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stefanie_beanChapter 5: Vigil at the Beach
Pairings: Hurley/Claire, Kate/Sawyer
Characters: Hugo "Hurley" Reyes, Benjamin Linus, Desmond Hume, Claire Littleton, Kate Austen, James "Sawyer" Ford, Rose Nadler, Bernard Nadler, Carole Littleton, Aaron Littleton, Background & Cameo Characters, Original Non-Human Characters
Rating: M
Length: 3470 words
Status: Multi-chapter, WIP
Notes: Fantasy and supernatural elements. Think American Gods on the Island.
Summary: Hurley begins to heal and rebuild the Island, while Claire, Kate, and Sawyer head back to our world. But when it comes to love, the Island gets you where you need to be.
Chapter 5: Vigil at the Beach
Hugo stumbled into the beach camp and looked for a place to lay Jack's body. An unimpressed Vincent sniffed around, then veered off into the jungle. He'd show up again, Hugo told himself. He always did.
The food tent. That's where Jack could go.
The food tent's orange nylon canopy lay nearby in a crumpled heap. After Hugo set Jack's body down, he surveyed the camp site for something to cover Jack with. Most of the tarps on the ground were caked with mud and coated with dried leaves.
He finally found a clean one, in Sayid's old shelter. Sayid wouldn't need it anymore, would he? Hugo had cried hard for Sayid once already, but tears had a way of sneaking up on you and pouncing when you least expected it. He blinked back a few stray ones, and soon Jack was covered.
As the afternoon wore on, the beach got lonelier. Hugo wanted Jack to have some lights, because there was no way he was going to leave a body overnight in the dark. He'd already made a roaring fire, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't enough.
There were plenty of torches left on the beach, stout sticks wrapped in strips of cloth. Hugo lit two and stuck them in the sand, one at Jack's head, one at his feet. He then headed down to the sea-side, where the sunset blazed in pink and violet swirls. In half an hour it would be dark, so if he wanted any supper, he'd have to book.
Vincent ambled up, licking a little trace of blood off his muzzle.
“Glad you got your dinner, buddy. Looks like I'm going to have to hunt mine.” This didn't worry Hugo much, but the sun went down fast on the Island, and he didn't want to poke around in the surf after dark.
In the old days on the beach, Jin had taught Hugo a few tricks of the fishing trade, and once Hugo got the hang of it, he rarely went hungry. Maybe there was some tackle left in Jin and Sun's old tent.
Hugo stuck his head in, even though it felt wrong. This was their house, after all, even if neither of them were alive to claim it.
Poor Sun and Jin. They had been separated by years, by time travel, even. Then within a day of finding each other, they died. Poor little Ji Yeon, too, who had to be what, three now? Hugo had held her small cooing form in his arms, while Jin had never got to. It felt almost too intimate, with all the weight of adultery despite its innocence.
He made the sign of the cross before rummaging through Sun and Jin's things, but there weren't any fish-hooks or tackle.
Maybe he could score some eggs from the rocky southwestern shore. Claire had been the best egg hunter of them all, because she always scoped out where the birds hid their nests. Once she joked that it was like Easter-egg hunting, even if the gull eggs were speckled brown.
The red ball of the sun almost touched the horizon, meaning there was no time to find eggs and get back before dark. There was one other possibility, though.
Land crabs came out when the sun went down. Hugo knew just where they liked to hang out, too: at the coconut grove a tad west of the beach camp. They gathered around the bases of the palms and clambered over the coconuts, piercing them with their sharp claws to get to the meat inside.
Land crabs didn't grow their own shells, but instead hitch-hiked in those left behind by other sea animals. When a crab grew too big for one, it crawled out and looked for another. It was kind of gross when they squirmed naked along the sand, looking for a new home. The really big ones were too tough-bodied to need shells, and their claws could take off a finger or a toe if you weren't careful.
There they were this evening, about twenty of them. Hugo took a long, straight piece of driftwood, thinking to roll out some coconuts from under the trees. If they were already broken by the crabs, even better.
When he reached the palm grove, he let the stick fall to his side. The smaller crabs all stopped what they were doing, and started to crawl towards him.
He took a few steps backwards. “Oh, man, it's the freaking attack of the Crab People.”
The big crabs ignored him, while the smaller ones moved towards him in a pack. Hugo stared in horrified fascination as they slowly approached.
When they raised their claws all at once, Hugo muttered, “Holy crap,” and started to back away. This wasn't funny anymore. In fact, it was downright scary. Just as he was about to turn and run, the crabs stopped.
Hugo stopped too. Like soldiers on parade standing at ease, the land crabs all slipped out of their shells. They dragged their soft, pale bodies across the sand and lay down at Hugo's feet, their claws limp and no longer threatening.
Offering themselves up.
Hugo picked one up, bracing himself for the nip which never came. The crab lay limp in his palm, a good quarter-pound of meat for the taking. Beady black eyes on short stalks stared at him. The little creature had a large claw for gripping, and a smaller one for putting food into its mouth. The big claw was the one you had to fear. The little one quivered, as the feelers around its mouth. Otherwise it was still.
He couldn't do it. It was one thing to dig crabs out of the sand, or to spear a fish. That seemed like a fair contest, even if Hugo usually won. But this offering he didn't understand. It didn't seem right. There were other things he could eat.
Hugo set the crab down on the sand. “Go back to your supper, little guys." As the rest of the crabs crawled back into their shells, he jogged around them and grabbed an armful of coconuts. The big crabs kept right on chewing.
His hands shook as he dumped his booty by the fireside. Rummaging underneath the food table, he found a real prize, some Dharma Spam. While the Spam heated in its can, he stared into the flames, wondering what the hell had just happened.
Chunks of Spam stirred into jellied coconut tasted surprisingly good. As Vincent licked the can clean, Hugo wondered what else he could do now, and how he would find that out.
* * * * * * * *
As twilight turned to star-streaked night, Hugo surveyed the ruins of his collapsed shelter. At least his suitcase was still there, although he hated the idea of putting clean clothes onto his grimy, sweaty body. The rain traps were full of water, but he needed one more thing.
Soap, and he had an idea where to get some.
At the farthest northwest corner of the beach camp, a cluster of tents stood under the dappled shade. Most of the shelters had fallen down, but the few which ringed the fire-pit stood intact.
The survivors who had set up this camp at the jungle's edge wanted to get way from the sun and activity of the beach. Seven or eight women had lived here, along with a handful of men. Shannon used to hang out with them, and Claire too for awhile.
Their names eluded him at first, even if their faces didn't. The largest tent belonged to an older, heavy-set whose blonde hair was going grey. Karen, was it? No, Kathy. She shared it with Shana, a dark-skinned woman who used to give Hugo roasted octopus. The cute Indonesian chick with long black hair was called Sirrah, with her Chinese boyfriend Chen. Faith and Craig were a movie-star-gorgeous couple with Southern accents. And a shy blonde woman in her late thirties was Meredith, with a few others besides.
Kathy and Shana used to make soap from fire-ash, boar fat, and mashed-up jungle plants. They traded their soap for scissors, razor blades; everything Sawyer used to hoard. Hugo could never figure out why Sawyer didn't like them.
After a bit of rummaging, Hugo found a coconut shell almost full of the gray sticky stuff. Fragrant with ginger and coconut, it wasn't even moldy. He held the shell carefully as a chalice, still embarrassed to take things out of people's tents, although Kathy probably wouldn't mind. She and her friends were long gone, anyway.
Given how crazy things had gotten later, Hugo couldn't exactly blame them. Right after Libby's funeral, the whole group had disappeared, poof, just like that. Then things got crazy with Desmond's return, with everybody running from the Others, and finally Jack's kidnapping. Nobody even noticed that the north-camp beachies were gone.
Back at his ruined shelter, Hugo eased himself out of his wet and stinking clothes and cleaned up. He felt weirdly exposed, as if someone or something on the beach were watching him.
Stumbling around in the dark, looking for bedding, he crashed into Claire's shelter and pulverized Aaron's old cradle. He brushed bamboo splinters off the baby's blanket, then clutched it to his chest. It would make a good pillow.
Rolled up in an airline blanket in front of his fire, Hugo fished for sleep, but caught none. Instead, he lost himself in memory.
Two nights earlier, Charles Widmore had locked all of them in a cage on Hydra Island. While Sun and Jin held each other and talked in low, urgent voices, Kate, Sawyer, and Frank tested the bars, looking for a way out. Claire, though, crept up to him and slid her rough, calloused hand into his.
Sawyer had cautiously looked Claire over, but Hugo's small nod told him that everything was cool. Claire wasn't going to try anything, not anymore.
She had leaned her head against his shoulder and rubbed her face against it like a sleepy cat. When she fell asleep, it was like a small animal dozing, and every time Widmore's guards tromped by, she jerked awake.
After Jack broke them out of the cage, after Smokey had tossed Widmore's men about like toys, everyone headed for the Ajira plane that was supposed to take them off the Island. Claire had hung back with Hugo on the trail, sending him small smiles, each one a token of hope to prove Sawyer wrong, showing that much of the old Claire was still there.
In the first light of morning, Sayid popped out of the jungle, and everything changed. Claire pushed on ahead of Hugo, who was already tired from the frantic march, already bringing up the rear. As he struggled to keep pace with Claire and Sayid, he saw Claire take Sayid's hand in hers. Hugo fell back, telling himself that he was an idiot.
Of course. What had he been thinking? Even in Locke's camp, when Hugo had first laid eyes on her, Claire and Sayid had stood pressed together, their silent, emotionless faces peering from the shadows just outside the camp-fire's reach.
It hurt like a hard slap.
Sayid and Claire moved together like two wild cats on the hunt, panther and mountain lion in unison, even though Claire was the one who took Sayid's hand, not the other way around. Claire clung to Sayid, but his eyes were cold and blank, and he didn't look back at her.
At least now, Hugo pondered, Claire was alive and on the wing. But what if he could stretch his mind across seas and continents, and slip thoughts of himself into her heart?
His own heart pounding, Hugo couldn't bear to lie there anymore. He tossed aside the blanket and sprang to his feet, kicking sand into the camp-fire. He didn't pretend to know Jacob's rules, even though Ben seemed to think there were some he could change. Even the one about how “people can't leave the Island” had more holes in it than his old Ford Pinto's rusted undercarriage. Jacob probably made up those rules as he went along, anyway.
Torn from all sides, Hugo paced the sea-strand, the waves black and white in the moonlight.
What if you could change all the rules all at once?
Sometimes when you didn't know where you were going, all you could do was put down one foot, then another. Even as a kid, back before he'd gotten so fat, he identified more with the tortoise than the hare. Slow and steady wins the race, and all that. For example, whatever Jacob or Jack could have done, whatever he himself might do if he could just figure it out, the earth still went around the sun. Time still passed, people got old, shit happened, people died.
Or did they? If Jacob and Richard Alpert were any indicators, Hugo wasn't going to. Not for a long time, anyway. But Sayid, Sun, Jin rested in fragments on the ocean floor, while small bottom-creatures cleaned their bones.
What if he could reach into the ocean and reassemble Sayid's exploded pieces? Hugo had already promised Ben something like the job of prime minister. But he could use a general, too: a smart one who knew about tech, who could sneak like a ninja and make war plans. It was a big jungle. There could still be enemies, and Sayid in action was was fearsome. Securing someone like that was also part of protecting the Island too, of defending it, keeping it safe.
And if Hugo could do that (not saying he could, but just maybe, what if), how hard would it be to do the same for Sun and Jin: pull them out of the sunken submarine, put them back together too? Then they could go home to their little girl and their life in Seoul.
What if Sawyer could have Juliet back, blood wiped away, life in her eyes? What a surprise for Sawyer if Juliet could go back home with Desmond, Sun, and Jin.
He took a deep breath. What if he could reach out his hand and bring back Jack?
Hugo plodded back to the camp and stood before Jack's covered body. When he unpeeled the tarp, Jack's face still held the gentle hint of a smile. Hugo had grown up with bodies laid out at home, like his Grandma Titi, and he knew they didn't smile like Jack, no way. After awhile, dead faces twisted into a grin, like they were laughing at some sick joke only they could understand.
Jack was different, though. Hugo had seen Jack in just about every state: relaxed and competitive on the golf course. Puckish when he thought he was being clever. Tender when he looked at Kate, but sometimes fighting the tenderness, too. Screaming with fury when Jacob hadn't appeared at the Lighthouse.
This relaxed expression was a new one, almost beautiful. Jack looked as if he were listening to delightful music.
Best of all, Jack looked there, like he wasn't completely checked out yet. After Jacob had died, he'd hung around to give Hugo some much-needed direction. Even while dead, Jacob had been able to make Jack the protector. Maybe there was enough of Jack still around to—
Could he? And if he could, would he do it?
If Hugo did this thing, it wouldn't be for himself. He'd only do it so that Jack could fulfill his promise to let Hugo “give it back.” Then, like that old giant dude Atlas, Jack could take up the Island's weight once more, and lift it off Hugo's shoulders.
Wasn't it always supposed to have been Jack? That's what Sayid had said on the sub before it blew up. Even Kate couldn't drag Jack away from that burden. Only getting stabbed by the smoke monster had stopped him.
But all the old stories told you one thing clear as day. Dead was dead. No one person, not even the Island's protector, could know how all the stories were supposed to end, not in the long run. It was too much for one person to decide like that. The temptations were too great.
Three years ago Jack had crashed on this shore, left it once, then returned. Now he was going to be laid to rest here. There was nothing to decide. Somehow, paradoxically, that seemed to lighten Hugo's load just a bit.
Hugo covered Jack's face once more. Back at his own fire, he wrapped himself up, and with Vincent nestled down at his side, thumping his tail, he fell asleep almost at once.
* * * * * * * *
In the hollow of the night, Hugo had a dream.
He walked along the sea-strand under a huge moon whose crooked face seemed to say, You ain't seen nothin' yet. As ocean breezes ruffled his long hair, something stirred in the waves out to sea.
The ocean split apart, and a gigantic face pushed up through the water. It gleamed like lustrous blue metal, with huge round eyes, Mr. Spock ears, and a goatee snaked across its wide jaw. The face twisted out wild and crazy, like it was being stretched.
The face was followed by a huge blue body which didn't rise from the ocean so much as ooze out of it. The swollen form floated above the surf for an instant, then slowly floated towards Hugo. Its snakelike tail whipped back and forth, churning the waves to a froth.
Weirdly enough, Hugo didn't feel any fear. “Hey, genie.”
The genie stuck its face right up to Hugo's, fixing him with a wicked grin. Then it puffed something out of its mouth, the way a child spits out a seed. The small, shiny thing dropped at Hugo's feet.
It was a walnut-sized white stone, which fit right in the palm of his hand. In the moonlight he could make out something written on it.
Normally in Hugo's dreams, words just looked like random squiggles. Not this time, though. There was a name written there: and not Hugo Emiliano Salazar Reyes, either. This strange word was his true name, given to him before his birth, before he came into being, even.
The genie twisted itself into a pretzel shape. “You're the boss, the king, the shah. Just don't forget the three rules of the lamp. And hide that rock, boy. Keep it good and safe.”
There was no way Hugo could argue with a twenty-foot high floating genie, so he just gave a nod. The genie didn't exactly disappear, but rather melted into the foaming water, and was gone.
* * * * * * * *
Still lost in his echo of his dream, Hugo didn't want to open his eyes. At first he couldn't remember what the rules of the lamp were. Then he did.
The genie from Aladdin had been ready to give Aladdin anything he wanted. There were rules, though: things Aladdin could and couldn't do with the power of the lamp.
You can't wish yourself more wishes.
You can't make anybody fall in love with you.
You can't bring anybody back from the dead.
Even if Hugo could do those things, that didn't mean they were a good idea. Not that he was about to test them, anyway.
Vincent shoved his muzzle into Hugo's face and covered it with doggie kisses. His breath was gamey, and Hugo winced. “Ugh, gross. Whatever you had for breakfast, I don't want any.” Vincent didn't care if his meat was fresh or not. He even seemed to prefer it a little ripe.
As Hugo lifted his hand to scoot the dog aside, something fell into the sand.
Vincent backed away, barking the way a dog does when he thinks it's critically important that you listen to him.
Hugo stared at the plain white stone. Unlike the one in his dream, this one had no weird letters written on it. Not that he could remember what they had said, anyway. Keep it safe, though. That much he did remember.
Softly Hugo muttered, “Dude,” as he slipped it into his cargo pocket.
Voices called out to him from across the beach. “Hurley!” “Hugo!”
Rose and Bernard approached from the direction of the coconut grove, and between them they carried a thick stick strung with a dozen or so reddish-brown fish. Ben added branches to the fire, while Desmond stuffed dried leaves into the teapot hanging over it.
Hugo staggered to his feet. From the look of the sun, it was mid-morning.
Rose handed the fish to Bernard before giving Hugo a warm hug. “Hey, sleepyhead. We thought you were going to stay rolled up there all day.”
(continued)
Pairings: Hurley/Claire, Kate/Sawyer
Characters: Hugo "Hurley" Reyes, Benjamin Linus, Desmond Hume, Claire Littleton, Kate Austen, James "Sawyer" Ford, Rose Nadler, Bernard Nadler, Carole Littleton, Aaron Littleton, Background & Cameo Characters, Original Non-Human Characters
Rating: M
Length: 3470 words
Status: Multi-chapter, WIP
Notes: Fantasy and supernatural elements. Think American Gods on the Island.
Summary: Hurley begins to heal and rebuild the Island, while Claire, Kate, and Sawyer head back to our world. But when it comes to love, the Island gets you where you need to be.
Chapter 5: Vigil at the Beach
Hugo stumbled into the beach camp and looked for a place to lay Jack's body. An unimpressed Vincent sniffed around, then veered off into the jungle. He'd show up again, Hugo told himself. He always did.
The food tent. That's where Jack could go.
The food tent's orange nylon canopy lay nearby in a crumpled heap. After Hugo set Jack's body down, he surveyed the camp site for something to cover Jack with. Most of the tarps on the ground were caked with mud and coated with dried leaves.
He finally found a clean one, in Sayid's old shelter. Sayid wouldn't need it anymore, would he? Hugo had cried hard for Sayid once already, but tears had a way of sneaking up on you and pouncing when you least expected it. He blinked back a few stray ones, and soon Jack was covered.
As the afternoon wore on, the beach got lonelier. Hugo wanted Jack to have some lights, because there was no way he was going to leave a body overnight in the dark. He'd already made a roaring fire, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't enough.
There were plenty of torches left on the beach, stout sticks wrapped in strips of cloth. Hugo lit two and stuck them in the sand, one at Jack's head, one at his feet. He then headed down to the sea-side, where the sunset blazed in pink and violet swirls. In half an hour it would be dark, so if he wanted any supper, he'd have to book.
Vincent ambled up, licking a little trace of blood off his muzzle.
“Glad you got your dinner, buddy. Looks like I'm going to have to hunt mine.” This didn't worry Hugo much, but the sun went down fast on the Island, and he didn't want to poke around in the surf after dark.
In the old days on the beach, Jin had taught Hugo a few tricks of the fishing trade, and once Hugo got the hang of it, he rarely went hungry. Maybe there was some tackle left in Jin and Sun's old tent.
Hugo stuck his head in, even though it felt wrong. This was their house, after all, even if neither of them were alive to claim it.
Poor Sun and Jin. They had been separated by years, by time travel, even. Then within a day of finding each other, they died. Poor little Ji Yeon, too, who had to be what, three now? Hugo had held her small cooing form in his arms, while Jin had never got to. It felt almost too intimate, with all the weight of adultery despite its innocence.
He made the sign of the cross before rummaging through Sun and Jin's things, but there weren't any fish-hooks or tackle.
Maybe he could score some eggs from the rocky southwestern shore. Claire had been the best egg hunter of them all, because she always scoped out where the birds hid their nests. Once she joked that it was like Easter-egg hunting, even if the gull eggs were speckled brown.
The red ball of the sun almost touched the horizon, meaning there was no time to find eggs and get back before dark. There was one other possibility, though.
Land crabs came out when the sun went down. Hugo knew just where they liked to hang out, too: at the coconut grove a tad west of the beach camp. They gathered around the bases of the palms and clambered over the coconuts, piercing them with their sharp claws to get to the meat inside.
Land crabs didn't grow their own shells, but instead hitch-hiked in those left behind by other sea animals. When a crab grew too big for one, it crawled out and looked for another. It was kind of gross when they squirmed naked along the sand, looking for a new home. The really big ones were too tough-bodied to need shells, and their claws could take off a finger or a toe if you weren't careful.
There they were this evening, about twenty of them. Hugo took a long, straight piece of driftwood, thinking to roll out some coconuts from under the trees. If they were already broken by the crabs, even better.
When he reached the palm grove, he let the stick fall to his side. The smaller crabs all stopped what they were doing, and started to crawl towards him.
He took a few steps backwards. “Oh, man, it's the freaking attack of the Crab People.”
The big crabs ignored him, while the smaller ones moved towards him in a pack. Hugo stared in horrified fascination as they slowly approached.
When they raised their claws all at once, Hugo muttered, “Holy crap,” and started to back away. This wasn't funny anymore. In fact, it was downright scary. Just as he was about to turn and run, the crabs stopped.
Hugo stopped too. Like soldiers on parade standing at ease, the land crabs all slipped out of their shells. They dragged their soft, pale bodies across the sand and lay down at Hugo's feet, their claws limp and no longer threatening.
Offering themselves up.
Hugo picked one up, bracing himself for the nip which never came. The crab lay limp in his palm, a good quarter-pound of meat for the taking. Beady black eyes on short stalks stared at him. The little creature had a large claw for gripping, and a smaller one for putting food into its mouth. The big claw was the one you had to fear. The little one quivered, as the feelers around its mouth. Otherwise it was still.
He couldn't do it. It was one thing to dig crabs out of the sand, or to spear a fish. That seemed like a fair contest, even if Hugo usually won. But this offering he didn't understand. It didn't seem right. There were other things he could eat.
Hugo set the crab down on the sand. “Go back to your supper, little guys." As the rest of the crabs crawled back into their shells, he jogged around them and grabbed an armful of coconuts. The big crabs kept right on chewing.
His hands shook as he dumped his booty by the fireside. Rummaging underneath the food table, he found a real prize, some Dharma Spam. While the Spam heated in its can, he stared into the flames, wondering what the hell had just happened.
Chunks of Spam stirred into jellied coconut tasted surprisingly good. As Vincent licked the can clean, Hugo wondered what else he could do now, and how he would find that out.
As twilight turned to star-streaked night, Hugo surveyed the ruins of his collapsed shelter. At least his suitcase was still there, although he hated the idea of putting clean clothes onto his grimy, sweaty body. The rain traps were full of water, but he needed one more thing.
Soap, and he had an idea where to get some.
At the farthest northwest corner of the beach camp, a cluster of tents stood under the dappled shade. Most of the shelters had fallen down, but the few which ringed the fire-pit stood intact.
The survivors who had set up this camp at the jungle's edge wanted to get way from the sun and activity of the beach. Seven or eight women had lived here, along with a handful of men. Shannon used to hang out with them, and Claire too for awhile.
Their names eluded him at first, even if their faces didn't. The largest tent belonged to an older, heavy-set whose blonde hair was going grey. Karen, was it? No, Kathy. She shared it with Shana, a dark-skinned woman who used to give Hugo roasted octopus. The cute Indonesian chick with long black hair was called Sirrah, with her Chinese boyfriend Chen. Faith and Craig were a movie-star-gorgeous couple with Southern accents. And a shy blonde woman in her late thirties was Meredith, with a few others besides.
Kathy and Shana used to make soap from fire-ash, boar fat, and mashed-up jungle plants. They traded their soap for scissors, razor blades; everything Sawyer used to hoard. Hugo could never figure out why Sawyer didn't like them.
After a bit of rummaging, Hugo found a coconut shell almost full of the gray sticky stuff. Fragrant with ginger and coconut, it wasn't even moldy. He held the shell carefully as a chalice, still embarrassed to take things out of people's tents, although Kathy probably wouldn't mind. She and her friends were long gone, anyway.
Given how crazy things had gotten later, Hugo couldn't exactly blame them. Right after Libby's funeral, the whole group had disappeared, poof, just like that. Then things got crazy with Desmond's return, with everybody running from the Others, and finally Jack's kidnapping. Nobody even noticed that the north-camp beachies were gone.
Back at his ruined shelter, Hugo eased himself out of his wet and stinking clothes and cleaned up. He felt weirdly exposed, as if someone or something on the beach were watching him.
Stumbling around in the dark, looking for bedding, he crashed into Claire's shelter and pulverized Aaron's old cradle. He brushed bamboo splinters off the baby's blanket, then clutched it to his chest. It would make a good pillow.
Rolled up in an airline blanket in front of his fire, Hugo fished for sleep, but caught none. Instead, he lost himself in memory.
Two nights earlier, Charles Widmore had locked all of them in a cage on Hydra Island. While Sun and Jin held each other and talked in low, urgent voices, Kate, Sawyer, and Frank tested the bars, looking for a way out. Claire, though, crept up to him and slid her rough, calloused hand into his.
Sawyer had cautiously looked Claire over, but Hugo's small nod told him that everything was cool. Claire wasn't going to try anything, not anymore.
She had leaned her head against his shoulder and rubbed her face against it like a sleepy cat. When she fell asleep, it was like a small animal dozing, and every time Widmore's guards tromped by, she jerked awake.
After Jack broke them out of the cage, after Smokey had tossed Widmore's men about like toys, everyone headed for the Ajira plane that was supposed to take them off the Island. Claire had hung back with Hugo on the trail, sending him small smiles, each one a token of hope to prove Sawyer wrong, showing that much of the old Claire was still there.
In the first light of morning, Sayid popped out of the jungle, and everything changed. Claire pushed on ahead of Hugo, who was already tired from the frantic march, already bringing up the rear. As he struggled to keep pace with Claire and Sayid, he saw Claire take Sayid's hand in hers. Hugo fell back, telling himself that he was an idiot.
Of course. What had he been thinking? Even in Locke's camp, when Hugo had first laid eyes on her, Claire and Sayid had stood pressed together, their silent, emotionless faces peering from the shadows just outside the camp-fire's reach.
It hurt like a hard slap.
Sayid and Claire moved together like two wild cats on the hunt, panther and mountain lion in unison, even though Claire was the one who took Sayid's hand, not the other way around. Claire clung to Sayid, but his eyes were cold and blank, and he didn't look back at her.
At least now, Hugo pondered, Claire was alive and on the wing. But what if he could stretch his mind across seas and continents, and slip thoughts of himself into her heart?
His own heart pounding, Hugo couldn't bear to lie there anymore. He tossed aside the blanket and sprang to his feet, kicking sand into the camp-fire. He didn't pretend to know Jacob's rules, even though Ben seemed to think there were some he could change. Even the one about how “people can't leave the Island” had more holes in it than his old Ford Pinto's rusted undercarriage. Jacob probably made up those rules as he went along, anyway.
Torn from all sides, Hugo paced the sea-strand, the waves black and white in the moonlight.
What if you could change all the rules all at once?
Sometimes when you didn't know where you were going, all you could do was put down one foot, then another. Even as a kid, back before he'd gotten so fat, he identified more with the tortoise than the hare. Slow and steady wins the race, and all that. For example, whatever Jacob or Jack could have done, whatever he himself might do if he could just figure it out, the earth still went around the sun. Time still passed, people got old, shit happened, people died.
Or did they? If Jacob and Richard Alpert were any indicators, Hugo wasn't going to. Not for a long time, anyway. But Sayid, Sun, Jin rested in fragments on the ocean floor, while small bottom-creatures cleaned their bones.
What if he could reach into the ocean and reassemble Sayid's exploded pieces? Hugo had already promised Ben something like the job of prime minister. But he could use a general, too: a smart one who knew about tech, who could sneak like a ninja and make war plans. It was a big jungle. There could still be enemies, and Sayid in action was was fearsome. Securing someone like that was also part of protecting the Island too, of defending it, keeping it safe.
And if Hugo could do that (not saying he could, but just maybe, what if), how hard would it be to do the same for Sun and Jin: pull them out of the sunken submarine, put them back together too? Then they could go home to their little girl and their life in Seoul.
What if Sawyer could have Juliet back, blood wiped away, life in her eyes? What a surprise for Sawyer if Juliet could go back home with Desmond, Sun, and Jin.
He took a deep breath. What if he could reach out his hand and bring back Jack?
Hugo plodded back to the camp and stood before Jack's covered body. When he unpeeled the tarp, Jack's face still held the gentle hint of a smile. Hugo had grown up with bodies laid out at home, like his Grandma Titi, and he knew they didn't smile like Jack, no way. After awhile, dead faces twisted into a grin, like they were laughing at some sick joke only they could understand.
Jack was different, though. Hugo had seen Jack in just about every state: relaxed and competitive on the golf course. Puckish when he thought he was being clever. Tender when he looked at Kate, but sometimes fighting the tenderness, too. Screaming with fury when Jacob hadn't appeared at the Lighthouse.
This relaxed expression was a new one, almost beautiful. Jack looked as if he were listening to delightful music.
Best of all, Jack looked there, like he wasn't completely checked out yet. After Jacob had died, he'd hung around to give Hugo some much-needed direction. Even while dead, Jacob had been able to make Jack the protector. Maybe there was enough of Jack still around to—
Could he? And if he could, would he do it?
If Hugo did this thing, it wouldn't be for himself. He'd only do it so that Jack could fulfill his promise to let Hugo “give it back.” Then, like that old giant dude Atlas, Jack could take up the Island's weight once more, and lift it off Hugo's shoulders.
Wasn't it always supposed to have been Jack? That's what Sayid had said on the sub before it blew up. Even Kate couldn't drag Jack away from that burden. Only getting stabbed by the smoke monster had stopped him.
But all the old stories told you one thing clear as day. Dead was dead. No one person, not even the Island's protector, could know how all the stories were supposed to end, not in the long run. It was too much for one person to decide like that. The temptations were too great.
Three years ago Jack had crashed on this shore, left it once, then returned. Now he was going to be laid to rest here. There was nothing to decide. Somehow, paradoxically, that seemed to lighten Hugo's load just a bit.
Hugo covered Jack's face once more. Back at his own fire, he wrapped himself up, and with Vincent nestled down at his side, thumping his tail, he fell asleep almost at once.
In the hollow of the night, Hugo had a dream.
He walked along the sea-strand under a huge moon whose crooked face seemed to say, You ain't seen nothin' yet. As ocean breezes ruffled his long hair, something stirred in the waves out to sea.
The ocean split apart, and a gigantic face pushed up through the water. It gleamed like lustrous blue metal, with huge round eyes, Mr. Spock ears, and a goatee snaked across its wide jaw. The face twisted out wild and crazy, like it was being stretched.
The face was followed by a huge blue body which didn't rise from the ocean so much as ooze out of it. The swollen form floated above the surf for an instant, then slowly floated towards Hugo. Its snakelike tail whipped back and forth, churning the waves to a froth.
Weirdly enough, Hugo didn't feel any fear. “Hey, genie.”
The genie stuck its face right up to Hugo's, fixing him with a wicked grin. Then it puffed something out of its mouth, the way a child spits out a seed. The small, shiny thing dropped at Hugo's feet.
It was a walnut-sized white stone, which fit right in the palm of his hand. In the moonlight he could make out something written on it.
Normally in Hugo's dreams, words just looked like random squiggles. Not this time, though. There was a name written there: and not Hugo Emiliano Salazar Reyes, either. This strange word was his true name, given to him before his birth, before he came into being, even.
The genie twisted itself into a pretzel shape. “You're the boss, the king, the shah. Just don't forget the three rules of the lamp. And hide that rock, boy. Keep it good and safe.”
There was no way Hugo could argue with a twenty-foot high floating genie, so he just gave a nod. The genie didn't exactly disappear, but rather melted into the foaming water, and was gone.
Still lost in his echo of his dream, Hugo didn't want to open his eyes. At first he couldn't remember what the rules of the lamp were. Then he did.
The genie from Aladdin had been ready to give Aladdin anything he wanted. There were rules, though: things Aladdin could and couldn't do with the power of the lamp.
You can't wish yourself more wishes.
You can't make anybody fall in love with you.
You can't bring anybody back from the dead.
Even if Hugo could do those things, that didn't mean they were a good idea. Not that he was about to test them, anyway.
Vincent shoved his muzzle into Hugo's face and covered it with doggie kisses. His breath was gamey, and Hugo winced. “Ugh, gross. Whatever you had for breakfast, I don't want any.” Vincent didn't care if his meat was fresh or not. He even seemed to prefer it a little ripe.
As Hugo lifted his hand to scoot the dog aside, something fell into the sand.
Vincent backed away, barking the way a dog does when he thinks it's critically important that you listen to him.
Hugo stared at the plain white stone. Unlike the one in his dream, this one had no weird letters written on it. Not that he could remember what they had said, anyway. Keep it safe, though. That much he did remember.
Softly Hugo muttered, “Dude,” as he slipped it into his cargo pocket.
Voices called out to him from across the beach. “Hurley!” “Hugo!”
Rose and Bernard approached from the direction of the coconut grove, and between them they carried a thick stick strung with a dozen or so reddish-brown fish. Ben added branches to the fire, while Desmond stuffed dried leaves into the teapot hanging over it.
Hugo staggered to his feet. From the look of the sun, it was mid-morning.
Rose handed the fish to Bernard before giving Hugo a warm hug. “Hey, sleepyhead. We thought you were going to stay rolled up there all day.”
(continued)