Sawyer and the others on the raft were slowly adjusting to the rise and fall of the waves. Seemed Jin and Michael had their sea legs and Sawyer was proving that he was as useless as a brain in a strip club. He was nauseous as hell and every time he managed to move on the raft, his rubbery legs gave out on him.

"Sonofabitch," he groaned, "any chance Bruce packed some Dramamine in that pic'a'nic basket of his?"

Jin, acknowledging yet another one of Sawyer's nicknames, knew he was being talked about, but had no idea what he was asking. He looked toward Michael and pointed back at Sawyer, who was doubled over, his skin as green as his eyes. Shrugging with uncertainty, Jin spoke, his English raw and broken.

"Saw'ya," his face scrunched in frustration, trying to find the word, "sick?"

Michael, nodding in concurrence, thought back to Sun and how nice it must be to have a woman love her husband so much that she prepared a cheat sheet of Korean symbols translated into English.

"Your wife did you well," he patted Jin on the back, "You're one lucky guy, my man."

Jin, recognizing the word wife and judging by Michael's posture and facial expression, nodded a simple, yes, Sun.

"When you two are done makin' googly eyes at one 'nother," Sawyer coughed up, "care to divvy up the love to the sick guy?"

Throwing him some stale crackers, Michael got back to showing Walt how to steer. Pointing out what he thought was North, he guided Walt's hand on the mechanism that controlled the rudder, explaining the importance of it. Sawyer heard him ask what he should be aiming for and Michael told Walt to keep his eye on the horizon. Hearing the word horizon, Sawyer thought back to a car ride he had taken with his mom and dad when he was little. He had gotten carsick back then and his mom cradled him in the backseat, telling him to keep his eye focused on the border where the sky kissed the earth. Disappointment, sadness, and a bit of anger seemed to coat his words as he spat,

"I've been keepin' my eye on that horizon for over an hour and it ain't done a damn thang but make me want to toss my cookies."

"It'll get easier, man," Michael looked down on Sawyer, "takes some time to gain your sea legs."

"Sea legs, my ass," he grumbled, "how 'bout my stomach?"

Sawyer leaned back against a makeshift seat, made out of woven bamboo and leaves. Taking off his sweat soaked button-down, he rolled it and propped it under his head. Rummaging through the cooler for something to drink his hand skimmed across the slinky neck of the wine bottle Charlie had handed him on the beach. Wishing he had something stronger than water, he lifted the bottle and uncorked it. Pouring out the mini scrolls of hope, he began to read them, one by one. Walt noticed that he was once again invading people's privacy and attempted to reprimand him.

"Those are the messages everyone wrote."

"Sure are, little bit."

"They're private."

Annoyed at his persistence, Sawyer gave a cool but sarcastic yep and continued to read them. Reading through the notes, Sawyer came up a few that sparked his interest. Who the hell is Hugo and how's he got 160 million to leave to his mom, he pondered. The next note he came upon, however, caught him by surprise. It started like the others, but this one had his name in it. He began to skim it for the author and when he saw Elle's name, he traced it with his fingers and started with the salutation.

Dear Lily,

I thought over and over about who I would write to if this was my last letter and I realized with a sad heart that I had no one to leave this to. I don't have a mother, I don't have a father, but I did have a sister. I've missed you so much and I think about you constantly. I've missed you so much that I've imagined you running around here with me, your blonde curls bouncing. There's a girl here, Claire, we've become close as any two strangers can become, and she reminds me of you, if you were all grown up. Her eyes are as blue as yours are. Imagine that! I don't know where you are or if this note will reach you, but I had to try….

(Intro into Flashback) As Sawyer skims Elle's letter, we find ourselves on the beach a couple of days earlier. Elle is sitting along side Claire and Charlie, talking.

Elle's friendship with Claire came with a few benefits; today, it came with Charlie and his fanatical ideas. While others on the island were preparing the raft for its launch, Charlie was rambling off his thoughts to Claire while she and Elle were idly sitting on the beach with the baby.

"So what do you guys think?" he asked with that little boy smile of his, his eyes big and luminous, full of excitement.

A slight smirk crept across Elle's lips.

"You want the truth, Charlie?"

Knowing all too well that something sarcastic would drape across her tongue, Charlie dismissed her from finishing the statement and turned to Claire. Elle was obviously annoyed and muttered,

"I hated Message in a Bottle, just when they get your hopes up, the poor bastard dies."

Her words seemed to hang in the air, as Claire and Charlie stared at her, their mouths agape. Charlie's intentions were good, a bit cliché, but good. What would be better than to send Michael and them off with a bottle full of messages from the survivors? However, Elle managed to belittle his grand gesture.

"Bloody hell, tell us how you really feel, Elle." Charlie stabbed the sand with sticks he was beating into the sand as if he was on the drums.

Realizing her words were damaging, Elle lightly touched his shoulder. Eager to get back in his good graces, she commented him on his air drum solo. Quick to forgive with a hearty chuckle, and You shoulda' heard me on the bass, Charlie returned to prattle on about his messages. Elle mulled the idea over in her head. After hearing Claire back him up and get excited about the idea, Elle was easily swayed. Asking Claire for a few pieces of paper from her journal, Elle began to write her letter. Seeing Elle fervently writing, Claire too, began to scribble in her journal. Pleased with his first takers, Charlie pecked Claire on the head, and walked down the beach, a bounce in his steps.

(Flash forward to Sawyer on the raft, reading the letter)

…I've done a lot in my life I regret, Lily, but I will never regret that day those social workers came to take you away from us. I hope your foster parents were kind to you and gave you a good life. That's all I ever wanted for you. I don't know what else to say in this letter. Charlie, he's the drummer in Drive Shaft, had the idea that we should write letters to put in a bottle. I wasn't too keen on the idea…there's a lot of hope that's going into that bottle…

I've discovered that having a tiny bit of hope can do a person good…dwelling on it, though, well, that's something I wouldn't wish on anyone. I'm going to regret something soon…I'm going to go back on my word…I never do that, Lily. If you remember anything about your "big sis," you know I always kept my word. I just can't watch him go…Your big sis may have found all she's gone looking for and it took a turbulent plane ride for me to find him. Sawyer, James…he's a southern charmer, quick witted and beautiful. Oh, Lily, his eyes are this shade of green, I don't think crayola has a name for it…I wasn't able to open up to anyone about my life until I met him. He angers me so! But… he makes me feel like nothing can go wrong…even though we're stranded on this horrible island. How can I describe how well we fit together…you know the saying, "you can't mix oil and water"? Well…we're the opposite…we're like oil and vinegar…smooth, light, acidic, but just enough kick to make the best salad...

Sawyer breathed in the salty air, licking his chapped lips. He should feel invasive but reading her words made him want to delve deeper into the letter. Imagining where she was as she wrote this, he painted a mental picture of Elle back on the beach. He could see her wavy brown hair, the sun reflecting off her auburn highlights. She was probably leaning on her side, propped up on her left shoulder, pen twirling between her fingers. I bet she bit her lip a few times, like she does when she's thinking hard about something, he smiled to himself. Damn, I miss those lips. The letter, gently held by his callused fingers, flapped in the breeze.

...I picture you now, Lily, what you may look like, what your voice sounds like…I can't get the image of you on the swings out of my head. I guess you will always be five in my memories.-So young and innocent. I miss those times. If I could wish anything for you, besides the utmost happiness, I hope your life is full of love and laughter. I hope you make mistakes and you learn from them, because that's the only way you can harden yourself against the bad things that may come your way. I hope you find someone who makes you feel perfect even though you know you're flawed. I hope you find your silly prince charming, even if he carries a cigarette instead of a sword. It is possible, Lily…I never knew it would be possible to love someone but I do. Just promise me one thing, tell him you love him. I never said those words to James, but I have a feeling he may have known. He's gone now, on a raft to find us rescue. He's searching for hope and all the hope I have is in this letter. You're always in my heart, baby girl. I love you.

~Your Big Sis,

Elizabeth "Elle" Grecco

Sawyer must have read Elle's letter a few times before he memorized certain passages. He couldn't help but smile to himself, the woman loves me. He relished the thought. Folding the letter, Sawyer kissed it and instead of putting it back with the others, he pocketed it. No one needs to know, he thought to himself. When I get back, with rescue, we'll find her sister together. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Walt shake his head disapprovingly.

"Mind ya business, kid." Sawyer growled.

"It's personal."

Carefully replacing the cork, he placed the bottle back in the cooler, along with the salted fish. Funny, how a letter could make him forget he was so sick earlier. Sawyer found himself growing tired, the gentle rocking of the waves, coaxed him into a peaceful slumber. He dreamt of her that night, memories of their first encounter, their first fight, their first kiss, flittered behind closed lids.

(Flashback to Elle on the beach, writing)

As Claire ripped her letter from her journal, she noticed Elle finishing the final words in her letter. Together, Claire and Elle found Charlie, placing his own letter into a salvaged wine bottle. Claire was next to add to the bottle and Elle carefully rolled her letter and gently kissed it before sliding it down the neck of the bottle.

"You seem to be a true believer that there's hope out there," Elle said, doubt clouding her eyes.

"Aye, best to believe in something tangible and I believe those guys over there are just the ones to bring hope back."

Charlie corked the bottle and with a Cheshire-like grin said,

"I'm a romantic at heart."

As they walked down the beach, the sun glaring off the water, Charlie said what they were all thinking. Parting ways, he gave them a half smile,

"Well, mates, that's it, I suppose."

"Yeah," Elle bit her lower lip lost in thought, "that's it."