Title: Home

Author: Hauntedd

EMail: Implied Claire/Sawyer

Rating: T

Disclaimer: Yeah, they're not mine.

Summary: Post-ep to Adrift. Sawyer finds a purpose as he's floating on the ocean. Be gentle, it's my first lost fic EVER.

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The cries get to him, father calling for son, son for father. It's primal and he remembers his own cries, after both of his parents died in front of him. Gunshots scared him for the longest time, but it's nothing like these screams. But then the cries stop and he sees Michael go under a wave, and he's diving, swimming for Michael, determined to keep him alive.

And he's pounding, fists to flesh, hard and unforgiving as he looks at Michael's lips, parted slightly and unmoving. And he leans down, pressing his salt licked lips to Michael, bemused by the irony of the situation. A little over forty days ago he never would have thought of this, it was a step away from homoerotic. He's changed so much since he ended up here, and he wonders what that means.

Michael grasps for air, a fierce need to fill his lungs, and mere seconds later he's at it again, asking after Walt. The devotion that he has to his son is powerful and fills Sawyer with a sense of sadness, as if he should have fought harder for her.

Jin. He can't forget about Jin. So he calls for him, screaming with the same fervor that Michael has for Walt, his name like a mantra, hoping against hope that he'll come up, that he survived as well.

But soon he feels his lungs give out as the salt water burns his throat, and his calls get softer and he knows that he needs to stop. Conserve energy, especially since Michael doesn't seem like he's doing that himself.

Finally, he tells Michael that it's not going to do any good, and the defeatist tone shocks even him. When had he become such a cynic?

But Sawyer knows. It was the second that he killed the man he thought to be Sawyer, the real Sawyer, realizing that it wasn't him. That bitter realization that you could put all the hope in the world into something, and it could become nothing at all. It's in there, the same spot that he holds his hatred for Sawyer, a reminder that not everything happens the way it should, the way it's planned.

And then the blame starts, Michael cuts him to the core, he could sense the guilt flowing through him, choking him so hard that he can barely feel the pain of the gunshot wound in his shoulder. The guilt that whispers that he deserves it and that he shouldn't have ordered Michael to fire the flare. His own foolish pride had once again caused detriment to an innocent person. And not any person, a child, Walt.

So he provokes him because he can't think of anything else to say. Watching Walt get ripped away from them was so visceral that he doesn't know how to react. It's another child removed from his parents, another kid doomed to grow up like he did - alone.

And the guilt, it chokes him harder now, and he forces down the urge to cry. And he realizes the bullet in his shoulder. He knows what he has to do, so he reaches for it, pulling it out of his flesh, screaming in agony as Michael tells him to stop. He can't stop, they don't know when they're going to hit land, if they're even going to be there.

Finally it's gone and he gives Michael a satisfied smirk despite the pain. And the insults start again, he knows that it's better to keep him angry and focused than sad and desperate, so he insults him. It's who he is, Sawyer the jackass, not James Ford, that moniker died a long time ago.

"You have no idea what it's like to care for somebody else" Michael snaps finally with dark, wild eyes burning into his skin. And he doesn't know how to react, so he says nothing. How is he supposed to tell Michael that he knows all too well what it's like to care, to care so much that it hurts, to care so much that he was willing to leave her with Charlie on the island.

So he lies back, staring up at the stars and closes his eyes. And the dreams come, and they're all different, but all the same. It's Claire, her cherubic face in disarray and screaming for Aaron, the baby nowhere to be found. He realizes that's what she named him, but he wonders how he knows. And her eyes stare at him, imploring him as to why he left him, left her. The baby's gone now and it's all his fault. There's a broken statue of the Virgin Mary and although he's never been one to pray, he's found himself praying that this is all a dream.

He wakes up, stares at the sunrise and it's no longer Claire's cries but Michael's. He lets out a silent prayer, begging whatever god there is that she and her son are safe as he faces him.

"You alright Mike?" he asks, with genuine concern now, wishing that he could take back all the bad things he said. It had been necessary at the time, he needed to make Michael stay with him, not swim until he drown in the ocean.

"It's my fault" Michael whispers and he swears that he can hear Claire's voice for a second. Sawyer wonders if the sunlight and the dehydration are playing tricks on him or if it's really Claire. Stranger things have happened in the past forty days, and he can't help but wonder what is Claire's fault.

"What?" He asks, and sees Michael's face, complete devastation reflected back at him. And he thinks back to his dreams. Claire, with that rockstar wannabe Charlie kissing the virgin like it's something holy while she's screaming and he wants to scream with her.

"I never should have brought him on the raft. I'm gonna get him back. I'm gonna get back my son."

And Sawyer turns away, the force of his promise not lost on him. He can't look at Michael at the moment, a silent tear pricking at the corner of his eye. His mind is elsewhere as he repeats Michael's words in his head.

He's going to get his son back too, and it is his son, his Aaron. The boy responded to his voice, finds solace in it. And Claire, he could tell that she wanted him, the subtle looks of want in her blue eyes, the way that she would seek him out under the guise of trying to calm down the boy, the one that Charlie had so offensively named 'turnip-head'. He was going to get his small family back and make sure that they knew he was devoted to them in a way that he never was to Kate. She was fun and all, but it was Claire that he wanted, Claire that made him want to be a better man.

The sunrise illuminates the water and he stares off into the distance. It's then that he sees land and he turns to Mike, who is still crying the tears that Sawyer wants to, because he's finally found the courage to do what he wants. To get his own son back. But instead of sharing his discovery with him, he smiles slightly.

"How about that, the current brought us back. We're home."