[fic] every road takes us farther from home; lost, jack/claire; r
every road takes us farther from home, r
lost, jack/claire; 1180
written for lenina20 for the five acts meme
was supposed to be comment fic, but it got a bit long
beta read by kmousie
"Do you remember when we met?" Claire asks him, her voice sounding so far away, like the question is coming from somewhere else, some other time or place.
Jack laughs, he laughs and he just looks at her and he's not really surprised at all because it's just one of those things she says, but he laughs anyway because he can't help it.
Absurd.
This whole thing is absurd.
[The truthful answer would be: barely. Or perhaps: how could I forget? And even still: which time?]
Claire sighs, slides an arm across his belly, stares at the ceiling fan going round and round and round. "I know what you mean," she tells him. Jack follows her gaze, wonders what kind of motel has ceiling fans anymore, tries to remember the name of the place. There have been so many. It's hard to keep track.
"Wayward, Way Lake..."
"Wayfare," she tells him. "The Wayfare Inn."
"That's right," he says, turning to face her. "Wayfare."
"Fitting," she muses, presses lips to his, "for once." She's naked against him, and though he had told himself an hour ago they were just stopping to get some rest, they haven't quite made it that far.
"I don't know," Jack looks at his sister, his voice sounding grave. "Maybe the first guess would have worked better," he tells her. "For us."
"You're probably right," she agrees, but her voice is cutting, hurt, and she turns away from him on the bed, tells him she's tired.
"I'm going to take a shower," he says. To wash the stink off, he doesn't say.
Later, he'll apologize.
[For reminding her.]
Later, he'll kiss her eyelids and tell her he loves her.
[She'll forget. She always does.]
-
They travel east, and Claire wears these white flip flops that collect dust and dirt from the road. Whenever they stop for gas or to get something to eat, to stretch their legs, they just get dirtier and dirtier. Jack keeps telling her to buy different shoes, but she persists. She tells them they're comfortable, tells him she'll get something else when it gets colder.
Sometimes they sleep in the front cab of the old pick-up truck they found cheap in a no-name town. When he sleeps, Jack almost always dreams of Claire's dirty feet, ankles hooked together around his waist. He wakes hard, aching, and his moving around is enough to wake Claire, to alert her of his condition.
She only smiles, reaches for him.
He fucks her in the front seat of that old truck, up against the passenger door, he fucks her until the only thing behind his eyes is stars and tears. This is a familiar scenario. This is nothing new. But it never feels less like he's going to hell, and that only makes him come harder.
Claire never asks him what he dreams about. She never asks him when they're going to go home. She just reads maps, points to towns she thinks might be interesting, steers their course, drives during the day, helps him slow down when he's going too fast.
-
Claire insists they stop at any fruit and vegetable stands they see. And one afternoon she begs him to let her take a puppy from the litter being given away beside the tomatoes and the melons.
"They're just mutts," he tells her. "Farm mutts."
"In that case," she says, "I'll have two. A boy and a girl. Brother and sister."
Jack takes her hand, kisses her knuckles. "Okay," he says. "You've convinced me."
The tiny, spotted dogs sleep between them in the truck most of the day, and they make it harder to find a place to stay at night, but Jack doesn't mind. It makes Claire happy. And in a way it feels like their own little family -- one that they don't have to be ashamed of.
Sometimes he catches her eye when she's watching them play, and he sees in her face the girl he used to know. The girl who was just a girl, and not someone who's experienced all that they have.
"Have you decided on names yet?" he asks.
"Not yet." And she smiles when one of them knocks the other over, "Not just yet."
-
One afternoon, they pull off in an empty field. They eat in the truck bed, watch the puppies playing in the waning sunlight, racing through the grass.
"Days are getting shorter," Jack tells her, takes a grape from her plate.
Claire stretches her leg out and wiggles her flip flop in his direction. "You'll be rid of these soon."
Jack laughs, lies back against the hard metal. "I think I'll miss them," he tells her. She makes a face and rolls her eyes, but he reaches for her wrist and pulls her into his lap. They're far enough from the road that when Claire undoes his pants, and he slides her white skirt up, pushing her cotton panties aside to expose her enough to allow him to thrust his cock inside, that no one will see them, no one will witness this. Luckily their frantic movements go unnoticed, and Jack slides a callused thumb over her clit, not wanting to prolong the risk for much longer. The sound she makes in response is worth the rush, and after a moment or two, Claire bites down on his neck as she comes, tearing at the material at the back of his t-shirt. Jack calls out something that sounds like her name, joins her, spills into her when she clenches around him.
After, there's a calm, a silence neither of them had noticed before.
Just the earth, and sky, and the two of them.
Empty and full at the same time.
-
Later, just after the sun's gone down, Claire helps the puppies back into the cab of the truck. "Zeus and Hera," she says, after she climbs into the passenger seat. "That's what I'll call them."
Jack nods, considering the names, but Claire can tell he doesn't understand.
"In Greek mythology they were brother and sister," she explains. "And husband and wife."
A slow crooked smile tugs at the corners of Jack's mouth.
"I like that," he tells her. "I like that a lot."
Claire doesn't bother mentioning that, in the stories, Hera didn't seem to like Zeus all that much. And it doesn't really matter anyway. For Claire, it's a symbolic, quiet way of remembering who they are -- of remembering a truth she no longer wants to forget.
"Me too," she says, ruffling Zeus behind the ears. "The perfect fit."
-
They're driving through a mountain pass one night after a full day of sleeping and fucking, and Claire reaches across, her fingers resting at the back of Jack's neck, twisting in his short hair.
"What are your dreams of?" he asks her, after a beat.
It is Claire's turn to laugh this time.
"You," she says simply. "Only you."
-fin
lost, jack/claire; 1180
written for lenina20 for the five acts meme
was supposed to be comment fic, but it got a bit long
beta read by kmousie
"Do you remember when we met?" Claire asks him, her voice sounding so far away, like the question is coming from somewhere else, some other time or place.
Jack laughs, he laughs and he just looks at her and he's not really surprised at all because it's just one of those things she says, but he laughs anyway because he can't help it.
Absurd.
This whole thing is absurd.
[The truthful answer would be: barely. Or perhaps: how could I forget? And even still: which time?]
Claire sighs, slides an arm across his belly, stares at the ceiling fan going round and round and round. "I know what you mean," she tells him. Jack follows her gaze, wonders what kind of motel has ceiling fans anymore, tries to remember the name of the place. There have been so many. It's hard to keep track.
"Wayward, Way Lake..."
"Wayfare," she tells him. "The Wayfare Inn."
"That's right," he says, turning to face her. "Wayfare."
"Fitting," she muses, presses lips to his, "for once." She's naked against him, and though he had told himself an hour ago they were just stopping to get some rest, they haven't quite made it that far.
"I don't know," Jack looks at his sister, his voice sounding grave. "Maybe the first guess would have worked better," he tells her. "For us."
"You're probably right," she agrees, but her voice is cutting, hurt, and she turns away from him on the bed, tells him she's tired.
"I'm going to take a shower," he says. To wash the stink off, he doesn't say.
Later, he'll apologize.
[For reminding her.]
Later, he'll kiss her eyelids and tell her he loves her.
[She'll forget. She always does.]
-
They travel east, and Claire wears these white flip flops that collect dust and dirt from the road. Whenever they stop for gas or to get something to eat, to stretch their legs, they just get dirtier and dirtier. Jack keeps telling her to buy different shoes, but she persists. She tells them they're comfortable, tells him she'll get something else when it gets colder.
Sometimes they sleep in the front cab of the old pick-up truck they found cheap in a no-name town. When he sleeps, Jack almost always dreams of Claire's dirty feet, ankles hooked together around his waist. He wakes hard, aching, and his moving around is enough to wake Claire, to alert her of his condition.
She only smiles, reaches for him.
He fucks her in the front seat of that old truck, up against the passenger door, he fucks her until the only thing behind his eyes is stars and tears. This is a familiar scenario. This is nothing new. But it never feels less like he's going to hell, and that only makes him come harder.
Claire never asks him what he dreams about. She never asks him when they're going to go home. She just reads maps, points to towns she thinks might be interesting, steers their course, drives during the day, helps him slow down when he's going too fast.
-
Claire insists they stop at any fruit and vegetable stands they see. And one afternoon she begs him to let her take a puppy from the litter being given away beside the tomatoes and the melons.
"They're just mutts," he tells her. "Farm mutts."
"In that case," she says, "I'll have two. A boy and a girl. Brother and sister."
Jack takes her hand, kisses her knuckles. "Okay," he says. "You've convinced me."
The tiny, spotted dogs sleep between them in the truck most of the day, and they make it harder to find a place to stay at night, but Jack doesn't mind. It makes Claire happy. And in a way it feels like their own little family -- one that they don't have to be ashamed of.
Sometimes he catches her eye when she's watching them play, and he sees in her face the girl he used to know. The girl who was just a girl, and not someone who's experienced all that they have.
"Have you decided on names yet?" he asks.
"Not yet." And she smiles when one of them knocks the other over, "Not just yet."
-
One afternoon, they pull off in an empty field. They eat in the truck bed, watch the puppies playing in the waning sunlight, racing through the grass.
"Days are getting shorter," Jack tells her, takes a grape from her plate.
Claire stretches her leg out and wiggles her flip flop in his direction. "You'll be rid of these soon."
Jack laughs, lies back against the hard metal. "I think I'll miss them," he tells her. She makes a face and rolls her eyes, but he reaches for her wrist and pulls her into his lap. They're far enough from the road that when Claire undoes his pants, and he slides her white skirt up, pushing her cotton panties aside to expose her enough to allow him to thrust his cock inside, that no one will see them, no one will witness this. Luckily their frantic movements go unnoticed, and Jack slides a callused thumb over her clit, not wanting to prolong the risk for much longer. The sound she makes in response is worth the rush, and after a moment or two, Claire bites down on his neck as she comes, tearing at the material at the back of his t-shirt. Jack calls out something that sounds like her name, joins her, spills into her when she clenches around him.
After, there's a calm, a silence neither of them had noticed before.
Just the earth, and sky, and the two of them.
Empty and full at the same time.
-
Later, just after the sun's gone down, Claire helps the puppies back into the cab of the truck. "Zeus and Hera," she says, after she climbs into the passenger seat. "That's what I'll call them."
Jack nods, considering the names, but Claire can tell he doesn't understand.
"In Greek mythology they were brother and sister," she explains. "And husband and wife."
A slow crooked smile tugs at the corners of Jack's mouth.
"I like that," he tells her. "I like that a lot."
Claire doesn't bother mentioning that, in the stories, Hera didn't seem to like Zeus all that much. And it doesn't really matter anyway. For Claire, it's a symbolic, quiet way of remembering who they are -- of remembering a truth she no longer wants to forget.
"Me too," she says, ruffling Zeus behind the ears. "The perfect fit."
-
They're driving through a mountain pass one night after a full day of sleeping and fucking, and Claire reaches across, her fingers resting at the back of Jack's neck, twisting in his short hair.
"What are your dreams of?" he asks her, after a beat.
It is Claire's turn to laugh this time.
"You," she says simply. "Only you."
-fin