We Have To Go Back

[ozmissage]

The Nostalgia Fueled Lost Comment Fic-A-Thon



+ All prompts must be Lost-centric.
+ Crossovers welcome.
+ No character/show/person bashing. This is about the love. Much like the '70s.
+ Have fun.

Comments

Questions Go Here

[ozmissage.livejournal.com]

Any questions or comments go here. :)

Re: Questions Go Here

[eponine119.livejournal.com]

You are a genius! Brilliant idea!

[ozmissage.livejournal.com]

Miles/Richard, you and me and the storm

Steal This Moment, Miles/Richard, PG

[primarycolors92.livejournal.com]

Just breathe, Miles whispers, one hand pressed warm against Richard's belly.

Richard focuses on the heat, trying to feel each individual finger like a brand. He reaches out, tracing the edge of Miles's skin first with his mind and then with his own fingers.

That's good, Miles murmurs against his neck, all warm breath and soft words and rough stubble.

He's here and he's solid, and these are things that Richard can appreciate.

Miles presses against him, chest-to-back, and the storm abates, a little bit.

Richard breathes.

[ozmissage.livejournal.com]

Jack/Claire/Sawyer, headlights

queen bee, Jack/Claire/Sawyer, PG

[pann-cake.livejournal.com]

(I'd like you to listen to this song while reading this. :P)

Claire’s not really sure what they’re doing, she just knows that it feels right. There’s too much pain in standing still, and they both seem to understand that too. So they move from town to town, pay for cheap motels in cash and under false names. Claire keeps dying her hair, and this time it’s a golden red.

The car is humming underneath her, warm under her hands like it’s alive, an alien thing. She closes her eyes and feels it thrum through her body like a swarm of bees. Jack will scold her, always the protective one, will say she should have stayed inside the car. But she’s a part of it now, this beast that governs their lives, that breaks down and runs out of gas and leaves them stranded in the middle of everything.

She sees them coming, one black shape in the headlights as if they are one being, not two. They break apart as they reach her, become separate except for the lingering looks.

“Is everything okay?” Jack asks her, a can of gasoline in his hands. Then he sees her face, lit up and glowing in the faint light, and he smiles. “How’d you get it started?”

Sawyer is exactly in step with Jack, grinning and dramatic in his black leather jacket with a six-pack of beer. Claire tilts her head at them both.

“You just have to sweet talk it,” she says, and Sawyer puts the beer down on the hood, slides his hands around her hips and slips her down.

“Ready to hit the road, queen bee?” he asks. In reply she just grins and kisses him quickly. She walks around the car, fingertips brushing Jack’s neck as she passes. He is crouched down, filling the gas tank, and he looks up at her touch with a smile that changes his whole face.

She smiles back before sliding into the back seat, legs stretched out and arms behind her head. “Where to, boys?”

Sawyer says “nowhere” at the same instant that Jack says “everywhere,” and Claire just laughs to herself as they pull out into the dark.

[ozmissage.livejournal.com]

Kate/Tom Brennan, the great escape

Longest Road to Nowhere, Tom/Katie, PG

[primarycolors92.livejournal.com]

I've got it all figured out, Tom tells her, finger tracing lines drawn on their maps, pathways to everywhere. We'll get a car and we'll go. Just you and me. We'll keep going until we reach the Sea. I've got it all planned out.

His voice is breathy, whole body vibrating, thrumming with excitement. Katie sees the sand and the waves and something in her mind flinches (the trap snaps shut).

Not the ocean, she says, and when Tom looks at her warily she closes her fingers around his, their entwined hands scattering the maps over the floor like falling leaves. No plans.

[aurilly.livejournal.com]

Hurley+Sayid (BFFs): s'mores

[aurilly.livejournal.com]

Shannon+Sun (BFFs): dogs & boys

[aurilly.livejournal.com]

Desmond+Juliet (gen): new kids in town

it gets better, Des & Juliet, PG

[ozmissage.livejournal.com]

She catches Desmond watching her out of the corner of her eye. It’s not so strange. They all watch her here, eyes narrowed suspiciously as if she’s going turn on them at any moment. Usually she stares back, smiling sweetly until they turn their heads, but Desmond doesn’t look away. He smiles back.

Juliet cocks her head to one side, unable to hide her surprise and Desmond motions for her to join him. Hesitantly, she crosses the short distance between them and takes a place beside him in the sand.

“Were you ever the new kid in your class, sister?”

Desmond turns to look at her, his eyes squinting against the sun. This seems a random line of questioning and Juliet can’t help but feel wary. The last time she talked to one of these people the conversation started out equally innocuously only to end with a vague threat of murder if she stepped out of line. Forgive her, if she’s cautious.

“A few times. Why?”

“My family moved to a smaller house after my mum died, I was fifteen and I’d only ever been to one school. I was furious at my dad for making us move. I still remember walking into that bloody classroom for the first time, all eyes on me, my palms sweating; heart racing…it was a nightmare. I felt like I had a target painted on my back for weeks. Kids are monsters at that age.”

“Why are you telling me this, Desmond?”

He smiles.

“Because two weeks later a girl transferred in from England and I got on with things, made friends. It didn’t last forever.”

Juliet can’t stop herself from laughing.

“So I guess my showing up here was good for something after all,” she says.

“Aye, I’m not the new kid any more. They still think I’m mad though.”

“Well at least they don’t think you’re going to kill them all in their sleep.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Desmond says. He pushes himself to his feet, wiping his sandy hands on his pants when he stands. He looks down at Juliet with something like understanding and she suddenly she’s the one who has to look away.

“Listen, sister, it gets better. They’ll come around sooner or later.”

“Unless someone falls out of the sky, I think I’m going to be the new kid for a long time.”

Desmond chuckles.

“Stranger things have happened,” he says as he heads down the beach.

Juliet gets up too and glances back at the rest of the castaways. She smiles to herself when she realizes for once, no one’s paying her a bit of attention.

[zelda-zee.livejournal.com]

Sayid/Sun, on the run together

Steady Girl On Your Feet (Sayid/Sun), PG-13

[isis2015.livejournal.com]

They're in London, for now. It's three in the morning, it's raining, and she's sitting on the edge of the bed with a sheet wrapped around herself, staring at the window. Sayid is asleep behind her. There is a part of her that feels guilty, even after all this time. Jin is dead. She reminds herself of this over and over again, but there remains a part of her brain that tells her that is absurd, as if a world could not exist that Jin were not in.

She feels disloyal, though. As she had been with Jae. She had hated Jin then, and she has never loved him more than she does now, as she sits naked separated by only a few feet from the warm body of another man.

"You should sleep," he tells her, suddenly awake. She hears the rustling of the sheet and knows that is reaching out his hand to touch her back.

She wraps the sheet more tightly around her body, covering herself as she walks to the window and parts the drape of the hotel room window just enough to peek through. "One of us has to keep watch," she says.

It's a lie; they will be fine, for now.

He doesn't say a word, though. At some point he began to accept her distance, possibly even to understand it. Her heart isn't with him. Her heart isn't even with her.

So he goes back to the sleep, and she stares out the window, watching the rain.

[primarycolors92.livejournal.com]

Jack/Juliet, just you and me and all of the people

[squeakyboots.livejournal.com]

Overheard (Jack/Juliet), R
When Jack slides Juliet’s bra from her shoulders, she barely gives him a chance to look at her, pressing against him shyly, resting her head in the crook of his neck.

“You okay?” he raises his eyebrows in surprise as he smooths his hand against her back. Never in a million years would he have picked her for the shy one between them.

“Yeah,” she breathes, looking up into his eyes, “It’s just—in the Others’ camp, with the cameras, there— there was always somebody watching.” She shivers a little. “I know we’re not there anymore, but I just—I need to feel like we’re alone.”

“Oh.” He wraps his arms around her protectively, his chest constricting as he tries to imagine his three weeks in that camp stretched out to three years.

Later, when he pins her beneath him, they’re wrapped in the blankets that he gave her when she first came to the beach. Outside her tent, someone suddenly giggles, enters into an unintelligible conversation, the other half of which is drowned in the sound of the waves on shore.

At first he’s alarmed, but then Juliet arches against him silently, her mouth opening, her whole face contorted with pleasure, and he realizes she hasn’t heard.

[zelda-zee.livejournal.com]

Sawyer/Claire, don't look back

[primarycolors92.livejournal.com]

They hit the ground running and they don't ever stop.

Sawyer reads about the deaths in the newspaper, tracks the truth as it shrinks as their friends die one by one (can't decide if it's Widmore or Linus doing the killing and doesn't care, holding Claire as close as he can and wrapping his fingers around hers over the trigger).

Claire dreams of the Island and wakes up cold and sweating. Sawyer fucks her back to sleep sometimes, but more often he's trapped in his own nightmares (Kate, always, for both of them, but they never, never speak her name).

Sawyer keeps them alive by keeping them moving, running from motel to motel and from con to con. He fucks her against a hundred different sheets in a thousand different towns (it's all that keeps him going, and it's not indefinite, but it's what they've got for now).


Claire keeps the gun under her pillow. She knows sooner or later she's going to have to survive alone.

[primarycolors92.livejournal.com]

Lock & Walt, pay it forward

[zelda-zee.livejournal.com]

Sawyer/Sayid, detente

[zelda-zee.livejournal.com]

Richard/Sawyer, maintaining the truce

[primarycolors92.livejournal.com]

Kate/Sayid, Valentine's Day and other non-entities

[toestastegood.livejournal.com]

It's a Tuesday and he leaves a flower on the pillow. She is awake when he places it there but she keeps her eyes shut, her breathing steady; he must know the illusion, but he chooses not to shatter it. Instead, he brushes the hair from her face and presses his lips against her cheek. "I'll be back before nightfall," he promises, before heavy footsteps take him away.

On the Thursday, she shoots a man in the back for him, her hands steady, her gun smoking. His gaze finds her as the body drops and the blood flows.

"Thanks for the flowers," she says, daring to grin.

No one said romance had to be romantic.

[valhalla37.livejournal.com]

The Freighties, things to do when you're dead

things to do when you're dead; Miles/Charlotte/Dan; R

[pann-cake.livejournal.com]

(note: I don't really know what this is, sorry if it's not what you were looking for, lol.)

When they do remember, they decide to wait for each other. Frank could be anywhere in the world and no one has seen Naomi yet, so instead of spending their time searching Miles suggests they just wait it out. They end up at his apartment drinking beer, and it’s a weird feeling, living two lives.

Charlotte and Dan seem to have reached some kind of balance already, a melding of who they were and who they are. Miles just fidgets with his badge—he’s a cop now, of all things—and he doesn’t feel whole yet. He’s filled with this growing dread that he doesn’t know who he is, or never knew who he was. He wants to see Jim, who could surely figure it out for him, but he doesn’t know where he is either (the bastard won’t answer his phone, and Miles has given up calling).

He broods about it and he thinks the others don’t notice, thinks they’re too wrapped up in each other and their second chance to give him any sort of attention. Until Charlotte comes over and plants herself in his lap with a smirk on her face.

“Can I help you, Lewis?” he says, and she just keeps right on smirking and plucks the beer bottle from his hands. Then she is kissing him, one hand in his hair and the other clutching his shirt—a button down that he’s wearing under a corduroy jacket, an outfit he never would have worn in his old life, or his real life, or whatever the hell it was.

Then Miles realizes that he must be hallucinating this whole thing, because Dan is squirming onto the couch next to him, so close that he’s practically behind him. This isn’t the twitchy, awkward Dan that he knew, but a Dan with confidence enough to blow on the shell of Miles’s ear and run his tongue up his neck.

“What the fuck, guys?” Miles manages to breathe, but he’s not complaining, not at all. Not when Dan slides his hands up under his shirt and scratches his short nails down his back. Not when Charlotte feels Miles get hard and smiles as she rocks against him.

Miles grabs Dan by the tie and pulls him in for a kiss, messy and hard and filled with urgency.

“Relax, Miles,” Dan tells him. “We’re not going anywhere.”

Miles lets his head fall back against the couch and closes his eyes as Charlotte reaches a hand between his legs and kisses him gently.

Miles still doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, but he knows that it feels better than anything did while they were alive. He forgets about trying to make sense of it all, focusing instead on their breathing, the little moans that escape Charlotte’s lips and the way Dan shivers when Miles touches him. His heart is pounding in his ears, and if nothing else, he feels so very alive.

[primarycolors92.livejournal.com]

Miles/Richard/Sawyer, easier to lie

whatever lets you sleep at night, Miles/Richard/Sawyer, R

[ozmissage.livejournal.com]

This ain’t happening again, boys, Sawyer mumbles, but it’s an empty threat. He’s made it before, he’ll make it again.

The taste of Richard is still on his lips and he’s in no hurry to push Miles’s hand away from his chest. He’s sandwiched between the two of them and the feeling ought to make him claustrophobic, but it doesn’t. It feels good. Damn good, in fact. But he knows he shouldn’t make it a habit, just like he knows he already has.

Richard shifts beside Sawyer, pushes a knee between his legs and lets his hand slide down the inside of Sawyer’s thigh until he draws a son of a bitch from Sawyer’s mouth.

“What were you saying about this being the last time, boss?” Miles whispers against Sawyer’s ear and Sawyer can hear the smirk even if he can’t see it. Richard ain’t exactly looking stoic himself. They’re a couple of smug bastards.

Miles runs his tongue along the inside of Sawyer’s ear and Sawyer shivers, turns to crush his mouth against Miles’s.

Let ‘em be smug, Sawyer thinks. Just don’t let them stop.

[valhalla37.livejournal.com]

Charlotte/Daniel, kinda like this thing but there's something you should know/i just came to say hello (Hello, Dragonette)

[valhalla37.livejournal.com]

Charlotte/Jack (+ David), (un)happily ever after

It's not really settling if it's everything you've ever wanted, Jack/Charlotte + David, PG

[primarycolors92.livejournal.com]

No one ever mistakes Charlotte for David’s mom. Their blue eyes don’t quite match and Daniel obviously got his father’s hair.

It’s better this way. David is not her son.

But.

They have a Star Trek marathon once, just the two of them on the couch laughing themselves sick over every anachronism. They spill popcorn all over the floor and try to pick up every kernel, paralyzed by bouts of childish giggles.


It’s the best memory of Charlotte’s adult life, sometimes, and if things don’t fit quite right with Jack, if he ignores her for David and his work and his sister and his ex-wife and just about everyone else under the sun, if he’s gentle when she needs rough and rough when she craves gentle, if they don’t fit quite right, don’t love each other quite enough—

Well, then, Jack and David will smile at her with those matching smiles over breakfast every Sunday and even if they’re not really her family Charlotte can’t tell at moments like these.

It’s enough.

[ozmissage.livejournal.com]

Juliet/Richard, even in the half-light, we can see something’s gotta give

[aurilly.livejournal.com]

"I should be getting back," Juliet says, rolling over on the worn cotton blanket she brings each time. She washes it after each visit, so it always smells foreign, like soap and chemicals Richard's never smelled before. It smells like the future---his future, apparently, with her.

"I should, too. They'll miss me." He pauses for a beat.

He doesn't ask if she will miss him (as much as he misses her during the long hours of the days in between), but she answers anyway, with just a wry smile and a softening of her eyes.

They both understand the concept of duty all too well. She has a responsibility to her people, and he to his. But here, once a week, under the cover of palm trees and by the side of the ocean, there's no one to answer to.

The clock's always ticking, though.

"I'll walk you as far as the pylons."

"You always do." She kisses him lightly just before throwing him his shirt. She has this way of watching him, sitting up as straight as an arrow, wordlessly studying him as he does the most commonplace things, like zip his pants or tie his shoes. Her gaze is far away, as it often is, and he knows she's thinking not of another place, but of another time.

"I don't hate you," she says, apropos of nothing. He wonders if this is her way of saying she loves him. It's frustrating---but also wondrous--how she knows every button of his to push, knows all the stories he has to tell before he's told them, knows him better than she has any right to when he's still only beginning to understand her.

He hedges his bets when he replies, "These weekly meetings wouldn't make much sense if you did."

She mouth laughs even though her eyes are still reflecting whatever seriousness has suddenly possessed her. "I could be crazy. You never know."

"You aren't." He's finally come to believe it, all of it.

Juliet leans forward and waits for him to pull her in close. "Please remember. No matter what, I don't hate you."

Richard pushes a lock of her hair behind her ear and breathes in one last drink of her before getting up. He feels a sense of dread, and all the questions they've agreed he'll never ask bubble to the surface: what happens to the... what does he do... when does she leave him... But he's good at keeping a tight lid. So is she---learned it from him, she always says. "I'll remember. And just for the record, I don't hate you either."

*

They're lolling on top of the sheets, the afternoon sun making the room golden and soft.

"I want to go home, Richard. Why won't you help me go home?"

The moment shatters. This is always what does it.

"I can't. Ben..."

"You outrank Ben. If you---"

"It doesn't work like that."

Juliet draws back from him, her hair catching the sunlight streaming through her bedroom window so that it looks as though she's wearing a halo of fire. An angel damning him for his selfishness. He should never have brought her here. He had a choice and he chose his own happiness at the expense of hers, convincing himself that this was what she wanted, too, even though she couldn't possibly know it, even though he knew it wasn't the life that sweet woman in Miami would ever have chosen for himself.

"It could if you wanted it to," she presses.

"I'm sorry Juliet."

If he lets her go now, he doesn't know how he'll ever get her back. It can't be long now. The thin scar along her shoulder that he remembers being relatively fresh when they first met is currently a bleeding cut hiding underneath a bandage.

"I hate you." She doesn't raise voice. She doesn't even sound angry... only tired, depressed. "I hate you."

He closes his eyes, pictures her looking exactly as she looks now, only so long ago. "You don't hate me," he whispers to the woman in his mind.

A hard slap across his face makes him open them again, brings him back to the present. "How dare you."

He reaches for her wrist. "Juliet..." But there's nothing to say, no allowable explanation.

"You tricked me into coming here, you hold me against my will... and now... how dare you tell me what to feel?" She throws him his clothes. "Get out."

Docile, he dresses and leaves, repeating as a mantra only after he's shut the door behind him, "She doesn't hate me."

[ozmissage.livejournal.com]

Sayid/Elsa, are you now or have you ever been?

lady with the red dress, Sayid/Elsa, slight pg-13

[mustaza.livejournal.com]

The red dress lies forgotten on the floor and pale skin is revealed to his hungry eyes. She smiles as her hands start to unbutton his white shirt, so he lets lust win his never-ending battle against reason.

Although his mind is still focused on the assignment, his heart beats faster when she is around. He passes his hand through her blond hair, memories of long lost lovers burning under his eyelids.

She’s neither Nadia nor Shannon – he always tries to forget their faces, but he sees them every time Elsa brightens up because of his caresses.

“How do I know if I can trust you?” – she asks, delicate fingers tracing circles on his chest.

“Saying that I love you?”

“Is that a question or a statement? Why would you doubt?”

He breathes deeply, half the truth escaping from his lips.

“Of course I love you. It’s a statement”

(Now his hands are covered in her blood, another ghost to haunt him until his time on Earth is over).

[primarycolors92.livejournal.com]

Sayid/Richard, toy soldiers

[dulcedeusex.livejournal.com]

Fic prompt:

LOST/SPN:

Sawyer meets the Winchesters post Season 2

LOST/MAD MEN:

Sawyer/Juliet + Mad Men verse

[primarycolors92.livejournal.com]

Sun/Jack, nobody's substitute

[primarycolors92.livejournal.com]

Charlotte/Frank, this is not a game, baby

winner takes all, Charlotte/Frank, PG-13

[ozmissage.livejournal.com]

The cards are dealt. Frank tries not to laugh when she fumbles the deck in an ill-fated attempt to mimic his flourishes. He could tell her those kinds of tricks are best left to old drunken gamblers like himself, but he holds his tongue and picks up his cards instead.

It’s a bad hand. Frank’s not surprised, he’s a born loser. He comforts himself with the knowledge that no one can keep a bird in the air like him and yeah, that’s not going to refill his wallet after Charlotte empties it again, but he’s got a feeling he won’t be needing cash where they’re going.

“How many cards do you want?” Charlotte asks.

Her lips are set and she looks right at him and doesn’t blink. She’s got a hell of a poker face. Frank holds up two fingers, tosses his discards on the pile. Charlotte passes him two more and he makes sure their hands brush in the process. It’s a fool’s tactic and the arch of her eyebrow tells him as much.

His hand is worse than it was before.

“Let’s see them, sweetheart,” he says, tapping the table for emphasis.

She splays her cards in front of her. Queens and kings, a full house. Frank clucks his tongue, tosses his cards over.

“Looks like I win again, darling,” she teases.

Frank watches as she reaches out to drag her winnings over to her already teetering pile. The girl can’t shuffle worth a damn, but she’s a good player, he’ll give her that. He’s trying so hard not to look down her shirt as she leans forward in her chair that he doesn’t notice she’s passed the bills up in favor of wrapping a warm hand around his wrist.

“What are you doing?” he asks. He knows of course, at least he thinks he does. But he’s old enough these days to need confirmation.

Charlotte smirks, her grip tightening, making Frank’s heartbeat quicken, his mouth go dry.

“Just collecting my winnings,” she says.

[primarycolors92.livejournal.com]

Juliet/Horace, negotiations