metal (kate/juliet) pg
Title: Metal
Fandom: Lost
Prompt: 03:00 / generational, 20:00 / twilight, 18:00 / afterlife, for Around the Clock
Pairing/Characters: Kate/Juliet
Rating: PG
Word Count: 241 + 199 + 235 = 675
Summary: The complicated balance Kate and Juliet set between enemies and friends.
Author's Notes: This wasn't at all what I set out to write, but this story took on a life of its own.
03: 00 / generational
Kate has nightmares. Of straps on chairs and stroboscopic video footage and electroshock and her. In the dream she smiles like she knows her, like she’d surgically removed some sacred and long buried scrap of her persona and stuck it in a jar with formaldehyde so she could study it with her fetal pigs and dissected rats. But when she wakes up she can’t see that same maliciousness in Juliet’s smirk, can’t pinpoint the exact reason why she doesn’t trust her as far as she could throw her.
It could be because of the fact that Juliet has tried to manipulate her so much she resembles taffy stretched too thin, or the way she looks out at camp like she should have a clipboard taking inventory. Or it could be that she comes from a long line of people who kidnap the defenseless and brainwash the strong-willed and play mind games like it’s monopoly. Kate refuses to give Juliet the benefit of the doubt.
But she knows what it’s like to be judged on your family and while she’s pretty sure the Others aren’t Juliet’s blood kin they’re the closest things she’s got in Kate’s mind. So she takes Juliet on a hike for fruit and she doesn’t bring her gun (just a knife) and pretends not to notice that Juliet brushes their hands together.
Kate wonders if that was a trick the Others had used in the past as well.
20:00 / twilight
Kate finds her on the beach, in her own old spot when she’d still had the presence of mind to remain stagnant and think it all over, as the sun sets. As she plops down beside her she realizes, offhandedly and suddenly, that she doesn’t know what day of the week it is anymore. The thought strikes her as odd, but she shoves it aside and concentrates on the peel of her freckles from her sun burn.
“I don’t trust you.”
Juliet doesn’t look over at her in surprise (she hadn’t really expected her to) but watches the tropicana colors reflected in the ocean’s ripples with some semblance of peace and nods. They remain like that, distant and silent, playing solitary but together, until the last glimmer of mortal sunshine fades beneath the sea.
“I don’t even know what day it is.” Kate remarks with a hint of irony in her voice.
“It’s Wednesday.”
And Kate doesn’t ask how she knows or if she’s just saying it to give her a sliver of concrete time to grasp onto, but Juliet brushes her pants of sand and fades behind her.
The night blooms into total darkness but Kate doesn’t move.
18:00 / afterlife
Juliet sees snow for the first time two months after they’re rescued. Kate finds it curious, how stoically the other woman takes it in, brushing back the whisper of the gauzy curtains with scientific curiosity, replacing them and returning to the kitchen for coffee in the same manner.
It wasn’t as if they’d exactly chosen to live together, but most of the survivors ended up in the vicinity of one another by fate or emotional attachment or what have you and it just… happened.
They share a two floor studio apartment in New York City, where Juliet has her life and Kate has hers and they keep their distance, except to say good morning and magnet supermarket lists to the refrigerator and run into each other in the middle of the night because they’re both insomniacs and they only have one kitchen.
Kate still doesn’t believe that Juliet is as innocent as she appears, but without the context of the island she finds the uneasiness gets lost in the winter wind and she doesn’t tense when the blonde moves past her when they’re alone. So they sit on a leather couch in the living room and stare out at the snow that’s padded the street in white and laced the trees with frilly frost like it’s just another incarnation of the ocean they’d both taken refuge in observing and they don’t mind sharing a blanket.
Fandom: Lost
Prompt: 03:00 / generational, 20:00 / twilight, 18:00 / afterlife, for Around the Clock
Pairing/Characters: Kate/Juliet
Rating: PG
Word Count: 241 + 199 + 235 = 675
Summary: The complicated balance Kate and Juliet set between enemies and friends.
Author's Notes: This wasn't at all what I set out to write, but this story took on a life of its own.
03: 00 / generational
Kate has nightmares. Of straps on chairs and stroboscopic video footage and electroshock and her. In the dream she smiles like she knows her, like she’d surgically removed some sacred and long buried scrap of her persona and stuck it in a jar with formaldehyde so she could study it with her fetal pigs and dissected rats. But when she wakes up she can’t see that same maliciousness in Juliet’s smirk, can’t pinpoint the exact reason why she doesn’t trust her as far as she could throw her.
It could be because of the fact that Juliet has tried to manipulate her so much she resembles taffy stretched too thin, or the way she looks out at camp like she should have a clipboard taking inventory. Or it could be that she comes from a long line of people who kidnap the defenseless and brainwash the strong-willed and play mind games like it’s monopoly. Kate refuses to give Juliet the benefit of the doubt.
But she knows what it’s like to be judged on your family and while she’s pretty sure the Others aren’t Juliet’s blood kin they’re the closest things she’s got in Kate’s mind. So she takes Juliet on a hike for fruit and she doesn’t bring her gun (just a knife) and pretends not to notice that Juliet brushes their hands together.
Kate wonders if that was a trick the Others had used in the past as well.
20:00 / twilight
Kate finds her on the beach, in her own old spot when she’d still had the presence of mind to remain stagnant and think it all over, as the sun sets. As she plops down beside her she realizes, offhandedly and suddenly, that she doesn’t know what day of the week it is anymore. The thought strikes her as odd, but she shoves it aside and concentrates on the peel of her freckles from her sun burn.
“I don’t trust you.”
Juliet doesn’t look over at her in surprise (she hadn’t really expected her to) but watches the tropicana colors reflected in the ocean’s ripples with some semblance of peace and nods. They remain like that, distant and silent, playing solitary but together, until the last glimmer of mortal sunshine fades beneath the sea.
“I don’t even know what day it is.” Kate remarks with a hint of irony in her voice.
“It’s Wednesday.”
And Kate doesn’t ask how she knows or if she’s just saying it to give her a sliver of concrete time to grasp onto, but Juliet brushes her pants of sand and fades behind her.
The night blooms into total darkness but Kate doesn’t move.
18:00 / afterlife
Juliet sees snow for the first time two months after they’re rescued. Kate finds it curious, how stoically the other woman takes it in, brushing back the whisper of the gauzy curtains with scientific curiosity, replacing them and returning to the kitchen for coffee in the same manner.
It wasn’t as if they’d exactly chosen to live together, but most of the survivors ended up in the vicinity of one another by fate or emotional attachment or what have you and it just… happened.
They share a two floor studio apartment in New York City, where Juliet has her life and Kate has hers and they keep their distance, except to say good morning and magnet supermarket lists to the refrigerator and run into each other in the middle of the night because they’re both insomniacs and they only have one kitchen.
Kate still doesn’t believe that Juliet is as innocent as she appears, but without the context of the island she finds the uneasiness gets lost in the winter wind and she doesn’t tense when the blonde moves past her when they’re alone. So they sit on a leather couch in the living room and stare out at the snow that’s padded the street in white and laced the trees with frilly frost like it’s just another incarnation of the ocean they’d both taken refuge in observing and they don’t mind sharing a blanket.