desmond, kate
desmond, kate (j/k, d/p)
PG-13
appx 550 words
set during "Live Together, Die Alone" (2.23, 24)
the muse is tired. the muse was more interested in jack tonight than kate. i would tell you to attribute any wonkiness here to desmond's state of mind, but i'll just admit it: it's a bad story. i'm only posting it because i did at least make an attempt.
Tip of the bottle, watch the desperate man cling to his illusions. Desmond wasn't aware of much except his immediate reactions right now, and his immediate reaction to Jack, oddly enough, was the desire to punch him.
He hadn't thought he had anything like that in him at this point, or maybe that's all he had, just some need to use his fists because he couldn't even express his anger and frustration It was nameless, like this feeling about Jack was. Something in Jack got under his skin; always had, from the first time they met there in the stadium. When he was more lucid, he'd assumed there was something fundamentally alien about Jack. During their strange, brief encounters, Desmond had found that both intriguing and unsettling. Push, pull.
Push, pull, just like Jack and Kate. Watching him pace, watching him with her, made Desmond know it wasn't that Jack was so different. It was that he was exactly the same. Stubborn sense of integrity, like some ruler he held his life up to that might not have been the same as Desmond's, but Desmond understood rulers. He understood bending and stretching and breaking yourself simply to prove that you're faithful to the code. Missing things that matter more than anything because nothing matters more than the code.
Or standing beside a woman you know is enough to make you want to throw all your codes away. Too fucking scary. Too much. Desmond can see it in her. Kate has exactly those qualities that make cautious men wage an internal war: her own internal war: strength and vulnerability, desperate need and self-containment, undeniable beauty and denial of its effects. Desmond watched her trying to talk to him, like an equal, like someone who mattered. But Desmond knew it was all over. He'd already shut her out.
Desmond wondered what she'd done. It had taken a long time before he had let his own scales tip, chose honor over Penny. Or maybe that was when chasing honor and Penny ceased being the same thing. Or were they ever anything other than the same thing?
Desmond got on a boat and went as far as he could from Penny. He'd thought he was trying to get her back, but it just might've been that, after all, he was afraid of something that big, unsure of how to get it back after all the time they'd been apart. Afraid of what happened when the woman you put on a pedestal was no longer there. Desmond chuckled to himself. Kate had never been on a pedestal for Jack. Maybe that was the problem. He didn't know what to do if they weren't. But, God, that was the first step: taking them down.
Desmond thought about getting up, shaking Jack by the shoulders, telling him to stop wanting a woman to be inhuman. But that wasn't a thing you could simply convince a man of. What Desmond really wanted was to keep Jack from shutting her out. A man like him would always find some way to put himself in prison, even if it was simply by putting up bars between himself and the people he needed most.
In this case, though, it was already too late. He saw that, so he didn't try to get up. But Jack was coming toward him anyway. Like life was mocking him. And Kate was walking away.
PG-13
appx 550 words
set during "Live Together, Die Alone" (2.23, 24)
the muse is tired. the muse was more interested in jack tonight than kate. i would tell you to attribute any wonkiness here to desmond's state of mind, but i'll just admit it: it's a bad story. i'm only posting it because i did at least make an attempt.
Tip of the bottle, watch the desperate man cling to his illusions. Desmond wasn't aware of much except his immediate reactions right now, and his immediate reaction to Jack, oddly enough, was the desire to punch him.
He hadn't thought he had anything like that in him at this point, or maybe that's all he had, just some need to use his fists because he couldn't even express his anger and frustration It was nameless, like this feeling about Jack was. Something in Jack got under his skin; always had, from the first time they met there in the stadium. When he was more lucid, he'd assumed there was something fundamentally alien about Jack. During their strange, brief encounters, Desmond had found that both intriguing and unsettling. Push, pull.
Push, pull, just like Jack and Kate. Watching him pace, watching him with her, made Desmond know it wasn't that Jack was so different. It was that he was exactly the same. Stubborn sense of integrity, like some ruler he held his life up to that might not have been the same as Desmond's, but Desmond understood rulers. He understood bending and stretching and breaking yourself simply to prove that you're faithful to the code. Missing things that matter more than anything because nothing matters more than the code.
Or standing beside a woman you know is enough to make you want to throw all your codes away. Too fucking scary. Too much. Desmond can see it in her. Kate has exactly those qualities that make cautious men wage an internal war: her own internal war: strength and vulnerability, desperate need and self-containment, undeniable beauty and denial of its effects. Desmond watched her trying to talk to him, like an equal, like someone who mattered. But Desmond knew it was all over. He'd already shut her out.
Desmond wondered what she'd done. It had taken a long time before he had let his own scales tip, chose honor over Penny. Or maybe that was when chasing honor and Penny ceased being the same thing. Or were they ever anything other than the same thing?
Desmond got on a boat and went as far as he could from Penny. He'd thought he was trying to get her back, but it just might've been that, after all, he was afraid of something that big, unsure of how to get it back after all the time they'd been apart. Afraid of what happened when the woman you put on a pedestal was no longer there. Desmond chuckled to himself. Kate had never been on a pedestal for Jack. Maybe that was the problem. He didn't know what to do if they weren't. But, God, that was the first step: taking them down.
Desmond thought about getting up, shaking Jack by the shoulders, telling him to stop wanting a woman to be inhuman. But that wasn't a thing you could simply convince a man of. What Desmond really wanted was to keep Jack from shutting her out. A man like him would always find some way to put himself in prison, even if it was simply by putting up bars between himself and the people he needed most.
In this case, though, it was already too late. He saw that, so he didn't try to get up. But Jack was coming toward him anyway. Like life was mocking him. And Kate was walking away.