Frankly, Sawyer was not a morning person.
It was beyond him how he'd managed to get stuck (what with all his good luck) with a group of early birds but, somehow, he'd managed it.
He could tell that some of the survivors were that sort from first sight. Kate, for example: something about her urge to keep moving (to run, as he's so eloquently put it so many times) didn't seem to allow her to sleep for more than six hours at a time. Jack, too: he just oozed early-mornings, the color yellow, and accomplishment, all of which were things that Sawyer loathed with a passion. A tendency to get up early was to be expected of them both, but really - who'd have thought Hurley was an earlier riser?
So it came about that, Sawyer was the official sleepy-head (dubbed so by none other than Charlie of all people) of the island.
Naturally it surprised him when slowly, slowly, his biological clock shifted. Only a few minutes earlier a week (he got hell for loudly proclaiming to the assembled survivors that "I got up early this morning!" when Sun checked her watch and pointed out with an arched eye-brow that it was eleven forty-six), but it was something. Slowly, slowly, Kate's working hours and his… standing-around-and-making-sarcastic-comments hours were falling in sync, and (when she wasn't mooning after Jack, or Jack wasn't mooning after her) he actually got to spend some time with her.
It was nice. It was also getting out of hand.
He awoke early one morning, utterly confused. It was still dark out and, since he hadn't jerked awake like he usually did when something actually woke him up, he couldn't imagine what was wrong. He staggered out of his tent, damning early mornings, late nights, and more or less everything within thirty feet (which included Hurley, a rock, Kate's tent, and a mango). He spotted a familiar figure standing where the water and the sand met on the horizon and detoured his warpath towards it, rubbing sleep from his eyes. As he neared her, and was able to make out more of her silhouette and profile, his eyes softened and he allowed the smallest of real smiles to slip through. Sawyer didn't quite understand how, but she always managed to bring a smile to his lips.
She was ignoring him, as was usual, so he mimicked her stance - arms crossed, legs spread - and patiently waited for her to acknowledge him. As was usual, it didn't take long. Her voice was cold (also painfully usual) but at least the words weren't.
"You're up early."
For a moment, Sawyer was caught off guard. His brows folded and he spoke slowly, slightly afraid of some sort of trick. "I …am?"
Kate arched an eyebrow and finally turned to him, her curiosity getting the best of her. "It's about six thirty, Sawyer," she pointed out just as slowly.
Sawyer cursed loudly, dropping his head to glare at the sand as if it was all its fault before regaining his composure and glancing back up at her.
They stood in silence like that for a while longer, with Sawyer not wanting to discuss reality, to argue with her, to inevitably piss her off, and Kate as stubborn and distant as usual. Neither wanted to mention that they were probably the only people on the whole island who desperately wished that the boat wasn't coming. Once again, Kate was the first one to break.
"Why're you up so early?"
Sawyer smirked. "Some things are worth getting up early for, Freckles."