Fic Post
Show: Lost
Pairing: James/Juliet
Rating: K
Title: Stay
A/N: He gets that annoying pinch on his heart, when he gets the feeling that something is wrong. // She is drenched to the bone and she can’t figure when her tears seize and the rain begins, its drops whipping the earth full force.
He wakes up. He makes coffee. He takes a shower. He reads a chapter of his borrowed book and drinks his coffee.
She wakes up. She makes coffee. She takes a shower. She reads a chapter of her borrowed book and drinks her coffee.
He goes to search for their people. Their “crew”.
She goes to help search for their people. Their “crew”.
He goes straight home at dusk. Curses at the empty of beer refrigerator, pulls the bottle of whisky out of the left cupboard and a glass out of the upper right one. He makes sure the liquid reaches the middle of the glass and then cheatingly drops a little more. After all, half would never be enough for a solitary night; ancient bruises the memories, his only company. He places it on the small table and spotting his brand new glasses, he sits on the couch and opens his borrowed book on the page he left it in the morning. Sleep finds him on the exact spot a few hours later. So does dawn.
She picks a moment no one is looking and heads towards the dock. She is alone this late in the evening. She loves the colours of the sky at that time. Lilac with an indefinable shade of pink and blue, giving their place to something darker than the colour of the sea. She thinks how she promised she would wait for the next sub and that makes her feel dreary. She can’t quite justify the emotion. She refuses to admit it’s all because of the irrational notion that two weeks (now ten days) is a long time to wait until she goes back to a home that doesn’t exist yet or because -maybe, just maybe - she wants to stay. She inexplicably panics and the tears are hard to fight back. She simply lets them roll down her cheeks, but she doesn’t move. Despite the chilly night breeze freezing her wet face, she doesn’t stand up until the dark is too thick for anyone to be walking outside. Like sleepwalking she finds her way ‘home’ and with her eyes still swollen she falls asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow.
He wakes up. He makes coffee. He takes a shower. He reads a chapter of his borrowed book and drinks his coffee.
She wakes up. She makes coffee. She takes a shower. She reads a chapter of her borrowed book and drinks her coffee. Five days left.
He stares outside his window. Today they won’t go searching. He paces nervously the short distance between the window and the couch, the idleness eating him alive. He wants to talk to someone, but nobody passing in front of his house is the one he really needs. He cracks his knuckles as he ponders over how he hasn’t talked to her or even seen her outside their search-mission for more than five days now. He gets that annoying pinch on his heart, when he gets the feeling that something is wrong. She always talks to him. Maybe he simply misses her, though. Another pinch.
She does her best to stay out of sight and out of conversation with everyone. Especially him. Not when she’s emotionally unstable. Not when she doesn’t know how or what she feels about all this. Especially about him. Her ankles are too heavy to lift her whole body so she decides to stay in bed on their day off. She holds the book and tries to focus on the lines, which seem to enjoy a secretly planned hide-and-seek game with her eyes. Giving up she indulges in daydreaming, vivid illusions displaying in front of her.
He knocks on her door with one hand already on the knob awaiting a sign of her voice that would let him in. Silence. He knows she’s inside. He asked and no one had seen her out of her house that day. Another pinch.
She is walking in a maze. Tall fences of wild plants around her keep growing, their branches trying to reach the skyline, raping the clouds; purple flowers, thorns and poisonous leaves ache to touch her bare skin as she starts running. The skies split into two and pouring rain comes down, every drop as sharp as the tip of a needle. Her eyes burn and she can feel the bitterness of her tears resting on her top lip. She is drenched to the bone and she can’t figure when her tears seize and the rain begins, its drops whipping the earth full force. The sound becomes louder, she covers her ears, she sobs, she can take it no more. Her eyes open and her vision is blurred; wiping the moisture below her eyelids, she realizes the tears were part not solely of her dreamworld as everything else. A knock. Apparently nor where the sounds. She walks out of the bedroom and approaches the door.
Why ain’t she answering? She okay? She’s fine. Perhaps she doesn’t want to see him. Another pinch. Son of a bitch, he pushes the door open.
When they come face to face, none of them speaks, none of them is even surprised to see the other one. He has that look, as if he’s about to say something but, whatever it is, she will never find out. Her glistening eyes make him wonder whether she’s been crying or whether they simply are that way. The reddened area around them indicates the first. He finds that he wants to hug her, feel her against his chest, urge her to tell him everything right there, in the hallway, door open. She takes a step back to free his way in, still holding the doorframe. Tied to her by an invisible string he takes one step forward, not even registering the clicking noise of the shutting door.
“I don’t…”he starts, but he can’t seem to be able to go on; eyes looking down, not baring to confront hers. She doesn’t interrupt him; she simply stares at him, fighting her own inside storm, effectively hiding everything behind the selfless mask. Only her eyes could give her away. Will he notice?
He frowns and the vein on his forehead becomes more visible, as sudden determination fills him up. He lifts his gaze and with his eyes meeting her ocean blue ones, he raises his hands and caps her face in his palms, his touch so gentle, in complete contradiction of their rough texture. He runs his thumbs over her eyelids, effortlessly shutting them, faintly - almost insensibly - caressing the sensitive skin, before he pulls her into a tight embrace.
She keeps them closed even after his palms leave her face, which is now involuntarily buried in his neck. She doesn’t talk; she couldn’t even if she wanted to, anyway. The lamp in her throat blocks any ability of sensible speech, heart and mind in complete dissent. Her hands tremble a little as she tightly grasps the lower part of his shirt, a few inches below his chest pocket, and she can’t help herself when she wonders if he’ll say what they both want to hear.
His right hand reaches for her hair and strokes her head. A few minutes later the movement stops, his hand still on her hair, keeping her close to him, when he moves his mouth close to her ear.
“Stay.”
Pairing: James/Juliet
Rating: K
Title: Stay
A/N: He gets that annoying pinch on his heart, when he gets the feeling that something is wrong. // She is drenched to the bone and she can’t figure when her tears seize and the rain begins, its drops whipping the earth full force.
He wakes up. He makes coffee. He takes a shower. He reads a chapter of his borrowed book and drinks his coffee.
She wakes up. She makes coffee. She takes a shower. She reads a chapter of her borrowed book and drinks her coffee.
He goes to search for their people. Their “crew”.
She goes to help search for their people. Their “crew”.
He goes straight home at dusk. Curses at the empty of beer refrigerator, pulls the bottle of whisky out of the left cupboard and a glass out of the upper right one. He makes sure the liquid reaches the middle of the glass and then cheatingly drops a little more. After all, half would never be enough for a solitary night; ancient bruises the memories, his only company. He places it on the small table and spotting his brand new glasses, he sits on the couch and opens his borrowed book on the page he left it in the morning. Sleep finds him on the exact spot a few hours later. So does dawn.
She picks a moment no one is looking and heads towards the dock. She is alone this late in the evening. She loves the colours of the sky at that time. Lilac with an indefinable shade of pink and blue, giving their place to something darker than the colour of the sea. She thinks how she promised she would wait for the next sub and that makes her feel dreary. She can’t quite justify the emotion. She refuses to admit it’s all because of the irrational notion that two weeks (now ten days) is a long time to wait until she goes back to a home that doesn’t exist yet or because -maybe, just maybe - she wants to stay. She inexplicably panics and the tears are hard to fight back. She simply lets them roll down her cheeks, but she doesn’t move. Despite the chilly night breeze freezing her wet face, she doesn’t stand up until the dark is too thick for anyone to be walking outside. Like sleepwalking she finds her way ‘home’ and with her eyes still swollen she falls asleep as soon as her head hits the pillow.
He wakes up. He makes coffee. He takes a shower. He reads a chapter of his borrowed book and drinks his coffee.
She wakes up. She makes coffee. She takes a shower. She reads a chapter of her borrowed book and drinks her coffee. Five days left.
He stares outside his window. Today they won’t go searching. He paces nervously the short distance between the window and the couch, the idleness eating him alive. He wants to talk to someone, but nobody passing in front of his house is the one he really needs. He cracks his knuckles as he ponders over how he hasn’t talked to her or even seen her outside their search-mission for more than five days now. He gets that annoying pinch on his heart, when he gets the feeling that something is wrong. She always talks to him. Maybe he simply misses her, though. Another pinch.
She does her best to stay out of sight and out of conversation with everyone. Especially him. Not when she’s emotionally unstable. Not when she doesn’t know how or what she feels about all this. Especially about him. Her ankles are too heavy to lift her whole body so she decides to stay in bed on their day off. She holds the book and tries to focus on the lines, which seem to enjoy a secretly planned hide-and-seek game with her eyes. Giving up she indulges in daydreaming, vivid illusions displaying in front of her.
He knocks on her door with one hand already on the knob awaiting a sign of her voice that would let him in. Silence. He knows she’s inside. He asked and no one had seen her out of her house that day. Another pinch.
She is walking in a maze. Tall fences of wild plants around her keep growing, their branches trying to reach the skyline, raping the clouds; purple flowers, thorns and poisonous leaves ache to touch her bare skin as she starts running. The skies split into two and pouring rain comes down, every drop as sharp as the tip of a needle. Her eyes burn and she can feel the bitterness of her tears resting on her top lip. She is drenched to the bone and she can’t figure when her tears seize and the rain begins, its drops whipping the earth full force. The sound becomes louder, she covers her ears, she sobs, she can take it no more. Her eyes open and her vision is blurred; wiping the moisture below her eyelids, she realizes the tears were part not solely of her dreamworld as everything else. A knock. Apparently nor where the sounds. She walks out of the bedroom and approaches the door.
Why ain’t she answering? She okay? She’s fine. Perhaps she doesn’t want to see him. Another pinch. Son of a bitch, he pushes the door open.
When they come face to face, none of them speaks, none of them is even surprised to see the other one. He has that look, as if he’s about to say something but, whatever it is, she will never find out. Her glistening eyes make him wonder whether she’s been crying or whether they simply are that way. The reddened area around them indicates the first. He finds that he wants to hug her, feel her against his chest, urge her to tell him everything right there, in the hallway, door open. She takes a step back to free his way in, still holding the doorframe. Tied to her by an invisible string he takes one step forward, not even registering the clicking noise of the shutting door.
“I don’t…”he starts, but he can’t seem to be able to go on; eyes looking down, not baring to confront hers. She doesn’t interrupt him; she simply stares at him, fighting her own inside storm, effectively hiding everything behind the selfless mask. Only her eyes could give her away. Will he notice?
He frowns and the vein on his forehead becomes more visible, as sudden determination fills him up. He lifts his gaze and with his eyes meeting her ocean blue ones, he raises his hands and caps her face in his palms, his touch so gentle, in complete contradiction of their rough texture. He runs his thumbs over her eyelids, effortlessly shutting them, faintly - almost insensibly - caressing the sensitive skin, before he pulls her into a tight embrace.
She keeps them closed even after his palms leave her face, which is now involuntarily buried in his neck. She doesn’t talk; she couldn’t even if she wanted to, anyway. The lamp in her throat blocks any ability of sensible speech, heart and mind in complete dissent. Her hands tremble a little as she tightly grasps the lower part of his shirt, a few inches below his chest pocket, and she can’t help herself when she wonders if he’ll say what they both want to hear.
His right hand reaches for her hair and strokes her head. A few minutes later the movement stops, his hand still on her hair, keeping her close to him, when he moves his mouth close to her ear.
“Stay.”