Disclaimer: Sixth story in my 'Can't Love, Can't Hurt' series, which I've borrowed from Augustana's cd of the same name. This story comes from their fifth track, Fire. Hope you enjoy!

It's the empty space that wakes Sawyer. His arm has somehow flung into the cold space beside him and in a moment, his eyes are opening, pupils dilated by the morning sun. He lies there for a second, his hand tensing and relaxing in the open space, momentarily forgetting what is amiss before it hits him. His body is suddenly stiff and he jumps up, navy blue blankets pooling around his feet.

"Claire," he calls, casually at first and then with a bit more strain. No one answers.

Quickly slipping on a pair of jeans and dragging a shirt over his head, he moves into the sunlight, wincing at its sudden power on his still sleepy eyes. He spies Juliet by the water, her legs straddling a makeshift fishing pole. Nothing bites these days, especially not for that sorry looking piece of junk, but it goes along with the semblance of normalcy they all try to keep up. Damned if he'll be the one to break that protective bubble. She spots him, her blonde head turning, curls tumbling around her shoulders. Smiling, she waves at him and shouts a greeting.

Sawyer doesn't bother with the formalities. Immediately when he's within earshot, he bluntly asks, "Where's Claire?"

Confusion etches across her features and then a bit of worry and Sawyer is sorry he's asked her at all. "She's not with you? I haven't seen her…" Juliet doesn't get to finish her words before he curses under his breath and stomps away, kicking up sand in his wake. Before she can stop herself, she shouts at his white shirt, his back her only indication that he can hear her. "It's only a matter of time, Sawyer! You know he's going to take her back!" And then, more softly, "He always does." When his shoulders tense, she knows he's heard her, but doesn't press the issue. Instead, she goes back to focusing on her fishing pole, trying to keep her hands steady and her feet extra still. It hasn't worked yet, not for anyone, but today will be different – she can feel it.

Sawyer doesn't take any guns with him, there is no need for such a thing any longer, but he is sick with worry all the same. What Juliet said could only be true and he knows it, just doesn't want to believe it. None of them want to believe it. Claire herself is so scared he will take her back that she'd insisted on sleeping next to Sawyer every night since her return. Secretly, they all know that when the time comes, it won't matter where she is or whom she is with. If she goes back, it is quite possible she'll never return to them – ever. A possibility so scary that he almost never lets her out of his sight.

But still, there is a part of Sawyer (and he likes to believe a tiny bit of Claire too) that believes she won't go back, that she has served her time and what is done will remain done. Maybe he had been a fool to hope at all; a fool to forget something like this could happen.

He doesn't know where he's going – not exactly anyway. But he stumbles along the path he found her on those many months ago, unfamiliar with the way the ground curves around his feet. He feels blind and lost and unsure, franticly pushing his way through trees and leaves, scratching his knuckles on bark once or twice. There seems to be something guiding him, but he can't figure it out. At least not until he stops a moment, catches his breath, and realizes that someone is singing.

Actually, it's more like a humming – a soft melodious sound coming right from behind him. He spins, grabs more leaves, shrubs, whatever and realizes he has been circling Claire this entire time.

She's there, right in front of him. He realizes she's chosen Sun's old forgotten garden as her spot, but the thought escapes his mind the moment he sees her and what she's doing. She is dancing, her feet gliding over the forgotten dirt, much like a ballet dancer (not that he's seen a ballet or anything). She's wearing a black slip he's never seen before. It's thinner than paper, ending just above her knees and she's… she's dancing. Dancing, seemingly to rock back and forth to nothing at all. Each step she takes is graceful and elegant even if her feet are bare and her dance floor is dirt. She bends and twists and turns, sometimes quickening, but then switches back and begins to move so agonizingly slow that it drives him crazy.

When her moves are frantic, there's an emotion behind each step that he can't quite place. He never was too good at interpreting things. But when she moves slowly, her eyes closed, mouth hardly moving, he'd be an idiot not to sense the devastation and blatant sadness that's staring him right in the face. It's a sadness he can't bear any longer and he steps forward, shuffling his feet to make noise so he doesn't surprise her.

Her eyes snap open at the sound of his feet and he realizes he's scared her anyway, no matter the shuffling. She stops for a moment, fear sparking her features, but when she sees it's him she relaxes and continues to dance. She stops humming however and keeps her eyes open staring at him with every move she makes.

"Hi," forces a smile for him, but it doesn't meet her eyes and he wonders why she tries. "I forgot this place even existed. Isn't it amazing? Do you remember…?" But she stops because he's looking at her in a way where she knows he remembers. How could he forget?

"Hi," because he doesn't know what else to say and he's not so sure he can say anything else with her moving like that. She's circling him now, spinning around him like a ballerina, her legs flexing and bunching so delicately. He wants to reach out and touch her, but is scared she'll just break under his hands. But then she reaches for him abruptly, arms slipping around his neck, hips pressed to his, and unexpectedly he's dancing with her. They sway together, close and then apart and then close again. He can feel everything behind that thin slip and he moves his hands to her thin shoulders, opting for skin instead of the feeling of silk. The way her skin feels under his hands, he knows he should have opted for the silk.

They've slept in the same tent for months now, but he's never touched her in that way. Even when she cries late at night, he comforts her as a friend and nothing more. But now, seeing her like this and feeling her against him, he can't help his attraction. He realizes that he wants her closer, feels possessive of her and that black slip, needs her now and needs her always. Because he can't bear to let her go. Not again. Not now and not ever.

"I was scared this morning." And he says it because he has to before he never says it at all. "It scares me when you're not there in the morning." She leans back at his words, exposing her neck and he quickly looks away and into her eyes, least he do something he can't take back.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. She looks down at the ground before continuing, takes a second to gather herself. "I was remembering what it felt like to hold him in my arms. I don't think I ever danced with him and I was wondering why." Suddenly she's looking up and right at him, her eyes tense. "Do you think she dances with him, Sawyer?"

"I… well, that's a tough question, blondie. I'm sure he's happy though. If it had to be anyone who… well, Kate is better at those things than she seems. I'm sure they're both being taken care of." She hides her face in his shoulder and they continue swaying. When she readjusts her grip on his back he knows she's holding on, so afraid she'll fall if she lets go. He only knows this because that's exactly how he feels when he holds her.

"I miss him." She says this against his shoulder, as if muffling her words will stop what they mean and how they feel. The pain in her voice cuts him because he knows there's nothing he can do. He touches her shoulder and she shifts her head to look at him, her eyes so full, and mouth so red.

"I know." And he kisses her. He kisses her because he can't help it. He kisses her because it feels right. He kisses her because she's Claire and he's Sawyer and God, who would have ever thought in a million years this could happen.

Her mouth is warm against his and she reacts immediately against him. Instantly he knows that she has wanted this for a long while. He parts her mouth with his tongue, caressing her lips, takes his time tasting her sweetness. Moves suddenly down to her neck and kisses her skin there, still so amazed at how white it is in this island sun after so long. Soft and sweet and pure.

She gasps and although he'd like to attribute this to his great skill, he has a feeling it has to do with the unexpected downpour of rain. Immediately, they are both soaked to the skin, Claire's teeth chattering against his ear. She laughs at their situation and he mockingly says, "That's what you get for wearing that thing". She smiles at his gruffness and he doesn't know why, but suddenly he's lifting her into the air and pressing his forehead against hers. He stares into her smiling eyes and he can't help but smirk back.

They're both saturated, water seeming to drip everywhere around them, which makes for an interesting situation when he kisses her again. If he thought he could feel everything beneath the slip before, well the rain has only proven him wrong. He kisses her hungrily and eagerly, and feels a slow building triumph when he hears her gasping. She's wrapped around him, hands in his hair, pulling him and his mouth as close as they can possibly get. She moves those hands quite swiftly, lifts his shirt into the air and throws it somewhere (which is an amazing feat considering just where she is). He's slipping the black slip off her shoulder, caressing her as he moves his calloused hand downward. It bunches at her hips and he realizes he should have lifted it off, but somehow, Claire has already untangled the garb and it lands neatly on top of his shirt. He reminds himself to ask her about that later.

He caresses her breasts, hikes her higher into the air and dips his tongue against a raised nipple. Claire arches against him and before he knows it, she's reaching between their bodies and unbuttoning his jeans. It's been a long time for Ballerina over here, he knows that, longer than it's been for him, that's for sure. So he takes his time. It drives her crazy but he takes his time. Slips a finger between her folds, kisses her neck at the same time, slips in another finger, sucks her neck. She moves against him in a different kind of dance now, but a dance all the same. Her breath is coming in gasps as she writhes around him crying incoherencies out into the wind. Arching once more into the rain, her blonde hair swings around, hitting his arms soundly as she presses against his hand for the final time.

Not giving her any time for words, he lays her down right in the dirt, the mud looking funny against her white skin. She half sits up for a moment and finally pulls down his pants, smirking as they land around his ankles and then laughing as he kicks them somewhere in the near distance. He crouches down and pushes her gently so she's lying flat in the mud. He kisses her ankles, her knees, her thighs, her, her belly button, her breasts, her neck, her ears, and finally her mouth. Sawyer opens his eyes and Claire is looking up at him with her electric blue eyes so very much filled with lust and want. She caresses his cheek and kisses him sweetly, her eyes closing softly. Whispers a 'yes' against his ear and when he enters her, she bites down.

It lasts a while longer and a cocky feeling of pride runs through Sawyer when he realizes he's still got it. When he collapses besides her, wrapping an arm around her on the way down, she kisses him sweetly on the mouth and takes his hand in hers, clasping it gently. She looks up at him, smiles gently and closes her eyes, her head moving to use his chest as a pillow. Just before she drifts off, she whispers a thank you against his heart.

When he's not afraid to move, lest he wake her, he kicks their piled clothing closer and maneuvers them so they act as blankets. He discovers that his shirt sure doesn't have anything on the black slip, which turns out to be an inky, silk piece that slides through his fingers like water. Sawyer doesn't know where she's gotten it from because he's certainly never seen it before, but he won't ask. Just stares; transfixed with the piece of clothing that looks so dark against her milky complexion. It has strands of her blonde hair stuck to it, he realizes, and he plucks them off, watching as they drift in the air and fall somewhere he can't see them. They almost dance. They disappear.

Sawyer thinks of Kate. She's been gone for three years now and although he thought about her a lot after they all left, she hasn't been in his thoughts for a long while. Maybe it's the separation; maybe he can't love something that isn't around. But a deeper part of him can't settle with this assessment, not when he's lying so close to Claire, hearing her breathing, feeling her soft skin. He knows him and Kate have been over since after that night in 'Otherville'. That kiss on the helicopter, well… he can't explain it, but he always did enjoy making Jack squirm.

He looks at the woman lying on his chest. Doesn't just glance down at her, but really looks at her. He remembers. That time after the crash when everything was so chaotic, when it felt like everyone around him was dying, there was her. She scared him. First time a woman ever scared Sawyer, but it was the truth. Looking at her and seeing her large belly scared him more than he would ever admit. And she had been so young. She was still so very young. She was also way too good for a man like him; too pure. He remembered handing her that damn stuff when everyone had been going through the wreckage and how he couldn't even come up with a nickname for her. Could hardly even look into those eyes of hers. When he had handed her those things, the first nice thing he had done for anyone in years, her warm fingers had grazed his just for a second. Something so brief kept her in his thoughts always, no matter how often he was off chasing the ends of Kate's skirt, figuratively at least; Kate never wore no damned skirt. Not like Claire used to anyway.

He watched. He watched as the island made Claire grow harder. Every time he looked into her eyes, more and more innocence had fled from them. He blamed The Others entirely for this, what with the abducting and the creepy stalking she had gone through at night. Then Aaron had been born and he would remember that morning until the day he died. Little blondie asking when the boat would be ready; as if it would be fast enough to get her to a hospital before she popped. He remembered thinking she had looked so pretty that morning, all flushed and pouty. Mamacita, he had called her. Maybe his favorite nickname of all.

She had been innocent again after Aaron. Her eyes had shone and she had lit up from within. Even though she was a new mom and young mom trapped on some deserted island, these things didn't seem to hinder her love for her child. Of course, things had taken a turn for the worse from there or so he had heard. He liked to think that the island had all changed them for the better, but not Claire. He couldn't tell himself such things when she pretended not to cry every single damned night, Aaron whispered from her quivering lips. She wasn't right. The island had done that. He longed for those days where innocent Claire reigned, shedding happiness and smiles in her wake.

There are no smiles here.

"Hey," she whispers and he realizes she's been awake for a little while.

"Hey yourself, sunshine." The ends of her mouth curl upward at the nickname and he asks, "What?" She rolls then so that she's facing him, the makeshift blankets falling around them, her skin pressed to his.

"It's just been a while since you've called me anything other than Claire. You used to have about a billion nicknames for Hurley."

"Technically," and he smirks, flashing his dimples, "sunshine ain't a nickname. And," he pauses slightly, wondering if he should be telling her this, "I got plenty of nicknames for you. Just never wanted to use them."

"Tell me."

"Well… there was Barbie, munchkin, sunny-d, Marilyn, goldilocks…"

She stops him. "Okay, okay. I get it; you've got nicknames for me, loads of nicknames. How come you never used any of those?"

"Never wanted to. Well, I've called you mamacita, but you remember that time when we were looking through the luggage and I gave you that stuff?"

"Yeah, I remember." She looks down when she answers, and he inwardly curses himself for bringing up those memories.

He continues regardless, knowing the next part will make her happy. "I had a nickname all planned out. But I just looked at you and you smiled this smile at me. You didn't even know me. And you just looked as if you were happy to see me… to talk to me. You were different, Claire."

She looks at him a moment, looks right into his eyes and doesn't move an inch. It's as if she's looking to see if he's really telling the truth or not. She leans in to kiss him again, as if finally deciding it's okay.

He's just about to spin her around and deepen the kiss when she pulls back abruptly. "Wait. Oh, shit. What are we doing?" He's never heard her curse before and it almost sounds like a foreign word coming from her petite, delicate lips. But then she's standing and pulling the slip over her head and covering her mouth looking just like heartbreak. He stands too, dressing quickly and then turns to face her, pulling her tightly against him for a moment.

"Claire," he says and thumbs away a tear that's trailed down her cheek. "What is it? What's the matter?"

"God, I can't believe I forgot! I can't believe you let me forget! Sawyer!"

"Will you tell me what's wrong? Or am I gonna have to force it out of you?" He's still chuckling, finding her scarlet face to be cute.

"The island. And babies! How could we have done this and forgotten about the consequences? Oh, God."

He runs a hand through his hair, his humor filled grin fading rather quickly. "It'll be okay, Claire. It'll be okay." She's not looking at him, her eyes franticly looking at the trees, at the ground, at the sky. Looking anywhere but him. He touches her face, tilts her chin up so she can't avert her gaze. "It will be okay."

"What if it isn't?"

He doesn't have an answer. When they walk through the trees to the beach, hands clasped together, he still doesn't have an answer. When Juliet approaches them bursting with joy, a fat fish swinging in her fist, there still isn't an answer. In the nine months they spend together, neither of them can come up with an answer.

The answer comes ten months later.

The first day he's brave enough to hold his hand against Claire's pregnant belly and feel their baby kick against his hand, she disappears. Jacob takes her back.

For thirty days after, Sawyer goes to that forgotten garden. He sits and waits because he knows, even if it does feel a little bit like denial. He knows that eventually, she will walk through those trees. And if she doesn't, he'll still be there waiting. Waiting for them.

It's on the thirty-first day when he awakens and the black slip is gone, disappearing in the night just like Claire, when he knows. Excitement rises in his chest and he doesn't even remember pulling on a shirt and his worn jeans. Stumbles his way to that garden as fast as his legs will carry him, the slowly rising sun his only source of guidance. He bursts through the trees and there she is back in that black, silky slip.

She turns to face him and he swears she's glowing. He thinks it might have something to do with the naked newborn clasped in her ivory arms. She begins to sway a bit, dancing in the garden once more. He reaches to touch them and she smiles, drags him closer.

And the three of them dance together. There's their answer.

No it don't come easy,

And no it don't come fast,

Lock me up inside your garden,

Take me to the riverside,

Fire, burning me up,

Desire, taking me so much higher,

And leaving me whole

There you were,

In your black dress,

Moving slow, to the sadness,

I could watch you dance for hours,

I could take you by my side

End.