"And what would you intend to find?
(Solitude? Your peace of mind?)
Holding out for something less than touching the hand of God?"
Better Than Ezra

Chapter Nine

There is no such thing as time. There is only pain—all kinds of pain at first, spiraling in the blackness between dreams and hopes and thoughts. Then there is Walt's consciousness, groggy, but (perhaps his father would be proud) not all too frightened or shaken. Heather holds it, and at first Walt resists, tries to pull back. After all, merging consciousnesses is not a fun or easy thing to do.

But he does not resist long, and then, suddenly, she can see his whole life—both the things that he remembers, and the things he doesn't, everything open to her and overwhelming. Not why you're here, She thinks, and he hears it as well. With that, she opens in turn—feels Walt's young mind (which is old beyond his years) pour through her, knowing her darkest moments and her greatest triumphs. The nakedness of it is embarrassing, uncomfortable, but necessary.

The connection now runs between them, and she focuses on the life force pumping through her veins—not blood itself, but what blood carries. She pictures it from her solar plexus, a small sun that burns brightly.

Remember Walt, you have to keep your own fire going.

But its dying, He replies, and then with a chilling, nearly indifferent disappointment: I'm dying.

That's why I'm lending you some of mine. Just don't lose that fire.

With that, Heather gives the first real push, sending out that life force—it's hard at first, but then she can feel Walt taking it, drawing it from her, his spirit involuntarily doing what it knows it must to survive, whether that means being a leech or a vampire. A small, squeezed noise presses from Heather's mouth and Jack holds his breath—it is the last noise that she makes for the next seven hours.

Jack watches intently for the two hours, not moving from his spot other than to pour several capfuls of water into Walt's mouth every so often—and when he rubs his eyes (night has fallen over the island, and the doctor, though he claims not to need sleep, has a body that disagrees) and looks again at Walt's stomach, what he sees causes him to stand up sharply. The wound has pretty much completely healed on the outside—however, there is a strange swelling that suggests something is still going on underneath. However, the fact that new skin has grown so quickly, so efficiently, is amazing—there is no scar that he can readily see, but even in the dim lighting he can tell that the skin there is lighter than the rest of Walt's skin.

Michael does not bother to look up from Walt, his expression unchanging.

"Pssst," Jack hears Sawyer's voice from around the screen. "Hey Doc?" It's a whisper, barely that, but definitely there. Jack takes a look at Heather and Walt, who have not changed positions in over two hours, and decides he can leave them for a moment. Directly after coming from behind the screen, Sawyer is sitting, back against the cave wall—seeing Jack, he stands. "Hey. What's going on?"

"It's the strangest thing I've ever seen, even after coming to this island. I think she can actually save him… even make him the way he was before the boar."

"How does she look?" Jack stops, thinks for a moment. He had been focusing on Walt, not Heather, and now he realizes that he didn't really know how she looked.

"Tired. Neither of them have moved the entire time."

Sawyer nods, and Jack acts on impulse, puts his hand on his shoulder. Sawyer manages to work up his cocky smile, despite the circumstances.

"You got something to tell me there, Doc?" Jack laughs, nervous but almost appreciating Sawyer's humor in the face of all of this, and takes his hand away.

"Do you need anything?" Jack asks, more serious than before. "I suppose I can't convince you to sleep."

"Nah. Pack of smokes would be good, but I think I'll sit this one out right here."

Jack nods, and with nothing else to say (though he imagines that his opinion of Sawyer is changing again) goes back to Heather and Walt, who have not moved.

- - -

Why don't you two just love each other? Walt asks her, and Heather mentally jumps at the sound of his voice so close to her—his strength is returning, but hers is ebbing.

What? She asks, but their communication is without words—Walt sends her images from both his memory and those he found in hers, of Sawyer and her, and she inwardly sighs. It's not that easy Walt.

There is Silence, and then her sends her memories of his mother, of meeting his father for the first time. I know, he responds.

Time is indeterminate for her and Walt, can be judged only by how much more exhausted she feels, and that the pain is passing from him. Suddenly, it becomes harder for her to give her energy (much like the invisible 'wall' that marathon runners can hit out of nowhere), and her attention quickly goes to that small sun in her chest, worried. Walt's consciousness follows without effort.

What's happening? He asks, but he can feel the power there dwindling as well as she can. His fire is growing stronger at the expense of her own; hers is not sputtering yet, but it is much dimmer than the beginning.

Just getting tired, She responds, redoubling the amount of energy she is pushing into him. He tries to stop her, but she is forcing herself on him, a backwards parasite.

You need to stop!

Walt, I'll be okay. It's easier if you cooperate with me. At this Walt quiets, lets her resume her work. However, he is uneasy, understands that Heather might not stop even at the cost of selling her soul to him—he tries to hide this thought from her, and she can feel him pull back. She does not follow.