Prompt: 2. Ouija Board
Word Count: Chapter - 6093; Total - 22077
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers up through 223, oodles of swearing, dead character, character death
Authors' Notes: Because of the length, it is broken into four parts. They're anywhere from 3000 words to 7000ish words.
The jungle seemed endless, as if it stretched on for eternity in all directions. Hemmed in by trees, Sawyer had begun to feel that he'd never see open space again; he'd almost forgotten how the beach looked, how the sun felt, how the sea salt tasted.
It was there in his mind, somewhere; a vague flicker of memory buried underneath all of the violence, the blood, the screams. God, Kate's screams… He didn't think he was able to drown them out. They were lodged in his head – her screams and her pleas and his failure.
He closed his eyes for a second, opened them. Still in the jungle. He took a deep breath of humid air and kept walking, able to hear the clumsy crashing sound of Jack stumbling through the jungle behind him.
They'd been walking for hours, possibly days, and you could definitely tell. Dirt and sweat lined all visible areas of their skin. Sawyer could see the dried blood on Jack's face and the crusted over cut on his cheek that it had come from.
"We're lost," he said plainly. He'd said it about a dozen times already. Jack still refused to admit it.
Jack shook his head, again. "No. We're getting close." Liar.
Sawyer wet his lips, but his mouth felt dry too and his throat hurt when he swallowed. He thought that he was ill, but that was the least of his worries right now.
Muffling a cough, he ignored Jack and kept on walking. It was difficult; he was thirsty and hungry and tired, and it almost felt like they hadn't had a break in years. In any case, they hadn't had one since they got away from that place – from that cage.
His eyes were blurry with the need for sleep, so perhaps he could be excused for not noticing how the trees began to thin out – the thick soil began to fade into sand and the shore crawled into view – until they'd actually spilled right out of the jungle and onto the open beach itself.
Laying on the warm sand, the waves crashing just a few hundred yards away, Sawyer knew he was going to fall asleep pretty damn soon. It was only when he rolled slightly to get into a better position that he remembered the Others, hurting himself worse than he had been, and realized they couldn't just lay there. They'd be found in no time.
In all honesty, it was weird to forget his injuries so easily. But after considering that he couldn't remember when he'd last had anything to eat, drink, or last taken a nap, it wasn't so weird anymore.
There was a bullet wound in his stomach that he'd gotten for trying to escape with Kate back to their small sanctuary - he'd never thought he would call it that - roughly eight days after arriving to the cages that Jack said most likely went through his pancreas. That had made Sawyer's month, considering he already had a running history of diabetes in the family, and didn't need to die of that on this island. That would be great, considering he'd been on an island with polar bears and a fucking monster for months - to die of diabetes would suck. His leg was broken too, from when they'd tried to escape again. Who really put damn padlocks on the things to keep someone in, anyway? They'd held him down, grabbed his foot and slammed it against a boulder to break it so he couldn't run anymore. It worked for a bit.
His leg had healed well enough, but the worst was his arm. That was from the last time he'd seen Kate. Jack had just been brought in, and They were removing Kate. He just had a bad feeling, as he'd seen the handcuffs right away since hadn't even tried to hide them. He started fighting to get out of his cage and had ignored all the warnings from everyone - Ben, Juliet, everyone. As his 'punishment,' he'd once more been grabbed, but this time been moved to the newly-free cage and his arm was placed on a rock, before a smaller rock was brought down on it multiple times.
The leg and bullet wound had healed. The arm hadn't. Jack had helped him with a make-shift cast and sling but just breathing made it hurt, and he sometimes wondered what would've happened if he'd stayed quiet.
Now, at least he wasn't wondering what would've happened if they'd ran.
Jack lay on the sand next to him, trying to figure out how the hell they were going to get from where they were to where the camp was. It was at least five hundred feet away - he could see the tents, but they were so distant. There was no possible way they could walk that far, not after that long in the jungle.
Only moments later did salvation come, in the form of one word, and two men.
"Dude?" There was a very shocked Hurley, and a very confused Desmond.
Sawyer looked at them with confusion, wondering if he'd started to hallucinate. It felt like he must have. To see those familiar faces after so long with just Jack, just the Others…
He didn't answer but just stared blankly so Jack got slowly to his feet. "It's us." His voice sounded especially hollow, even to Sawyer who had been listening to it for weeks. To Hurley it probably sounded beyond hollow, beyond empty.
"Oh…" Hurley looked helplessly towards Desmond, who just shrugged. Something seemed noticeably different about Hurley too: he seemed deflated. Not thinner, it wasn't that, there just seemed to be less of him. The constant bubbling smile that he'd once carried had vanished. "Are, uh, you alright? 'Cause you look sort of dead."
Sawyer nodded. "Yeah, we're zombies, genius," he muttered.
Hurley didn't even look offended. He just looked to Desmond. "Des? Can you get someone? Like… I dunno. Someone that can help?"
Usually it would be Jack that was the go-to guy for things like this, but he was notably out of commission today. He was the one who was actually in need of help.
Desmond walked off, back up the beach. Sawyer sighed wearily and sat on the sand, leaning back against it in the sun. Now that he could no longer focus on walking, everything was beginning to hurt.
He couldn't really believe that they'd made it back, to be honest. There was still a huge part of him that was just waiting for Ben and Juliet to pop up and catch them again. That was what had happened with every other escape attempt.
Hurley was looking at them awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck. "So… how've you been?" he asked, as neutrally as you'd ask someone what they'd been up to on holiday.
Sawyer laughed; it was a broken, ragged sound. Some vacation that had been, yeah?
"We've been peachy, Hugo. Especially after you deserted us like that," he just had to say with a look of annoyance and hate on his face. Why was Hurley the lucky one? Why couldn't it have been Kate? Sure, he doubted the Others would've wanted Hurley to rape but couldn't they have had that girl instead, the teenage one? He'd seen her mulling around; both he and Kate had. She could've easily been the rape victim, and Hurley could've been in Kate's place while Kate could've been fine.
But she wasn't just hurt, but gone. And if he thought like that, he was going to start yelling.
Jack was a step from that point. "Sawyer, shut up."
"He–"
"Shut up. There wasn't anything he could've done."
"But Kate–"
"What would you have done?"
By now, Hurley was just standing there awkwardly, except now it was Sawyer's turn for awkwardness. That was a new one. "Fuck you, Doc." He went to throw some sand at him but ended up twisting his body too much, and gasped loudly as the gunshot wound was moved.
Why the hell had they tried running? It had been such a dumb idea. They could've stayed put, waited some, gotten healed more, gotten more wounds... And there was the reason.
Hurley sighed as he looked between the two. "Look. I'm sorry. But they had guns and they–"
"I know. So just stop." Jack's head was killing him, and he wished whoever was coming would hurry up. He'd spent enough time with Sawyer as it was; he didn't need any more.
Who was going to come though? The only other person he could remember having any skill in medicine was Libby, and he'd done what he could for Sawyer anyway. They just needed to get back. He could get back on his own, if he had some water. But Sawyer was another case all together.
Whereas Jack only had a broken wrist and a few broken fingers, Sawyer had so much more. Jack wasn't sure if he agreed, but while he wasn't going to say it out loud, he wouldn't switch it. The camp didn't need Sawyer; they needed Jack himself. He helped save people. He could do that one handed.
Sawyer watched as Jack slowly paced, waiting, and obviously thinking. He almost felt like a burden. In the jungle Jack had needed to help him along which was painful, and now they couldn't go to camp because it would take more than one normal man and one exhausted, wounded one to help bring him. Except he didn't care. He'd gone through enough to be a burden, he'd decided; he deserved it. "What are you thinking 'bout?"
"What we're going to do with you," Jack answered honestly. Despite their time together, they hadn't lost their antagonism with each other. The day that happened was the day they got off this island.
"Oh yeah? And what exactly are you gonna do?"
"I don't know yet, Sawyer. That's why I'm thinking about it."
Hurley looked between them and said 'umm' awkwardly a lot. Sawyer sighed, pain flaring through him, and he was already fed up with all of this. He wanted to get back to camp and guilt Charlie into taking care of him. Seeing as they'd had a casual thing going on back before he'd been taken, Charlie'd probably jump at the chance. He was always running around, eager to the point of desperate to please.
Maybe being injured was okay, then, if Charlie was going to run around and play nurse for him. He smirked a little at the idea, and wondered just how far he'd be able to take that. He wondered if Charlie would cook his food for him and wash his clothes and act like a regular housewife. Because that'd definitely be good.
He'd missed Charlie, to be honest. There were a lot more things he'd missed more - not being in constant pain every day was definitely one of them - but it would've been nice to hear Charlie rambling at him about how Aaron was and what Claire was up to at the end of every day. Now he was back to that, back to normal.
He leaned back against the sand and closed his eyes, with the sun beating down on his face. The throbbing in his old bullet wound was slowly starting to fade into the background again, but he couldn't wait to get back to camp. There were painkillers stored in the hatch, right? He was really looking forwards to taking them.
"So… What've you been up to? Sayid and people went looking for you. Like, all mountain-rescue. I told them not to… Sorry." Hurley looked so uncomfortable and upset about this all that Sawyer almost felt guilty for snapping at him earlier.
Only almost, though. Only almost.
"You abandon us and then you sabotage the search party? You're a real good friend."
Hurley actually winced backwards from the words this time, as if they'd physically hurt him. He didn't seem to be at a great place, mentally. He was probably still recovering from Libby's death, right?
"Sawyer? Keep your mouth shut," Jack ordered bluntly. One day, the doctor was going to get the hint that just ordering Sawyer around like that didn't work.
There was an almost childish, bully-like side of Sawyer that wanted to say how he'd keep Jack's face shut, which was incredibly dumb, considering his childhood. He'd been the kid who was picked on, and needed someone like Jack to stand up for him. Now here he was, being the bully, while Hurley was in his old shoes, and Jack was still in the 'look at me, I'm a hero' spot. Figured.
He was ready to say something so incredibly dumb like that, just because his entire body felt like it was on fire from infection, fatigue and just the general desire to give out, but something saved him. It was the fact that Desmond, Eko and Bernard were arriving back, Desmond with a knife in his hands.
"Whoa. What the hell is that for?"
"Just trust him," Hurley said before Desmond could even speak. He'd begun to trust Desmond more than anyone, becoming good friends with him, almost as good as he'd been with Charlie, and had noticed some things. Like how after the hatch, Desmond seemed to be able to predict things with great accuracy. He'd once even tied a golf club to a pole thirty feet up, getting a lightning bolt to strike that instead of Claire and Aaron after he'd predicted earlier that something was wrong with their roof.
Desmond moved over to Sawyer, but Sawyer was having none of it. Instead, he tried to sit up, but found himself stuck to the tree. A bit of panic spread throughout him as it immediately jumped to the Others, but then he realized that it was in fact a bit of bark holding him there. Only... way too much bark, entangled so badly he'd have to twist to get out.
"Your shirt is already ruined from the bullet wound and the blood. Just lean forward a tiny bit and I'll cut you free, brother." He didn't seem phased by the weird looks he was getting from Jack and Sawyer, instead waiting and then doing so, cutting off a large chunk of the fabric. Then he placed the knife against his leg, and helped Sawyer up slowly.
Eko was there to grab one side, then Bernard grabbed the other, and they began to help him back. Sawyer just wished he had someone other than Bernard to help carry him - Bernard looked like he'd collapse under the weight of a toothpick. Eko could carry him, he knew, but Bernard he wasn't so sure about.
"How'd you know?" Jack asked Desmond a few seconds later. He'd been standing right there and hadn't even seen. Sawyer hadn't felt it, but that wasn't surprising, considering the pain would've numbed everything else.
"Dunno. Don't know much of anything anymore, brother. Let's get you back." He then offered a bottle of water to Jack, and also a shoulder in case he needed it.
Jack, stubborn as always, refused the help and began to head down the beach towards the nearby camp. He managed to get three steps before he stumbled and Desmond, hiding a smile, went to help him with Hurley.
Four hours later, with a few good pills inside him, Sawyer was starting to feel a little better. His head hurt like hell and he needed to pee and he still couldn't use his hand properly, but at least he wasn't in a cage. For him, that was a massive improvement.
But something seemed strange about the camp. Really strange. Almost no one had met him in the eye when they'd first made it back to camp, and they'd all seemed mildly alarmed to see him and Jack again. Only Locke had smiled at them.
Sawyer had insisted on walking the final few steps to his tent and to the bed within it, not listening to Hurley's claims that the tent was actually used by someone else now. Screw that. It was Sawyer's tent; he'd built it.
He fell asleep in that chair despite the pain and despite the noise around them. When he woke up, the sun was only just beginning to set.
Charlie still was nowhere in sight. Sawyer'd been expecting a painful hug and a hyper burst of 'oh my god; you're alright!' when he came into camp, but nothing. Absolutely nothing.
He had a sick feeling in his stomach (which he told himself had nothing to do with feeling rejected) when he realized that Claire and Charlie had probably hooked up and started playing happy families again by this time.
He took a drink from the bottle of water that someone had left beside him while he was sleeping, and surveyed the camp around him. It was definitely different. It seemed less alive than it had a few months ago; even the colors on the beach were muted, but that was possibly because of the fading daylight.
He placed the drink back down and sat up awkwardly. He had blood and dirt covering him; he definitely needed to get cleaned up. So where the hell was Charlie, to 'help' him do exactly that? After months in a cage, there was one thing he wanted more than a shower: sex. Yeah, it'd be painful and he'd have to try not to be as active as he'd once been if he didn't want to really hurt himself again, but whatever.
He surveyed the beach with a frown, but still couldn't see Charlie anywhere.
Where the hell was he? It wasn't like the midget would be taking button duty, right? He never had any interest in it, not unless Hurley was there to keep him company and to talk about the island, and who was going to be the next Island's golf champion.
Sawyer didn't even see Claire or Aaron, which was sort of unnatural. What, did they all go on a picnic or something? He sighed as he shifted slightly, just needing to move. That only brought pain though, as Jack had just given him two painkillers. Maybe if he'd given him two bottles, it would've been better, but there'd been fear of upsetting his stomach. So what? He'd rather be throwing up than feeling like this.
He crawled out of the tent a few seconds later, not really sure where he was going but just needing to go somewhere. All he got was collapsing on his front, his head and shoulders out of the tent though, and groaned quietly. Damn it. He rolled over, hoping for no rain and no one to see him.
Half of his wish was fulfilled. Desmond was heading over with a plate of food and some more water, even though he'd only drank half of his water. The man was soon enough at the tent and placing the food in front of his head, then sitting in front of him, but Sawyer didn't pay attention.
He wasn't even ready to ask a question, yet Desmond pointed to it. "Eat. Now. I'm not going to answer anything until you do."
"Yes you–"
"You're in my tent, brother. That means I'm in charge. Eat."
"I built–"
"Eat."
Sawyer frowned, taken aback slightly. When had Desmond gotten any balls? He looked at the food and stated, "They had grilled cheese. You have fruit. Great." Still, he ate the pieces slowly, trying not to get sand on any of them. He mostly managed.
Bit by bit, Sawyer ate his food, his stomach unsettled by the painkillers. Once it was down, he decided from finishing it without getting sick, he deserved something. A prize. That sounded awesome. So he asked a question that had been on his mind since he'd been back. "Where's Charlie?"
That wasn't a good face. Why did Desmond look like he was speaking about the dead? He looked like the cops had when they were telling him that his parents were dead. He'd already known that; he'd had to see them. He'd known they were dead just like he knew Charlie wasn't.
Desmond looked down at the sand he was sitting on, and Sawyer began to get increasingly nervous. That, mixed with the painkillers, mixed with the food he'd just eaten, made him feel even more nauseous.
"I don't really think I should be the one to tell you this," Desmond said, and fuck. What was he on about? Sawyer didn't think he even wanted to know.
No. He did. He definitely did. It couldn't be good news, but… he'd cope with it. It was probably just Desmond being reluctant to tell him about Claire and Charlie's unofficial wedding. Well, that would be absolutely fine. Sawyer could win Charlie back from Claire in a heartbeat, if and when he wanted to.
Yeah. All it would take would be a little alone time with him, just the right smile, one or two compliments, and he'd have Charlie worshipping him again. Easy.
"Just say it," he said, and the nausea was starting to fade now.
Desmond shrugged and nodded. "He died, brother. There was a big explosion; it destroyed the whole hatch. Everyone else got out, apart from him." He shook his head and looked apologetic. "I'm sorry. Hurley said you two were… close?"
Sawyer didn't respond, just stayed where he was and didn't move; if he didn't move, this wasn't happening. Charlie wasn't supposed to be dead. That wasn't part of Sawyer's 'Plan Of Escape'. That had gone more along the lines of: escape, live happily ever after.
The plan was not: escape, find out your sort-of boyfriend's dead, live unhappily ever after. That plan sucked.
He ignored Desmond's question. He could imagine just what Hurley would have said, and didn't care about it at all. "Dead?"
"Yeah, dead. Like I said–"
"No. Dead? You've even buried him?"
Desmond nodded, and for some reason that seemed even worse than just Charlie dying. Sawyer had missed it. He'd gone away, lived in a cage for a while, then come back and Charlie was gone. Deaths weren't supposed to be like that, not even on this island.
"I'm sorry, brother. I really am. He seemed–"
"Shut up." Sawyer didn't want to hear about how nice Charlie had seemed. No, he just had one question left. "Who?"
"What?"
"Who? Who did it? The explosion. Who killed him?" Sawyer was going to kill them right back. He wasn't eight-years-old, so he didn't need to write a badly phrased letter beforehand. He'd just find out who it was, get rid of them, and then move on. Simple as that.
Desmond shifted uncomfortably on the sand. "Mr. Eko over there. It was an accident. He didn't mean for anyone to get hurt."
A small nod was given, and Sawyer was pushing himself up to see where Eko was. He seemed to be cleaning that big stick of his. Comforting. The phrase didn't even get a grin from him like it would've because of how funny it sounded in his head, of the perversion of it. Instead, he got up slowly and started towards where he was.
There were rocks around, but if he grabbed one of those, it would end up being seen. The only person who had noticed besides Desmond anyway was Claire, who he could now see in her tent tending to Aaron, but she looked almost calm about it. Odd.
Whatever. He didn't care. It was now or never. "Eko?" he asked as he got to his side, waiting for his attention. When the man looked back, a bit of confusion in his eyes, he took his chance. A quick punch and then it was started.
He knew it was going to end horribly. Eko had working everything; Sawyer was shot, he had a crushed arm that Jack had said probably would never be used again, and a broken leg. Still, he didn't care as he watched Eko fall to the ground in pain, because he still had it. "You killed Charlie, you fucker."
"I didn't–"
"Yeah. You did."
Eko was standing up now, and trying to explain himself. Oh, hell no. He wasn't going to let him. "Desmond wouldn't push the–"
"You caused the explosion. You're the one." Sawyer went to grab the stick, but with only one hand, letting his confidence get the best of him. Eko easily pushed him back, painfully, making him stumble and fall to the ground so hard that he cried out with pain. The man even looked ready to use the stick for a second but then stopped.
It was out of the corner of his eye that Sawyer saw Claire handing Aaron to someone, a female he faintly remembered being named Nikki, before heading over to Sawyer to probably try and break it up. Almost all the survivors were in their tents; Sawyer and Eko would obviously be fighting for quite some time.
Sawyer wasn't dumb though. "Claire, you stop right there." And he struggled up slowly, Eko waiting. This was going to be a fair fight, apparently. When the hell had he ever had one of those? He was even more surprised when the stick was thrown to the side. Odd but good. He looked towards Eko, ignoring the bit of confusion on his face about the command for Claire to stop.
She would've ran right into the middle of a fight. She was a mother, and Charlie's pseudo-girlfriend, and best friend. No way in hell.
A second later, he was charging full force at Eko, not noticing the plane behind him that was being used as a tent.
He managed to collide with him, and Eko went stumbling back with him under his momentum. Pain was flaring in his arm but he really didn't care. He didn't even plan on killing Eko, not really. He just wanted to hurt him. A lot.
They thudded into the side of the fuselage, and the force of the impact jarred through Sawyer's body. He threw one punch that Eko didn't even try to block. Then another. Then another. His fist started to hurt like hell and he was fairly sure he'd cut some of his knuckles open on Eko's teeth but he didn't really care all that much.
He was yanked backwards suddenly, with Sayid on one arm, and Locke on the other, and it was only then that he noticed the blood and realized why Eko hadn't been putting up much of a fight.
He just stared at first, at the blood dripping from Eko's chest and the ragged section of the plane that had stabbed right through his back. An inch of blood-soaked metal stuck out of the wound in his chest.
Oh, fuck.
Sayid was yelling - somebody get Jack; stop the bleeding; put pressure on the sides; don't move him; be careful - but Sawyer stumbled backwards. They weren't going to save him from that; Eko's eyes were already beginning to go glassy.
He'd just killed someone. Someone else, in any case. First Frank, now Eko. He was building up quite an impressive collection of murders, wasn't he? That made him a mass-murderer.
His face hardened and he didn't allow any regret to show. He'd meant to do that, he told himself. He'd meant to kill him. Eko deserved it.
Belatedly, Sawyer remembered that Eko was a priest. Christ, he really was going to hell now, wasn't he?
He'd already known that, though. Even discounting his life before the island, he was going to hell for what had happened to Kate.
He cleared his mind and tried to walk off, before Locke's hand on his arm tightened enough to stop him. Seeing as Locke was holding his injured arm, the pain made him wince and was almost unbearable.
"Let go of my arm," he said slowly, his voice low and dangerous but Locke ignored it, tightening his grip as Sawyer tried to move away.
Only then did the same woman he'd told to leave seconds before come back, seeming a bit shocked but not overly disgusted. That was what scared Sawyer the most. It scared him more than what the survivors were going to do to him, more than if they were going to hand him back over to Them, more than if they were going to turn him into the next person to be tortured.
It scared him because she'd always been so pure, so innocent, and there she was, just standing there, hands wrapped around her stomach almost protectively, just watching from less than ten feet away.
"John, I'll watch him. Go help with Eko," Claire said as the wind picked up, blowing her hair past her face. That, coupled with the last few rays of the day's sun, gave her an eerie glow.
"Claire, I don't think–"
"There aren't enough people helping. And he has a broken leg, a messed up arm and a bullet wound. I think I can beat him up." It was supposed to be a joke, but it wasn't a very good one. It might've been a few weeks ago, they all knew that, but now it just got Locke looking between them before releasing his grip.
Locke still looked extremely uncomfortable as he took a step away, but a thing he'd learned in the past while after Charlie's death was that Claire was stronger than she let on. So a small nod was given and he said, "If he does anything–"
"I'll punch his stomach and get him to yell bloody murder." A few slim fingers came up to move some hair from her face, pulling it behind her ear, before she waited. Locke took his time, but finally disappeared.
Claire moved over to grab Sawyer's wrist, not being stupid, but at least she was careful enough to grab his uninjured arm. She ignored his confused look, heading over to her tent slowly and said, "Don't do anything stupid. Aaron's sleeping and if he wakes up, he won't go back to sleep for hours."
The walk over was spent in silence, but both could feel eyes on them. Neither cared, because there were no smiles, no happy words, no flirting, no laughs. It was just a walk spent between a woman who had changed so much since the death of her best friend, and a condemned man.
The two decided to take a seat outside the tent by the roaring fire, and in spite of the chaos of people running around, Jack trying to work miracles with a broken wrist, whispered threats and scared words, and the wondering of why it had all happened, Sawyer was still wondering why everything had changed so much.
"So. Ma–" No. No nicknames. This wasn't a time for them, not when she was holding her knees to chest and staring at the fire so intensely that he had to wonder if she'd started it an hour ago with that same stare. Still, he didn't use her name. He wasn't that friendly with her.
There were so many questions he wanted to ask. 'His death really affected you so much?' 'You don't give a fuck about Eko?' 'You loved Charlie?' and so many others, but just seeing her like this, he couldn't think of one that was satisfactory. Not even one. So he spoke what came to mind, and that never turned out well.
"You know he wouldn't want you to act like this, right?" And now he was caring. Lovely. He needed a smoke.
"I'm not acting like anything, Sawyer," Claire said defensively, but her gaze didn't move from the fire. Beneath it all, she was still as soft as a kitten; Sawyer knew there was no way she'd be able to lie like that while looking him in the eye. It was endearing, in an annoying sort of way.
"Sure you are."
"Yeah?" She glanced towards him, bitter and angry and everything that someone like her should never have had to be. "And what's that? How am I acting?"
"Like a bitch."
Well. That silenced her. She rolled her eyes at him and looked back into the fire. Sawyer didn't speak; let her think it out first.
"I'm not acting like a 'bitch'," she mumbled under her breath. She sounded slightly upset. Sawyer told himself he didn't care; someone had to tell her. She should have cared that he'd just more or less murdered someone in front of her. "I'm just…" She shook her head and looked away, ignoring him.
That was one thing that Sawyer definitely knew he didn't like: he liked attention, whether it was good or bad. Charlie had accused him of being a drama queen more than once. "You're just what?"
"Mourning, you bastard," she said; her voice gained a harsh tone, and he was surprised that she even knew how to swear. "The guy that was basically my baby's father just died and everyone wants me to just act like I'm fine. I'm not, okay? I'm not fine. He was Charlie."
Sawyer looked down, because he wasn't yet at a place where he could give counseling about how Charlie had 'gone on to a better place'.
"And I'm glad Eko's dead. He deserved it. I should've done it myself." Her voice had quieted again, and she was once more staring into the fire, talking more to herself than Sawyer. "He deserved it."
Sawyer felt like the words had come out of his own mouth, but it felt wrong to hear them from her. He looked down to where he still had Eko's blood on him; his knuckles were starting to hurt, from where some of his punches had taken the skin off.
"You don't mean that." He wasn't sure why he said it, because she obviously did, but he had to convince her she didn't. Kate had been the one to be naive, doing things that were stupid and put them all in danger just to not be left out, and Claire wasn't that. She did things that benefited all of them, said things that she truly meant, but...
She was still pure and, if he hadn't seen her pregnant, he never would've believed that Aaron was hers. He would've thought they were siblings, or at least cousins. She was like a saint, even if he wasn't religious at all. She just fit the description.
Yet she didn't seem to think so as she raised her eyes to meet his. "Why? Do you think he deserved to live? To walk around here, acting like everything's okay when Charlie's buried next to Ana-Lucia? You didn't see his body, Sawyer. You didn't see it. Eko was right next to the explosion and he was fine. Charlie got so burned and his head got crushed and... And..."
There were the tears. Sawyer had to briefly wonder if this was the first time Claire was crying, because she was doing something he'd done for years. He'd never once cried over his parents' death, not when he was calling the cops, not at their wake, not at their funeral, not at any of the hearings, not at any of the therapy sessions that had barely lasted thanks to no money. The worst times were when he was in his room alone, and able to think about it. Those times, he'd bit his lip and hugged his knees close.
Claire was doing that now, so hard that he almost expected to see her bite through her own lip. She was stopping the tears but... Damn. He moved over to lightly rub her shoulder, and that was all it took. A small sob, and then she was covering her face with her hands.
"I h-hate this," she whispered as she lowered her legs to the ground and lowered her head to them, placing her forehead to her legs just to cover her face as much as she could.
Sawyer had the haunting thought that he could easily get away with one well aimed hit to the back of her head. There was no way he'd be able to stay on the island now, not after what he'd just done. But instead of doing that, he tried to comfort her – the second woman in the past month. It was difficult, but he pulled her head up some and rested her on his shoulder, stroking her hair.