(no subject)
Title: Counting Down To Zero
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Michael, various others.
Word Count: 815
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Late birthday fic for toestastegood.
Spoilers: Up to "There's No Place Like Home Pt. 2"
Summary: The ship smells like old mop water, spilled beer, and something strong he can't quite identify. It makes him think Independence Day but he hesitates to put his finger on it (he knows, he just doesn't know why, why it's always there)
The ship smells like old mop water, spilled beer, and something strong he can’t quite identify. It makes him think Independence Day but he hesitates to put his finger on it (he knows, he just doesn’t know why, why it’s always there).
Instead he cleans the floors, water swirling over old wooden floors, and he ignores any blood he sees, and tells himself that this could be worse.
He could be dead.
That thought loses him in a mess of maybe he’d be better off that way (he’s pretty sure there’s a few people who wouldn’t disagree) but the overall idea is still there.
This is not as bad as it seems.
Yet.
---
Sometimes, he feels fingers trail along his arm, in sleep, in absolute darkness, and he reaches out to grasp handfuls of air.
You made your bed, he’ll hear, and his fingers shake over the button of the flashlight, refusing to press.
He never does see anything but too-bright lights pointing out all the boat’s (and his) flaws.
---
Jin and Sun are the first two from the island (he will not say back home) he sees.
It’s fitting.
Here’s what you left behind, here’s who you wronged.
The last part, the hard part, is the here’s how you’re going to make up for it.
Not yet (that word again), bold black ink letters that jump off rolled up paper like a scroll from ancient times, scripture, and he just wishes he knew when.
But prophecies don’t always happen like that.
---
He’s almost glad when he gets found it.
That must mean he’s getting close.
---
The gun doesn’t fire. The gun doesn’t fire, and he wishes he could still call it divine intervention but he knows better than that.
The island’s not through with him. He wishes it was.
Keamy clubs him in the head with his gun and when he comes to there’s dried blood on his head and he feels like dry heaving, for reasons other than just his injury.
A pair of shoes, attached to jean-clad legs that appear out of the corner of his eye, and he starts, wondering if Keamy had come back for a second round. Except, as he follows the outline of those legs, he realizes the person is not male, rather female. He sucks in a breath at the face, but he can’t honestly say he’s all that surprised.
Ana-Lucia.
Maybe he’s still unconscious.
He pushes himself up on his elbow, a grimace on his face. Her clothes are the same ones she died in, everything’s the same, except he can see that gun, that damn gun, safe and secure in the back of her pants like it always used to be. It figures. Libby had blankets, Ana has the gun.
Like he said, he isn’t surprised.
She disappears before he can find the words for ‘what do you want’, put them in the correct order to make sense, and he thinks he already knows she’ll be back.
The ship smells of gunpowder, everywhere - he thinks he understands why now.
---
Liquid nitrogen, keep it cold, and in a way he may have already saved them. The people on this boat, right? He may have saved someone. For now.
He’s just buying them more time.
This is where it ends, he knows the voice now, connects it to a face, connects with it, and he can see her, out of the corner of his eye, as she watches him, weaving through Desmond and Jin. He refuses to acknowledge her presence; she isn’t real and this will all be over soon.
---
Five minutes.
It’s a guess, not an exact science. Still, the sand runs out and he can see that hourglass becoming increasingly more transparent.
He isn’t taking them down with him. He knew that from the beginning.
“You two need to go now. Get everybody off the boat.”
Desmond will run; he has no stake in this. Michael doesn’t even know him, not really. But Jin won’t. Jin is a friend, they’ve been through a lot, too much, it seems, to leave now.
Jin may care about him, even after everything, but he cares about Sun more and Michael knows that will get him going.
It works.
Just you and me, her voice tells him, and he thinks it’s meant to soothe.
---
The hissing of the nitrogen stops; the whispers start.
Ana isn’t there anymore.
He thinks that’s a sign.
So he waits, precious seconds ticking away, and he thinks his life should be flashing before his eyes. He should be thinking of his son, of all the things he’s been through, all the things he’s done.
All he can think of is that hourglass.
“You can go now, Michael.”
Desire for piece of mind makes him ask, “Who are you?”
He’ll never know the answer.
Not in this life.
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Michael, various others.
Word Count: 815
Rating: PG-13
Author's Note: Late birthday fic for toestastegood.
Spoilers: Up to "There's No Place Like Home Pt. 2"
Summary: The ship smells like old mop water, spilled beer, and something strong he can't quite identify. It makes him think Independence Day but he hesitates to put his finger on it (he knows, he just doesn't know why, why it's always there)
The ship smells like old mop water, spilled beer, and something strong he can’t quite identify. It makes him think Independence Day but he hesitates to put his finger on it (he knows, he just doesn’t know why, why it’s always there).
Instead he cleans the floors, water swirling over old wooden floors, and he ignores any blood he sees, and tells himself that this could be worse.
He could be dead.
That thought loses him in a mess of maybe he’d be better off that way (he’s pretty sure there’s a few people who wouldn’t disagree) but the overall idea is still there.
This is not as bad as it seems.
Yet.
---
Sometimes, he feels fingers trail along his arm, in sleep, in absolute darkness, and he reaches out to grasp handfuls of air.
You made your bed, he’ll hear, and his fingers shake over the button of the flashlight, refusing to press.
He never does see anything but too-bright lights pointing out all the boat’s (and his) flaws.
---
Jin and Sun are the first two from the island (he will not say back home) he sees.
It’s fitting.
Here’s what you left behind, here’s who you wronged.
The last part, the hard part, is the here’s how you’re going to make up for it.
Not yet (that word again), bold black ink letters that jump off rolled up paper like a scroll from ancient times, scripture, and he just wishes he knew when.
But prophecies don’t always happen like that.
---
He’s almost glad when he gets found it.
That must mean he’s getting close.
---
The gun doesn’t fire. The gun doesn’t fire, and he wishes he could still call it divine intervention but he knows better than that.
The island’s not through with him. He wishes it was.
Keamy clubs him in the head with his gun and when he comes to there’s dried blood on his head and he feels like dry heaving, for reasons other than just his injury.
A pair of shoes, attached to jean-clad legs that appear out of the corner of his eye, and he starts, wondering if Keamy had come back for a second round. Except, as he follows the outline of those legs, he realizes the person is not male, rather female. He sucks in a breath at the face, but he can’t honestly say he’s all that surprised.
Ana-Lucia.
Maybe he’s still unconscious.
He pushes himself up on his elbow, a grimace on his face. Her clothes are the same ones she died in, everything’s the same, except he can see that gun, that damn gun, safe and secure in the back of her pants like it always used to be. It figures. Libby had blankets, Ana has the gun.
Like he said, he isn’t surprised.
She disappears before he can find the words for ‘what do you want’, put them in the correct order to make sense, and he thinks he already knows she’ll be back.
The ship smells of gunpowder, everywhere - he thinks he understands why now.
---
Liquid nitrogen, keep it cold, and in a way he may have already saved them. The people on this boat, right? He may have saved someone. For now.
He’s just buying them more time.
This is where it ends, he knows the voice now, connects it to a face, connects with it, and he can see her, out of the corner of his eye, as she watches him, weaving through Desmond and Jin. He refuses to acknowledge her presence; she isn’t real and this will all be over soon.
---
Five minutes.
It’s a guess, not an exact science. Still, the sand runs out and he can see that hourglass becoming increasingly more transparent.
He isn’t taking them down with him. He knew that from the beginning.
“You two need to go now. Get everybody off the boat.”
Desmond will run; he has no stake in this. Michael doesn’t even know him, not really. But Jin won’t. Jin is a friend, they’ve been through a lot, too much, it seems, to leave now.
Jin may care about him, even after everything, but he cares about Sun more and Michael knows that will get him going.
It works.
Just you and me, her voice tells him, and he thinks it’s meant to soothe.
---
The hissing of the nitrogen stops; the whispers start.
Ana isn’t there anymore.
He thinks that’s a sign.
So he waits, precious seconds ticking away, and he thinks his life should be flashing before his eyes. He should be thinking of his son, of all the things he’s been through, all the things he’s done.
All he can think of is that hourglass.
“You can go now, Michael.”
Desire for piece of mind makes him ask, “Who are you?”
He’ll never know the answer.
Not in this life.