[fic] she made up somewhere to be from; lost, claire/jack; pg13
title; rating: she made up somewhere to be from; pg13
fandom, pairing; wordcount: lost, claire/jack; 1044
notes: spoilers for the entire series?
They let the light go out.
And really?
It's as simple as that.
--
The world does not crumble into the sea.
Nobody tries to murder anybody. (Anymore so than usual.)
The zombie apocalypse does not start.
The sun still rises and sets each morning, a glowing orb that teases them in cloudless skies. You fools, she says from her place high above them. And, I'm not going anywhere.
"I thought..." Claire says on the third day.
She's the first to really say anything about it. She stands transfixed, looking out over the sea.
"What?" Jack's there by her side. The others are there too, but he's the only one who seems to have noticed that she's spoken.
"I thought it would be different," she says.
--
Although the world doesn't seem to have changed at all, Claire feels different.
Listening to the sea now, the waves that crash to the rhythm of her own betraying pulse, she feels stronger. She can think more clearly. And she finally feels the weight of all of these years being lifted. It's as if something had a hold of her and now it's finally let go. Deep down she knows that's true, knows that her mind was mangled and manipulated by someone she thought she could call a friend.
Now, she doesn't know what to call him.
Demon, perhaps? It's the only thing that feels right.
Jack finds her out on a rocky bank in the dark and sits beside her. She doesn't know how long he's been there or even have a real sense of what time it might be. She just knows that they're there for a long time, and eventually she lets him lean against her shoulder.
"You're much taller than me," she says at last, like it's some sort of revelation.
Jack nods.
In another life, he would have laughed.
"It came as quite the shock," Claire tells him. "That you were my brother." She opens and closes her hand, studying her palm in the post-twilight. "I mean after..."
Jack lowers his head, stiffens. And she can feel a cool breeze in the spots where he's not touching her anymore. Claire thinks perhaps it's not the time. But another part of her thinks that Jack deserves to be punished, even just a little bit.
"You're still the last person I've kissed," she tells him. And then, even though it seems unrelated. "You shouldn't have left us behind, you know?"
--
When Lapidus finally gets the plane going to his satisfaction, Claire realizes she doesn't remember the last time she slept.
Kate tells her she's tired of the sun, tells her that Aaron will be so happy to see her.
Even as she says it, it sounds stupid.
The kid never even knew her.
Claire tangles her fingers in her knotted hair, twists slightly -- a habit she's grown into.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," she tells Kate as they board the plane.
"Don't be silly," Kate says, sitting beside her.
Claire doesn't argue, doesn't have the heart to tell Kate that she's got it all wrong. Instead, she sleeps. And when she doesn't sleep she plots her escape.
--
When she wakes up, Sawyer shaking her gently as he stands over her, the plane is already on the ground. They didn't and in L.A., Claire knows that much. She hears Miles mumbling something to Sawyer about keeping under the radar, but she doesn't bother listening to the rest of the conversation. None of it matters, really.
That first night, they all check into the same hotel, it's small, but not too small, and Claire couldn't care less. She spends three hours that first night in front of the mirror trying to comb out her hair. Finally, she picks up the pair of scissors that were sitting in the desk.
I'll just cut it all off, she thinks, but a series of heavy knocks stops her from severing the first chunk of blond she has held between the two blades.
"Jack," she says when she opens the door and he pushes in past her. She shuts the door behind him and watches him pace across the room as if he hasn't yet noticed the small person who opened it for him.
Claire walks over to him and isn't at all surprised when he reaches out for her. She is aware that her breath catches in her throat and that she's starting to tremble, but there is no fear in it.
"You're right," he says, pulling her closer, leaning down so that his face is inches from hers. "I should never have left you."
Claire closes her eyes, she can feel Jack's callused hand closing over her exposed leg, just at the spot where her long t-shirt meets skin, his thumb moving in in deliberate circles over the inside of her thigh.
She wishes she'd thought to turn out the light.
"Never," Jack repeats, his breath hot on her face now.
Claire meets his eyes, and nods, quick and affirmatively.
"Okay," she says, nodding again. "Okay."
His mouth covers hers in that moment and they fall back onto the bed. He still tastes salty, like sweat and sea air and a little bit of booze. Claire wonders briefly if he's taken the time to shower, but her thoughts dissolve away when she feels him slipping two fingers inside of her. Jack doesn't bother to undress her, he pushes easily between her open thighs and slides his cotton pajama pants over his hips. Claire arches when he presses into her, his name and a curse twisted together on her lips. He fucks her just the way he did in all of her island hallucinations, fast and urgent and then over again, like it might be the last time they have together.
Claire won't bother to tell him that it is.
--
Claire remembers Sawyer once telling her that the secret to life is knowing when to go while the going is good.
A bus ticket in her hand and a single backpack slung over her shoulder, and she finally understands the truth of that statement.
She doesn't have a son.
She doesn't have a brother.
And no past either.
She's just a girl in a bus station.
Heading somewhere.
-fin
fandom, pairing; wordcount: lost, claire/jack; 1044
notes: spoilers for the entire series?
They let the light go out.
And really?
It's as simple as that.
--
The world does not crumble into the sea.
Nobody tries to murder anybody. (Anymore so than usual.)
The zombie apocalypse does not start.
The sun still rises and sets each morning, a glowing orb that teases them in cloudless skies. You fools, she says from her place high above them. And, I'm not going anywhere.
"I thought..." Claire says on the third day.
She's the first to really say anything about it. She stands transfixed, looking out over the sea.
"What?" Jack's there by her side. The others are there too, but he's the only one who seems to have noticed that she's spoken.
"I thought it would be different," she says.
--
Although the world doesn't seem to have changed at all, Claire feels different.
Listening to the sea now, the waves that crash to the rhythm of her own betraying pulse, she feels stronger. She can think more clearly. And she finally feels the weight of all of these years being lifted. It's as if something had a hold of her and now it's finally let go. Deep down she knows that's true, knows that her mind was mangled and manipulated by someone she thought she could call a friend.
Now, she doesn't know what to call him.
Demon, perhaps? It's the only thing that feels right.
Jack finds her out on a rocky bank in the dark and sits beside her. She doesn't know how long he's been there or even have a real sense of what time it might be. She just knows that they're there for a long time, and eventually she lets him lean against her shoulder.
"You're much taller than me," she says at last, like it's some sort of revelation.
Jack nods.
In another life, he would have laughed.
"It came as quite the shock," Claire tells him. "That you were my brother." She opens and closes her hand, studying her palm in the post-twilight. "I mean after..."
Jack lowers his head, stiffens. And she can feel a cool breeze in the spots where he's not touching her anymore. Claire thinks perhaps it's not the time. But another part of her thinks that Jack deserves to be punished, even just a little bit.
"You're still the last person I've kissed," she tells him. And then, even though it seems unrelated. "You shouldn't have left us behind, you know?"
--
When Lapidus finally gets the plane going to his satisfaction, Claire realizes she doesn't remember the last time she slept.
Kate tells her she's tired of the sun, tells her that Aaron will be so happy to see her.
Even as she says it, it sounds stupid.
The kid never even knew her.
Claire tangles her fingers in her knotted hair, twists slightly -- a habit she's grown into.
"I wouldn't be so sure about that," she tells Kate as they board the plane.
"Don't be silly," Kate says, sitting beside her.
Claire doesn't argue, doesn't have the heart to tell Kate that she's got it all wrong. Instead, she sleeps. And when she doesn't sleep she plots her escape.
--
When she wakes up, Sawyer shaking her gently as he stands over her, the plane is already on the ground. They didn't and in L.A., Claire knows that much. She hears Miles mumbling something to Sawyer about keeping under the radar, but she doesn't bother listening to the rest of the conversation. None of it matters, really.
That first night, they all check into the same hotel, it's small, but not too small, and Claire couldn't care less. She spends three hours that first night in front of the mirror trying to comb out her hair. Finally, she picks up the pair of scissors that were sitting in the desk.
I'll just cut it all off, she thinks, but a series of heavy knocks stops her from severing the first chunk of blond she has held between the two blades.
"Jack," she says when she opens the door and he pushes in past her. She shuts the door behind him and watches him pace across the room as if he hasn't yet noticed the small person who opened it for him.
Claire walks over to him and isn't at all surprised when he reaches out for her. She is aware that her breath catches in her throat and that she's starting to tremble, but there is no fear in it.
"You're right," he says, pulling her closer, leaning down so that his face is inches from hers. "I should never have left you."
Claire closes her eyes, she can feel Jack's callused hand closing over her exposed leg, just at the spot where her long t-shirt meets skin, his thumb moving in in deliberate circles over the inside of her thigh.
She wishes she'd thought to turn out the light.
"Never," Jack repeats, his breath hot on her face now.
Claire meets his eyes, and nods, quick and affirmatively.
"Okay," she says, nodding again. "Okay."
His mouth covers hers in that moment and they fall back onto the bed. He still tastes salty, like sweat and sea air and a little bit of booze. Claire wonders briefly if he's taken the time to shower, but her thoughts dissolve away when she feels him slipping two fingers inside of her. Jack doesn't bother to undress her, he pushes easily between her open thighs and slides his cotton pajama pants over his hips. Claire arches when he presses into her, his name and a curse twisted together on her lips. He fucks her just the way he did in all of her island hallucinations, fast and urgent and then over again, like it might be the last time they have together.
Claire won't bother to tell him that it is.
--
Claire remembers Sawyer once telling her that the secret to life is knowing when to go while the going is good.
A bus ticket in her hand and a single backpack slung over her shoulder, and she finally understands the truth of that statement.
She doesn't have a son.
She doesn't have a brother.
And no past either.
She's just a girl in a bus station.
Heading somewhere.
-fin