My Broken Mind (Claire PG-13)

  • Oct. 23rd, 2010 at 10:48 PM
emiliglia: (lost)
Title: My Broken Mind
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 500
Warnings: unbetaed, attempted filling in of backstory that isn't given in Lost S6
Summary: For the [ profile] hc_bingo prompt driven to insanity - Claire just needs her son back.


She wakes up again in the cabin, huddled around herself in the corner.

"They left you," her father says without preamble.

It doesn't hurt as much to hear as she would've thought. She's almost not surprised. After all, Christian had left her himself. Thomas, too, and then Charlie. Her heart aches at the last one, but she doesn't cry. She's beyond tears, now, and is finding comfort in anger. She remembers anger, can step back into it like an old pair of shoes.

"Oh," is all she says, sharp and bitter. She looks around the cabin, squinting in the darkness, listening for the small breaths she knows so well. "Where's Aaron?"

"The Others have him," Christian says, and she doesn't like how calm he sounds.

She sits up quickly, ignoring the blood rush as she stands. "We have to get him back. They can't have him; I have to have him!"

Christian doesn't so much as rise from the chair. He just tilts his head and looks at her like she's a spoiled child having a temper tantrum. "In time, Claire. You're not ready yet."

She shifts uncomfortably under his scrutiny. "You'll help me get him back?"

Christian just smiles.


She gets only what she really needs from camp.

Guns. Ammo. Canned food. A good knife.

She doesn't follow any of the usual trails they've used since crashing on the island. She can't afford the Others to know where she is, even though she bets they do. She can hear them whispering in the dark, all around her, so she travels to Rousseau's old camps.

She steals the traps she can find, making sure to have a walking stick that touches the ground before she'll let her feet follow. It won't help Aaron if she has to amputate her legs.

Time isn't something she keeps track of, but the Others come into her territory sooner than she'd expected. She can't bring herself to do more than warning shots until there's a flare of pain in her shoulder, burning hot.

She screams as she fires, laughs when the Other falls dead.


"I brought you something," her friend says, and she knows Aaron would just love the cradle. It feels wrong to have it empty, unused, but her father keeps telling her that she's not ready.

Her friend believes in her, though, even if he can't help. He won't explain; he's just adamant that he can't enter the temple. She'll have to get Aaron alone.

"You can go to them soon." Her friend looks at her like she's a gift to him.

She doesn't want to like him, but the cradle gives her hope.

It will hurt when he abandons her too.


They have her arms and legs restrained; she thrashes in their grip, trying to get away. They stab her with needles, burn her skin, and she yells Aaron's name until she can't recognize it anymore.

Before she passes out, she hears a baby, her son, crying.

He's here, she knows.

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