Postcard from Nowhere - Lost - Gen (Sayid)
Title: Postcard from Nowhere
Characters: Sayid, Kate
Word Count: 527
Rating: PG
A/N: Queen aurilly asked for Sayid and the girls. This turned out more gen than anything 'shippy, I think. I'm also using it for a prompt for writing_rainbow. It's AU from the flashforwards.
Summary: From every new location she sends him a postcard.
Dear Sayid,
In Paris now. Having a great time. I've visited the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre. I might stay here a while longer: who knows! The weather is fantastic, but nowhere near as nice as we're used to. I keep getting lost in the back streets. It's chaotic.
Hope to see you soon,
M. xx
Every time, she signs the postcard with one letter. It changes. Never the same from month to month. Sayid would have thought that, by now, such a precaution would have been deemed unnecessary: it wouldn't protect her identity if the police chose to knock at his door. The handwriting is the same, curling and girlish. Whether from K or M or A, it is clear to even the untrained eye that the same hand has penned each one.
They are all collected on a single pin on his noticeboard. He means to burn them; he means to destroy all evidence of her from his life, for her own safety.
The last one is from Paris: the picture on the front is a standard photograph of the Eiffel Tower in bright sunlight. The message is nothing special on the surface, talking only of the good weather and the sights that she has seen. A tourist. A traveller. Maybe she's pretending to be backpacking. The words say that she is having a wonderful time and can't wait to see him again soon: the postcard itself whispers, I'm still alive. That is the true message. That is the important part.
Sometimes he tries to imagine her writing them, sitting in one of the city's cheap cafes at a table near the door as she dreams up a fake life for him. Gun hidden under her shirt; brown hair tied back from her face. Freckles on show, her frowning face would be focused as she tried to write a message to him.
When he returns home, his gaze always lingers on his collection of postcards from her. He reaches out to leaf through them when he is feeling more lonely and isolated than ever - and he thinks that he should have gone, should have ran, should have never looked back. With Nadia gone, there is nothing to keep him here. He barely speaks to the others any more. Isolated. He thinks it is better like that, but there are other times when his home feels so empty. He longs for the sound of Hurley's laughter or to hear another impossible plan from Jack.
He wishes most of all to hear her voice again, but he knows it cannot happen. It's too dangerous when she is on the run, an old murder charge hanging over her head. On the island, it had felt so distant, and he has little doubt that there is far more blood on his hands than there has ever been in hers. If there is anyone that ought to be thrown to the mercy of the legal system it is him, but instead he and the other survivors are lauded by the American public. A miracle saved them; they were given a second chance - and he runs his finger over the initial marked on the bottom of that short rectangle, wondering why she had not been reborn as well.
Characters: Sayid, Kate
Word Count: 527
Rating: PG
A/N: Queen aurilly asked for Sayid and the girls. This turned out more gen than anything 'shippy, I think. I'm also using it for a prompt for writing_rainbow. It's AU from the flashforwards.
Summary: From every new location she sends him a postcard.
Dear Sayid,
In Paris now. Having a great time. I've visited the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre. I might stay here a while longer: who knows! The weather is fantastic, but nowhere near as nice as we're used to. I keep getting lost in the back streets. It's chaotic.
Hope to see you soon,
M. xx
Every time, she signs the postcard with one letter. It changes. Never the same from month to month. Sayid would have thought that, by now, such a precaution would have been deemed unnecessary: it wouldn't protect her identity if the police chose to knock at his door. The handwriting is the same, curling and girlish. Whether from K or M or A, it is clear to even the untrained eye that the same hand has penned each one.
They are all collected on a single pin on his noticeboard. He means to burn them; he means to destroy all evidence of her from his life, for her own safety.
The last one is from Paris: the picture on the front is a standard photograph of the Eiffel Tower in bright sunlight. The message is nothing special on the surface, talking only of the good weather and the sights that she has seen. A tourist. A traveller. Maybe she's pretending to be backpacking. The words say that she is having a wonderful time and can't wait to see him again soon: the postcard itself whispers, I'm still alive. That is the true message. That is the important part.
Sometimes he tries to imagine her writing them, sitting in one of the city's cheap cafes at a table near the door as she dreams up a fake life for him. Gun hidden under her shirt; brown hair tied back from her face. Freckles on show, her frowning face would be focused as she tried to write a message to him.
When he returns home, his gaze always lingers on his collection of postcards from her. He reaches out to leaf through them when he is feeling more lonely and isolated than ever - and he thinks that he should have gone, should have ran, should have never looked back. With Nadia gone, there is nothing to keep him here. He barely speaks to the others any more. Isolated. He thinks it is better like that, but there are other times when his home feels so empty. He longs for the sound of Hurley's laughter or to hear another impossible plan from Jack.
He wishes most of all to hear her voice again, but he knows it cannot happen. It's too dangerous when she is on the run, an old murder charge hanging over her head. On the island, it had felt so distant, and he has little doubt that there is far more blood on his hands than there has ever been in hers. If there is anyone that ought to be thrown to the mercy of the legal system it is him, but instead he and the other survivors are lauded by the American public. A miracle saved them; they were given a second chance - and he runs his finger over the initial marked on the bottom of that short rectangle, wondering why she had not been reborn as well.