bird's wing on the window [lost]
Title: bird's wing on the window
Fandom: LOST
Summary: Kate's always believed in ghosts.
Pairing: Ben/Kate
Rating: PG-13
Notes: For flaky_artist at lostsquee Luau, who asked for mystery. :) (Character death.)
You're not real, Kate says, looking away and up. Ben laughs and she knows she must be right. Ben never laughs. Her head hurts and the sunlight on the beach is burning her back. California is no place for a farm girl. Ben makes a point of reminding her of this each time she sees him.
He shifts in his suit and tie, looking out of place in the sand. Kate wonders for a moment if anyone else can see him, but doesn't have time before he is gone and she's left alone, questioning the existence of the air next to her.
Maybe she's the one who isn't here.
Aaron tells her in the morning that Ben read him a story the night before. She calls the therapist the next day, the pediatrician later in the afternoon. (her priorities astound her)
He misses him. It's normal. Perhaps you should be feeling the same way. But Kate doesn't listen because Kate doesn't want to feel normal (doesn't want to miss him).
Ben is dead. And there isn't anything she can do about it.
In her dreams, he drags his teeth over her shoulder, pushing her old tshirt away, fitting himself quietly between her thighs. It's not a dream, really. More of a memory on constant replay. She feels him there and when she wakes up, her body aches with loneliness. She wonders what her therapist would say.
When you're ready, you'll forget me. Kate shakes her head and ignores him. She doesn't want to forget just him. She wants to forget everything. Every moment she let him in her bed, let him read to Aaron, let him bring her cheap wine and stay night after night. There's nothing she wants to remember, but he lingers over her shoulder every day.
Aaron never asks for him by name, but there are lingering glances over his bookshelves full of stories his father-substitutes have read to him. There's Jack's Alice in the corner, and Ben's East of Eden on the end. Eventually, Aaron grows tired of pretending there's someone to read to him and just does it himself. Kate hears him as she passes his room, sees the light of a flashlight under his sheets and hears his voice speak words he's heard from men who have long since died.
Kate's always believed in ghosts, but she's never wanted one to leave this badly before.
I'm not a ghost, Ben insists. He's leaning against her kitchen counter, gaze cool and steady while watching her chop carrots. And you're an awful cook.
Shut up, she snaps, dropping the carrots into the pot of broth and chicken. She's learning to ignore him, to ignore his voice and his teasings. Ignore his insistances. I'm not a ghost, over and over again. She wonders how Aaron does it. If he ever saw Ben reading to him at all. She guesses not, but still. As Ben's pale hand covers her own, she wonders why she never saw Jack.
Because, Ben answers. you loved Jack. Kate shakes her head. No, it doesn't make sense. Ben sighs, and when she turns to tell him to leave her alone, for just a while, he's already gone. (he'll be back soon enough)
But he's right, she thinks, running trembling fingers through her hair in the shower. She half expects him to be there with her, watching through the foggy mirror. She can even hear his voice. Now you've got it.
She loved Jack. And she knew he was gone.
But she didn't love Ben. She clung to him, her last connection to the island, the world she made-believe was make-believe. And he let her. Well aware she didn't give a damn, he let her dig her claws into him, in so deep, she was still hanging with him when he died.
She wakes with a start in the night and realizes that he'll never be back. Down the hall, Kate hears Aaron's voice, soft and quiet, as he reads himself to sleep.
Fandom: LOST
Summary: Kate's always believed in ghosts.
Pairing: Ben/Kate
Rating: PG-13
Notes: For flaky_artist at lostsquee Luau, who asked for mystery. :) (Character death.)
You're not real, Kate says, looking away and up. Ben laughs and she knows she must be right. Ben never laughs. Her head hurts and the sunlight on the beach is burning her back. California is no place for a farm girl. Ben makes a point of reminding her of this each time she sees him.
He shifts in his suit and tie, looking out of place in the sand. Kate wonders for a moment if anyone else can see him, but doesn't have time before he is gone and she's left alone, questioning the existence of the air next to her.
Maybe she's the one who isn't here.
Aaron tells her in the morning that Ben read him a story the night before. She calls the therapist the next day, the pediatrician later in the afternoon. (her priorities astound her)
He misses him. It's normal. Perhaps you should be feeling the same way. But Kate doesn't listen because Kate doesn't want to feel normal (doesn't want to miss him).
Ben is dead. And there isn't anything she can do about it.
In her dreams, he drags his teeth over her shoulder, pushing her old tshirt away, fitting himself quietly between her thighs. It's not a dream, really. More of a memory on constant replay. She feels him there and when she wakes up, her body aches with loneliness. She wonders what her therapist would say.
When you're ready, you'll forget me. Kate shakes her head and ignores him. She doesn't want to forget just him. She wants to forget everything. Every moment she let him in her bed, let him read to Aaron, let him bring her cheap wine and stay night after night. There's nothing she wants to remember, but he lingers over her shoulder every day.
Aaron never asks for him by name, but there are lingering glances over his bookshelves full of stories his father-substitutes have read to him. There's Jack's Alice in the corner, and Ben's East of Eden on the end. Eventually, Aaron grows tired of pretending there's someone to read to him and just does it himself. Kate hears him as she passes his room, sees the light of a flashlight under his sheets and hears his voice speak words he's heard from men who have long since died.
Kate's always believed in ghosts, but she's never wanted one to leave this badly before.
I'm not a ghost, Ben insists. He's leaning against her kitchen counter, gaze cool and steady while watching her chop carrots. And you're an awful cook.
Shut up, she snaps, dropping the carrots into the pot of broth and chicken. She's learning to ignore him, to ignore his voice and his teasings. Ignore his insistances. I'm not a ghost, over and over again. She wonders how Aaron does it. If he ever saw Ben reading to him at all. She guesses not, but still. As Ben's pale hand covers her own, she wonders why she never saw Jack.
Because, Ben answers. you loved Jack. Kate shakes her head. No, it doesn't make sense. Ben sighs, and when she turns to tell him to leave her alone, for just a while, he's already gone. (he'll be back soon enough)
But he's right, she thinks, running trembling fingers through her hair in the shower. She half expects him to be there with her, watching through the foggy mirror. She can even hear his voice. Now you've got it.
She loved Jack. And she knew he was gone.
But she didn't love Ben. She clung to him, her last connection to the island, the world she made-believe was make-believe. And he let her. Well aware she didn't give a damn, he let her dig her claws into him, in so deep, she was still hanging with him when he died.
She wakes with a start in the night and realizes that he'll never be back. Down the hall, Kate hears Aaron's voice, soft and quiet, as he reads himself to sleep.