Title: Acceptance
Rating: PG
Summery: You look at him, his face stained with blood, his limbs broken, snapped like twigs. His breathing is shallow, almost non-existent. Your heart breaks and you whisper a small prayer, because it is the only thing that you can do for him now.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: I wrote this short little thing a few weeks ago and have been reminding myself to post it, then promptly forgetting over and over again. So, I thought I should do it while it was on my mind. This was written for psych_30 #3: addiction. 20 down, 10 to go. :)



Boone is going to die.

With every passing moment, you come closer to accepting that. The knowledge sits like a lead weight in your chest, making you nauseous. You feel the pain that accompanies this gradual realization coursing through your veins with your blood.

You look at him, his face stained with blood, his limbs broken, snapped like twigs. His breathing is shallow, almost non-existent. Your heart breaks and you whisper a small prayer, because it is the only thing that you can do for him now.

With a deep breath, your concern, your worry shifts, no longer focusing on the good man dying on what passes for an operating table, but on the doctor above him.

Jack is sweating, he’s pale, and he looks as though even a slight breeze could knock him flat on his back. As you stare at him, you begin to think that he looks almost as sick as Boone does. You watch him move, constantly searching for something. You can practically see his mind racing, running circles around itself. And you know why.

You know that if he stops, even for a second, the realization that had slowly overtaken you will hit him like a ton of bricks. If he keeps moving, keeps working, there is still hope.

You hand him the things that he asks for, but your attention is no longer on where they go. You don’t study Jack’s hands as they close Boone’s wounds. You look at his face. You see the determination in his eyes. You see in that moment that Jack is the kind of doctor who always feels the weight of the world is on his shoulders. Behind the purpose in his eyes there lies the kind of fragility that lets you know exactly what losing Boone is going to do to him.

Boone is going to die, you tells yourself. Your focus shifts from Boone now completely, you given him everything that you’re capable of giving, helped him in every possible way.

As he turns away from you, rummaging though the drawers of the airplane mini-bar that now houses the medical supplies, you begin to think of ways that you will be able to help Jack in the days to come.