It's two days after Brian and I found the beach, that the pilot finally opens his eyes. I swear I see him look around, like he is trying to figure things out. Figure out where the hell he IS! Believe me, we all know that feeling by now. But...then something weird happens. It's as if he instantly goes into shock. As soon as I move near him, he freezes and his eyes never move from the wall in front of him.

The others have gone to get more supplies from the plane, and there‘s really nothing I can do so I talk to him. If he's awake, at least enough to open his eyes, then maybe he can hear.

"So...um...guy," I stumble. "What's your name? We've just been calling you pilot. Except when Brian calls you...um...never mind."

I pick up a slice of apple that I still hadn't eaten from my ration and hold it to his mouth. "Hungry? I'll bet you are. Since you were out cold, we could only get you to take liquids." He doesn't take the apple so I shrug and eat it myself. Four days with only the bear minimum to eat...you don't argue when it comes to food. Even if the guy was on his death bed and refused to eat, the food is fair game at that point.

Idle chitchat is all I can offer. Wouldn't want to freak him out by talking about the crash. The poor man was probably traumatized. So I stick to things like where I'm from and my favorite movies and music. If the blank stare is any indication, he doesn't care for "Steel Magnolias" or Sarah McLachlan.

It seems to take forever for the others to get back. Cynthia is the first to return. She's unusually quiet and seems to be having an argument with someone in her head. This means that she either (a) didn't get something she wanted, or (b) got into a fight with Brian...again.

Brian and Justin reach camp next. I've noticed that those two have been keeping a close eye on one another lately. Like they're both afraid the other one is going to disappear without warning. Brian is always reminding him about being careful with his arm, as if Justin NEEDED to be reminded! And Justin keeps us on a tight rotation of sleep patterns so that at least one of us is up at all times during the night. Brian kept trying to take that job upon himself, but Justin quickly nipped that in the bud.

As soon as Brian throws a bag down onto the floor of the cave, I know the trip had not gone as planned. "What's that?" I ask. I don't know what it is about me that makes me want to ask the most obviously provoking questions possible. They just...slip out.

Brian openly glares at Cynthia. "Our food for the next few days. So we don't have to keep going back."

I look between Cynthia and Brian, as they seem to be facing off. Then I look up at Justin and he answers my silent question. "They argued over moving again."

"Oh." And that's all I can really say. The two of them have been arguing about moving back to the plane for days now. Cynthia still insists the plane would be more comfortable and should a search party come, they'll likely look for the wreckage first. Brian still says that it's too out in the open. Anything could get to us from all sides, while in the cave you only have one side to watch. And we keep a fire going in the entrance so it keeps most of the animals away. Of course...I say that...but then I wasn't the one who woke up with a rat crawling on her leg. Yeah...Cynthia's still upset about that one.

Either way, we seem to follow Brian's lead no matter what, but the argument still goes on. And on. And on...

Justin moves to sit beside me and when he does I hear his breath catch. "Brian," he says in a stage whisper. "The..." He can't even get the words out so he settles on pointing to the man seated across from us.

"Shit!" Brian curses, as he moves closer to the pilot. "Rory, when did he wake up?"

I shrug, "He hasn't really. Not yet. He opened his eyes and," I snap my fingers, "instant catatonia."

Cynthia kneels right beside the man and waves her hand in front of his face, as if that might snap him out of it. "Great. He's a veggie!"

That had been my diagnosis as well. I figure we'll be stuck with a breathing carrot, but then I had never been a witness to the miracle worker that is Brian Kinney.

Brian sits directly in front of the pilot and leans forward to examine his eyes. Though I'm sure the others don't see it, I catch a glimpse of the pilot's eyes, moving in time with Brian's. Like he's trying to figure out if he knows him. "Brian," I try to warn.

"Brian?" The pilot whispers, his voice cracking and hoarse. "Kinney?"

I hold my breath, as Brian nods and eyes the man closely. "Yeah. Your name?"

"Neil...Toller. Pilot."

"Yeah. We sort of figured that last part out." Brian smirks. "Do you know what happened?"

The man nods, a simple tilt of his head, and he gasps, "Crash."

Brian crosses his arms, probably trying to keep his emotions in check. "Do you, by any chance know WHERE we are?" He asks in that short way of his. The voice that demands an answer.

Neil tries to sit up and groans. The grimace on his face is deep and he closes his eyes as his face pales noticeably. The pain of his injuries is just now hitting him full force.

"Alright," I interrupt, unable to watch the man suffer any longer. "We can question him later." I grab the first aid kit and give the man a few Tylenol. "This might help some of the pain. We...well...Brian wrapped your ankle but there might be other injuries we don't know about." I hold a bottle of water up for him to drink and he smiled at me, as much as he can manage anyway, over the top of the bottle.

"We need more wood for the fire," Justin announces as he abruptly stands and uses his good arm to drag Brian outside, leaving Cynthia and I to deal with the pilot for the time being.

I wonder if they're going off for some jungle tryst. But...that would be ridiculous! I mean...we've just been through a major ordeal. Sex has to be the last thing on their minds.

***

Back and forth. Side to side.

All I can fucking concentrate on is Justin's ass and it's driving me to distraction! Ever since he woke up and I realized he would be okay, I've had to restrain myself from dragging him into the forest to fuck him BACK into unconsciousness.

It has to be the whole reaffirming life thing. That's the only thing I can think of to explain it. We just walked away from a plane crash. We could have died. It was a very distinct possibility. But we didn't and...now my dick wants to rejoice and celebrate that fact! That's all. Nothing at all to do with Justin.

"...so maybe we should just do that," I hear Justin ramble on.

I ignore him and let my mind wander to the pilot. He seems so...not all there. He was a vegetable and then he's fine? It doesn't make sense. Sure, okay. He came out of his shock or whatever. But when he saw me...and said my name... It was like he was looking at a ghost.

Can't exactly say I'm pleased that he woke up. As shitty a thought as it is, him being here at all means less food and water for the rest of us. And something about him...besides the fact that he crashed us in this fucking wasteland...really bugs me. I can't pinpoint it but it took all I had not to go off on him right away.

"Brian, are you listening to me?!" Well obviously if he has to ask that, then the answer is likely to be no.

"What?" I stop and look up to see Justin, his free arm full of sticks and limbs, and an exasperated scowl on his face.

"I was talking about the living situation." I continue to stare at him blankly. "I say we move."

"Not you too!" Dammit! Why can't they just get it through their thick heads? "Look...if we move back to the plane, we are vulnerable to attack."

"Attack? Brian this isn't a war."

"Sure it is. Us against nature!" I reply idly as I finally begin searching the forest floor for stray limbs.

"Whatever. If you had been listening, you would have known that I don't WANT to move back to the plane." Ha! I knew he would see it my way. "I want to move to the beach." Or not.

"What the hell are you babbling about?"

"Think about it. We're close to the ocean so if any ships pass...we can...light a signal fire or something. The plane is in the middle of a very thick grove of trees. There's no way another plane is going to be able to spot it from the air, but on the beach, at least we would be fairly visible."

His reasoning sounds completely lame, and yet I can't fault it. It does seem to be the more appealing option. Rather than sitting in a cave, or in a tin can, waiting for help that probably won't come, we can sit on the beach and pretend we're on vacation. I laugh at the idea of the four of us lounging on the beach, sipping some sort of tropical drink from coconut shells.

The pilot...well he can be off somewhere else, finding us food or...I dunno...washing our clothes or something.

Yeah. The beach sounds promising. But I have to be realistic since it's only too clear that I'm the only one that has their head on straight. So to speak.

"What do you propose? Living under a palm tree? Or maybe IN a palm tree? A little Tarzan action?" I shrug and shake my head. "What?"

"I don't know. We could build some sort of...fort."

"Fort? What are we - seven?"

"You know what I mean. Like a hut or something."

"Oh. Well sure! A hut! Why didn't you just say so?" I roll my eyes, not really caring how much that pisses him off. "So...Frank Lloyd Wright, ya got blueprints for a hut on you somewhere?"

"You asshole!" Justin pulls back to hit me but his left arm bumps against the tree he's standing next to and he doubles over in pain. "Shit-fuck-dammit-sonofabitch!"

Above all things, I fucking hate to see the kid - ha...kid, yeah right - hurt again. At least it wasn't his right arm this time! "You okay?" I ask dumbly as he struggles to regain his breath.

"Yeah. Just...jarred it. I think the belt came loose." He twists a little, trying to check on the bindings.

He's doing it all wrong. The belt is loose but the way he's pulling it the damn thing is just going to come off altogether. "Here!" I push his hand away and tighten the belt, retie the blouse that covers it and place the arm carefully back into the sling of scarves that Rory fashioned for him.

I finish and look up. We're face to face. I can feel his hot breath on my cheek. I can see his eyes dilate just the faintest bit. His lips are so damn close and before I can stop myself, my brain begins to wonder what it would be like to kiss him again. Does he still taste the same? Like sweet cinnamon?

This cannot happen! Not here. Not now.

I turn away abruptly and he starts to gather up the sticks that he had dropped after hitting his arm. He seems just as intent as I am to let the moment slip past unmentioned, so that's good. Right?

"Um...ya know, we should probably go check on the girls," he says, refusing to meet my eyes.

"Yeah. For all we know, fly boy might have tried to molest them." We both chuckle at that. As if that were possible. The man probably couldn't move two feet without screaming like a little girl.

Besides, if anything it would be the other way around. Lord knows Cynthia will probably enjoy having a straight man on the island. She's probably already set up house with him in the cave.

And yet...as soon as we reach the cave, silence is the only sound that greets us. Rory, Cynthia and Neil are nowhere to be found.

***

As soon as the guys leave on their little firewood gathering expedition, I feel my blood begin to boil. My anger was already sparked earlier when Brian went into his ‘I know what's best' speech. Now that he's out of my direct line of sight, the pilot seems as good a target as any.

"Care to maybe - oh I dunno - DO something, now that you too have joined the land of the lost?"

"Cynthia," Rory chastises me softly. She's all about keeping the peace. And I know I'm being a little too hard on the guy. But he's the one that put us on this fucking island!

"Rory, don't!" I warn her, putting a hand up to ward off any more objections.

I'm not surprised though, when she huffs and ignores my warning completely. "There's no reason to start in on him. He's stranded here just like the rest of us."

So...okay. I'd like to blame the guy. But I know she's right. Always so damn right! I can't fault him for EVERYthing. We don't know why we crashed. Yet. And I have to remain civilized. He's supposed to remain innocent until proven guilty.

Keeping with that way of thinking is easier said than done when I haven't had a bath in four days!

"Fine. C'mon." I grab his left arm and motion for Rory to take the right.

"What are you doing?"

"No - it's what WE're doing. And WE are taking his ass to the plane. Maybe he can figure out a way to get us out of here. Fix the radio. Something!"

"He's too weak, Cynthia!" Rory replies, taking his right arm to keep me from ripping the left arm out of the socket. "Give him time."

The pilot - Neil, surprises us both as he grunts and tries to flex his arms against our grip, working to help us pull him to his feet. "It's okay. I think I can make it. Just...go slowly."

Rory looks dubiously between Neil and me and shakes her head as if she's admonishing two toddlers. "Alright. What about Justin and Brian?"

"What about them?" I roll my eyes. Those two are probably off fucking like rabbits by now. They'll never notice we're gone.

***

This has to be the worst day in my life. Or...at least it ranks in the top five.

Okay. I'll admit it wasn't all THAT bad waking up to see what could have been a Playboy centerfold sitting in front of me, babbling about old movies and her family and...whatever the hell else she came up with to talk about. She figured I was in shock and I was. But not for the reason she thinks.

Not for the reason ANY of them think.

The pain in my leg and ribs is excruciating! My leg is wrapped though, thanks to Mr. Kinney, and there's nothing I can do about the ribs so...can't just sit around all day dwelling on the pain.

Which is why I agreed to the little impromptu trip to see the plane. It will take my mind off of the pain and put it where it needs to be. On a plan. A plan that will get me the hell off of this rock!

Never could I have imagined that having two beautiful women on my arms would be uncomfortable or painful. But their nails are digging into my arms. Especially the blonde's. I think she has a bit of a grudge against me. And who could blame her?

I don't remember the entire scene. I know I said something about turbulence. I can vaguely recall hearing the engines beginning to sputter and die out. I checked coordinates just like I was supposed to, so I know we're on an island near... Ugh! Near where? I can't remember!

I must have lost control of the plane. It's the only logical explanation. I should have been able to bail out as planned. Maybe...I dunno. Maybe I hit my head.

Subconsciously my hand moves to cover the large knot on my forehead and Rory slaps my hand away. "Don't touch it! It'll only make it hurt worse."

"Oh...go ahead! Touch it! Want ME to?" Cynthia plasters on a fake grin and I have to say I'm a little worried about her. Or...should I say I'm worried about ME being at HER mercy.

It's quite a relief when we arrive at the crash site. The plane is sitting there, splattered with dirt and crunched, the nose looking curiously like a slinky. It looks like some sort of cheesy scene out of Indiana Jones or some lame ass horror movie. Just doesn't seem like it could be real. But there it is. Right before our eyes.

I make a big show out of checking the radio signals, gauges, and anything else that might seem to be of some importance. I know none of it survived the crash. It wasn't meant to. But they don't know that. They can't know that. So...I shake my head dramatically and sigh.

"No luck." And then I produce my peace offering of sorts. A flare gun and three flares. "But I did find these." The girls look less than thrilled with the findings.

"What about radar?" Rory asks. "We had to be on someone's radar."

"And surely the execs at La Belle will report our absence."

I look away, not wanting to actually say the words. No one is going to be looking for them. From my reaction, I know they've gotten the general idea. We're well and truly screwed and I have a feeling they're gonna break out the tears at any moment. That always seems to be the way with women. "Go ahead and cry. It's only natural to be upset."

I turn away so as not to witness the tearful sight. That's when I hear it. A click. No mistaking THAT sound. I whip around a little too quickly for my own good and my good leg nearly buckles beneath me. "W-What are you doing?"

Cynthia glares at me down the barrel of the flare gun. "I figure if we're gonna be here for a while, we might as well stock up on food. It's only natural to plan ahead for things like this." She never takes her eyes off of me as she speaks to Rory. "How do Neil-ka-bobs sound?"

Rory! The SANE one! She'll talk some sense into that blonde bitch!

Rory puts an arm around her friend and smiles. "Please. You know the boys would just make US clean and cook him if WE kill him."

Oh. Shit.

Cynthia giggles and lowers the gun. I breathe a sigh of relief.

"CYNTHIA!"

"RORY!"

"Ah. The cavalry," I mumble.

I wonder if they're here to save me from them, or them from me.

"Are you guys okay?" Justin asked as he jogs towards them.

Guess that answers my question.

"We're fine Justin. Neil says that the radio is beyond repair."

"Fuck!" Kinney swears. He soon notices the gun in Cynthia's possession and pries it out of her hand. "What's this?"

"Flare gun. He found flares too."

A strange look passes between the younger man and Kinney. As if they're sharing the same exact thought. Asking the same questions of one another. The silence is almost killing me, but the other four stand there as if it were normal.

"So..." Brian begins, "What do you guys think about moving this party down to the beach?"

***

After the fighting and feuding over when we could begin building some sort of shelter closer to shore, I managed to sneak outside for a smoke. I'm really rationing these things. I have one whole pack - minus the two I've already had since we got here - and I'm thinking I should start saving them for special occasions. Especially after the latest news.

No hope of rescue. I can't even fathom the possibility of spending the rest of my life HERE! But it's true. Neil seemed pretty damn sure of himself on that count. And I figure he would be the one to know.

Soon, Brian joins me, bumming a smoke every now and then, but never saying anything. He's still recovering from the news too.

This is nice though, I must admit. Just the two of us by the fire, in the middle of nowhere. There was a time that I would have killed to get Brian Kinney into a situation like this.

Well...not like THIS! Just, without the crash and all.

Only days ago, I was wishing he would disappear and now I can't stop thinking about how happy I am that he's here with me, ALIVE!

"How's the arm?" he finally breaks the silence.

I look down at my colorful bandages and shrug my right shoulder. "It's still there."

Brian takes my chin between his fingers and forces me to look at him. "I'm glad," he says sincerely. And I know he means more. He's glad I'm here too. I smile at him and kiss his cheek as my right arm goes around his neck. He freezes for a moment and then his arms encircle me and we sit that way for a few moments, simply satisfied with the once-familiar contact.

"Here," he finally pulls away and reaches behind him. He tosses something onto my lap and I have to squint against the glare of the firelight to see what it is. And then I smile. A real smile. "I found it in one of your bags. When we were trying to find something to brace your arm with."

I flip through the pages of the empty field journal and I can already see the pages full of sketches that I'll do of island animals, the girls and my favorite subject of all, Brian. Brian climbing a tree, Brian laying on the beach working on his tan, Brian swimming.

"Thank you," I whisper.

He shakes his head, shrugging off the gesture as if it means nothing. But it means everything. It means my sanity.

"I just figured...you could keep sort of a journal. So when we go back, we'll remember."

"Yeah. And maybe I could sell it to some big publisher and become rich and famous!"

Brian laughs and shakes his head. "I wouldn't put it past you. And then you'll go off on a whirlwind book tour. End up in Oprah's book club. Forget about all of us!"

"Don't even joke about that!" I smack his arm and he smirks at me. "Oprah? Honestly! I won't settle for anything less than the Daily Show -"

"With John Stuart,"we say together in deep voices. Old...happy memories creep in with the reminder of one of our favorite shows and we both smile sentimental smiles.

"Gonna let me do the ad campaign?"

"Hell no." I tease him. "I want someone young and in touch with today's market."

"Bitch."

"Fucker."

The cigarette continues to be passed back and forth and we finish out the night in a comfortable silence.

To Be Continued...