And the night will come
Title: And the night will come
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own them; just borrowing.
Summary: Kate and Claire, post-finale. “It's okay.” (Most of the time, it's not a lie.)
Spoilers: through the finale
Notes: Posted here @ the Dead Fandoms Comment Fic Meme. Prompt was Lost, Claire/Kate, something like normal.
They're never going to join any PTA,
(she thinks, watching Claire watch Aaron coloring at the kitchen table)
though she's not sure why it should matter (it doesn't).
They're nowhere near PTA material, Claire with her nightmares and her silences and her clinging, wild desperation - Kate with her past and her still-intoxicating urge to run, the gun in her closet and the fact she's never known anything about any kid, ever, besides him --
Aaron, who's still coloring, trees and trees and too much green (she's got to get him a different box of crayons) and Kate realizes Claire's not watching anymore, just staring, zoned and away.
Kate moves to stand in front of her, so Aaron's view is blocked. “Hey,” quiet, and a brush of hand over her shoulder, pray it works so there's not a scene in front of him.
It's a good day, because it only takes the touch and the quiet word to break whatever spell it is, and Claire jerks violently, shaking her head. Kate sees her, briefly, as she was in the jungle, wild, before her eyes calm slightly.
“Did I --”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. I'm sorry.”
“It's okay.” (Most of the time, it's not a lie.)
Kate looks over her shoulder; he's still there, tongue between his teeth as he concentrates. “Aaron, baby, keep coloring, okay? It's really pretty.” (So, so much green.) She waits for his nod, then runs her fingers, light, down Claire's arm and tugs her to stand.
In the living room, they sink down onto the couch, Claire pressed up against Kate like she's someone who can fix this wreck and ruin. Kate just waits, strokes fingers through Claire's hair, trails down her cheek.
Finally -
“I'm not good for him.”
A breath. “I don't believe that.”
“Kate, you step in front of him, so he won't see. When I'm like that.”
“It's not --”
“I know.”
Kate knows. Claire knows. Sometimes Kate wants to scream under the weight of what they both know. Instead, she tangles her fingers in Claire's hair, recalling the tedious combing through of the matted snarls when they'd first returned. Some things are better, now. They also know this. And still,
“I'm not good for you.”
“Claire...” A warning tone, just barely.
“I'm not. This...this,” she waves a hand around them, encompassing, “it isn't normal.”
Kate actually laughs then, low against Claire's hair. “I've never been good at normal. Probably couldn't do it if I tried.”
There's a long silence, and she's just getting concerned, when she feels Claire's lips in a smile against her shoulder, her hand come to rest in hers.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Don't own them; just borrowing.
Summary: Kate and Claire, post-finale. “It's okay.” (Most of the time, it's not a lie.)
Spoilers: through the finale
Notes: Posted here @ the Dead Fandoms Comment Fic Meme. Prompt was Lost, Claire/Kate, something like normal.
They're never going to join any PTA,
(she thinks, watching Claire watch Aaron coloring at the kitchen table)
though she's not sure why it should matter (it doesn't).
They're nowhere near PTA material, Claire with her nightmares and her silences and her clinging, wild desperation - Kate with her past and her still-intoxicating urge to run, the gun in her closet and the fact she's never known anything about any kid, ever, besides him --
Aaron, who's still coloring, trees and trees and too much green (she's got to get him a different box of crayons) and Kate realizes Claire's not watching anymore, just staring, zoned and away.
Kate moves to stand in front of her, so Aaron's view is blocked. “Hey,” quiet, and a brush of hand over her shoulder, pray it works so there's not a scene in front of him.
It's a good day, because it only takes the touch and the quiet word to break whatever spell it is, and Claire jerks violently, shaking her head. Kate sees her, briefly, as she was in the jungle, wild, before her eyes calm slightly.
“Did I --”
“Yeah.”
“Sorry. I'm sorry.”
“It's okay.” (Most of the time, it's not a lie.)
Kate looks over her shoulder; he's still there, tongue between his teeth as he concentrates. “Aaron, baby, keep coloring, okay? It's really pretty.” (So, so much green.) She waits for his nod, then runs her fingers, light, down Claire's arm and tugs her to stand.
In the living room, they sink down onto the couch, Claire pressed up against Kate like she's someone who can fix this wreck and ruin. Kate just waits, strokes fingers through Claire's hair, trails down her cheek.
Finally -
“I'm not good for him.”
A breath. “I don't believe that.”
“Kate, you step in front of him, so he won't see. When I'm like that.”
“It's not --”
“I know.”
Kate knows. Claire knows. Sometimes Kate wants to scream under the weight of what they both know. Instead, she tangles her fingers in Claire's hair, recalling the tedious combing through of the matted snarls when they'd first returned. Some things are better, now. They also know this. And still,
“I'm not good for you.”
“Claire...” A warning tone, just barely.
“I'm not. This...this,” she waves a hand around them, encompassing, “it isn't normal.”
Kate actually laughs then, low against Claire's hair. “I've never been good at normal. Probably couldn't do it if I tried.”
There's a long silence, and she's just getting concerned, when she feels Claire's lips in a smile against her shoulder, her hand come to rest in hers.