earth (pg13) kate/sun
Title: Earth
Pairing/Characters: Kate/Sun
Rating: PG13
Prompt: 01:00 / prehistoric; 23:00 / endless; 00:00 / beginning; 16:00 / evolution
Word Count: 221 + 248 + 250 + 247 = 966
Summary: A series of moments in the relationship of Kate and Sun, some on island, some post-rescue. Not a cohesive story like the others I've done for the challenge, and doesn't really fit with the spoilers that have been coming out recently.
01:00 / prehistoric
You meet in the Garden of Eden.
You notice her green thumb quickly, how good she is at keeping things alive despite the odds, curious if she could do the same for you. The garden is your safe haven, the place you go when the beach is too hopeless and the caves are too complicated and everyone else on this island expects so much of you. Yet it’s not really you they know; it’s the person you’ve created here, the dependable girl next door.
But you don’t have to be that person when you’re with her, because you never gave her those explicit instruction of this is me, now play along. You let her find out in the whisper of your voice, in the movement of your fingers in the dirt, in the expression on your face as you burrow into the earth.
One day you’re digging, and your fingers touch solid. It’s a tiny piece of white, bone, she has to tell you, because it seems so out of place among a breeding ground for new life. So you set it aside with a tepid joke about dinosaur fossils and Jurassic Park, but the discovery sends a pallid hush over your conversation.
You have the uneasy sensation you’re being watched, but you don’t stop to think that maybe it’s her.
23:00 / endless
It’s raining the day you tell her.
It slaps against the roof of your tent, slashing iridescent patterns against the blue tarp as the flood puddles and drips down the side. You’re tracing the silhouette of a trickle as it slides down her bare back, magnified by the angle, and it’s too much to bear that she’s turned away from you.
“Sun.”
Your voice almost blends in with the gentle plink of the weather, but she raises her head and you know that gravity is going to take hold soon.
“I know.”
And you know that she knows. That you can keep going around in circles forever but in the end it won’t change anything and that you love her but not enough to let this split in your heart go unchecked.
You can feel her shifting beside you, and you bite your lips trying to keep all these words from spilling out about the reasons why she shouldn’t leave. You let one small thing slip and you breathe in sharply, deciding it doesn’t give too much away.
“You can stay if you want.”
“Okay.”
You get the feeling that you didn’t need to say it all out loud because she could hear it in the waver of your voice anyway.
The rain carries louder, over the beat of your heart and her sigh and the rustle of your blanket as she turns into you in her sleep, and somewhere the crash of thunder crackles over the ocean.
00:00 / beginning
You’ve been hiding for six months when she can’t run anymore.
You’re always paranoid now; every twig snapping is one of them coming to carry you away, every wind gust that sounds like a whisper sends a shiver up your spine, every time you close your eyes for sleep you just know she won’t be there when you wake up.
Back at the beginning, when everyone had been so sure that rescue was on its way, you’d let your self believe… you’re not sure now what you’d really been hoping for. Jack hadn’t wanted to split up, said it was too dangerous, that they were stronger as a group. But it wasn’t exactly inconspicuous to lead an army stomping through the jungle.
So you’d splintered; Jack and Sawyer had taken Claire and the baby east; Juliet had gone with Sayid to the north, Hurley had taken a few of the others south into the caves. You’d known it was dangerous, two women alone against an unseen enemy, but most of the others were too scared to think straight and you knew that if it came down to the wire you’d die to protect her and that baby and there weren’t many others who could say the same.
So you remain.
She grows bigger everyday and you watch with trepidation, holding the walkie-talkie Jack had handed out to each of the groups before you’d parted ways, hoping against hope that a transmission would come through saying that they’d found a way.
16:00 / evolution
For the most part things are different.
There’s a little house at the end of a cul-de-sac painted yellow that you call your own. You walk with him to the school bus every morning by his hand, tuck his lunch into his tiny arms with a wave. Sun wears an apron with daisies printed on the pockets. You don’t talk about what you’d done to get off the island.
Some nights you get home late, eyeliner smudged from when you’d rubbed your eyes and the image of Jack’s face still burned fresh in your mind. She waits up for you then. You come home and she’s sitting in the dark on the couch, a drink in her hand in a way that reminds you why you’d fallen in love with her and taken the deal and agreed to all this craziness in the first place. Before looking perfect had become the most important thing to her and you didn’t touch her for fear she’d turned into plastic.
“Have fun?”
You snort at the ridiculousness and slam the fridge.
“What’s so funny?”
“Funny? Nothing is funny. I just wish you’d stop playing Betty Crocker.”
“Don’t start Kate.”
She closes the bedroom door before you can open your mouth.
And it really isn’t the same as when you were a kid; slammed doors and bruises, but there’s silence and you can hear a whimper from down the hall and you almost wonder…
For the most part things are different.
Pairing/Characters: Kate/Sun
Rating: PG13
Prompt: 01:00 / prehistoric; 23:00 / endless; 00:00 / beginning; 16:00 / evolution
Word Count: 221 + 248 + 250 + 247 = 966
Summary: A series of moments in the relationship of Kate and Sun, some on island, some post-rescue. Not a cohesive story like the others I've done for the challenge, and doesn't really fit with the spoilers that have been coming out recently.
01:00 / prehistoric
You meet in the Garden of Eden.
You notice her green thumb quickly, how good she is at keeping things alive despite the odds, curious if she could do the same for you. The garden is your safe haven, the place you go when the beach is too hopeless and the caves are too complicated and everyone else on this island expects so much of you. Yet it’s not really you they know; it’s the person you’ve created here, the dependable girl next door.
But you don’t have to be that person when you’re with her, because you never gave her those explicit instruction of this is me, now play along. You let her find out in the whisper of your voice, in the movement of your fingers in the dirt, in the expression on your face as you burrow into the earth.
One day you’re digging, and your fingers touch solid. It’s a tiny piece of white, bone, she has to tell you, because it seems so out of place among a breeding ground for new life. So you set it aside with a tepid joke about dinosaur fossils and Jurassic Park, but the discovery sends a pallid hush over your conversation.
You have the uneasy sensation you’re being watched, but you don’t stop to think that maybe it’s her.
23:00 / endless
It’s raining the day you tell her.
It slaps against the roof of your tent, slashing iridescent patterns against the blue tarp as the flood puddles and drips down the side. You’re tracing the silhouette of a trickle as it slides down her bare back, magnified by the angle, and it’s too much to bear that she’s turned away from you.
“Sun.”
Your voice almost blends in with the gentle plink of the weather, but she raises her head and you know that gravity is going to take hold soon.
“I know.”
And you know that she knows. That you can keep going around in circles forever but in the end it won’t change anything and that you love her but not enough to let this split in your heart go unchecked.
You can feel her shifting beside you, and you bite your lips trying to keep all these words from spilling out about the reasons why she shouldn’t leave. You let one small thing slip and you breathe in sharply, deciding it doesn’t give too much away.
“You can stay if you want.”
“Okay.”
You get the feeling that you didn’t need to say it all out loud because she could hear it in the waver of your voice anyway.
The rain carries louder, over the beat of your heart and her sigh and the rustle of your blanket as she turns into you in her sleep, and somewhere the crash of thunder crackles over the ocean.
00:00 / beginning
You’ve been hiding for six months when she can’t run anymore.
You’re always paranoid now; every twig snapping is one of them coming to carry you away, every wind gust that sounds like a whisper sends a shiver up your spine, every time you close your eyes for sleep you just know she won’t be there when you wake up.
Back at the beginning, when everyone had been so sure that rescue was on its way, you’d let your self believe… you’re not sure now what you’d really been hoping for. Jack hadn’t wanted to split up, said it was too dangerous, that they were stronger as a group. But it wasn’t exactly inconspicuous to lead an army stomping through the jungle.
So you’d splintered; Jack and Sawyer had taken Claire and the baby east; Juliet had gone with Sayid to the north, Hurley had taken a few of the others south into the caves. You’d known it was dangerous, two women alone against an unseen enemy, but most of the others were too scared to think straight and you knew that if it came down to the wire you’d die to protect her and that baby and there weren’t many others who could say the same.
So you remain.
She grows bigger everyday and you watch with trepidation, holding the walkie-talkie Jack had handed out to each of the groups before you’d parted ways, hoping against hope that a transmission would come through saying that they’d found a way.
16:00 / evolution
For the most part things are different.
There’s a little house at the end of a cul-de-sac painted yellow that you call your own. You walk with him to the school bus every morning by his hand, tuck his lunch into his tiny arms with a wave. Sun wears an apron with daisies printed on the pockets. You don’t talk about what you’d done to get off the island.
Some nights you get home late, eyeliner smudged from when you’d rubbed your eyes and the image of Jack’s face still burned fresh in your mind. She waits up for you then. You come home and she’s sitting in the dark on the couch, a drink in her hand in a way that reminds you why you’d fallen in love with her and taken the deal and agreed to all this craziness in the first place. Before looking perfect had become the most important thing to her and you didn’t touch her for fear she’d turned into plastic.
“Have fun?”
You snort at the ridiculousness and slam the fridge.
“What’s so funny?”
“Funny? Nothing is funny. I just wish you’d stop playing Betty Crocker.”
“Don’t start Kate.”
She closes the bedroom door before you can open your mouth.
And it really isn’t the same as when you were a kid; slammed doors and bruises, but there’s silence and you can hear a whimper from down the hall and you almost wonder…
For the most part things are different.