fills my head up and gets louder (Ilana/Ben, PG-13)
Title: fills my head up and gets louder
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Ilana/Ben
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 630
Summary: There's nothing left. Ilana keeps fighting anyways. (for weatheredlaw , requested here.)
They're all dead.
She pretends like it doesn't hurt, like it doesn't haunt her every breath. The air here is stifling, bringing with it the angry whispers of everyone she couldn't save. Shephard and Ford grumble with their hands around each other's throats. The two women, she never bothered to learn their names, scream at her or themselves. Reyes - Hugo, she remembers him as a kind soul - just watches sadly, quietly.
Jacob never taught her much Korean, but she's pretty certain the Kwons mean to say why should you get to live? She doesn't hold it against them, she's been asking herself that question every hour since the end of the world.
And she's come to this conclusion: she's only alive because Benjamin Linus is a coward.
Numb and half-blinded by the spectacular flaming mess the island had become, she stupidly let him drag her deep into the woods, to a tiny rotted cabin. Ben had sealed them inside, spreading Jacob's ashes across the doorway. She's lost track of how long it's been since she's seen the sun, seen anything besides these four walls, and him.
Shivering in her torn and singed clothes, she paces back and forth between the filthy windows, hoping for some glimpse of life. And Ben, he just sits there on the cot, scraping mud from her rifle. She doesn't believe for a moment that a gun would do them any good, here.
Ben sleeps sometimes, sleeps with his belt and boots on like he believes there's still somewhere for them to run off to in the middle of the night. And sometimes he speaks to her, words that sound like English and Latin and Russian and nothing at all. He tilts his head at her, a spark of curiosity in his eyes, as if it's her fault she doesn't understand his nonsense.
She thinks maybe he doesn't have a soul.
In the morning, or so she pretends, because she's not really sure, she grabs the rifle from the floor and sticks it in his chest. "Why?" she demands. "Why did you bring me here? You could have left me to die. I should be dead."
Ben speaks, only two or three words that make her dizzy. She presses harder, and he sighs, not frustrated but sad. Then he says something else. A name.
"Ilana."
The sound of it strikes into her body like rain, cold and stinging. It's not a label, not a lover's empty promise, not Jacob reprimanding or Locke cursing. It's her. Me. Ilana.
The gun clatters on the floor, and he says it again, softly, a question. Ilana stares down at him, and if this strange man is the only person left besides her, anywhere, ever, then she wants his voice murmuring in her ear, wants to hear him say her name over and over until she can remember what everything used to be.
"Ben," she chokes, and he places gentle hands onto her hips. "Save me."
He whispers something as he pulls her down to the rickety cot, and whatever he says she believes him, understand that he means yes. And if she remembers kissing, she can't remember this, sweet and painful as Ben breathes life back into her.
Ilana cries, gasps into his mouth because it hurts, hurts to live while the world is dead around her. Brilliant, searing lights dance behind her eyes, and she sobs, "I'm supposed to die."
Ben smooths the tangled hair away from her face, his chest rising and falling above her in uneven rhythm, and she realizes he's crying too.
"No," he says firmly, and although she can barely hear him over the roaring in her head, she thinks it might be the sweetest sound in the world.
"I won't let you go, Ilana."
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Ilana/Ben
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 630
Summary: There's nothing left. Ilana keeps fighting anyways. (for weatheredlaw , requested here.)
They're all dead.
She pretends like it doesn't hurt, like it doesn't haunt her every breath. The air here is stifling, bringing with it the angry whispers of everyone she couldn't save. Shephard and Ford grumble with their hands around each other's throats. The two women, she never bothered to learn their names, scream at her or themselves. Reyes - Hugo, she remembers him as a kind soul - just watches sadly, quietly.
Jacob never taught her much Korean, but she's pretty certain the Kwons mean to say why should you get to live? She doesn't hold it against them, she's been asking herself that question every hour since the end of the world.
And she's come to this conclusion: she's only alive because Benjamin Linus is a coward.
Numb and half-blinded by the spectacular flaming mess the island had become, she stupidly let him drag her deep into the woods, to a tiny rotted cabin. Ben had sealed them inside, spreading Jacob's ashes across the doorway. She's lost track of how long it's been since she's seen the sun, seen anything besides these four walls, and him.
Shivering in her torn and singed clothes, she paces back and forth between the filthy windows, hoping for some glimpse of life. And Ben, he just sits there on the cot, scraping mud from her rifle. She doesn't believe for a moment that a gun would do them any good, here.
Ben sleeps sometimes, sleeps with his belt and boots on like he believes there's still somewhere for them to run off to in the middle of the night. And sometimes he speaks to her, words that sound like English and Latin and Russian and nothing at all. He tilts his head at her, a spark of curiosity in his eyes, as if it's her fault she doesn't understand his nonsense.
She thinks maybe he doesn't have a soul.
In the morning, or so she pretends, because she's not really sure, she grabs the rifle from the floor and sticks it in his chest. "Why?" she demands. "Why did you bring me here? You could have left me to die. I should be dead."
Ben speaks, only two or three words that make her dizzy. She presses harder, and he sighs, not frustrated but sad. Then he says something else. A name.
"Ilana."
The sound of it strikes into her body like rain, cold and stinging. It's not a label, not a lover's empty promise, not Jacob reprimanding or Locke cursing. It's her. Me. Ilana.
The gun clatters on the floor, and he says it again, softly, a question. Ilana stares down at him, and if this strange man is the only person left besides her, anywhere, ever, then she wants his voice murmuring in her ear, wants to hear him say her name over and over until she can remember what everything used to be.
"Ben," she chokes, and he places gentle hands onto her hips. "Save me."
He whispers something as he pulls her down to the rickety cot, and whatever he says she believes him, understand that he means yes. And if she remembers kissing, she can't remember this, sweet and painful as Ben breathes life back into her.
Ilana cries, gasps into his mouth because it hurts, hurts to live while the world is dead around her. Brilliant, searing lights dance behind her eyes, and she sobs, "I'm supposed to die."
Ben smooths the tangled hair away from her face, his chest rising and falling above her in uneven rhythm, and she realizes he's crying too.
"No," he says firmly, and although she can barely hear him over the roaring in her head, she thinks it might be the sweetest sound in the world.
"I won't let you go, Ilana."