White Balloons
Title: White Balloons
Characters/Pairings: Kate/Claire (friendship)
Rating: PG
Summary: It's 03:33 in Los Angeles. One-shot.
Notes: This is from a while ago - I wrote it within about a week of the Lost finale airing, which is something. I usually find I come up with too many concepts that I get overwhelmed and have to leave it for a while or my CFS/ME will prevent me from sitting at the computer for long periods but this one just needed to be written. It's been up on Fanfiction a while under my pseudonym but FF is a dying site :-( I was a Kate/Claire friendshipper right from the tent and suitcase rummaging in 1x05 White Rabbit.
"The changes in me are likely to be like the weather, stormy and clear, strength into fear, bound together."
"I'm holding onto you like I'm holding onto white balloons."
- Sick Puppies - White Balloons
--
It's 03:33 in Los Angeles.
The red glow on the hotel alarm clock says so.
This means it's 20:33 in Sydney.
It could be anytime at all and Claire would believe it. She turns from away from the alarm clock and stares at the ceiling.
It's a bumpy, patterned ceiling. Actually having a room to sleep in feels like a novelty at present so to have a patterned ceiling is almost exhilarating and exciting in a way she can't quite figure out.
The lights are dancing on the highway and bathing the room in shades of orange, white and red and occasionally, flashing blue. It's a near-permanent glow that illuminates the room but neither of them thought to shut the curtains.
That's not what's keeping Claire awake right now. It's been a hell of a day. A hell of a few years.
The makeshift flight to Los Angeles went without trouble - for the most part. All of them had tensed notably every time they'd dipped slightly or hit an air pocket; the plane sounded fragile in some way, slightly rickety and so it was that Kate's hand never left Claire's throughout the whole flight. It became a significantly stronger grip whenever there was even a vague inkling of turbulence, a lighthouse in a storm.
Every time Claire had looked at Kate in those 8 hours, she seemed collected but there was a bittersweet look in her eyes. Whenever she asked if Kate was alright, her companion took this as a sign that Claire was at unease and would then ask if she was OK and reassure her that she'd see Aaron soon.
Whatever it was that Kate was bothered by was distracted from further when they landed at LAX. It was without a hitch, though fire trucks were at the ready in case anything went wrong. When the wheels had hit the tarmac of the runway, they'd shared further silent looks of elation while Sawyer had whooped loudly, Richard had silently prayed and Miles had cried like a girl.
Home. That's what Kate promised her silently as they stared at eachother. Aaron.
Even through the surreal haze of walking through LAX, the press thrusting microphones at them, camera lenses dazzling, Kate made sure she walked with Claire in order to instill some sense of security for her, firmly shoving back any microphones that were forced at them. The unwavering shield.
For all of the events of the day that just passed her by, for all that had happened, Claire couldn't sleep at all - her companion is lost in the midst of some terrifying nightmare.
Kate is curled in a fetal position in the middle of the other double bed, hugging herself tightly and quivering - there lies the epitome of despair and desolation - still in the same jeans and t-shirt. Claire props herself up, watching her companion's back shake slightly before she walks over, bare feet moving soundlessly on the hotel carpet.
She sits behind Kate and faces the other way at first, out the window to a world she is out of sync with. She breathes in, preparing herself somehow - she's not sure how Kate will react when woken - before twisting her upper body and moving her hand slowly towards Kate's shoulder. She pauses just before she reaches it. What if she wants to be alone?
Kate inhales suddenly and Claire realises that Kate was never asleep. She was stifling her grief to the point of implosion. The agonised sob that follows may be the most painful sound Claire has ever heard and it's over quickly as Kate retains some semblance of control over her emotions and returns to hardly breathing but shaking lightly. She wonders again if solitude would be Kate's preference, but for some reason reaches out and places a hand gently on Kate's upper arm. She's going to be alone a lot, she figures.
The brunette jumps, but doesn't pull away. Claire rubs soothing circles on Kate's arm with her thumb, careful not to disturb the bullet wound which is still only days old - something she now feels partially responsible for. Claire watches Kate protectively for a few minutes. Here is the one that never gave up on her, risking everything to get her back to her son and to say she feels useless now is far beyond an understatement. She looks at Kate's fist which is wrapped around herself so tightly, she wonders if she can even breathe. The knuckles are paper-white and her fingernails are lost somewhere in her palms.
Kate grimaces, still trying to remain silent. She doesn't deal with her grief very well. Claire startles when she kicks her legs suddenly, haphazardly rolling off the bed into a standing position, her hands remaining clenched around her. Claire watches the distant glare in her eyes as she stares outside.
"I can't-" Kate breaks the verbal silence, her eyes wildly fixed somewhere in the distance. " I can't..."
She stammers slightly and trails off, lost in inexplicable feelings, the depth of ones that have no name. There's no words for the place Kate is now as she continues to stare at the same point.
Maybe 30 seconds pass, maybe a month passes - Claire isn't sure how long it is before she decides to speak.
"Kate?" She says it softly. The walls that surround her companion are thin.
The passing headlights now illuminate tear tracks and Kate's bottom lip nearly betrays her, but she bites down on it, furious with herself for the emotional display.
Like a much-shaken can of soda, she explodes, suddenly turning to the wall behind her, crashing her fist into the wall before standing idly as though waiting on the wall to take a shot. Claire jumps slightly. It was a sloppy punch and the mere sound made Claire flinch with pain. She's not sure if Kate was receptive to it.
"Kate-"
As she speaks, Kate's other fist has hit the wall and it's a whimper at first, but by the next punch, Kate is starting to lose whatever control she thought she had. Her knuckles have already bloodied the wall from the first two blows.
Kate lets out another barely audible scream of grief under her breath as she throws her forearms against the wall, remaining leaning against them for a few moments. It's painful for both of them and twists Claire's stomach into an indescribable knot, an immense cat's cradle of empathy. Her own vision blurs when she realises the pain that Kate is experiencing is akin to that of when she lost Charlie.
She can't watch her struggle anymore. Not on her own. It's killing her to see her friend - no, more than that.
Ally.
Confidante.
Near-enough sister.
Hell, they would have been if...
There's no more time for if. It's the worst word in the English language. There's no reason. There's no-one left to say it. And she won't.
She covers the floor between them in no more than three quick strides and she's behind Kate, placing a hand on her upper back, making her presence known.
"Kate." She whispers gently, but firmly. I am brave and I am staying.
Kate tries to thrash again but before she can make contact with the wall, which is notably harder than her own knuckles, two arms have encircled themselves around her from behind - grabbing at her wrists and binding them around her.
"Let me-" Kate inhales sharply, the grief possesses her as she struggles against Claire.
"I won't." Claire whispers firmly and defiantly, her grip on Kate's forearms from behind not relenting in the slightest.
"Please, I don't-" Kate stops, inhaling painfully again, the spasm of agony making itself known. She tries one more time, vaguely attempting to haul away from Claire.
"He's gone." Kate speaks the heaviest realisation and her legs don't seem able to hold her anymore, Claire feels them buckle while grief encapsulates her friend.
Carefully, she lowers the both of them and they sink to the floor, the old reliable floor. Steady and unmoving.
Claire now wraps herself around Kate tighter, and weaves her fingers between Kate's, a struggle as her hands are still clenched. She wins in the end, but there's no winners or losers anymore. Just what's left behind.
Kate sobs openly and Claire is at Kate's ear the whole time, muttering soothing nonsense while Kate cries convulsively, agony in it's purest, deadliest form.
Claire suddenly recalls something in distant memory that she's pretty sure Kate once reeled off to her. She hopes it's the kind of nonsense Kate needs to hear, but as she says it, she hopes that Kate knows that she really means it.
"I'm not going anywhere, I promise."
fin