Hey, guys, I'm finally back! Here's the continuation to my earlier story, Living Together, which covers my version of the first six episodes for Season Three. So, if you haven't read that one, definitely recommended.
Sorry it's been a while. Mexico's beautiful, but the US is lovely. So. Sit back, enjoy, and sorry, this first chapter's a bit short. Still getting back into the swing of things! Reviews, as always, are appreciated.
The camp was a mess. The baby was screaming, Rose was yelling needlessly, and Locke kept muttering weird, cryptic messages. Bernard was ready to pull out the little hair he had remaining.
"Let's calm down," he said. Nobody listened to him. Not that it was any surprise, Bernard thought with a sigh. When had anyone listened to him?
Jin came up and began babbling something, his pretty little wife at his side. She just looked at Bernard, a pleading gaze in her eyes. But she didn't say anything. Bernard shook his head. Well, if she couldn't be bothered to translate, then he couldn't be bothered to help. Locke continued to mutter. Everyone else continued to yell.
"Calm down!" Bernard roared this time, and surprisingly everyone quieted down and turned to look at him. He took a quick inventory. Out of the original 46 survivors, he only had about twenty in the caves with him. And now every single one was staring at him with wide open eyes.
"Calm down," he said again. Everybody, thirsty for leadership, came to gather around him. Bernard couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing. On the one hand, there was no more noise. On the other hand, he had no idea what to do.
"What's going on?" a small, mousy looking woman asked. Bernard considered the question. Jack, Sawyer, Kate and Hurley had headed out to find the Others again. Charlie and Claire were running around looking for hatch survivors. Sayid and Neil had just disappeared in the middle of the night. Janelle was watching a camp fire. Michael had sailed away into the vast unknown. So basically, an awful lot was going on.
"Nothing horrible," was what he said. "We just need to continue on like we have been. Neil's taking care of the fire down at the beach, and Sayid will handle the hatch. We just keep gathering fruit and cooking boar."
"But John catches the boar," said a beefy looking guy, looking significantly toward the slumbering Locke.
"And Kate gets the fruit," another woman piped up.
"And Jack's the doctor," Rose added. Bernard rolled his eyes. She shrugged her shoulders. "Just saying, honey."
"Well, I think we can all manage to pick fruit," Bernard said. The woman looked like she was getting ready to argue that point, but apparently thought better of it and nodded her head. A baby suddenly screamed.
"Oh, Aaron!" Sun gasped, and suddenly ran off after him. Jin followed, still muttering in his weird language.
"For now, though," Bernard said, looking significantly outside, toward the dark, shadow obscured trees. "I think it's better if we all just get some sleep. Tomorrow, when there's light, you'll see. It's not so bad."
"No, we've just been stuck on an island for three months without rescue. Really, not bad at all," one man mumbled.
Bernard decided to ignore him. Something he'd said seemed to stick with the survivors, for they all wandered over to their blankets, and settled down. Bernard turned to his wife, waiting for some kind of affirmation, a nice little "job well done." Instead, she stared at him, with eyes wide. One hand slowly crept toward her belly, and she frowned, a brief wave of pain washing over her face.
"Honey," she said, and Bernard swore he could see her face go three shades paler in just a moment. "I think I need to sit down. I'm not really feeling so. . .so well."
He carefully aided her over to her bed, and sat her down. "Are you okay?" he asked, worried eyes glancing over her shuddering form. She forced a smile, though he could tell easily it was more for his benefit than anything else.
"I'll be fine," she said. "I'm sure I'm just tired. Why don't you check on Mr. John and Mr. Eko."
"All right," he said. He loved Rose, but he knew better than anyone that sometimes she just needed to be alone, just needed that time to herself. He patted her hand gently, before going to see the two sleeping men.
Mr. Eko's eyes were closed, his lips tightly pursed together. In sleep, he looked even more serious than life. Breath stirred gently between his lips. But when Bernard turned to look at Locke, he was surprised to see the man's eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling.
"Hey there," Bernard said with a smile. "How you feeling?"
"I'm not," Locke said. Bernard froze for a moment. Locke was prone to speaking in weird riddles, but this was easily one of the weirdest.
"Excuse me?"
Locke turned his head to look at the other man, but his gaze seemed far away, focused on some distant object. "My legs," he said dully. "Everything hurts except. . .I can't feel my legs."
It had been an annoying week for Penelope Widmore. First she'd had those stupid Portugese men calling to tell her about the island appearing. She'd called up Daddy, and he'd reminded her that now it was her responsibility, the project was her problem, and she should get up and take care of it. So she'd gotten up (in the middle of the night, no less! When Charles Widmore said to do something, you do it), left a note for Daniel, and hopped on the charter plane.
Eight hours later she'd discovered that the dolts had gotten on a boat to go find the island. On their own. So she'd had to commission a fucking boat and head out after them. With no more than cell phones and short wave radio, she'd been forced to find another boat. In the Pacific Ocean. Lovely.
Then, when she'd finally tracked them down, they'd had passengers. So she'd had to talk to them, found out that the directions weren't exactly the same as the radio seemed to show, and had turned the whole crew around. Add on to that a day and a half of hiking through a god-forsaken jungle, and she was not happy.
Then to find out her scientists were being held, not even at gunpoint but at stickpoint and she was ready to be done with the whole thing. So when Rico pulled out his gun and Sandro viciously clubbed some normal-looking guy she didn't even argue. She was actually almost glad.
She spotted Gale immediately upon entering the clearing. He looked thinner than she'd last seen him, and infinitely crazier. Plus, he was screaming louder than a banshee. The kid, meanwhile, seemed to decide this was a party, and was happily waving at everyone as though they were long-lost friends.
"Would somebody stop that racket?" Penny asked, motioning with her head toward the screaming scientist. A handsome, Middle Eastern man stared at her for a moment, before walking toward the man and swiftly hitting him over the head. She arched one eyebrow in approval and nodded. Not bad. She'd always liked men of action.
"Now then," she said. "Who are you people, what are you doing on my island, and why the hell did you stop pushing the button?"
"I'd like to ask the same of you," another man said. Also handsome. Penny sighed. What was this, the island of lost hotties? This one had short-cut hair, and was leaning heavily on the fat one (definitely not hot).
"I asked first," she pointed out, feeling eerily like a seventh grader.
"We're survivors of a plane crash," a little, curly-haired girl said. "Oceanic flight 815."
Penny stopped for a minute, and stared at the girl. Flight 815. . .that had been plastered all over the news. The new Bermuda triangle, this plane that was flying to Los Angelos and just zap bam boom disappeared.
"No way," she muttered. "How many of you were there?"
"Well, there were 46," the girl said, and looked nervously toward Mr. Buzzhead. "But some. . .died. Jack?"
"Forty now," Mr. Buzzhead said.
"Hmm," Penny turned to Rico. "Do you think that boat could hold 36 more people?"
"Sí, probably," he said.
"Wait. . ." Miss Teen America interrupted. "Why only 36?"
"Oh, well you four will be staying with me," Penny said brightly. "Mr. Oz over there messed up royally, but we still need you for our tests. But don't worry. I'll see to it that your friends get home safe and sound."
Claire was getting worried. It had been a good half hour, and Charlie still hadn't come out. She glances down the hole again. He said it was too narrow for too people. But really, she was fairly small, wasn't she? And Charlie was a hobbit himself, so really, it couldn't be too small for the two of them, could it be. And maybe he needed help. And maybe he didn't. But maybe
Just as she had resolved to put her head down the hatch, a head of blond hair appeared. "Charlie!" she gasped, fighting the urge to clap her hands together. There he was, looking up at her and grinning with that dopey, crooked smile.
"And look who I've got!" he said, giving a tug on some dark figure. "Bloody heavy bugger," he muttered.
"Charlie, language!" Claire scolded. She reached down to help him, and a moment later they had pulled Desmond free. "He's not looking so good, is he?" Claire said. Charlie sighed.
"No. We'll get him back to the caves. Maybe Jack can do something."
"Yes, maybe," Claire agreed. "Except that Jack's still missing, remember."
A cough from Desmond stopped their conversation, as they both looked at him worriedly.
"Well, either way," Charlie reasoned. "He's better off with everyone else and the medicine than here. So let's get a hop on and move him back."
"All right," Claire agreed. They each grabbed one of the Scotman's arms and pulled it over a shoulder, before beginning the arduous journey back through the jungle. "I just hope that Jack gets back soon."
