Still - (and everyone will be blamed)
.
The unnamed baby boy comes out blue. Two deaths in one night and he wonders if the moon was full or some bullshit like that. He can't remember.
What he does remember is the morning. By the raft, the ocean, Michael, Walt, the dog, Jin. Her sneakers and belly and pink cheeks. He had teased her, tried out a new nickname, watched her waddle away.
Maybe…? If he had…? What if…?
Well, it ain't his fault.
.
Kate comes back with bloody hands and a tear streaked face. There is nothing. Her and Jack fall to the sand together, both of them exhausted with grief. No one, not even Sawyer, disturbs them when they go off to the Jack's tent and don't come out for a day and a half.
After that, their bloody hands are clasped together day and night.
It is not her fault. It is not his. (It is theirs. Together. Shared.)
The drugs take away the harsh whispers. Fault fault fault, yours.
.
There is a dense grin plastered on Charlie's face when he walks through the trees. After. Does he even realize what has happened? Charlie invested a lot in the baby, more than he ever had in Claire. The birth was supposed to save the druggie.
The death. Well, the death does the opposite.
He takes the dead baby's place. Everyone takes care of Charlie now.
.
Jin comes back, too. He is the only one left to support the childless blonde. Sun circles round and round and round like a mother hen and walks close as her husband half-carries half-walks Claire into her tent, disappearing together. When they reappear, husband and wife (united through death) are carrying the empty wooden cradle. Its emptiness is heavy and bleak. The whole camp watches with bated breath.
Michael covers Walt's eyes when they throw it in the fire. It burns slowly. A three-day reminder of what could have been.
.
Jack doesn't wait for Claire's permission when he gives her a sedative the next evening. According to Sun, the blonde hasn't moved so much an inch since Jin brought her back to her tent. With unmoving eyes and trembling lips, there is no fight left. Takes the pills in her clenched fists without a word and almost immediately succumbs to the refuge of sleep.
Everyone but Charlie take turns watching her, least she wake up and need anything at all. When it's Sawyer's turn, he knows the Doc expects him to make some joke and refuse, insisting to work on the boat instead. But he doesn't. Just pushes back that tent flap, sits in the chair that has been left, and does what he's supposed to.
He doesn't like what he sees.
Her once rosy cheeks are now pale and glassy, reminding him of the moon and it's whiteness. Her tummy, once so full and round, is flat and foreign looking, so tiny, like she's lost something that makes her whole. With a pang, he realizes how empty she must feel.
Sawyer has never been a lucky man, so when she begins to stir, a frown etching it's way onto her features, he figures it would make sense for her to wake up on his watch.
.
She is silent and still, even as she wakes. Springs forward a moment before huddling back. Clutches her legs to her chest and begins to cry.
He's heard plenty of women cry before, but he realizes that he's never heard someone cry like this. Empty and sad, like they might never stop. She looks up at him, tears clouding her eyes. Pink lips trembling.
Make it stop.
He wants to he wants to he wants to, oh God he really does. Swallows thickly. Pulls her curled up body against his chest, strokes her disheveled curls, rocks. I'm sorry.
But her baby is still dead. And he is nothing but a stranger.
.
It isn't anyone's fault.
(But it is. And everyone will be blamed.)
end.