"Your
anger don't impress me,
The
world slapped in your face."
Goo Goo
Dolls
Jin is the first to come up, and Heather is startled by the sudden splashing near her, and gasping noises—she doesn't know what she was expecting, but seeing a man suddenly appearing next to her was not part of it.
"Jin!" She calls, reaching out to him, pulling him to her as best she can—he's larger, though certainly not so much so as Sawyer or Michael. Heather tries not to think of Walt, and bringing the boy to her; she needs to focus on the task at hand, and save those she can. She can't even feel the boy within her mind's reach, and that scares her. Wherever he is, its dark, secluded. "Jin! It's okay, it's okay!"
Jin begins to calm, stands. He looks around frantically, and then back to her, speaking very quickly in Korean. She catches the words "Sawyer" and "Michael", as well as Walt, and she can't deny his suspicion of her. Instead of trying to explain, she holds her hand out to him. If he's here, after all, he might as well help. When he gives her a long, distrustful glance, she sighs.
"Please. Jin." Then, pointing out over the night-dark horizon with her other hand, adds: "Sawyer. Michael." She brings her hand back to herself, suggesting a gathering, or a pulling. "Please." Jin, cautious, puts his hand in hers, and she opens to him slightly.
Pull, She thinks to him, and though he hears it in his mind, in English, he understands perfectly.
Heather can see Sawyer, still barely clutching a piece of the raft, and Michael atop a bigger piece. Sawyer has vomited into the water, and Heather knows instinctively that if sharks can smell blood, then puke probably wouldn't be too hard either. Besides. He's bleeding. She feels bad for doing this to him, knows that he probably feels like she's wrenching his innards out—but the man hasn't got a choice in the matter. Michael seems to be doing better, if only because he refuses to care about his own physical needs or discomforts, and Heather doesn't blame him. A part of Michael has gone dead though, and that makes it harder to hold on to him.
Jin helps as best he can, but this is still only minimal. The man is frightened and highly suspicious of her, and Heather can understand why. How would I know what happened? Better yet, how the hell am I doing this?
Then, to Sawyer: "Sorry babe." 'For what?' She can almost hear, still miles away.
And then, clamping down hard around him and Michael, pulls as hard as she can.
It's almost like pulling a stitch. One side of the fabric, in this case the ocean, was drawn close, folding up against the other—bringing Sawyer and Michael to her—and then smoothing back out. Only, there is no point where one sees this happening, save for maybe a brief second of an almost-transparency to the sky: it is more felt than anything, and the feeling, to sensitive human minds, is not at all pleasant.
Heather can feel them break the water before hearing them gasping like drowning men for air. She notes that neither of them showed up with their respective raft pieces—but she hadn't been holding on the to raft, had she? Immediately dropping Jin's hand, she splashes over to Sawyer, and is able to hold his head out of the water while he gets his footing. There are no words, only deep breaths and harsh coughs, as Jin and Heather help Michael and Sawyer out of the ocean and back onto the beach, where they all seem to collapse at once unto the sand.
"They took Walt," Michael croaks, the first words among the four of them. "They took him."
"I know," Heather responds, and begins to hand out dry clothes. "Change into these. I'm going to go get firewo-"
"You know? What the hell is that supposed to mean? You weren't there when they took my boy-"
"Cool it," Sawyer growls, voice water-logged and not without a hint of the pain in his shoulder.
"No, I won't cool it! How do you know about Walt? The only way I can tell-"
"Is if I'm one of them. Because after all, I wasn't there with you all when the plane crashed. And Ethan managed to sneak in, so why couldn't I? That it?" Heather glowers at him. She feels guilty enough for what happened to Walt, without this bullshit put on her. He glares back, jaw set. She stands, brushing sand off of herself, and going towards the jungle for firewood. "Sawyer, stay," She adds, seeing the man begin to rise. "I need you all in dry clothes, and that bullet wound isn't going to help you pick up wood." She begins to walk away, when Michael stands abruptly, shouting at her back.
"Hey! Hey, I was talking to you! How do I know you're not one of them-" Heather spins—she gave him the chance to let it slide, but the last thing she needs is this. The woman jabs a finger at his chest.
"My name was on the manifest. They checked it right after they found out about Ethan—ohhh, trust me, Michael. You're not the first one to come up with that one. I came to save you, so we could go get Walt back. Now stop making an ass out of yourself, and put on dry clothes-"
"Don't tell me what to do!"
"Whatever." Heather growls, keeps walking. She had not only respected Michael, but also liked the man as well, despite his constant suspicion of her, but these antics were fast lowering her opinion of him.
"I'm leaving," She hears behind her back, and at first Michael doesn't move. When she does hear him shift, she hears Sawyer's deep, hoarse voice.
"Don't be stupid."
"What did you call me?" Michael asks, and though she tries to keep her pace steady, she can hear the two men bristle behind her. All she can think, is that for his own safety, Michael better not lay a hand on Sawyer—especially not with that bullet wound, which she has yet to inspect without decent light.
"Where are you going to go, hoss? You don't even know where they took him. For cryin' out loud, you don't know where to start."
"And I suppose you know?"
"Well I reckon she's got a better idea than you." Michael catches his breath at this, and Heather can feel his eyes on her, but she is nearly around a dune now, will only take a few more steps before she's in reach of the jungle.
Inwardly, she thanks Sawyer.