"Big" - PG-13, Gen

[ahedonia.livejournal.com]

Hey guys - new to this community, trying something out.

I live in L.A. and write for TV, so last year during Season One I wrote a lost "spec script" – that is, an actual sample episode of the show, to show everybody how well I write and why they should hire me. ;) (Just to clarify, it's not a script I ever expect to sell or get the show to do - it's just a writing sample, 'kay?) My challenge to myself was to write Hurley's backstory before the show got to it, to give him something really unexpected, and yet sell the reader on it.

Anyway, I thought the result was a damn fine episode, so I wanted to post it as fic. Therefore, I'm slowly converting it from script form into fic form. But before I go all the way through, I thought I'd see how it went over with some readers. If I manage to interest anybody at all, I'd love it if you'd leave a comment and let me know :) so I'll know to keep converting. I'm just posting the first big chunk here.

Title: Big
Author: Anne Hedonia
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Hurley, Sun & Jin feature prominently.
Pairings: Just canon ones
Summary: Alternate backstory for Hurley, who can't outrun what happened in Australia. Complete episode. / Hurley is big on the island, but how "big" was he at home? How big can anyone make themselves?

Timeline: When this script was born, the following things were true: Jin didn't yet know Sun speaks English – only Kate and Michael did. Claire was then missing. Boone was still alive. Locke had just saved Walt from the polar bear, making Michael reassess him. Bernard, Rose's husband, hadn't been revealed.

Feedback: rocks my tiny, sorry world – annehedonia [at] comcast [dot] net




~ Teaser -~


Michael followed Boone through the jungle morning, very close to sleepwalking.

Fuzzy sunlight filtered through the spaces between leaves. Michael rubbed his eyes aggressively, more frustrated with himself than his eyes' refusal to clear. The morning was cool, but he knew this air now, and it still held the threat of a sweltering afternoon. He didn't look forward to it. He wished they could get to their destination faster, for this reason. Then he wished they weren't going to their destination at all.

But not really.

God dammit.

He looked at the back of Boone's sweat-stained tank shirt, his messy black mop of hair, bobbing along dutifully.

He wasn't out of questions yet.

"Locke tied you up?" Michael demanded.

Boone didn't turn. "Yep."

"And left you. In the jungle."

"That's right."

"Were you on top of an anthill, too? With honey over your head?"

Boone chuckled thoughtfully. "Kind of. Maybe if the honey came from Timothy Leary."

Michael felt a stab of vague panic – Christ, what did that mean?

"And now, because he said to, you're traipsing out to find a metal door in the ground and...stare at it."

Boone turned back just slightly, one fuzzy eyebrow poised archly. "You do notice you're here, too?"

Michael glared. God DAMN Boone and his amusement and this whole thing.

Michael was not the type to follow "leaders." Especially leaders who asked you to do creepy, ambiguous, nonsensical shit, deep in the jungle. He took pride in being his own man, making decisions based on what he knew.

Then John Goddamn Locke had to go and be right, so often, using methods Michael couldn't fathom, till he found himself going on faith, stepping blindly off metaphorical cliffs – even minor ones, like this little trip – before his own brain had even signed off on them.

"Yeah," he grumbled. At least his confusion had finally been labeled. "Man, I can't believe we're still talking to the guy, much less taking orders from him."

"They're not orders, just..."

"I know, I know – 'suggestions.,.'" he said sourly. "That always turn out right."

Boone's mouth opened to reply, but the next sound next didn't come from him. A sudden feral screech echoed around them.

And abruptly, from seemingly nowhere, a teenage boy launched himself at them.

Michael's brain fought to catch up to events. He tried to focus on the new threat, but couldn't pin it down. It seemed mostly a blur in ragged clothes. He did manage to focus on one thing – something on the boy's hand, something sharp, something glinting, a weapon of some kind. It was cobbled together out of metal shrapnel, fitting tight on the boy's hand, jumping out in Freddy Krueger-like swipes. One of which was suddenly heading straight for Michael's face. He threw up his arm instinctively and the thing found its mark. Michael could feel the four parallel slashes opening up, splitting skin to show nerves to the air.

"GAAAH!" he yelled.

He stumbled back and away, forced his mind to catch up, joined Boone in circling the boy, jockeying for position. He mentally shook off the stinging pain in his arm and the worry about blood loss. Boone seemed more aware than he, more ready. He didn't know why. His eyes shot back to the teen's face, which was obscured by sweaty hair and snarling.

The Kruger thing lashed out at Boone's midsection – Boone jumped back from the lethal swipe with millimeters to spare. Suddenly angry again, Michael grabbed for the teen's arm, only to bring back a hand full of sliced fingers for his trouble. He worked hard to swallow a serious scream.

Then suddenly Boone was behind the boy, grabbing his arms. Michael looked for a way to help during the short, fierce struggle, but soon Boone had wrestled the boy down on his back. It took Michael a moment to realize Boone was yelling at him.

"Get the thing!" Boone spat. "The...knives!"

Not about to offer up any more arms or hands to the thing, Michael flailed his booted foot around the ground, trying to stomp the blades into stillness. A moment later he was stunned to find he'd succeeded. His brain caught up and he knelt on the boy's forearm, eliciting a chagrined wail. With bloody fingers he managed to free the blades from the teen's hand. He stood up with them, shaking and stunned. A faraway part of him felt jealousy of Boone's greater fighting prowess, and he just shook his frazzled head, sick of himself.

The teen had finally stopped struggling to glare at Boone, and Michael took his first good look at him. This Tasmanian devil of a minute ago was only 15 or 16, tops, wiry and gawky and for some reason seriously pissed. The teen reminded Michael of a kid he sometimes saw in movies, like that one with Matt Damon and that other kid from E.T., only grown up now...something about horses. He had remembered the kid in that movie because the character had been incredibly annoying, due to his own brand of maddening internal logic that directly caused every bit of the trouble everyone else was always getting him out of. This kid reminded him of that other kid now because the kid in the movie had that same challenged look on his face, and was always fighting too, even when people were trying to help him. Especially when people were trying to help him.

Michael shook his head at the weird mental tangent.

Boone fought to keep the kid pinned. "Hey, calm down!" he yelled. "Who are you?"

Michael remembered his right to feel wronged. "Yeah, and what's your problem?!"

The kid just glared. Boone glanced off over the kid's head, and his eyes changed. He nodded upward with his chin to where he was looking. "Check it out."

Michael looked. There in the tall foliage was a little cobbled-together habitat, made up of all sorts of flotsam...including a goodly amount of airplane stuff.

Michael stared. "So he's been living here... "

Boone nodded. "And half of that's plane stuff." He turned back to the boy. "Were you in the plane crash? We were too. We can help you."

The kid thanked him for his concern with a vicious headbutt. Boone reeled, but Michael's brain finally moved his body in a timely manner. He grabbed the kid in enough time to help pin Boone him back down.

He looked at Boone. "So what do we do with him?"

Boone thought for a moment, then looked grim. He took a rope out of his pack and nodded for Michael to lean back. With a move so quick and decisive it surprised even Michael, he flipped the boy onto his stomach and was back on top of him, tying the boy's hands.

"Looks like our little global village has one more citizen."

-----

Quite a ways off, under a palm tree by the beach, Hurley reclined under a tree, his eyes closed.

Suddenly his eyes snapped open, as though in alarm.


-----

~ Act I ~


Sun working in her garden was the most natural thing in the world.

At least it seemed that way to Jin.

He watched from a shaded place as she moved among the tiny sprouts in their neat rows, as though she could read their little plant minds and respond to their every need. If he was a plant there, he thought ridiculously, he would feel comforted, safe as houses.

She moved as though she wasn't on an island she'd never planned to inhabit, after a tragedy as apalling and grisly as the goings-on in any war zone. More like this was her estate, a life she'd been born to. As though it was all perfectly normal, and she had not a doubt in the world that the scrawny, insignificant leaves she now saw would soon bear enough fruit to feed the entire company of survivors.

He wondered how such a privileged girl had learned such a plebian skill. More than learned it -- absorbed it. He wondered if some things were just inborn, as opposed to taught.

He wondered what he embodied, if anything.

He wondered what he was good for.

At this moment, though, he knew he could do one thing. He could charm his wife. He knew a few tricks that always worked, and though they were only tricks, cheap gestures that didn't give sustenance or a sure future, he couldn't resist trying one now. Because he needed the reward.

Jin tiptoed up behind Sun, carrying the lei he'd made out of tiny white and purple orchids. She was so absorbed that she still hadn't turned when he was near enough to reach out and touch her sleek, sun-warmed hair. He slipped the flowers over her neck, and the soft orchid petals slid past her cheeks and dropped onto her shoulders. She gave a little gasp of surprise and then, as she understood, a soft sigh of delight and appreciation.

And that sound was worth everything, he thought, as he grinned triumphantly and his stomach did that dance it used to do when they'd first met. That sound was worth doing anything she'd ever need.

And a few things she'd loathe him for, that would disgust her, he thought in a sudden stab of self-recrimination. But he buried it, back in his brain. Because she was turning to him, and smiling.

He smiled back, the confident charmer. He savored it as she gave him a soft peck on the lips.

A moment later a man had approached and was interrupting them, and Jin felt a pang of unreasonable anger. The man was white, paunchy and sunburned, a cloud of frizzy red hair haloing his bald spot. His striped dress shirt was cheap and ugly, had been even back when it wasn't hopelessly wrinkled and covered with sweat stains. He reminded Jin of a boiled shrimp.

He was bringing Sun a crude set of plans, written on ripped cardboard, gesturing and pointing, jabbering stupidly in English. He finally looked to Jin and smiled, as though he meant no harm. Jin sized him up, judged that he was far too unattractive to make a serious bid for his wife's attention, and decided to ignore him.

But then Sun was turning to him, telling him in Korean about how Boiled Shrimp Man was helping design a fence for the garden, gesturing between them in introduction. Jin's spirit fell as he realized he was obliged to interact, but the hopeful look on Sun's face was no match for his dislike.

He shelved his feelings expertly and faced the man, bowing slightly and offering his hand to shake, as wholeheartedly deferential as if he faced one of Jin's father's employees. He had had plenty of training in this regard, in giving respect to people for whom he had none.

The pink man relaxed and shook his hand, looking relieved. Jin was a bit surprised to find the pink man cared. But the look on Sun's face was the real revelation. He apparently knew how to do something else. His gesture had made Sun as happy as the flowers.

Jin smiled back at her. Something in him shifted. Hey, he might even try this again.

* * *

The valley smelled funny, thought Sawyer. And it was cold and dark, hidden from all of the island's many perks. Gimme the beach, he thought, shaking his head. What kind of stupid fuck lands on a tropical island and then goes and cowers in a cave?

He sucked down a much-needed drink from his water bottle, then conceded mentally that being near the spring wouldn't be all bad. He re-filled his bottle, took an extra drink with his hand. He stood up, shaking water off his fingers, looking around overly casually. There was something else it wouldn't be bad to be near.

"She's not here."

Sawyer turned to see Locke behind him. "'Scuse me?" he said, though he'd heard perfectly well.

"Kate," clarified Locke politely, though not without a wry glint in his eye. "She's not here. Thought you'd want to know."

Sawyer played the man wronged, gesturing around and smiling. "Can't a man get drink without having his motives questioned?"

Then that little runt Charlie walked past.

"Depends on the man," he muttered not quite under his breath, flashing a grin at Locke over Sawyer's shoulder. Sawyer suddenly found himself irritated.

He turned back to Locke. "So, how's that cult coming along, Obi Wan? You sure are rackin' up followers." He gestured with his bottle. "You need this water back so you can make the Kool-Aid?"

Locke regarded him calmly, still irritatingly amused. "Why, you wanna join?"

Sawyer knew the answer to this one. "I wouldn't belong to any club..." he began, but Locke went and stepped on his punchline.

"...that'd have me as a member." Locke finished. The guy was seriously cruising for a punch, and most annoying of all, the dumb fuck didn't seem to notice. He wouldn't quit looking amused and...intrigued, was the only way to put it. The idea of being scrutinized always made Sawyer's skin crawl.

"You're not so hard to figure out, you know," Locke was saying. "Your actions speak louder than just about anyone else's around here."

Sawyer got in Locke's face just enough to keep their conversation private.

"You need to keep your distance, Gandhi," he warned quietly. "I'm not one of these feebs that you can—" he made his words pointed. "—tie up in the damn jungle."

He looked for signs of surprise in Locke's face that he knew what he knew. He couldn't find any. He kept going. "You try any of that maharishi crap with me? I'll put you in a wheelchair."

Locke was maddeningly calm. Sawyer was alarmed to find something like compassion in the older man's eyes. "There you go again," he said quietly. "Telling on yourself."

Sawyer fumed, his equilibrium rattled.

A shout came from nearby: "LITTLE HELP HERE?"

He and Locke turned to find Boone and Michael making a dramatic entrance to the Valley, dragging some kid between them.

* * *

Sawyer and Locke hurried to investigate, along with Jack. Others were gathering to gawk.

Charlie gaped at the new arrival. "Who the hell is that?"

"New guy," grunted Boone, firmly holding the squirming kid's bicep. "Introduced himself out in the jungle."

"Yeah." Michael thrust forward an arm that was slashed open, blood drying in streaks down his forearm. Then he held up some metal thing that made no sense. "With this."

Jack moved quickly to inspect Michael's injuries. Suddenly, the teen between them said his first word since arriving.

"Hurley!"

Hurley stood dumbfounded at the valley entrance. This was happening. It was real.

"Luke?" He hadn't meant to join the scene, but he'd been called upon. The word had escaped him before he could censor it. He became aware of the others staring at him now.

Michael blinked. "You recognize this wild animal?"

Hurley didn't know what he was talking about, and turned his mind off to the possibilities. "His...name's Luke," he explained, walking closer. "We knew each other."

Luke was looking at him keenly, just like always, eyes boring into Hurley's face. He was back, he was actually alive. This was good, this was...man. He was still at a loss.

"We knew each other," he repeated lamely.

He tried to ignore the curious looks being exchanged. His shock started fading and his brain began working.

"We booked the flight home at the last minute, we couldn't sit together. Luke got put in the back." He finally found himself smiling, belatedly realizing he could be glad. "Dude!" He grabbed Luke by the shoulders. Luke's smile became a full-fledged beam.

That lady Rose made her way urgently to the front of the group. "Excuse me, he was in the back?" she asked. "Maybe he sat near my husband?"

Jack seemed to shake himself to attention. "Oh, yeah. Were there any other survivors?"

"Like a black man with a beard?" Rose pressed. "About so tall?"

Luke looked at her distractedly, then finally spoke as though he'd lost the habit of talking. "I think I saw someone like that...the first day or so...but then I lit out on my own. And I didn't see him anymore."

The others waited for more, that didn't come. Hurley could tell they weren't sure why. He felt a little ill. Then thankfully, Jack took charge.

"He's probably had a hard time of it. I should make sure he's okay." He pointed at Michael. "Right after I get him bandaged. Hang tight."

Jack ushered Michael off to his hut. Hurley furtively took Luke aside as well.

"Hey, about her husband," he whispered. "You didn't...do anything...right?"

"What? Oh, no." said Luke dreamily. He looked faraway for a second. "He already knew."

No one else would know what that meant, except Hurley. But to Hurley it meant a lot. He breathed a quiet a sigh of relief. Maybe this would be okay. Maybe God would intervene. Maybe.

-------------

TBC

[x-posted to lost_fanfic]

Comments

[janinelearner.livejournal.com]

wow, this is really intriguing, I'd definitely like to read more.

[ahedonia.livejournal.com]

Awesome. Thanks for the vote.

(And your icon is perfectly filthy. Well done. :P)

[ahedonia.livejournal.com]

Although I would actually really like to see it in script form.

Well, that's refreshing. :) I took a poll on one of my fic rec lists a while back and script form was very unpopular. I felt suspect for even bringing it up.

If you'd like to see a copy of the script, I can send it to you as a PDF - do you have Adobe PDF Reader? (If you don't it's free to download.) Send me an email to my other addy - ahedonia@yahoo.com - and I'll send it along, if you'd like. :)

[marigold6.livejournal.com]

Very interesting - and intriguing...yes, please post some more.

[ahedonia.livejournal.com]

Another vote! Yeah, baby. :) Thanks.