Youth Without Youth [One-Shot]
Title: Youth Without Youth
Rating: K+/T
Summary: She thinks he looks terrified. / He thinks she looks lonely. A travel back in times of innocence.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost.
A/N: English is not my mother tongue, so many thanks to my friend Amy for reading, correcting and enjoying this. I hope you do, too.
“You have hair like the colour of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat…” -‘The Little Prince’, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
***
Juliet is staring at the yellow scenery running towards the opposite direction, when she feels the backseat of the car shaking. She turns her head (damn locks falling in her eyes) only to see Rachel hugging their dad from behind the driver's seat squealing into his ear.
"What colour is my bridesmaid-dress going to be daddy? Don't tell me it has little roses on it too!" If Juliet didn't know any better, she would believe that her sister was crying, so much is the moisture concentrated in her keen eyes.
She returns her gaze to the rows of wheat chasing each other outside the iron prison of the car, trying to ignore her sister’s giggles when her dad says something about fruit punch and pineapple shaped glasses. She has to. She is afraid that if she doesn’t, the burger she ate an hour or so ago will be decorating the car’s white leather couch; and she would never be able to get rid of the ‘baby-Julie’ nickname Rachel would stick her with for the rest of her life. She throws her a side-glance and can’t help wondering whether she will at least be able to pretend to be half as happy on the wedding day. The wave of sadness that swallows her is soon replaced by a mountain of anger towards her sister. (And her father and her mother…) How in the world can Rachel be so cheerful over their dad getting re-married only four months after the divorce? Of course she is already wearing the funky t-shirt and the tight jeans their dad happened to bring along when he came to pick them up. The book he gave Juliet is neatly packed in her bag (her mom made sure of it). ‘Romeo & Juliet: the children’s edition’. God, she hates that play. As if the teasing she has been withstanding about her name from her classmates (of all five schools she visited during their ‘moving period’, as she likes to call it) aren’t enough. Not to mention the outrageous ‘children’s edition’ part of the situation. She finished ‘Gone with the Wind’ (the full edition) less than a month ago; managed to read it within three days. But her dad would have known that already, had he not been busy preparing for his wedding with “sweet and sunny Samantha” -call me Sam, Julie!
She closes her eyes shut and wishes with all smithereens of power she is left, they will never make it to that place.
“SON OF A…” She jolts and almost hits her head on the window as the car abruptly comes into a halt. And for just a moment -a tiny but oh so wonderful moment!- she believes her wish came true and they would have to stay here, wherever ‘here’ is. She tries to ignore the pinch of guilt in her chest and feels a little more sympathetic towards Disney’s evil witches. Her dad punches the steering wheel and among his mumblings tells them to stay inside the car, as he goes to check the engine. She rests her back and looks at the street they stopped. She guesses it is part of a little town (she didn’t catch the name written on the old sign as they entered the area a couple of minutes ago); she can make out a mini-market some feet away and there are gardens in front of every house on both sides of the road. Some of them have little red flowers. Cute.
“Look at this place”, sighs Rachel. “Could we have gotten stuck any place worse?”
“I like it” Juliet whispers.
“Can you imagine having to live here?” she ignores her sister.
“Dad’s new place is only a few towns ahead. I doubt it will be much different.”
“Of course it will be different! Sam’s got a huge garden and a pool and she said we can swim in it anytime we like.”
Juliet could swear she hears a glass break somewhere in the vicinity, when she snaps.
“SAM? Are you friends with her now? Maybe you can go shopping together or call her ‘mom’!” She doesn’t even realise she is almost standing, an accusing finger pointed at her sister.
“What is the matter with you?” Rachel shouts back, not missing a beat, her natural fighting character kicking in.
They stand still for a moment and Rachel taking a deep breath lowers her eyes and her voice. “I am just trying to get the best out of this craphole of a situation, that’s all. Maybe you should do the same Jules.” She gets out of the car, slamming the door behind her, and approaches their dad who is now absorbed into searching for a specific cable.
“Is something wrong honey?” Juliet can almost see him frowning in that characteristic way of his, like he does each time he is worried about something.
“Hm? No daddy! I think some dust decided to attack my eye! What a bad place for the car engine to crush! There is dust everywhere!” She answers all smiles and cheer. “Can I help?” she adds quickly (too quickly), the rest of the dialogue fading away as father and daughter walk towards the mini-market.
Juliet wipes her eyes -she can’t even pinpoint the minute she started crying- and gets out of the car herself. She sits on the pavement closest to the car, where the shadow of a tree provides shelter from the burning sun. She allows her hands to explore the ground and stretches them to the roots of the nearby tree, caressing an infant chamomile flower, which reluctantly raised its petals mere millimetres above the earth.
Raising her eyes she sees a boy about her age looking at her from a porch across the street. Caught red handed, he automatically averts his gaze to the book he is holding. She notices how intensely his eyes focus on the page, scanning it thoroughly, as if his life will end if he doesn’t and she can tell he has to put extra effort in doing that. His hair -the same colour of golden yellow she observed in the scenery just a few minutes ago- is a bit too long for him and he often makes an awkward gesture to keep it from falling into his eyes. She finds herself utterly drawn to him, taking in every little detail, from the way he turns the pages to the shy pink of his cheeks and the deep blue of his eyes. Finally, he closes his book and with a lost expression he toys with the thirsty grass next to him. With the speed of a thunder striking she sees his muscles contract and with a frown and a sudden movement he pulls the green from the earth. He raises his eyes to claim hers, a glare hard as steel, but -what an irony!- soft and understanding at the same pulse. When he jumps up and disappears inside a house a little further down the street, Juliet almost shouts at him to come back. Be her friend, stay just a while longer, long enough to ask him if he ever read Shakespeare. But the brutal realisation that she hasn’t even talked to the boy leaves her sited and her tongue bound. She inhales deeply and recalls his face, round childish characteristics with traces of sharpness around the corners, a clear sign that he will soon enter the stormy years of adolescence and body transformation. Except for his eyes. The eyes will, as always, remain the same.
She thinks he looks terrified.
***
James is sitting on the floor next to his bed, Ned, the teddy bear, lying on his knees and bent in what was sure to be a very uncomfortable position. What’s his name? I wanna know the fucker’s name! He stares at the pirate ships sailing on his sheets. Cries. There is no one... I am telling you! Slap. He holds his breath as Ned dives into the water swimming frantically. Please… The pirates are now shooting at him. Door slam. His fist tightens around Ned’s arm and he rescues him, locking him in his embrace. The boy rests his chin on the mattress. With his index finger he draws the outline of a red-bearded pirate who is just about to draw the gun out of his pocket. He hears footsteps on the other side of his closed door. It’s going to be okay. That was Ned. He holds him closer in response. Thank you. The door opens.
“Jim boy?” Uncle Doug. James releases a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding and forces his eyes to meet his.
“Hey! You okay?” He steps towards the bed. James nods. “Just a little hungry.”
Voice too weak, but he’s just a kid, isn’t he? Doug sighed. “I’ll go make some burgers.” He pats the boy on the head and turns to leave, when he notices Ned.
“Ain’t ya a lil’ too old for teddies, sailor?” His eyebrow arches and wrinkles his fatty forehead.
He softens his expression once he notices the kid’s face. He is no expert -far from it, really- but he knows horror when he sees it. He licks his lips, still tasting the beer from before (can number 3).
“You need a haircut.” His manner is self-cautious. Almost as if talking to a stranger. James remains silent, so he gives up and with one more head-pat he leaves the room heading towards a semi functional kitchen.
James is in turmoil. He stands up and throws Ned away to the darkest corner of his room. Two years have almost passed since then. When will the nightmares finally leave him alone? His fist tightens, nails piercing the young skin, sweat drops running long ago discovered paths down his neck. What do you want from me? He wants to scream. The kind of scream that will destroy his lungs, that will make them bleed, will make them ache for oxygen and reap through the fragile flesh of his chest to reach it. He falls on his knees again, shoulders crouched in defeat. What a coward. How weak he is. He can almost hear that man laughing at him. Sawyer…
He feels nauseated and lets his back lie on the thick carpet, arms hugging knees, his head buried somewhere in between.
His shoulders shudder with each drowned sob and the light breeze coming through the open window gracefully dances with his hair. And the Wind curses the Chance for not showing mercy to this crying foetus.
Eventually, the boy stands up, his cheeks now sticky but dry, and goes to his bookshelf. He loves reading, even though he will never admit it to anyone, not even uncle Doug, let alone that smartass George, who -James is sure- believes he is king of the whole freaking school or something. He runs his fingertips over the spines of his books and settles upon an old one with a worn out cover. He found it on the floor of the common hall at school, with a purple sticker on the back, a clear sign that the book belongs to the school’s library. Hey, finders keepers, right? Right. ‘David Copperfield’ reads the front cover. He likes that Dickens guy. Read ‘Tale of Two Cities’ a couple of months ago. He is cool.
Once safely outside (he doesn’t mind the sun, not when the alternative is the claustrophobic bedroom) he opens the book and lets himself get captured by Dickens’ charming strings of storytelling. He is well into the second chapter when the annoying sound of tires rubbing on the lava ground, so guilty were the summer sun and the heat, successfully distract him from his page. The car stops just a few house yards away on the opposite side of the street and with a hint of interest he watches as an upset man steps out of it and goes to check the engine. He makes sure no one is around looking and he moves a couple of houses closer to the scene. He glances inside the car and sees two girls, around his age, one clearly older than the other one. He tries focusing his eyes on the younger one (he doesn’t like the way the older seems to be torturing Blondie with her rumbling) but she is on the inner side of the car and seemingly staring out of the window. At some point he can tell something is going wrong since both of the girls are almost standing (she is going to hit her head!) and Blondie is close to tears. She’s now facing his side, leering eyes accusingly looking at the other girl. The door makes a loud noise as it is pushed shut by Mrs Angry, who hops to her dad (he is close enough to hear their conversation and understand their relationship) and hanging from the man’s arm walks towards Hans’s mini-market; people call it so, but it’s really a shop for everything. The Austrian guy with the heavy accent who is running it wants all customers satisfied. James respects that. That’s why he never does the guy wrong. There was that time with the stolen gums, but that was when Hans and his wife first got here and they were all weird and held to themselves and only talked to the priest.
Little Miss Blondie, though, doesn’t look as annoyingly cheerful -almost fake- as her sister appears to be. In fact, he is sure she is now crying, because her palms are wildly moving over her cheeks in a doomed attempt to seize the rain.
He kinda wishes he could go there and tell her that whatever is bothering was going to pass sometime in the future -even though he is not fully sure about that himself. For some reason it annoys the hell out of him that he can’t approach her, so when she gets out of the car and sits on the pavement opposite his, he almost waves at her. Problem is, the girl seems to be looking anywhere but him. But that’s okay. Gives him time to look at her. Her white skin, her eyes -Lord, those eyes! As if the sky is staring him down-, her hair; he notices how rays of light escape the shade provided by the leaves of the tree next to her and play an unfamiliar game with her golden locks -new nickname, he notes-. He is fascinated. And he is sure this has absolutely nothing to do with the way George says he fancies Susie and sticks his tongue down her throat during school breaks. No. James, in all of his pre-teenaged innocence, wants to simply meet Blondie (who, he guesses, is give or take a couple of years younger than him); prove her that Dickens is really good and ask her if she likes weird Austrian people. And maybe one day he will find the courage to narrate her stories about pirates with guns.
He is so absorbed looking at her that he barely registers her sitting upright and now looking at him square in the eye. He feels the tips of his ears turning red and quickly seeks salvation into the book he is holding. He starts reading again from the top of his page, x-raying every single word, as if there is something hidden beneath it. It isn’t until he has to turn the page that he realises he can’t remember anything from what he read. He keeps going though, since he can sense her eyes on him and he feels ashamed to be drawling on a single page for so long. Fully aware of the fact that his mind only produces thoughts related to the girl, he marks the page (42) and closes the book.
He looks down and notices some bent from the heat vegetation. Caressing the weak plant, he wonders if she would ever like him for who he truly is. If she would be able to look at his darker side and be okay with it. The damaged one. His fingers grasp the grass and force it out of the ground, violently separating it from its mother. What will she think now? Will she judge it? He needs to see; needs to know.
So he looks at her.
And he knows.
He only has a couple of minutes until her family returns from Hans’ so he rushes inside his house knowing exactly what he’s looking for.
He thinks she looks lonely.
***
James hurries back to the heat and he barely catches Uncle Doug’s “Burgers’ ready cowboy!” which he deliberately ignores. Wiping with his free hand the hair out of his sweaty forehead, he is pleased to discover that Goldilocks is still sitting there alone.
“Hi.”
Juliet, who didn’t expect him to come back, is left at a loss for words for a second before remembering her manners and breathing a muffled “Hello.” They look at each other with secret curiosity and to conceal the unavoidable uneasiness, which is lingering in the atmosphere and making the air thicker, he simply bows down to meet the level of her eyes and places Ned in her arms.
“’s name’s Ned.”
She is too astonished to trust her words, so she just nods, searching his eyes for an answer to the unspoken question. He remains knelt for a while (close enough to smell the honey scent of her hair!), but soon hears voices not too far behind them and with a single stroke on Ned’s belly he sighs.
“You two take care of each other, ‘kay?” he smiles.
Juliet watches him running back to the house with the crooked brown door and brings Ned closer to her chest, slowly inhaling the top of his head.
It reminds her of the autumn odour of grains and wood. Thank you.
***
His fingers make feathered circles creating a faint ticklish effect on the sensitive skin of her collarbone. She nests her head closer to his shoulder and with her left hand she removes a pillow that is making her spine bend in an uncomfortable position before she rests it back on his chest.
“Would be nice if we could stay like this forever”, he whispers in her hair.
“Yeah…” she kisses the place where his heart beats.
He chuckles. “Though I ain’t so sure you’d like the grey hair an’ all!”
“Likewise!” she teases back.
“Nah. You’ll always be just as beautiful, Blondie. You’re natural like that.”
She smiles.
“You ever think about growin’?”
“Not really. You?”
“Just askin’.”
She waits for him to go on, she knows he will -he always does; and he knows she is waiting.
“I was reading an essay the other day; was about an insane poet -guy’s a total goner- pondering over his decomposing reflection in the mirror… Ya think we’ll end up like that?”
“Nagging about dry skin and torturing poor readers who have nothing to do while doing their security shift?” she humours him, deciding to keep the conversation light and safe from existentialistic quotations and philosophical debates.
He laughs and nudges her gently, silently begging her for an honest answer.
“People change, James. We’ll change.” she gives in. “Time always leaves its print. And if it does something wrong” she continues including their peculiar situation “it will find a way to correct itself. And it will start unravelling again. It will keep leaving traces behind for the descendants to see and pump knowledge from.” She pauses. “So, yeah, we will get wrinkles and white hair. But does it matter?”
“No. I suppose not.”
They remain silent for some time and he doesn’t think she will react when he quietly adds, “Change is not that bad.” and cups her waste.
She just hugs him back in response, snuggling a bit closer.
“So wrinkled and greybeard, huh? Talk about body change!”
She tilts her head up to look at him, blue to blue, sky meeting sea, their hair, parallel mirrors of wheat admiring its uniqueness. “Except for the eyes. The eyes remain the same.”
“They do?”
“Yap!”
“Lucky me!” he tightens his embrace and kisses her eyelids.
*End*
Title: Stay
Rating: K
Summary: Set during the first two weeks our losties spent with the D.I.
A/N: Enjoy! :)
(Stay)
Title: Feels Like Home
Rating: K+/T
Summary: He held tighter on her waist and closed the mere inches separating their lips.
A/N: An older story that was never posted on LJ.
(Feels Like Home)
Rating: K+/T
Summary: She thinks he looks terrified. / He thinks she looks lonely. A travel back in times of innocence.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost.
A/N: English is not my mother tongue, so many thanks to my friend Amy for reading, correcting and enjoying this. I hope you do, too.
“You have hair like the colour of gold. Think how wonderful that will be when you have tamed me! The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat…” -‘The Little Prince’, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry
***
Juliet is staring at the yellow scenery running towards the opposite direction, when she feels the backseat of the car shaking. She turns her head (damn locks falling in her eyes) only to see Rachel hugging their dad from behind the driver's seat squealing into his ear.
"What colour is my bridesmaid-dress going to be daddy? Don't tell me it has little roses on it too!" If Juliet didn't know any better, she would believe that her sister was crying, so much is the moisture concentrated in her keen eyes.
She returns her gaze to the rows of wheat chasing each other outside the iron prison of the car, trying to ignore her sister’s giggles when her dad says something about fruit punch and pineapple shaped glasses. She has to. She is afraid that if she doesn’t, the burger she ate an hour or so ago will be decorating the car’s white leather couch; and she would never be able to get rid of the ‘baby-Julie’ nickname Rachel would stick her with for the rest of her life. She throws her a side-glance and can’t help wondering whether she will at least be able to pretend to be half as happy on the wedding day. The wave of sadness that swallows her is soon replaced by a mountain of anger towards her sister. (And her father and her mother…) How in the world can Rachel be so cheerful over their dad getting re-married only four months after the divorce? Of course she is already wearing the funky t-shirt and the tight jeans their dad happened to bring along when he came to pick them up. The book he gave Juliet is neatly packed in her bag (her mom made sure of it). ‘Romeo & Juliet: the children’s edition’. God, she hates that play. As if the teasing she has been withstanding about her name from her classmates (of all five schools she visited during their ‘moving period’, as she likes to call it) aren’t enough. Not to mention the outrageous ‘children’s edition’ part of the situation. She finished ‘Gone with the Wind’ (the full edition) less than a month ago; managed to read it within three days. But her dad would have known that already, had he not been busy preparing for his wedding with “sweet and sunny Samantha” -call me Sam, Julie!
She closes her eyes shut and wishes with all smithereens of power she is left, they will never make it to that place.
“SON OF A…” She jolts and almost hits her head on the window as the car abruptly comes into a halt. And for just a moment -a tiny but oh so wonderful moment!- she believes her wish came true and they would have to stay here, wherever ‘here’ is. She tries to ignore the pinch of guilt in her chest and feels a little more sympathetic towards Disney’s evil witches. Her dad punches the steering wheel and among his mumblings tells them to stay inside the car, as he goes to check the engine. She rests her back and looks at the street they stopped. She guesses it is part of a little town (she didn’t catch the name written on the old sign as they entered the area a couple of minutes ago); she can make out a mini-market some feet away and there are gardens in front of every house on both sides of the road. Some of them have little red flowers. Cute.
“Look at this place”, sighs Rachel. “Could we have gotten stuck any place worse?”
“I like it” Juliet whispers.
“Can you imagine having to live here?” she ignores her sister.
“Dad’s new place is only a few towns ahead. I doubt it will be much different.”
“Of course it will be different! Sam’s got a huge garden and a pool and she said we can swim in it anytime we like.”
Juliet could swear she hears a glass break somewhere in the vicinity, when she snaps.
“SAM? Are you friends with her now? Maybe you can go shopping together or call her ‘mom’!” She doesn’t even realise she is almost standing, an accusing finger pointed at her sister.
“What is the matter with you?” Rachel shouts back, not missing a beat, her natural fighting character kicking in.
They stand still for a moment and Rachel taking a deep breath lowers her eyes and her voice. “I am just trying to get the best out of this craphole of a situation, that’s all. Maybe you should do the same Jules.” She gets out of the car, slamming the door behind her, and approaches their dad who is now absorbed into searching for a specific cable.
“Is something wrong honey?” Juliet can almost see him frowning in that characteristic way of his, like he does each time he is worried about something.
“Hm? No daddy! I think some dust decided to attack my eye! What a bad place for the car engine to crush! There is dust everywhere!” She answers all smiles and cheer. “Can I help?” she adds quickly (too quickly), the rest of the dialogue fading away as father and daughter walk towards the mini-market.
Juliet wipes her eyes -she can’t even pinpoint the minute she started crying- and gets out of the car herself. She sits on the pavement closest to the car, where the shadow of a tree provides shelter from the burning sun. She allows her hands to explore the ground and stretches them to the roots of the nearby tree, caressing an infant chamomile flower, which reluctantly raised its petals mere millimetres above the earth.
Raising her eyes she sees a boy about her age looking at her from a porch across the street. Caught red handed, he automatically averts his gaze to the book he is holding. She notices how intensely his eyes focus on the page, scanning it thoroughly, as if his life will end if he doesn’t and she can tell he has to put extra effort in doing that. His hair -the same colour of golden yellow she observed in the scenery just a few minutes ago- is a bit too long for him and he often makes an awkward gesture to keep it from falling into his eyes. She finds herself utterly drawn to him, taking in every little detail, from the way he turns the pages to the shy pink of his cheeks and the deep blue of his eyes. Finally, he closes his book and with a lost expression he toys with the thirsty grass next to him. With the speed of a thunder striking she sees his muscles contract and with a frown and a sudden movement he pulls the green from the earth. He raises his eyes to claim hers, a glare hard as steel, but -what an irony!- soft and understanding at the same pulse. When he jumps up and disappears inside a house a little further down the street, Juliet almost shouts at him to come back. Be her friend, stay just a while longer, long enough to ask him if he ever read Shakespeare. But the brutal realisation that she hasn’t even talked to the boy leaves her sited and her tongue bound. She inhales deeply and recalls his face, round childish characteristics with traces of sharpness around the corners, a clear sign that he will soon enter the stormy years of adolescence and body transformation. Except for his eyes. The eyes will, as always, remain the same.
She thinks he looks terrified.
***
James is sitting on the floor next to his bed, Ned, the teddy bear, lying on his knees and bent in what was sure to be a very uncomfortable position. What’s his name? I wanna know the fucker’s name! He stares at the pirate ships sailing on his sheets. Cries. There is no one... I am telling you! Slap. He holds his breath as Ned dives into the water swimming frantically. Please… The pirates are now shooting at him. Door slam. His fist tightens around Ned’s arm and he rescues him, locking him in his embrace. The boy rests his chin on the mattress. With his index finger he draws the outline of a red-bearded pirate who is just about to draw the gun out of his pocket. He hears footsteps on the other side of his closed door. It’s going to be okay. That was Ned. He holds him closer in response. Thank you. The door opens.
“Jim boy?” Uncle Doug. James releases a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding and forces his eyes to meet his.
“Hey! You okay?” He steps towards the bed. James nods. “Just a little hungry.”
Voice too weak, but he’s just a kid, isn’t he? Doug sighed. “I’ll go make some burgers.” He pats the boy on the head and turns to leave, when he notices Ned.
“Ain’t ya a lil’ too old for teddies, sailor?” His eyebrow arches and wrinkles his fatty forehead.
He softens his expression once he notices the kid’s face. He is no expert -far from it, really- but he knows horror when he sees it. He licks his lips, still tasting the beer from before (can number 3).
“You need a haircut.” His manner is self-cautious. Almost as if talking to a stranger. James remains silent, so he gives up and with one more head-pat he leaves the room heading towards a semi functional kitchen.
James is in turmoil. He stands up and throws Ned away to the darkest corner of his room. Two years have almost passed since then. When will the nightmares finally leave him alone? His fist tightens, nails piercing the young skin, sweat drops running long ago discovered paths down his neck. What do you want from me? He wants to scream. The kind of scream that will destroy his lungs, that will make them bleed, will make them ache for oxygen and reap through the fragile flesh of his chest to reach it. He falls on his knees again, shoulders crouched in defeat. What a coward. How weak he is. He can almost hear that man laughing at him. Sawyer…
He feels nauseated and lets his back lie on the thick carpet, arms hugging knees, his head buried somewhere in between.
His shoulders shudder with each drowned sob and the light breeze coming through the open window gracefully dances with his hair. And the Wind curses the Chance for not showing mercy to this crying foetus.
Eventually, the boy stands up, his cheeks now sticky but dry, and goes to his bookshelf. He loves reading, even though he will never admit it to anyone, not even uncle Doug, let alone that smartass George, who -James is sure- believes he is king of the whole freaking school or something. He runs his fingertips over the spines of his books and settles upon an old one with a worn out cover. He found it on the floor of the common hall at school, with a purple sticker on the back, a clear sign that the book belongs to the school’s library. Hey, finders keepers, right? Right. ‘David Copperfield’ reads the front cover. He likes that Dickens guy. Read ‘Tale of Two Cities’ a couple of months ago. He is cool.
Once safely outside (he doesn’t mind the sun, not when the alternative is the claustrophobic bedroom) he opens the book and lets himself get captured by Dickens’ charming strings of storytelling. He is well into the second chapter when the annoying sound of tires rubbing on the lava ground, so guilty were the summer sun and the heat, successfully distract him from his page. The car stops just a few house yards away on the opposite side of the street and with a hint of interest he watches as an upset man steps out of it and goes to check the engine. He makes sure no one is around looking and he moves a couple of houses closer to the scene. He glances inside the car and sees two girls, around his age, one clearly older than the other one. He tries focusing his eyes on the younger one (he doesn’t like the way the older seems to be torturing Blondie with her rumbling) but she is on the inner side of the car and seemingly staring out of the window. At some point he can tell something is going wrong since both of the girls are almost standing (she is going to hit her head!) and Blondie is close to tears. She’s now facing his side, leering eyes accusingly looking at the other girl. The door makes a loud noise as it is pushed shut by Mrs Angry, who hops to her dad (he is close enough to hear their conversation and understand their relationship) and hanging from the man’s arm walks towards Hans’s mini-market; people call it so, but it’s really a shop for everything. The Austrian guy with the heavy accent who is running it wants all customers satisfied. James respects that. That’s why he never does the guy wrong. There was that time with the stolen gums, but that was when Hans and his wife first got here and they were all weird and held to themselves and only talked to the priest.
Little Miss Blondie, though, doesn’t look as annoyingly cheerful -almost fake- as her sister appears to be. In fact, he is sure she is now crying, because her palms are wildly moving over her cheeks in a doomed attempt to seize the rain.
He kinda wishes he could go there and tell her that whatever is bothering was going to pass sometime in the future -even though he is not fully sure about that himself. For some reason it annoys the hell out of him that he can’t approach her, so when she gets out of the car and sits on the pavement opposite his, he almost waves at her. Problem is, the girl seems to be looking anywhere but him. But that’s okay. Gives him time to look at her. Her white skin, her eyes -Lord, those eyes! As if the sky is staring him down-, her hair; he notices how rays of light escape the shade provided by the leaves of the tree next to her and play an unfamiliar game with her golden locks -new nickname, he notes-. He is fascinated. And he is sure this has absolutely nothing to do with the way George says he fancies Susie and sticks his tongue down her throat during school breaks. No. James, in all of his pre-teenaged innocence, wants to simply meet Blondie (who, he guesses, is give or take a couple of years younger than him); prove her that Dickens is really good and ask her if she likes weird Austrian people. And maybe one day he will find the courage to narrate her stories about pirates with guns.
He is so absorbed looking at her that he barely registers her sitting upright and now looking at him square in the eye. He feels the tips of his ears turning red and quickly seeks salvation into the book he is holding. He starts reading again from the top of his page, x-raying every single word, as if there is something hidden beneath it. It isn’t until he has to turn the page that he realises he can’t remember anything from what he read. He keeps going though, since he can sense her eyes on him and he feels ashamed to be drawling on a single page for so long. Fully aware of the fact that his mind only produces thoughts related to the girl, he marks the page (42) and closes the book.
He looks down and notices some bent from the heat vegetation. Caressing the weak plant, he wonders if she would ever like him for who he truly is. If she would be able to look at his darker side and be okay with it. The damaged one. His fingers grasp the grass and force it out of the ground, violently separating it from its mother. What will she think now? Will she judge it? He needs to see; needs to know.
So he looks at her.
And he knows.
He only has a couple of minutes until her family returns from Hans’ so he rushes inside his house knowing exactly what he’s looking for.
He thinks she looks lonely.
***
James hurries back to the heat and he barely catches Uncle Doug’s “Burgers’ ready cowboy!” which he deliberately ignores. Wiping with his free hand the hair out of his sweaty forehead, he is pleased to discover that Goldilocks is still sitting there alone.
“Hi.”
Juliet, who didn’t expect him to come back, is left at a loss for words for a second before remembering her manners and breathing a muffled “Hello.” They look at each other with secret curiosity and to conceal the unavoidable uneasiness, which is lingering in the atmosphere and making the air thicker, he simply bows down to meet the level of her eyes and places Ned in her arms.
“’s name’s Ned.”
She is too astonished to trust her words, so she just nods, searching his eyes for an answer to the unspoken question. He remains knelt for a while (close enough to smell the honey scent of her hair!), but soon hears voices not too far behind them and with a single stroke on Ned’s belly he sighs.
“You two take care of each other, ‘kay?” he smiles.
Juliet watches him running back to the house with the crooked brown door and brings Ned closer to her chest, slowly inhaling the top of his head.
It reminds her of the autumn odour of grains and wood. Thank you.
***
His fingers make feathered circles creating a faint ticklish effect on the sensitive skin of her collarbone. She nests her head closer to his shoulder and with her left hand she removes a pillow that is making her spine bend in an uncomfortable position before she rests it back on his chest.
“Would be nice if we could stay like this forever”, he whispers in her hair.
“Yeah…” she kisses the place where his heart beats.
He chuckles. “Though I ain’t so sure you’d like the grey hair an’ all!”
“Likewise!” she teases back.
“Nah. You’ll always be just as beautiful, Blondie. You’re natural like that.”
She smiles.
“You ever think about growin’?”
“Not really. You?”
“Just askin’.”
She waits for him to go on, she knows he will -he always does; and he knows she is waiting.
“I was reading an essay the other day; was about an insane poet -guy’s a total goner- pondering over his decomposing reflection in the mirror… Ya think we’ll end up like that?”
“Nagging about dry skin and torturing poor readers who have nothing to do while doing their security shift?” she humours him, deciding to keep the conversation light and safe from existentialistic quotations and philosophical debates.
He laughs and nudges her gently, silently begging her for an honest answer.
“People change, James. We’ll change.” she gives in. “Time always leaves its print. And if it does something wrong” she continues including their peculiar situation “it will find a way to correct itself. And it will start unravelling again. It will keep leaving traces behind for the descendants to see and pump knowledge from.” She pauses. “So, yeah, we will get wrinkles and white hair. But does it matter?”
“No. I suppose not.”
They remain silent for some time and he doesn’t think she will react when he quietly adds, “Change is not that bad.” and cups her waste.
She just hugs him back in response, snuggling a bit closer.
“So wrinkled and greybeard, huh? Talk about body change!”
She tilts her head up to look at him, blue to blue, sky meeting sea, their hair, parallel mirrors of wheat admiring its uniqueness. “Except for the eyes. The eyes remain the same.”
“They do?”
“Yap!”
“Lucky me!” he tightens his embrace and kisses her eyelids.
*End*
Title: Stay
Rating: K
Summary: Set during the first two weeks our losties spent with the D.I.
A/N: Enjoy! :)
(Stay)
Title: Feels Like Home
Rating: K+/T
Summary: He held tighter on her waist and closed the mere inches separating their lips.
A/N: An older story that was never posted on LJ.
(Feels Like Home)