The Strength Inside Me Burning
Nominated for Outstanding first fic - January 2009
Title: The Strength Inside Me Burning
Rating: Hard R (For the beginning only)
Words: 1293
Pairing: Slight Juliet/Goodwin, Slight Ben/Juliet
Summary: After a loss, she always finds Goodwin. (Oneshot set before the arrival of Oceanic 815)
A/N: My first Lost fandom fanfic so I hope you enjoy! Title/Cut line from the song "The Hill" from the movie Once. Cross posted so sorry for duplicates!
Disclaimer: I don't own LOST or the characters used in the story and am gaining no profit from this work.
The Stength Inside Me Burning
After a loss she always finds Goodwin.
After a loss she always uses him. He knows it, she knows it, and Harper knows it.
They all pretend that it doesn’t happen, and it’s quick and dirty and comforting and then it’s over.
She finds him hours after the most recent loss; a twenty eight year old woman named Sarah and her 29 week old fetus, and possessively straddles his waist. She’s always on top after she loses a patient; it makes her feel as though she has control over something when she’s completely lost faith in herself. She grinds down on him and guides his hand to her clit, forcing him to press up against her, while his other hand flits to the smooth curve of her hip, steadying her as she rocks above him.
“C’mon.” She growls menacingly, pressing against him harder.
He obeys but a hand slips up to caress her face, the other held tightly against the junction between her thighs. She tilts her head, barely slowing in her motion, and he traces a comforting pattern along the underside of her jaw. There’s a hitch in her breath and he feels her flutter around him for the briefest moment, her pace quickens.
“C’mere.” He grunts, tugging her down and sweaty skin is pressed against sweaty skin as she continues to move over him.
He moves both hands up to caress her cheeks, tugging her into a surprisingly soft kiss and swallowing her soft whimper as he hits the sensitive spot up within her. She lets him roll her over and he braces himself over her as she wraps her twiggy legs around his waist, pulling herself up to meet him as he thrusts into her.
She tries not to think of Sarah’s pleas or the baby’s pale, grey skin as her legs begin to tremble and a slow burn spreads just below her pubic bone. She squeezes her eyes shut as tears threaten to slip past her lids and tries to focus on the sensations stemming from deep within her.
“Harder.” She breathes, burying the surfacing thoughts under a pile of pleasured moans when he does as she commands.
She feels her body tighten like a stretched elastic band and arches up against him, grip tightening around his waist as tremors wrack her body and a series of short gasps slip by her parted lips. She clings to him until the aftershocks subside and goes limp in his embrace, chest heaving in an effort to steady her breathing.
She waits three minutes then runs her fingers through her damp hairline, lacing sweat through her blonde curls, and begins to tug on her clothing. He reaches for her, hands clasping weakly at her wrists as she slips out of his grasp, shaking her head. He asks her to stay, his voice borderline pleading, but she denies him. She gathers her light jacket in her arms and steps out of his house.
She steps out into the cool night air and sucks in several lungfuls before heading home, purposefully avoiding the path that crosses the medical center. Her hand closes around the door knob and she pushes it open, carefully stepping over the ridge under the door. It’s dark inside but she doesn’t bother turning the light on, she feels dark and sick inside and lights will only make it worse. She stumbles slightly over a stray boot before finding her way to the plush blue couch in the living room and sprawling out on it lengthwise.
She drapes an arm over her eyes and lets out a long breath; eyes burning with unshed tears as the memories come flooding back. She can see the limp body of the underdeveloped fetus, the husband’s face when he’s told he’s lost both his wife and his child, the surge of blood that bathes her hands and wrists as she attempts to salvage the unsalvageable.
She lets a raw, aching sob slip past her lips and the tears finally come, hot and fast, bathing her rosy cheeks in regret. She sobs until her chest aches and she struggles to draw in a breath, eyes swollen and red.
“Juliet.”
She nearly jumps out of her skin as the voice, laced with anger and frustration, echoes from across the room. She struggles to sit up, wiping tears away quickly, and flicks on the light switch.
Ben is sitting across the room, hands folded neatly in his lap, dark eyes piercing as he narrows them into a glare and sarcastically states,
“Well, don’t you look lovely.”
She presses her palms to her eyes again self consciously and hisses, “What the hell are you doing here?”
“You’re not doing your job, Juliet.” He says, his voice taking on a warning, almost sing-song-ish quality.
“And what’s that?”
“Keep the pregnant woman alive, help them carry to term.”
She rises, bristling at his accusation, “You know I’m doing everything I can.”
He barely stirs in his position on the couch, “Evidently, that’s not enough.”
His voice is biting and bitter, he tries to keep his voice steady but the raw emotion edging its way through is almost palpable. She knows he’s upset because this is the fourth baby they’ve lost since she’s been here, because Sarah was one of his favourites, because she made it to twenty nine weeks and gave them hope. Hope that Juliet destroyed with several skilled slices of a scalpel.
“I got her that far.” She reminds him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear (an old, nervous habit), “She wouldn’t have made it past twenty weeks without me.”
He shakes his head, “Twenty nine weeks isn’t enough and you know it. Twenty nine weeks is not full term.”
“I’m trying, dammit!” She finally yells, hands trembling by her sides as anger floods her veins, “I spend every waking minute of my life with those women, just to watch them and their babies die.”
She almost doesn’t catch it when he quietly says, “Not every waking minute.”
She’s so taken aback that she stands there for a moment, jaw slack and face pale,
“What did you say?”
He looks up at her and stares her straight in the eye, his own eyes dark with disappointment, “I said, not every waking minute.”
She’s suddenly aware of the lingering stickiness between her thighs, the oily trace of sweat running through her hair, the faintest smell of sex. She feels like a bug under the microscope as he scrutinizes her,
“You were a fool to think I wouldn’t find out about this.”
She doesn’t know what to say, this isn’t about the patients anymore. She has a strong suspicion that this was never about the patients; Goodwin had warned her that Ben wanted her for himself, but she’d laughed him off. Suddenly it isn’t so funny anymore.
“I...I...”She stammers, unable to find the right words.
He stands and she cringes visibly when he reaches into his pocket, fishing around for a moment. He scoffs when he sees her anxiety and finally tugs out a small sheet of white paper. He twists it in his fingers for a moment before calmly setting it down on the coffee table and heading towards the door, easing his jacket over his shoulders.
He doesn’t wait for her to reach for the sheet before flatly saying,
“You’re pregnant Juliet. Maybe you’ll try harder this time, now that it’s your own life on the line.”
Now she understands why he’s so upset. It isn’t because she lost a patient, and it isn’t because she’s sleeping with Goodwin when he wanted so badly to claim her for himself. It’s because, even though he knows she’ll never be his, he’s not ready to lose her just yet.