Fic - Locke - Rousseau - Smoke Signals
Title: Smoke Signals
Author: tinkerbell99
Disclaimer: Lost doesn't belong to me.
Rating: PG
Characters: Locke, Rousseau
Summary: Rescue came. They stayed behind.
Three days after the last of the boats dissolved from sight and the final hum of a plane was lost to the breeze, he returned to the beach. Strangely silent in the middle of the day, it appeared to him expectant, awaiting the return of those the vessels carried away. Littered on the sand lay remains of interrupted lives - clothes, food, tarps, a wooden cradle left empty and rocking in the shallow surf.
Hasty crosses stand forgotten farther down the shore. Tin cans with their web-like symbols shine in the sun. He doesn't linger here.
He takes only what he needs and burns the rest.
***
Heading deeper inland with the smoke rising behind him, he finds that the empty, expectant nature of the island fades away. Carrying with him his few meager possessions culled from the shore, he turns back only once as billows of gray overtake the clear sky obscuring it from view.
Masking, he thinks, the island from the world outside.
Turning away at last, he pushes on through the veils of green and brown deeper into the heart of the island while delighting at the snap of twigs underneath his feet.
He camps that night in a raised clearing with the smell of the jungle deep in his lungs. It is here as the sun fades away and the sky turns to pink that he first notices the thin trail of smoke rising toward the sky - not embers from the memories he burned. It's here he first realizes he isn't alone.
***
She stayed behind.
The sound of the motors and machines and chaotic shouts had felt so foreign to her patient ears. The noise of those voices drove her fingernails deep into her calloused palms while the frantic pace of the men from the ship caused the ground to spin beneath her feet.
She held the child only once. Held her with a mother's arms and waited for the emptiness to fade away. Stroked her hair with dirt-stained hands. The girl's eyes were dark like black smoke crawling towards the sky and it was in their vacancy that she knew.
The child she lost was not this girl she found. Her daughter was taken, and that perfect baby never returned - lost to sixteen years and lost to this island. The emptiness remained. She couldn't leave without her child.
She fled to the jungle when no one watched. She hid in the trees while the dark haired girl boarded a plane and never looked back. She wandered through the silent jungle, still believing she heard her baby's cry.
***
He finds her late in the day more by instinct than accident or skill. She knows he stayed behind, knows that the campfire in the distance belongs to him and that the smoke rising from the beach is the work of his hands. Knows this, and finds herself drawn to the beach, to the smoke, to her child's phantom cry.
It's here he finds her as the sun sets. The embers are cool and the camp darkened into ash. It takes his breath for a moment as he emerges from the trees.
She's crouched in the sand, so still that for a moment he believes instinct failed him, but sharp eyes find her form and he takes a few slow steps in her direction. She hears him approach but stares at the waves, fingers tracing charred wood.
Though she offers no greeting, her demeanor remains calm and after a moment he takes a seat beside her in the sand. Initial apprehensions fade as they watch the sun fall to the ocean in minutes that stretch into hours through the silent night.
The rush of the ocean fills their ears.
It's only when the stars shine far above them that he takes his leave. Rising, he reshoulders his pack and takes one last look to the sea. Her eyes turn for the first time toward him and they share a silent parting nod before he melts away into the trees.
They never speak. Her fingers caress a burned wooden cradle as he walks away.
***
They meet this way every few weeks or months or maybe years for there's no cause to count the days. Footsteps are stilled when their eyes meet for a moment that could last a second or even an hour.
There's no cause to count those either.
She tilts her head forward, gray hair falling forward to frame her face, and he does the same with his head to the side, something like a smile not quite appearing on his lips.
And when the moment (or hour or day) is done, they part in silence.
***
He leaves her meat when he has it. Places it near her camp and walks away.
The guns have long since failed and the ammunition run short leaving him with only the knives and whatever else he can find. It's harder. It's quieter. It's how he dreamed it should always be.
He sidesteps her traps - marked obviously now with those porcelain dolls - and wonders at the symbol. Marked to lure the daughter she lost, the daughter she willfully gave away. Nets are rewoven and mud cleared from the painted faces and he'd wonder why but somehow he knows.
The jungle is littered with signs of the other's presence. Signs apparent only to them, signs disguised and hidden from anyone else. (There's no one else to hide them from.)
She can tell where he's stepped, where's he's walked and where he's camped. Telltale signs of broken leaves and trampled grass.
She once picked up a splintered twig and placed it inside her pack without knowing why.
***
The island, the security system, the monster, the thing that brought them here is silenced now. Trees don't crash down whenever it rains, and the mechanical roar has been silent for what could maybe be years.
He still hears the whispers of the ones that left and the ones that will never have the chance to leave. He hears Claire cooing to her child and Jin speaking words he doesn't have to understand to a glowing Sun.
He'll hear Boone scream until he dies.
(This has nothing to do with the island.)
***
He never built a shelter, but sleeps outside under the stars. She does the same.
Those houses, relics from those people (imposters, Others, a hundred more words left unsaid) stand far in the distance just beyond reach, their paint curling and wood rotting in the humid sun. Fading away, year after silent year. Vines crawl over their sagging frames.
Twilight comes and he tracks her movement by the fire. Cooler nights, she moves farther inland. Rain comes and she moves deeper into the trees. Lonely nights, and she sleeps by the shore.
She watches him, much the same.
***
The vines continue their slow creep as the years pass by. In time, their fires dwindle to one. One evening comes and the sky is left unmarred with smoke.
An empty cradle rocks near the shore. Clear stars shine on the empty island.
In the end, it claims them all.
***
Author: tinkerbell99
Disclaimer: Lost doesn't belong to me.
Rating: PG
Characters: Locke, Rousseau
Summary: Rescue came. They stayed behind.
Three days after the last of the boats dissolved from sight and the final hum of a plane was lost to the breeze, he returned to the beach. Strangely silent in the middle of the day, it appeared to him expectant, awaiting the return of those the vessels carried away. Littered on the sand lay remains of interrupted lives - clothes, food, tarps, a wooden cradle left empty and rocking in the shallow surf.
Hasty crosses stand forgotten farther down the shore. Tin cans with their web-like symbols shine in the sun. He doesn't linger here.
He takes only what he needs and burns the rest.
***
Heading deeper inland with the smoke rising behind him, he finds that the empty, expectant nature of the island fades away. Carrying with him his few meager possessions culled from the shore, he turns back only once as billows of gray overtake the clear sky obscuring it from view.
Masking, he thinks, the island from the world outside.
Turning away at last, he pushes on through the veils of green and brown deeper into the heart of the island while delighting at the snap of twigs underneath his feet.
He camps that night in a raised clearing with the smell of the jungle deep in his lungs. It is here as the sun fades away and the sky turns to pink that he first notices the thin trail of smoke rising toward the sky - not embers from the memories he burned. It's here he first realizes he isn't alone.
***
She stayed behind.
The sound of the motors and machines and chaotic shouts had felt so foreign to her patient ears. The noise of those voices drove her fingernails deep into her calloused palms while the frantic pace of the men from the ship caused the ground to spin beneath her feet.
She held the child only once. Held her with a mother's arms and waited for the emptiness to fade away. Stroked her hair with dirt-stained hands. The girl's eyes were dark like black smoke crawling towards the sky and it was in their vacancy that she knew.
The child she lost was not this girl she found. Her daughter was taken, and that perfect baby never returned - lost to sixteen years and lost to this island. The emptiness remained. She couldn't leave without her child.
She fled to the jungle when no one watched. She hid in the trees while the dark haired girl boarded a plane and never looked back. She wandered through the silent jungle, still believing she heard her baby's cry.
***
He finds her late in the day more by instinct than accident or skill. She knows he stayed behind, knows that the campfire in the distance belongs to him and that the smoke rising from the beach is the work of his hands. Knows this, and finds herself drawn to the beach, to the smoke, to her child's phantom cry.
It's here he finds her as the sun sets. The embers are cool and the camp darkened into ash. It takes his breath for a moment as he emerges from the trees.
She's crouched in the sand, so still that for a moment he believes instinct failed him, but sharp eyes find her form and he takes a few slow steps in her direction. She hears him approach but stares at the waves, fingers tracing charred wood.
Though she offers no greeting, her demeanor remains calm and after a moment he takes a seat beside her in the sand. Initial apprehensions fade as they watch the sun fall to the ocean in minutes that stretch into hours through the silent night.
The rush of the ocean fills their ears.
It's only when the stars shine far above them that he takes his leave. Rising, he reshoulders his pack and takes one last look to the sea. Her eyes turn for the first time toward him and they share a silent parting nod before he melts away into the trees.
They never speak. Her fingers caress a burned wooden cradle as he walks away.
***
They meet this way every few weeks or months or maybe years for there's no cause to count the days. Footsteps are stilled when their eyes meet for a moment that could last a second or even an hour.
There's no cause to count those either.
She tilts her head forward, gray hair falling forward to frame her face, and he does the same with his head to the side, something like a smile not quite appearing on his lips.
And when the moment (or hour or day) is done, they part in silence.
***
He leaves her meat when he has it. Places it near her camp and walks away.
The guns have long since failed and the ammunition run short leaving him with only the knives and whatever else he can find. It's harder. It's quieter. It's how he dreamed it should always be.
He sidesteps her traps - marked obviously now with those porcelain dolls - and wonders at the symbol. Marked to lure the daughter she lost, the daughter she willfully gave away. Nets are rewoven and mud cleared from the painted faces and he'd wonder why but somehow he knows.
The jungle is littered with signs of the other's presence. Signs apparent only to them, signs disguised and hidden from anyone else. (There's no one else to hide them from.)
She can tell where he's stepped, where's he's walked and where he's camped. Telltale signs of broken leaves and trampled grass.
She once picked up a splintered twig and placed it inside her pack without knowing why.
***
The island, the security system, the monster, the thing that brought them here is silenced now. Trees don't crash down whenever it rains, and the mechanical roar has been silent for what could maybe be years.
He still hears the whispers of the ones that left and the ones that will never have the chance to leave. He hears Claire cooing to her child and Jin speaking words he doesn't have to understand to a glowing Sun.
He'll hear Boone scream until he dies.
(This has nothing to do with the island.)
***
He never built a shelter, but sleeps outside under the stars. She does the same.
Those houses, relics from those people (imposters, Others, a hundred more words left unsaid) stand far in the distance just beyond reach, their paint curling and wood rotting in the humid sun. Fading away, year after silent year. Vines crawl over their sagging frames.
Twilight comes and he tracks her movement by the fire. Cooler nights, she moves farther inland. Rain comes and she moves deeper into the trees. Lonely nights, and she sleeps by the shore.
She watches him, much the same.
***
The vines continue their slow creep as the years pass by. In time, their fires dwindle to one. One evening comes and the sky is left unmarred with smoke.
An empty cradle rocks near the shore. Clear stars shine on the empty island.
In the end, it claims them all.
***