[fic] you'll have to find your own way home, boys; lost, claire/jack/sawyer; pg
title; rating: you'll have to find your own way home, boys; r
fandom, pairing; count:lost, claire/jack/sawyer, 513
notes: for gigglemonster
Claire stopped believing in love the moment that Thomas walked out on her.
Sometimes, of course, she remembers it the other way around. But this is only in her dreams. There, it is her who walks out on him. Claire knows a thing or two about the human psyche and realizes that all of this is metaphorical. She's not walking out on Thomas in her dreams. She's walking out on love.
And most days, she's okay with that.
Only person worth caring about is yourself, she hears Sawyer's words echoing in her mind. And she tells herself he's right. Her, Jack, and Sawyer, it's not about love -- it's about what she wants -- it's about what they all want. Lucky for them their goals seem to overlap.
For the time being, anyway.
There will be a day when they don't, of course. She knows that. There will be a day when the two of them won't be enough for her. Or even vice versa. And what is it they think of all this? What does all of it mean? Claire's stopped trying to analyze these things long ago.
--
There are times when Jack will say something, the words she doesn't want to hear pushing past his tongue like some involuntary action.
In these moments, she's usually pressed naked against him, her warm breath on his face, his hand somewhere unseen, Claire's mouth agape, a strangled sound escaping her lips.
In these moments, it's safe. In these moments, there's no expectation for her to answer, for her to do anything but scream his name when she comes hard around him.
But the words, how deep they penetrate.
The following few nights she'll sleep on Sawyer's side of the bed, and Jack will know better the next time.
--
All Sawyer has to do is give her a look. It says everything without saying anything.
"Shut up," she'll tell him in these moments.
Sometimes he laughs.
Sometimes he doesn't.
--
The two of them are convenient, they're warmth and comfort and sex, and most of all they're quiet. They don't buzz, like the others do -- like people with a place to go or things to do or an agenda to satisfy. The world outside is full of noise, and people sticking their noses in where they don't belong, and things that take up too much space and are not nearly worth her time. With Jack and Sawyer, the world goes still. She opens the door and they follow. She shuts the door, and they're right there beside her -- easy, free, uncomplicated.
When Jack points north, they go north. When Claire says she's tired, they crawl into bed with her. When Sawyer tightens his fist, Jack and Claire are there to pull him back.
Sometimes at night Claire lies awake, all the noise from the world sneaking into the room like somebody left a window open. She thinks of California. She thinks of a yellow-haired boy and a woman with long dark curls.
She thinks of the keys on the night stand.
fandom, pairing; count:lost, claire/jack/sawyer, 513
notes: for gigglemonster
Claire stopped believing in love the moment that Thomas walked out on her.
Sometimes, of course, she remembers it the other way around. But this is only in her dreams. There, it is her who walks out on him. Claire knows a thing or two about the human psyche and realizes that all of this is metaphorical. She's not walking out on Thomas in her dreams. She's walking out on love.
And most days, she's okay with that.
Only person worth caring about is yourself, she hears Sawyer's words echoing in her mind. And she tells herself he's right. Her, Jack, and Sawyer, it's not about love -- it's about what she wants -- it's about what they all want. Lucky for them their goals seem to overlap.
For the time being, anyway.
There will be a day when they don't, of course. She knows that. There will be a day when the two of them won't be enough for her. Or even vice versa. And what is it they think of all this? What does all of it mean? Claire's stopped trying to analyze these things long ago.
--
There are times when Jack will say something, the words she doesn't want to hear pushing past his tongue like some involuntary action.
In these moments, she's usually pressed naked against him, her warm breath on his face, his hand somewhere unseen, Claire's mouth agape, a strangled sound escaping her lips.
In these moments, it's safe. In these moments, there's no expectation for her to answer, for her to do anything but scream his name when she comes hard around him.
But the words, how deep they penetrate.
The following few nights she'll sleep on Sawyer's side of the bed, and Jack will know better the next time.
--
All Sawyer has to do is give her a look. It says everything without saying anything.
"Shut up," she'll tell him in these moments.
Sometimes he laughs.
Sometimes he doesn't.
--
The two of them are convenient, they're warmth and comfort and sex, and most of all they're quiet. They don't buzz, like the others do -- like people with a place to go or things to do or an agenda to satisfy. The world outside is full of noise, and people sticking their noses in where they don't belong, and things that take up too much space and are not nearly worth her time. With Jack and Sawyer, the world goes still. She opens the door and they follow. She shuts the door, and they're right there beside her -- easy, free, uncomplicated.
When Jack points north, they go north. When Claire says she's tired, they crawl into bed with her. When Sawyer tightens his fist, Jack and Claire are there to pull him back.
Sometimes at night Claire lies awake, all the noise from the world sneaking into the room like somebody left a window open. She thinks of California. She thinks of a yellow-haired boy and a woman with long dark curls.
She thinks of the keys on the night stand.