Untitled Boone/Jack B-Slash, parts 1 & 2
Okay, so here's my B-slash baby. And seriously, this reminds me slightly of an actual B-movie I heard the summary for in a documentary about the porn industry. Heh. Let's get primitive, baby.
Basically, the crew gets taken over by the island tribe that stole away Claire. I'd summarize more, but what happens in these first two chapters is basically the set-up for the rest of the fic, so I'd be giving all of it away, and I spent too much time for such a waste -- it's clocking it at 2666 words already, yay!
All I can say is that it's basically a shameless construction to get Boone and Jack horizontal in a primal way. So that will happen. Eventually. You'll see it coming for you like a 10-ton truck. Or something.
I have read through this carefully, but it has not been beta'd. Please give me a heads up when you see a mistake, or even better, where you think I could make some significant changes. I am particularly prone to not breaking up my paragraphs properly. Any commentary would be appreciated, really. It would help me keep going, and I haven't managed to complete one of these long ventures in quite some time.
1. Setting Up Camp
"You notice that out of forty-six people on this island, only seventeen are female?" asked Hurley, sidling up beside Jack. He held his self-designated census notebook in hand, and as his eyes were focused upon it and not on him, Jack let himself hope Hurley wasn't expecting an answer. Instead, he kept his own eyes focused on what was in his hands. There was a depressingly small amount of medicine left to sort through. Always be prepared for the worst, his father had often said. He cursed himself inwardly for not rationing the supplies with proper forethought.
"And of those seventeen," Hurley was continuing, "Only twelve are under forty?"
Jack was finished organizing the island medical cabinet. He'd gone through it all twice in a matter of minutes. This was a problem. "What's your point, Hurley?" he asked finally.
"Those are pretty bad odds."
Jack looked at him. "What are you talking about, Hurley?"
"Well, I'm just saying, it's been almost a month now. Gets you thinking about..." Hurley waved his hands in an age-old stoner gesture. Traditionally, it would've referred to anything from awesome greatness (on the Grateful Dead end of the scale) to awesome enigma (Pink Floyd's The Wall meets The Wizard of Oz in perfect harmony). Both would've been accompanied by a "duuude" in appreciation of the scale of awesomeness. Now, if Jack was following, the gesture had more of a Barry White-esque implication.
"...Settling in," managed Hurley at length. "Setting up camp." There was a pause as he noticed they sort of had set up camp already, at least literally. "Uh, like more."
Hm, no 'dude,' thought Jack.
"Seventeen women. Twenty-nine men. Okay, twenty-eight and one kid, but. Dude."
Ah, there it is.
"It's kind of amazing people haven't stared ripping each other apart over them, huh?" mused Hurley, thinking aloud. "Guess there's been so much going on, people haven't really started thinking about it yet."
"Not yet," agreed Jack, as speculatively as Hurley. Being as Sawyer had been competitive over Kate since day one, he was surprised he hadn't really considered the matter. The nasty possibilities of such rivalry had flashed through his mind when Jin had attacked Michael, but he'd forgotten it as soon as the reason for the outburst had proved not to be Sun. Charlie's neediness had been as easy to overlook as the girls found the man himself to dismiss.
However, now that Hurley had brought it up, Jack realized it was an issue which needed serious scrutiny unless they were miraculously rescued in the near-future. This was a problem.
2. Conquered and Not Defeated
It was to the credit of the plane crash survivors that the struggle lasted as long as it did, which was not very long at all. They had nothing -- not even enough time to grab Locke's knives or branches from the fire. Their separation into two groups, one in the caves and the other at the beach, made them smaller and weaker, the former locked in and the latter out in the open. The islanders, on the other hand, were well-organized, armed, and intimately familiar with the territory.
Perhaps their vast superiority was fortunate, because in the end, only a few were injured and none were dead. The goal of their enemy was apparently capture, not slaughter, and they accomplished this quickly and efficiently. Neither did they display malice toward their new prisoners, but immediately rewarded, in a fashion, those who had put up the most resistance against their onslaught.
Jack, of course, was one of these. After they had all been bound with thick vines expertly knotted about their wrists and ankles, he, Locke, Boone, Jin, and a surly businessman called Douglas were led to the front. In exhibition before the rest of their vanquished group, they were given water. Presently, women associated with their captors emerged from amongst trees, carrying with them various decorative pottery and flowers. They approached the men who had been singled-out and tended to their cuts and rapidly-coloring bruises with musky-smelling but pleasantly soothing ointment. They then adorned them with lush orchids of a shade of violet brilliant in its intensity. Jack had not seen them on the island before. It struck him that there were probably many magnificent things here he had yet to see.
With an air of finality, the women smeared a thick paste of something like honey into their mouths. "Do not swallow it," they were told in English. "Cradle it upon your tongue. It is a gift from the Island in recognition of your bravery. May you wield it soon in Her name." Jack wondered if it was their version of handing out cigarettes before execution.
The island men then commenced to march them all forward into the heart of the jungle. They walked fast and dexterously through the dense foliage, and it was difficult for their prisoners to keep up, let alone manage the masterful silence they demanded. Their feet made no sound as they hit soft dirt and fresh greenery instead of twigs, picking their way with practiced ease.
Jack was impressed despite himself, as it seemed there were twigs everywhere, particularly beneath his own feet. Okay, especially beneath Michael's. The wounded man was anything but smooth at the best of times, and now in his pain and agitation he was crashing through with a ruckus that was making their captors increasingly irritated. Jack was facing forward as they'd been ordered, but he heard the sharp slap of wood against flesh accompanied by Michael's startled yelp. After that, there was a considerable lessening of noise, and Jack wondered how much of the man's gracelessness was simple mindset.
He allowed himself a glance to his side and found that Locke was observing the people and their movements with considerably more admiration than Jack's own reluctant recognition of their ability. He himself was more wary and distracted by worry for the fate of the others. For now, those who had fought hard and successfully might be enjoying humane enough treatment, but the islanders seemed to care little for the rest. They pushed them along roughly, even the older men and Michael, who was sporting a broken arm. He hoped they would allow him to fix it eventually.
It concerned Jack particularly that they'd separated the women, albeit calmly enough that he hadn't noticed until now, when they were already gone. As he could not discern the absence of any of the men who'd taken them hostage, he allowed himself the optimistic assumption that they'd been escorted with an all-female guard.
Their captors were not the stereotypical media notion of what wild island dwellers might be, the one that Jack had grown up with as an average American child. But then, nor had either of the people they'd encountered here so far. The Frenchwoman Sayid had found and "Ethan," who'd infiltrated their camp and stolen away Claire had both been civilized in a modern western matter, despite certain violent tendencies toward murder and kidnapping. Or maybe there was an ironic point there, but Jack really wasn't in the mood to have a sense of humor.
It occurred to him that these might be Ethan's people, "the others" the Frenchwoman had spoken of, or both.
He didn't see Ethan around and they weren't dressed like he had been. They wore more primitive clothing, made from materials of the Island and allowing easy movement and comfort in the humid climate. A couple of the men wore roughly-woven tops and sleek trousers. Many were shirtless or garbed in short, practical robe-like wear reminiscent of older Japanese costume. Most of the women had worn a feminine cut of this, though there might have been one or two in pants. Things had gone by so fast, he couldn't be sure about such details.
Still, there were certainly markedly western aspects to their appearance, especially when compared to that old stereotype Jack was familiar with from childhood. The men were mostly clean-shaven and had short hair. The women had worn their hair long and kept their breasts covered. He wondered in passing if they shaved their armpits and legs. Then he remembered that at least Locke was studying something useful about the people, even if it were through eyes clouded with veneration, and Jack set his mind to seeking out a possible way to save them all.
His hopes for escape flared and died almost at once: he saw Sayid, and then Sawyer stepping through the trees, both with their heads held high; he saw the purple orchids draped around their necks. He let out a breath and was prepared for the sight of Ethan following behind, also with his head held high. He, however, had no flowers around his neck. The man was unmistakably in charge, and he met Jack briefly with a cool gaze before turning to address their escorts.
They spoke amongst themselves in what Jack thought was a roughened French or dialect. He glanced around at his own fellow prisoners, but recalled only a couple of the women as speaking the language: a woman from France and maybe Shannon. He looked to Boone, but it was clear the man wasn't listening, his eyes darting from the islander's weapons to their surroundings and back, searching for an escape opportunity. Apparently his goal was not obvious only to Jack. Boone let out a sharp yelp as he was whacked soundly on the back of his head. Jack watched him for signs of serious injury (a blow to the nape could easily kill a man), but Boone just scowled and flexed his neck restlessly.
He glanced up suddenly, gaze meeting Jack's, and Jack, strangely, felt as if he'd been caught at something. Boone's eyes kept their defiance and anger, but made it something shared. There was a common determination and passion there, and it gave Jack new hope.
"Your attention, gentlemen," said the man they had known as Ethan, commanding all eyes to turn to him. "As you have probably become aware by now, I am not the peer you once thought me. My name is Luc Gaudet and I lead this mighty people. We have conquered you because you are weak. But there is no reason to hold grudges. There is no reason to remain weak. Note that I have said 'conquered' and not 'defeated.' Note how we have treated your strongest, those who stood tallest against us in battle. We do not hate you. We want you to become a part of us.
"What we are offering you is a choice. Pledge yourself to our tribe and comply with our traditions. In return, I promise that you will enjoy what it truly means to be a person of the Island."
"And if we refuse?" spat Charlie, eyes flashing with pure rage. He was bruising badly and had not stopped bleeding in some places. He had fought capture with methods both violent and dirty. It seemed that the islanders did not look upon his tactics with respect, for he bore no pretty flowers and was being held rather viciously by two men.
"Then we will grant you the release of death," promised Luc. After a pause in which all were doubtlessly remembering Charlie's recent and spectacular survival in the face of hanging, he finished, "By beheading in sacrifice to the Island."
There was a bitter silence. While Charlie's life seemed nothing less than a miracle, even Jack's strictly scientific view allowed for it to be possible. But no one could come back from decapitation, a literal severing of body and mind.
"And your refusal will mean little of a symbolic nature, boy," said Luc, addressing Charlie specifically, with clear disdain. "The pregnant woman and her unborn child have already been initiated into our society with her consent."
There was an almost palpable relief amongst the captured at this declaration, and then their attention was once again diverted by the arrival of an older tribeswoman. She stepped out from a thicket of bamboo, clad in a deep brown, short kimono-like robe, and approached Luc. Her gray-streaked hair was tied into an efficient ponytail, and Jack noticed that her arched brows were delicately plucked. So the women probably did shave, he mused.
Luc was quiet as he bent to listen to her low voice, then without responding, faced the prisoners to address them once again. The older woman shuffled back into the bamboo on silent feet.
"Your women are receiving the same offer. When the sun touches the mountain, we will gather you all together and give you a more complete introduction to our tribe and ways. It will be the final introduction you will get before you make your choice. You will have until then to decide.
"In the meantime, Adrien here will direct you." At this, an older man, hair thinning but with shirt open to reveal a muscular torso, walked in front of Luc to stand before them.
Luc relinquished his position and nodded at some of the other men. He was followed by five in the direction the woman had taken.
Jack looked around, but Locke was already shaking his head, careful not to meet his eye. They were not outnumbered, but the twenty or so men who surrounded them were armed. The captives didn't even have their limbs free. He bit his lip and focused on what Adrien was saying.
"...arrange yourselves in a line. It will be a simple, linear assembly, one person behind another. I want no arguments or displays of ego. You will decide for yourselves an hierarchy. And not one based on who makes the most money or has the best job. Those days are past. You will not see the Old World again.
"You will choose based on what you have seen of each other since you came here: who is most invaluable in the concern of survival? Who has been a good leader, a good hunter, a good fighter? Who has made intelligent contributions to the community? Or, who has caused trouble, be it by stupidity or selfishness or laziness?"
He paused, the punctuation preceding a particularly important point. "Remember that a violent nature can be curbed, but stupidity is much harder to overcome, if it can be eased at all.
"Any disagreements you will resolve peacefully amongst yourselves."
He was finished. He did not threaten them with an "or else," but his words held a finality to match the hard light in his eyes. There was to be no disobedience.
Adrien looked to the sun, and they were reminded of Luc's designation, when the sun touches the mountain. They had about an hour.
Jack wanted to resist when he felt himself being naturally propelled to the front of what was to be the line. But to fight it now, he knew, would have immediate and negative consequences, unlike in the past when he could pretend that his reluctance was his concern alone.
After some minutes, there was a lull, and the other prisoners hung around the loose line with uncertainty.
Jack looked down the line. Immediately flanking himself was Locke. Then Sayid stood, eying Sawyer. Sawyer was holding himself tall, looking at Jack with recalcitrance, but not enough, Jack noted, to cause potentially fatal disorder. Maybe he'd been listening to that part about troublemakers and stupidity. At any rate, he had neither challenged Sayid nor claimed his own place in the short line.
Presently, Jack became aware that it was not only Sawyer's eyes upon him, but the expectant gaze of all around him, including the silent Adrien.
Jack took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and counted to five.
Basically, the crew gets taken over by the island tribe that stole away Claire. I'd summarize more, but what happens in these first two chapters is basically the set-up for the rest of the fic, so I'd be giving all of it away, and I spent too much time for such a waste -- it's clocking it at 2666 words already, yay!
All I can say is that it's basically a shameless construction to get Boone and Jack horizontal in a primal way. So that will happen. Eventually. You'll see it coming for you like a 10-ton truck. Or something.
I have read through this carefully, but it has not been beta'd. Please give me a heads up when you see a mistake, or even better, where you think I could make some significant changes. I am particularly prone to not breaking up my paragraphs properly. Any commentary would be appreciated, really. It would help me keep going, and I haven't managed to complete one of these long ventures in quite some time.
1. Setting Up Camp
"You notice that out of forty-six people on this island, only seventeen are female?" asked Hurley, sidling up beside Jack. He held his self-designated census notebook in hand, and as his eyes were focused upon it and not on him, Jack let himself hope Hurley wasn't expecting an answer. Instead, he kept his own eyes focused on what was in his hands. There was a depressingly small amount of medicine left to sort through. Always be prepared for the worst, his father had often said. He cursed himself inwardly for not rationing the supplies with proper forethought.
"And of those seventeen," Hurley was continuing, "Only twelve are under forty?"
Jack was finished organizing the island medical cabinet. He'd gone through it all twice in a matter of minutes. This was a problem. "What's your point, Hurley?" he asked finally.
"Those are pretty bad odds."
Jack looked at him. "What are you talking about, Hurley?"
"Well, I'm just saying, it's been almost a month now. Gets you thinking about..." Hurley waved his hands in an age-old stoner gesture. Traditionally, it would've referred to anything from awesome greatness (on the Grateful Dead end of the scale) to awesome enigma (Pink Floyd's The Wall meets The Wizard of Oz in perfect harmony). Both would've been accompanied by a "duuude" in appreciation of the scale of awesomeness. Now, if Jack was following, the gesture had more of a Barry White-esque implication.
"...Settling in," managed Hurley at length. "Setting up camp." There was a pause as he noticed they sort of had set up camp already, at least literally. "Uh, like more."
Hm, no 'dude,' thought Jack.
"Seventeen women. Twenty-nine men. Okay, twenty-eight and one kid, but. Dude."
Ah, there it is.
"It's kind of amazing people haven't stared ripping each other apart over them, huh?" mused Hurley, thinking aloud. "Guess there's been so much going on, people haven't really started thinking about it yet."
"Not yet," agreed Jack, as speculatively as Hurley. Being as Sawyer had been competitive over Kate since day one, he was surprised he hadn't really considered the matter. The nasty possibilities of such rivalry had flashed through his mind when Jin had attacked Michael, but he'd forgotten it as soon as the reason for the outburst had proved not to be Sun. Charlie's neediness had been as easy to overlook as the girls found the man himself to dismiss.
However, now that Hurley had brought it up, Jack realized it was an issue which needed serious scrutiny unless they were miraculously rescued in the near-future. This was a problem.
2. Conquered and Not Defeated
It was to the credit of the plane crash survivors that the struggle lasted as long as it did, which was not very long at all. They had nothing -- not even enough time to grab Locke's knives or branches from the fire. Their separation into two groups, one in the caves and the other at the beach, made them smaller and weaker, the former locked in and the latter out in the open. The islanders, on the other hand, were well-organized, armed, and intimately familiar with the territory.
Perhaps their vast superiority was fortunate, because in the end, only a few were injured and none were dead. The goal of their enemy was apparently capture, not slaughter, and they accomplished this quickly and efficiently. Neither did they display malice toward their new prisoners, but immediately rewarded, in a fashion, those who had put up the most resistance against their onslaught.
Jack, of course, was one of these. After they had all been bound with thick vines expertly knotted about their wrists and ankles, he, Locke, Boone, Jin, and a surly businessman called Douglas were led to the front. In exhibition before the rest of their vanquished group, they were given water. Presently, women associated with their captors emerged from amongst trees, carrying with them various decorative pottery and flowers. They approached the men who had been singled-out and tended to their cuts and rapidly-coloring bruises with musky-smelling but pleasantly soothing ointment. They then adorned them with lush orchids of a shade of violet brilliant in its intensity. Jack had not seen them on the island before. It struck him that there were probably many magnificent things here he had yet to see.
With an air of finality, the women smeared a thick paste of something like honey into their mouths. "Do not swallow it," they were told in English. "Cradle it upon your tongue. It is a gift from the Island in recognition of your bravery. May you wield it soon in Her name." Jack wondered if it was their version of handing out cigarettes before execution.
The island men then commenced to march them all forward into the heart of the jungle. They walked fast and dexterously through the dense foliage, and it was difficult for their prisoners to keep up, let alone manage the masterful silence they demanded. Their feet made no sound as they hit soft dirt and fresh greenery instead of twigs, picking their way with practiced ease.
Jack was impressed despite himself, as it seemed there were twigs everywhere, particularly beneath his own feet. Okay, especially beneath Michael's. The wounded man was anything but smooth at the best of times, and now in his pain and agitation he was crashing through with a ruckus that was making their captors increasingly irritated. Jack was facing forward as they'd been ordered, but he heard the sharp slap of wood against flesh accompanied by Michael's startled yelp. After that, there was a considerable lessening of noise, and Jack wondered how much of the man's gracelessness was simple mindset.
He allowed himself a glance to his side and found that Locke was observing the people and their movements with considerably more admiration than Jack's own reluctant recognition of their ability. He himself was more wary and distracted by worry for the fate of the others. For now, those who had fought hard and successfully might be enjoying humane enough treatment, but the islanders seemed to care little for the rest. They pushed them along roughly, even the older men and Michael, who was sporting a broken arm. He hoped they would allow him to fix it eventually.
It concerned Jack particularly that they'd separated the women, albeit calmly enough that he hadn't noticed until now, when they were already gone. As he could not discern the absence of any of the men who'd taken them hostage, he allowed himself the optimistic assumption that they'd been escorted with an all-female guard.
Their captors were not the stereotypical media notion of what wild island dwellers might be, the one that Jack had grown up with as an average American child. But then, nor had either of the people they'd encountered here so far. The Frenchwoman Sayid had found and "Ethan," who'd infiltrated their camp and stolen away Claire had both been civilized in a modern western matter, despite certain violent tendencies toward murder and kidnapping. Or maybe there was an ironic point there, but Jack really wasn't in the mood to have a sense of humor.
It occurred to him that these might be Ethan's people, "the others" the Frenchwoman had spoken of, or both.
He didn't see Ethan around and they weren't dressed like he had been. They wore more primitive clothing, made from materials of the Island and allowing easy movement and comfort in the humid climate. A couple of the men wore roughly-woven tops and sleek trousers. Many were shirtless or garbed in short, practical robe-like wear reminiscent of older Japanese costume. Most of the women had worn a feminine cut of this, though there might have been one or two in pants. Things had gone by so fast, he couldn't be sure about such details.
Still, there were certainly markedly western aspects to their appearance, especially when compared to that old stereotype Jack was familiar with from childhood. The men were mostly clean-shaven and had short hair. The women had worn their hair long and kept their breasts covered. He wondered in passing if they shaved their armpits and legs. Then he remembered that at least Locke was studying something useful about the people, even if it were through eyes clouded with veneration, and Jack set his mind to seeking out a possible way to save them all.
His hopes for escape flared and died almost at once: he saw Sayid, and then Sawyer stepping through the trees, both with their heads held high; he saw the purple orchids draped around their necks. He let out a breath and was prepared for the sight of Ethan following behind, also with his head held high. He, however, had no flowers around his neck. The man was unmistakably in charge, and he met Jack briefly with a cool gaze before turning to address their escorts.
They spoke amongst themselves in what Jack thought was a roughened French or dialect. He glanced around at his own fellow prisoners, but recalled only a couple of the women as speaking the language: a woman from France and maybe Shannon. He looked to Boone, but it was clear the man wasn't listening, his eyes darting from the islander's weapons to their surroundings and back, searching for an escape opportunity. Apparently his goal was not obvious only to Jack. Boone let out a sharp yelp as he was whacked soundly on the back of his head. Jack watched him for signs of serious injury (a blow to the nape could easily kill a man), but Boone just scowled and flexed his neck restlessly.
He glanced up suddenly, gaze meeting Jack's, and Jack, strangely, felt as if he'd been caught at something. Boone's eyes kept their defiance and anger, but made it something shared. There was a common determination and passion there, and it gave Jack new hope.
"Your attention, gentlemen," said the man they had known as Ethan, commanding all eyes to turn to him. "As you have probably become aware by now, I am not the peer you once thought me. My name is Luc Gaudet and I lead this mighty people. We have conquered you because you are weak. But there is no reason to hold grudges. There is no reason to remain weak. Note that I have said 'conquered' and not 'defeated.' Note how we have treated your strongest, those who stood tallest against us in battle. We do not hate you. We want you to become a part of us.
"What we are offering you is a choice. Pledge yourself to our tribe and comply with our traditions. In return, I promise that you will enjoy what it truly means to be a person of the Island."
"And if we refuse?" spat Charlie, eyes flashing with pure rage. He was bruising badly and had not stopped bleeding in some places. He had fought capture with methods both violent and dirty. It seemed that the islanders did not look upon his tactics with respect, for he bore no pretty flowers and was being held rather viciously by two men.
"Then we will grant you the release of death," promised Luc. After a pause in which all were doubtlessly remembering Charlie's recent and spectacular survival in the face of hanging, he finished, "By beheading in sacrifice to the Island."
There was a bitter silence. While Charlie's life seemed nothing less than a miracle, even Jack's strictly scientific view allowed for it to be possible. But no one could come back from decapitation, a literal severing of body and mind.
"And your refusal will mean little of a symbolic nature, boy," said Luc, addressing Charlie specifically, with clear disdain. "The pregnant woman and her unborn child have already been initiated into our society with her consent."
There was an almost palpable relief amongst the captured at this declaration, and then their attention was once again diverted by the arrival of an older tribeswoman. She stepped out from a thicket of bamboo, clad in a deep brown, short kimono-like robe, and approached Luc. Her gray-streaked hair was tied into an efficient ponytail, and Jack noticed that her arched brows were delicately plucked. So the women probably did shave, he mused.
Luc was quiet as he bent to listen to her low voice, then without responding, faced the prisoners to address them once again. The older woman shuffled back into the bamboo on silent feet.
"Your women are receiving the same offer. When the sun touches the mountain, we will gather you all together and give you a more complete introduction to our tribe and ways. It will be the final introduction you will get before you make your choice. You will have until then to decide.
"In the meantime, Adrien here will direct you." At this, an older man, hair thinning but with shirt open to reveal a muscular torso, walked in front of Luc to stand before them.
Luc relinquished his position and nodded at some of the other men. He was followed by five in the direction the woman had taken.
Jack looked around, but Locke was already shaking his head, careful not to meet his eye. They were not outnumbered, but the twenty or so men who surrounded them were armed. The captives didn't even have their limbs free. He bit his lip and focused on what Adrien was saying.
"...arrange yourselves in a line. It will be a simple, linear assembly, one person behind another. I want no arguments or displays of ego. You will decide for yourselves an hierarchy. And not one based on who makes the most money or has the best job. Those days are past. You will not see the Old World again.
"You will choose based on what you have seen of each other since you came here: who is most invaluable in the concern of survival? Who has been a good leader, a good hunter, a good fighter? Who has made intelligent contributions to the community? Or, who has caused trouble, be it by stupidity or selfishness or laziness?"
He paused, the punctuation preceding a particularly important point. "Remember that a violent nature can be curbed, but stupidity is much harder to overcome, if it can be eased at all.
"Any disagreements you will resolve peacefully amongst yourselves."
He was finished. He did not threaten them with an "or else," but his words held a finality to match the hard light in his eyes. There was to be no disobedience.
Adrien looked to the sun, and they were reminded of Luc's designation, when the sun touches the mountain. They had about an hour.
Jack wanted to resist when he felt himself being naturally propelled to the front of what was to be the line. But to fight it now, he knew, would have immediate and negative consequences, unlike in the past when he could pretend that his reluctance was his concern alone.
After some minutes, there was a lull, and the other prisoners hung around the loose line with uncertainty.
Jack looked down the line. Immediately flanking himself was Locke. Then Sayid stood, eying Sawyer. Sawyer was holding himself tall, looking at Jack with recalcitrance, but not enough, Jack noted, to cause potentially fatal disorder. Maybe he'd been listening to that part about troublemakers and stupidity. At any rate, he had neither challenged Sayid nor claimed his own place in the short line.
Presently, Jack became aware that it was not only Sawyer's eyes upon him, but the expectant gaze of all around him, including the silent Adrien.
Jack took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and counted to five.