a war inside of me [lost]
Title: a war inside of me
Fandom: LOST
Summary: She spends every waking moment watching them. Watching him.
Pairing: Claire/MIB
Rating: R
Notes:
Claire bathes on the seventh day. There's blood and mud caked in her hair and her skin feels dry and her bones ache. The water turns brown around her and she cries. She cries for Aaron and she cries for Jack and she cries for Hugo and she cries because they left her. They left her and they're never coming back.
You've waited a week, the shadow whispers. No one's coming back for you.
My baby. Where's my baby?
They have him, the shadow answers, voice sounding bored and tired.
They! Who's they? Claire shrieks, her voice shrill and alien. The shadow become a man and bends down to pick her up. He carries her through the jungle and whispers in her ear -
The others.
She learns her way around the island faster than he thought she would. Its scents and sounds are etched onto her skin and when she kisses him she bleeds green, green leaves and brown earth. She knows his secrets without asking - he knows her name with her ever telling him. They read one another, this way.
Am I dead? she muses one lazy afternoon, watching the bamboo sway.
Don't ask stupid questions.
You told me I could ask whatever I wanted. Her temper flares up too fast for him.
Think, next time. With an angry huff, she turns from him, grabbing her gun and stalking into the jungle, eyes lidded with sleepless nights. She spends every waking moment hunting or watching them. Watching for Aaron. Someday, she'll get him back. Someday, her life will make sense again.
Claire has a tree where she marks the days that have gone by. Torn between him and death, she thinks that there really isn't much difference. Her eyes are heavy and her body is thin and ragged and worn. There's a memory of a place where nothing could touch her, but that's a dream, she's certain.
At night, she listens for the sounds of thumbs on guitar strings, listens for the noise and the twang and the gentle ebb and flow of a voice she has long forgotten.
There is no one out there for you. There is only us.
He touches her with rough, bent fingers that leave bruises and make her wish that her world wasn't real. That she's asleep someplace, warm and alive.
Now, she's not even sure what alive means.
Samuel, she says, the name melting on her tongue. His hand connects with her face and, before she can react, he's throwing her to the ground, pulling off her jeans, biting her neck. Claire knows she should push him. Fight him. Hate him.
Instead she grips his face and kisses him, wrapping her legs around his waist and urging him forward.
He stops.
She breaks away.
Don't call me that, he whispers. His body is shaking as he moves from her, leaving her body trembling in the dust and the muck. It begins to rain. Claire picks herself up and straightens her dirty clothes.
There's an ache for him, right inside her, that she knows will never really go away.
There's an ache for him.
And that scares her.
Fandom: LOST
Summary: She spends every waking moment watching them. Watching him.
Pairing: Claire/MIB
Rating: R
Notes:
Claire bathes on the seventh day. There's blood and mud caked in her hair and her skin feels dry and her bones ache. The water turns brown around her and she cries. She cries for Aaron and she cries for Jack and she cries for Hugo and she cries because they left her. They left her and they're never coming back.
You've waited a week, the shadow whispers. No one's coming back for you.
My baby. Where's my baby?
They have him, the shadow answers, voice sounding bored and tired.
They! Who's they? Claire shrieks, her voice shrill and alien. The shadow become a man and bends down to pick her up. He carries her through the jungle and whispers in her ear -
The others.
She learns her way around the island faster than he thought she would. Its scents and sounds are etched onto her skin and when she kisses him she bleeds green, green leaves and brown earth. She knows his secrets without asking - he knows her name with her ever telling him. They read one another, this way.
Am I dead? she muses one lazy afternoon, watching the bamboo sway.
Don't ask stupid questions.
You told me I could ask whatever I wanted. Her temper flares up too fast for him.
Think, next time. With an angry huff, she turns from him, grabbing her gun and stalking into the jungle, eyes lidded with sleepless nights. She spends every waking moment hunting or watching them. Watching for Aaron. Someday, she'll get him back. Someday, her life will make sense again.
Claire has a tree where she marks the days that have gone by. Torn between him and death, she thinks that there really isn't much difference. Her eyes are heavy and her body is thin and ragged and worn. There's a memory of a place where nothing could touch her, but that's a dream, she's certain.
At night, she listens for the sounds of thumbs on guitar strings, listens for the noise and the twang and the gentle ebb and flow of a voice she has long forgotten.
There is no one out there for you. There is only us.
He touches her with rough, bent fingers that leave bruises and make her wish that her world wasn't real. That she's asleep someplace, warm and alive.
Now, she's not even sure what alive means.
Samuel, she says, the name melting on her tongue. His hand connects with her face and, before she can react, he's throwing her to the ground, pulling off her jeans, biting her neck. Claire knows she should push him. Fight him. Hate him.
Instead she grips his face and kisses him, wrapping her legs around his waist and urging him forward.
He stops.
She breaks away.
Don't call me that, he whispers. His body is shaking as he moves from her, leaving her body trembling in the dust and the muck. It begins to rain. Claire picks herself up and straightens her dirty clothes.
There's an ache for him, right inside her, that she knows will never really go away.
There's an ache for him.
And that scares her.