Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Weeks went by and no one had come.

I remember waking up in wet sand. I remember saltwater filling my nostrils, and my lungs, and waking up in a hacking fit as I struggled to regain air. I remember the bodies. The blood. The cries for help. Everything was too clear.

I needed something to keep my mind off things. My luggage, I’m sure, had toppled into the ocean with the other half of the fucking plane. I know for sure my work and supplies I checked into cargo were floating somewhere far in this godforsaken sea.
I only found a half-open duffle bag full of my clothes.

What I wouldn’t trade for a sketchbook and a pencil.

Michael needed his for the work, so I didn’t bother to ask. What he was doing was far more important than the whims of a bored artist. I did ask Charlie, who was kind and willing to part with his singular Sharpie, but it would be of no use if I couldn’t find paper.

The only other person, the last person I would want to ask, was Sawyer. I watched him add to and rummage through his stash day after day. The man was like a guard dog when he was around his tent. Smoking, drinking, and reading. Did he do anything else?

I could see something that looked like black, plastic rings of a binder sticking from one of his piles. I could just be another book, but I was curious. I waited for him to leave. He had left for the caves for God knows what and had been gone for a while. So, I saw my opportunity.

I peeled back the blue tarp of his tent. Though there was airflow, the smell of tobacco and sweat clung to the walls because you couldn't really seal something like this. Disgusting… but I couldn’t lose my focus.

I peered around, and he must have moved whatever the hell the thing with the rings was because it no longer stuck out of the pile. I sighed and stared at the tarp above me. If I moved too much around, he’d know his stuff was tampered with. I looked at his piles, thinking how long I could go without a distraction, and thought I should risk it anyway.

I didn’t bother sifting through the small bottles of alcohol. I started with his suitcase full of clothing which reeked of his spiced, woody cologne. They were carefully folded, and I made sure they were put back in the same order I took them out. I unzipped the inside compartment to find a toothbrush, toothpaste, and hair products-but no sketchbook. There was another duffle bag I opened to find a first aid kit, pills, and books-though those were what he had been reading. I became discouraged and thought I had perhaps imagined it, but then I noticed something in the corner of my eye.

A brown satchel. My brown satchel, I brought with me on the plane. I always kept a small ringed sketchbook and pencils in it when I traveled. I sprung up to grab it. As I was about to open its latch and look inside, I heard the tarp rip open behind me.

I froze as the light flowed in. I didn’t turn around but I for sure as hell knew it was Sawyer.

“Well, why don’t you just help yourself, little magpie,” his Tennessee drawl cut into me like a reed.

I found the strength to turn and face him. My hands clutched the leather bag tightly.

I tried to keep my voice steady, “I, uh…” I swallowed, “I thought I saw a boar come into your tent.”

“A boar?” He laughed a bit, almost genuine, “Well it seems to me it ran off,” he stepped closer and grabbed my bag. I could hear the leather twist under his grip, and his voice was a low growl, “Why don’t you follow suit?”

I took in a breath, “Well, I happened to see that bag you’re holding while I was in here. It’s actually mine.”

“Yours?” He cocked his head to the side.

“I had it with me before the plane crashed.”

His lips pursed in frustration and his brow furrowed, “Prove it.”

He loosened his grip, and I was able to fish out my sketchbook. I opened the first page, which had my name on it.

“See? I think my wallet is in here too.”

He crossed his arms and squinted his eyes into a glare. My fingers found the zipper pull of my wallet and I lifted it out. I struggled to coax my ID out of its slot but once I did, I proudly held it to the light, “Look.”

He peered at my picture, then back at me. Then again. “Well…” He uncrossed his arms, and his silhouette softened, “That does look like you, magpie.” The edges of his mouth curled into a smile, showing his dimples, “Bet you’re glad I found it for ya.”

I scoffed, “Sure. You’re a real charmer.”

His smile turned bitter, “I’ll show you how much of a charmer I can be,” the distance between us felt a little too small, and he raised a finger towards me. “I catch you in my tent again,” he took a breath, “And that boar will be the last thing you have to worry about.”

My gaze flicked upwards to meet him. I had a feeling he wouldn’t really hurt me but something in my stomach twisted, tight and uneasy. One word to Jack or anyone else about this and he’d probably get tied to a tree for a day, maybe a few. But still I glanced away to avoid his glower. I can’t say that he wasn’t intimidating.

I inhaled deeply, and kept my composure, “I get it. Won’t happen again,” a sigh escaped my lungs, “I’m sorry.”

“Apology considered,” he said with a snark and motioned his head to the side, “Now get out.”

I swallowed hard and slowly made my way to the entrance of his tent, white-knuckling my bag. Once I was out of his view, I nodded to myself, looking down at my reclaimed prize. I started to lose my tension and smiled.

Worth it.

Chapter Text

A few weeks went by since I had my sketchbook back. I spent most days perusing old drawings, waiting for inspiration to strike. I’d draw the beach, palm trees, and the occasional interesting rock. But the people moved around too much to focus. I did have a good reference for a sketch of Walt playing with Vincent, which I gave to Michael. He smiled, and soon it was displayed between two panes of glass he found in the wreckage.

I looked around patiently for a subject, to no avail. I wasn’t about to go trekking in the jungle, though Locke offered to come with me. There was too much weird shit going on.

Polar bears? Claire kidnapped and missing for days? Strange howls and trees being knocked down by some… thing? Though, it would be kinda cool to draw a live polar bear…

I kept looking around absentmindedly, and something caught my eye: Sawyer.

Though he was a certified ass, he just happened to be sitting in an interesting pose that day. Distant enough. Back against a tree, book in hand, one leg folded and the other straight. He looked very focused, very serious, and very still. Perfect subject. I chuckled to myself. His sun-bleached hair fell in front of his face just right, and he was wearing those two-frame glasses Sayid had sautered together.

What a funny little man. I bet he wouldn’t hurt a fly.

 I pressed graphite into the paper, roughing out his silhouette. I spent a while glancing at him, then back at my sketchbook. I’m not sure how long I was sitting there, but it was enough time to get some details in.

After some duration, I reached down to grab a small knife Locke had given me to sharpen my pencil. I spent a bit pressing against the wood grain, flicking little bits of coiled shavings into the sand. My tools needed to be sharp.

The sunlight gracing my page became shadow-cast and before I knew it, I was turning around to see a towering figure behind me.

"Whacha doin', magpie?"

My heart skipped a beat, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I quickly closed my sketchbook.

"Jesus... Sawyer." I pressed my thumb and index finger together on my nose bridge.

"Now, now, I'm not the second coming." He flashed his shark-tooth smile and dimples formed in his cheeks.

"Yeah, pretty sure you're the opposite." I sighed and began to stand up, "You're blocking my sun, dude,” I rolled my eyes, “I'm gonna move locale."

His brow furrowed, and his torso bent into a half-assed bow, "Oh, well excuse me."

I clutched my sketchbook close to my chest and slid the pencil into the crevasse between my ear and skull. As I started to walk away, I felt Sawyer's hand grab my shoulder and he spun me towards him. With a quick movement, he pried my book from my white-knuckled hands.

"And what do we have here?" He cooed.

I was stunned, mouth agape. He started flipping through the pages.

A stern tone spilled out of me, "Sawyer, give that back,” I jumped to grab at my book, but he hoisted it into the sky out of reach.

"Or what, Scribbles? Y'know I may not look like a patron of the arts but I can appreciate some of the finer things—" He stopped for a moment. Slowed his turning of the pages. His steely eyes studied the shapes and lines, "You're not half-bad at this, either," he said with a disarming softness.

I huffed out a breath, "Please."

"Can a man not satiate his curiosity?"

He reached the rough sketch of him sitting by the palm tree. Most of it was rendered save the environment around him. He scrunched his brows and squinted his eyes, staring at it. His voice was low and quiet, "Why the hell are you—"

I ripped away the book just as quick as he had, "Piss off."

He raised his hands in defense, "Take it easy,” he paused, “Like I said, I was just curious." His brows relaxed a bit, and his eyes had a strange glint about them. He stopped eyeing me and his gaze fell to the sand, arms still raised, lost in thought.

I used this opportunity to start heading toward my tent. When I was about ten paces away, Sawyer snapped out of his daze. He called after me, "Now, wait a minute–"

I couldn't look back at him, "Just give it up, Sawyer!"

I reached the tarp door covering my camp. If it was a real door I'd slam it in his face. I hurried inside and quickly sat down on my bed, if you could call it that.

He stopped at the entrance. All I could see was his dark silhouette being cast from the sun. His hands were on either side of his hip, and his head turned to the right. He let out a sigh and brushed his fingers through his hair.

Without another word, he walked away.

Good riddance. What a creep.

 I flipped my book open to my sketch of him. I wanted to rip it out then, but I couldn’t. I would have wasted all that time staring at his dumbass. Besides, once I get off this island, maybe I’ll get a kick out of it.

Chapter Text

A few more days passed since that incident with Sawyer. I found inspiration coming to me more often, trying to capture the essence of this makeshift set up we’re calling home. The more I looked, the more everything seemed to have a story. Though I found my mind strangely drifting off to him, for some reason.

Of all people…

One afternoon, as I was sketching the horizon, I noticed him struggling with a makeshift fishing net. I think I had seen Jin give it to him out of pity. He was cursing under his breath, clearly frustrated. I hesitated to approach him, but against my better judgment, I decided to do just that.

“Need a hand?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

He looked up, surprised. I thought for sure he would refuse but to my astonishment, he sighed and nodded slightly.

“This damn thing keeps gettin’ tangled.”

I knelt beside him, and together we worked on untangling the strands. Occasionally, our hands brushed together, and an unwelcome jolt would go through my arm. I tried not to flinch.

I glanced at him. He never took his eyes off the net.

“Thanks,” he muttered under his breath.

“No problem,” I said quietly.

As we worked pulling apart knots, the tension between us seemed to ease. We sat quietly for a while but then started talking about mundane things, the weather, and was it damn hot - the, in his words, “lack of a decent meal around here”, and those strange, thundering sounds we heard at night. It was the most civil conversation we had since the crash.

When the sun started moving towards the horizon, we finally managed to fix the net. Sawyer stood up and stretched, a small smile played on his lips. “You know, you’re not so bad, magpie."

I huffed out a laugh, which faded into the quiet evening. A cool breeze moved in to dampen the falling sun. Sawyer looked at me, really looked at me. I had to break the awkward silence.

I hesitated to tease him, “Is my apology accepted now?”

He opened his mouth, and I thought, for a moment, he might say something more. But he just nodded and walked away.

I watched him walk in the dark. A twirl of emotions found their way to my stomach. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts. There was no point in overthinking it.

But I just couldn’t help but overthink. As time went by, I found myself observing him more often. I noticed how he interacted with others, and how he carried himself. There was something about him that intrigued me, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. He seemed so guarded, so combative. Yet there were moments he let the mask down.

I was surprised the day he handed what seemed like his whole stash of alcohol to Kate for her to use for Boone. I was never that close to the siblings, but it was a shame to hear one of our own passed, especially in the awful way he did.

Then Claire’s baby boy was born the same day. He was beautiful and healthy. Claire walked to the beach, and everyone crowded around to see her.

I saw a tenderness in Sawyer spill out as he looked at her child. I couldn’t help but notice then how blue they really were. A genuine smile fixed itself across his face. I was so enamored by Claire’s newborn, but my eyes kept wandering back to him. He must have seen me staring with an almost awe-struck expression because when he met my gaze, his smile faded. He had that look in his eyes again, the same look when he took my sketchbook. The same look when he was untangling knots, just staring at the ground. His mouth opened and morphed into an almost painful expression.

Sawyer faded out of the crowd and wandered back to his makeshift tent. I considered following him, but I wanted to be there to celebrate Claire, her new child, and her bravery.

Jin had caught a more than generous number of fish that day. Most of the group ate dinner together and talked. I kept looking over at Sawyer’s tent when it started growing dark. I could see the shadow of him holding a small flashlight in his hand, flipping through one of his books. I decided to leave the group and bring him some fish on a leaf.

I approached his tent. I could still hear the chatter and laughter of voices on the beach.

“Hey cowboy,” I cooed softly.

No response.

I laughed a little, nervously, “That felt silly… I guess the nicknames are your thing, huh?”

I heard him flip another page.

I took a breath, in and out. “Can I come in?”

He stopped for a moment and stretched his leg out to the tarp door, catching it with his foot and pulling it off to the side. I could barely see him in the dark.

I stepped inside, dim light casting long shadows. “I brought you some fish,” I said, holding out the leaf-wrapped bundle.

Sawyer glanced at it, then back at me briefly. He muttered something and took the bundle from my hands. He set it aside and returned to his book. I stood there awkwardly, not sure if I should stay or leave.

“What do you want,” he gruffed, eyes glued to the pages.

“You know,” I began, trying to break the silence, “I saw you with Calire’s baby earlier.”

He looked up, eyes narrowing.

I hesitated, “You seemed… different.”

He let out a perturbed sigh, “Different how?’

I shrugged and looked away, searching for the right words. “I don’t know. Softer, maybe? Like you actually cared.”

Sawyer’s expression hardened into something metallic, and he closed his book with a snap. “Don’t read too much into it, magpie. Just ‘cause I ain’t a complete asshole all the time doesn’t mean I’m not one.”

I took in a breath. The tension in the air was humid. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I just… I don’t know. You surprised me.” A sigh escaped my lungs. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

He leaned back into his pile, crossing his arms over his chest. “Surprised that I have a heart? That I can actually feel something?”

I shook my head in silence.

My voice was low and quiet. “What? No, that’s not it. I just didn’t expect to see that side of you.”

I listened to the waves crash against the shore and the crackling fires nearby.

He broke the silence, his low voice mirroring mine, “Why’d you really come here, magpie?”

I hesitated, unsure, “I guess… I wanted to see if you were okay.”

“Okay?” He laughed something disingenuous, “I’m more than okay. I’m fuckin’ peachy.” He spat, sarcasm dripping in his words, “I just love when people get in my damn business.”

I took a step back and felt the pressure of his growing anger. “I’m sorry, Sawyer, I just wanted to check on you…” I sighed, “After the baby-”

Sawyer’s eyes darkened, and he let out a bitter laugh. He leaned forward, voice rising. “You think I deserve to be around that baby? Hell, I don’t deserve to even look at it.”

My lips curled into a frown, taken aback by his harsh words. I couldn't help but feel the warmth rising in my eyes. “Why would you say that?”

His jaw set, and a tense flicker rippled through his cheek.

“Because people like me don’t get to have nice things. That kid deserves better than to have someone like me around.”

I knelt down. “That’s not true.”

He scoffed and turned away from me. “You don’t know what’s true. You don’t know shit about me, magpie. The things I’ve done.” He paused. “The people I-”

I felt for him. Whatever he was carrying. “You’re right. I don’t know shit about you,” I paused, “But what I do know is that you’re not as bad as you think you are. You care. Even if you don’t want to admit it.” I shook my head, refusing to back down. “You don’t have to push people… me, away. You don’t have to be alone.”

Sawyer looked away, his face showing the vulnerability he tried so hard to stifle. “Maybe I do,” he muttered under his breath.

I reached out, placing a hand on his arm. “You don’t,” I said firmly. “We’re all in this together. We need each other.”

He didn’t pull away, but he didn’t look at me either.

The silence was heavy between us. He shook his head, and a small, reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. I could barely hear him under his breath, “You’re something else, magpie.” His eyes softened. “Stubborn, too.”

“Well, I got competition.” I flashed a smile.

Chapter Text

The air was unusually thick today. I sat quietly, grazing on peeled mangoes. I’d been spending a lot of time with Claire. She tended to come to me to talk about her feelings. Motherhood was a scary, exciting thing for her. When she wasn’t with me or Charlie, she was writing in her journal. I sketched a picture of her holding her baby to keep in it.

She sat next to me on a fallen palm, eyes bright with wonder, cradling her child. “I can’t believe it. Seems like he’s already growing.”

“Like a weed,” I said, a mouthful of mango. “Here,” I wiped fruit juice on my pants and reached into my pocket, handing her the sketch, “I made this for you. A little keepsake.”

Her eyes widened as she took the drawing in her hand. “This is beautiful,” she placed the picture on her baby and traced lines with her free hand, “Thank you so much… I’ll treasure it.”

We sat in comfortable silence, minus the occasional wind gust rustling leaves. Claire looked at me then with concern.

“Do you ever think what life will be like when we get off this island?”

I nodded slowly. “Most of the time. It’s hard not to.” I carved off a piece of mango and handed it to her, “All we can do is try to focus on the present.”

Claire relaxed her shoulders into a slump and sighed, “I just want him to have a normal life, you know? To grow up safe and happy.”

I glanced over at her. “No matter what, he will,” I said firmly. “We’ll make sure of it.”

Our quiet conversation was broken by whispers growing louder, which spread like wildfire. A commotion of people formed in a circle on the beach. Voices became raised and I could hear the unmistakable sound of an argument brewing. Claire and I exchanged worried glances before getting up from the trunk and hurrying over.

“What’s going on?” I asked, pushing through the crowd to get a better view.

Jack stepped forward with a stern look on his face. “Sawyer, we’ve found something in your tent. Care to explain?”

Sawyer crossed his arms with a defiant look in his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kate held up a large, decorated knife with the initials JL engraved into it. “This was hidden under your things. It’s Locke’s. He said it went missing a few days ago.”

Sawyer’s eyes flicked with recognition, but he quickly masked it with a sneer. “So what? You think I took it?”

“Well, what other explanation is there?” Jack toyed calmly.

Sawyer tried to regain his composure. “I didn’t take it, alright? Someone must’ve planted it there.”

Jack shook his head in disbelief. “No, Sawyer, this isn’t the first time something like this has happened. We’ve overlooked a lot. But this… this is too much.”

Sawyer pulled his arms in tightly. “You think I’m the bad guy here? You think I’m the only one that has secrets?”

The tension was palpable as everyone waited for his next move. Sawyer took a deep breath, his eyes squinting, scanning the faces around him.

“Fine, you want the truth?” His lips curled into a frown. “I didn’t take the damn knife. But if you want to blame me for everything that goes wrong around here, go ahead. I’m used to it.”

With that, he turned and walked away.

“Morons,” he spat.

I watched him walk the beach as my stomach turned. I should have said something. But what could I say? There wouldn’t be a reason for him to take it. But… maybe he was back to his old habits.

I hoped not.

The crowd finally dissipated, and to my surprise, Sun approached me after everyone left.

“Hey,” she spoke quietly. “Can I talk to you? In private?”

I nodded and followed her to the edge of the water. We stood there for a moment, letting the warm water coax our feet into the sand.

She looked at me with a furrowed brow. “I know I shouldn’t say anything, but…” she paused, “Kate and I were talking earlier…”

“About what?” I looked at her puzzled.

“About Sawyer…” She looked at me firmly, “And you.”

“What about… Sawyer and me?”

Her teeth traced on her bottom lip and she pulled it into her mouth. “I thought she was just confiding in me, I didn’t think…”

“Did she take the knife?”

Sun pursed her mouth slightly and gave me a slow nod.

I scrunched my brows together, “Why in the hell would she do that?”

“I think she’s worried about him getting close to you.” She continued to nod. “He’s taken advantage of her before.” She turned her head slightly. “Remember the inhalers?”

I rolled my eyes, “How could I forget? He was a real cock for that.”

I nodded my head in disbelief, “But he’s changing. He helped with Boone, right?” I let out a sigh, “Not that it really mattered… in the end.”

“She doesn’t think you could handle him.” She smiled. “You are a very kind person. She doesn’t want him to hurt you.”

“So she thinks it’s ok to hurt him instead? Why didn’t she just talk to me?”

Sun looked out to the water. “I think she didn’t want you to feel like she cared if something happened between you two.” Her eyes met mine again. “She doesn’t care about that. She is just trying to protect you.”

“I can handle myself.” My face twisted in discomfort. I felt frustration and betrayal. “She doesn’t know what I think or feel.” I exhaled a sigh,  “I need to walk this off.” I started heading toward whatever direction Sawyer stormed off to.

“Wait-” she started to protest.

I stopped and turned back to face her. “I’m not going to Kate if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Sun’s mouth closed in contentment, and she nodded slowly. I started walking again.

I found Sawyer sitting on a large rock far from camp. He was looking up at the sky, pulling long drags of smoke from a cigarette. He didn’t turn to face me, but he heard my footsteps.

“Come to crucify me, magpie?” He teased, but I sensed a more somber tone.

I smiled up at him. “Do you think I’m so easily swayed by the masses?”

“I never took you for a scribe.” A grin crept its way in, “Now a scribbler? That’s a different story.”

I laughed a real, hearty laugh. I can’t remember the last time I had.

“Now that you mention it…” I pulled out my sketchbook. “Mind staying up there for a few minutes?”

I looked around trying to find a small stick. Once I found something suitable, I threw it up at him. It knocked him square on the head and fell into his lap. It wasn’t a hard throw, but he was stunned.

“What the fuck was that for?” He winced and pressed a finger to his forehead.

A hand covered my mouth in reflex. “Oh god, I’m sorry. I just… wanted you to put it in your mouth or hold it after you finished your cigarette.”

He turned his head towards me in a condescending manner. “I have more, I don’t have to light them.”

“But the temptation is there.” I bit down on my pencil, “Isn’t it?”

I saw his eyes flick down as he processed his thoughts. His brows raised, “You got me there, magpie.”

He sat patiently for some time, fiddling with the twig between his lips. I settled myself in the sand, looking up at this dark boulder, and a dark man too, I thought. At least, that’s what everyone else was thinking.

But I watched the sun make a golden halo of his hair. I watched his face relax, his eyes, brow, and mouth softening. He’d glance down at me every once in a while and his dimples would creep their way into his cheeks.

“How’s it coming, Scribbles?” He shifted slightly in discomfort. “I gotta be honest, I really gotta take a leak.”

My eyes didn’t leave my sketchbook. “I’ll be done in five minutes, give or take. Don’t move.”

He rolled his eyes and reached for his belt. “Might just have to whip it out right here.”

“Please don’t,” I laughed in protest, “I’ve had enough figure drawing classes for a lifetime.”

“Well, you don’t have to look.”

Before I could say anything, I could hear the unfortunate sound of his stream hitting the sand.

I shook my head, incredulous. “You’re unbelievable.”

He moved the zipper up on his jeans. “Now, what’s unbelievable is stopping a man from doing what nature intended.”

“There’s nothing natural about you, Sawyer.”

He scoffed, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—doubt, maybe. “Took y’long enough to figure that out.”

I sighed, closing my sketchbook. “Well, I guess that’s enough for today.”

Sawyer stood up and stretched, a satisfied grin on his face. “Finally. Thought you’d never finish.”

“Patience isn’t your strong suit, is it?” I teased, packing away my things.

He shrugged. “Never claimed it was.” His hands met his hips. “What’s next on the agenda?”

I glanced over at the horizon as the sun started dipping low. “How about we head back? It’s getting late.”

“Lead the way, Scribbles,” he said, falling to step beside me.

As we started walking back, Sawyer glanced over at me with a playful smirk. "All that time and you ain't even gonna show it to me?" A hint of mock offense was in his voice.

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Models always get the short end of the stick, don't they?"

He nudged me lightly with his elbow. "Come on, Scribbles. Let me see it."

I sighed, but couldn't help smiling. "Alright, alright. Here you go." I handed him the sketchbook, watching as his eyes scanned the drawing.

A slow grin spread across his face. "Not bad, not bad at all. You really captured my good side."

I rolled my eyes, taking the sketchbook back. "Don't let it go to your head."

Sawyer laughed. “Too late for that.”

We started our journey back. The sky was painted with hues of orange and pink, and the last rays of the sun cast a warm glow over the beach.

Chapter Text

Claire and I were sitting on our favorite fallen palm, trying to enjoy the rays of the midday sun. Little turnip head had been crying most of the night. Claire looked exhausted, eyes red and heavy with fatigue.

“It’s nonstop,” her voice was tinged with desperation. “I don’t know what else to do.”

I reached out, offering my arms to hold him. I rocked him gently but it didn’t seem to help. “Maybe he just needs a change of scenery.”

Claire sighed, then hesitated. “I saw Sawyer with Charlie and the baby the other day. He was reading to him, and it seemed to calm him down.” She looked at me with those tired eyes. Do you think you could take the little guy to him? Just for a while?”

“Of course.” I smiled. He did seem to have a way with him.

Sawyer had been working on Michael’s raft for most of the morning. I could hear the cracks and splintering of bamboo under the weight of his swings. Holding Claire’s baby close to my chest, I peeked behind the raft.

I called out to him. “Sawyer?”

He lifted the axe into the air to swing again but stopped, and rested its head against the sand. He gripped it tightly and didn’t turn around.

“What is it?” I could hear something adjacent to annoyance in his voice.

I felt my chest tense up. “I don’t mean to interrupt… I know how important finishing the raft is.”

He finally turned to look at me with a playful squint in his eye. “Stealing babies now, magpie?”

I laughed, but there was a weight behind it. “I couldn’t help myself,” I looked at the little creature in my arms, “Do you think you could work your magic?”

He pressed his tongue to the side of his cheek, raising his brows. “I could use a break." He shrugged. "Why the hell not.”

Sawyer led the way to a quieter patch of sand, a little alcove nestled beneath the trees where the air was cooler. Someone had dragged a few old pillows and a tattered blanket over here at some point, and while they weren’t much, they made for a decent place to sit. Sawyer dropped down against a fallen tree with a grunt, stretching his legs out in the sand like he had nowhere better to be.

I hesitated for a second before settling beside him, cradling the baby in my arms. He began to stop crying, but he still let out soft, shuddery little sighs, his tiny hands curled against my shirt.

Sawyer glanced over. “Y’know, when I said I’d work my magic, I didn’t mean I wanted to be a damn babysitter.”

I smirked. “Relax. I’ll do the holding—you do the reading.”

That got an exasperated sigh out of him, but he reached into his bag anyway and pulled out a book, its spine cracked and pages softened by the salty air. He flipped it open, running a thumb along the edge, then peered at me.

“You’re real lucky I’m in a generous mood.”

I leaned my head back against the tree, adjusting the baby slightly, careful not to jostle him. “I know. You’re all heart, Sawyer.”

He huffed a laugh, then began reading.

His voice was slow and smooth, a low, lazy rumble that seemed to settle my nerves. There was something about it—the easy drawl of his accent, the quiet rhythm of his words—that made everything else feel farther away. The crashing of seawater, the rustling of leaves in the wind, even the tension coiled in my muscles after a night of broken sleep—it all faded, replaced by the warmth of the baby and the steady cadence of Sawyer’s voice.

The baby must have felt it too, because his breathing evened out, his little body going slack and heavy in my arms. I barely noticed the moment my own eyes grew heavy and when my breathing fell into a slow cycle.

I let my lids fall shut, lulled in by the deep timbre of Saywer’s voice. I wasn’t even listening to the words anymore, just the steady, soothing sound of them rolling over me like waves against the shoreline.

Somewhere between one page and the next, sleep took me.

The first thing I noticed was warmth—solid and steady against my side, my head resting on something firm but comfortable. My brain was slow to catch up, still fogged by sleep, but when I shifted slightly, there was a soft rumble of amusement above me.

“Well, well. Sleeping Beauty finally decided to come to.”

Mortification slammed into me all at once. I pushed myself upright so fast I nearly started the baby awake. “Oh my god.” I shot him something akin to a glare. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Sawyer smirked, leaning his head back against the tree like he hadn’t been trapped under me for who knows how long. “Figured you could use the sleep. You looked real peaceful droolin’ on my shoulder.”

I groaned, pressing a hand to my face. “I was not drooling.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that, magpie.”

I scowled, cheeks burning how. “This is so… embarrassing.”

Sawyer stretched with a lazy smile and made a thoughtful sound. “Nah. Didn’t mind. ‘Sides, could be worse—you snore, I’d have had to roll you out to sea.”

I shoved his arm, and he just chuckled, shaking his head.

Despite that lingering shame, I couldn’t help but smile.

Chapter Text

I had successfully managed to avoid Swayer all morning. Not that I was actively avoiding him. It wasn’t like I was flustered or thinking way too much about the fact I had fallen asleep on him, and the fact he let me. That would be ridiculous.

I was just keeping busy.

Claire had taken the baby back the night before, looking more rested than I’d seen her in days. The others were moving about, gathering supplies, making plans, and trying to pretend we weren’t all stranded on a mysterious island with questionable survival skills.

I settled in a quiet spot, tracing lines absentmindedly in the sand with a piece of metal from the wreckage I found, letting my thoughts wander.

I should have known I couldn’t get away with that peacefully.

“Well, ain’t this a picture.”

I didn’t have to look up to know it was Sawyer, again. His familiar drawl sent an exasperated ripple through me before I could halt it.

He strolled up, hands on hips, eyes full of trouble. “You gonna sit there all day? Or, you actually gonna contribute?”

I exhaled slowly, dragging the metal in another lazy line. “I do contribute—”

“Mhm.” He crossed his arms, tilting his head. “Lookin’ real useful sittin’ on your ass playing tic-tac-toe with yourself.”

I scowled, shoving myself up onto my knees. “I’m not—”

“Whatever you say.” His smirk deepened into his dimples. He knew I was already trapped.

I dusted my hands off my shorts. “What do you want, Sawyer?”

He jerked a thumb toward the beach. “Need a second pair of hands haulin’ bamboo for the raft. And seein’ as you’re just lazin’ around, I figured you could use the exercise.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Oh. So now I’m free labor?”

“It ain’t free. You owe me since yesterday. Besides, sitting around ain’t good for your… circulation, or whatever.”

I groaned, but he was already walking away, not even checking to see if I followed. I muttered under my breath and pushed myself up. I could just ignore him, but then he’d win. There’s no way in hell I was letting that happen.

I followed Sawyer as he strode toward the dense patch of bamboo at the edge of the beach, my bare feet sinking into the warm sand before giving way to cooler earth beneath the trees. The thick, towering stalks swayed in the breeze, creaking against each other in a slow, pulsing rhythm. It was quieter here, the usual sounds of the camp muffled behind us.

He walked ahead, his usual lazy swagger still present, but his movements had a purpose now. He knew what he was doing. This wasn’t just a way to annoy me—he needed the boat finished, and he needed it done right.

The bamboo was already partially cut, some stacked in uneven piles, others still standing tall, waiting to be felled. He stepped over a few fallen pieces, testing their weight with a practiced glance before letting out a huff and setting his axe down in the dirt.

Without hesitation, he grabbed the hem of his sweat-damped shirt and tugged it over his head in a fluid motion.

I blinked.

It wasn’t that I hadn’t noticed before—but there was something different about watching him like this. I studied his physique—he was lean, built, all defined muscle and tan skin, his broad shoulders tapered down into a strong back. He ran a hand through his damp hair, rolling his shoulders before picking the axe back up.

He swung, and it came down in a clean, powerful arc, striking through the thick bamboo with a sharp crack. His muscles tensed with each movement, arms flexing, the line of his back shifting under his skin. He made it look effortless.

He was just working. Focused. Controlled. As much as I hesitated to admit it, there was something comforting about that. If it came down to it—if things went sideways, if the island threw something worse at us—Sawyer could protect me. He could protect anyone. I had faith in that.

I exhaled, shaking my head slightly. Get it together.

I was so caught up in my thoughts, I almost didn’t notice when he glanced over.

The moment stretched—his gaze flicking to mine, a knowing glint in his eyes, lips twitching like he already knew what had been going through my head.

“Like what you see, magpie?”

Heat rushed to my face, I breathed in to let something out but there was only silence.

He let out a slow, satisfied chuckle, wiping beads of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand before leaning casually against a stalk. “Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of. Lotta folks admire a hard worker.”

I scowled, crossing my arms. “I was not admiring anything.”

“Uh-huh.” He tapped his temple with two fingers. “I know that look.”

I put my hands against my hips. “You don’t know shit.”

Sawyer laughed, the sound low and easy. He pushed off the bamboo and took a slow step towards me, not close enough to touch, but close enough that the space between us suddenly felt a whole lot smaller.

He tilted his head slightly, eyes sharp, playful. “Oh, I know plenty,” he drawled, looking down at me in a way that made my pulse stutter. “I know you weren’t lookin’ at my axe. And I know for a fact that you haven’t been listenin’ to a damn word I’ve been sayin’ since I took my shirt off.”

I clenched my jaw, refusing to take a step back, even though the heat burned through my cheeks. “You are insufferable.”

He grinned, leaning in just slightly. “And yet, here you are.”

I exhaled sharply, rolling my shoulders back. “Only because you roped me into this.”

“Oh sure,” he said, drawing out the words like he was savoring them. “We’ll pretend that’s the reason.”

I scowled, grabbing the nearest bamboo pole just to do something with my hands. “You know what? Maybe I should just leave you to carry these all by yourself.”

He let out a mock sigh, resting one hand on his hip. “Well, that’d be a damn shame, considerin’ how much fun we’re having.”

Sawyer’s smirk deepened like he could see straight through me. He let the moment linger, watching me, waiting for a reaction. I should have let him sit in his own arrogance and gone back to whatever important things I was neglecting.

Instead, I exhaled sharply through my nose, adjusted the bamboo pole on my shoulder, and squared my stance. “You want help? Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

He chuckled, stepping back just enough to give me room to maneuver. “That’s the spirit.”

I rolled my eyes and bent down to grab another bamboo stalk. It was heavier than I expected—awkward to balance, the smooth surface slick with humidity. I adjusted my grip, shifting the weight, only to catch Sawyer watching me out of the corner of my eye.

His arms were crossed now, chest slick from his efforts earlier, that smug little smirk etched on his face.

I scowled. “Are you planning on helping, or are you just gonna stand there and look pretty?”

That got a full laugh out of him, deep and easy. “Oh, sweetheart, you flatter me.”

My gaze shifted up in exasperation again, taking a few steps toward the clearing, determined to ignore him. Then—because of course, of course—Swayer fell into step beside me, walking a little too close for comfort, his shoulder brushing mine as I adjusted my grip again.

He glanced over, voice low and dripping with amusement. “Ain’t no shame in lookin’, y’know.”

“I wasn’t—”

That smile.

“You were.”

I grit my teeth. “Sawyer—”

“I mean it’s only fair, I am the best view on the island.” He let that hang in the air for half a second before adding, “Well, second best, since you’re standing right here.”

My breath caught in my throat and I nearly tripped over my own feet.

He caught my stumble before I could recover, reaching out with a steady hand to grab my shoulder, keeping me upright. His fingers pressed against my skin for just a moment before I jerked away, reclaiming my balance with as much dignity as I could manage.

He was grinning. Beaming.

“Careful there, magpie,” he said, his voice lower now, just a shade softer. “Wouldn’t want you hurtin’ yourself on my account.”

I took a slow breath in through my nose, forcing myself to keep cool. “I will hit you with this bamboo.”

That made his smile grow wide. “You keep threatenin’ me, but I don’t see any follow-through.”

I turned on my heel, dropping the bamboo in the sand with a thud and stepping toward him before I could talk myself out of it.

His smirk faltered just a tinge when I got close—close enough that I could see the shift in his expression, a flicker of something beneath the teasing. His breath was steady, but his haw tensed slightly, unsure where this was going.

I tilted my head, mirroring his usual lazy, cocky posture. “Maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment.”

He blinked one. Twice. Then his lips curled at the edges slowly. “That so?”

I smiled sweetly, then turned, scooping the bamboo back up and striding ahead before he could get another word in. I didn’t have to look back to know his eyes were on me.

The sun climbed higher by the time we made it back to camp. Sweat clung to my skin, the weight of the bamboo leaving my arms sore and aching. The walk back was filled with more of Sawyer’s usual antics—teasing, a few smug glances when I struggled to balance my load, and the occasional complaint about how he was clearly doing all the heavy lifting.

Despite his mouth, we made good time. And, to my mild annoyance, working with him hadn’t been completely miserable.

As we approached the raft, the sound of hammering filled the air. A few others were scattered around, focusing on their own tasks so no one paid us much attention.

Sawyer dropped his bundle first, it hit the sand with a thunk. I followed suit, rolling my shoulders to work out the stiffness.

“Well,” I said, dusting off my hands, “guess that’s my good deed for the day.”

Sawyer smirked, reaching for his discarded shirt and tugging it back over his head. “Gotta say, I’m impressed. Thought for sure you’d find a way to weasel out of it.”

I scoffed. “You’re one to talk.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Well, a little hard work never killed anyone.”

I was going to roll my eyes again, but his expression shifted—just slightly, enough that I almost didn’t catch it. His teasing edge softened, replaced by something more quiet. More genuine. He rubbed the back of his neck, exhaling through his nose before glancing at me again.

“Hey,” he said, and for once, his voice wasn’t laden with sarcasm. “Thanks. I mean it.”

The words hung between us for a moment, like he wasn’t used to saying them. His eyes flicked to mine, serious and steady.

“If you ever… need somethin’,” he took a breath. “Anything at all—you come to me first. Yeah?”

A tightness rose in my chest unexpectedly.

His voice was barely a whisper. "Promise?"

I could have thrown back something humorous to break the tension, but I didn’t.

Instead, I nodded gently. “Yeah… okay.”

His mouth twitched like he’d been expecting me to put up more of a fight. But he didn’t push—just gave a small, knowing nod before stepping back.

“Good,” he said, then flashed me his usual smirk. “Beat it before I put you on permanent bamboo duty.”

I rolled my eyes and started walking back to my tent. But as I did, I felt something... something I couldn’t quite name.

Chapter Text

I woke with a start, a sharp inhale cutting through the quiet. My heart pounded, fast—frantic—like it was trying to escape my ribs. Sweat slicked my skin, dampening the back of my neck, my shirt sticking to me in patches. The nightmare was already slipping away, but the feeling of it clung like a hand still gripping my ankle, pulling, pulling—

I swallowed hard and blinked into the dark. Shadows stretched across the tarp ceiling, unfamiliar in the half-light.

Without thinking, I reached to my side. Habit. Muscle memory. But my hand met nothing but the crumpled fabric of my sleeping bag. No soft fur, no steady breath, no reassuring weight curled against me.

A deep ache settled in my chest. I missed them. The warmth, the familiar press of a creature beside me, the way they would nuzzle closer when the night got cold. Out here, they just weren’t. The wind, the waves, and the hollow space where they should have been.

I exhaled slowly, flexing my fingers like I could shake the feeling off.

It’s fine. I’m fine.

I laid back down, staring at the shifting fabric of the tent, waiting for sleep to knock again.  

Minutes passed. Maybe an hour. I shifted, trying to get comfortable, but the lingering edge of my nightmare held onto me with dark hands, tightening around my chest. My mind wouldn’t settle. The more I tried to force myself to relax, the more restless I felt.

I exhaled sharply. Enough of this.

I pushed my bag off and pushed aside the tarp as quickly as I could. The cool night air slipped over my skin, a welcome relief from the stifling warmth inside. Outside, the camp was still. Sleep carried its way on the wind.

A faint glow flickered from another tent nearby. Sawyer’s tent. I hesitated, then padded closer, careful not to make too much noise. The entrance was partly open, just enough for cool light to spill on the ground.

Sawyer sat inside, crossed-legged with a book open on his lap, the small flashlight casting a glow over his face. He looked comfortable, completely at ease, turning a page with a slow, deliberate movement.

I lingered outside, debating whether to say something. Before I could decide, his voice cut through the quiet.

“Can’t sleep?” He didn’t look up.

I huffed softly. “What gave it away?”

“The way you’re standing there like the Beast of Sugar Flats.” He finally glanced up, lips quirking. “Didn’t realize I needed to prepare for a gen-u-ine cryptid tonight.”

I let out another puff of air. “You really know how to make someone feel welcome.”

“I try.” He tapped a finger against his book.

I laughed, but it came out weaker than I meant it to. My throat felt tight, and now that I was here, my body had nowhere to put the rest of the tension.

He must have noticed because his smirk faded, expression softening. He watched me for a second, then sighed, tilting his head slightly. “Alright, alright... get in here.”

I hesitated. “I’m—”

“You’re about two seconds from crying on my doorstep.” His voice was gentler now, the sharp edges smoothed over. “I won’t be a dick about it. Just… sit.”

I swallowed, fingers curling into my sleeves. The tightness in my chest didn’t subside, but the way he said it—like it wasn’t a big deal, like I didn’t have to explain—made it easier to move.

I stepped inside, and Sawyer shifted to make room. He didn’t say anything. He just let me sit there, crossed-legged, mirroring his posture.

For a while, neither of us spoke. He turned another page in his book, though I could tell he wasn’t really reading anymore. The quiet stretched on, broken only by the crash of seawater against sand and the occasional rustle of fabric as he shifted.

I swallowed, fingers twisting in the hem of my shirt. My throat felt tight again, my chest still too full of everything I hadn’t let myself feel. I exhaled shakily and forced the words out before I lost my nerve.

“Sawyer,” My voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. “Remember how you said I could ask you for anything?”

He glanced at me, head moving slightly. “Yeah?”

I swallowed again, staring down at my hands. “Can you just… hold me?”

He didn’t answer right away. No teasing, no sharp remark. Just a long pause before he set his book aside and shifted, reaching for a small, spare pillow.

“Alright,” he said, voice much softer now. “C’mere.”

He guided me down gently, lying back to make space as he tucked the pillow between us, keeping a polite gap between our hips. His arm slid around me easily, settling naturally between my chest—not awkward, but comfortable—casual, like this was something he always did. Like I wasn’t a trembling mess in his arms.

His hand rested lightly over my sternum, fingertips brushing against my skin. He rubbed small, slow circles there, grounding and steady. After a moment, his other hand lifted, fingers sliding through my hair in soft, lazy strokes.

“Everything’s going to be okay, magpie,” he murmured. His voice was warm and sure, like he believed it enough for the both of us.

As I settled against him, I became more aware of little things—the heat of his low rasp on the back of my neck, his stubble grazing my skin as he shifted slightly. His arm stayed loose but steady around me, like the rise and fall of his breath.

Then, very quietly, Sawyer started humming.

It was low, barely more than a vibration in his chest at first, but I could feel it through my back, deep and constant. It wasn’t just humming, though, a few moments later he started singing, soft, easy, like it was in the back of his mind.

“Sittin’ on the front porch on a summer afternoon,

In a straight-backed chair on two legs, leaned against the wall…”

His voice was unpolished, quiet, and something about it made the tension leave my chest. The familiar melody curled around me like something warm, wrapping through the spaces that still felt too raw. I knew it—My Tennessee Mountain Home—but I’d never heard it like this. Not murmured against my neck, vibrating through my back like it belonged there.

“Honeysuckle vines clings to the fence along the lane,

Their fragrance makes the summer wind so sweet…”

His fingers stilled for a second against my collar, then resumed, rubbing slow and absentmindedly. His breath ghosted against my ear as he sang, and something about the way he just... did it, without thinking or hesitation, made me smile. A quiet giggle slipped out before I could stop it.

Sawyer immediately stopped singing. “What?” His voice was playful, but I could hear the mock offense creeping in. “You don’t like Dolly Parton?”

I bit my lip, smiling.

“Everybody loves Dolly,” he continued, moving slightly so he could tilt his head like he was trying to get a better look at my face. “She’s a national treasure. You disrespectin’ Miss Parton in my tent right now?”

I let out another soft laugh, shaking my head against his shoulder. “No, no, it’s not that—”

“Uh-huh.” He gave a thoughtful hum. “I don’t know, sounds like you’ve got somethin’ against Tennessee’s finest—”

I drove my elbow into his gut, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him jolt.

He let out a sharp, exaggerated gasp, like I’d just knocked the wind out of him. “What the—” He pulled back slightly, peering down at me with wide eyes. “What was that for?”

I grinned, tilting my head back just enough to catch his expression. “I found my right moment, Sawyer.”

His astonishment melted into something amused, lips twitching, trying to suppress a smile. “Oh, that’s how it is, huh?”

“Yup.” I let my head settle back below his chin, smug. “Been waiting for that one.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “Okay, okay,” he murmured, voice low and warm against my skin. “I’ll give you that one, but don’t think I won’t get you back when you least expect it—”

“Mhm.” I closed my eyes, body starting to finally relax against him. “I’m sure you will.”

His breath ghosted against my skin again as he chuckled softly. He didn’t say anything else, just reached up to tangle his hand in my hair again, fingertips applying light pressure to the side of my head and temple.

The last thing I remember is that faint humming again, lulling me into the dark.

Chapter Text

It had been days since they left on the raft. Long enough for hope to begin thinning at the edges, fraying like rope soaked too long in saltwater. I counted the hours by watching the sunlight shift across the walls of the bunker and tried not to imagine the worst. I kept telling myself they’d make it. That he’d make it. By the fourth day, that hope began to rot.

Then Kate shouted my name.

I bolted up the ladder, heart pounding. The beach was a blur of white as my eyes adjusted. All I could make out was a group of shadows dragging something across the sand—no, someone.

Sawyer.

He was slumped between two others, barely upright, every step they took jarring his body like a sack full of bones. His skin was waxy and pale. Blood soaked through his shirt, dark and dried. I stumbled forward, trying to remember how to walk.

He didn’t respond when I said his name. His eyes didn’t open either.

His head rolled against his shoulder as they lowered him down. I dropped beside him, hands shaking, pressing my fingers to his throat until I met his pulse. It was there, though weak and thready.

I looked up at Kate. “He’s burning up.”

Before she could answer, Jack rushed beside us, out of breath.

“Move,” he said sharply, dropping to his knees. He pressed the back of his hand to Sawyer’s forehead and peeled back the crusted fabric. The smell hit me a second later—metallic, rotten, wrong.

“Sepsis,” he said grimly. “We need to get him down to the bunker. Now.”

We couldn’t carry him upright. His body kept folding in on itself. Jack took his shoulders, I took his legs, and Kate ran ahead to clear a path. I tried not to jostle him, but every step started to stir him, and low, pitiful sounds escaped his lips. His skin was slick, hot, like he was boiling from the inside out. I couldn’t stop staring at him. His eyes fluttered, unfocused, and his breath rattled in his chest.

He’d be fine when he left, the bastard. Maybe tired. Maybe a little nervous, even. But alive. Full of bite and sarcasm and that irritating smirk I sorely missed.

And now, he looked halfway gone.

My arms trembled by the time we reached the edge of the hatch. I kept thinking I was going to drop him. That he was going to slip. That if I did, he wouldn’t wake up again.

“I’ve got him,” someone said, Jack?—But it sounded far away. Everything did.

Kate yanked the door open, and I went down the ladder backwards, clutching his legs, trying not to scream or cry or fall. The metal rungs scraped my hands raw, and my throat felt too tight to breathe.

We made it down, somehow. I don’t even remember setting him on the bed, just the heat he left on my clothes, and Jack already beside us, checking vitals, muttering something under his breath.

I stood there frozen. My heart hammered like I’d just gone for a run.

He’s going to die, he’s going to fucking die, I thought.

And I hadn’t said goodbye.

Kate touched my arm. “He’s going to be okay,” she said. Though there was no weight behind it.

Jack didn’t look up. “No guarantees. His fever’s through the roof. That wound’s been festering for days.”

“Is there anything we can do?” I asked. My voice cracked. “Tell me what to do.”

“Boil water. Tear up anything clean for bandages,” he said. “We don’t have strong enough antibiotics for this. He needs IV fluids, real medicine—not whatever scraps we’ve been hoarding.”

I swallowed. “He wasn’t supposed to come back like this.”

Kate looked at me. “None of them were supposed to.”

Jack finally glanced my way and noticed tears welling in my eyes, he tried reassuring, “He’s alive. That’s something.”

“Barely,” I whispered, and a sad chuckle came out.

The silence that followed was worse than the shouting earlier. Jack focused on his wound again. I turned away at that smell again, bile rising in my throat.

“I should have gone with him.”

Kate stepped closer. “Don’t. That wouldn’t have changed anything.”

“You don’t know that.”

Jack’s voice was low, firm. “Right now, he needs you here. Not in the past. Not blaming yourself.”

I took in a sharp breath and forced myself to nod. A stubborn tightness pulled at my chest.

I stayed close while Kate went to boil water and Jack stitched the wound. It was deep. Ugly. Infected to the point where the skin around it looked silver. Every so often, Sawyer twitched or let out a low, broken sound that made my stomach clench.

Jack worked without pause, jaw tight, hands moving with a muscle memory precision. I handed him whatever he asked for—gauze, tape, a flashlight I didn’t realize I was gripping so tight my knuckles ached.

At some point, Kate returned and sat across from me, handing me a damp rag. I took it without thinking and pressed it gently to Sawyer’s forehead.

“You should rest,” she murmured.

I shook my head absentmindedly. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Jack said, not unkindly. “But I get it.”

I didn’t answer. What was there to say? That if I left the room—even for a second—I’d miss something? That I wouldn’t forgive myself if he died while I was off trying to breathe?

We fell into a rhythm—the three of us. Kate rotated in and out of the room. Jack handled the worst of it, to be sure. He kept Sawyer stable with what seemed to be nothing but willpower.

And I stayed.

I wiped his sweat-drenched face. I whispered to him when he squirmed, like he was trapped in a nightmare. I kept his hand in mine.

At some point, hours later, maybe longer—I don’t know—I felt his fingers clasp around mine in reply.

I looked up at Jack. “Did you see that?”

Jack leaned in, checking his pulse again. “Could be a good sign.”

Could be?

It wasn’t as much as I’d hoped, but it was something. I clung to that feeling like driftwood in a storm.

I kept holding his hand. And I kept holding on.

It had been two days. The fever hadn’t broken, not completely. But the worst of it seemed behind us. Jack said the swelling was down. He wasn’t out of the woods—not yet—but the air seemed lighter.

We took our turns watching him and keeping the bunker running. Typing in the numbers. Pressing the button. Over and over again.

It was my shift. The others were asleep, curled in corners or stretched out on the cold floor with their arms over their faces. I sat beside him, chin propped in my hand, Sawyer’s fingers resting in my open palm. His breath was shallow, but steady.

He made a sound. A soft huff.

I straightened up.

His mouth twitched. His lips moved, but it was barely a whisper.

I leaned closer.

“…tell ‘em… tell ‘em the pineapples are in charge now. The chickens… they got shoes, but they ain’t happy about it.”

I blinked. “What?”

No response—just a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. A hint of something absurd buried in the haze of fever dreams.

Another soft breath, eyes fluttering but still shut. “Tried to unionize. One of ‘em had a little vest. Said his name was Greg.”

I stared at him.

I snorted. Hard. I pressed my knuckles to my mouth, trying not to laugh, but it bubbled up anyway—tired, ridiculous. The pressure finally cracked, and for the first time in days, I smiled.

Then I heard him murmur, voice raw and slurred,

“You think me dying is funny?”

I froze.

His eyes were still mostly shut, but there was a flicker beneath his lashes. Consciousness pushing through.

My hand flew to his, pressing it close to my mouth. “Sawyer,” I kissed his fingers once, then again. I couldn’t stop. Tears came quickly, dropping from my chin onto his skin, soaking into the spaces between his fingers.

It wasn’t graceful—it was shaking, gasping, soaking relief. My shoulders hitched. My nose ran. I didn’t care.

He stirred more, his thumb twitching against my cheek.

“Hey now,” he rasped. “You’re gonna drown me.”

I laughed, even as more tears came.

“You’re a fucking idiot, you know that?”

He gave a weak grin. “Takes one to love one.”

I paused.

He didn’t seem to notice.

Those words landed like a pebble in water—small, soft, and suddenly everything was rippling.

His eyes were barely open, fluttering like he was drifting again. He shifted slightly, turning his head toward the pillow with a soft groan.

I stared at him. I waited for him to say something, anything else. Acknowledge it. Walk it back. Tease me, anything.

Nothing.

I sat, his hand still warm and grabbing firmly onto mine. My heart beat just a little too fast.

He hadn’t meant to say that. Or maybe he had?

Either way, I didn’t know what to do with it. Not right now. Not after everything. I kept holding onto him, pressing my lips to his knuckles once more, and let the moment pass like it never happened.

A few more days since the fever broke. Sawyer was upright, moving slowly. He still looked like hell—pale, bruised, a little thinner—but alive. Sharp enough to start getting restless, which meant sharp enough to complain.

Jack and Kate were off doing… something. They hadn’t checked back in for hours, and it was clearly starting to get under Sawyer’s skin.

I found him sitting at the edge of his bed, shirtless, brow furrowed, and one hand hovering near his wounded side.

He glanced up as I walked in. “There you are.”

I raised a brow. “That sounded dangerously close to ‘Where the hell you been?’”

“Might’ve been,” he muttered, then winced as he shifted. “Jack was supposed to change this damn thing. Said he’d be back an hour ago.”

I crossed my arms. “You’re being dramatic.”

He almost looked offended.

“I’m in pain.”

I sighed, already walking over. “Lie back.”

He smirked and didn’t argue, easing himself down with a low hiss through his teeth.

I sat beside the bed and peeled the old bandage back carefully. The gauze came away sticky, but the wound underneath was so much better—pink, healing. No more angry red. No more infection.

Still, I heard him suck in a breath when the air hit it.

“Looks good,” I said, reaching for a clean strip of gauze. “You’re lucky, you know. A little longer and—”

“I know,” he said quickly. Then quieter, “I know.”

I moved slowly, fingers smoothing the clean gauze over his side. The moment our skin made contact—just a light brush along the curve of his ribcage—his breath caught. Goosebumps rippled across the touch point, then his chest, up to his neck, blooming beneath my fingertips. I could feel his skin tighten and quiver, every nerve sensitive.

I stilled.

My hand was still pressed lightly against him, warm against his cool skin. The gauze under my hand was forgotten.

When I finally looked up, he was staring at me.

His lips were parted, breath shaky. Though… not from the pain. He gave me this look, as if his body betrayed him, as if instinct surged up before it was caught. There was a kind of hunger in it, sure—but not like desire. It was a need, but something… older, softer. A plea.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t move. Just kept staring like he was watching something fall into place, not sure whether to seize it or let it crash.

The last of the tape stuck to his side with a quiet rip.

I let my hand fall away, though something electric was still echoing in my fingertips.

His tongue traced his lips, and he spoke, voice low and rough, playful, but too soft to really land as a joke,

“A kiss to make it all better, Doc?”

He smiled—barely. Like he was trying to play it off. Like he wasn’t sure if it was a joke. Maybe a prayer.

I didn’t smile back. I didn’t answer. I just leaned in, slowly, and pressed a soft kiss on the top of the bandage. My lips grazed his skin, light as breath, and I felt the way his whole body tightened underneath it.

It wasn’t meant to be anything, really. Comfort, something gentle after everything he’d been through. I pulled back a few inches.

There was an expression in his face, something raw. He looked terrified—not of me or the moment—but like something in him had been cracked open and he couldn’t put together the pieces back in time.

His hand twitched.

I sat there, close, my hand resting against the edge of the mattress. My lips were still tingling from the kiss. Everything inside me leaned forward, but I didn’t move.

I waited. Then, finally, his hand came up—slow, unsure. He hesitated just a breath away from my face, fingers hovering in the air like he thought I might pull away. I didn’t.

He touched the side of my head, lightly, then slid his fingers into my hair, palm cradling the back of my skull. I closed my eyes for a moment and leaned toward the warmth, just letting him hold me there.

And when I looked at him again, that quiet, desperate thing was still in his eyes. His thumb brushed behind my ear, uncertain. Then something shifted.

His fingers curled tighter. Jaw tensed. And suddenly, he pulled me in.

Our mouths met in a rush—like a breath held too long, a relief, an ache—finally all tangled into one. It wasn’t neat or practiced, it was the kind of kiss you only get once—when it’s been simmering under your skin for days.

His lips were warm and textured, rough, moving against me with something half-frantic. I gasped against him, and he took me in closer, deepening it—his other hand finding my hip, pulling me nearer than air.

I went willingly, my hands fumbling over his ribs, careful of the bandage, but I needed something, anything to hold onto. His heartbeat thumped against my palm, wild and unsteady.

I could feel his breath shake through his nostrils, felt the tension in his chest as he kissed me, like everything would fall apart if he didn’t.

Underneath it all, I felt the same thread of shock I saw in his eyes earlier.

I didn’t know it would feel like this.

When we finally lapsed, his forehead dropped against mine, breath hot between us, both still caught in the aftershock. He let out a breathy, hitched laugh.

We were still there for a moment. I felt my lips still tingling and my heart trying to climb up my throat.

Before I could stop myself, a low whisper, “When you mentioned… love. Before. When you were half dead…” I swallowed and a short laugh escaped me, “I didn’t think.. I mean, what you meant—I wasn’t…” The words dissolved on my tongue, half-formed and breathless.

His hand slipped from my hair, trailing lightly until it rested against the side of my neck. He gave the smallest smile, barely there.

“I didn’t think you would actually keep it, magpie.”

I blinked, caught off guard. “Keep what?”

He tapped two fingers against the center of his chest. “My heart.” He looked at me again, and his smile faded just enough to let the truth through. “I was gonna make a run for it, y’know. Keep it safe.” He shrugged, like it didn’t matter. But I could see it in the way his eyes flicked across my face. “Guess you got sticky fingers.”

I exhaled, something like a laugh, something like a sigh. I reached up to clasp my hand over his.

“You’re one to talk, packrat.”

That got a real smile out of him. Tired, a little crooked, but warm. He looked at me like he never wanted to stop. Like he’d finally found something he couldn’t shove down or stash away behind his broken wall.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Guess I collect things I shouldn’t.”

“Guess I let you.”

His brows lifted just slightly, like he hadn’t expected me to admit it.

His fingers paused where they’d been trailing against my neck. Then he let out a soft huff of breath, hardly a laugh.

“Yeah? Didn’t think you were the type to hand over something like that.”

I shrugged, turning my eyes away. “Wasn’t planning to. You just kept sticking around.”

His smile softened a little. “Must be my animal instinct.”

“And you’re the worst kind. You don’t even know what and when you’ve hoarded something.”

He tilted his head a little, that messy blonde hair falling into his eyes. “And you’re the kind that’s stubborn, especially when you’ve already made a nest.”

“Don’t get poetic on me now.”

He grinned something tired. “I’m delirious, remember? Blame the infection.”

I rolled my eyes but didn’t pull away. Didn’t want to.

He looked at me for a long while in silence, and when he kissed me again, it was slower this time—less of a shock to the system.

More like something we both decided on without having to say a thing.