fic, Lost: The Essential Rescue Mission, PG, for elliotsmelliot
Well, I needed a break from the Hohoho assignment and I didn't want to lose the inspiration for this one when it hit me.
Title: The Essential Rescue Mission
Characters/Pairing: the blue shirt, Boone, Charlie, Tom with a Desmond and Sayid appearance
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: If this happens on the show I'll pay a dinner for all of my friendslist. Of course not mine.
Word count: 1973
Spoilers: S4 finale.
Summary: the blue shirt has been quietly living in her maple wood closet filled with lavender scent when she receives an unexpected visit.
A/N: Second of the Christmas fics, this one for elliotsmelliot who wanted further blue shirt adventures. I had a couple of ideas, then this one hit and it just wouldn't go away. And it's absolute, blatant and pure crack. Hope you like it! ♥
The truth is that you’ll never know how good a closet feels like until you try it.
Well, okay, when you compare a nice, big, comfy closet made of red maple wood, with a small lavender bag carefully placed in each corner with: a factory first, then a very uncomfortable hanger in a shop at LAX, then two months in a suitcase pressed against others and thrown all over the place because you were in a plane crash and then, when finally someone wears you (and a pretty fine someone at that), you almost never leave him and get washed just a couple of times, and then you have to endure water, dirt, rain, sand, helicopter journeys, being manhandled by some very brutal specimen of wankers (well, she did pick some slang), your owner almost drowning and losing almost all of your buttons, you’ll admit that maybe a closet feels incredibly good.
Sure, she’s still all ripped and her buttons are all gone but one, not to mention the state of her hems; but she’s always been a realistic shirt and she knows that she’s only made of cloth.
Cloth doesn’t last forever and she knew that at certain point she could have never served him the right way anymore. She was touched by the care he handled her with though, not throwing her away like he could have done but folding her nicely, carefully, placing her in the first place one sees while opening the closet; when his Penny asked him what was so important in a shirt, he had said something like she was a companion of many adventures and you could have bet that she’d have cried, if she had the possibility.
She’s been enjoying her new, quiet life for a while; she sees him every morning when he opens the closet, now he shaved and cut his hair a bit and even if she has to say that she liked him better with the scruff and the longer hair, oh, he always looks so fine. For the rest, she just lies there, the soft lavender perfume filling the air, and she thinks about the island and mostly remembers.
She’s having a nice time, after all.
She doesn’t know how much time has passed (months, years? Hey, shirts never had any sense of time passing anyway) when the closet is opened late in the night. It’s pretty strange, since Desmond never opens it at this time.
And well, it can’t be Desmond since these are definitely three people, but she can’t really see them since the light is closed.
“Mate, that’s the closet, but will one of you turn the bloody light on already? Fine with the secrecy and all, but Des isn’t even home. We have at least two good hours here.”
“Tom, will you? I think you’re the nearest one to the switch.”
“Yeah, boss, sure. Oh, here it is.”
She had recognized the first one from the voice, but now, when the light is turned on, she is sure; he’s the short Brit who gave her to Desmond and who met that sad, sad fate (she’d have cried then, too; she also never managed to place her owner’s pretty discontinuous behavior after it, but well, Desmond is her owner and she’s a shirt; fine, she thinks and remembers and has feelings like any other shirt would have for such a perfect owner, but she never read Freud). Charlie, she thinks. While she can’t really place the other two; Tom, who comes in front of the closet later than the others, is a tall man, heavy-built but not that much, white soft hair, dressed all in black, looks carefully at her and she’s actually feeling at least a bit intimidated by such a stare. The third one, currently nameless, is young, early twenties, long-ish brown hair, fair skin, full lips as pink as the flush on his cheeks and two enormous eyes of a blue maybe a bit lighter than hers. And definitely pretty, she has to admit to herself. But if Charlie is here, then it means they are all dead? She decides to hear them carefully.
“Good. Charlie, you confirm that it’s the right one?”
“Mate, are you joking? Of course it is. I could recognize it in a thousand, I actually gave it to Des myself back then. Hi, you remember me, right?”
She’d like to say yes and she’s pretty disappointed when Tom tells Charlie that shirts can’t recognize people. What does he know?
“Come on, you two, don’t argue. You know that if we don’t do this properly everything will be jeopardized. We're on an essential rescue mission, so let’s just do it the right way, okay?”
Tom raises his hands. “Sure, boss, sure. You’re right.”
“Good. Charlie?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever. I still can’t see why they sent us and not any of those crazy girls though.”
“Because you know they’d ruin it more than it already is. They aren’t objective.”
“Why, because you are objective?”
“Of course. For your interest, Charlie, I am not interested in Desmond even if I have to say he’s a very fine man. I’m not in the let’s-try-to-make-the-buttons-fall-while-being-invisible club.”
“Oh, boss, we know you have a much more refined taste!”
Charlie brings his hand to his forehead, shaking it.
“Why the bloody hell did I accept to come with you two? I can’t freaking believe you are both still crushing over Jack even if you’re dead.”
“And what’s the matter with that?” Tom and Unnamed answer at the same second and she has to say that it’s a pretty funny exchange. And if she remembers right and Jack is the guy she was rubbing against while he did CPR on Desmond, she has to be fair; they both have excellent taste.
“Fine, fine, let’s just bloody do this. Boone, you’ve got the whole seniority privilege and all. Honor’s all yours. Also the honor to say that shit Jack’s dad said we have to say. I’m not sodding doing it.”
Oh, finally Unnamed has a name. Pretty one, she has to say. Well, a young man as pretty as this one is has to have a pretty name.
He nods, suddenly serious again, and kneels in front of the closet, taking her slowly out and unfolding her; his fingers close lightly over her shoulders, holding her up in the air.
“Well, that’ll be a pretty hard job, but I think it’s doable. Tom, do you have all the necessary?”
“Definitely, boss.”
“Excellent. Take it out.”
Then Boone brings her to the bed where Desmond and Penny should be sleeping and it’s strange because it’s empty; he lies her there and smooths her clothing with his hand carefully.
“Okay, before we start, I know you can’t probably hear me, but... well, the other boss said we had to. So, don’t worry. Now me and these other two gentlemen are going to fix you up and you’ll see why in a short while. Nothing too painful.”
Tom sits on the bed on the other side while Charlie kneels behind her; he carefully places on the cover a wooden box. He opens it and oh, it’s full of blue thread and blue buttons and pins, needles and also a small blue needle-cushion.
“That’s some excellent job. Okay, we’re sharing this equally. Charlie, you’re mending the rips while me and him keep it up. I’m doing the hems down and the ones of the sleeves, too. Tom, you finish and replace the buttons. All clear?”
“Yeah, boss,” they answer at the same time even if Tom is serious and Charlie clearly mocking.
“Then let’s go.”
Boone and Tom hold her carefully up, turning her on both sides, so that Charlie can mend all of her rips and she has to say he has a pretty steady hand here. When Tom pays his compliments, he says something about mending stage clothes.
When he’s done, Boone carefully takes one sleeve and fixes the hems, then does the same on the other and then in twenty minutes he’s done also with the ones at the waist.
“Boss, that was a tailor’s work!”
“No, I just lived alone for one year. Come on, let’s do the buttons. Charlie, let’s keep this in the right light.”
She has to say that with every replaced button, it’s like they’re injecting new life into her; well, if you can call it life.
When Tom is done, Boone buttons her up and then he and Charlie lay her back on the bed.
“Well, gentlemen, I think we did a pretty nice job. Didn’t we?”
“Hell yes, boss. I wish I could have always worked for you instead of Ben, he really doesn’t know how to appreciate havin’ such fun.”
“Well, I have to say we have certainly done some bloody nice work here. It looks like new!”
“That was the target. Well, we need a last touch here though, otherwise he’ll just be more freaked out than he already is.”
“Oh, right. Tom, you’ve got the notebook?”
“Yeah, but I’m not the one writing here. I mean, I doubt he’d understand anything.”
“After seeing your spirit guide application I need to say the same. Charlie, you do it? After all he knows you, not us.”
“Fine. Give me that.”
Tom passes Charlie a notebook and Boone hands him a pen; Charlie writes a couple of lines on the piece of paper, nods, signs it, passes it to Boone, who adds another line or something before signing it, and then Boone passes it to Tom in order for him to sign it, too. Then he rips the piece of paper, folds it in two and puts it lightly between a couple of buttons.
Then she hears some noise from outside the room.
“Fuck, just in time. Come on, time to flee!”
“Boss, you think we can spare time for having a look at Jack before we’re back?”
“I’m afraid not, even if I wish we could. Come on, Charlie, let’s go!”
“Yeah, yeah, coming!”
They all disappear like they came and two seconds later the door opens and Desmond enters the room, followed by that nice Iraqi guy that was with them on the freighter, who’s dressing in black leather now and looks almost as fine as her owner; he notices her as soon as he sees the bed. He takes the note with trembling hands and reads it; when he’s done, he looks more puzzled than anything else.
“Sayid?”
“Yes?”
“Uhm, do you know a Boone and a Tom?”
“I did. They are dead.”
“Then how do you explain this to me?”
He gives Sayid the note and he reads it aloud.
“Des, you wanker, next time treat it better. We aren’t going through all this trouble again just because if you don’t have it you can’t go back and you’d fuck the cosmic balance up. And because you can’t sew worth a damn. Good luck and give Claire what you know, Charlie.
What he said and compliments for the gorgeous shirt, Boone Carlyle and Tom. Charlie? But...”
“Well, brother, guess I’ll just take it for the lovely gift it is.”
Then Desmond suddenly takes off his t-shirt just like that and opens all of her buttons carefully, slipping his arms into her sleeves, slowly buttoning her up again as he did that famous day when they met. She can see his small smile as he pushes the last button through the small hole.
“Together again, aye?”
Oh, yes, she’d say if only she had a voice. Then he turns to Sayid, nods at him, grabs a jacket and gets out of the room. She doesn’t know what awaits them now, but oh, she’s so excited.
Because you see, life in a closet is good and comfortable, but sometimes it really gets boring.
End.
Title: The Essential Rescue Mission
Characters/Pairing: the blue shirt, Boone, Charlie, Tom with a Desmond and Sayid appearance
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: If this happens on the show I'll pay a dinner for all of my friendslist. Of course not mine.
Word count: 1973
Spoilers: S4 finale.
Summary: the blue shirt has been quietly living in her maple wood closet filled with lavender scent when she receives an unexpected visit.
A/N: Second of the Christmas fics, this one for elliotsmelliot who wanted further blue shirt adventures. I had a couple of ideas, then this one hit and it just wouldn't go away. And it's absolute, blatant and pure crack. Hope you like it! ♥
The truth is that you’ll never know how good a closet feels like until you try it.
Well, okay, when you compare a nice, big, comfy closet made of red maple wood, with a small lavender bag carefully placed in each corner with: a factory first, then a very uncomfortable hanger in a shop at LAX, then two months in a suitcase pressed against others and thrown all over the place because you were in a plane crash and then, when finally someone wears you (and a pretty fine someone at that), you almost never leave him and get washed just a couple of times, and then you have to endure water, dirt, rain, sand, helicopter journeys, being manhandled by some very brutal specimen of wankers (well, she did pick some slang), your owner almost drowning and losing almost all of your buttons, you’ll admit that maybe a closet feels incredibly good.
Sure, she’s still all ripped and her buttons are all gone but one, not to mention the state of her hems; but she’s always been a realistic shirt and she knows that she’s only made of cloth.
Cloth doesn’t last forever and she knew that at certain point she could have never served him the right way anymore. She was touched by the care he handled her with though, not throwing her away like he could have done but folding her nicely, carefully, placing her in the first place one sees while opening the closet; when his Penny asked him what was so important in a shirt, he had said something like she was a companion of many adventures and you could have bet that she’d have cried, if she had the possibility.
She’s been enjoying her new, quiet life for a while; she sees him every morning when he opens the closet, now he shaved and cut his hair a bit and even if she has to say that she liked him better with the scruff and the longer hair, oh, he always looks so fine. For the rest, she just lies there, the soft lavender perfume filling the air, and she thinks about the island and mostly remembers.
She’s having a nice time, after all.
She doesn’t know how much time has passed (months, years? Hey, shirts never had any sense of time passing anyway) when the closet is opened late in the night. It’s pretty strange, since Desmond never opens it at this time.
And well, it can’t be Desmond since these are definitely three people, but she can’t really see them since the light is closed.
“Mate, that’s the closet, but will one of you turn the bloody light on already? Fine with the secrecy and all, but Des isn’t even home. We have at least two good hours here.”
“Tom, will you? I think you’re the nearest one to the switch.”
“Yeah, boss, sure. Oh, here it is.”
She had recognized the first one from the voice, but now, when the light is turned on, she is sure; he’s the short Brit who gave her to Desmond and who met that sad, sad fate (she’d have cried then, too; she also never managed to place her owner’s pretty discontinuous behavior after it, but well, Desmond is her owner and she’s a shirt; fine, she thinks and remembers and has feelings like any other shirt would have for such a perfect owner, but she never read Freud). Charlie, she thinks. While she can’t really place the other two; Tom, who comes in front of the closet later than the others, is a tall man, heavy-built but not that much, white soft hair, dressed all in black, looks carefully at her and she’s actually feeling at least a bit intimidated by such a stare. The third one, currently nameless, is young, early twenties, long-ish brown hair, fair skin, full lips as pink as the flush on his cheeks and two enormous eyes of a blue maybe a bit lighter than hers. And definitely pretty, she has to admit to herself. But if Charlie is here, then it means they are all dead? She decides to hear them carefully.
“Good. Charlie, you confirm that it’s the right one?”
“Mate, are you joking? Of course it is. I could recognize it in a thousand, I actually gave it to Des myself back then. Hi, you remember me, right?”
She’d like to say yes and she’s pretty disappointed when Tom tells Charlie that shirts can’t recognize people. What does he know?
“Come on, you two, don’t argue. You know that if we don’t do this properly everything will be jeopardized. We're on an essential rescue mission, so let’s just do it the right way, okay?”
Tom raises his hands. “Sure, boss, sure. You’re right.”
“Good. Charlie?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure, whatever. I still can’t see why they sent us and not any of those crazy girls though.”
“Because you know they’d ruin it more than it already is. They aren’t objective.”
“Why, because you are objective?”
“Of course. For your interest, Charlie, I am not interested in Desmond even if I have to say he’s a very fine man. I’m not in the let’s-try-to-make-the-buttons-fall-while-being-invisible club.”
“Oh, boss, we know you have a much more refined taste!”
Charlie brings his hand to his forehead, shaking it.
“Why the bloody hell did I accept to come with you two? I can’t freaking believe you are both still crushing over Jack even if you’re dead.”
“And what’s the matter with that?” Tom and Unnamed answer at the same second and she has to say that it’s a pretty funny exchange. And if she remembers right and Jack is the guy she was rubbing against while he did CPR on Desmond, she has to be fair; they both have excellent taste.
“Fine, fine, let’s just bloody do this. Boone, you’ve got the whole seniority privilege and all. Honor’s all yours. Also the honor to say that shit Jack’s dad said we have to say. I’m not sodding doing it.”
Oh, finally Unnamed has a name. Pretty one, she has to say. Well, a young man as pretty as this one is has to have a pretty name.
He nods, suddenly serious again, and kneels in front of the closet, taking her slowly out and unfolding her; his fingers close lightly over her shoulders, holding her up in the air.
“Well, that’ll be a pretty hard job, but I think it’s doable. Tom, do you have all the necessary?”
“Definitely, boss.”
“Excellent. Take it out.”
Then Boone brings her to the bed where Desmond and Penny should be sleeping and it’s strange because it’s empty; he lies her there and smooths her clothing with his hand carefully.
“Okay, before we start, I know you can’t probably hear me, but... well, the other boss said we had to. So, don’t worry. Now me and these other two gentlemen are going to fix you up and you’ll see why in a short while. Nothing too painful.”
Tom sits on the bed on the other side while Charlie kneels behind her; he carefully places on the cover a wooden box. He opens it and oh, it’s full of blue thread and blue buttons and pins, needles and also a small blue needle-cushion.
“That’s some excellent job. Okay, we’re sharing this equally. Charlie, you’re mending the rips while me and him keep it up. I’m doing the hems down and the ones of the sleeves, too. Tom, you finish and replace the buttons. All clear?”
“Yeah, boss,” they answer at the same time even if Tom is serious and Charlie clearly mocking.
“Then let’s go.”
Boone and Tom hold her carefully up, turning her on both sides, so that Charlie can mend all of her rips and she has to say he has a pretty steady hand here. When Tom pays his compliments, he says something about mending stage clothes.
When he’s done, Boone carefully takes one sleeve and fixes the hems, then does the same on the other and then in twenty minutes he’s done also with the ones at the waist.
“Boss, that was a tailor’s work!”
“No, I just lived alone for one year. Come on, let’s do the buttons. Charlie, let’s keep this in the right light.”
She has to say that with every replaced button, it’s like they’re injecting new life into her; well, if you can call it life.
When Tom is done, Boone buttons her up and then he and Charlie lay her back on the bed.
“Well, gentlemen, I think we did a pretty nice job. Didn’t we?”
“Hell yes, boss. I wish I could have always worked for you instead of Ben, he really doesn’t know how to appreciate havin’ such fun.”
“Well, I have to say we have certainly done some bloody nice work here. It looks like new!”
“That was the target. Well, we need a last touch here though, otherwise he’ll just be more freaked out than he already is.”
“Oh, right. Tom, you’ve got the notebook?”
“Yeah, but I’m not the one writing here. I mean, I doubt he’d understand anything.”
“After seeing your spirit guide application I need to say the same. Charlie, you do it? After all he knows you, not us.”
“Fine. Give me that.”
Tom passes Charlie a notebook and Boone hands him a pen; Charlie writes a couple of lines on the piece of paper, nods, signs it, passes it to Boone, who adds another line or something before signing it, and then Boone passes it to Tom in order for him to sign it, too. Then he rips the piece of paper, folds it in two and puts it lightly between a couple of buttons.
Then she hears some noise from outside the room.
“Fuck, just in time. Come on, time to flee!”
“Boss, you think we can spare time for having a look at Jack before we’re back?”
“I’m afraid not, even if I wish we could. Come on, Charlie, let’s go!”
“Yeah, yeah, coming!”
They all disappear like they came and two seconds later the door opens and Desmond enters the room, followed by that nice Iraqi guy that was with them on the freighter, who’s dressing in black leather now and looks almost as fine as her owner; he notices her as soon as he sees the bed. He takes the note with trembling hands and reads it; when he’s done, he looks more puzzled than anything else.
“Sayid?”
“Yes?”
“Uhm, do you know a Boone and a Tom?”
“I did. They are dead.”
“Then how do you explain this to me?”
He gives Sayid the note and he reads it aloud.
“Des, you wanker, next time treat it better. We aren’t going through all this trouble again just because if you don’t have it you can’t go back and you’d fuck the cosmic balance up. And because you can’t sew worth a damn. Good luck and give Claire what you know, Charlie.
What he said and compliments for the gorgeous shirt, Boone Carlyle and Tom. Charlie? But...”
“Well, brother, guess I’ll just take it for the lovely gift it is.”
Then Desmond suddenly takes off his t-shirt just like that and opens all of her buttons carefully, slipping his arms into her sleeves, slowly buttoning her up again as he did that famous day when they met. She can see his small smile as he pushes the last button through the small hole.
“Together again, aye?”
Oh, yes, she’d say if only she had a voice. Then he turns to Sayid, nods at him, grabs a jacket and gets out of the room. She doesn’t know what awaits them now, but oh, she’s so excited.
Because you see, life in a closet is good and comfortable, but sometimes it really gets boring.
End.