Survival Of The Fittest

He wanted to help her. Sure, of course. She'd bolted and ran instinctively instead of listening to him back at that tower, lost sight of Julian, ran into DK, and killed him, all because JJ wanted to help her. Now, not only was Claire a murderer no better than Kris or Reiko, but she'd had a chance to prevent herself from committing the act, too. One that in her anxiety and fear she'd passed up. For someone who considered herself grounded and intelligent, she sure had proven otherwise.

Despite the fact that she desperately wanted to maintain control of the situation (which she'd naively believed holding a gun would give her, but had clearly been proven wrong yet again), the ceaseless stream of tears betrayed her front. Claire didn't even have control over herself anymore, let alone JJ. If she had, she'd probably have saved herself from the eternal damnation she was now guaranteed to suffer.

Her self-admonition was drowned out by JJ's explanation, including his cheesy (but clearly unrehearsed) line about wanting to make a better second impression than his first. Claire had to contend, though, that he'd accomplished his goal. Saving her life sure beat stumbling around drunk in her place of employment any day.

Still, with all the words JJ spoke, the guilt just sank in deeper. He wanted to make things right. He owed her. For what? What had she ever done to put him in her debt? Verbally castrated him? Made him feel two inches tall? Dragged him into a situation where she'd almost gotten him killed? The fact of the matter was, alcohol problem aside, Claire felt as though she was the one who had something she needed to repay. JJ could have let her die right there and then, and despite her previous misgivings, he'd gone ahead and saved her life anyway.

Why did he have to be so much different than she thought before? Why couldn't he have just stayed that selfish, immature, despicable asshole who was so easy to loathe?

"Because that would be too easy."

Still, she wasn't quite ready to spill the contents of her heart to the man just yet. They'd never even had one polite conversation.

"That's not something I can forgive myself for..." JJ continued, and when she saw an opportunity to break into the conversation, she swallowed the suffocating liquid in her throat and hoarsely whispered out a response.

"...You don't get to decide whether or not you're forgiven."

Smooth, Claire. Really grateful of you. The guy saves your ass and you still treat him like shit. She knew she had to remedy the situation somehow. Make everything up to JJ. How she'd gone from loathing him to pitying him to ultimately feeling indebted to him in the past hour had eluded her, but were she of more sound mind, she'd probably recognize that having just murdered somebody when only days before you were planning your graduation didn't make you the most emotionally stable individual.

"...You can start by grabbing my bag," she whispered unenthusiastically, realizing that she was still playing up the tormented bitch inside herself. At this point, she didn't have the heart to open up to him. DK's blood burned fresh against the sunlit earth. She didn't want to stay here any longer than she had to.

"It's in the shed. My gun's there too," she finished mechanically. She wasn't even capable of feeling threatened by the possibility of giving JJ a weapon. At this point, if he shot her in the back of the head, she'd probably deserve it.

Needing a distraction, Claire made her way over to DK's day pack, dragging it a few feet away from his corpse.

Murderer.

Vulture.

Not exactly the way she wanted to be remembered.

Huh. It was as simple as that, wasn't it. JJ Sturn could huff and puff and he could summon all his cheesiest noblest words and he could pour his heart out like a gallant well-intentioned idiot, and all it took was ten words to break him down and reveal him for the grandstanding pathetic fuck he was. Oh, you want to know what the ten words are, huh, I thought you'd never ask.

You don't get to decide whether or not you're forgiven.

Which hurt. Which made JJ realize, just a little bit, that none of this was about him, that it was about everyone that he hurt, that it wasn't just so he could feel good about himself but- wait wait wait wait, no. No, hold up, that didn't make sense. JJ knew all that already. This... wasn't news. This was what Mike had told him a long time ago, this was what JJ realized himself a little while after that, hell, this was something obvious enough that even Julian picked up on it eventually. This was something that- right. Maybe there are occasions where the right call isn't to beat yourself up again. You have to remember that, JJ, even though it's gotta be really really tricky to do so.

Because Claire, well... she didn't really get it, did she?

With no offense intended to her. None at all. Because she had a valid point if she had interpreted JJ's words a certain way. But JJ stood by his words, fuck yeah he stood by them. Being able to forgive himself was... well, maybe not the top priority, since that seemed just a little solipsistic, but it was pretty high up there. And it definitely wasn't about getting forgiveness from others. That would be nice. That would be icing on the cake if those he'd wronged (Jesus Christ, was it really that hard to just say "Rosa"?) ever managed to forgive him. But it wasn't the goal.

Because this was not about damage control for JJ's reputation. It wasn't about everyone else forgiving him or liking him or inviting him to parties again. It sure as fuck wasn't JJ waking up one and realizing Oh fuck, people finally got tired my bullshit, I better walk around all smiles and helping hands from now on till the natural order is restored and everyone realizes that I'm a Big Fucking Deal again!

Maybe you'll figure that out eventually, Claire. JJ won't say it, because he thinks it would be dumb and dickish to start an argument. And because- and he doesn't really want to admit this part- he kinda feels like he deserves the verbal smackdown you just applied.

Right. Orders from Claire. Best do what she- no, that's not right, requests from Claire. Ones that he was gonna follow because he wanted to, not because he was being forced to. This definitely wasn't about being forced to act a certain way. It was about- well, right now, to be honest, it was about cutting the fucking navel-gazing for just one second and picking up Claire's bag and gun for her like she wanted. He could at least do that.

"Right, uh... we probably ought to get moving soon, once you're done looking through his stuff. People probably heard the shots, someone might investigate, so... we should relocate. Somewhere safer."

His stuff. Whose stuff, JJ? You had a lot to say about Claire, and a shitload to say about your own damn self just now. Only two words about DK, though, and not even the use of his name.

Why is that?

Claire sifted through DK's pack robotically, trying desperately to distract herself from the fact that the docks were beginning to smell like musk and metal. The sick, overwhelming aura of death in the air was making her nauseous, and her efforts to place her mind elsewhere were hardly working. Still, her hands worked their way over the ammunition at the bottom of the bag, and she placed it on the ground beside her, awaiting the retrieval of her own pack so she could stash it away and ideally not look at it ever again. DK also had a decent amount of water left, which she also made a note to take (along with an extra flashlight), but she couldn't find much in the way of food. Whatever she did find only made her more nauseous, so she left it alone.

"...we should relocate. Somewhere safer."

Through the haze of emetic ambition, Claire caught the tail end of JJ's suggestion. She turned her head towards him, nodding meekly in compliance as he turned towards the shed to retrieve her equipment. In the meantime, she pondered whether or not she'd really need two guns. She barely knew how to work one. DK's felt more comfortable in her hands than the mini-revolver that looked practically like a toy, however, so she'd already made a note of keeping that one. JJ could have the other. He was going to protect her after all, right? Just like he had with DK. Better two people with guns than one who barely knew how to work them.

"...and besides, something tells me JJ's done his fair share of shooting in his day. Pool, guns, drugs. Something."

JJ returned from the shed, bag and gun in hand, and placed them gingerly beside Claire. Before acknowledging him she made sure to transfer DK's supplies into her pack, and afterwards she removed the .22 rounds for the Mini that she'd previously been keeping, handing the box to JJ.

"You'll need these," she gestured, moving her eyes from the ammunition to the gun in his hand. "I'm good," she finished before he could respond, flashing the heavier pistol she'd taken from DK in front of him.

"I...uh..." she started, attempting to break the awkward silence. What did you say to someone you'd hated only hours....minutes, before, when that same somebody had just saved your life? "I trust you"? That hardly made sense. They'd been standing together for all of five minutes. Clearly she had a shred of faith in him (something along the lines of "Please don't shoot me in the back of the head when I'm not expecting it, my dad would be pissed,"), but it didn't quite seem right. Not yet.

Her eyes glanced awkwardly back towards DK's body.

"...Thank you," she whispered almost inaudibly, staring out over the sunrise. Were it not for the foul stench of corpse in the air, the scenery would almost have been beautiful. She said nothing else, however, as she glanced out over what she presumed to be the ocean.

Claire Lambert, for once, was at a complete loss for words.

After gathering her thoughts for a few moments, she leaned down and closed up her pack, throwing it over her shoulder.

"...You're right. Let's go," she concluded half-heartedly, and began her return towards the treeline.

(Claire Lambert continued elsewhere)

Thank you.

That was

Sweet... of her. Umm. Undeserved, maybe. Completely unde- no, stick with sweet. And show a little gratitude. Here's a little smile, dunno if she's actually gonna see it, but it's there. And then... you're welcome? No, not really that appropriate of a thing to say right now. Undeserved, remember. Don't wanna acknowledge that you have something to be thanked for. Because that's how it starts. That's how it starts is just an acknowledgment, small, passive, little whisper saying it's okay to take the credit. It's... maybe a little melodramatic to think like that, but maybe a little necessary. This isn't exactly a moment to beat yourself up again, but... you did a good thing here, mostly. Don't screw it up just yet.

So that's how it starts.

A thank you. A gun in his hand. Trust starting to form. Little bit of ice starts to melt, starts to drip drip drip. What was she thinking at that moment? I was wrong about you. Oh, good God, not that. She probably wasn't, but she probably also wasn't having the easiest time making sense of JJ in general. Seen her about three times now. Scared the shit out of her the first two, saved her life the third. Bit of a tough puzzle to put together. But maybe she'd start to figure it out as they went along, because there was definitely something starting here. Team, partnership, maybe friendship. Maybe. Whatever it was, that's how it started.

And how did it end?

Be realistic here, JJ. The two of you are heading towards those trees right now without a single hint of danger on the horizon, nobody lining up their shot or hiding in a bush with murder in their fast-beating heart. Yet. Wasn't gonna stay that way forever. Wasn't gonna stay that way for long. Was gonna come to an end, all things come to an end. Any ideas how? No? Come on, take a guess. Can't be that hard.

Maybe JJ was gonna take a bullet for her. That'd be great. That'd be poetry. Maybe a little less poetic if the guy with the gun just kept on shooting and got Claire too. Maybe just too unlikely to even consider. Okay, what else. Maybe she'd die first, and he'd go into a fury and rain down vengeance on the fucker who did it. He had a gun now, that wouldn't be strictly impossible. So maybe don't take that off the table quite yet, but

Be realistic here.

This is how it would end: They would both die, and very, very few people would care. So many kids about to die on this island, pretty hard to keep on caring about each one. That made it a little sad, yeah, to think about it that way. Oh well. That was missing the point.

Point was that it also made it more important. If nobody else was gonna step up and give a fuck, that meant it was up to JJ. He was gonna die, whatever, fuck it. Keep fighting against it, long as you can, but don't live in denial of the fact that it's coming. But for fuck's sake, die for something. Maybe for her, because she's already in front of you and because she mostly seems nice enough to have some asshole die for her. But maybe for something else, someone else, since there have to be a whole bunch of people on this island that deserve it.

So don't necessarily go throwing yourself in front of every bullet you see, you're not that selfless or that fatalistic, but if you have to die here (you do), make sure it's not over some bullshit like mistaking some scared girl for an attacker and getting shot for it. Save someone, or help someone, or do something before you bleed out. Give a fuck.

For once in your life, JJ, give a fuck.

((JJ Sturn continued elsewhere))