It's obvious that I don't own Lost (because if I did, Sayid and Charlie would be slashing up on the beach), and I'm not making a profit off of this. I've only got £4 in my pocket, so don't bother to sue me.

I didn't hear if Claire named her son because I was too busy crying over Boone, so if she named him something other than what I did... well, sorry.

Life Goes On

The waves crashed upon the shore like they had always done, rising, breaking, and retreating under the radiant orange sunrise. Walt walked along the shore, dragging a long stick behind him. He had left the caves late in the night; he could not stand to hear Boone in pain, and he needed to escape anyway. The beach had always calmed him, but here he could not find contentment, for one thing was still on his mind.

Death. He was no stranger to it, that was true. His pet lizard was first, then one of his mates from school, then finally his mother and Boone. Though death was a common occurrence in his life, it frightened him to think that it could come to anyone on the island, even himself. Walt sighed and tossed his stick into the warm blue water, pausing to watch it dance with the waves.

After a moment, he moved on to a heavily populated area of the beach, where most people slept on towels laid out on the sand. But Claire sat under the shade of a palm tree with her newborn son, Nicholas Charles, rocking him and singing a soft lullaby he could barely hear. Walt, not wanting to disturb them, continued on his way, but Claire looked up and saw him.

"Walt!" she called. "Come here!"

"Oh, alright," he grumbled, trudging over to Claire, feeling guilty for interrupting her moments with her son. "What is it?"

"I don't think you and Nicholas have been properly acquainted," Claire said. She held him up a little for him to see, and Walt could not keep his eyes off of the baby. So he sat there, unusually silent, his eyes holding a melancholy look Claire had never seen before.

"Something's bothering you, isn't it?"

"I don't understand," Walt said, looking up at the sky, poking at a pile of wet sand with a rock. "Why do some people get to live while others die?"

Claire raised an eyebrow. "Shouldn't you be talking to your father about this?"

Walt shrugged. "I dunno. He wouldn't understand..." he trailed off, concentrating on drawing a circle of stars around himself. At length he looked up at Claire and Nicholas. "My mother would listen to me all the time, even help me with schoolwork if she wasn't busy... and on good days she'd play with me. But she died, too. Sometimes it seems like all the good people die... like Boone."

"Yes, sometimes it seems that way. But when there is death, there is always life," Claire smiled as Nicholas yawned and grasped her finger lightly with his tiny fist, and Walt looked on in amazement. "Yes, Walt, there is always life."

"But I still don't understand."

"Well, life is like the ocean," Claire started, wondering how to phrase it. "It's always there, no?"

"Well... yes."

"Waves begin far out in the sea, and it takes a long time for one to reach the shore. When it does, it breaks on the beach and is gone forever, but that doesn't mean all waves are. More waves follow and more waves are created, and the process never stops. It's like that in life, too, Walt: people are born and people die, but life goes on. But for those people or waves who haven't reached the shore, the only thing to do is to move on until they do."

Walt pondered this for a while. "Thanks, Claire."

Claire nodded. "You're welcome, Walt. Now run along and play; I'm no fun, and Nick can't exactly play with you yet."

"Thanks again." Walt jumped up and ran across the beach to the shore, his heart feeling much lighter than it had before, unaware that behind him Jack carried Boone's body to his grave. But Walt gazed out at the vast expanse of blue stretching out to the horizon, smiling at the new day ahead of him.

And the waves, Walt noticed, still rose and fell.