(no subject)
The swim back to the island was probably the longest James had ever had. He had never been a big swimmer, not even when it was a kid, and after only five or ten minutes his arms started to ache and he started to worry about cramps.
Not that he didn't have enough on his mind to begin with. Logically, rationally, he figured the 'copter would land on the freighter, refuel, patch up those bullet holes, then fly back to pick him up, along with everyone else that were still on the island. That made sense, and he could tell himself that's why he didn't have to think too hard about whether or not he should jump, make it more possible for the others to get to the freighter. A month or three weeks ago, he might've easily focused a pointed look on Hugo, nodding outside expectantly. Now, though, with all the shit that had happened so damn quickly in the past few days, James hadn't even contemplated that option -- fact was, he had to get Hugo to the freighter, along with Kate. He had already lost Claire, after all, and James weren't going to abandon his other two charges, not after all of this.
Logically, he knew he'd see them again in an hour, probably less. In his gut, though, which was cramping more and more as he pushed himself toward the shore of the island, James felt for damn sure he'd never see Kate again. He spat out some water at the thought, the sharp salt taste still in his mouth, accompanying the haunting idea of abandonment. If that wasn't a final goodbye, then why'd he risk being punched by Jack with that kiss, that desperate, last kiss? Why'd he ask her to check up on Clementine, something he wasn't even sure he'd do if he made it off the island? Who was he kidding -- the first thing he would've done, if he wasn't right now swimming back to the island he was now more and more sure he'd never leave, would've been to take a ride to Albuquerque, and at least see his daughter, if nothing else. James had jumped off that 'copter with no more sense of hope than a dead man on Charon's boat.
The thoughts of being forever lost washed up against James as he swam with the waves onto the island's shore. By the time he caught sight of Juliet, sitting alone and quiet on the beach, though, James had started to ignore the futile stray feelings. It weren't as if he had any real, conclusive reason to feel all depressed about his swim. In fact, it had been nice, relaxing. Plus, this way he could maybe take some of his shit off the island; he had grown right fond of a few of those Playboys.
It was with a grin that he made his way up the beach, then, to greet Juliet and her bottle of rum, with a sense of shakily renewed faith that he'd be seeing Kate, Hugo, and all of them soon enough. Didn't make no sense to think otherwise, after all.
Not that he didn't have enough on his mind to begin with. Logically, rationally, he figured the 'copter would land on the freighter, refuel, patch up those bullet holes, then fly back to pick him up, along with everyone else that were still on the island. That made sense, and he could tell himself that's why he didn't have to think too hard about whether or not he should jump, make it more possible for the others to get to the freighter. A month or three weeks ago, he might've easily focused a pointed look on Hugo, nodding outside expectantly. Now, though, with all the shit that had happened so damn quickly in the past few days, James hadn't even contemplated that option -- fact was, he had to get Hugo to the freighter, along with Kate. He had already lost Claire, after all, and James weren't going to abandon his other two charges, not after all of this.
Logically, he knew he'd see them again in an hour, probably less. In his gut, though, which was cramping more and more as he pushed himself toward the shore of the island, James felt for damn sure he'd never see Kate again. He spat out some water at the thought, the sharp salt taste still in his mouth, accompanying the haunting idea of abandonment. If that wasn't a final goodbye, then why'd he risk being punched by Jack with that kiss, that desperate, last kiss? Why'd he ask her to check up on Clementine, something he wasn't even sure he'd do if he made it off the island? Who was he kidding -- the first thing he would've done, if he wasn't right now swimming back to the island he was now more and more sure he'd never leave, would've been to take a ride to Albuquerque, and at least see his daughter, if nothing else. James had jumped off that 'copter with no more sense of hope than a dead man on Charon's boat.
The thoughts of being forever lost washed up against James as he swam with the waves onto the island's shore. By the time he caught sight of Juliet, sitting alone and quiet on the beach, though, James had started to ignore the futile stray feelings. It weren't as if he had any real, conclusive reason to feel all depressed about his swim. In fact, it had been nice, relaxing. Plus, this way he could maybe take some of his shit off the island; he had grown right fond of a few of those Playboys.
It was with a grin that he made his way up the beach, then, to greet Juliet and her bottle of rum, with a sense of shakily renewed faith that he'd be seeing Kate, Hugo, and all of them soon enough. Didn't make no sense to think otherwise, after all.