Fic: All Hallows Night
Author: 
andibeth82
Rating: G
Fandom: LOST
Characters: James/Juliet
Spoilers: General knowledge of season 3, but nothing big
Word Count: 1,156
Note: Drinking on Halloween night leads to unexpected conversation. Set in Dharmaville.
“What….the…” James enters the house, trailing off and almost dropping the box of candy he’s holding in one hand. She’s sitting on the couch lining up beer cans on the table, a concentrated look shading her face. One hand traces the patterns of the floorboards, and she looks up as he enters. Her eyes are hopeful and drunk and he can’t help but smile as he walks over, placing the box on the floor and shaking his head.
“That’s it. I’m gonna put a lock on the fridge next time I’m out of the house for more’n two hours at a time.”
“Halloween,” Juliet responds pointedly, letting a slight giggle escape.
“Thought I was gonna have to pull you out of a candy coma, not an alcoholic one.” He pulls her up to her feet, wondering if she was just really bored or if there was some drunken ritual back in the real world that he didn’t know about. He understood getting drunk on New Years and other holidays, but Halloween?
“Mmm. You…would have preferred candy?” Her voice is muffled against his chest as she leans into him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Very much so,” he answers, scooping her up easily. “But I guess I can’t blame you.” He meets her lips, feeling her laugh and dammit, he hates when she does this - this thing she does where she gets herself worked up and drags him down with her, mostly because he can never really control himself. It usually ends in a night of sleeping together, followed by a night of talking about what their relationship really means, but he’s not really thinking of those consequences right now mostly because she’s gesturing rather wildly towards the bedroom.
He obliges, closing the door with one foot, lowering himself down on the bed against her body. She pulls at his shirt as he does so, feeling his mouth move down her neck, enjoying the way his tongue feels against her skin. He stops his movements suddenly, one finger pressed against her shoulder. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” She’s still somewhere between not quite drunk and not quite sober as she attempts to crane her neck backwards in answer to his question.
“On your back. That scar,” James notes, his brow creasing in concern. His hand moves to stroke the braised patch of skin on her lower back and she suddenly feels more sober than she’s ever felt in her entire life. She stiffens, pulling away as his fingers brush over the mark.
“Nothing. It’s nothing,” she says quickly, pulling the covers up over her hips and sliding down into bed, flopping back against the pillow. James rolls his eyes, dropping his hand.
“Bullshit it’s nothin’.” He moves so that he’s facing her now, cross-legged. “Wanna talk about it?”
No, not really, Juliet thinks, trying to avoid the way his eyes are prodding her. But he’s asked her now and she’s already kind of drunk, not to mention she’s obviously made it clear that this is something that bothers her. She has no idea how to get out of it other than to shut down completely, which she knows will frustrate him even more. She sighs, closing her eyes.
“When I shot that guy - you know, the one that was going to kill you…” She doesn’t want to bring Kate into the conversation and her inebriated self isn’t sure she knows her limits so she stops herself before continuing. “They tried me for taking the life of one of our own. It was when they had you hostage. I’m not sure what Jack did, but he was able to get them to reconsider their punishment. So I was just left with this.” She figures she’ll spare him the details of almost being killed and what Jack had actually done, it wasn’t worth it anyway.
“Bastards,” James spits out vehemently, his fingers clenching the sheets in anger and she’s almost surprised at how much of a protection instinct he seems to emit. She swallows, trying to shrug it off.
“It really…it wasn’t a big deal. It was more the pride that hurt at the time.” She wishes she could believe her words, but she’s never been good at lying, especially when it’s to herself.
There’s a brief silence, and she’s hoping that he’s dropped the subject entirely with the offering of her explanation. When she looks up, however, he’s staring at her again and she’s not sure if it’s because she’s drank too much or because he’s trying to get more out of her. Juliet finally consents.
“What?”
“You’re not okay,” He says the words quietly, but there’s a hint of knowledge behind them that sends a feeling into her stomach. She regards him carefully from her spot on the bed, wondering if they’re really past the point where she can keep anything secret from him.
“How…do you know?” She can’t help it, she feels her voice break and she curses herself for not having more control over her emotions around him. James chuckles.
“Ain’t hard to read you, Blondie. ‘Specially when you’re drunk.” He smiles as he moves closer, placing a hand on her leg. “Call it a con man’s intuition or somethin’.”
She wants to laugh, really wants to return to the happy state she was in only moments ago when he came home but all she can think about is the scar on her back, of what it represents, of the things she might never be able say. His fingers move to her face, stroking her chin and drawing her out of her thoughts.
“Look. You ain’t gotta worry about bein’ okay or enough or whatever’s goin’ through your head right now with this. Cause I’m gonna take care of you. Make you forget the assholes that did this.”
She half-smiles almost sadly. “How?”
In response, his fingers reach for her back once more, one hand tracing over the scar. This time, she doesn’t shy away, doesn’t flinch and she lets him feel it, lets his fingers move gently and slowly over her skin. Without warning, tears begin to fall from her face, splattering the bedspread in dark droplets.
He moves his hand to her waist, drawing her in against him and placing his head on her shoulder. “By showin’ you it doesn’t have to be a reminder of the bad. Lettin’ it be a reminder of what you had to get through to get here.”
With you. He doesn’t say the words, but she knows they’re implied. Wordlessly, she reaches for his hand, knowing that if nothing else, she’s glad he’s here with her.
andibeth82
Rating: G
Fandom: LOST
Characters: James/Juliet
Spoilers: General knowledge of season 3, but nothing big
Word Count: 1,156
Note: Drinking on Halloween night leads to unexpected conversation. Set in Dharmaville.
“What….the…” James enters the house, trailing off and almost dropping the box of candy he’s holding in one hand. She’s sitting on the couch lining up beer cans on the table, a concentrated look shading her face. One hand traces the patterns of the floorboards, and she looks up as he enters. Her eyes are hopeful and drunk and he can’t help but smile as he walks over, placing the box on the floor and shaking his head.
“That’s it. I’m gonna put a lock on the fridge next time I’m out of the house for more’n two hours at a time.”
“Halloween,” Juliet responds pointedly, letting a slight giggle escape.
“Thought I was gonna have to pull you out of a candy coma, not an alcoholic one.” He pulls her up to her feet, wondering if she was just really bored or if there was some drunken ritual back in the real world that he didn’t know about. He understood getting drunk on New Years and other holidays, but Halloween?
“Mmm. You…would have preferred candy?” Her voice is muffled against his chest as she leans into him, wrapping her arms around his waist.
“Very much so,” he answers, scooping her up easily. “But I guess I can’t blame you.” He meets her lips, feeling her laugh and dammit, he hates when she does this - this thing she does where she gets herself worked up and drags him down with her, mostly because he can never really control himself. It usually ends in a night of sleeping together, followed by a night of talking about what their relationship really means, but he’s not really thinking of those consequences right now mostly because she’s gesturing rather wildly towards the bedroom.
He obliges, closing the door with one foot, lowering himself down on the bed against her body. She pulls at his shirt as he does so, feeling his mouth move down her neck, enjoying the way his tongue feels against her skin. He stops his movements suddenly, one finger pressed against her shoulder. “What’s that?”
“What’s what?” She’s still somewhere between not quite drunk and not quite sober as she attempts to crane her neck backwards in answer to his question.
“On your back. That scar,” James notes, his brow creasing in concern. His hand moves to stroke the braised patch of skin on her lower back and she suddenly feels more sober than she’s ever felt in her entire life. She stiffens, pulling away as his fingers brush over the mark.
“Nothing. It’s nothing,” she says quickly, pulling the covers up over her hips and sliding down into bed, flopping back against the pillow. James rolls his eyes, dropping his hand.
“Bullshit it’s nothin’.” He moves so that he’s facing her now, cross-legged. “Wanna talk about it?”
No, not really, Juliet thinks, trying to avoid the way his eyes are prodding her. But he’s asked her now and she’s already kind of drunk, not to mention she’s obviously made it clear that this is something that bothers her. She has no idea how to get out of it other than to shut down completely, which she knows will frustrate him even more. She sighs, closing her eyes.
“When I shot that guy - you know, the one that was going to kill you…” She doesn’t want to bring Kate into the conversation and her inebriated self isn’t sure she knows her limits so she stops herself before continuing. “They tried me for taking the life of one of our own. It was when they had you hostage. I’m not sure what Jack did, but he was able to get them to reconsider their punishment. So I was just left with this.” She figures she’ll spare him the details of almost being killed and what Jack had actually done, it wasn’t worth it anyway.
“Bastards,” James spits out vehemently, his fingers clenching the sheets in anger and she’s almost surprised at how much of a protection instinct he seems to emit. She swallows, trying to shrug it off.
“It really…it wasn’t a big deal. It was more the pride that hurt at the time.” She wishes she could believe her words, but she’s never been good at lying, especially when it’s to herself.
There’s a brief silence, and she’s hoping that he’s dropped the subject entirely with the offering of her explanation. When she looks up, however, he’s staring at her again and she’s not sure if it’s because she’s drank too much or because he’s trying to get more out of her. Juliet finally consents.
“What?”
“You’re not okay,” He says the words quietly, but there’s a hint of knowledge behind them that sends a feeling into her stomach. She regards him carefully from her spot on the bed, wondering if they’re really past the point where she can keep anything secret from him.
“How…do you know?” She can’t help it, she feels her voice break and she curses herself for not having more control over her emotions around him. James chuckles.
“Ain’t hard to read you, Blondie. ‘Specially when you’re drunk.” He smiles as he moves closer, placing a hand on her leg. “Call it a con man’s intuition or somethin’.”
She wants to laugh, really wants to return to the happy state she was in only moments ago when he came home but all she can think about is the scar on her back, of what it represents, of the things she might never be able say. His fingers move to her face, stroking her chin and drawing her out of her thoughts.
“Look. You ain’t gotta worry about bein’ okay or enough or whatever’s goin’ through your head right now with this. Cause I’m gonna take care of you. Make you forget the assholes that did this.”
She half-smiles almost sadly. “How?”
In response, his fingers reach for her back once more, one hand tracing over the scar. This time, she doesn’t shy away, doesn’t flinch and she lets him feel it, lets his fingers move gently and slowly over her skin. Without warning, tears begin to fall from her face, splattering the bedspread in dark droplets.
He moves his hand to her waist, drawing her in against him and placing his head on her shoulder. “By showin’ you it doesn’t have to be a reminder of the bad. Lettin’ it be a reminder of what you had to get through to get here.”
With you. He doesn’t say the words, but she knows they’re implied. Wordlessly, she reaches for his hand, knowing that if nothing else, she’s glad he’s here with her.