(no subject)
Title: And Everybody Will Ask What Became Of You
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Sun, Jack, Kate, Sayid. Implied Jack/Kate.
Word Count: 1,564
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Up to 4.10 - Something Nice Back Home
Author's Note: It is my OTP, but even I damage it sometimes. Not a happy fic.
Summary: Five POVs of one wedding. His kiss tastes like promises for the future and hope and things they do not have.
It’s a small affair.
Neither of them seemed too eager to be near their families, and so that left friends. Not surprisingly, there are only two of the other survivors present, including her; everyone else is people from Jack’s work or the moms from the park that Kate’s befriended. She thinks she may see Jack’s mother, sitting at the front with her hands folded in her lap and cold smile on her face. From what Kate had told Sun of her, she wasn’t supposed to like the woman.
There’s a tense air that fills the large room. Music plays, the same tune that’s classic to weddings, soft in the background, but instead of soothing it only worries. Up and down the aisle she can hear people whispering, harsh doubting words of “it’s not even happening” or “it’ll never last”. She would turn in her seat to tell the woman behind her to please be quiet and have some respect, but their doubts are warranted and so she can’t do anything to prevent them from dooming the day before it’s even begun.
This wedding very nearly didn’t happen. They were fine and then there was the engagement and tearful fights and Sun had heard it all, in detail, and for awhile she had written them off. There were too many problems with them as a couple to start with. Aaron complicated things; the people left behind complicated things.
But here they were. Ten minutes from a wedding that no one thought would happen, and half the people still thought shouldn’t happen. Sun gets that; she gets that there’s a good chance that they will fall and this will only cause more problems. But she also understands Kate, much more than these soccer moms ever will, and perhaps more than Jack.
Kate just doesn’t know what to do. That’s what underlies all of this. She doesn’t know what to do with this, and them, or how to fix their problems. Every time they try to break up, one of them always comes back. Somehow, saying yes, going through with this wedding, it just logically seems like the next step. But Sun doesn’t think it’s what she wants. Not at all.
She just doesn’t know what else to do.
---
He didn’t write these vows.
It’s not that Jack thinks he’s so great at prose or anything, it’s not that he thinks he could do any better, it’s just that he didn’t do it. It’s that he didn’t even try.
He’s done this before, and Sarah had made him, she wanted them to be special and from the heart, and he didn’t understand the meaning behind it until he was right up there saying them and he couldn’t keep the tears out of his eyes and neither could she. You fixed me, he’d said, but he can’t say that now, even if he wanted to, because he’s fairly sure he’s never been more broken than he is now.
Now, up here, with dry eyes, speaking words that are older than he is, it feels wrong somehow. They feel bland and impersonal and that’s not how this should be. This shouldn’t feel like he’s reading a script, but that’s really all he’s doing.
Jack means it, all of it, from the ‘to have and to hold’ right down to ‘until death do we part’, because it’s true, and it always will be, and this wedding really means nothing in the scheme of things. It’s a piece of paper. They could annul this thing tomorrow but they’ll never truly be without each other because, by now, with each other is the only way they know how to be. Just maybe, he thinks sadly, not like this, not in the way they’re intending.
He speaks meaningless words, with her hands in his, and there are tears in his eyes, but for different reasons than before.
---
He doesn’t know these people.
He’s just the hired help, the man paid to stand around with the camera in his hand, and take pictures. Of them. Of their family and friends. Pictures that detail a moment in time, without telling the whole story. In this case, in many cases, he doesn’t know the whole story.
The audience is anxious. People sit and fidget and watch, and try to look pleasant whenever he comes anywhere near them with the camera. It’s all lies. This whole thing smells of lies.
It’s not surprising. He’s heard the stories, the conspiracy theories. These are the Oceanic Six, minus one, possibly one of the more suspicious groups of people in the past decade. Everyone knows who they are, now, but very few know about who they were before their plane crashed, or what happened while they were stranded on an island for three months. Their stories are almost too perfect to be true. Too well synced up, no discrepancies, too practiced. It’s too cut and dry and he’s always been a conspiracy theorist himself.
It’s why he took this job without a second thought. The fugitive and the doctor. Yes, he did his homework. And he’s done this enough to know when someone’s faking for the camera.
She is. Kate Austen, soon to be Shephard. She smiles, and it’s a smile that’s too wide, shows far too few teeth. It’s the smile of supermodels and actresses; that forced coolness. She doesn’t blink against the flashes and the look on her face never changes and he can just tell that she’s putting on a brilliant show to cover up her, and their, flaws. It’s like she doesn’t think she’s doing the right thing and he has half a mind to ask her why she’s even up there. But it’s not his business; he’s just the photographer, the hired help.
He doesn’t know these people, and he’s fairly sure he doesn’t want to.
---
Jack’s kiss tastes like promises for the future and hope and things they do not have.
Kate thinks of the last man she married. The man who truly did believe these things, who truly did believe that they were fine, and they would be fine, and this was their happy ending. And then she thinks of this man, the one whose lips meet hers, the one whose ring she wears. They’re both under no illusions now. This is merely the band-aid over the bullet hole, trying to cover up the wound and all the imperfections that come with it. They’re making do with what they have and, while he may not be, she is used to it and this has been her life for longer than she could remember.
She’s accepted that happy endings are not for her. She’s accepted that she’s going to stand up here and she’s going to do this because she loves this man. And she’s accepted that she’s probably making a mistake. She’s made a lot of those but they only serve to make her stronger.
But that’s all big picture stuff. There’s the here and the now, and she lifts the skirts of her wedding dress to walk back down the aisle, her hand in his, smiling people on either side of her, and it feels like a scene out of a movie. Or, worse yet, someone else’s dream. This isn’t her and yet it is, now, and there’s no better proof than the sound of her own heartbeat racing in her chest as she keeps on forward, keeps in step. Reminds herself not to run.
The doors open and the sun outside is bright, and she wishes that were a metaphor of some kind.
---
People seem to stay away from him.
Sayid was there for Christian’s funeral, there because Jack seemed to want them all there, but the majority of these people weren’t, they’re just friends, and so they don’t know him. And so they seem to leave him alone, which is fine with him. This is not about him. Besides, he’s used to it, used to people getting the wrong impression from him. He is out of place and they all know that.
Twice, he looks for Nadia, and doesn’t find her. He’s still unused to not having her by his side. It’s only been a month and a half. Less than a year since they were married. This wedding reminds him of theirs, not because of the ceremony, but simply for what it stood for. For the finality of it all.
The more he looks at these two, the less the comparison works. Both were borne of good intentions, he thinks, at least there’s that. They mean well. They mean for this to work. And he’s no one to judge, but he can see through the facade that they are putting on. He knows Sun can too, can see it in her eyes when she looks at him from across the room. There’s a nod, an understanding.
She’s stiff while his hand rests on the small of her back; his eyes betray cold feet that are long overdue. There’s too much wrong with this picture. But he thinks they must know and so he leaves it alone and congratulates them and watches them dance at the reception. They are beautiful to watch.
He does a lot of watching, he always has, and it’s because of this that he can already see where this is probably headed.
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Sun, Jack, Kate, Sayid. Implied Jack/Kate.
Word Count: 1,564
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: Up to 4.10 - Something Nice Back Home
Author's Note: It is my OTP, but even I damage it sometimes. Not a happy fic.
Summary: Five POVs of one wedding. His kiss tastes like promises for the future and hope and things they do not have.
It’s a small affair.
Neither of them seemed too eager to be near their families, and so that left friends. Not surprisingly, there are only two of the other survivors present, including her; everyone else is people from Jack’s work or the moms from the park that Kate’s befriended. She thinks she may see Jack’s mother, sitting at the front with her hands folded in her lap and cold smile on her face. From what Kate had told Sun of her, she wasn’t supposed to like the woman.
There’s a tense air that fills the large room. Music plays, the same tune that’s classic to weddings, soft in the background, but instead of soothing it only worries. Up and down the aisle she can hear people whispering, harsh doubting words of “it’s not even happening” or “it’ll never last”. She would turn in her seat to tell the woman behind her to please be quiet and have some respect, but their doubts are warranted and so she can’t do anything to prevent them from dooming the day before it’s even begun.
This wedding very nearly didn’t happen. They were fine and then there was the engagement and tearful fights and Sun had heard it all, in detail, and for awhile she had written them off. There were too many problems with them as a couple to start with. Aaron complicated things; the people left behind complicated things.
But here they were. Ten minutes from a wedding that no one thought would happen, and half the people still thought shouldn’t happen. Sun gets that; she gets that there’s a good chance that they will fall and this will only cause more problems. But she also understands Kate, much more than these soccer moms ever will, and perhaps more than Jack.
Kate just doesn’t know what to do. That’s what underlies all of this. She doesn’t know what to do with this, and them, or how to fix their problems. Every time they try to break up, one of them always comes back. Somehow, saying yes, going through with this wedding, it just logically seems like the next step. But Sun doesn’t think it’s what she wants. Not at all.
She just doesn’t know what else to do.
---
He didn’t write these vows.
It’s not that Jack thinks he’s so great at prose or anything, it’s not that he thinks he could do any better, it’s just that he didn’t do it. It’s that he didn’t even try.
He’s done this before, and Sarah had made him, she wanted them to be special and from the heart, and he didn’t understand the meaning behind it until he was right up there saying them and he couldn’t keep the tears out of his eyes and neither could she. You fixed me, he’d said, but he can’t say that now, even if he wanted to, because he’s fairly sure he’s never been more broken than he is now.
Now, up here, with dry eyes, speaking words that are older than he is, it feels wrong somehow. They feel bland and impersonal and that’s not how this should be. This shouldn’t feel like he’s reading a script, but that’s really all he’s doing.
Jack means it, all of it, from the ‘to have and to hold’ right down to ‘until death do we part’, because it’s true, and it always will be, and this wedding really means nothing in the scheme of things. It’s a piece of paper. They could annul this thing tomorrow but they’ll never truly be without each other because, by now, with each other is the only way they know how to be. Just maybe, he thinks sadly, not like this, not in the way they’re intending.
He speaks meaningless words, with her hands in his, and there are tears in his eyes, but for different reasons than before.
---
He doesn’t know these people.
He’s just the hired help, the man paid to stand around with the camera in his hand, and take pictures. Of them. Of their family and friends. Pictures that detail a moment in time, without telling the whole story. In this case, in many cases, he doesn’t know the whole story.
The audience is anxious. People sit and fidget and watch, and try to look pleasant whenever he comes anywhere near them with the camera. It’s all lies. This whole thing smells of lies.
It’s not surprising. He’s heard the stories, the conspiracy theories. These are the Oceanic Six, minus one, possibly one of the more suspicious groups of people in the past decade. Everyone knows who they are, now, but very few know about who they were before their plane crashed, or what happened while they were stranded on an island for three months. Their stories are almost too perfect to be true. Too well synced up, no discrepancies, too practiced. It’s too cut and dry and he’s always been a conspiracy theorist himself.
It’s why he took this job without a second thought. The fugitive and the doctor. Yes, he did his homework. And he’s done this enough to know when someone’s faking for the camera.
She is. Kate Austen, soon to be Shephard. She smiles, and it’s a smile that’s too wide, shows far too few teeth. It’s the smile of supermodels and actresses; that forced coolness. She doesn’t blink against the flashes and the look on her face never changes and he can just tell that she’s putting on a brilliant show to cover up her, and their, flaws. It’s like she doesn’t think she’s doing the right thing and he has half a mind to ask her why she’s even up there. But it’s not his business; he’s just the photographer, the hired help.
He doesn’t know these people, and he’s fairly sure he doesn’t want to.
---
Jack’s kiss tastes like promises for the future and hope and things they do not have.
Kate thinks of the last man she married. The man who truly did believe these things, who truly did believe that they were fine, and they would be fine, and this was their happy ending. And then she thinks of this man, the one whose lips meet hers, the one whose ring she wears. They’re both under no illusions now. This is merely the band-aid over the bullet hole, trying to cover up the wound and all the imperfections that come with it. They’re making do with what they have and, while he may not be, she is used to it and this has been her life for longer than she could remember.
She’s accepted that happy endings are not for her. She’s accepted that she’s going to stand up here and she’s going to do this because she loves this man. And she’s accepted that she’s probably making a mistake. She’s made a lot of those but they only serve to make her stronger.
But that’s all big picture stuff. There’s the here and the now, and she lifts the skirts of her wedding dress to walk back down the aisle, her hand in his, smiling people on either side of her, and it feels like a scene out of a movie. Or, worse yet, someone else’s dream. This isn’t her and yet it is, now, and there’s no better proof than the sound of her own heartbeat racing in her chest as she keeps on forward, keeps in step. Reminds herself not to run.
The doors open and the sun outside is bright, and she wishes that were a metaphor of some kind.
---
People seem to stay away from him.
Sayid was there for Christian’s funeral, there because Jack seemed to want them all there, but the majority of these people weren’t, they’re just friends, and so they don’t know him. And so they seem to leave him alone, which is fine with him. This is not about him. Besides, he’s used to it, used to people getting the wrong impression from him. He is out of place and they all know that.
Twice, he looks for Nadia, and doesn’t find her. He’s still unused to not having her by his side. It’s only been a month and a half. Less than a year since they were married. This wedding reminds him of theirs, not because of the ceremony, but simply for what it stood for. For the finality of it all.
The more he looks at these two, the less the comparison works. Both were borne of good intentions, he thinks, at least there’s that. They mean well. They mean for this to work. And he’s no one to judge, but he can see through the facade that they are putting on. He knows Sun can too, can see it in her eyes when she looks at him from across the room. There’s a nod, an understanding.
She’s stiff while his hand rests on the small of her back; his eyes betray cold feet that are long overdue. There’s too much wrong with this picture. But he thinks they must know and so he leaves it alone and congratulates them and watches them dance at the reception. They are beautiful to watch.
He does a lot of watching, he always has, and it’s because of this that he can already see where this is probably headed.