Snippets of all the characters dreaming on the island. Set immediately after The Greater Good.
Dreaming
Everybody dreams. Even on the island, everybody dreams. Especially tonight.
Jack dreamsin black and white. He dreams of failure. His father, dead from drink, JoAnna, dead in the water, Boone, crushed and broken. He clenches his fist. He dreams of blood, of pouring his blood into Boone so that Boone could live and he would be the one to die. No failure in that, dying to save a life. Jack dreams of Kate, of her smile, and her mug shot, of kissing her, and of shaking her until she tells the truth, the truth she offered once. The truth he told her he didn't need to know. And he dreams he knows the truth from the lie.
Kate dreams of running. Breathing hard, one foot in front of the other. Running. From her past, from what she did, from the Marshall, from the monster, from Jack, from Sawyer, from her own feelings. Running, running, faster and faster. Something trips her and she falls hard to the ground and waits, shaking, sweating, heart pounding staccato in her chest. Waits for the beating, waits for the gunshot, waits for the kiss that never comes. She counts; 1... 2... 3...4...5...and runs.
Sawyer dreams of a cigarette. Of putting it between his teeth, lighting it, dragging in deeply, blowing out the smoke. He dreams of drinking whiskey in a smokey bar with loud music blasting from the jukebox. He dreams of a woman, faceless, keep her faceless, in his arms, in his bed. He dreams of sex, but not of love. He dreams of the raft, of leaving this place, leaving now before the only person he's let in can see more than she has already seen.
Sayid dreams of gunshots. Four gunshots. The first two, in desperation from his own gun. He sees Omar falling, feels the searing pain, hears Nadia screaming his name. Seven years of loneliness and yearning. He tosses and turns in his sleep. The next gunshot. Essam. He tastes the fear, feels his friend's blood splatter him again, bears the knowledge of what he has done, the burden of guilt, heavy, even in the dream. The last shot. Shannon. Locke. Saving her meant losing her. Is one worth the other? The gunshots echo over and over as the dream rewinds and plays again. There is no forgiveness in his dreams.
Shannon dreams of Boone. She dreams of Boone alive, and Boone dead. Of his smile, his blue, blue eyes, and of the blood on his cooling skin the last time she touched him. She dreams of John Locke, of looking into his eyes and bringing the gun level and shooting the bullet true before Sayid has a chance to stop her. She dreams of Sayid, of moonlight and of kisses and whispers and hopes. Was it really only yesterday? She moans in her sleep, but no one is there to hear her. Boone is gone and everyone else has been pushed away. She wakes, her eyes wet with tears for what she has lost.
Claire's dreams are murky, cloudy. She hardly sleeps long enough to dream. The baby wakes her, always hungry. When she does dream faces aren't clear, voices are muddled. Everything is dark. She is heavy in her dreams, the baby still inside her. Inside her, where he is safe. Dreams reach into her memory, a struggle, a scream, lashing out, scratching, clawing to get away. Stumbling forward through the trees back to ...what? Who are these people? Where is she?. The baby cries and dreaming ends.
Charlie dreams in music. His dreaming is a song. He dreams of the baby, a lullaby. He dreams of Claire, a love song. He dreams of Ethan, of hanging, gasping for air, of bruises on his chest from Jack's pounding, a dark cacophony of sounds beating, beating beating into a crescendo of gunshots one after the other like a drum solo that will not stop. His fingers move in his sleep, playing the notes of his dreaming.
Sun dreams in Korean. She dreams of before. Before the crash, before his bloody hands, before their secrets, before she knew English. She dreams of before, of waiting and hoping just to see him, of stolen moments together, not daring to speak the words. She dreams of love, of feeling safe. She dreams of Jin, and only Jin. Jin dreams of water, of fishing, of his father, not dead, but living, not ashamed of who he is. He dreams of coming home, to her, to Sun, with clean hands, somewhere safe, not this island, not her father's house. He dreams of the raft, of rescue, of saving her. He dreams of her, just her, Sun. Home. They dream apart, and yet together, always together in their dreams.
Hurley dreams of the numbers. 4-8-15-16-23-42 They echo in the background of all his dreams. 4-8-15-16-23-42 He dreams of his mother. He would be ashamed to admit it to anyone, but he dreams of her every night. He dreams of her face, her voice, the smell of food from her kitchen. In his dreams she wonders aloud where he is, asks her God again and again why all this has happened to her, curses the day her son bought that lottery ticket. In his dreams she never smiles.
Michael dreams of the raft, of sailing. He dreams of the water, the rolling motion of the waves the sun shining on his back, his boy beside him. He dreams of being off this island, of rescue, of taking his son home, building a life, being a father. He dreams simple dreams and in his sleep, he is content.
Walt dreams of death. He dreams of a bird, striking a window, he dreams of his mother, he dreams of Boone. Everyone dies. He will, too. He dreams of a game with two players, black and white. He dreams of a boat, and a light shining on him. In his dream he hears a gunshot, hears his father's screams, feels the fear. This is what he knows. His hand reaches out and finds Vincent, and he sleeps.
Locke dreams of the island, the place of his rebirth. He dreams of blue sky and warm sand. Of knives and boar and blood. He dreams of trees and rain and beauty beyond imagining. He dreams of the hatch, of light and hope and the freedom to be the person he always knew he was. Everything is as it should be. Everything happens for a reason. He smiles in his sleep.