Gravedigger (Ilana/Jacob, PG-13)
Title: Gravedigger
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Ilana/Jacob
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,050
Summary: I'll be back for you, he promises. (part of the Playing With Matches 'verse. for 10_prompts , double)
Broken bones litter the forest floor, crunching under the feet of two boys grappling, fighting for her life. It's her time.
The dark haired boy, small and thin with a face covered in bruises, wraps an arm around his rival's neck. No. You can't have her, not yet. Not for our mistakes.
The tall blond struggles, scratching at his skin, leaving trails of red. Your mistakes, he hisses. The other boy speaks harshly into his ear, cursing him in Egyptian and Hebrew. It brings him back, quieting his groaning and loosening his raised shoulders. Fine. You win.
They release their hold on each other. The blond glares at Ilana as he kneels over the bandaged body lying at her feet. I'll be back for you, he promises. She presses her back against the tree as he lifts the dead woman and disappears into the jungle.
The dark haired boy remains, frowning at her as she trembles. Red, hot liquid pours from the hole in her chest, and Ilana grinds her teeth to keep from screaming. Finish it, she says, pointing to the gun in his hands. Finish what you started.
Moonlight glints off his round glasses as he shakes his head. He opens his mouth to speak-
-and Ilana awakes to a pair of hands lifting from her chest, drenched in blood. A familiar face hovers over her, dimly lit by an opening in the ceiling. "Jacob?"
He breathes out heavily. "You're safe now, Ilana. You're alive." His voice sounds awkward and shaken, like he means to reassure himself rather than her.
Ilana sits up dizzily. There's a fog in her head, but she remembers a boy, lurking in the jungle, clutching at a rifle with her name on it. That was real. He was real.
She slips her fingers over her heart, feeling out the place he'd shot her. The torn skin has already begun to close over. "The woman. Where is she?"
"Gone. They took back her body."
She shivers, a frustrated grunt spilling from her mouth. Jacob helps her out of her soaked sweater, its dull green dyed scarlet. He stares at it, his hands gliding over the fabric. "I'm sorry, Jacob."
"For what?"
"For your loss. For not being able to give her a proper burial."
Jacob looks up at her then, whispers angrily, "What were you thinking?" His hands tighten, and the tiny rip of the sweater sounds like thunder inside this room of stone and the smoke of a dwindling fire. "I almost couldn't save you."
"I thought I owed you," Ilana says flatly.
He doesn't need to ask what she means. She knows he can read her, he always could, the harsh curve of her brow and the tension rising in her shoulders. Jacob knows (thinks he knows; the cracked skulls and smashed glasses, he'll never know these things) what she's seen.
The resemblance of the dead woman was unnerving. In the fading light she would have been easily mistaken for Ilana. Ilana, who they meant to kill in cold blood. Them. Jacob's people.
Even if she wanted to, Ilana doesn't need to laugh at the cruel irony, to slap his face or sneer you did this to yourself, because he already knows. "Stupid girl."
Ilana wraps her arms around herself, cold in her undershirt. "Tell me, Jacob. Tell me I'm not here because I remind you of her."
A low sound creeps from Jacob's throat, the growl of some angry nocturnal animal. "You know me better than that."
No, she doesn't. And she fully intends to tell him that, but he blocks her words with his mouth. His body warms her and she slips too easily into her old instincts, leaning into him as his hands fit against the sides of her face.
Her bones ache as he pushes her down into the dirt floor, and with any other man this would feel right, would feel natural, but with Jacob everything is wrong, his teeth sharp on her lip and his thumbs digging into her cheeks. He leans down to kiss her temple, smothers her with rumbling words in a harsh and foreign tongue.
(Her would-be killer mutters the name of the young man who could be Jacob's twin, brawling to save the woman who could be Ilana's. You'll never save anyone, not like this. Not without her.)
"Jacob," she whispers. "Stop."
When he pulls away, pausing above her to wipe a lock of her hair away from his face, a knot forms in her stomach. Of all the things she's seen on this island, none of them are so disquieting as Jacob's eyes, red and damp and empty.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he coughs, staggering away from her, falling against the rock wall. Ilana sits up, watches him bury his face in his hands. She can feel the blood, her blood, cold and sticky on her cheeks. She wants to hate someone for this mess, herself, Jacob, the woman, the boy in the jungle.
Ilana slides down next to Jacob, cursing under her breath. It's so hard to hate him when he looks so pathetic, his shaking body clawing its way through her muddied emotions. She touches him, pulling at his hand to lace her fingers through his. "Tell me about her."
Jacob stares down at the knees huddled to his chest. "She was nothing. I had a job to do, and she was... a distraction."
The taste of his mouth has settled on her tongue, dry and dirty, and she thinks he's right. She does know him better. She knows that she's here because Jacob doesn't know how to admit his own mistakes. That's what he needs her for, to clean up after his messes. "I'm not-"
"I know, Ilana," he interrupts. "I know you're not her. And I don't... I don't want you to be. Forgive me."
-angry, she meant to say. Ilana presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles, closing her eyes to hide the tears forming. "You know I do, Jacob."
(In another world, a blond boy cries as he stabs into the earth with a shovel, digging a grave that is not for the woman he loves. His friend fails to kill Ilana a second time. It doesn't matter-
He won't have long to wait.)
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Ilana/Jacob
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 1,050
Summary: I'll be back for you, he promises. (part of the Playing With Matches 'verse. for 10_prompts , double)
Broken bones litter the forest floor, crunching under the feet of two boys grappling, fighting for her life. It's her time.
The dark haired boy, small and thin with a face covered in bruises, wraps an arm around his rival's neck. No. You can't have her, not yet. Not for our mistakes.
The tall blond struggles, scratching at his skin, leaving trails of red. Your mistakes, he hisses. The other boy speaks harshly into his ear, cursing him in Egyptian and Hebrew. It brings him back, quieting his groaning and loosening his raised shoulders. Fine. You win.
They release their hold on each other. The blond glares at Ilana as he kneels over the bandaged body lying at her feet. I'll be back for you, he promises. She presses her back against the tree as he lifts the dead woman and disappears into the jungle.
The dark haired boy remains, frowning at her as she trembles. Red, hot liquid pours from the hole in her chest, and Ilana grinds her teeth to keep from screaming. Finish it, she says, pointing to the gun in his hands. Finish what you started.
Moonlight glints off his round glasses as he shakes his head. He opens his mouth to speak-
-and Ilana awakes to a pair of hands lifting from her chest, drenched in blood. A familiar face hovers over her, dimly lit by an opening in the ceiling. "Jacob?"
He breathes out heavily. "You're safe now, Ilana. You're alive." His voice sounds awkward and shaken, like he means to reassure himself rather than her.
Ilana sits up dizzily. There's a fog in her head, but she remembers a boy, lurking in the jungle, clutching at a rifle with her name on it. That was real. He was real.
She slips her fingers over her heart, feeling out the place he'd shot her. The torn skin has already begun to close over. "The woman. Where is she?"
"Gone. They took back her body."
She shivers, a frustrated grunt spilling from her mouth. Jacob helps her out of her soaked sweater, its dull green dyed scarlet. He stares at it, his hands gliding over the fabric. "I'm sorry, Jacob."
"For what?"
"For your loss. For not being able to give her a proper burial."
Jacob looks up at her then, whispers angrily, "What were you thinking?" His hands tighten, and the tiny rip of the sweater sounds like thunder inside this room of stone and the smoke of a dwindling fire. "I almost couldn't save you."
"I thought I owed you," Ilana says flatly.
He doesn't need to ask what she means. She knows he can read her, he always could, the harsh curve of her brow and the tension rising in her shoulders. Jacob knows (thinks he knows; the cracked skulls and smashed glasses, he'll never know these things) what she's seen.
The resemblance of the dead woman was unnerving. In the fading light she would have been easily mistaken for Ilana. Ilana, who they meant to kill in cold blood. Them. Jacob's people.
Even if she wanted to, Ilana doesn't need to laugh at the cruel irony, to slap his face or sneer you did this to yourself, because he already knows. "Stupid girl."
Ilana wraps her arms around herself, cold in her undershirt. "Tell me, Jacob. Tell me I'm not here because I remind you of her."
A low sound creeps from Jacob's throat, the growl of some angry nocturnal animal. "You know me better than that."
No, she doesn't. And she fully intends to tell him that, but he blocks her words with his mouth. His body warms her and she slips too easily into her old instincts, leaning into him as his hands fit against the sides of her face.
Her bones ache as he pushes her down into the dirt floor, and with any other man this would feel right, would feel natural, but with Jacob everything is wrong, his teeth sharp on her lip and his thumbs digging into her cheeks. He leans down to kiss her temple, smothers her with rumbling words in a harsh and foreign tongue.
(Her would-be killer mutters the name of the young man who could be Jacob's twin, brawling to save the woman who could be Ilana's. You'll never save anyone, not like this. Not without her.)
"Jacob," she whispers. "Stop."
When he pulls away, pausing above her to wipe a lock of her hair away from his face, a knot forms in her stomach. Of all the things she's seen on this island, none of them are so disquieting as Jacob's eyes, red and damp and empty.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," he coughs, staggering away from her, falling against the rock wall. Ilana sits up, watches him bury his face in his hands. She can feel the blood, her blood, cold and sticky on her cheeks. She wants to hate someone for this mess, herself, Jacob, the woman, the boy in the jungle.
Ilana slides down next to Jacob, cursing under her breath. It's so hard to hate him when he looks so pathetic, his shaking body clawing its way through her muddied emotions. She touches him, pulling at his hand to lace her fingers through his. "Tell me about her."
Jacob stares down at the knees huddled to his chest. "She was nothing. I had a job to do, and she was... a distraction."
The taste of his mouth has settled on her tongue, dry and dirty, and she thinks he's right. She does know him better. She knows that she's here because Jacob doesn't know how to admit his own mistakes. That's what he needs her for, to clean up after his messes. "I'm not-"
"I know, Ilana," he interrupts. "I know you're not her. And I don't... I don't want you to be. Forgive me."
-angry, she meant to say. Ilana presses a gentle kiss to his knuckles, closing her eyes to hide the tears forming. "You know I do, Jacob."
(In another world, a blond boy cries as he stabs into the earth with a shovel, digging a grave that is not for the woman he loves. His friend fails to kill Ilana a second time. It doesn't matter-
He won't have long to wait.)