Lost One Shots and Imagines

James Ford- Raft: Part 2 (c)

Reality and delirium became one and the same. You weren't sure if you were conscious or not when you heard your name being called through the void. It wasn't until your back hit the raft and the cold evening air hit your sodden skin that you were certain you were alive. With a deep gasp, you filled your lungs back with air, coughing up the last of the water you had swallowed.

You tried to thrash, not sure if you were safe or not, but your flailing limbs were held firmly.

"You're okay," you heard the familiar southern twang.

Your eyes shot open to take in the darkness of the night sky in the middle of the ocean. You could have been unconscious for a second or an hour, and the remnants of the raft could have floated anywhere in that time. Barely any of the raft was still floating with Sawyer and Michael still there with you, Jin and Walt no longer visible in the night.

"Sawyer," you whispered.

The only warmth to you came from your heart. The thought of him calling for you, searching to save you, gave you some kind of hope for the two of you, even if it could just be a sign he was a decent human being- both outcomes were equally unlikely.

A weak smile curled onto your lips as you reached out a hand to rest on top of his.

"What're you smiling at?" He asked, thinking you had completely lost your mind to have found any form of joy in your circumstances.

"You were calling for me," you croaked. "You do care."

Sawyer rolled his eyes at you. Deep down part of him did care and when he breached the waters surface and couldn't find you, he felt a pain that he had never felt before, one that wasn't coming from the gunshot to his shoulder.

"I was also calling for Jin," he stated.

You gave his hand a squeeze. "Don't ruin the moment."

You sat up on what was left of the raft. There was barely anything that was left of it, nearly all the supplies gone, leaving the three of you in a worse state than you had been before. You turned your attention back to Sawyer, red merging into the general wetness of his shirt.

"You're hurt," you whispered, your head still a little bleary.

"I was shot sweetheart and hauled your arse back up here," he huffed. "But I've got bigger worries than a bullet."

~*~
Written by Charlotte.