would."

"'Course not." My voice was faint now, mainly because I didn't want to be saying those things.

"No, never." He repeated, looking at me intensely. So much so that I had to look down abruptly to escape his eyes. But he wouldn't let me. He ducked towards me, and his lips found mine forcefully. He leaned on me until I fell backwards, and he fell on top of me, pinning me to the ground. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to escape, but I definitely couldn't. My hand was in his hair, lank and damp with humidity. His hands were behind my head, lowering me to the ground softly until I was laid out flat beneath him, and then they moved away, lower. One stroked swiftly down my face, neck, shoulder, arm, in one rough motion. The other was at my hip, pushing backwards and then at the small of my back, grabbing me close to his body. His hips thrust towards me, and I felt his erection against my leg, riding uncomfortably along two layers of denim. Still pressing me to him tightly and almost painfully with one hand, he brought the other up my side until it was tickling the side of my ribcage and then cupping my breast from the outside. Crude and distant and somehow not a personal enough touch, I wanted more but he had a limit to how much he'd give. When I was certain he'd pull his hand away, he bruhed a thumb over my whole breast, then again and again until the friction and suppressed contact through my shirt and bra was killing me. All the while his breath and his tongue and his lips were all over my face, my neck, pushing at the hem of my shirt as though not understanding why there was a layer between him and more skin, lower skin, skin beyond the neck. I think we were getting to the point of taking clothes off, or we would have been in about fifteen seconds.

But then there were footsteps in the sand. Loud and forceful and . . . Jack.

The tent flap hid us from view long enough to separate, get ourselves upright, and look busy (me pretending to examine the back cover of a book, Sawyer having picked up a crossword puzzle) and then Jack was calling, "Sawyer, you in there?"

"'Course I am, Doc, I live here." Pause. "C'mon in."

I felt Jack's eyes on me, and when I looked at him he had this angry-but-not-at-all-surprised look on his face. "I thought so."

"'Sup, Jack?" I tried to look concerned as though for him, not guilty. I met Sawyer's eyes by accident, and he had this wretched, guilty look on his face. I refrained from scowling, hoping to God he'd wipe that look off before Jack noticed it. Luckily, Jack was still looking at me with that almost betrayed expression.

"I was just looking for you, to see how you're doing."

"I'm good." I nodded my head up and down perhaps more times than was necessary. "Still, ahm, bleeding. Still cramping a bit. Nauseous. But nothing too worrisome, I think."

"We can talk about this in private, you know. Doctor-patient confidentiality and all that."

"Well, it's not like I want this all over the island. I mean, Sun already knows, and . . . but given the clearance level of present company already . . ." Jack looked at me sort of blankly. "No, it's fine if Sawyer's here. Assuming this medical talk doesn't squick you out too bad?" I asked doubtfully. Sawyer sort of snorted derisively, and I took this opportunity to see that he had removed that God-awful look from his face, whatever that'd been about. "There's not too much to discuss anyway, is there, Jack?"

"No, I guess not, if you're feeling alright. Like I said, I'm no gynaecologist, I'm only going on common sense and minimal med school training here. I've never dealt with this sort of thing."

"Well, on my next plane ride I'll be sure to bring a gynaecologist along." I smiled, trying to let him know I was joking. I still didn't know if he got it, so I added, "thank you so much, Jack. You've been amazing, and thanks to you I'll be able to put this all behind me and never think about it again."

"Well, I don't know if that's best, given the circumstances . . . of the . . . "

"You're not a cop, Jack, and you're not her lawyer. It's her choice." Sawyer butted in, sensing where the conversation was going.

"And what're you, then? Who're you to be talking for her, if I shouldn't give her advice?"

"I'm someone who can respect her enough to give her some goddamned free will around here."

"Yeah, I'll bet." Jack said, glaring hard at the both of us.

"What's that supposed to mean, Jack?" I asked quietly.

"Just that your track record for guys isn't so great, Cammy. And now you're spilling your secrets to him, of all people. You're hanging out with this asshole, and it's pretty damn stupid. That's all, Cammy."

I was on my feet in seconds, before Sawyer could quite formulate a response. "Why do we keep coming back to this, Jack? I'm so grateful for your help, but not if it means you're some self-appointed guardian of me. I can take care of myself."

"Yeah. Yeah, I can see that." He said, looking pointedly at my stomach. I swallowed, hard, as though I'd just been slapped. I took a step backwards just as Sawyer took a step forwards. Jack was breathing heavily, expecting Sawyer to hit him, I knew it. Sawyer glanced at me, bit the inside of his cheek, and stepped back. He did put an arm around me, though, which was an offensive move. This was all like one big game of chess or something, each move having a million little facets you could read into if you understood the rules and the motives just right. Which I think I was beginning to.

"Jack, you should leave. You're upsetting her and I know that's not what you want to do. This isn't you, and you know it. The best way for you to help Cammy right now is to give her some space and be there if and when she does need you." He spoke so calmly, but it was all one big, gloating threat. Maybe that should have bothered me. Maybe it should have bothered me how firm and defensive and possessive his arm felt around my shoulder. It didn't. It all bothered Jack.

"Cammy, is this how it happened the first time? Older guy, seemed okay, started hanging out with him when you knew you shouldn't . . . "

"Jack, shut up. You don't know what you're talking about, and you're wrong."

"I'm just saying, I've seen this pattern before. Girls who move from one abusive relationship to the next, blaming them for all their problems . . . you're too young to get into that shit."

"Blaming . . . but, I told you what happened, it wasn't a relationship . . . "

"I'm sure you believe that, Cammy, but maybe if you'd been a bit more careful with the company you kept . . . "

He was right. I shouldn't have gone to Australia, I should have protected myself, I shouldn't have been so stupid and useless and weak . . . I felt tears form and spill from my eyes as Jack's accusations hit home.

Sawyer's grip on my shoulder was suddenly gone and I felt I might sink to the ground without the support, but I just stood there, mouth open slightly. I had thought Jack was safe, Jack was nice, Jack was to be trusted. But his truth had just hit me harder than Oceanic 815 had hit the water six weeks ago.

"Jack. Leave now. You're hurting her, you fucking moron, and you don't even understand what you're saying. She's under my roof and I will not let you do this to her for one more minute."

Jack glared for another moment, before casting a parting shot. "Remember, Cammy, it's all fun and games until somebody gets raped." Loud enough for people outside to hear, maybe. Now I was sure I was going to topple over unless I sat down, but just as my knees buckles Sawyer was there, arms outstretched. He caught me and wrapped me tightly in his arms and we sank to the airplane cushions on the sand and were silent for a while. I wasn't really crying, just fighting to keep my stomach down and to keep breathing. I felt like there was no blood in my head, no blood in my body at all.

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