two Lost gen ficlets (Sayid and Penny, Michael), both PG
Re-posting from the lostsquee '09 ficlet challenge.
Title: Pain d'epiches
Rating: PG
Characters: Sayid (implied Sayid/Nadia), Penny
Words: 692
Summary: Gingerbread was Nadia's favorite.
Spoilers: general until S5.
Disclaimer: not mine, not mine.
A/N: written for the prompts gingerbread and repulse. Probably because Sayid was the only one I could see capable of baking gingerbread properly and then it happened.
2006
Gingerbread was Nadia's favorite.
He used to bake her cookies each week. He used to like making it; sometimes he put honey in those cookies, too, or sometimes spices. Sometimes it wasn't cookies but just what was called pain d'epiches when he lived in Paris; he used to add nuts to it, and raisins, and whatever else passed through his head which could make each recipe special. He enjoyed it a lot, not only because it pleased her but also because it please him, because it was a normal thing, because he still remembers fondly the times he used to do it for a living even if they came to an abrupt end (as usual, he thinks lately).
Now Sayid can't even stand the sight of it; he feels repulsed whenever he passes a bakery and sees those beautiful, complex gingerbread houses exposed for everyone to see. He remembers how sweet it tasted on her mouth when he kissed her after the first bite and it makes him want to throw up. It makes him sick when he sees children walking out of those bakeries holding up some perfectly made gingerbread men and then happily eating them up. It makes him sick to smell it whenever it happens. He used to cook everything for Nadia, not only gingerbread; that's another reason why he's thankful that Ben sets him in five-star hotels. Their restaurants are always excellent and he doesn't have to fix anything up himself.
He once thought that part of him was dead, the day when he fled Paris; he knows it is now.
2008
He tries not to get in the way. Desmond was kind enough when he said he could come staying with them for a while, they found this house in London which is big enough and has a guest room; and while Penny had seemed glad to back Desmond up, Sayid still thinks he should have died on the island. The second he boarded Ajira flight 316, he knew he wasn't going to go back; but now he is back and the only scar that remains is a bullet hole in his hip that aches when it rains.
He has a room, and that's enough; he mostly talks to Desmond but always tries to be invisible, not to be noticed. After all, they're a family; sometimes he feels like he's a tenant who doesn't pay for the lodging and while he knows it isn't like that, it's easier to think of it this way. He won't ask why Desmond offered and he won't ask Penny why didn't she object.
So, one afternoon he decides to take a walk, but stops dead in his tracks when he notices Penny in the kitchen preparing gingerbread men to bake. He stands still for too long; he should have left, but she notices him and cracks a smile his way. He tries to smile back, fighting the sickness he feels sweeping all over him.
"Hello. What were you doing?"
"I was going for a walk. Sorry for disturbing..."
"Oh, you didn't. I don't even think that I'll manage to get the bloody things done right. They're Charlie's favorites, but I never could bloody grasp how they're done."
She half smiles and gets back to reading her recipe printed from the Internet; Sayid doesn't know why, but suddenly he doesn't feel that disgusted anymore. And maybe he could repay her this way, even if it doesn't really cover it.
"Perhaps you... might want help? I used to do this, once."
"Baking gingerbread?"
"That, too."
Penny's smile is warm and she looks way too glad for such a simple offer.
"Oh, that'd be just great. I tried, you know, but I guess I'm just not cut for it. Do you want a look at the recipe, maybe?"
"No, thank you. I had my own."
"Even better. This thing is way too complicated, if you ask me."
Penny rips the piece of paper and says she's ready when he is; Sayid nods slightly and doesn't try to figure out why, as he washes his hands, he feels a weight off his shoulders.
End.
Title: Faults
Rating: PG
Characters: Michael (as Kevin Johnson)
Words: 525
Summary: See, the problem is that if Michael ever had a flaw (fine; he has more than one, but let's say his worst flaw), it's that he loses temper.
Spoilers: general S4. I guess until 4x08.
Disclaimer: not mine, not mine.
A/N: written for the prompts irritable and delude. Using it for chem15try #4, thermodynamics, since at this point he was on the freighter too. ;)
See, the problem is that if Michael ever had a flaw (fine; he has more than one, but let's say his worst flaw), it's that he loses temper. It doesn't take much to irritate him; scratch it, it takes nothing, and he knows. And with losing temper, comes also another pretty fucking big flaw, which is that he's impulsive. He doesn't reflect. Well. Right. Maybe this is his worst trait.
Because point is, he could have saved himself a lot of trouble if he had taken the time to think before acting a couple of times.
Someone calls him Johnson and asks him if he can come clean the kitchen. He smiles a fake smile and pushes his broom forward. Fine, maybe cabin man is the perfect way to blend in, but it still sucks. Whatever. He mops away dirt with dirty water and bad soap and bites his lip.
He can't help thinking about it. Maybe if he hadn't been so stupid, if he had thought, he wouldn't be here.
It started all with the raft.
If he had actually reflected about it, maybe just a bit, he'd have realized it was useless. He wouldn't have built it. And they wouldn't have gotten Walt.
Then again, if he had actually thought about it before going after the Others alone and had waited for Jack or Sayid or who the hell else to come up with a plan, he wouldn't have ended a prisoner, too.
Then again, if he had actually thought about it, he'd have told the truth first thing instead of doing what they said without realizing he had another choice. Then, maybe, he wouldn't be seeing a blonde ghost and one with golden, warm skin.
And apart from all of this, maybe if he had just thought about it before telling Walt the truth, he wouldn't have lost him. And if he had just thought about it, he'd have told his mother the truth.
Whatever. He can't afford to lose any temper now anyway. Not until his name is Kevin Johnson.
His fingers curl around the broom, so hard that it hurts. Shit, he thinks, I really deluded them all. From Jack, who had been sort of a friend at first, to Sawyer, who had saved his life and didn't surely get any thanks from him, to his mother, to Walt, to Ana and Libby, who hadn't fucking deserved to be victims of his complete failing at not being impulsive.
He scrubs the floor so hard that he wouldn't be surprised if the broom broke against it.
He lifts the broom and places it in the bucket, then starts attacking the dirt huddled in a corner. A black cockroach walks quickly away and he crushes it under his heel, then mops it away. It leaves a black, disgusting trail over the dirty floor. Fuck, he thinks, now even the floor is mocking him. The more he mops it, the dirtier it gets. He laughs, thinking about how perfect of a metaphor it is; after all, during his life, didn't things get even messier the more he tried to straighten them out?
End.
Title: Pain d'epiches
Rating: PG
Characters: Sayid (implied Sayid/Nadia), Penny
Words: 692
Summary: Gingerbread was Nadia's favorite.
Spoilers: general until S5.
Disclaimer: not mine, not mine.
A/N: written for the prompts gingerbread and repulse. Probably because Sayid was the only one I could see capable of baking gingerbread properly and then it happened.
2006
Gingerbread was Nadia's favorite.
He used to bake her cookies each week. He used to like making it; sometimes he put honey in those cookies, too, or sometimes spices. Sometimes it wasn't cookies but just what was called pain d'epiches when he lived in Paris; he used to add nuts to it, and raisins, and whatever else passed through his head which could make each recipe special. He enjoyed it a lot, not only because it pleased her but also because it please him, because it was a normal thing, because he still remembers fondly the times he used to do it for a living even if they came to an abrupt end (as usual, he thinks lately).
Now Sayid can't even stand the sight of it; he feels repulsed whenever he passes a bakery and sees those beautiful, complex gingerbread houses exposed for everyone to see. He remembers how sweet it tasted on her mouth when he kissed her after the first bite and it makes him want to throw up. It makes him sick when he sees children walking out of those bakeries holding up some perfectly made gingerbread men and then happily eating them up. It makes him sick to smell it whenever it happens. He used to cook everything for Nadia, not only gingerbread; that's another reason why he's thankful that Ben sets him in five-star hotels. Their restaurants are always excellent and he doesn't have to fix anything up himself.
He once thought that part of him was dead, the day when he fled Paris; he knows it is now.
2008
He tries not to get in the way. Desmond was kind enough when he said he could come staying with them for a while, they found this house in London which is big enough and has a guest room; and while Penny had seemed glad to back Desmond up, Sayid still thinks he should have died on the island. The second he boarded Ajira flight 316, he knew he wasn't going to go back; but now he is back and the only scar that remains is a bullet hole in his hip that aches when it rains.
He has a room, and that's enough; he mostly talks to Desmond but always tries to be invisible, not to be noticed. After all, they're a family; sometimes he feels like he's a tenant who doesn't pay for the lodging and while he knows it isn't like that, it's easier to think of it this way. He won't ask why Desmond offered and he won't ask Penny why didn't she object.
So, one afternoon he decides to take a walk, but stops dead in his tracks when he notices Penny in the kitchen preparing gingerbread men to bake. He stands still for too long; he should have left, but she notices him and cracks a smile his way. He tries to smile back, fighting the sickness he feels sweeping all over him.
"Hello. What were you doing?"
"I was going for a walk. Sorry for disturbing..."
"Oh, you didn't. I don't even think that I'll manage to get the bloody things done right. They're Charlie's favorites, but I never could bloody grasp how they're done."
She half smiles and gets back to reading her recipe printed from the Internet; Sayid doesn't know why, but suddenly he doesn't feel that disgusted anymore. And maybe he could repay her this way, even if it doesn't really cover it.
"Perhaps you... might want help? I used to do this, once."
"Baking gingerbread?"
"That, too."
Penny's smile is warm and she looks way too glad for such a simple offer.
"Oh, that'd be just great. I tried, you know, but I guess I'm just not cut for it. Do you want a look at the recipe, maybe?"
"No, thank you. I had my own."
"Even better. This thing is way too complicated, if you ask me."
Penny rips the piece of paper and says she's ready when he is; Sayid nods slightly and doesn't try to figure out why, as he washes his hands, he feels a weight off his shoulders.
End.
Title: Faults
Rating: PG
Characters: Michael (as Kevin Johnson)
Words: 525
Summary: See, the problem is that if Michael ever had a flaw (fine; he has more than one, but let's say his worst flaw), it's that he loses temper.
Spoilers: general S4. I guess until 4x08.
Disclaimer: not mine, not mine.
A/N: written for the prompts irritable and delude. Using it for chem15try #4, thermodynamics, since at this point he was on the freighter too. ;)
See, the problem is that if Michael ever had a flaw (fine; he has more than one, but let's say his worst flaw), it's that he loses temper. It doesn't take much to irritate him; scratch it, it takes nothing, and he knows. And with losing temper, comes also another pretty fucking big flaw, which is that he's impulsive. He doesn't reflect. Well. Right. Maybe this is his worst trait.
Because point is, he could have saved himself a lot of trouble if he had taken the time to think before acting a couple of times.
Someone calls him Johnson and asks him if he can come clean the kitchen. He smiles a fake smile and pushes his broom forward. Fine, maybe cabin man is the perfect way to blend in, but it still sucks. Whatever. He mops away dirt with dirty water and bad soap and bites his lip.
He can't help thinking about it. Maybe if he hadn't been so stupid, if he had thought, he wouldn't be here.
It started all with the raft.
If he had actually reflected about it, maybe just a bit, he'd have realized it was useless. He wouldn't have built it. And they wouldn't have gotten Walt.
Then again, if he had actually thought about it before going after the Others alone and had waited for Jack or Sayid or who the hell else to come up with a plan, he wouldn't have ended a prisoner, too.
Then again, if he had actually thought about it, he'd have told the truth first thing instead of doing what they said without realizing he had another choice. Then, maybe, he wouldn't be seeing a blonde ghost and one with golden, warm skin.
And apart from all of this, maybe if he had just thought about it before telling Walt the truth, he wouldn't have lost him. And if he had just thought about it, he'd have told his mother the truth.
Whatever. He can't afford to lose any temper now anyway. Not until his name is Kevin Johnson.
His fingers curl around the broom, so hard that it hurts. Shit, he thinks, I really deluded them all. From Jack, who had been sort of a friend at first, to Sawyer, who had saved his life and didn't surely get any thanks from him, to his mother, to Walt, to Ana and Libby, who hadn't fucking deserved to be victims of his complete failing at not being impulsive.
He scrubs the floor so hard that he wouldn't be surprised if the broom broke against it.
He lifts the broom and places it in the bucket, then starts attacking the dirt huddled in a corner. A black cockroach walks quickly away and he crushes it under his heel, then mops it away. It leaves a black, disgusting trail over the dirty floor. Fuck, he thinks, now even the floor is mocking him. The more he mops it, the dirtier it gets. He laughs, thinking about how perfect of a metaphor it is; after all, during his life, didn't things get even messier the more he tried to straighten them out?
End.