Five Juliet Fics
6/27/10 11:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ozmissageThese fics are all dreadfully old, but I’m trying to revamp my masterlist and I needed to gather everything in one place. These were mostly written for the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lostsquee battle many, many moons ago.
***
Title: Love is the Provence of the Brave
Pairing: Juliet/Sawyer
Rating: PG-13
Words: 521
Summary: Sawyer and Juliet vs. the zombie apocalypse.
They call the cabin home base, they would have preferred to take refuge in the Dharma camp or one of the hatches. As locations go, they were better fortified, stocked with supplies, hell with a little work they might have been able to get the electricity on. Sawyer wouldn’t mind the fucking zombie apocalypse so much if he was cooling his heels in Dharmaville with a cold beer, listening to his favorite Bob Marley album, but the undead seem hell-bent on keeping them holed up in this rat-infested ghost shack.
Sawyer’s supposed to be keeping watch at the window, but his eyes keep drifting to Juliet. She’s sitting in the corner, her hands shaking ever so slightly as she reloads her shotgun. There’s blood smeared across the side of her face from the last kill.
“Did you know that last one?” he asks.
She ignores him and continues her work. He should know better than to ask by now. They decided weeks ago it would be better not to refer to them by names. That didn’t exactly make it any easier to put a bullet between Ana Lucia’s eyes when she tried to take a bite out of his arm though.
“Look Commando Barbie, it ain’t going to do either of us any good if you start going all Colonel Kurtz. You need to talk, talk to me.”
She sighs and rolls her eyes.
“I’m fine, James.”
“You don’t look it,” he counters.
He sees her jaw clench and gets the feeling he might be crossing a line, but given their current situation they can’t afford to have lines between them. He casts one more glance out the window to make sure no one’s ambling towards the cabin shouting about brains before crossing to her side of the room. He kneels down in front of her and takes the shot gun from her hands.
“It was Goodwin,” she says quietly.
“Goodwin…that the guy you were screwing?”
Juliet snorts. “That would be the one.”
Sawyer gets up suddenly and heads over to the wash basin in the corner. The water’s brown and murky; they haven’t been able to make a trip to the caves in awhile. He rips a bit of cloth from the bottom of his shirt and dips it into the dirty water, then wrings out the excess before returning to Juliet.
He carefully begins to wipe the dried blood from her cheek. She smiles grimly, and leans into his touch.
“Thank you.”
Sawyer winks. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get the hell out of this cabin.”
“There’s at least thirty of them between us and the compound. We’ll never make it.”
Sawyer stands up and holds out his hand. Juliet hesitates a moment before taking it, but when she does he pulls her to her feet.
“You still got my back, Blondie?”
She squeezes his hand. “Absolutely.”
Sawyer nods and flashes her a cocky grin.
"You want the ax or the shotgun?"
Juliet lets go of his hand and picks up her rifle. Sawyer reaches for the ax.
"Alright then, let’s go kill some zombies."
Title: Hanging Up Your Walking Shoes
Pairing: Juliet/Sawyer
Rating: PG-13
Words: 835
Summary: Sawyer knows he loves her. He’s just not sure what that means.
He tells her he ain’t the kind of man that stays. There’s a breeze blowing and they’re sitting on the front steps, lukewarm beers sweating in their hands.
“People change,” she says, her voice easy and smooth.
He takes a sip of his beer, watches a couple of Dharma rugrats chasing fireflies.
“Maybe they do.”
He thinks maybe that’s what love is just saying stupid shit you don’t believe.
*
She leaves a plate in the oven for him, but she’s long since gone to bed.
It’s nothing special, baked chicken that’s only edible if you cover it in gravy and gravy that’s only good if you add some extra salt. He eats alone at the little table, not bothering to turn on the light.
The next morning he kisses her forehead and places a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her before shuffling back to bed.
He thinks maybe that’s what love’s supposed to be just making sure the person you’re screwing doesn’t starve to death.
*
She pushes him against the wall and he lifts her up, his hands digging into the soft skin of her hips, her legs wrapping around his waist.
“Missed me, Blondie?”
She rolls her eyes, and rocks her hips in just the right way to pull a groan out of him.
“We going to talk all night or are you going take me upstairs?”
He winks before dropping her on the couch.
“Here looks pretty damn good to me.”
He knows this isn’t love, it’s just damn good fucking.
*
They’re sprawled across the bed; all tangled up together, her long hair tickling his chin while her fingers trace circles across his stomach. He can feel sleep sneaking up on him, tugging at the corners of his eyes.
“Did you ever fall for any of them?”
She does this sometimes, asks him questions when she knows his head’s too foggy to come up with a decent lie.
“Thought I did once,” he replies.
She raises her head and he can feel that look without ever turning to meet her eyes.
“And?”
He sighs and rolls over to his side pulling her with him. He wraps an arm around her waist, feels her relax against him.
“I was wrong.”
He sure as hell hopes love isn’t minding when the pretty woman in your bed tricks you into telling the truth.
*
There’s some sort of Dharma shindig going on with bad music and a bunch of eggheads standing around in their best polyester yakking about shit that happened thirty years ago. He stays until he can’t stand it anymore and then he ducks out when nobody’s looking.
He starts walking and it’s one of those days when he feels like he could come out of his own skin, when he doesn’t want to be Jim Fucking La Fleur, head of security, swinging 70’s man on this damn island.
Days like this he thinks about walking off into that jungle and never coming back or maybe getting on that sub and heading to the mainland. He could buy a car and find some easy mark to take a few thousand off of, just enough to get him started in a new town.
He could go back to being Sawyer. A good ole boy with an easy smile not giving a fuck about anyone or anything---it wouldn’t take much.
By the time he gets back, it’s late, real late and she’s waiting for him on their front porch. One look at her and he starts feeling sheepish.
She gets up and goes inside, lets the door slam behind her. He follows her in, head down.
“Your okay?” she asks and he can hear the concern lurking just behind the pissiness.
“I went for a walk, Blondie. Just got tired of making small talk.”
She shakes her head.
“Must have been one hell of a walk. You left four hours ago, James.”
He takes one look at her face, mad and hurt and he realizes she knows exactly what he was doing. He knows she’s done it a few times herself.
“I never asked you to stay,” she says all low and dangerous like and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t sting.
“No you didn’t.”
She heads upstairs without saying another word and he gets the feeling he’s not exactly invited to follow.
He stretches out on the couch without bothering to take off his shoes.
He thinks maybe that’s what love is, staying when everything inside of you is screaming at you to run.
*
She comes creeping back downstairs in the middle of the night and stretches out on top of him. He wakes up and scoots over just enough for her to slip down beside him.
“I want you to stay,” she whispers against his neck. He told her that a lifetime ago, sitting on the dock back when all it meant was he didn’t want to be alone.
“I’m not going anywhere, not unless you’re going to.”
And he knows for sure this time.
Love is realizing you’ve got no good reason to be alone anymore.
Title: Of Things Past and Yet to Come
Pairing: Jack/Juliet
Rating: R
Words: 929
Summary: This world wasn't built to last.
Things are beginning to split, to come apart. He’s standing in a gas station a wad of bills in his hands and when he looks out the window he sees an ocean, looks down at his feet and his shoes are wet.
“Are you alright, sir?”
The cashier is looking at him, half-concerned, half-afraid. He blinks, was the woman behind the counter always a petite blonde?
“You have to go back, Jack,” she says and the name Claire flickers in his mind. He drops the bills to the floor and leaves without looking back.
***
He sits in his dark apartment and pours himself a drink (two, three, four) and then he falls asleep in his chair, glass dangling in his hand.
***
He’s in a jungle, lush and green and there’s something solid and metal beneath his feet. He stomps on it, and the metallic thud that reverberates back makes him shudder.
“Hello?” he calls hopefully. The jungle is silent and then he hears a scream.
The scene flickers, there’s a woman, beautiful but covered in blood.
“Did it work?” she whispers, her voice broken and far away.
Jack shakes his head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
A low hum starts to build and then there’s an explosion. Jack reaches towards the woman…
***
“Juliet!”
He’s still in his apartment; liquor seeping into the carpet.
He leans forward, rubs a hand across his face. Something isn’t right.
***
He sees the numbers everywhere—8 and 15. Over and over, on the side of a bus, in the street signs, hidden in the graffiti he passes on his way to work, until he can’t ignore them anymore, until he’s sure it can’t be a coincidence.
I’m losing my mind, he thinks.
In the distance a gun fires and he smells rain on the air. Outside the sun is shining; there’s not a cloud in the sky.
***
He goes back to his apartment and she’s waiting for him by the door, blonde hair falling in front of her face. He stops, but he’s not surprised to see her.
“Hey Jack,” she says softly as if she’s afraid of scaring him away. His breath catches in his throat and he swallows hard, doesn’t quite meet her eyes.
“Do I know you?” he asks.
She laughs, shakes her head.
“I don’t know Jack, do you?”
His shoulders sag, defeated. “Let’s go inside.”
***
He pours her a drink and she takes the bottle instead. He watches as she takes a long draw, grimaces and then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“It started a couple of weeks ago. I was standing in my kitchen and then I wasn’t---I was in some room, underground I think. There was a glass wall and you were on the other side. I thought I was going crazy, but then I started remembering things. An island, Latin that I shouldn’t know…and other stuff.”
She folds her arms and stares right at him.
“But mostly you. Jack Shepherd, a spinal surgeon from Los Angeles. Now you tell me Jack, am I going crazy? Because I would really like to know.”
Jack closes his eyes and there are rusty bars in front of him, the smell of aloe on his hands.
“Turn around,” he says. Juliet shakes her head.
“It’s not there.”
Jack watches as her face crumples.
“Why is this happening?” she asks.
***
They spend the afternoon comparing notes, making lists of the things they have seen, names they shouldn’t know---until a picture forms. There was a crash, an island, death after death and then a rescue and a white light. These seem to be the big points.
But there are so many things in between: black smoke, a woman with dark hair, a man with a southern drawl, handcuffs and helicopters and a little boy in a dark room. And a message, whispered over and over in their dreams, You have to go back.
“We’re definitely insane,” she says.
He laughs and it sounds foreign.
“At least we’ve got good company.”
***
The first time they kiss it’s an experiment.
“I remember kissing you,” he says. “I said…”
She smiles. “He knows where to find me.”
He smiles back, sheepishly. “Yeah.”
She moves closer to him until their legs are touching and then he presses his lips against hers, softly at first and then her hand is at the back of his head, pulling him closer, her finger’s working through his hair.
She tastes like liquor, he thinks. Liquor and something else, something familiar and long forgotten.
“Juliet,” he murmurs and she puts a finger to his lip to quiet him.
“Don’t say it.”
***
They have sex and it’s rough as if they are each trying to prove the other is really there. She bites down on his shoulder until she draws blood, he thrusts into her too hard and makes her hiss in pain.
It feels good, it feels real.
Afterwards she turns her back to him and he traces the spot where the mark should be.
“I’m glad it’s gone,” he says.
She rolls over to face him and her eyes seem different, harder than before.
“It’s not,” she replies.
***
The next morning they buy two plane tickets for Sydney with a return flight on September 22.
***
They sit together on the plane. When the engine rumbles to life, Jack takes her hand.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks.
She nods. “Not at all.”
He laughs and gives her hand a quick squeeze.
“Yeah, me neither.”
Title: One’s Got Class and the Other One Dyes
Pairing: Juliet/Claire
Rating: PG-13
Words: 578
Summary: She isn’t dead anymore and her baby is being raised by strangers with kind smiles and she never crashed on any island or met any junkie rock stars.
She hasn’t dyed her hair since her mother’s accident. When the last of the black dye disappeared in a swirling mess down the drain she promised herself that would be the last time. She had to be a grown-up now, for her mum, for herself.
Then she found out she was pregnant and then her plane crashed on an island and then she died…being a grown-up was seriously overrated.
But she isn’t dead anymore and her baby is being raised by strangers with kind smiles and she never crashed on any island or met any junkie rock stars. She’s just here in this apartment with a beautiful woman that has her own set of things that never happened and she needs a bit of a change.
She cuts her hair first and she nearly panics when the first blonde lock falls into the sink, but then she makes another cut and it gets easier. When she’s done the edges just barely graze her chin. Then she dyes it a deep, crimson red from a box that promises it will last for up to two weeks without fading.
When she’s done she smiles at her reflection. She looks like someone else, someone who hasn’t lived two lifetimes, someone who never had a son or a worry or regret. She looks new and gorgeous and if she turns her lips up just right---happy.
The front door opens and shuts and Claire’s stomach flips just a little. She’s not sure if it’s nerves or excitement or just the sound of Juliet’s footsteps against the hardwood floor.
“Claire? Are you here?”
Juliet’s voice floats through the apartment, soft and lilting. Claire doesn’t answer; instead she opens the bathroom door and leans against the frame in a way she hopes is sexy and not childish. Juliet looks up and if she’s surprised it doesn’t show (never does, Claire thinks.)
“You dyed your hair,” Juliet says matter-of-factly.
Claire licks her lips and leans her head against the frame so her red hair falls in front of her face.
“Needed a change.”
Juliet nods slowly and walks over to Claire and fingers the raggedy edges of her new cut. She didn’t bother to make every strand even, it’s messy and odd and Claire doesn’t care.
“I like it,” Juliet says finally and she’s smiling in a way that reaches her eyes so Claire knows that it’s true. “Maybe you can do mine next?”
Claire shakes her head and wraps a strand of Juliet’s long, blonde hair around her finger. “You’re not allowed to cut your hair.”
“Is that so?”
Juliet is teasing her. They both know that Claire has no control over what she does, but Claire appreciates the illusion.
“It’s very so,” Claire says as she hooks a finger through the loop on Juliet’s jeans and tugs her towards their bedroom. “Want to go see if it’s true what they say about redheads?”
Juliet leans in and Claire can smell her perfume, soft and floral. “Lead the way.”
Claire giggles and it ruins the sultry effect she was going for, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe she giggles now, maybe she sings in the shower and sleeps with a beautiful woman she doesn’t quite understand---maybe that’s the kind of person she is now.
It’s not important. If she doesn’t like being this person, she can always try being someone else. She’s always wondered what it would be like to be a brunette.
Title: Let it Rain
Pairing: Juliet/Claire
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Implied character deaths.
Words: 227
Summary: There is a sameness to being dead that drives Juliet a little crazy.
It never rains here. The sun always shines, a cool breeze blows in from the ocean, it’s never too hot or too cold---it’s boring as hell.
Juliet hates it, the sameness of it day after day.
(Are there days anymore? They never seem to end, she thinks.)
“You’ll get used to it after awhile,” Claire lies. (She hasn’t, just like she hasn’t stopped prowling the jungle listening for a baby’s cry, but she figures it’s best to offer comfort when you can.)
Juliet’s been there two weeks (months? years?) when the storm hits. Lightening streaks across the sky, thunder rumbles overhead and then the rain comes, drenching them in a matter of moments.
Claire laughs and tilts her head up towards the sky, holds her tongue out to catch the rain.
“Is this normal?” Juliet yells to be heard over the storm. She knows it isn’t.
Claire grabs Juliet’s hands and spins her in the parody of a dance.
“No!” she shouts back.
It’s the first time anything has happened in a very long time. It feels dangerous and exciting and they’re just grateful to be feeling anything at all.
Claire’s enthusiasm is infectious. Juliet begins to laugh despite herself.
“Then let’s make the most of it.”
She presses a kiss against Claire’s wet lips, tastes the salt from the rain.
At least it’s something different.
lostsquee battle many, many moons ago.***
Title: Love is the Provence of the Brave
Pairing: Juliet/Sawyer
Rating: PG-13
Words: 521
Summary: Sawyer and Juliet vs. the zombie apocalypse.
They call the cabin home base, they would have preferred to take refuge in the Dharma camp or one of the hatches. As locations go, they were better fortified, stocked with supplies, hell with a little work they might have been able to get the electricity on. Sawyer wouldn’t mind the fucking zombie apocalypse so much if he was cooling his heels in Dharmaville with a cold beer, listening to his favorite Bob Marley album, but the undead seem hell-bent on keeping them holed up in this rat-infested ghost shack.
Sawyer’s supposed to be keeping watch at the window, but his eyes keep drifting to Juliet. She’s sitting in the corner, her hands shaking ever so slightly as she reloads her shotgun. There’s blood smeared across the side of her face from the last kill.
“Did you know that last one?” he asks.
She ignores him and continues her work. He should know better than to ask by now. They decided weeks ago it would be better not to refer to them by names. That didn’t exactly make it any easier to put a bullet between Ana Lucia’s eyes when she tried to take a bite out of his arm though.
“Look Commando Barbie, it ain’t going to do either of us any good if you start going all Colonel Kurtz. You need to talk, talk to me.”
She sighs and rolls her eyes.
“I’m fine, James.”
“You don’t look it,” he counters.
He sees her jaw clench and gets the feeling he might be crossing a line, but given their current situation they can’t afford to have lines between them. He casts one more glance out the window to make sure no one’s ambling towards the cabin shouting about brains before crossing to her side of the room. He kneels down in front of her and takes the shot gun from her hands.
“It was Goodwin,” she says quietly.
“Goodwin…that the guy you were screwing?”
Juliet snorts. “That would be the one.”
Sawyer gets up suddenly and heads over to the wash basin in the corner. The water’s brown and murky; they haven’t been able to make a trip to the caves in awhile. He rips a bit of cloth from the bottom of his shirt and dips it into the dirty water, then wrings out the excess before returning to Juliet.
He carefully begins to wipe the dried blood from her cheek. She smiles grimly, and leans into his touch.
“Thank you.”
Sawyer winks. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to get the hell out of this cabin.”
“There’s at least thirty of them between us and the compound. We’ll never make it.”
Sawyer stands up and holds out his hand. Juliet hesitates a moment before taking it, but when she does he pulls her to her feet.
“You still got my back, Blondie?”
She squeezes his hand. “Absolutely.”
Sawyer nods and flashes her a cocky grin.
"You want the ax or the shotgun?"
Juliet lets go of his hand and picks up her rifle. Sawyer reaches for the ax.
"Alright then, let’s go kill some zombies."
Title: Hanging Up Your Walking Shoes
Pairing: Juliet/Sawyer
Rating: PG-13
Words: 835
Summary: Sawyer knows he loves her. He’s just not sure what that means.
He tells her he ain’t the kind of man that stays. There’s a breeze blowing and they’re sitting on the front steps, lukewarm beers sweating in their hands.
“People change,” she says, her voice easy and smooth.
He takes a sip of his beer, watches a couple of Dharma rugrats chasing fireflies.
“Maybe they do.”
He thinks maybe that’s what love is just saying stupid shit you don’t believe.
*
She leaves a plate in the oven for him, but she’s long since gone to bed.
It’s nothing special, baked chicken that’s only edible if you cover it in gravy and gravy that’s only good if you add some extra salt. He eats alone at the little table, not bothering to turn on the light.
The next morning he kisses her forehead and places a plate of scrambled eggs in front of her before shuffling back to bed.
He thinks maybe that’s what love’s supposed to be just making sure the person you’re screwing doesn’t starve to death.
*
She pushes him against the wall and he lifts her up, his hands digging into the soft skin of her hips, her legs wrapping around his waist.
“Missed me, Blondie?”
She rolls her eyes, and rocks her hips in just the right way to pull a groan out of him.
“We going to talk all night or are you going take me upstairs?”
He winks before dropping her on the couch.
“Here looks pretty damn good to me.”
He knows this isn’t love, it’s just damn good fucking.
*
They’re sprawled across the bed; all tangled up together, her long hair tickling his chin while her fingers trace circles across his stomach. He can feel sleep sneaking up on him, tugging at the corners of his eyes.
“Did you ever fall for any of them?”
She does this sometimes, asks him questions when she knows his head’s too foggy to come up with a decent lie.
“Thought I did once,” he replies.
She raises her head and he can feel that look without ever turning to meet her eyes.
“And?”
He sighs and rolls over to his side pulling her with him. He wraps an arm around her waist, feels her relax against him.
“I was wrong.”
He sure as hell hopes love isn’t minding when the pretty woman in your bed tricks you into telling the truth.
*
There’s some sort of Dharma shindig going on with bad music and a bunch of eggheads standing around in their best polyester yakking about shit that happened thirty years ago. He stays until he can’t stand it anymore and then he ducks out when nobody’s looking.
He starts walking and it’s one of those days when he feels like he could come out of his own skin, when he doesn’t want to be Jim Fucking La Fleur, head of security, swinging 70’s man on this damn island.
Days like this he thinks about walking off into that jungle and never coming back or maybe getting on that sub and heading to the mainland. He could buy a car and find some easy mark to take a few thousand off of, just enough to get him started in a new town.
He could go back to being Sawyer. A good ole boy with an easy smile not giving a fuck about anyone or anything---it wouldn’t take much.
By the time he gets back, it’s late, real late and she’s waiting for him on their front porch. One look at her and he starts feeling sheepish.
She gets up and goes inside, lets the door slam behind her. He follows her in, head down.
“Your okay?” she asks and he can hear the concern lurking just behind the pissiness.
“I went for a walk, Blondie. Just got tired of making small talk.”
She shakes her head.
“Must have been one hell of a walk. You left four hours ago, James.”
He takes one look at her face, mad and hurt and he realizes she knows exactly what he was doing. He knows she’s done it a few times herself.
“I never asked you to stay,” she says all low and dangerous like and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t sting.
“No you didn’t.”
She heads upstairs without saying another word and he gets the feeling he’s not exactly invited to follow.
He stretches out on the couch without bothering to take off his shoes.
He thinks maybe that’s what love is, staying when everything inside of you is screaming at you to run.
*
She comes creeping back downstairs in the middle of the night and stretches out on top of him. He wakes up and scoots over just enough for her to slip down beside him.
“I want you to stay,” she whispers against his neck. He told her that a lifetime ago, sitting on the dock back when all it meant was he didn’t want to be alone.
“I’m not going anywhere, not unless you’re going to.”
And he knows for sure this time.
Love is realizing you’ve got no good reason to be alone anymore.
Title: Of Things Past and Yet to Come
Pairing: Jack/Juliet
Rating: R
Words: 929
Summary: This world wasn't built to last.
Things are beginning to split, to come apart. He’s standing in a gas station a wad of bills in his hands and when he looks out the window he sees an ocean, looks down at his feet and his shoes are wet.
“Are you alright, sir?”
The cashier is looking at him, half-concerned, half-afraid. He blinks, was the woman behind the counter always a petite blonde?
“You have to go back, Jack,” she says and the name Claire flickers in his mind. He drops the bills to the floor and leaves without looking back.
***
He sits in his dark apartment and pours himself a drink (two, three, four) and then he falls asleep in his chair, glass dangling in his hand.
***
He’s in a jungle, lush and green and there’s something solid and metal beneath his feet. He stomps on it, and the metallic thud that reverberates back makes him shudder.
“Hello?” he calls hopefully. The jungle is silent and then he hears a scream.
The scene flickers, there’s a woman, beautiful but covered in blood.
“Did it work?” she whispers, her voice broken and far away.
Jack shakes his head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
A low hum starts to build and then there’s an explosion. Jack reaches towards the woman…
***
“Juliet!”
He’s still in his apartment; liquor seeping into the carpet.
He leans forward, rubs a hand across his face. Something isn’t right.
***
He sees the numbers everywhere—8 and 15. Over and over, on the side of a bus, in the street signs, hidden in the graffiti he passes on his way to work, until he can’t ignore them anymore, until he’s sure it can’t be a coincidence.
I’m losing my mind, he thinks.
In the distance a gun fires and he smells rain on the air. Outside the sun is shining; there’s not a cloud in the sky.
***
He goes back to his apartment and she’s waiting for him by the door, blonde hair falling in front of her face. He stops, but he’s not surprised to see her.
“Hey Jack,” she says softly as if she’s afraid of scaring him away. His breath catches in his throat and he swallows hard, doesn’t quite meet her eyes.
“Do I know you?” he asks.
She laughs, shakes her head.
“I don’t know Jack, do you?”
His shoulders sag, defeated. “Let’s go inside.”
***
He pours her a drink and she takes the bottle instead. He watches as she takes a long draw, grimaces and then wipes her mouth with the back of her hand.
“It started a couple of weeks ago. I was standing in my kitchen and then I wasn’t---I was in some room, underground I think. There was a glass wall and you were on the other side. I thought I was going crazy, but then I started remembering things. An island, Latin that I shouldn’t know…and other stuff.”
She folds her arms and stares right at him.
“But mostly you. Jack Shepherd, a spinal surgeon from Los Angeles. Now you tell me Jack, am I going crazy? Because I would really like to know.”
Jack closes his eyes and there are rusty bars in front of him, the smell of aloe on his hands.
“Turn around,” he says. Juliet shakes her head.
“It’s not there.”
Jack watches as her face crumples.
“Why is this happening?” she asks.
***
They spend the afternoon comparing notes, making lists of the things they have seen, names they shouldn’t know---until a picture forms. There was a crash, an island, death after death and then a rescue and a white light. These seem to be the big points.
But there are so many things in between: black smoke, a woman with dark hair, a man with a southern drawl, handcuffs and helicopters and a little boy in a dark room. And a message, whispered over and over in their dreams, You have to go back.
“We’re definitely insane,” she says.
He laughs and it sounds foreign.
“At least we’ve got good company.”
***
The first time they kiss it’s an experiment.
“I remember kissing you,” he says. “I said…”
She smiles. “He knows where to find me.”
He smiles back, sheepishly. “Yeah.”
She moves closer to him until their legs are touching and then he presses his lips against hers, softly at first and then her hand is at the back of his head, pulling him closer, her finger’s working through his hair.
She tastes like liquor, he thinks. Liquor and something else, something familiar and long forgotten.
“Juliet,” he murmurs and she puts a finger to his lip to quiet him.
“Don’t say it.”
***
They have sex and it’s rough as if they are each trying to prove the other is really there. She bites down on his shoulder until she draws blood, he thrusts into her too hard and makes her hiss in pain.
It feels good, it feels real.
Afterwards she turns her back to him and he traces the spot where the mark should be.
“I’m glad it’s gone,” he says.
She rolls over to face him and her eyes seem different, harder than before.
“It’s not,” she replies.
***
The next morning they buy two plane tickets for Sydney with a return flight on September 22.
***
They sit together on the plane. When the engine rumbles to life, Jack takes her hand.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks.
She nods. “Not at all.”
He laughs and gives her hand a quick squeeze.
“Yeah, me neither.”
Title: One’s Got Class and the Other One Dyes
Pairing: Juliet/Claire
Rating: PG-13
Words: 578
Summary: She isn’t dead anymore and her baby is being raised by strangers with kind smiles and she never crashed on any island or met any junkie rock stars.
She hasn’t dyed her hair since her mother’s accident. When the last of the black dye disappeared in a swirling mess down the drain she promised herself that would be the last time. She had to be a grown-up now, for her mum, for herself.
Then she found out she was pregnant and then her plane crashed on an island and then she died…being a grown-up was seriously overrated.
But she isn’t dead anymore and her baby is being raised by strangers with kind smiles and she never crashed on any island or met any junkie rock stars. She’s just here in this apartment with a beautiful woman that has her own set of things that never happened and she needs a bit of a change.
She cuts her hair first and she nearly panics when the first blonde lock falls into the sink, but then she makes another cut and it gets easier. When she’s done the edges just barely graze her chin. Then she dyes it a deep, crimson red from a box that promises it will last for up to two weeks without fading.
When she’s done she smiles at her reflection. She looks like someone else, someone who hasn’t lived two lifetimes, someone who never had a son or a worry or regret. She looks new and gorgeous and if she turns her lips up just right---happy.
The front door opens and shuts and Claire’s stomach flips just a little. She’s not sure if it’s nerves or excitement or just the sound of Juliet’s footsteps against the hardwood floor.
“Claire? Are you here?”
Juliet’s voice floats through the apartment, soft and lilting. Claire doesn’t answer; instead she opens the bathroom door and leans against the frame in a way she hopes is sexy and not childish. Juliet looks up and if she’s surprised it doesn’t show (never does, Claire thinks.)
“You dyed your hair,” Juliet says matter-of-factly.
Claire licks her lips and leans her head against the frame so her red hair falls in front of her face.
“Needed a change.”
Juliet nods slowly and walks over to Claire and fingers the raggedy edges of her new cut. She didn’t bother to make every strand even, it’s messy and odd and Claire doesn’t care.
“I like it,” Juliet says finally and she’s smiling in a way that reaches her eyes so Claire knows that it’s true. “Maybe you can do mine next?”
Claire shakes her head and wraps a strand of Juliet’s long, blonde hair around her finger. “You’re not allowed to cut your hair.”
“Is that so?”
Juliet is teasing her. They both know that Claire has no control over what she does, but Claire appreciates the illusion.
“It’s very so,” Claire says as she hooks a finger through the loop on Juliet’s jeans and tugs her towards their bedroom. “Want to go see if it’s true what they say about redheads?”
Juliet leans in and Claire can smell her perfume, soft and floral. “Lead the way.”
Claire giggles and it ruins the sultry effect she was going for, but it doesn’t matter. Maybe she giggles now, maybe she sings in the shower and sleeps with a beautiful woman she doesn’t quite understand---maybe that’s the kind of person she is now.
It’s not important. If she doesn’t like being this person, she can always try being someone else. She’s always wondered what it would be like to be a brunette.
Title: Let it Rain
Pairing: Juliet/Claire
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Implied character deaths.
Words: 227
Summary: There is a sameness to being dead that drives Juliet a little crazy.
It never rains here. The sun always shines, a cool breeze blows in from the ocean, it’s never too hot or too cold---it’s boring as hell.
Juliet hates it, the sameness of it day after day.
(Are there days anymore? They never seem to end, she thinks.)
“You’ll get used to it after awhile,” Claire lies. (She hasn’t, just like she hasn’t stopped prowling the jungle listening for a baby’s cry, but she figures it’s best to offer comfort when you can.)
Juliet’s been there two weeks (months? years?) when the storm hits. Lightening streaks across the sky, thunder rumbles overhead and then the rain comes, drenching them in a matter of moments.
Claire laughs and tilts her head up towards the sky, holds her tongue out to catch the rain.
“Is this normal?” Juliet yells to be heard over the storm. She knows it isn’t.
Claire grabs Juliet’s hands and spins her in the parody of a dance.
“No!” she shouts back.
It’s the first time anything has happened in a very long time. It feels dangerous and exciting and they’re just grateful to be feeling anything at all.
Claire’s enthusiasm is infectious. Juliet begins to laugh despite herself.
“Then let’s make the most of it.”
She presses a kiss against Claire’s wet lips, tastes the salt from the rain.
At least it’s something different.
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Date: 5/2/11 03:45 am (UTC)Well, actually I really enjoyed the first one, with the zombies and all, but the second one was absolutely beautiful!