[fanfic] it ends at the start
title; rating: it ends at the start; pg13
fandom, pairing; wordcount: lost, claire/jack; 683
notes: written for my new BFF youcallitwinter and stuff
There are days when the tension is so thick between them that Claire can scarcely breathe.
Jack buys his suits too-tight and triple-knots his running shoes and circles the track until his lungs feel like they're going to burst.
Claire makes dinners that go uneaten.
Those days are gone.
-
Jack takes a job near Salt Lake and she comes with him, because really? Where else exactly is she supposed to go?
The world is divided into two types of people: People who were on the island, and people who weren't. After a while, you just can't relate to anybody else and so it's easier to just... not.
Sawyer stopped calling a long time ago.
So it's the two of them now, and this life is pretty much all she understands.
-
She doesn't really remember when things got complicated. Sometime between then and now, she supposes. And really, that's just a way of simplifying things. No, no. It wasn't always this way, but in a sense it kind of was. He's the brother she never had. She's the sister he never wanted. Their father failed them both to such an epic degree that neither of them can speak his name without their fingers curling into fists at their sides.
The events of now color every single yesterday, their fucked-up histories inextricably and bizarrely linked.
Forever.
She thinks it's funny, how your life just kind of twists and turns and you somehow always end up in the exact place you're not supposed to be. So in that sense? Yeah. Things have always been this way.
Jack's hand slips between her thighs and she thinks, maybe, she really, really hates him.
He kisses her again and she thinks: Okay, maybe this is love after all.
-
It's a day in early fall when a package arrives, no return address, post-marked Atlanta.
Claire pulls out two bottles of Jack Daniels (for him) and a set of new paint brushes (for her).
"What is this?" She waves one of the bottles in Jack's direction and he pads barefoot over to her.
"Sawyer," he says, equal amounts of affection and annoyance in the word. "It's the day Dad died." He remembers, looking at the calendar.
"Oh," Claire considers this, remembering the night Jack told her about Sawyer recalling Christian's, by that point, post-mortem, validation. She rolls her eyes and grabs two shot glasses from the bar. "Sicko."
-
In the winter, she barely lets him leave her sight.
She grabs the edge of his t-shirt, the fabric stretching between them. "Come back," she muffles. "Who cares about Mormons, anyway?"
Jack laughs, drops one knee to the mattress and leans over her, licks his lips, considering.
-
They play outside that day.
And maybe building a half-assed snowman and tackling each other to the ground after it becomes clear that neither of them are very good at throwing snowballs is a little something like cheating. But Claire feels like maybe they've earned this.
Jack grabs a handful of snow, but Claire ducks.
"You can't catch me!" she shouts.
Jack slips in pursuit, landing on his side.
He reaches his hand toward her, and she laughs, but takes it anyway, joining him on the ground.
"I never need to," he says, out of breath.
Claire rolls her eyes, elbows him before scampering up and out of reach.
"Wanna bet?"
And this, she realizes, the cold wind on her face, snow in her hair, is maybe what they'd been missing all those years ago.
-
Spring and summer come and Claire is vaguely aware of the fact that they've been there a year already.
"Don't you ever get tired?" she says, absently, sketching a faceless, naked figure in her notebook.
Jack plops down next to her on the couch, and ignores her question, leans over and bites her bare shoulder, gently.
"Is that a boy or a girl?" he asks, looking at the figure, unable to make it out.
Claire looks at him. "It's both," she she tells him. "Twins."
Jack grins, bites his bottom lip.
"You are... so weird," he teases.
Claire nudges his shoulder.
"I get it from my father."
-fin
fandom, pairing; wordcount: lost, claire/jack; 683
notes: written for my new BFF youcallitwinter and stuff
There are days when the tension is so thick between them that Claire can scarcely breathe.
Jack buys his suits too-tight and triple-knots his running shoes and circles the track until his lungs feel like they're going to burst.
Claire makes dinners that go uneaten.
Those days are gone.
-
Jack takes a job near Salt Lake and she comes with him, because really? Where else exactly is she supposed to go?
The world is divided into two types of people: People who were on the island, and people who weren't. After a while, you just can't relate to anybody else and so it's easier to just... not.
Sawyer stopped calling a long time ago.
So it's the two of them now, and this life is pretty much all she understands.
-
She doesn't really remember when things got complicated. Sometime between then and now, she supposes. And really, that's just a way of simplifying things. No, no. It wasn't always this way, but in a sense it kind of was. He's the brother she never had. She's the sister he never wanted. Their father failed them both to such an epic degree that neither of them can speak his name without their fingers curling into fists at their sides.
The events of now color every single yesterday, their fucked-up histories inextricably and bizarrely linked.
Forever.
She thinks it's funny, how your life just kind of twists and turns and you somehow always end up in the exact place you're not supposed to be. So in that sense? Yeah. Things have always been this way.
Jack's hand slips between her thighs and she thinks, maybe, she really, really hates him.
He kisses her again and she thinks: Okay, maybe this is love after all.
-
It's a day in early fall when a package arrives, no return address, post-marked Atlanta.
Claire pulls out two bottles of Jack Daniels (for him) and a set of new paint brushes (for her).
"What is this?" She waves one of the bottles in Jack's direction and he pads barefoot over to her.
"Sawyer," he says, equal amounts of affection and annoyance in the word. "It's the day Dad died." He remembers, looking at the calendar.
"Oh," Claire considers this, remembering the night Jack told her about Sawyer recalling Christian's, by that point, post-mortem, validation. She rolls her eyes and grabs two shot glasses from the bar. "Sicko."
-
In the winter, she barely lets him leave her sight.
She grabs the edge of his t-shirt, the fabric stretching between them. "Come back," she muffles. "Who cares about Mormons, anyway?"
Jack laughs, drops one knee to the mattress and leans over her, licks his lips, considering.
-
They play outside that day.
And maybe building a half-assed snowman and tackling each other to the ground after it becomes clear that neither of them are very good at throwing snowballs is a little something like cheating. But Claire feels like maybe they've earned this.
Jack grabs a handful of snow, but Claire ducks.
"You can't catch me!" she shouts.
Jack slips in pursuit, landing on his side.
He reaches his hand toward her, and she laughs, but takes it anyway, joining him on the ground.
"I never need to," he says, out of breath.
Claire rolls her eyes, elbows him before scampering up and out of reach.
"Wanna bet?"
And this, she realizes, the cold wind on her face, snow in her hair, is maybe what they'd been missing all those years ago.
-
Spring and summer come and Claire is vaguely aware of the fact that they've been there a year already.
"Don't you ever get tired?" she says, absently, sketching a faceless, naked figure in her notebook.
Jack plops down next to her on the couch, and ignores her question, leans over and bites her bare shoulder, gently.
"Is that a boy or a girl?" he asks, looking at the figure, unable to make it out.
Claire looks at him. "It's both," she she tells him. "Twins."
Jack grins, bites his bottom lip.
"You are... so weird," he teases.
Claire nudges his shoulder.
"I get it from my father."
-fin