Gate C22 for ozmissage
Title: Gate C22
Author: 823freckles
Recipient: ozmissage
Pairing: James/Juliet
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: Angst!
Prompt: post-The Incident reunion fic, “Long time no see, Blondie.”
Author notes: LOST is not mine, but in the words of John Locke, “Don’t tell me what I can’t do write!” The title is a reference to the poem Gate C22 by Ellen Bass. Happy Holidays, ozmissage!
---
James blacks out for a moment as he walks off the plane. Two simultaneous thoughts cross his mind as he leans against the corridor wall, urging his head to stop spinning as a fat man shuffles past him. He thinks, “Those Australian sons of bitches must have roughed me up good when they kicked me out of kangaroo country.” At the same time, he thinks, “It makes sense to be a little dizzy after a crazy electromagnetic explosion. At least I’m alive.”
His thoughts don’t make any sense; he thinks of an island with polar bears and monsters made of smoke, and a man who wasn’t Sawyer bleeding out in the warm Sydney rain. James closes his eyes and shakes his head, and his thoughts seem to clear. Now only one image burns on the back of his retinas. A pretty blonde, indistinguishable in many ways from the countless others he has conned in his career. Yet she is different (who is she?) because he loves her.
James walks out the door of Gate C22, subconsciously searching for the woman, and spots her within seconds. Their positions are mirror images of each other; each stands on tiptoes, neck craned, with eyes scouring the crowd for the other. When James sees Juliet, he smiles, and pushes his fellow disembarking passengers out of the way.
A haughty blonde with an inhaler pressed to her lips exclaims, “Well excuse me.”
“Sorry, Sticks,” he responds with nary a look backwards. James only has eyes for the woman in front of him, the woman who has finally seen him rushing towards her. She sidesteps a bald man in a wheelchair and uncharacteristically throws herself into his arms. Her lips find his, and she gasps for breath against his open searching mouth. He knows what she is thinking, for he thinks the same thing; “it is like coming up for air.”
The chaos of thirty years, three years, and mere days comes flooding back to James as Juliet kisses him. Even if only mere moments passed since he saw her last, it feels like a lifetime, and with their unbelievable history, it might as well be a lifetime since the moment he last held her in his arms. She is different, this beauty who stands before him. The crow’s feet have not begun to form at the corners of her eyes. Her hair is slightly darker, not bleached by years of scorching island sun. And her smile reaches her eyes, a rare sight to see even at her happiest on the island. Yet he recognizes her, and the feeling vibrates in his bones.
“Long time no see, Blondie,” he whispers against her lips as he reaches up and runs his fingers through her blonde waves. She kisses him again and again. Her kisses are wet with tears that stream down her flushed cheeks. But James laughs, just laughs. He pulls back to look at Juliet. He sees no blood, no bruises, no signs of the trauma that occurred just minutes before…or thirty years before. He doesn’t know how, or why, but Jack’s reset worked. Yet he remembers everything, everything. Standing in the airport at Gate C22, holding the woman he loves, the memories of the last three years flood in like the high tide. He suddenly remembers every day from the moment Flight 815 crashed on that Godforsaken island to the moment that her sweaty hand slipped from his as she fell, proclaiming love in her dying breath. If that twitchy physicist were here, James might ask of him an incredulous one-word question, “How?” Or maybe not. He doesn’t really care to know the physics; all that matters is that Juliet is wrapped around him, and she’s alive, and he’s alive, and they remember. They remember it all.
He holds her face away from his, looking into her eyes. He’s never been good at apologies; his talent lies instead in denial, deceit, and excuses. Yet James has never felt sorrier in his life. She must know. He is sorry for everything; he is sorry for looking at Kate, he is sorry for letting her walk away from him in the jungle. He should have grabbed her, held her, kissed her, and spent the rest of his short, miserable life telling her how much he loved her and had never, ever loved anyone more. Most of all, he is sorry for letting go as the chains ripped her apart.
“I’m sorry. Jules, I’m so sorry.”
Juliet grasps his hand and holds it to chest, against her rapidly beating heart. “I know,” she whispers. James exhales, a rush of air bursting from between his lips in the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He pulls Juliet close to him again, and kisses her. Her eyes flutter shut but James stares at her from inches away. His eyes cross and his vision blurs, but he refuses to take his eyes off of Juliet. In a moment he sees a whole future ahead of them; he sees Juliet in a white dress dancing with a tiny ring bearer named Julian. He sees her cradling a blonde haired toddler with dimples. He sees her lying beside him in bed, moving against him, still passionate as they grow old together. James finally closes his eyes.
Sawyer wakes suddenly from his dream and opens his eyes when the drink cart collides painfully with his elbow. For a moment, Sawyer grips the armrests, disoriented. For a moment he thought that the plane was crashing. He can almost see the back of the plane breaking off in mid-air, feel the rush of freezing wind against his face as the wreckage spirals violently towards ground and sea. But he looks around and takes a deep calming breath at what he sees. A dark-haired man in a suit (“Jackass,” he thinks.) converses with an older black woman in the row ahead of him. Both smile. He turns around to check out the ass of the short-haired brunette flight attendant who bumped his elbow; she smiles hesitantly at a woman in handcuffs and offers her another drink. The plane isn’t crashing. He checks his watch. The plane should be landing safely at LAX Gate C22 in less than an hour.
Sawyer thinks about Hibbs, and all the brutal ways he’d like to murder that son of a bitch, as Flight 815 glides towards its destination, and the last hazy image of a lovely blonde fades from Sawyer’s bittersweet dream-memory.
Author: 823freckles
Recipient: ozmissage
Pairing: James/Juliet
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: Angst!
Prompt: post-The Incident reunion fic, “Long time no see, Blondie.”
Author notes: LOST is not mine, but in the words of John Locke, “Don’t tell me what I can’t do write!” The title is a reference to the poem Gate C22 by Ellen Bass. Happy Holidays, ozmissage!
---
James blacks out for a moment as he walks off the plane. Two simultaneous thoughts cross his mind as he leans against the corridor wall, urging his head to stop spinning as a fat man shuffles past him. He thinks, “Those Australian sons of bitches must have roughed me up good when they kicked me out of kangaroo country.” At the same time, he thinks, “It makes sense to be a little dizzy after a crazy electromagnetic explosion. At least I’m alive.”
His thoughts don’t make any sense; he thinks of an island with polar bears and monsters made of smoke, and a man who wasn’t Sawyer bleeding out in the warm Sydney rain. James closes his eyes and shakes his head, and his thoughts seem to clear. Now only one image burns on the back of his retinas. A pretty blonde, indistinguishable in many ways from the countless others he has conned in his career. Yet she is different (who is she?) because he loves her.
James walks out the door of Gate C22, subconsciously searching for the woman, and spots her within seconds. Their positions are mirror images of each other; each stands on tiptoes, neck craned, with eyes scouring the crowd for the other. When James sees Juliet, he smiles, and pushes his fellow disembarking passengers out of the way.
A haughty blonde with an inhaler pressed to her lips exclaims, “Well excuse me.”
“Sorry, Sticks,” he responds with nary a look backwards. James only has eyes for the woman in front of him, the woman who has finally seen him rushing towards her. She sidesteps a bald man in a wheelchair and uncharacteristically throws herself into his arms. Her lips find his, and she gasps for breath against his open searching mouth. He knows what she is thinking, for he thinks the same thing; “it is like coming up for air.”
The chaos of thirty years, three years, and mere days comes flooding back to James as Juliet kisses him. Even if only mere moments passed since he saw her last, it feels like a lifetime, and with their unbelievable history, it might as well be a lifetime since the moment he last held her in his arms. She is different, this beauty who stands before him. The crow’s feet have not begun to form at the corners of her eyes. Her hair is slightly darker, not bleached by years of scorching island sun. And her smile reaches her eyes, a rare sight to see even at her happiest on the island. Yet he recognizes her, and the feeling vibrates in his bones.
“Long time no see, Blondie,” he whispers against her lips as he reaches up and runs his fingers through her blonde waves. She kisses him again and again. Her kisses are wet with tears that stream down her flushed cheeks. But James laughs, just laughs. He pulls back to look at Juliet. He sees no blood, no bruises, no signs of the trauma that occurred just minutes before…or thirty years before. He doesn’t know how, or why, but Jack’s reset worked. Yet he remembers everything, everything. Standing in the airport at Gate C22, holding the woman he loves, the memories of the last three years flood in like the high tide. He suddenly remembers every day from the moment Flight 815 crashed on that Godforsaken island to the moment that her sweaty hand slipped from his as she fell, proclaiming love in her dying breath. If that twitchy physicist were here, James might ask of him an incredulous one-word question, “How?” Or maybe not. He doesn’t really care to know the physics; all that matters is that Juliet is wrapped around him, and she’s alive, and he’s alive, and they remember. They remember it all.
He holds her face away from his, looking into her eyes. He’s never been good at apologies; his talent lies instead in denial, deceit, and excuses. Yet James has never felt sorrier in his life. She must know. He is sorry for everything; he is sorry for looking at Kate, he is sorry for letting her walk away from him in the jungle. He should have grabbed her, held her, kissed her, and spent the rest of his short, miserable life telling her how much he loved her and had never, ever loved anyone more. Most of all, he is sorry for letting go as the chains ripped her apart.
“I’m sorry. Jules, I’m so sorry.”
Juliet grasps his hand and holds it to chest, against her rapidly beating heart. “I know,” she whispers. James exhales, a rush of air bursting from between his lips in the breath he didn’t know he was holding. He pulls Juliet close to him again, and kisses her. Her eyes flutter shut but James stares at her from inches away. His eyes cross and his vision blurs, but he refuses to take his eyes off of Juliet. In a moment he sees a whole future ahead of them; he sees Juliet in a white dress dancing with a tiny ring bearer named Julian. He sees her cradling a blonde haired toddler with dimples. He sees her lying beside him in bed, moving against him, still passionate as they grow old together. James finally closes his eyes.
Sawyer wakes suddenly from his dream and opens his eyes when the drink cart collides painfully with his elbow. For a moment, Sawyer grips the armrests, disoriented. For a moment he thought that the plane was crashing. He can almost see the back of the plane breaking off in mid-air, feel the rush of freezing wind against his face as the wreckage spirals violently towards ground and sea. But he looks around and takes a deep calming breath at what he sees. A dark-haired man in a suit (“Jackass,” he thinks.) converses with an older black woman in the row ahead of him. Both smile. He turns around to check out the ass of the short-haired brunette flight attendant who bumped his elbow; she smiles hesitantly at a woman in handcuffs and offers her another drink. The plane isn’t crashing. He checks his watch. The plane should be landing safely at LAX Gate C22 in less than an hour.
Sawyer thinks about Hibbs, and all the brutal ways he’d like to murder that son of a bitch, as Flight 815 glides towards its destination, and the last hazy image of a lovely blonde fades from Sawyer’s bittersweet dream-memory.