(no subject)
Title: Nothing At All
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Desmond/Claire
Word Count: 661
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: #3 - This Cancels Out The Hurt for
un_love_you
Summary: Spoilers for Season 4 (though some of it is spec). He shares a bed with her, outfitted in crisp white linens that speak of her innocence and youth and he blames their stiffness and unfamiliarity for why he can't sleep at night.
This relationship starts because of pity and obligation and sorrow so perhaps some day it will end that way as well.
---
He’s one of the ones who don’t make it off and it makes him part of something, makes him someone that’s not an outsider.
The small blonde cries in his arms when they leave, her child in tow, and he holds her because it’s what Charlie would do. Charlie who died in order for this woman and that baby to leave this island.
He got half his wish.
That night, he brushes blonde tendrils out of her face with a tenderness he hasn’t displayed in years and makes it his mission to try and fulfill the other half as best he can.
---
The storms come through and she finds out her roof leaks.
Hammer and nail, wood that isn’t the right kind for what he’s doing, it's only a bandage for a larger problem. He’s never done this before, knows Locke or Sawyer is far better suited for this, but neither will make the effort so he will.
This won’t hold - won’t work - for long.
---
He thinks of Penny the first time he kisses her. Thinks of Penny and how different they kiss, like that makes it all right, if he’s thinking of her. Like it’s not cheating if she’s all he can think of.
He wonders if she’s thinking of Charlie or if she’s already moved on.
---
They’re short on a lot of things on the island - luck, trust, communication - but the one thing they don’t lack is alcohol. A shitload of it that Sawyer hoarded the minute they set foot in the barracks.
He shares it with Desmond, with a wink and a knowing smirk. The kind of common bond that he shared with his buddies in pubs back home, like every pretty girl they snared was a shared catch. Sawyer’s way of living vicariously through him, while he pines over the pretty brunette who left the island with her fingers intertwined with those of the man who was probably always going to win.
Claire dips into it every now and then, always drinks too much, and she’s stumbling into his arms before she hits the bed. He lets her for selfish reasons. He likes the feel of her in his arms, the way her accent sounds when she’s slurring her words. He likes the bitter taste on her tongue and the way she has to hold onto him in order to remain upright.
He likes that this feels so much more real when the world has a little spin to it and their glasses are still half full.
---
He shares a bed with her, outfitted in crisp white linens that speak of her innocence and youth and he blames their stiffness and unfamiliarity for why he can’t fall asleep at night.
---
There’s really no point in asking himself why he’s with her. He crossed the line of sympathy and mourning about three bases ago.
He doesn’t love her. There’s no revelation about his true feelings because there never were any to begin with.
They may have been doomed from the beginning but being with someone is sometimes better than being alone.
---
They spend the one year anniversary of Charlie’s death ignoring his existence in the first place. No ceremony, no acknowledgement.
It’s boiling outside, breaking a hundred, and she spends her day in the shade of the tree in the front yard, a children’s book in her shaky hands, tears pooling on her lashes and the corners of her eyes.
She mourns a child who is most likely alive and well and forgets the man who is responsible for it.
He doesn’t make any attempt to wipe the tears from her eyes. He just leaves her with her grief and goes back to finishing repairs on that decaying roof over their heads, waiting for the next storm to pass through.
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Desmond/Claire
Word Count: 661
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: #3 - This Cancels Out The Hurt for
un_love_you
Summary: Spoilers for Season 4 (though some of it is spec). He shares a bed with her, outfitted in crisp white linens that speak of her innocence and youth and he blames their stiffness and unfamiliarity for why he can't sleep at night.
This relationship starts because of pity and obligation and sorrow so perhaps some day it will end that way as well.
---
He’s one of the ones who don’t make it off and it makes him part of something, makes him someone that’s not an outsider.
The small blonde cries in his arms when they leave, her child in tow, and he holds her because it’s what Charlie would do. Charlie who died in order for this woman and that baby to leave this island.
He got half his wish.
That night, he brushes blonde tendrils out of her face with a tenderness he hasn’t displayed in years and makes it his mission to try and fulfill the other half as best he can.
---
The storms come through and she finds out her roof leaks.
Hammer and nail, wood that isn’t the right kind for what he’s doing, it's only a bandage for a larger problem. He’s never done this before, knows Locke or Sawyer is far better suited for this, but neither will make the effort so he will.
This won’t hold - won’t work - for long.
---
He thinks of Penny the first time he kisses her. Thinks of Penny and how different they kiss, like that makes it all right, if he’s thinking of her. Like it’s not cheating if she’s all he can think of.
He wonders if she’s thinking of Charlie or if she’s already moved on.
---
They’re short on a lot of things on the island - luck, trust, communication - but the one thing they don’t lack is alcohol. A shitload of it that Sawyer hoarded the minute they set foot in the barracks.
He shares it with Desmond, with a wink and a knowing smirk. The kind of common bond that he shared with his buddies in pubs back home, like every pretty girl they snared was a shared catch. Sawyer’s way of living vicariously through him, while he pines over the pretty brunette who left the island with her fingers intertwined with those of the man who was probably always going to win.
Claire dips into it every now and then, always drinks too much, and she’s stumbling into his arms before she hits the bed. He lets her for selfish reasons. He likes the feel of her in his arms, the way her accent sounds when she’s slurring her words. He likes the bitter taste on her tongue and the way she has to hold onto him in order to remain upright.
He likes that this feels so much more real when the world has a little spin to it and their glasses are still half full.
---
He shares a bed with her, outfitted in crisp white linens that speak of her innocence and youth and he blames their stiffness and unfamiliarity for why he can’t fall asleep at night.
---
There’s really no point in asking himself why he’s with her. He crossed the line of sympathy and mourning about three bases ago.
He doesn’t love her. There’s no revelation about his true feelings because there never were any to begin with.
They may have been doomed from the beginning but being with someone is sometimes better than being alone.
---
They spend the one year anniversary of Charlie’s death ignoring his existence in the first place. No ceremony, no acknowledgement.
It’s boiling outside, breaking a hundred, and she spends her day in the shade of the tree in the front yard, a children’s book in her shaky hands, tears pooling on her lashes and the corners of her eyes.
She mourns a child who is most likely alive and well and forgets the man who is responsible for it.
He doesn’t make any attempt to wipe the tears from her eyes. He just leaves her with her grief and goes back to finishing repairs on that decaying roof over their heads, waiting for the next storm to pass through.