You’ll Find them Halfway Between an Inhale and Exhale.
Title: You’ll Find them Halfway Between an Inhale and Exhale.
Characters: Desmond/Penny, cameos by Sayid and Daniel.
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine, this is what it might look like if it were.
Word Count: 4400
Spoilers: Up to The Constant.
Summary: Penny has a great deal of experience running after Desmond.
Author’s Notes: Many thanks to
falafel_fiction for the extremely helpful beta. Written for the day 5 quote prompt at the
lostsquee season 4 hiatus challenge: “But for me it was not over. I mean, over in the sense of beginning and ending, because to me there was no beginning nor ending to anything then.” (William Faulkner). Won second place at
lostfichallenge #69 beginnings and endings and won Best Het Fic at
lost_fic_awards in April 2008.
Banner by
isis2015.
Banner by
janie_tangerine.
x x x
It doesn’t surprise Penny when she finally arrives on the island that Desmond is nowhere to be found. He has a talent for complicating the already complex. Of course she can only be glib about it after the fact, after her heart begins to beat again when someone takes the time to explain he’s just gone hunting.
She stands alone, off to the side, as mothers and sons, husbands and wives, friends and lovers find each other again. She turns away from the sight, not only because these reunions emphasize her own loneliness but because they’re incredibly messy. Joy is only one of the emotions on display; fear, bitterness, guilt, sadness and confusion radiate off the six she came with and those left behind.
A man all too eager to disentangle himself from the plethora of emotions erupting all over the beach volunteers to fetch Desmond. John doesn’t offer to take her along and Penny doesn’t ask. This is where she draws the line; surely it’s finally Desmond’s turn to come to her. She kicks off her shoes and plops herself down in the sand in front of his tent.
And so she waits.
x x x
“Who’s he?”
Penny follows Sylvia’s eyes to the solitary man in the corner across the room having a tête-à-tête with her book shelf. She hadn’t seen him arrive and hadn’t expected him to come but finds herself enormously pleased to see him again.
“That’s Desmond,” she says, taking a sip of her wine. “He’s an ex-monk.” As soon as it comes out, she regrets identifying him so. It feels like a betrayal of his privacy and is only going to fuel Sylvia’s imagination which has a tendency to be as overactive as her libido.
“He’s delicious.”
Penny shifts somewhat to block her friend’s view. “He’s not your type.”
“Ah, you’re interested.”
“Of course not. He’s just...”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“He’s looking at you.”
Penny refuses to check to see if Sylvia is only teasing. “That’s because I’m the only one he knows.”
“Well, you’re being a very bad hostess, introduce him around, and start with me. Tell him I’m a naughty girl and never say my prayers. I need to be saved.” Sylvia takes her by the shoulders, spins her around and gives her a little push. Penny covers the top of her glass as her wines sloshes about, splashing her palm.
As she approaches Desmond, she realizes there’s a drop of wine sliding from her palm to her wrist. Penny switches the glass to her other hand and before she realizes what she’s doing, her lips are already on her skin, licking it off. Naturally, that’s when he chooses to unglue his eyes from her books. Normally something like this would not have fazed her but as soon as she locks eyes with him, her face floods with colour and her cheeks feel like they’re on fire. The party around her vanishes; it’s as if they’re the only two people in her flat and it’s Desmond’s lips grazing her wrist.
He must think she’s gone mad because all she can do is continue to stand there dumbly, her hand trembling at her mouth. Penny’s tempted to turn around and return to Sylvia, a safe but incredibly rude move, because she has no idea what’s happening here. Before she can make up her mind, Desmond replaces the book he’s holding and bestows a shy smile on her that suggests equal parts curiosity, delight and apprehension. It’s somewhat of a comfort that neither of them appears to know what’s going on and that gives her the courage to move again. Her hand drops to her side and she continues toward him, amused to see where this will lead.
x x x
“Penny?” She snaps back to the present, and lifts her head to see Sayid hovering over her. “Hurley and I are bringing a group back to the ship.”
She knows she should offer to help but she can’t bring herself to move or express much interest in what must be a monumental moment for Sayid. “All right.”
“Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine.”
“Good.”
Penny appreciates that Sayid leaves it at that. All morning people, strangers, have been coming over to her with encouraging comments that sound far too much like condolences.
“I’m sure he’ll be back any minute now.”
“Locke can find a needle in a haystack.”
“He’s going to be so excited to see you.”
“No one’s been eaten by a bear in years.”
This is all spoken with the underlying hesitation of people who know better than to get their hopes up. She bets they’ve seen far too mainly of them stroll into that jungle and never come out. It would be just like Desmond to choose this day to fall of a cliff or anger some island deity.
And so she waits and worries.
x x x
The swordfish is sizzling in the pan, the rice seems to be of the right texture and she had managed to slice a half dozen different vegetables without marinating them with sprinkles of her own blood. The kitchen has taken on an aroma of lemon grass, cardamom and her own satisfaction. She’s abundantly impressed with herself for having thrown this together without the normal kitchen disasters she’s prone to.
Desmond seems equally impressed when he arrives and bites back any comment about the takeout he must have expected. When he kisses her, she can tell he’s had time to go home first because he smells like he’s fresh out of the shower, warm and clean. It makes her a little weak in the knees and regretful of the dinner ready to serve. So she settles for this embrace and she nips his neck lightly, noticing there’s a spot of black paint he’s missed under his left ear. When the buzzer on the stove goes off, he lets go of her reluctantly.
She sees to the fish and sends him to get a bottle of wine from the rack in the living room. Penny’s setting the food out on the table when Desmond returns to the kitchen holding an envelope.
“Pen? What’s this?”
She smiles weakly, wishing he had few glasses of wine in him before they discussed that. “I got the tickets. We leave on the 21st.”
“I told you Portugal was out of the question.”
Penny turns away to fiddle with a pot on the stove. She doesn’t want to have this conversation again. He’ll remain quiet but defiant, she’ll only sound shriller and shriller and both of them will remain stubborningly set on the opinion they decided in the first minute. “It’s not a big deal.”
“I can’t go.”
“Desmond, it’s a gift. Don’t be so old fashioned. If I was the man you would have no problem with this.”
“It’s not just that.”
“It’s not?”
“The sets for the workshop are almost done. They said I could help with the main stage production. I can’t just go away.”
“Desmond, February is my downtime. I won’t be able to take any vacation again until Christmas and you didn’t have any problem with the dates before.”
“You shouldn’t have bought these without consulting me. I feel, I feel….” He’s at a loss for words and she thinks he's reaching for indebted or possibly even stifled.
She puts the spoon down, comes over to him and returns her hands to his waist but instead of yielding to her touch, he grows stiff. “Come on, we can lie on the beach, relax, go exploring and guess what? Portugal is playing an exhibition match against Korea on the Saturday we’ll be there.”
He slides her hands off. “I’m not going. Take one of your friends.”
“For god sake, Desmond. What’s wrong with you? I was just trying to do something nice.”
He walks out of the kitchen and she follows. He paces a tight square in the living room and she can see that he’s close to fleeing the flat. Her anger fades in the face of his panic. She doesn’t say anything else, just sits down on the centre of the couch and hopes he’ll join her.
Finally he speaks. “My job’s important too, Pen.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I should have checked.”
He nods, looks around the room with embarrassment, runs his hands through his hair. He finally stops pacing and sits next to her on the couch. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so dramatic. It’s just…I want to be able to give you things too.”
“You do, you give me everything.” And it’s true, no one has ever looked at her the way he does or touched her with such care. She has never felt adored before, worthy or not, that’s how he makes her feel most of the time. She searches his face and cups his cheek. “How about we spend my vacation right here in London. I’ll pack a bag and move into your place for a few days and you can treat me like a special guest.”
He looks like he’s struggling for the right words again and she fears once again she’s overstepped his boundaries. Then Desmond puts his hand over hers and squeezes it. “What if you were to do that and never go home?”
x x x
Penny knows why this memory comes to her now. Not only was it a moment where she had great hope they could overcome their differences. It was the first but not the last time she had witnessed Desmond’s claustrophobic reaction to her wanting to help him.
What will his reaction be now, with her offering this literal rescue? She senses he will feel overwhelmed, over burdened with all she’s done. Out of this will pour his eternal gratitude and he will be hers for life. This is not who she wants to be, the owner of a life debt. That would be no way to start over. She doesn’t want an indentured servant; she wants a partner who will continue to challenge her.
To be fair, who's to say it won’t be her wanting to run for the hills this time but sticking around out of guilt? If things don’t go remarkably smoothly, if they fall into old patterns and old hurts, if she begins to resent all she’s given up over the years to find him, if…
“Ahhh, Miss Widmore?”
Penny welcomes shaking off these thoughts when someone crouches beside her. She braces herself for more assurances that Desmond would be back shortly, an assessment that was getting weaker now that the sun was beginning to set.
“Yes.”
“It’s me, Daniel.”
“Daniel?” She notices he’s strangely dressed in a tie and jacket as if he wanted to make a good impression on her or look his best for the rescue.
“Daniel Faraday? We met at the reception?”
Penny shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t-
“Oh.” He consults the notebook in his hand and flips through the pages until he finds something relevant. “That was after,” he says, wiping a flop of hair across his forehead and closing the book as if that explained all. “Um, do you mind if I look in Desmond’s tent?”
“I guess not.”
“Thanks.” He drops to his knees and crawls in through a flap where two tarps come together.
Penny decides to follow him into the shelter, surprised at not having looked inside before now. The space is equivalent to a king size mattress and someone as tall as Desmond could stand comfortably in the centre where the tarps peaked. The sandy floor was covered with fresh palm fronds whose scent cut some of the mustiness. Half of the tent was devoted to a bedroll covered by a comforter scattered with a pattern of big blue flowers that looked like it belonged in her grandmother’s bedroom. A rope was strung across the interior with a few shirts and a pair of pants hanging from it.
The whole thing is so foreign to her, him living here like this, and before in that other place Hurley described as a 1950s deluxe bomb shelter. A world stripped down to the very basics; somewhere to sleep, stay dry, and store your meagre possessions. Then again, how different was that from where he grew up, or even his time in the monastery and the prison. Maybe this wasn’t as surreal for him as it was for her.
That conclusion, however, is not taking into consideration all the other stuff she still doesn’t understand about the island. Desmond hasn’t only been playing Robinson Crusoe for four years. He’s also been tossed into a strange mix of Lord of the Flies and The Island of Dr. Moreau. Will he ever be fit to live anywhere else but this mad place?
“Can you hold the flap open? I can’t find it.”
Penny does as she’s asked and sits quietly on Desmond’s bed watching Daniel rifle through a pile of books in the corner. “What are you looking for?”
“A photograph. I need it if I want to go to the ship now, but Desmond probably has it with him.” Daniel sat back on his heels. “That’s good, that's good. He should. Do you mind if I wait with you? I can’t really leave without him.”
Penny hadn’t been able to follow half of what he said but Daniel seems harmless enough and maybe some company would be good. It would help her avoid thinking about all the worst case scenarios she’s imagined over the years.
“Okay.”
They crawl outside and Penny resumes her sentry. Daniel sits beside her, picking up handfuls of sand and letting it sift through his fingers. “Everything’s going to be okay.” Despite his uncertain manner, he says this with a confidence that brings Penny renewed faith she will see Desmond tonight.
So they wait.
x x x
When she returns to the hotel after the disaster at the stadium, Penny leaves the lights off and lies on the bed fully dressed. In the dark it’s too easy to replay what just happened. She turns on all the lights and the television and sits cross legged on the bed flipping through channels, finally settling on a movie where people are running around yelling about the end of the world. There’s something wrong with the picture, all the colours are distorted giving the characters’ skin a greenish tint, like they’re seasick. She expects them all to throw up. She feels like throwing up.
She hates Los Angeles. Driving is a nightmare. There’s no culture. Nothing looks real. Even the sun feels fake. This makes it the perfect setting for what just happened. She can almost pretend it was a poorly acted scene from a badly written movie, where the girl does everything but get on her knees to beg the boy to come back to her. And what does the boy do? Run away, literally, without a backward glance. And what does the girl do? Feel bloody stupid for hoping and wishing and not guessing what would happen. Desmond always runs and she always follows-well, not anymore.
What if you were back, right now?
For years, she thought he was the one always searching, surging ahead though not necessarily forward, while she remained in one place, centred, grounded. She had come to think of their time together as just another leg of Desmond’s wayward journey, always intended to end one way or another because she was never meant to be his destination. In her less generous moments, this notion was a relief, because standing still while someone else was moving but going nowhere was just proof of how unevenly matched their paths were.
Then at some point, long past the time when her heart and body had been his brief way station, she had come to realize she was no better than he. Over the years she had acted equally foolish by being just as determined to find something that no longer existed.
On the television a man and woman dressed in singed and torn clothing hold each other and look up in fear. Rather than run and possibly get away from the monster or madman or apocalypse lurking off screen, they take the time to kiss and the hero dips the heroine back like they only do in the movies. Penny stares at the television entranced and then changes the channel to a cooking show.
She’s learning how to make Duck a l'Orange when there’s a knock at the door. No one knows she’s here but apparently with enough persistence and a copy of the yellow pages you can find anyone in Los Angeles.
“Penny, are you there? Can I come in?”
Her head rests against the door and she feels like hitting it against the wood a few times. It’s hard enough to let Desmond go without him popping up like this; his turn to be the cat and she, the mouse. At least he sounds calmer than he did the last time he showed up unexpectedly at her door. This time his voice has none of the manic tone it did the night he demanded to have her new phone number.
“Penny...I can say what I came to say out here but…” She hears his hand run down his side of the door. “But it would be better if I could see you.”
She can’t respond because she doesn’t trust herself not to break the vow she made only a hour ago. They can’t keep doing this back and forth dance forever. She won’t let him in, not into the room, not into her heart. But she stays to listen, sinks to the floor, with her back against the door and folds her knees up to her chest. Penny thinks he’s done the same because when he speaks again, his muffled voice appears at her level.
“I had it all planned and this wasn’t suppose to happen now.” She wonders if he’s going to start on about this future Christmas fantasy of his but he doesn’t. “I didn’t, I couldn’t see you again until I could hold my head high. That’s always been the reason, the only reason.” He’s quiet for a moment and Penny’s thinks he’s done; he’s come here to deliver the same speech he’s told her a thousand times, that he doesn’t deserve her.
Then he laughs, a hollow sound devoid of true humour. “I met this doctor tonight and I actually had the gall to give him advice. Me? I don’t know what I was doing. It’s all a mess Pen. I’m a mess. I should just let you go. I should just say good-bye here. But I hope that you showing up tonight means you forgave me once and maybe you have some forgiveness left for what an ass I was tonight.” His voice drops and she has to lean her ear to the door to hear the rest. “And maybe, your patience could extend just a little longer and next May when I sail into the harbour at Setubal, you’ll be there waiting to say hello or good-bye or at the very least, introduce me to the bloke you’ve probably married in the meantime.”
All through this, Penny’s been biting her lip and clenching her fists to keep from crying and she thinks she just might manage to escape him without a tear falling but what he says next pushes her over the edge.
“Do you know where Setubal is? It’s on the southwest coast of Portugal. Better late than never, right?”
The tears fall but no sound comes out. His words and her reaction have taken away her voice. Even if she wanted to say something now, she’s doesn’t think she could.
“I need to do this, Pen. I don’t know why but I do,” he sighs. Then she hears him rise, and she does too, on shaky legs. She wraps her arms around her torso and hugs herself. “I love you, Penny. I've always loved you. I'm so sorry.”
x x x
“I love you, Penny. I've always loved you. I'm so sorry.”
Amid the static and hiss, those were the same words he uttered on the phone over a year ago. She had consumed that fragile moment everyday since; it was all the sustenance she needed to keep going. Now that she’s actually sitting on his ground, under his stars, next to his odd friend, she’s suddenly starving for more.
Penny squints into the darkness, searching the tree line marking the edge of the camp. She tries to stand but both her feet are asleep from sitting in the same position for hours. Electric tingling shoots up and down her legs but she ignores this and puts on her shoes.
“I’m going in there.”
“Where? What? Where?”
Penny stands. “I can’t wait. I can’t believe I’ve just sat here waiting.”
“No. No. No.” Daniel scrambles after her and grabs her arm. “It’s not right in there. It’s barely right here.”
“I have to.”
To her amazement this seems to be enough of an argument for Daniel. “Um, okay. Let me get a lantern.” He starts off across the sand, then turns and points at her. “Wait here, don’t go anywhere. Okay?”
She nods and he disappears into a cluster of tents. Penny stays where she is only because her feet have yet to entirely wake up and if she takes another step, she might just fall. She jiggles each foot, testing their recovery and watching for Daniel’s return. The campfires scattered across the beach don’t throw much light in her direction so she’s relying on moonlight to see anything when she’s distracted by movement in the corner of the camp furthest from her.
Has someone just stepped out of the jungle?
She takes a few steps forward and strains her eyes scanning for something human within the blackness. The palm leaves rustle in the breeze and Penny wants to shush them so she can listen properly.
Her breath catches when she narrows in on what looks like a person standing at the camp’s border. He or she raises the rifle they have by their side as if they sense something at the camp is amiss. Penny stands still, afraid if she takes another step, this vision would vanish.
Could it be?
The person comes forward cautiously and their presence is made known. Several people from the camp rush to greet the arrival and the gun is lowered. Still Penny remains frozen, eyes wide, refusing to blink. There appears to be an excited conversation occurring between the man, it is a man, and the others. Suddenly he drops his gun and breaks into a run in her direction!
Penny is so taken aback she finds herself rushing backward not forward. Her hand flutters at her mouth and her whole body goes numb. She can’t feel anything until she stumbles against something that hits her as hard as a brick wall but she knows it’s only the side of his tent.
It seems to take the man forever to cross the expanse of the beach which still doesn’t give her enough time to gather her wits or make her body cooperate. Even once Desmond’s features are readable and Penny confirms it’s really him, she remains where she is, frozen once again, uncertain of what to do or say. Now that the moment is actually here, she wishes she had more time to prepare.
He stops a few feet away from her and just stares. Even in the darkness, she’s afraid of what she’ll find in his eyes so she looks away.
“Penny,” he says softly, like he's testing out a new word he’s not sure how to pronounce.
She forces herself to look at him properly but there’s no opportunity to appraise him before he drops to his knees, head bowed.
Her heart sinks with this gesture and she finds herself mumbling, “No, no, no.”
She goes to Desmond and kneels in front of him, tentatively takes the hands hanging limp at his side and tries pulls him up. He resists and she’s afraid to force him to do anything but she can’t bear to see him like this.
“Desmond, get up.”
He doesn’t move but he’s too worn out to fight her so when she rises, so does he, and they finally stand face to face.
Tomorrow in the daylight she’ll notice what’s changed: the new lines on his face, the longer hair, the lost weight and the twitch in his left hand, but right now all that matters is the familiarity. That’s what she finds in his eyes and playing, just barely, on his lips is a hint of a smile that speaks of curiosity, delight and apprehension.
“You came.” There’s no question in his statement. He says it as if he never had any doubt which has to be a bit of a lie but she’s not going to challenge him.
Before she can respond, he crushes her in his arms with a strength she wouldn’t have guessed he had left. He squeezes the breath right out of her but she finds she doesn’t need it at the moment. She grips him back as hard as she can, desperate to prove this is no dream. There’s flesh and bone under her hands and she’s pleased that she can feel the blood rushing under his skin. They both forgo tenderness in order to feel the other person as close as possible.
When they’re both satisfied the other is not as apparition, they allow some space between them. She releases his body so she can touch his face, run her fingers across his nose, jaw and lips. That’s not enough for him, so she’s in his arms again and he picks her up as if it’s necessary to grasp her whole weight.
For now the rest of her worries fade. The fact that she’s holding onto to him has to be some sort of sign. If they’ve come this far, they can go further. Penny buries her face against his neck and thinks, it’s over. It’s finally over. No, she corrects herself, it’s just beginning.
x x x
Characters: Desmond/Penny, cameos by Sayid and Daniel.
Rating: PG13
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine, this is what it might look like if it were.
Word Count: 4400
Spoilers: Up to The Constant.
Summary: Penny has a great deal of experience running after Desmond.
Author’s Notes: Many thanks to
falafel_fiction for the extremely helpful beta. Written for the day 5 quote prompt at the
lostsquee season 4 hiatus challenge: “But for me it was not over. I mean, over in the sense of beginning and ending, because to me there was no beginning nor ending to anything then.” (William Faulkner). Won second place at
lostfichallenge #69 beginnings and endings and won Best Het Fic at
lost_fic_awards in April 2008.
Banner by
isis2015.
Banner by
janie_tangerine.
x x x
It doesn’t surprise Penny when she finally arrives on the island that Desmond is nowhere to be found. He has a talent for complicating the already complex. Of course she can only be glib about it after the fact, after her heart begins to beat again when someone takes the time to explain he’s just gone hunting.
She stands alone, off to the side, as mothers and sons, husbands and wives, friends and lovers find each other again. She turns away from the sight, not only because these reunions emphasize her own loneliness but because they’re incredibly messy. Joy is only one of the emotions on display; fear, bitterness, guilt, sadness and confusion radiate off the six she came with and those left behind.
A man all too eager to disentangle himself from the plethora of emotions erupting all over the beach volunteers to fetch Desmond. John doesn’t offer to take her along and Penny doesn’t ask. This is where she draws the line; surely it’s finally Desmond’s turn to come to her. She kicks off her shoes and plops herself down in the sand in front of his tent.
And so she waits.
x x x
“Who’s he?”
Penny follows Sylvia’s eyes to the solitary man in the corner across the room having a tête-à-tête with her book shelf. She hadn’t seen him arrive and hadn’t expected him to come but finds herself enormously pleased to see him again.
“That’s Desmond,” she says, taking a sip of her wine. “He’s an ex-monk.” As soon as it comes out, she regrets identifying him so. It feels like a betrayal of his privacy and is only going to fuel Sylvia’s imagination which has a tendency to be as overactive as her libido.
“He’s delicious.”
Penny shifts somewhat to block her friend’s view. “He’s not your type.”
“Ah, you’re interested.”
“Of course not. He’s just...”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“He’s looking at you.”
Penny refuses to check to see if Sylvia is only teasing. “That’s because I’m the only one he knows.”
“Well, you’re being a very bad hostess, introduce him around, and start with me. Tell him I’m a naughty girl and never say my prayers. I need to be saved.” Sylvia takes her by the shoulders, spins her around and gives her a little push. Penny covers the top of her glass as her wines sloshes about, splashing her palm.
As she approaches Desmond, she realizes there’s a drop of wine sliding from her palm to her wrist. Penny switches the glass to her other hand and before she realizes what she’s doing, her lips are already on her skin, licking it off. Naturally, that’s when he chooses to unglue his eyes from her books. Normally something like this would not have fazed her but as soon as she locks eyes with him, her face floods with colour and her cheeks feel like they’re on fire. The party around her vanishes; it’s as if they’re the only two people in her flat and it’s Desmond’s lips grazing her wrist.
He must think she’s gone mad because all she can do is continue to stand there dumbly, her hand trembling at her mouth. Penny’s tempted to turn around and return to Sylvia, a safe but incredibly rude move, because she has no idea what’s happening here. Before she can make up her mind, Desmond replaces the book he’s holding and bestows a shy smile on her that suggests equal parts curiosity, delight and apprehension. It’s somewhat of a comfort that neither of them appears to know what’s going on and that gives her the courage to move again. Her hand drops to her side and she continues toward him, amused to see where this will lead.
x x x
“Penny?” She snaps back to the present, and lifts her head to see Sayid hovering over her. “Hurley and I are bringing a group back to the ship.”
She knows she should offer to help but she can’t bring herself to move or express much interest in what must be a monumental moment for Sayid. “All right.”
“Do you need anything?”
“I’m fine.”
“Good.”
Penny appreciates that Sayid leaves it at that. All morning people, strangers, have been coming over to her with encouraging comments that sound far too much like condolences.
“I’m sure he’ll be back any minute now.”
“Locke can find a needle in a haystack.”
“He’s going to be so excited to see you.”
“No one’s been eaten by a bear in years.”
This is all spoken with the underlying hesitation of people who know better than to get their hopes up. She bets they’ve seen far too mainly of them stroll into that jungle and never come out. It would be just like Desmond to choose this day to fall of a cliff or anger some island deity.
And so she waits and worries.
x x x
The swordfish is sizzling in the pan, the rice seems to be of the right texture and she had managed to slice a half dozen different vegetables without marinating them with sprinkles of her own blood. The kitchen has taken on an aroma of lemon grass, cardamom and her own satisfaction. She’s abundantly impressed with herself for having thrown this together without the normal kitchen disasters she’s prone to.
Desmond seems equally impressed when he arrives and bites back any comment about the takeout he must have expected. When he kisses her, she can tell he’s had time to go home first because he smells like he’s fresh out of the shower, warm and clean. It makes her a little weak in the knees and regretful of the dinner ready to serve. So she settles for this embrace and she nips his neck lightly, noticing there’s a spot of black paint he’s missed under his left ear. When the buzzer on the stove goes off, he lets go of her reluctantly.
She sees to the fish and sends him to get a bottle of wine from the rack in the living room. Penny’s setting the food out on the table when Desmond returns to the kitchen holding an envelope.
“Pen? What’s this?”
She smiles weakly, wishing he had few glasses of wine in him before they discussed that. “I got the tickets. We leave on the 21st.”
“I told you Portugal was out of the question.”
Penny turns away to fiddle with a pot on the stove. She doesn’t want to have this conversation again. He’ll remain quiet but defiant, she’ll only sound shriller and shriller and both of them will remain stubborningly set on the opinion they decided in the first minute. “It’s not a big deal.”
“I can’t go.”
“Desmond, it’s a gift. Don’t be so old fashioned. If I was the man you would have no problem with this.”
“It’s not just that.”
“It’s not?”
“The sets for the workshop are almost done. They said I could help with the main stage production. I can’t just go away.”
“Desmond, February is my downtime. I won’t be able to take any vacation again until Christmas and you didn’t have any problem with the dates before.”
“You shouldn’t have bought these without consulting me. I feel, I feel….” He’s at a loss for words and she thinks he's reaching for indebted or possibly even stifled.
She puts the spoon down, comes over to him and returns her hands to his waist but instead of yielding to her touch, he grows stiff. “Come on, we can lie on the beach, relax, go exploring and guess what? Portugal is playing an exhibition match against Korea on the Saturday we’ll be there.”
He slides her hands off. “I’m not going. Take one of your friends.”
“For god sake, Desmond. What’s wrong with you? I was just trying to do something nice.”
He walks out of the kitchen and she follows. He paces a tight square in the living room and she can see that he’s close to fleeing the flat. Her anger fades in the face of his panic. She doesn’t say anything else, just sits down on the centre of the couch and hopes he’ll join her.
Finally he speaks. “My job’s important too, Pen.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I should have checked.”
He nods, looks around the room with embarrassment, runs his hands through his hair. He finally stops pacing and sits next to her on the couch. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so dramatic. It’s just…I want to be able to give you things too.”
“You do, you give me everything.” And it’s true, no one has ever looked at her the way he does or touched her with such care. She has never felt adored before, worthy or not, that’s how he makes her feel most of the time. She searches his face and cups his cheek. “How about we spend my vacation right here in London. I’ll pack a bag and move into your place for a few days and you can treat me like a special guest.”
He looks like he’s struggling for the right words again and she fears once again she’s overstepped his boundaries. Then Desmond puts his hand over hers and squeezes it. “What if you were to do that and never go home?”
x x x
Penny knows why this memory comes to her now. Not only was it a moment where she had great hope they could overcome their differences. It was the first but not the last time she had witnessed Desmond’s claustrophobic reaction to her wanting to help him.
What will his reaction be now, with her offering this literal rescue? She senses he will feel overwhelmed, over burdened with all she’s done. Out of this will pour his eternal gratitude and he will be hers for life. This is not who she wants to be, the owner of a life debt. That would be no way to start over. She doesn’t want an indentured servant; she wants a partner who will continue to challenge her.
To be fair, who's to say it won’t be her wanting to run for the hills this time but sticking around out of guilt? If things don’t go remarkably smoothly, if they fall into old patterns and old hurts, if she begins to resent all she’s given up over the years to find him, if…
“Ahhh, Miss Widmore?”
Penny welcomes shaking off these thoughts when someone crouches beside her. She braces herself for more assurances that Desmond would be back shortly, an assessment that was getting weaker now that the sun was beginning to set.
“Yes.”
“It’s me, Daniel.”
“Daniel?” She notices he’s strangely dressed in a tie and jacket as if he wanted to make a good impression on her or look his best for the rescue.
“Daniel Faraday? We met at the reception?”
Penny shakes her head. “I’m sorry, I don’t-
“Oh.” He consults the notebook in his hand and flips through the pages until he finds something relevant. “That was after,” he says, wiping a flop of hair across his forehead and closing the book as if that explained all. “Um, do you mind if I look in Desmond’s tent?”
“I guess not.”
“Thanks.” He drops to his knees and crawls in through a flap where two tarps come together.
Penny decides to follow him into the shelter, surprised at not having looked inside before now. The space is equivalent to a king size mattress and someone as tall as Desmond could stand comfortably in the centre where the tarps peaked. The sandy floor was covered with fresh palm fronds whose scent cut some of the mustiness. Half of the tent was devoted to a bedroll covered by a comforter scattered with a pattern of big blue flowers that looked like it belonged in her grandmother’s bedroom. A rope was strung across the interior with a few shirts and a pair of pants hanging from it.
The whole thing is so foreign to her, him living here like this, and before in that other place Hurley described as a 1950s deluxe bomb shelter. A world stripped down to the very basics; somewhere to sleep, stay dry, and store your meagre possessions. Then again, how different was that from where he grew up, or even his time in the monastery and the prison. Maybe this wasn’t as surreal for him as it was for her.
That conclusion, however, is not taking into consideration all the other stuff she still doesn’t understand about the island. Desmond hasn’t only been playing Robinson Crusoe for four years. He’s also been tossed into a strange mix of Lord of the Flies and The Island of Dr. Moreau. Will he ever be fit to live anywhere else but this mad place?
“Can you hold the flap open? I can’t find it.”
Penny does as she’s asked and sits quietly on Desmond’s bed watching Daniel rifle through a pile of books in the corner. “What are you looking for?”
“A photograph. I need it if I want to go to the ship now, but Desmond probably has it with him.” Daniel sat back on his heels. “That’s good, that's good. He should. Do you mind if I wait with you? I can’t really leave without him.”
Penny hadn’t been able to follow half of what he said but Daniel seems harmless enough and maybe some company would be good. It would help her avoid thinking about all the worst case scenarios she’s imagined over the years.
“Okay.”
They crawl outside and Penny resumes her sentry. Daniel sits beside her, picking up handfuls of sand and letting it sift through his fingers. “Everything’s going to be okay.” Despite his uncertain manner, he says this with a confidence that brings Penny renewed faith she will see Desmond tonight.
So they wait.
x x x
When she returns to the hotel after the disaster at the stadium, Penny leaves the lights off and lies on the bed fully dressed. In the dark it’s too easy to replay what just happened. She turns on all the lights and the television and sits cross legged on the bed flipping through channels, finally settling on a movie where people are running around yelling about the end of the world. There’s something wrong with the picture, all the colours are distorted giving the characters’ skin a greenish tint, like they’re seasick. She expects them all to throw up. She feels like throwing up.
She hates Los Angeles. Driving is a nightmare. There’s no culture. Nothing looks real. Even the sun feels fake. This makes it the perfect setting for what just happened. She can almost pretend it was a poorly acted scene from a badly written movie, where the girl does everything but get on her knees to beg the boy to come back to her. And what does the boy do? Run away, literally, without a backward glance. And what does the girl do? Feel bloody stupid for hoping and wishing and not guessing what would happen. Desmond always runs and she always follows-well, not anymore.
What if you were back, right now?
For years, she thought he was the one always searching, surging ahead though not necessarily forward, while she remained in one place, centred, grounded. She had come to think of their time together as just another leg of Desmond’s wayward journey, always intended to end one way or another because she was never meant to be his destination. In her less generous moments, this notion was a relief, because standing still while someone else was moving but going nowhere was just proof of how unevenly matched their paths were.
Then at some point, long past the time when her heart and body had been his brief way station, she had come to realize she was no better than he. Over the years she had acted equally foolish by being just as determined to find something that no longer existed.
On the television a man and woman dressed in singed and torn clothing hold each other and look up in fear. Rather than run and possibly get away from the monster or madman or apocalypse lurking off screen, they take the time to kiss and the hero dips the heroine back like they only do in the movies. Penny stares at the television entranced and then changes the channel to a cooking show.
She’s learning how to make Duck a l'Orange when there’s a knock at the door. No one knows she’s here but apparently with enough persistence and a copy of the yellow pages you can find anyone in Los Angeles.
“Penny, are you there? Can I come in?”
Her head rests against the door and she feels like hitting it against the wood a few times. It’s hard enough to let Desmond go without him popping up like this; his turn to be the cat and she, the mouse. At least he sounds calmer than he did the last time he showed up unexpectedly at her door. This time his voice has none of the manic tone it did the night he demanded to have her new phone number.
“Penny...I can say what I came to say out here but…” She hears his hand run down his side of the door. “But it would be better if I could see you.”
She can’t respond because she doesn’t trust herself not to break the vow she made only a hour ago. They can’t keep doing this back and forth dance forever. She won’t let him in, not into the room, not into her heart. But she stays to listen, sinks to the floor, with her back against the door and folds her knees up to her chest. Penny thinks he’s done the same because when he speaks again, his muffled voice appears at her level.
“I had it all planned and this wasn’t suppose to happen now.” She wonders if he’s going to start on about this future Christmas fantasy of his but he doesn’t. “I didn’t, I couldn’t see you again until I could hold my head high. That’s always been the reason, the only reason.” He’s quiet for a moment and Penny’s thinks he’s done; he’s come here to deliver the same speech he’s told her a thousand times, that he doesn’t deserve her.
Then he laughs, a hollow sound devoid of true humour. “I met this doctor tonight and I actually had the gall to give him advice. Me? I don’t know what I was doing. It’s all a mess Pen. I’m a mess. I should just let you go. I should just say good-bye here. But I hope that you showing up tonight means you forgave me once and maybe you have some forgiveness left for what an ass I was tonight.” His voice drops and she has to lean her ear to the door to hear the rest. “And maybe, your patience could extend just a little longer and next May when I sail into the harbour at Setubal, you’ll be there waiting to say hello or good-bye or at the very least, introduce me to the bloke you’ve probably married in the meantime.”
All through this, Penny’s been biting her lip and clenching her fists to keep from crying and she thinks she just might manage to escape him without a tear falling but what he says next pushes her over the edge.
“Do you know where Setubal is? It’s on the southwest coast of Portugal. Better late than never, right?”
The tears fall but no sound comes out. His words and her reaction have taken away her voice. Even if she wanted to say something now, she’s doesn’t think she could.
“I need to do this, Pen. I don’t know why but I do,” he sighs. Then she hears him rise, and she does too, on shaky legs. She wraps her arms around her torso and hugs herself. “I love you, Penny. I've always loved you. I'm so sorry.”
x x x
“I love you, Penny. I've always loved you. I'm so sorry.”
Amid the static and hiss, those were the same words he uttered on the phone over a year ago. She had consumed that fragile moment everyday since; it was all the sustenance she needed to keep going. Now that she’s actually sitting on his ground, under his stars, next to his odd friend, she’s suddenly starving for more.
Penny squints into the darkness, searching the tree line marking the edge of the camp. She tries to stand but both her feet are asleep from sitting in the same position for hours. Electric tingling shoots up and down her legs but she ignores this and puts on her shoes.
“I’m going in there.”
“Where? What? Where?”
Penny stands. “I can’t wait. I can’t believe I’ve just sat here waiting.”
“No. No. No.” Daniel scrambles after her and grabs her arm. “It’s not right in there. It’s barely right here.”
“I have to.”
To her amazement this seems to be enough of an argument for Daniel. “Um, okay. Let me get a lantern.” He starts off across the sand, then turns and points at her. “Wait here, don’t go anywhere. Okay?”
She nods and he disappears into a cluster of tents. Penny stays where she is only because her feet have yet to entirely wake up and if she takes another step, she might just fall. She jiggles each foot, testing their recovery and watching for Daniel’s return. The campfires scattered across the beach don’t throw much light in her direction so she’s relying on moonlight to see anything when she’s distracted by movement in the corner of the camp furthest from her.
Has someone just stepped out of the jungle?
She takes a few steps forward and strains her eyes scanning for something human within the blackness. The palm leaves rustle in the breeze and Penny wants to shush them so she can listen properly.
Her breath catches when she narrows in on what looks like a person standing at the camp’s border. He or she raises the rifle they have by their side as if they sense something at the camp is amiss. Penny stands still, afraid if she takes another step, this vision would vanish.
Could it be?
The person comes forward cautiously and their presence is made known. Several people from the camp rush to greet the arrival and the gun is lowered. Still Penny remains frozen, eyes wide, refusing to blink. There appears to be an excited conversation occurring between the man, it is a man, and the others. Suddenly he drops his gun and breaks into a run in her direction!
Penny is so taken aback she finds herself rushing backward not forward. Her hand flutters at her mouth and her whole body goes numb. She can’t feel anything until she stumbles against something that hits her as hard as a brick wall but she knows it’s only the side of his tent.
It seems to take the man forever to cross the expanse of the beach which still doesn’t give her enough time to gather her wits or make her body cooperate. Even once Desmond’s features are readable and Penny confirms it’s really him, she remains where she is, frozen once again, uncertain of what to do or say. Now that the moment is actually here, she wishes she had more time to prepare.
He stops a few feet away from her and just stares. Even in the darkness, she’s afraid of what she’ll find in his eyes so she looks away.
“Penny,” he says softly, like he's testing out a new word he’s not sure how to pronounce.
She forces herself to look at him properly but there’s no opportunity to appraise him before he drops to his knees, head bowed.
Her heart sinks with this gesture and she finds herself mumbling, “No, no, no.”
She goes to Desmond and kneels in front of him, tentatively takes the hands hanging limp at his side and tries pulls him up. He resists and she’s afraid to force him to do anything but she can’t bear to see him like this.
“Desmond, get up.”
He doesn’t move but he’s too worn out to fight her so when she rises, so does he, and they finally stand face to face.
Tomorrow in the daylight she’ll notice what’s changed: the new lines on his face, the longer hair, the lost weight and the twitch in his left hand, but right now all that matters is the familiarity. That’s what she finds in his eyes and playing, just barely, on his lips is a hint of a smile that speaks of curiosity, delight and apprehension.
“You came.” There’s no question in his statement. He says it as if he never had any doubt which has to be a bit of a lie but she’s not going to challenge him.
Before she can respond, he crushes her in his arms with a strength she wouldn’t have guessed he had left. He squeezes the breath right out of her but she finds she doesn’t need it at the moment. She grips him back as hard as she can, desperate to prove this is no dream. There’s flesh and bone under her hands and she’s pleased that she can feel the blood rushing under his skin. They both forgo tenderness in order to feel the other person as close as possible.
When they’re both satisfied the other is not as apparition, they allow some space between them. She releases his body so she can touch his face, run her fingers across his nose, jaw and lips. That’s not enough for him, so she’s in his arms again and he picks her up as if it’s necessary to grasp her whole weight.
For now the rest of her worries fade. The fact that she’s holding onto to him has to be some sort of sign. If they’ve come this far, they can go further. Penny buries her face against his neck and thinks, it’s over. It’s finally over. No, she corrects herself, it’s just beginning.
x x x