Ahhh! Ahhhh! Season finale! Ahhh! For those who haven't seen the Season II finale, this will have spoilers all the way up there. . .and beyond! No, not really beyond. Just my idea of what might happen in the beyond.
Also, I heard that Carlton promised there would be more love in the second season, so be prepared for a little more of that. A little Claire and Charlie, a little Sawyer/Kate/Jack, a little Tom and Mrs. Klugh, eh, eh? Haha. No worries. Also, for those who noticed the uber-cute guy in teh Others camp. . .yeah, he'll be in this story. Score!
And no, I don't own Lost. If I did, I would hopefully have a better idea of what all is going on.
"Dad," Walt pulled anxiously at his father's sleeve, as his gaze peered over the watery horizon. "Do you really think they're going to let us go? Are they really?"
"Yeah, Walt," Michael kept his eyes ahead. He couldn't look at his son. The sight of those trusting eyes just brought back to him all that he had done. He'd killed two women, and sent three of his friends to what would likely prove to be their deaths. All for one boy. Walt was his son. . .but was he worth it?
"What's gonna happen to everyone else?" Walt asked. "Should we go back to the beach and try to save them, too?"
"Can't do that, son," Michael replied. He could almost feel the boy's eyes staring at his neck. He refused to turn.
"Dad, we don't have to do what they say," the boy insisted. "Come on. Let's go get Claire and the baby, or Mr. Locke. Let's get Vincent!"
"No!"
He hadn't meant to yell that loudly. Walt shrank away, practically pressing himself against the side of the small boat. Michael sighed, checked the coordinates again, and then turned to look at his son.
"Look, Walt, I'm sorry," he said. "It's just. . .I went through a lot to get you back, man. I'm not going to risk losing you again."
"Yeah," Walt nodded his head, clearly still undecided. "It just doesn't feel right."
"I know, son," Michael grabbed the wheel again. "Trust me, I know."
"How long do you think before we get rescued?" Walt asked. The enthusiasm that had been in his voice only moments earlier was gone, replaced by a tentative attempt at reconciliation. Michael smiled, just the tiniest bit.
"They said just to keep on this course," he said. "And we should—"
"Look!" Walt thrust a finger out toward a light on the horizon, cutting off his father's words. "Look at that! Is that a boat?"
Michael shaded his own eyes against the brilliant sun shining from just ahead. On the one hand he was desperately hoping that his son was right, that the Others were right, and that indeed their salvation was lying just ahead. At the same time, he was suspicious. The last time they'd expected to be rescued it hadn't turned out very well at all.
This boat was significantly bigger than the one belonging to the Others. He noticed that, thinking that perhaps this meant it was actually meant for the seas. Maybe. . .
"Hola!" yelled a dark-skinned man, leaning out of the ship's aft. "Quien es? Ustedes son amigos o enemigos? Habla!"
"I'm sorry, man," Michael held his hands up helplessly. "I don't speak that language. I speak English. English."
"Hablamos inglés," Walt said clearly. His father turned to stare at him, and he just shrugged his shoulders. "I was reading all those magazines," he said.
"So sorry," the man said in a thick accent. "Are you all right? What are you doing out here?"
"We were shipwrecked," Michael explained. "On an island."
The man's head disappeared for a moment into the boat, and Michael's heart sank. Were they just going to be abandoned again? But hope springs eternal, and the man peered out again.
"Were there any others stranded with you?"
"Yeah," Walt began to say, but Michael clapped a hand over his son's mouth, silencing him for the moment.
"Just us and my wife. She died. . ."
The man seemed to consider this information for a moment.
"Could you take us back to the island?"
Once again, Michael shook his head no. "We've just been drifting out here at sea. I have no idea where we are."
"Está bien," the man said. He ducked inside, and a moment later a small gangway on the side of the ship opened, and the man stood just inside it, grasping the side of the door with one hand and reaching out with his other. "We still have some questions," he said. "But perhaps it would be better to discuss them inside."
"Yeah," Michael nodded his head. "C'mon Walt."
But the boy was miles ahead of his father, already standing at the side of their little boat and reaching out for a hand up. Michael closed his eyes for a moment, willing himself not to cry with relief. They'd been rescued. They'd finally been rescued.
"I don't get it," Claire said, as she hung up one of Charlie's shirts. She was a little disappointed at how dirty it still looked, even after having been washed. Still, at leasete she knew that it was clean.
"What don't you get?" Charlie asked. He was busy making funny faces at little Aaron, who giggled delightedly. Claire sighed.
"Why aren't you worried about them?" she asked. "Eko and Locke. Isn't it strange that they're not back yet?"
Charlie shrugged. "They're probably just busy cleaning up," he said. Claireturned on him immediately and the young man winced, realizing what he'd just said.
"Cleaning up?" she put her hands on her hips. Charlie sighed. Usually Claire was the most even-tempered girl on the island, but when she felt she'd been crossed, she could turn into Angry Claire in a second. Kind of like the Hulk, he thought. Only without turning green.
"What would they have to clean up?" she asked again. "You told me that nothing happened, just a tiny explosion that you were too close to."
"Right, yeah, that's all," he said, twitching a little. "Made a big mess, though. Pages of books everywhere. Tragic, really."
"Uh-huh," Claire stared at him for a moment, then walked quickly over to the crib and scooped up Aaron. Charlie's heart fell as he looked at her. Had he lost her trust so easily? Just when things had started going well. . .
But Claire just walked a few steps down the beach, and spoke quickly with Rose, before handing over the baby. Charlie stood up, trying fruitlessly to wipe the sand off his jeans. He frowned. What on earth was she doing?
"Alright," Claire said as she returned to him, a bright smile across her face. When he didn't move she rolled her eyes and nudged him lightly in the side. "Well, come on."
"Come on where?" he asked in confusion.
"We're going to the hatch," she said, before turning and heading into the jungle.
It took Charlie a moment to process what she'd just said, but when he did realize it, he ran after her.
"No, no!" he said, waving his hands uselessly. "No reason to go back there. Boring place. Just hitting a button. Oops, 108 minutes, time to hit it again. Tick tock, you know."
"What are you talking about, Charlie?" Claire asked. He sighed.
"Nothing. Everything. I don't know." He grabbed her shoulders. "I just know that it's not a good idea for us to bloody go back there."
Claire crossed her arms. She had that look in her eyes again. Charlie wanted to moan, to cover his eyes, to go to sleep, anything to avoid that look in her eyes. It was that look that meant he'd better 'fess up, or he was in the doghouse again.
"Well, if you're not going to go there with me, then you'd better tell me what went on," Claire shook her head, looking disappointed and maybe even a little scared. "Charlie, you can't tell me nothing happened. We all saw that light. We all. . .we all felt it. Something happened in that hatch, and ever since, Eko and Locke haven't been back. Don't you want to know that they're okay?"
"Yeah, but. . ." Charlie sighed. "They're crazy, Claire, they're all crazy. Too much pushing the button, I reckon."
Claire shook her head, little clouds of blonde hair flying everywhere. "Well then I'm crazy, too," she said. "Because I'm going up there. Come with me."
And, of course, he did. Because she was Claire, and because she'd kissed him, and because, in some part of him, he did want to make sure that Eko was all right.
Jack wished that Sawyer would stop struggling. For the majority of the time they'd been hiking he'd been forced to listen to the sounds of the other man struggling, followed by the sounds of somebody hitting him, followed by a muttered oath, followed by a strangled sound from Kate, followed by another struggle.
If there was one thing he didn't want to have to deal with when they were finally allowed to rest for the night, it was a complaining Sawyer.
"Don't worry about your friend," a voice murmured in his ear. Jack jerked a little. It sounded like a woman, and a young one at that. He didn't remember there being a young woman among the Others. "They won't hurt him too badly," she said. "They need him."
Jack didn't say anything. He couldn't have, even if he had wanted to; the gag effectively took care of that.
It felt as though they'd been hiking for hours when Mr. Friendly finally ordered a halt. Jack tried to breathe in deeply. It probably hadn't been that long, the rational part of his brain said. Between the gag and the heavy burlap bag, it was hard to breathe. He was so dizzy and light-headed that fifteen minutes would have felt like hours.
"We'll stop here for the night," Mr. Friendly said. "Put the prisoners over to that side."
"Take off their bags," the familiar voice of Henry Gale added. "It won't matter if they see this."
"And their gags?" the girl asked.
"Go ahead," Gale agreed.
A moment later Jack found himself blinking at the harsh, fading sunlight as the bag was pulled off his head. A moment later the gag was removed. He leaned his head down, breathing in deeply, trying not to pass out at the sudden deluge of fresh smells and air.
Kate was not nearly as silent. The minute her gag was pulled off she turned to Sawyer. "Were you trying to get us killed?" she hissed. The other man shrugged, and smiled a little wearily.
"Hell, Freckles," he said, coughing a little as he spoke. Jack peered at him closely, a little worried about how hoarse his voice sounded. "Don't you think if they wanted to kill us they'd have done it already?"
Kate sighed, and bowed her head a little. "Are you okay?" she asked again, after a moment. There was another pause, and then Sawyer's voice, still hoarse, saying "Yeah."
Kate sighed, lifted her head again, and turned to Jack. "You?" she asked. He nodded his head.
"Yeah. Kate. . ."
"It's okay," she said, forestalling any attempt at an apology. Jack closed his eyes a moment. This was his fault. He'd been so sure that he could outmaneuver Michael, that his plan with Sayid would work. But in the end he'd been tricked as well.
"I'll get us out of this," he promised. Kate nodded her head, though her eyes showed no sign that she believed in him. Sawyer just snorted.
"How?"
Jack realized despairingly that he didn't have an answer to that question. Meanwhile, the Others had been busy setting up camp and preparing a meal. A young girl came over to deliver it. Jack looked up at her, and realized immediately that it was the same girl who had tried to reassure them on their hike.
"Here," she said, setting down several nutrabars in front of them. "I'm sorry it's not much. . .we don't really have all that much."
"Thanks," Jack tried to smile a little, to show the gratitude he felt for her efforts. "It's fine."
"Yeah, just one problem, cupcake," Sawyer said. "How the hell we supposed to eat it with our hands all tied?"
The girl glanced back anxiously at the rest of her people, all seated around the fire and staring expectantly at her. She looked back at them nervously. "I don't know," she said. She ducked her head, as though in shame. "I'm sorry."
Kate stared at the girl the entire time, a peculiar expression on her face. She shook her head, as though clearing her mind of cobwebs.
"Well," Jack said slowly. "I guess we'll just have to feet each other." Suiting words to action, he scooted over toward the bars, and turned his back toward them. Reaching down, his questing fingers finally made contact with a bar. He hastily unwrapped it and then turned to Kate, leaning over as far as he could.
"This is just ridiculous," he heard Sawyer say behind him. But a moment later he felt the soft brush of Kate's hair on his back, and felt a tug as her teeth ripped at the bar.
When she'd finished one, she likewise picked one up behind her, and handed it to Jack. Sawyer just stared at the two of them, an unreadable expression on his face.
"Listen," Jack said softly as he leaned over, the motion of his mouth hidden from the Others by her back. "I'll count to three, and on the count of three we'll all run, in different directions. It's not the best plan, but if just one of us can get free. . ."
Kate gave no indication that she'd heard him. Jack smiled. Good girl. He was just about to lean over and give the same directions to Sawyer when Gale came striding over, an angry expression on his pinched face.
"You three wouldn't be planning an escape now, would you?" he asked, his voice dull and deadly. The firelight played over his features, turning what was once unattractive into a frightening mask. Kate shook her head, and Sawyer just spat in his direction. Gale, however, reserved all his attention for Jack. He reached behind him, and pulled out a gun. Sighting along it carefully, he aimed at Jack.
Kate gave a small gasp of surprise as he pulled the trigger, and Jack screamed as red pain shot down his leg. He stared down at a spreading patch of blood.
"There," Gale said. "Should take care of any escape plans. You'll live."
With those words he strode away, and spoke to one of the other men, who quickly stood up and headed over to them. Jack closed his eyes, sweat pouring down his face. He couldn't black out. . .he absolutely would not allow himself to pass out. . .but it hurt so much. . .
"Hurts like a bitch, don't it?" Sawyer said. Jack turned, surprised to see a sympathizing look on the other man's face.
The Other knelt down in front of him. Taking out a knife, he deftly cut away at Jack's leg.
"Sorry, we didn't bring any pain meds with," he said, and just as quickly grabbed a pair of tweezers and jabbed them into Jack's leg. He screamed again. Kate glanced toward the remainder of the others.
Sawyer grunted, and she turned to look at them. Jack couldn't pay attention. . .the world was passing in and out in front of his eyes, fading to a hazy grey and then back to sharp focus. Sawyer winked. Kate drew in a breath and nodded.
It all happened too fast for Jack. One minute the man was smoothly operating on his leg, the next he'd been thrown off as Sawyer hurled his body toward the other man. Kate stood and was instantly gone, running somewhere in the jungle. Jack bit his lip, focusing on the lesser pain. Kate was escaping. . .thank God.
The Others sitting around the fire stood up and hurried over.
"What happened?" Gale snarled. Sawyer kicked him. The doctor shook his head on the ground. Blood was leaking from a cut in the side, presumably where it had hit a rock. "What happened?" Gale asked, ignoring Sawyer who was struggling to stand at his feet. Almost without a thought, he kicked the man in the head, throwing him back to the ground again.
The doctor still didn't answer, and the rest of the Others turned to Gale, looking for some kind of advice on what to do.
"The girl escaped," he snarled. Sawyer squirmed on the ground, somehow maneuvering to put his head next to Jack's chest. Jack squeezed his eyes again. Sounds were becoming muffled.
"Tom, Vieve, you go after her," he ordered.
"Play with me, here, doc," Sawyer hissed. Jack couldn't respond, but he did open his eyes. A moment later he wished he hadn't, as Sawyer sprang to his feet and kicked him sharply in the side.
"You got us in this mess!" he screamed. Mr. Friendly paused near the edge of the jungle, looking as Sawyer continued to attack Jack. "This is all your fault! You, you you!"
Two men grabbed Sawyer by the shoulder, trying to pull him back. Jack's brain suddenly clicked on, and he realized what the conman was trying to do. A distraction. They had to make as much of a distraction as they could to give Kate time to get away. He began to scream again. Gale glared down at him.
"It's just a bullet," he said. "Not as bad as a crossbow, I assure you. Tom! Vieve! What did I tell you?"
The black woman was on her knees at Jack's side, checking his pulse and wiping sweat off his face. She looked up at Gale, an angry expression on her face.
"Do you want this one to die?" she asked. Gale seemed a little startled at that. Mr. Friendly, meanwhile, hit Sawyer low in the back with a gun. Groaning, he dropped to his knees.
"Tom!" Gale yelled. Mr. Friendly glanced up at him, struggling to hold Sawyer's hands together.
"You want this one to escape, too?" he asked.
Gale glared at everyone. The girl ran over and sank down beside Jack. She looked at the black woman for a moment, and then turned to Gale.
"Don't worry, Daddy," she said softly. "We'll just find her in the morning."
Jack closed his eyes, and as he heard a loud thump and then the sound of a body falling to the ground beside him, he realized they'd gotten Sawyer. There was nothing more he could do to help Kate that night, so he closed his eyes, and finally gave in to the pain.