Destitution Chapter 1, a lost fanfic

LOST Role Playing Game

Amy is Locke & Danielle
Zarina is Charlie & Sawyer
Set right after The Moth; season 1

Locke starts

Awoken by the decreasing temperature on the island, Locke tried to cover himself in blankets more firmly, only proving to be useless as the sun had already begun to rise. Slowly sitting up, he stretched to look around his surroundings, hearing nothing apart from soft breathing and rustling in the jungle ahead of him. Deciding he would walk around the beach before other Islanders awoke, he got up from his makeshift bed, and stretched, catching sight of a figure in the distance, currently just a dark silhouette. His furrowed brow deepened as he tried to establish whom the outline belonged to. Moving forwards, he soon recognised the messy hair and lost look on young Pace's face.

"Charlie, you never struck me as a morning person?"

-----

His eyes nervously shifting over the dark soil under his feet, hands in his pockets, shoulders slumped, Charlie slowly dragged himself through the jungle. It was still very early in the morning but every sound on the crowded side of the beach made him feel uncomfortable in more ways than just giving him an intense headache. He felt sick, cranky, and didn't want to be bothered by ignorant people asking dense questions. So instead of spending the early hours shielded of in a makeshift shelter that made him feel locked up, he decided to take his insomnia towards the jungle, where he was now aimlessly wandering around.

His thoughts miles away from the island, the British man didn't see or hear Locke approaching until the man asked him about his sleeping habits. Skittish he took a step backwards, before he realized it was the hunter standing in front of him; one of the only people on the island who knew his secret and the only one right now Charlie didn't mind seeing. John knew what he was going through, the former heroin addict didn't need to pretend or hide anything from him. So instead of mindlessly wandering off again he moved his stare from the grounds of the jungle to the weary face of the hunter.

"I was never much of a sleeper. How about yourself?"

-----

Locke sniffed, smiling and shaking his head, looking at the floor. "Oh, I can fall asleep quickly enough, it's what I see that drives me awake." Locke's face took a more serious shift as he gazed at the younger man, his pain and inner turmoil clear in Locke's eyes. His frame shook softly, not from the soft breeze that was picking up, but from withdrawal symptoms, information Locke was now privy to.

Looking past Charlie, Locke realised it was still rather early in the morning, he could hardly see past Charlies body. A sudden waryness overcame him, and he felt a sudden vulnerabilty without any form of defence. Shaking this for a moment, Locke looked back to Charlie, and shook him with one hand softly, a friendly gesture to get the boys attention; "Something wrong Charlie?"

-----

Charlie heard the regret edging Locke's voice when he so honestly told the reason for being awake. And though for a second the British man felt sorry for the hunter, at the moment he couldn't focus long enough on one thing to let the words clearly sink in. So all he did was nod in agreement, as if he knew what haunted John in his sleep, even though he truly didn't.

A sudden chill ran over his spine and he shivered. Charlie realized it was colder inside the jungle than he had expected it to be. Yes it was early in the morning, and the sun hadn't come out yet let alone pressed his way through the thick roof of leaves, but after days and night of torturing heat logicalness had slipped the former rockgod's mind. Digging his hands deeper inside his pockets Charlie bend his head towards the ground again. As if making himself smaller and nearly invisible would trick the cold to stop seeping through the torn fabric of his clothes. It was a ridiculously naïve thought, but he felt desperate in his needs.

When Locke gently laid his hands on Charlie's shoulders the latter jumped up, as if being caught while doing something forbidden. Hearing the hunter's question he shook his head in reply. Deep inside he knew he didn't have to hide from Locke, but it had become so naturally to do so.

"Nothing's wrong John. Everything's just peachy", he therefore said, eyes staring past Locke's frame instead of straight ahead.

-----

Locke's lips tightened as Charlie deceived himself and Locke. Rubbing his chin, he released Charlie, and took a couple of steps ahead of him, almost as if he was going to abandon him in his hour of need. Relishing the feel of the nipping cold, he walked further into the darkness, without saying a word to Charlie. Unsure whether the boy was tracking Locke's movements, he looked behind him, and turned in a semi circle, the air around him making a swishing noise. "Why lie to me and yourself?" He asked, picking up a stick and leaning against it, half closing his eyes and sighing. One night of relaxion was all Locke had been hoping for on the island - his prayers and wishes gone unanswered. Images of being abandoned by those he loved swamped his mind and plagued his vision.

-----

Charlie nervously watched how Locke walked away from him without saying another word. He knew it was his own bloody fault for bluntly lying to the man's face. Everything wasn't peachy; it hadn't been for a long time. Not for him, and from the few small glimpses he had had inside Locke's life it surely hadn't been for the other man either.

With letting the hunter get close to him Charlie's life had turned upside down and that scared every bone in his body. From the comfort and reliableness of the heroin he had gone into the depths of insecurity. Part of him was screaming of confusion and anger for what the change had brought to him, the other part wanted to cling to all-knowing Locke. How mysterious and unpredictable he sometimes may seem if there was one person Charlie trusted his life with it was the hunter. The same man who was now walking away from him, abandoning him in the shadows of the trees.

But he didn't disappear. Before the man was completely out of sight he turned around and asked Charlie why he was lying. A long moment of silence followed in which the former rockgod did try to answer Locke. But the problem was that he didn't know the answer himself. "I.. I don't know", he finally said defeated.

-----

Charlie's answer was understandable, his natural reaction in his state was to create a shell, a bubble of his world, cacooning himself in this false pretence that this pain he felt would lessen, and leave him alone. So when Locke said this, it was with the hope that it would drive Charlie into a more conscious state of mind; "Well you need to start giving answers Charlie, you can't go through life fobbing people off with the "I don't knows". I know what you're going through it hard, but if you give up, you'll end up dead. Have you ever read "A waking slumber" Charlie?" Hoping to bring culture into his conversation with Charlie, Locke's plan was to regale him with stories of similar situations. The boy had to know he would never be alone - humanity was shrouded with deceit and lies --What Charlie had to realise was that he would never be the only one to walk this path of pain.

-----

For a moment Charlie's eyes narrowed and his face turned into a malicious expression. Locke's accusation sounded indignant and the former heroin addict didn't appreciate being talked to in that way; as if he was a little kid getting told off by a parent. He knew he should be grateful for all that the hunter has done for him, but right now he couldn't. There was this foolish thought lingering in the back of his mind of how he was, correction, "is", a rockgod, and no-one could tell him what to do or what to say. Luckily for Locke, when he mentioned the book, curiosity took over Charlie's mind instead of anger and frustration. He still had an undoubtfully fate in the hunter and admired him for his knowledge. Part of which he wanted to absorb so he could maybe, one day, use it himself. So instead of snapping something in the older man's direction and walking off, his voice stayed rather calm. "No I don't. Why?"

-----

Locke smiled and gestured Charlie to sit next to him, and he dropped to the floor in an unattractive manner. "A Waking Slumber, Charlie - is an English book believe it or not. It focuses in the 1960's around a group of people who take ecstacy pills. When one of them dies, and one more is comatosed, Laura, perhaps the most sensible but naive one - gives up drugs. The audience sees her struggle through London as a recovering addict; she believes everybody is out to get her. In the end she loses the use of her legs in a car crash she was involved in..."

Locke coughed uncomfortably, rubbing his legs subconsiously - breaking eye contact with Charlie. "And the only time this girl felt any peace was with a homeless man named Michael. He seemed so insignificant, but made such a difference. My point is Charlie, it's the things you overlook that make the difference in your life, in your recovery."

-----

Never being much of a reader, except for his own vaguely poetic words and song texts, didn't mean Charlie wasn't interested in the reason for Locke to bring up that specific book. It always seemed as if the hunter's words had a deeper and much more important meaning, one that didn't become clear until hours or days later. The significant comparisement with his situation before and a simple moth being the latest example for the British man. Plumping down on the somewhat wet soil opposite Locke Charlie listened to the words escaping the older man's mouth. Resting his head on his pulled up knees he remained quiet during the man's speech. He heard the obvious relation of his own situation with the one described in the book. A British person getting on drugs, something important changes in her life that makes her give up the addiction and a struggling follows; just like Charlie was struggling now. But it was the last sentence that confused Charlie to no end.

"It's the things you overlook that make the difference in your life, in your recovery."

It was one of those typical vague Locke comments that made no sense yet, but, Charlie was sure of it, the solution would come to the surface some day. It was just not of much help right now. The thing was, he wanted to feel the solution to his problems straight away, the impatience taking over. So trying to get some more loose from Locke he said, "So you're saying...?"

-----

Locke smiled and brought his hand to his chin, scratching absent-mindedly. What the boy lacked, was patience. All addicts of some sort lacked it - thats why giving in seemed so easy for them. Looking at Charlie, his smile stretched his skin further.

"Maybe I should leave you to find this out yourself. What I can tell you Charlie, is to not take the world for granted. All people in your position do..."

Lost in thought a moment, Locke broke eye contact with the recovering addict, and stared at the green foliage in front of him. Here he was, advising Charlie what and what not to do, when he himself had not even begun to face up to his demons yet. How could he tell this boy to help himself, when Locke was shredded inside, unwilling to help himself, or let others do it in turn. Shaking his head, he stood up, groaning from his aching muscles;

"Maybe a walk would clear your mind? Help you see things better? I know a fair trail not too far from here?"

----

"What I can tell you Charlie, is to not take the world for granted. All people in your position do..."

Another vague comment, that didn't help Charlie at all, followed with what sounded like a mocking sneer. Once more he felt like Locke was attacking him in some way and he felt like playing out his usual act of furious slash arrogant rockgod, so he could, after snapping some harsh words in the other man's, just leave this place and continue his quest by himself. But a split second before the British man could bring his body to stand up from the cold soil he realized that maybe that was exactly what the hunter was telling him.

Before his brains had more time to process the information Locke suggested a walk to clear his mind. Briefly looking up to the older man, who was now standing in front of him, he saw a frown covering most of the man's forehead. One that didn't necessarily made him looker wiser or older, but more so as if he was the one badly needing the stroll through the quiet shadows of the jungle. The anger boiled up inside of him still there, Charlie knew it wasn't wise to open his mouth and direct his frustrations towards the wrong person, so all he did was nod in agreement.

Placing his hands next to his body he slowly pushed himself up until he faced John Locke. Rubbing off the dirt that had attached itself to his sweaty hands on his already in mud-covered jeans he followed the hunter without saying word. His body in the same somewhat slumped down position as before he slandered through the jungle, his shoes dragging over the ground, his feet kicking up the dirt and leaves in his way.

-----

Feeling rather drained already, Locke half regretted his proposal of a walk through the jungle. However, not wanting to come across as indecisive, he took off at a brisk pace through the green, pausing only to check that Charlie was keeping up. This morning had been one of awkward feeling and atmosphere. Though the junkie felt like he had nothing to share with Locke; they really were not that different. Everybody on the planet had their differences, but they all came back to being human, with the same problems as the Joe across the street. Charlie was not the only one who had suffered a form of loss - people like himself had to realize this. "I think there's a pretty nice spot up here. You think you can manage it?"

-----

After hearing nothing else but the quiet rustling of the leaves and the fading away sounds of the ocean for such a long time, the numbness in Charlie's body faded into the silence surrounding the two men. Locke's unexpected query in his direction was almost an unwanted disturbance in the air. The former rockgod didn't say anything until the hunter's voice was completely carried away on the same soft wind that every so often made the leaves of the trees move briefly up and down.

His eyes shifting to the place Locke was pointing to Charlie considered the man's words carefully. It wasn't too far off, nor did it seem a very difficult climb. But the fact was that the seemingly brief stroll to the jungle was exhausting the British man. Not that he wanted to admit that in front of John though, but still.

"Yeah", was his short reply, and with that he walked further, indicating that the brief break Locke had taken was clearly over. Now being the one slowly moving in front of the hunter he had to look over his shoulder to see the other man's face. When he did so he continued, "What about that spot anyway? Got any moths to study?" Charlie was trying to make a funny comment, as if what was happening to him wasn't serious, but it didn't sound like a joke at all.

-----

Locke's calm expression soon dropped to one of disbelief at the boy's tone. Sometimes the hunter did feel like The Island was pushing him too far with these tests - he had the patience of a saint, but even they had their moments. His jaw set as he gave Charlie an ice-cold stare - deciding not to dignify him with sarcasm. Striding past him, he focused on a tree in the near distance, using that as a target to put his mind on - never taking his eyes off of it. His nostrils flared as his footsteps grew wider, pushing a strain on his weakened body, still not ready to adapt fully to the day. Once he had reached the tree, he spun around to look at Charlie an uncomfortable distance away from himself - Locke raised his arms in the air and called "Thought you said you could handle the pace?" --- --- And turned around again muttering to himself. "Thought you could handle the God damn pace." Resting against the tree he had made his target, he rubbed his temple and took a deep breath, calming himself and calling to Charlie again; "No moths Charlie. I don't think they're in season anymore..."

-----

Charlie's eyes widened in surprise when he saw Locke's ice-cold stare, clearly directed towards him; they were the only people in the jungle, the others must be miles away by now. He opened his mouth to mumble some sort of excuse, hoping to fix whatever made the hunter's mood and facial expression change so drastically, turn it back to how it had been before. Only some days ago it seemed as if their relationship was much more solid, even though Charlie himself had been more of a helpless mess than he was right now.

The problem was that he didn't have the faintest idea to what he had done wrong. Ever since Locke walked up to him earlier this day there was some friction between them. He hadn't been able to say the right words, do the right things, and that only seemed to make the newly found gap between him and Locke larger. Charlie wanted to change it back, but not knowing how, all he could think of what apologizing for whatever it was that increased the disturbed mood the hunter was in.

But before getting the time to say the useless words Locke had strode straight past him, his pace must be faster than it had been before and Charlie had to move his aching limps harder to keep up with the older man's speed. Quickly out of breath he stopped his fast pace for a moment. Resting the palms of his hands on his knees he took a deep breath; the with oxygen filled air of the jungle improving the capacity of his lunges and the feeling in his body.

Right then Locke's voice rang out again and looking up to the other man Charlie shot him a faint smile. The fact that the man wasn't mocking him for the clear distance between them and how he earlier insisted he could keep up with the pace, might mean that the air between the two of them had calmed. For now. And Charlie didn't want to say anything wrong again to change that mood. Instead he stood up straight and made his way to Locke, who was casually leaning against one of the trees.

"If it isn't moths, what's so special about this place?"

-----

Smiling, Locke's twitched his lips, inhaling the fresh air and exhaling his stress. "Special? This whole Island is special Charlie - but you look to your right and you'll see what I mean." Locke gestured for Charlie to follow him, and led him up a smaller hill - easier to climb than the previous one. Once they had passed through a clearing of shurbbery, a small creek was revealed. This had remained unseen and untouched until about ten days ago, when Locke had stumbled across it on his daily hunt. Since he had found it, Locke had cut bamboo branches down, and constructed seats from it. A small river ran through fertile ground, the two men's reflection quite clear in it. ---- --- "Thought this might cheer you up Charlie." Locke said, looking to the junkie and patting him on the shoulder again, his hand lingering there in a friendly manner. Looking back to the creek, Locke stepped down the hill, and stood by the running water, looking at his mirrored image below. The face that looked back at him was not one of peace - the inner pain seemed to be claiming his flesh, distorting his sweet features. "Maybe we both need cheering up." He murmered, kicking some dirt into the water.

-----

"This whole Island is special Charlie."

Locke's reply sounded like a surreal and vague comment. One that Charlie, normally, would make a sarcastic remark about. But not today. Not after deciding to be careful what to say in front of the hunter and not after seeing the breathtaking view revealed behind the last small hill they climbed. The stunningly clear water reflected their images as if it were a mirror and the British man quickly looked away from his own. He knew he felt miserable; every inch of his body aching and craving for drugs, but he didn't want to see it also. The dark circles featured around his eyes, the lifeless gray filter over his face; seeing the obvious facts made him only more depressive and escaping that feeling had been the main reason to leave the beach and ignorant people in their shelters earlier that morning.

Instead he focused on the man besides him. The one that barely audible mumbled his confession. Charlie hadn't been wrong earlier, when coming to the conclusion that Locke wasn't himself today because every single thing that went wrong in front of his eyes made him snap. It wasn't like he was a John Locke expert, knowing how the man would react to a certain situation or what he would say. For all he knew the sad statue standing next to him was the real John, and not the one he had gotten to know these past weeks. But the former rockgod really liked the "old" Locke. Not only had he been a wise example in times of need, and not just for Charlie, but he also just seemed like a fair lad to chat to every so often.

Moving his stare from the hunter towards the scenery across the small creek the former heroin addict softly said, "I know I shouldn't be the one saying this, but is there something bothering you John? You just don't seem like your usual advice giving, boar hunting, knife expert. You know?"

----

The calming wind and creek did not soothe him. The twitter of birds and insects did not alert him. The fresh smell of grass and dew on leaves did not relax him. For the past two days, John Locke had indeed not felt like himself. The Island had given him so much to think about - and he did succumb to his mind. But inside his head were painful images The Island insisted on dragging up. His dreams of Helen and his father were insistant on making his life a mess. Of course, seeing Helen was not a pain - just the way she looked at him; confused and disappointed. Oh that look could kill...

"I'm sorry Charlie. I'm not myself. I am trying to help you - believe me I am. But I'm not a God. I have my problems too - it's just taking a toll on my body today."

Locke raised one eyebrow out of sight. He didn't necessary think of Charlie as naive - but he himself did not think he was acting completely out of character. Sure, he was slightly off colour and quiet, but he had helped Charlie twice this morning. But of course, Charlie was unaware of this - he expected Locke to tell him exactly what to do, and when to do it - he needed to be thoughtful, to analyse what the hunter had told him.

He was quite certain Charlie would realise in a few days that what Locke was trying to tell him about recovery was quite true. But it still didn't take the bitter image of his loved one away.

"...Don't give me that look..." He mumbled, looking at his reflection, momentarily seeing Helen standing over his shoulder.

-----

I am not…", Charlie started to protest, but before finishing his sentence he realized Locke wasn't talking to him, nor was he accusing the British man of looking at him in a certain way. Instead the man seemed to be talking to himself, his piercing eyes staring at his own reflection in the clear water of the small creek in front of them.

"Never mind", he therefore quickly mumbled. Apparently this was one of those moments the hunter needed to himself, and the former rockgod knew he once more almost switched the attention from Locke back to himself. Funny how that goes. Even with the fame and glory of Driveshaft so far behind him he was still continuously seeking for attention; the centre of the spotlight. Even after having a brief moment with honest interest in the other man's life, he almost managed to turn the conversation back to himself.

Hands digging deeper in his pockets Charlie observed the quiet environment surrounding them. The only sounds in the air the soft rippling of the water and the breathing of the two men. The ex-junkie, though usually not a man whose conversations were filled with much else than wisecracks or shallow words, tried to think of something that might clear Locke's head from whatever it was that made him look so hunted. A mission to distract his mind, both their minds actually. The only things the British man knew were right up Locke's alley were tracking wild animals through the shadows of the jungle, practising his knife skills, collecting various exotic fruits from the trees and being a helping hand. Neither of which were really a relaxing past time for both men.

Suddenly a small smile formed around his lips, recalling a conversation between the doctor and Sayid last night. "So John", Charlie started carefully, not wanting to intrude the older man in his thoughts too sudden. "This place looks great and all, but how about we do something more… sufficient?"

Looking aside so he could face Locke, not awaiting a response, he finished "I heard Jack and Sayid talk about sending a help signal. They can't do it from the beach, but it has to be done from a big hill or something. And if there's anyone who would know a hill of just the right seize, it would be you. Wouldn't it?" Eyes casting down on the ground instead of the man next to him, he waited for a reply, knowing very well John Locke couldn't resist an opportunity like this to both execute his tracking skills as well as helping the other survivors.

-----

"Hmm? Hill? Signal?" Locke mused softly, absentmindedly moving his hands to his back pockets to check he hadn't left without his knife. Of course, efficient as John Locke is, his knife sat comfortably against his thigh. Jack seemed so insistent on bringing this once in a lifetime opportunity to a close – him and Sayid scientific as they were, seemed to think up these idea's to get the others off the island – when the Powers that Be clearly didn't want them off the island yet.

However, Locke could not bear another moment of his dull reflection, his phantom love watching him from behind his back, judging, hating. He needed something, anything to take his mind off from these inner demons shredding him up. Locke was meant to be the stronger one's on the Island, and he wouldn't let Charlie down by letting the young man see him like this.

"I mean, sure Charlie – there are plenty of steep hills here, high too – but a signal… I'd need a helping hand Charlie – can you keep up pace?"

Perhaps this question made Charlie seem too weak, but Locke meant no offence – he would have asked anyone else in the situation the same question, but if he wanted to do something efficient, he needed a strong member of the island with him.

"I don't mean that I don't think you can do this Charlie, in fact – you're perfect for this venture, but I need to know if you are able to keep up."

Taking the knife from his pocket, Locke moved it to his eyes, the sun reflecting from the metal, momentarily blinding him.

-------

Back at the beach

After reassuring Locke he'd do his best to keep up during their mission it wasn't hard for Charlie to also convince the man that he was the right person to ask Sayid for the transmission device. What he didn't tell the hunter though, was that his plan didn't involve asking the Iraqi for it. Why bother searching for a person to get permission when you can simply sneak into a makeshift shelter and grab the small radio from the top of a pile of airplane junk? It wasn't like the former rockgod was meaning any harm by taking it. After all, he and Locke were going to help Sayid, by finding the right location to set out the help signal. And with that thought he brushed off the guilty feeling running through his head. Slandering back into the shadows of the trees, towards the familiar shape of Locke who was waiting for him not far from the edge of the jungle.

Holding up the small transmission device in the air, an obvious proud smile on the British man's face, he signalled Locke to start walking. Once again the hunter was showing the way through the depths of the jungle and Charlie was the quiet follower, only occasionally looking away from John's back to move aside a branch in his path. But that was all right. They didn't need to make conversation to make the time spend worthwhile, and without the ridiculous fast pace from before he could actually almost the entire time keep up with it.

Tens of minutes past, without them hearing many other noises than the breaking of the twigs and leaves under their feet and the soft whistling of the birds awoken by the early rays of the sun. But with those same beams sparkling through the thick roof of leaves above their heads the temperature even in the darkest shadows of the trees quickly rose to unbearable heights. At least for Charlie it felt that way. Drops of sweat falling from his forehead in front of his feet, he finally shoved the hoodie of his head and looked up to the sky. The sharp rays of light made him narrow his eyes and ascended the heat running through his body.

Looking back over at Locke it seemed as if his companion wasn't bothered by the increased temperature at all, he was still taking firm passes into the direction he was guiding them to and with every step he took he walked further away from the former rockgod, who was not standing still to get a few well-earned seconds of rest.

"Hey John!", he yelled in the direction of the small figure slowly disappearing from his sight. "How about a break to, you know, go over our strategies?"

-----

Unaware that Charlie had failed to keep pace with him, Locke turned around, and slowly jogged back to the boy, sweat beginning to drip down his red race. Looking to the floor he picked up a small shoot, and snapped it in half, soaking his hands in the refreshing liquid it leaked. Moving to Charlie, Locke rubbed the mans face until it had been replenished, and tightened his lips, nodding with satisfaction knowing Charlie would feel better for it.

Still saying nothing, Locke looked to the sky, squinting as he searched the horizon for a suitable hill to try to receive signals from the world outside of the island. He moved forward and stretched out using the tree in front of him, grunting through the heat. Looking back to Charlie, Locke smiled, his face creasing at the boys confusion as to what he had just done; "Aloe juice. Feel better?"

-----

Taken by surprise Charlie didn't protest while Locke adjusted the liquid on his sweaty and heated face. Even after the older man finished his surprising act the remarkable fresh feeling kept existing on his cheeks, slowly descending to the rest of his body. Whatever that stuff was, it worked miracles. Because not only did it give the former rockgod a well needed cool feeling in his limps, it also seemed to give him the strength he needed to face up to the hill they were leading to.

Hearing the explanation the hunter gave for the liquid he used, for a brief moment Charlie became his usual jestering self. "We're getting facial masks? How manly of us John." With a snort of laughter and a renewed energy he followed Locke deeper into the jungle, closer towards their destination.

Once they arrived at the enormous hill, nearly a mountain, in the middle of the jungle, the British man wondered how they were every going to climb that. Even without aching limps and a for heroin craving and weakened body he wouldn't see how he was ever able to reach the top. But still clearly in mind how he promised Locke he was going to be able to keep up, he swallowed his doubts and followed the hunter's footsteps. Literally, grabbing the same roots and branches to hold on to, pressing his black and white checkered Vans into the gaps created by Locke's feet seconds before and listening to the wise advice of not looking down.

Like that they moved slowly to their goal. Inches at a time, carefully placing their feet and grasping plants for stability. Charlie didn't loose his focus until he accidentally placed his foot besides an already created hole and instead of feeling the stability under his feet increase a huge chunk of dirt broke of the side of the hill, tumbling into the space the men came from. Impulsively he looked down, his eyes following the path of the falling earth. With only one of his foot attached to the earth and his body swiftly moving around to watch the rocks and dirt fall underneath him, it became impossible for the few roots in Charlie's hand to keep all of the man's weight. And with three small snapping sounds they broke off, making the ex-junkie watch the trail of the falling dirt far more closer than he wanted to.

-----

Locke had found the hill easy enough, but the climbing would prove to be the hardest part of the journey. The hill, steeper than he had remembered, stood intimidating, birds circling around the middle of the cliffed rock. Looking at Charlie and seeing the uncomfortable look on his face, Locke gave him a reassuring smile, and took first to the bottom of the hill. The pace became much more slow as their track became steep and trickier to climb.

Working the tip of his shoe into the mud, he made small pot holes for Charlie to use, the laboured breaths from behind him was an indication to Locke that he was struggling.

"Don't look down, Charlie." Locke kept muttering, as he himself kept staring at the floor, though only to see what the damage would be if one of them fell. Truthfully, he began to feel uneasier as they progressed up the mountain, the distance between them and the floor growing wider.
Ten minutes into the climb Locke was lost in thought as he put his mind to the task of getting up the mountain with Charlie unharmed - a sort of parental emotion temporarily taking over his body. As these thoughts swamped into his mind, he heard dirt crumble and instantly looked down to his footing expecting it to give way. Seeing that he was safe, he swung his head around and down to see Charlie dangling from a root on the cliff.

"Hold on!" He shouted, his eyes working frantically to find a way of helping the boy without killing himself. Seeing no way of doing this, he gritted his teeth and instructed;

"Charlie, I'm lowering my left leg. Grab it, and hold on to it, ok? I'm going to try and pull you up that way, to where I'm standing now. You got that Charlie?"

-----

Frantically waving his arms around his flying body more accidentally than purposefully Charlie managed to grab a piece of root sticking out of the side of the hill. Hanging on to the ridiculously thin yet strong plant that was supposed to be his savier, he tried to swing his legs closer to the mountain--only to create another rumble of dirt and small stones down the hill. Being smarter this time he didn't look down, instead his eyes were focussed on the plant he was clinging to.

His sweaty fingers slowly sliding down the single piece of root he looked hopefully up to Locke when the other man started to talk to him. Although "Hold on" seemed liked somewhat of a useless and obvious remark, it did help the former rockgod to regain his slipping focus.

Concentrating on the older man's words he slowly nodded and carefully reached for the leg the hunter had stretched out towards him. The distance was too far and it took all of the power left in Charlie's weakened body to reach closer to the outstretched leg.

Clanching his teeth together he tried to overbridge the last few inches of space between his fingers and the muddy shoe on the hunter's foot. But before he could reach his goal the remaining energy was being drained from his body and his fingers finally slipped from his last chance to remain on the hill.

Arms frantically waving around again, but this time hitting nothing but empty air. No more sounds of rolling dirt to indicate that Charlie had found a safe place on the hill, merely an eerie loud thud when he hit the ground at the bottom of the mountain; head first.

-----

"Charlie! NO!" Locke shouted, losing his head for a fatal split second, and swung the left side of his body to one side, dangling off the cliff now like Charlie had ten seconds a go. He could just make out the boys body lying in an unattractive heap on the dirt floor, no signs of consiousness. Looking to the top of the cliff, he judged it less of a way than back to the bottom, but continued his descent to the bottom never the less.

Stumbled as he did, Locke managed to make it to the floor again with only a couple of minor cuts, and a troubled sensation in his back. Crouching to Charlie, he felt the sweat begin to leak from his pores, wiping it away and putting his hand on Charlie's chest, checking for a heartbeat. Finding a faint one, he smiled in relief, and took his outer shirt off, bunching it up and resting it under the boy's head.

"Charlie. Charlie?" He called, the first time in a soft voice, the next time shouting.

Cursing under his breath, he looked for major wounds; he couldn't see any blood staining Charlie's clothes. Deciding not to move him in case he had (worst case scenario) broken his back. Waiting by his side, Locke called him again, his voice louder;

"Charlie?"

-----

When his skull hit the stone-hard soil of the jungle it brought Charlie to unconscious spheres instantly; Locke's shouts hopelessly lost in the otherwise men-less surroundings. Ignorant to the real world the former rockgod's mind continued to tumble through the sky, even when he was truly 'safely' resting on the ground underneath the mountain he moments before so desperately tried to climb, making the boy's body shake as if he was going through a bad case of fever.

------

John put his hands on Charlie's shoulders and tried to calm his body's spasms. "Charlie, whoah whoah - Hold on. Calm down!" He pleaded, rubbing the sweat from his own face before looking at the wounded man again. "Charlie, come on, you're stronger than this, wake up. Come on." He cursed himself for climbing up the cliff first. Why had he done that? He could have grabbed Charlie if he was below, now it may be too late. Why was the Island doing this to him? Why would it claim Charlie's life when his road to recovery had just begun? Locke slipped his hand behind Charlie's head and felt it was wet, when he took his hand back, crimson had stained his skin. "No. Oh God."

-----

The helpless screams erupting from John Locke finally managed to make their way into Charlie's head. But as he awoke from his unconsciousness state the pain that shot through his body made him easily divert focus from the person next to him to the miserable way he was feeling. Eyes still closed he moaned as with every tiny move he made, even slowly sucking in the clear air of the jungle, the sharp pain running through his body increased.

For a brief moment he had to think hard what happened that had him ending up in some wet pool of mud on the ground, feeling like he'd been run over by a train. But it wasn't long until the hard climb up the mountain and the disastrous fall of it came back to him.

Charlie also realized that someone had been with him during the climb and it that's when he thought of Locke again. His faith in the mysterious hunter restored by the simple lack of anyone else around to help him, he slowly moved his lips in a faint attempt to call the man. But no words came over his lips, merely another barely hearable moan.

-----

"It's ok Charlie, don't talk – Rest. I'm here, I'll do what's best for you." Locke began to soothe the washed up rock god, resting his hand on his head and biting his lip. He slowly and gently lifted Charlie's head again, and sighed at the sight of the blood. Ripping part of his shirt off, he tied it around the boy's head, and tugged, helping trap the blood, praying at the same time the blood didn't clot too badly.

"Ok Charlie, I'm going to move you into a more comfortable place. It's too far to get back to camp right now, I won't be able to carry you, I think I've hurt my leg, but we'll get you somewhere safe, it'll be ok." He assured Charlie, hauling him to his knees, and began to lift him, Charlie's legs and arms meeting around Locke's neck in a position to be carried.

Grunting, Locke began to trek through the jungle, his right legs muscles burning, causing him to bend his legs, losing grip of Charlie for a moment. Again, he faltered, and had to lower him to the floor, propping him against a tree.

He stood above him, and wiped the sweat from his face. What he was going to do now, wasn't clear to him, but the next occurrence would give him some idea of how not to act.

He heard rustling in the trees to his right, and when he looked, he felt something sharp bite into his collarbone. Crying out, he dropped to his knees and searched all directions for the thing that had bitten him. Looking down at his body, he realised it was not an insect, but a tranquiliser.

"Damn." He moaned.

"Do not move." Came a reply, a few feet away from him.

The voice was familiar. It was husky. It was French.

-----

While Locke used all his strength to carry the half-conscious rockgod through the jungle, the latter slowly awoke from his dazed state; the sniping pain through his head no longer the only thing on his mind.

When the hunter put him back on the cold soil of the jungle, he sat reasonably stable against a tree and tried to regain enough strength to go on further on his own feet. Glancing over towards Locke he saw the older man needed a moment to rest and he didn't want to add to the weight on the man's shoulders by being just that; more weight for the hunter to carry.

Thoughts interrupted by a sudden accented voice ringing out towards them, Charlie slowly pulled the transmitter out of his pocket, for a moment thinking the third voice came from there; the sole reason for their trip up the mountain coming back to him. But as his blurry sight started to fade into a more clear vision Charlie realized that this wasn't a fragment of the strange looped message; he saw a real person. Most likely the same one that had sent that very same signal to begin with.

Completing missing the fact she just shot his partner in his leg and was now threatening them instead of trying to be helpful, he shot a faint smile in her direction before turning back to Locke. "I never thought I'd say this again, but I am happy the French are here"

----

Charlie, supposedly unaware of the fact that Danielle was not here to help meant that Locke had to deal with the situation, regardless of the pain in his neck. He went on to all fours and bit his lip through the pain, trying to look at the French woman, only managing to fall back onto the floor.

"I said don't move!" She barked at him, kicking at his head brutally.

With a grunt of pain, Locke went onto his stomach, and cradled his aching head. "Please, wait, don't do this." He whimpered, fearing him and Charlie were beyond help.

"You should not be here. Sayid promised I would not be hurt." She shouted at him.

"We wont... Hurt..."

"Liar!" She screamed again at Locke, circling the two of them. "You are here to hurt me, and this I can not allow. And if you do not stop moving old man, I will not give you the antidote to this."

Her threat struck a cord with Locke, and he turned his head to stare at Charlie. "He's not well. He's bleeding. He needs help, we're not going to harm you."

"You won't be bothering me longer." She whispered, moving to Charlie and kicking him in the ribs, showing unrelentless cruelty and baffling anger.

-----

Helplessly Charlie watched how the person he thought to be their salvation threatened Locke, tortured him even. The former rockgod was too weak to stand up and defend the hunter, so all he could do was watch in horror when Rousseau moved closer to him and unexpectedly kicked him in the ribs. Clutching his stomach he collapsed on the floor; mumbling an inaudible "Bloody French".

"Hey wild chick!", an heavily Texan accented voice suddenly rang out through the jungle. "What the hell are ya doin'?"

The man stepped in vision from behind a tree, revealing himself as the enstranged survivor Sawyer.

The Southerners's fingers embracing the cold metal of a gun aimed at the only woman in their presence, his index finger dangerously close to the trigger. Keeping a steady gaze on the French woman's movements he continued, "Now you step away from Sport over there and I won't have to fire this at you. Got that?"

------

Locke writhed on the floor, gritting his teeth and moaning as the pain in his left shoulder spread to his throat and into his chest. He was barely away of the vaguely familiar southern voice of Sawyer as he threatened this new opposition. He went onto his stomach and rubbed his head still hurting from when he had been kicked. Unsure of what was happening, Locke opened his eyes and looked to his right at Charlie who looked equally hurt.

"Charlie… I'm sorry." He whispered, reaching out for him, his hand dropping to the floor.

Meanwhile, Danielle raised her tranquilliser gun at the new man and let out a low growl;

"I will not accept this. I will kill you all now for your blind stupidity. I warned you never to come near me. You can either leave these two with me, or you will die also.

– She pointed to Locke; "Only I carry the antidote, and only I have the power to heal him. If you do not lower your gun he dies, alongside the other one." She whispered, now looking at Charlie.

"What is the choice to be?"

-----

Still clutching his stomach Charlie rolled onto his side, spitting out some of the dirt that had come into his mouth when collapsing on the ground. "No worries John", he moaned as he shot the hunter a faint smile, "Even you can't stop the bloody French".

Dragging himself back to the tree Locke moved him to before, the former rockgod leant against the bark as he watched in surprise how someone he had least expected it from had come to their aid.

"You warned nobody, you crazy Jane", Sawyer barked in Rousseau's direction. "What the hell you threatening Gandhi over there for? Did he slay the boar that raised you in this friggin' place? You sure seem like you belong here."

His thumb caressing the cold steel in his hands the Southerner listened in horror as Danielle explained the reason for the weird looking fire gun in her hands.

"Antidote? You sonuva… You poisoned them?" Lowering his weapon as requested Sawyer winked in the direction of Locke, before turning his gaze back to Danielle.

"Well you leave me no choice then do ya?", he said with a cheeky smile as he swiftly raised the gun again and fired a shot, perfectly aimed at the French woman's right leg. Hoping that this would cause her to fall and loose grip of the poison she was still holding in her hands.

-----

Danielle felt a searing pain in her leg, and fell roughly on her side, a small crack sounding within her jacket. She reached for her leg and let out a painful cry as blood seeped out of the bullet wound.

"Fool!" She screamed into the jungles walls around her, the birds in the trees all scattering from the noises made.

"Idiots! You idiot! What have you done?" She repeated again and again, possibly losing more sanity as she clutched at her jacket rather than her leg.

"Do you know what you have just done? Do you know? The antidote! You've ruined it!" She yelled again, opening her jacket, and pulling out small shards of glass, the inside fabric of her coat wet.

"It was in my jacket! It was the only one I had left!"

She looked up at Sawyer and gave him the deadliest look of the French; "The last antidote was in my pocket, now it is gone."

Locke looked up and coughed, his throat burning and chest aching. "What?" He whispered, his bottom lip trembling.

"I suggest you pray to your God and quickly." She winced, moving back to her leg and clutching it, trying to lessen the blood flow.

-----

"You bitch!", Sawyer exclaimed, his voice breaking in mid-air when realizing his first and most likely only attempt to actually selflessly help two of his fellow castaways had made a disastrous situation even worse. Horrified he watched the remains of the glass bottle that held the antidote to save Locke and Charlie.

"How could ya be so stupid!", he continued to yell, directed in both his own direction as well as Rousseau's. "--carrying it around in a friggin' glass bottle! Have you jungle monkey's never heard of plastic?"

"O man", the Southeners sighed as he moved his hand through his thick wad of hair. Aimlessly looking around his eyes suddenly caught the tranquilliser, innocently laying only a few inches away from his feet. Rousseau did drop it when he shot her, his intention hadn't failed it had only brought him some unexpected and unwanted extras.

A mischievous smile spreading over Sawyer's face he bend down to pick the complicated weapon off the ground. When he stood up straight again he spun on his heels until he faced Danielle, who was still standing a few feet removed from him. Not waiting for anyone to make a move and intercept his motive the Southerner aimed the weapon at its rightful owner and fired a shot.

With a soft thud he hit goal and the smile on his face only grew wider. "He shoots, he scores and the crowd goes wild! Wooh!"

Taking large steps in the direction of the French woman he was in her reach within seconds; stopping his pace when he was standing almost nose to nose with her. His mouth close to her ear, his warm breath connecting with her face Sawyer whispered "I guess my prayers worked. 'cause heaven just send you a signal to get us some new antidote."

------

Danielle cried out again as she felt her own weapon betray her, and pierce her skin. She grabbed at the stinging flesh and pulled the dart out, throwing it on the floor. She began to swear in French at Sawyer, while beating her arms on the floor.

"How do you expect me to help you now? You think he will last long? He is old!" She spat, throwing a handful of dirt at Locke who merely grunted as it landed in his eyes.

"The other is wounded, as am I. There is no hope. I can not even walk you American pig!"

Locke put a hand to his throat and began to go into a coughing fit, grabbing his stomach and curling into a foetal position.

"He is almost too far gone. And I cannot carry the injured one. Unless you can carry all three of us, Pig – then you will watch your enemy and friends die."

After five minutes, Locke tried to talk, and failed, spluttering blood. He shook his head and wiped his mouth, attempting to talk; "There's no other way? Even if there's… Just… One vial, you couldn't share it between yourself and Charlie?" He asked softly, looking at the young boy who seemed disorientated still.

"I could… It is a hike to my old camp where there might be supplies. But there's no way I can walk. Nor you."

"You'll think of something. But think fast." He whispered.

-----

"Words don't hurt Sawyer dirty cheeks", Sawyer mocked, as Danielle started to spill an entire French dictionary at him, " 'specially when I don't understand a friggin' word you sayin' ".

Though she had a point when asking how he thought she could be of any help when poisoned. Sawyer had only thought as far as giving her a reason to help them, not actually formulated a plan of how the help would be formed.

"Oh sonuvabitch…", the Southerner mumbled as heard the hunter's coughing fit. Shifting his gaze towards the small British man a little further he saw both of his fellow survivors were too far-gone to be of any help. He had to act fast or there wouldn't be any hope of surviving left. And how the hell was he gonna explain that one to the Doc. He could picture the outcome being him being marched away in the dead Marshall's handcuffs, 'cause no way in hell was that hero gonna believe it wasn't all Sawyer's fault.

Hearing the urge in Locke's voice, his thoughts of the future faded away and he turned his attention back to the present, or more specifically, to Rousseau. "We're not gonna waste time by hiking to some camp where your fellow jungle buddies are dancing around, planning to sacrifice us to some monkey God. Can't you just pick some leaves, squeeze them together and make your own antidote? Isn't that how ya'll survive in the wild?"

-----

"You think that would work?" Locke croaked, a small smile on his dry lips. "Because I don't." He tried to get up from the floor, but dropped back down when he felt his chest tighten, and burn, as if his heart were to implode.

"Nor do I. It is not that simple. I cannot magic something up. It takes weeks for the antidote to settle, and even here there is nothing I can use! I need to find my old camp! I could if you had not both shot and poisoned me!" Danielle shouted, cradling her leg, simultaneously rubbing her temple.

"If you just help me up Sawyer, if I'm on my feet, I can carry Charlie or Danielle. If I just adjust… I'll be ok." Locke said, trying to lift himself up.

"I just need a helping hand."

"I don't believe that." Danielle mocked, almost laughing.

"You don't have faith in me?"

"I'm French. What do you expect?" She replied, raising her eyebrow. "If he is able to carry the other man, and you can help me to walk, then perhaps we can make it to my camp. I can get the antidote, if there is one. I promise nothing."

-----

Sighing at the sight of Locke and the French chick agreeing that his suggestion was complete nonsense Sawyer walked away from the scene and into the direction of the awfully quiet Charlie.

"You okay Amigo?", he asked friendly as he linked his arm around the British man's waist and lifted him off the ground. For a moment forgetting his act of mocking everyone and keeping them on a safe distance.

"I'm peachy", the former rockgod replied with a smile as he heavily leaned against Sawyer. "I only fell from the top of a mountain before getting tortured by some crazy French chick. Just an ordinary day on the island."

"Good", the Southerner replied, only vaguely hearing what the British man was saying. His attention more focussed on Locke and the jungle woman who seemed to be in a heated discussion.

"Alright children, move it", he demanded as he walked towards the other two, his pace obviously slowed down by Charlie dragging on besides him.

"I'd suggest to take the lead, but I can't track a camp by following monkey shit and broken leaves. So French… woman, after you. And I warn you, one trick and I'll blow a matching hole in your other leg", the Southerner threatened waving the gun he had stuck in the back of his jeans in front of her eyes. "I bet even wild chicks aren't immune to torture."

------

Danielle spat on the floor, and glared at Sawyer before hauling Locke on his feet, ignoring his cry of pain as he clutched his chest. Danielle began to fall, but Locke was there to put his arm around her waist, while she did the same with his shoulder. He looked down at her and she stared back;

"Don't get any idea's." They said at the same time, beginning to walk.

Time passed and Locke began to falter in his step, releasing Danielle and leaning against the tree panting.

"Oh God. Oh my God this is harder than I thought." He admitted, looking at Sawyer with uncertainty.

Danielle only grunted, and pulled him away from the tree;

"I cannot walk without you, now come – we need to be moving swiftly" She ordered him, further ignoring his splutters of pain.

Another ten minutes and Locke began to feel worse, the pain spreading through his body.

"You feel it too?" Danielle whispered to him.

"Yes Helen." He muttered absentmindedly, tightening his grip on her.

Moving through a clump of dead routes, Danielle forced herself from Locke, and began to limp ahead of them. Exasperated, Locke dropped to the floor and panted heavily;

"Where are we?"

"Welcome to the Black Rock."

------

Sawyer felt Charlie's body getting heavier with every step they took. After somewhat minutes had passed it seemed as if the British man had completely given up walking on his own, and his sneakers were now dragging through the soft soil of the jungle as the Southerner dragged him along.

Looking aside he saw the boy's eyes drifting away. Stopping in his pace instantly Sawyer firmly snapped his fingers in front of the former rockgod's face.

"Stay with me Sport", he said worried, waiting for Charlie to come back to him.

Blinking a few times the younger man opened his eyes again and nodded in the Southerner's direction.

"I'm alright", he confirmed, standing on his own feet again and swiftly following the two people in the distance.

It wasn't until he was absolutely sure that the British man was okay again that Sawyer looked in front of him instead of next to him. And when he did so all he could say was "What the hell…"

Witnessing one of the most bizarre things he had seen on the friggin' island thus far. A real like pirate ship was stashed in the middle of the jungle, it's presence overwhelming to even Sawyer.

Charlie followed the other man's gaze and his mouth dropped open at the sight of the ship. "No sacrifice stone", he mumbled, vaguely remembering Sawyer's reference earlier that afternoon.

"Nope", the answer followed from besides him. "Unless Jack Sparrow is cheek's jungle buddy."

-----

Locke looked up; following Sawyers gaze and stared at the ship as if it was nothing out the ordinary, just something that had been misplaced. Slowly, he stood up, hoisting himself using the tree next to him. Leaning against it, he collected his mind, and began to stagger towards it.

"I didn't expect this." He said, more to himself than anybody else, approaching the Black Rock, ignoring Danielle's eyes boring into the back of his skull.

"This must have been some sort of slave ship. Coming in from the west, merchants of some sort. How long have you been living here?" He asked turning to the French woman, who simply nodded.

Looks cosy." He muttered under his breath. Again, he felt a piercing pain in his chest, and he clutched at his wound, closing his eyes and exhaling a ragged breath.

"I'm waiting for you to invite me in. I don't want you to think I'm intruding" Locke said, turning to her and smiling.

Danielle gave her nod of approval, and turned to Sawyer. "So you know, if there is only one vial of antidote, it goes straight to me. Pray there is two."

-----

"That's up to me Jane", Sawyer replied to Rousseau's selfish remark. "Me man with gun. You woman with hole in leg. Got it?", he snapped.

Moving his arm behind his back he took the gun out of his jeans and used it to point to the entrance of the ship. "Now hurry up. I don't got all day to play hero of the month. We got Doc for that. I'd rather spend my time sunbathing", he added with a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. Not necessarily thinking of himself laying on the sandy beach, trying to catch the best rays of the sun, but more of the female castaways and what they were wearing. Or rather, what they weren't wearing.

Charlie felt his head spin around, the enormous blood loss causing dizziness to take over. His eyes suddenly turning away he instantly lost control of his body, his weight giving a heavy pull at Sawyer's arm, which almost lost his balance in the process.

Looking next to him, the Southerner saw the peril state the former rockgod was in. "Hey Amigo!", he yelled, afraid time was running out. Snapping his fingers again, but this time it took longer for Charlie to get back to him. Mumbling an almost inaudible "I'm alright".

"Yeah, sure you are", the other man replied, not believing the British man's words.

Tightening his grab around the smaller man's waist he locked eyes with Danielle.

"Next stop", he loudly announced, to both push Rousseau to get on going as well as trying to ignore the eerie feeling the mysterious pirate ship was giving him, "Antidote to jungle poison and a first aid kit. Seems like Sport here needs some other medical shizzbash as well."

-----

Danielle shot a look at Sawyer, and her top lip twitched in anger. She looked to Locke and sniggered;

"We should hurry up shouldn't we? Wouldn't want you to be sick."

Locke only panted in reply, his internal organs starting to give up hope, his throat closing up, making it almost impossible to breathe. Danielle walked up to the Black Rock and without words, entered it, disappearing inside into the darkness. Locke pushed away from the tree and began to stumble in her direction, one small step at a time. Painfully and slowly it seemed, he made his way into the ship, and followed her footprints, looking around the cobwebbed walls.

It certainly looked like a slave ship, as he had suggested earler, the chains and buckles on the floor a dead giveaway. It wasn't untill he saw the skeleton he realised just how correct he had been.

"You lived down here, and didn't move the bones?" He asked confused.

"You shouldn't wake the dead." Came her reply, ahead of him.

Following her voice, he dragged his feet into the cockpit, where old blankets and food lay dormant in corners, advertising some sort of life that had been here.

"You didn't take the food with you?" Locke questioned, stepping over a mouldy

can.

"I left it for the rats."

"That was... Kind of you."

Danielle bent down in one of the corners, her back to Locke, blocking what she was doing. She used her right hand to noisely search the old blankets, while her left knowingly made its way into a container, and took the last vial of antidote within, concealing it in her jacket.

"Any luck?" He asked, bending down to help look.

"No" She snapped, quickly standing up and brushing herself off.

"You are doomed." She added.

"Don't you mean we?"

"Yes. We."

-----

Heavily leaning on Sawyer Charlie stumbled inside the "Black Rock". It was pretty dark and his sight was blurry, so he couldn't really make out much of the stuff around him. Frankly, he could care less. All he wanted was to rest, lay down. Didn't matter if it would be on a soft bed or the dirty soil of the jungle, or the ship.

"Need... to... sit...", was all he could mumble in Sawyer's direction. But it was enough.

"You got it Amigo", the Southerner replied absentmindedly. Carefully sitting the former rockgod down against a large dark-wooden chest near the entrance he took in the environment. Not being able to take his eyes off what he saw: buckles, chains, ancient metal weapons, or at least so it seemed. Quickly making sure Charlie would be all right by himself Sawyer followed Danielle and Locke, deeper into the cave of the lion.

"I... I'll be here when you need me", the British man joked, as he watched the three figures disappear in the dark. The only proof he wasn't alone being the far away echoes of their footsteps and quiet conversation.

Unnoticeable he took the gun from out of his jeans, not necessarily pointing it at Rousseau, but having it ready just in case. Pirates, ghosts, Sawyer wasn't sure what he could expect, but he knew that the dark place was creeping him out and the cold steel in his hands made him feel more secure.

"We there yet?", he said impatiently after only tens of seconds had passed.

Suddenly he heard a loud cracking sound from under his feet and when he looked down he saw fragments of bones under his feet. Human bones. "Sonuvabitch!", he cursed with clenched teeth. Jumping up and swiftly moving away from the skeleton remains.

"I'm havin' enough of this bullshit". Quickly making his way towards Danielle he stood still in front her, forcing her to stop as well and listen to him. "You know where we goin' to or what? 'Cause I'm thinking you know nothin'!"

-----

Danielle shielded herself from Sawyers anger, and wrapped her jacket around herself tighter, keeping the antidote hidden. She finally met his gaze and shook her head;

"I thought I could do something. I thought there was antidote here. Your friend will die, as will I. I am going now. Do not try to follow me, you will regret it." She warned, stressing the word "will".

Turning from him she gave Charlie a final look before heading back into the woods, exiting as swiftly as she had arrived. Meanwhile in the cockpit, Locke sat alone with the corpses, slowly dying without the stolen antidote. Calling to Sawyer with what was left of his breath and mite, he let his head drop, his chin knocking against his wound.

His mind wandered back to Charlie and how he had miserably failed him, like he failed everyone. No matter how hard he tried, John Locke was to fail everything and everyone, and it seemed his time on the island had come to an end.

It seemed he would now leave The Island painfully, just as he had arrived. Just as he had lived.

-----

Danielle shielded herself from Sawyers anger, and wrapped her jacket around herself tighter, keeping the antidote hidden. She finally met his gaze and shook her head;

It seemed he would now leave The Island painfully, just as he had arrived. Just as he had lived.

-----

Sawyer heard John Locke call for him, and even though he mumbled an answer in the hunter's direction he wasn't paying much attention to the man. Instead his eyes were focussed on the exit of the ship, the one the French chick just passed before she disappeared into the shadows of the jungle. He knew she couldn't be far away. The poison running through her veins, seeping through the pores in her body must have the same defeating influence on her as it did on his two fellow castaways.

Quickly thinking over his options the Southerner knew there was only one thing he could do to save John and Charlie, and that was going after the woman. The hunting look in her eyes wasn't that of a cat giving up all hope and looking for a final resting place, it was that of a wild tiger struggling and fighting to survive. So wherever she was going to, salvation was there. For her and the two hurting men.

"Hang in there John", he said with clenched teeth as he followed Rousseau's footsteps in the dust.

Passing the small British man he quickly crouched down next to the younger man's side and simply said "I'll be right back".

Just to let Charlie know he wasn't leaving him there to die, that deep inside he wasn't the selfish man anymore he was the first day they met. Right after the crash, when the Brit asked him for a smoke and only after a lot of sneers back and forward he handed him the almost burned up cigarette before putting a new one to his own lips. He had changed and he was going to prove that to them. To Kate.

Without another word he stood back up and ran in the direction he saw Danielle disappear.

Charlie had heard Sawyer's words, it had slowly brought him back to consciousness. Glancing through his eyelashes he saw Locke's slumped down figure not far away. The man was obviously getting worse.

"I guess it's just you and me again John", the former rockgod mumbled, stating the obvious. "I'm getting bored of this place, you don't happen to have some playing card with you, so you?"