Title: Watching
Author: Girl Who Writes
Rating: G
Characters: Walt; Claire
Notes: Written for the lostfichallenge at livejournal, it had to be a story about Walt. Simple? Hell no. I was attempting to look at the relationship between the boy who lost his mother to the mother-to-be and how Walt reacted to that. I hope you enjoy it and reviews are always encouraging :)

Before Claire had had the baby, he knew she watched him. She watched him with the unease of an mother who never expected to be a mother so early, watching his movements like she was documenting them; not such a stupid thought if you considered every time he looked at Claire, she was scribbling in her stupid diary.

He decided to stay away from Claire because he didn't like being watched. He took Vincent down the other end of the beach, but he couldn't help looking back just once to see Claire bend over her diary, using her bulging stomach to balance her diary upon. And he wanted to yell back at her to stop watching him.

He took Vincent into the jungle and went looking for Mr Locke and his knives.

He woke up early one morning to find the beach almost void of people. He ignored whatever trivial event had the adults caught up and took Vincent off to find Mr Locke again. His father was busy again. And he didn't really care.

The first thing he noticed when he got up to the caves was that Claire and Charlie were missing; Claire had left the beach with Charlie days before but always made it her business to sit on the sand for hours, talking endlessly to her stomach, which he thought was stupid. The baby couldn't hear her yet, and even if it did hear some strange warbling from inside her stomach, the baby wouldn't understand her.

But Claire wasn't up at the caves, and he hadn't left her gaze behind at the beach. And the soundtrack of Charlie's guitar was notably missing. Walt looked around; the noise of the caves sounding strange without Charlie cursing about whatever song he was strumming. Yeah, it annoyed him normally cause Charlie wouldn't play any songs he knew, but he kinda missed it now.

He found out from the blonde girl (Sarah? Serena? Shannon? Shannon. That was it) that some man named Ethan had, like, kidnapped Charlie and Claire and taken them into the jungle. And Mr Locke, that Kate lady, the doctor and Shannon's brother, Boone were going looking for them. So was Walt's dad, but in a different group.

He felt bad after that. Strange things always happened when he was around – like when Gemma Jenkins broke her wrist after beating him in the maths exam. And that stupid bird with Brian and his mom. He kicked the ground and hoped that Claire didn't come back with her eye sockets all black and dead because he didn't want her to watch him anymore.

After that thought, he took Vincent back to the beach, a hope lingering Claire would be sitting there with her diary. He wished harder than ever that the nice pregnant girl would be waiting on the beach, staring stupidly at Charlie.

He felt sick when he saw Claire's spot empty. He cussed at Sawyer under his breath when Sawyer nodded at him.

When Walt slept that night, he dreamt of Claire, her eye sockets empty with black blood on her cheeks, and of Charlie with his fingers broken and curled into his hand. They just stood there and when Walt woke up, Vincent had run off into the jungle. And even though he didn't believe in ghosts or monsters, he wished Vincent was there in case Charlie and Claire came after him for wishing them to stop.

It was Kate and the doctor who brought Charlie back to camp alone, his neck blue and black and he didn't say a thing. But Walt was pleased that Charlie still had all ten fingers. He worried about Claire's eyes though. Her black sockets haunted him at night, and Vincent was never there when he woke up, his heart pounding. Every morning when he left the shelter, he looked for Claire.

It was Mr Locke and Boone who found Claire, and brought her back to the caves unconscious and white. He stared at her and hoped when she woke up black blood wouldn't spill forth like it did in his dreams.

She woke up and screamed, and he was satisfied that she could see each and every one of them, even if she didn't have a clue who any of them actually were.

She didn't sit and watch him much after that. Not like when she remembered the plane crash and who he was.

He took her a bottle of water one day, and she looked up at him, her hat obscuring his view of her eyes and he looked away after that. Her diary was open in her lap but he couldn't read any of that running writing.

"Your mother died," she said in a crystal clear voice and he dropped the water beside her, frowning.

"Sorry, I was just," she motioned to her diary. "Trying to remember things."

"And you wrote down my Mom died?" he asked, tempted to sit down next to her for a bit.

"I wrote that I was listening to you and your father – Michael? – talk," Claire smiled a little guiltily. "When I got bored, I wrote about the other people on the island, apparently."

"What else did you say about me?" he sat beside her, nudging the water bottle closer to her.

"I wrote that I was worried about you," Claire scanned the page with concentration. "That's all." Her Australian accent was making him feel something akin to homesickness except Brian and his mother both had American accents.

"Doctor Jack said you need to drink more water," he gave the bottle a final push towards her and got up.

"Thanks Walt." He got another flash of her smile and he walked away to find Mr Locke.

He didn't talk to her much for awhile. She started writing in her diary again and she and Charlie started staring at each other stupidly again. He started helping his dad build the raft.

He was throwing a stick to Vincent when Claire came running over, her baby boy bundled in a blanket in her arms.

"Walt!" Her hair was tangled down her back and the circles under her eyes were so black, he was reminded of the dreams again. "Can you hold him for a moment? Charlie's disappeared and I just need a moment." And before he could refuse, the baby was heavy in his arms and Claire was rushing to the edge of the jungle. "Don't move; I'll be right back!"

And Walt stared at the baby in his arms and wondered if Claire would still watch him now her real son was here. Because now he dreamt of blue eyes watching him wherever he went and Vincent was there when he woke up.

Claire came back and cuddled the baby to her, and rested her hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Walt," she beamed at him.

And he went off to help his Dad work on the raft. And he noticed that Claire and the baby were nearby. And he wondered if he watched her or if she watched about him. And if he worried about Claire more than she worried about him.