ff: a cold war space adventure
title: a cold war space adventure
pairing: sawyer+juliet
words: 654
notes: total crack. this makes no sense whatsoever. i don't even understand it, though it's not as weird as the title implies. angela_weber made a joke and my muses are off having drinks so I made it happen. snowmaggedon+donkey wheel+happily ever after. only for you, bb. only for you.
One time he saw her at the motor pool, leaning over some equipment next to her grease monkey counterparts, her eyes narrowed in concentration, her muscles tense, even from a distance. He watched her there, watched her push a loose strand of hair behind her ear, saw the faint streak of oil cross under her hairline. Ask him now and he won’t be able to tell you what she was wearing the first time he kissed her (but the memory is bright, like yellow), or what day of the week it was when they first slept together (though he remembers it rained, he remembers the smell), but standing there, that day, watching her get dirt on her face, watching her piece back together a puzzle lost on her peers, he remembers all of that, from the color of her bandana to the tightening in his chest and the way the world kind of moved, right under his feet.
She’s got that same look now, standing across from him, her body slightly recoiled from the task sitting before them. Her forehead is knitted in tight stitches of confusion, of worry, but her eyes are calm, vast and blue as ever. “James,” she says, the steady tenor of a statement. “James?” she says again, this time ratcheting her voice up slightly.
He wraps his hands around a spoke. The cold shoots through him, his fingers numbing by the second, his nose starting to run, his teeth beginning to clench. He hasn’t been cold in so long he nearly forgot the painful invigoration of it all.
“We’ve gotta do this,” he tells her, leaning forward, his voice raising. “You know we have to, you know what’s gonna happen.”
He sees her breathe in, slightly shaky on the exhale, clasping her hands together in front of her, almost in mock prayer, her skin is ghostly white, a sickly sweet pale covered in goose bumps and unhidden shivers. Her breath comes out in puffs, existing then disappearing into thin air, just like they mean to do now, popping from this place as if in a cold war space adventure, laser beams and invisibility cloaks. It’d be funny, maybe, if it was all fictional.
This all didn’t exist a few weeks ago, not like this at least; this pocket and wheel that nearly killed them then saved their lives. No one knows, not even them, technically, although they could be fouled for all sorts of technicalities it seems. She reaches forward, her fingers sliding across the slick ice of the wheel. “You cold, Blondie?” he asks with a sarcastic grin. She says nothing, but he sees her teeth chatter. “Do me a favor and help me push this, and wherever we end up, I’ll buy you a coat.”
She smiles at that, nervous almost, blushing perhaps, if the cold didn’t get there first. She grips a spoke with both hands, a harsh and uncompromising numbness seeping up through her palms. It burns, like a wetter fire. She turns back to look at him as he braces himself to push. “You ready?” he asks.
She swallows once, then smiles, her trademark calm overtaking her, and he settles, his body and mind relaxing at the sight of her. “I love you,” she says, her voice nearly as full as her heart, and he echoes it right back to her, her hands steady, her voice level; she’s ready to piece it all back together, to jump through time, spin through space, to solve the puzzle, and he’ll remember it all again, despite the flashes and the headaches, he’ll remember the way she stood straight in the cold, determined and shivering, saving the day.
There’s a wildly familiar rush, and soon he’s not cold. Instead the sun is bright.
“James?” he hears, rolling his eyes over to the left, seeing rivers of blonde on hard caked brown. “James?” she says again, and he answers her.
pairing: sawyer+juliet
words: 654
notes: total crack. this makes no sense whatsoever. i don't even understand it, though it's not as weird as the title implies. angela_weber made a joke and my muses are off having drinks so I made it happen. snowmaggedon+donkey wheel+happily ever after. only for you, bb. only for you.
One time he saw her at the motor pool, leaning over some equipment next to her grease monkey counterparts, her eyes narrowed in concentration, her muscles tense, even from a distance. He watched her there, watched her push a loose strand of hair behind her ear, saw the faint streak of oil cross under her hairline. Ask him now and he won’t be able to tell you what she was wearing the first time he kissed her (but the memory is bright, like yellow), or what day of the week it was when they first slept together (though he remembers it rained, he remembers the smell), but standing there, that day, watching her get dirt on her face, watching her piece back together a puzzle lost on her peers, he remembers all of that, from the color of her bandana to the tightening in his chest and the way the world kind of moved, right under his feet.
She’s got that same look now, standing across from him, her body slightly recoiled from the task sitting before them. Her forehead is knitted in tight stitches of confusion, of worry, but her eyes are calm, vast and blue as ever. “James,” she says, the steady tenor of a statement. “James?” she says again, this time ratcheting her voice up slightly.
He wraps his hands around a spoke. The cold shoots through him, his fingers numbing by the second, his nose starting to run, his teeth beginning to clench. He hasn’t been cold in so long he nearly forgot the painful invigoration of it all.
“We’ve gotta do this,” he tells her, leaning forward, his voice raising. “You know we have to, you know what’s gonna happen.”
He sees her breathe in, slightly shaky on the exhale, clasping her hands together in front of her, almost in mock prayer, her skin is ghostly white, a sickly sweet pale covered in goose bumps and unhidden shivers. Her breath comes out in puffs, existing then disappearing into thin air, just like they mean to do now, popping from this place as if in a cold war space adventure, laser beams and invisibility cloaks. It’d be funny, maybe, if it was all fictional.
This all didn’t exist a few weeks ago, not like this at least; this pocket and wheel that nearly killed them then saved their lives. No one knows, not even them, technically, although they could be fouled for all sorts of technicalities it seems. She reaches forward, her fingers sliding across the slick ice of the wheel. “You cold, Blondie?” he asks with a sarcastic grin. She says nothing, but he sees her teeth chatter. “Do me a favor and help me push this, and wherever we end up, I’ll buy you a coat.”
She smiles at that, nervous almost, blushing perhaps, if the cold didn’t get there first. She grips a spoke with both hands, a harsh and uncompromising numbness seeping up through her palms. It burns, like a wetter fire. She turns back to look at him as he braces himself to push. “You ready?” he asks.
She swallows once, then smiles, her trademark calm overtaking her, and he settles, his body and mind relaxing at the sight of her. “I love you,” she says, her voice nearly as full as her heart, and he echoes it right back to her, her hands steady, her voice level; she’s ready to piece it all back together, to jump through time, spin through space, to solve the puzzle, and he’ll remember it all again, despite the flashes and the headaches, he’ll remember the way she stood straight in the cold, determined and shivering, saving the day.
There’s a wildly familiar rush, and soon he’s not cold. Instead the sun is bright.
“James?” he hears, rolling his eyes over to the left, seeing rivers of blonde on hard caked brown. “James?” she says again, and he answers her.