AUTHOR NOTE: if you haven't seen the most recent LOST episode "One of Them". then you're probably not going to understand this. but um. basically Sawyer tracks down a frog that's been annoying him. and if you don't want a major spoiler about the frog. stop reading NOW most of you (i'm assuming) already have heard that that frog was not a tree frog at all. but a green poison arrow/dart frog. if you're learning this information from me right now. whoops. but now you know. and this is what i think will happen. this mostly stays within Sawyer/Jack/Hurley/andLocke characterwise. no Henry. barely any Kate. and probably not anyone else. but i'm a big hypocrit. so who knows... reviewing isn't necessary. it'll go on as long as i can stand to write it. and if my writing style bothers you. it would generally be tough titty for you. but i've been nice and followed regular protocal for punctuation/grammar...
Sawyer looked down at the mottled green and black lump in his hands. A tiny little frog that'd been plaguing his napping pattern today with its mating call, "that's one idea," he commented to Hurley's notion of taking the frog two beaches over in an attempt at everyone's betterment.
But then he closed his fist around the animal, and it crunched between his fingers, turning his palm wet and sticky. Then casually, he opened it back up, examined the mess he'd made of it, and dropped it into Hurley's outstretched hand.
"This'll save you a trip, Kingpin." Sawyer smiled crudely, wiping the frog-goo from his hand onto the side of his jeans. He took a sort of sick pride in the shocked look on Hurley's face, providing himself the pleasure of realizing probably one of the biggest softies on the island finally hated him.
He turned on his heel, leaving the big guy standing there dumbly, the crumpled frog still sitting in the palm of his outstretched hand, and he was barely a few steps away when Sawyer's legs gave out beneath him. His body went icy cold and red spots bloomed like blood in water in front of his eyes. He was slipping into black when he heard Hurley calling his name.
"Jack!" Hurley came barreling in through the front door of the hatch, collar soaked in sweat, beads rolling down his cheeks, his long curly hair matted to his forehead. "JACK!"
Jack came out from around the corner, a wad of bloody cloth in his hand, an already irritated look wrinkling his brow. Seeing Hurley's frantic expression made his stomach drop. "What's the matter Hurley?"
"It's Sawyer…" Hurley tried to catch his breath, just short of having to bend over and put his hands on his knees, "…he just collapsed dude…"
The wad of bloodied cloth dropped out of Jack's hand and into the sink, and was quickly replaced with a water bottle. He was already heading towards the door before Hurley had even realized it, "take me there," Jack demanded on his way by.
"Aw man." Hurley moaned, just having run all this way, but turned around and followed Jack out the door.
"What's going on?" John had poked his head out from the computer room, but Hurley had already disappeared out into the jungle.
The foliage crashed thunderously underfoot as they ran, Hurley breathing hard and trying to keep in front of Jack to lead, only to have a hell of a time just trying to keep pace with him.
"There." Hurley pointed ahead of himself and stopped in his tracks, unable to run any further, cramps drilling into both of his sides. Jack followed the relative direction of his finger, pushing his way through fronds until he almost nearly stepped on Sawyer, who was lying facedown in the undergrowth.
Jack pushed the man over onto his back, and shoved two fingers into the side of his throat, finding a thready, weak pulse. Hurley managing to finally catch up with him, still breathing hard and looking pale, almost green in the face.
"What happened Hurley?" Jack had a hand on Sawyer's forehead, feeling a powerful fever coursing through the unconscious man. He looked up Hugo, only to see his face turn a sickly olive
"Dude,I don't feel so good," Hurley whimpered, suddenly falling to his hands and knees and vomiting. He had vomited twice more before Jack had gotten over to him. And by the time Jack had kneeled next to him to offer him water, Hurley had collapsed over onto his side, unconscious.
Jack tried to rouse Hurley a couple of times by calling his name and slightly slapping him on the cheek. But that only succeeded in spreading the white-colored sick across his face and in his hair.
Jack leaned back on his toes, putting his hands on his knees, looking from one unconscious man to the other, stunned. "Son of a bitch," he breathed.