You Put One Foot in Front of the Other - Lost - Sun/Penny
Title: You Put One Foot in Front of the Other
Characters: Sun, Penny (Sun/Penny, Penny/Desmond)
Word Count: 3150
Rating: PG-13
A/N: I'd been writing this for my writing_rainbow claim, but tucked it away for the time being once the luau started. However Queen isis2015 requested Sun fic, so I decided to pull it out again and whip it into shape. I hope the queen enjoys. ♥
Summary: By now the raw grief on Sun's face has settled and frozen into steel: she's done what she has to do in order to survive.
The house feels empty when she comes home. There's a bag of groceries clutched in each hand; having carried them across town it's a relief to finally place them down on the floor. Her arms and hands enjoy the rest. "Desmond?" Penny calls.
There's no answer and the house remains peaceful. She wonders if he mentioned going out anywhere today: having lost each other for years it's nice to keep tabs. She hadn't been able to take her eyes off of him at all at first, and it had taken just as long to be able to keep their hands off of each other.
Now, though, the house is silent.
"Desmond!" she says again, but once more there is no response. Panic flutters by instinct in her chest but she calms it as she reaches for the bags. She takes them through to the kitchen. Being alone in the house leaves her unsettled, though she knows it shouldn't. She turns the radio on just to hear the noise.
She puts the groceries away, hangs on the laundry, does some gardening. She finds a sweater inside and pulls that on when it gets to be a little too cold, and once the sun sets she retreats back inside. The living room is lit by a bright selection of lamps; she curls onto the couch, turns the television on instead of the radio and flicks through today's newspaper.
Desmond still isn't home.
Midnight strikes and the house is still empty save for her rumbling presence. She bounces around the place like she's stuck in a pinball machine. When it hits 3am she forces herself to go to sleep. He'll be back when you wake up, she assures herself - but her heart speeds and races in her chest.
Penny wakes naturally the following morning and rolls onto her back, stares at the ceiling. She doesn't look at Desmond's side of the bed. The coolness of the covers there tells her that he has not been home. She can't call the police. They're supposed to be hiding: they're supposed to be dead.
In a determined daze she gets out of bed, takes a shower, gets changed, does her make-up, fixes her hair… She should be screaming; she should be running the streets searching for her missing husband. She has to cling to any cool centre of calm that she can find - she needs to be rational, even when the circumstances are insane.
When she walks downstairs and into the kitchen everything turns a little more topsy-turvy: Sun Kwon is sitting at the table, waiting patiently. Penny has not seen her in years but she looks very much the same. Only the round hint of pregnancy has gone. Her hair is longer. The raw grief on Sun's face has settled and frozen into steel.
"What-" Penny takes a moment to pull herself together, drag her thoughts into logical order. "Sun, this is…"
Sun stands with all the grace of a dancer. "There isn't a lot of time," she says. "We need to go."
"Go?" Penny parrots. Thoughts seem pointless, lifeless. "What do you mean?"
"I'll explain later."
"You'll explain now." She could stamp her feet and dig her heels in but there's something in Sun's eyes that causes her to fall quiet, something that reeks of blood and danger. "Where's my husband?" she asks softly. Her voice doesn't shake. She won't let it. "Where's Desmond?"
Sun's hand holds tightly onto the strap of her handbag. She's dressed all in black. A woman in mourning, Penny thinks. She never knew Jin: technically she never knew Sun either, other than that fragile week they'd spent together on the boat.
"There isn't time," Sun says before sighing. "He's alive - and that is a lot more than you will be unless you listen to me now: do you remember Sayid Jarrah?"
"Sayid?" She remembers him - quiet and thoughtful, eyes full of sorrow. She nods.
"One week ago a man named Benjamin Linus gave him your name."
"Benjamin Linus… I don't understand."
"He feels your father is response for his daughter's death. As far as he sees it… This is justice." She looks over her shoulder at the door - Penny tries to imagine a killer bursting into her home. It doesn't seem like anything that should happen in the real world. "Sayid said no."
"But-"
"Someone else will accept the job." Sun walks towards the back door. "Penny, you need to come with me. Now."
She does - there doesn't seem to be any choice in the matter. They slip from the back door into her neatly tended garden as she hears a polite knock on the front door. By the time that knock has faded to the tickering sound of a lock being picked they have climbed into Sun's sleek black car and left this place, far into the distance.
*
"I want to speak to Desmond," Penny insists, voice like pencil shavings, when they sit in a hotel room and - god, she doesn't even know what they're doing. Are they hiding? Waiting? "I have the right to speak to my husband."
"So do I," Sun says. Her back faces Penny as she stands by the window, watching the world outside through the grimy lace curtains. "But my husband is dead. Do you know why?"
There are no words that could provide an acceptable answer to that question. Penny hears the buzzing roar of cars moving back and forth on the road outside but otherwise their room is silent.
Sun turns to face her. No tears stain her dark eyes. "He was caught in the crossfire between Ben and your father. He was innocent, a good man - collateral damage in the fight for that stupid island. I don't think that your father is even aware that he is to blame."
Penny doesn't know if he'd care. She loves her dad, the strong, stoic and mysterious man who would tuck her into bed at night, but she has not talked to Charles Widmore since long before she finally became Penelope Hume.
"I won't allow the same thing to happen to you, Penny. You won't be another number in the death toll."
Yet someone else will be - Sun can't protect everyone and Penny doesn't think that she even wants to. "Thank you," Penny says. She keeps her voice steady.
"We need to keep moving," Sun says. "They won't stop looking for you - sleep, now. I'll wake you in a few hours."
"What about you?" Sun is the one that's driving. She needs to rest more.
She smiles, a sombre occasion, and shakes her head. "Don't worry about me. I'll take care of myself."
The hard, harsh set of her face says that's true - and the unmovable knot in Penny's chest says that it really shouldn't have to be.
*
A week is all it takes to break her down: everything she's built her identity on disappears. She no longer wears make-up and her hair is a mess. The clothes she wears are cheap and mass-produced, purchased in cash at supermarkets. Her cell phone was thrown into the bin at the beginning of this mess - and she still has no news of Desmond.
That's what hurts the most, she thinks as the low-pressure drizzle of the motel's shower hits her skin. Desmond, being separated from him… She'd sworn herself that it would never happen again, that she wouldn't lose him, that he wouldn't slip away. Now her fingers tremble as she threads shampoo through her tangled hair. If she is crying, the tears are lost to the shower's drops.
Sun does not look at her when she leaves the bathroom wrapped in a towel. She watches the window instead, twitching around the curtain and waiting for the inevitable day that he will find them.
*
"Your father would like to see you," Sun says, her hands on the wheel. The sun shines through the windscreen onto their skin and the car seats are not nearly as comfortable as they look.
Penny shakes her head. "No."
She sounds petty, like an impudent toddler. It doesn't matter; she doesn't care.
"Penny-"
"That man is the reason why I'm here," Penny says. "He's the reason that Desmond is gone."
"Desmond is safe," Sun assures her. "Trust me."
"I do." Penny sighs: while little else in this situation is certain, she humbly believes that Sun has her best interests at heart. "He might be safe, but he isn't here. He isn't with me." Like a love-sick teenager, the yearning for him is almost too much. The longing is stronger than she remembers.
Sun's smile is nostalgic; it must feel like a long time since she'd last been able to feel that selfish want with her own husband. Penny wants to apologise, but she bites her tongue and holds it in.
"We don't have to see him," Sun says eventually, breaking the awkward silence. "I think he must be worried."
"I don't care," Penny says. She closes her eyes, breathes. "Everything that's happening is his fault, Sun."
Sun nods, small and discreet. The car speeds up and the countryside rushes past around them: they keep going, always moving, always travelling. Her legs are stiff by the time they find a motel for the night. She has to eat fast food yet again for dinner - she sits on the bed, her shoes abandoned on the floor. Sun writes in a notepad beside her, her hair loose and free by her shoulders. Kinks are left behind where she usually ties it back.
"I don't think I've eaten this many burgers before in my entire life," Penny comments, glancing towards Sun.
Sun looks up at her; the harshness that rules her face has vanished in the soft lamp-light. "We'll get something better tomorrow," she promises as she reaches to pluck a few sweaty chips from Penny's collection. Their fingers brush; hers feel like cold electricity. "Perhaps we can find a nice restaurant at the next place we stop."
"I'd like that," Penny says. The prospect of real food makes her belly ache after the week she's had. While the rest of the evening passes in silence, it is comfortable and safe. She doesn't dread the coming day.
*
They eat surrounded with polite conversation. Sun asks her about the wedding: there is very little to tell. It was a quiet occasion, little fanfare. The happiest day of her life passed unnoticed by the wider world.
And after that there is little to speak of that they can discuss in public. Penny enjoys the rich food and she could moan at the mere sight of the chocolate-laden dessert. It feels like a lifetime since she's had such good food: Sun watches her with a curious and indulgent smile, but Penny doesn't feel self-conscious.
"Could I ask you a question?" Penny asks after she dabs at the corner of her mouth with the thick napkin provided.
"You can ask," Sun says. Her eyes twinkle in the restaurant's lighting: a candle flickers between them. "I can't guarantee that I'll give you an answer."
Penny nods. It's the most she can expect. She plays with the red edge of the napkin, running her thumb over the material. "Why are you here?" she asks slowly, uncertainly. This question could ruin everything. "Your daughter…"
"She is safe," Sun says - the sparkle has gone and her eyes are dead. "Where I will be going… She can't go with me."
"Where are you going?" Penny sounds more alarmed than she should.
"We have to return to the island." Her voice is stiff, rehearsed. "I don't know how long it will take… It shouldn't be forever."
"Who's 'we'?"
"Everyone who left." Sun meets her eyes even as she says it, steady and sorry. "Once it's… We can come back for good when everything is…"
She shakes her head and the explanation dies: the shell-shocked expression on her face says it all. Penny reaches across the table and takes Sun's hand, holding her fingers lightly. "I could come," she offers, whispered words.
"No." Sun frowns regretfully. "It has to be us and only us. Before I leave, Sayid and I will make sure that you're safe."
"Desmond's going with you, isn't he?" Penny tries to remain strong but she can feel the world shrinking. "That's why he's gone?"
"Sayid collected him the afternoon that we had to start running," Sun confirms. "I'm sorry."
Penny withdraws her hand, crawling back across the table. "I might never see him again." Saying it out loud it sounds insane, impossible, irrational. Desmond is everything. He is her constant. "I might…"
"I'm so sorry," Sun whispers. Her voice stays strong - she gestures to their waiter. They need to get out of here, escape. They are running from reality, not a stealthy assassin. They are running from the knowledge of everything that they are about to lose.
*
The phone is already ringing, number dialled, when Sun walks smoothly into their hotel room and presses it into Penny's hand. "Be quick," she urges.
Penny's eyes are watering by the time Desmond answers. Hearing his voice, suspicious and bewildered, is enough to prompt a desperate, aching sob even as it makes her smile. "It's me," she says, and hears him breathe her name. "It's Penny. Sun, she let me…"
"Sayid said it's too dangerous," Desmond rasps. He sounds like he's breaking apart and Penny wants nothing more than to be with him, to hold him. The island - and everything he went through there - had left him battered, bruised. It had left scars that he was only beginning to heal from. "Pen, I… I'm so…"
"I know," she whispers. She can't hear him apologise. She just can't. "I know, Desmond. It's…"
"I'll come back to you." She thinks that he shouldn't say anything like that to her. It's not fair to resuscitate her hopes when they should be left to drown. "I promise. I will come back to you."
"Desmond." Sayid's voice quietly admonishes him. "There isn't much time."
"I love you," Penny says - and her voice sounds too rough, too strained. Isn't much time means isn't enough. Sun glances at her watch as she stands by the side of the room, politely pretending not to listen in.
"Love you too," Desmond whispers back.
She can't hang up, she can't, but he can and he does. She thinks Sayid may have taken the phone from him: the dial tone sounds, a long and endless beep that she listens to as if it might morph into his voice. Perhaps this is the best goodbye for them: those three words ought to be the last thing he ever hears from her.
Sun takes the phone from her unresisting hands and places in on the ground: with the sharp spike of her heel she destroys it, bits and pieces crushed into the ground. "You deserve more," she says. "I'm sorry I can't-"
"Please." Penny doesn't mean to snap. "I swear I'll go mad if I hear one more apology."
Her voice quivers and her breath hitches as she tries to remain calm. Sun sits beside her, a soft dip on the bed. Their hands find each other blindly and cling on tightly: Penny wishes that she could sap the cold, frozen strength from Sun's chest. How else is she going to survive?
"Sayid and I are going to take care of everything tonight," Sun whispers, barely stirring the air.
"Do I want to know what that means?"
Penny has seen the gun that Sun keeps in her black handbag. She knows the firepower that Sun carries and she has absolutely no doubts that Sun would not hesitate to use it. It's impossible to imagine what Sayid and Sun have planned, purely because she doesn't want to. Penny can't think of the life that will be taken in order to save her own: she feels dizzy just at the fancied suggestion.
"It's better for us all if you don't," Sun admits. She presses her lips to the top of Penny's head, soft and protective. "You will be okay, Penny."
"You mean I'll survive," Penny clarifies. "I'm not going to be okay, not like this."
Sun's arm is around her shoulders: she thinks that this is probably the warmest gesture that Sun has ever shown her. "I lost my husband too," Sun says, "and I'm still here."
"But you're not okay." Penny pulls away and looks to Sun's face: hard edges and sharp features. There's nothing soft there. There is no comfort, just pain and heart-break. This is what I have to look forward to, Penny thinks. This is who I'm going to become. "You can tell me you are but you're not. Not really."
"I get by," Sun says. "That's all you need: a way to get by."
Sun's hand reaches up to push her hair away from her face: it feels too much like Desmond, a gesture he's done again and again. She closes her eyes and reaches forward, her hand finding its way to thread through Sun's hair. Their lips brush, bump, bumble together. Uncertain. Unsure. Unsteady. There is no excuse for either of them, but Sun's fingers cup her jaw all the same.
She's never kissed a woman before. She's never wanted to: she doesn't even think that she wants to now, because this isn't about Sun's gender. This is about a quiet, aching need for connection, an endless gratitude for Sun saving her life, and raging frustration for what's happening around them.
They fall against the bed together, tears and sweat: at its heart, this is about 'getting by'. Nothing more.
*
She wakes in an empty hotel room and can feel the hollow gap in world: the Oceanic Six are gone, she knows. Desmond, Ben, Frank… They'll have returned as well. She rolls onto her side, stiff and awkward, and finds a note pinned to her bag, waiting for her.
She finds her clothes in a creased heap on the ground and grabs for them: her hands tremble as she pulls them on, waiting to adjust to the world as it is now. When she's clothed again, strong again, she walks to her bag.
The note is short and Sun's delicate hand explains all that needs to be said:
Just in case
Inside the bag's pouch, a black and slim gun looks innocent enough. Penny stares at it: her stomach turns in mind-numbing terror. It's real, suddenly: she is alone in the world. No Desmond. No Sun. Nobody at all.
A gun for company and an empty hotel room.
She thinks of the soft feel of Sun's fingers on the inside of her thigh and tries to recall the steel that had always lingered in that woman's eyes. Swallowing hard, she picks up her bag: ready to face the world.
Ready to just get by.
Characters: Sun, Penny (Sun/Penny, Penny/Desmond)
Word Count: 3150
Rating: PG-13
A/N: I'd been writing this for my writing_rainbow claim, but tucked it away for the time being once the luau started. However Queen isis2015 requested Sun fic, so I decided to pull it out again and whip it into shape. I hope the queen enjoys. ♥
Summary: By now the raw grief on Sun's face has settled and frozen into steel: she's done what she has to do in order to survive.
The house feels empty when she comes home. There's a bag of groceries clutched in each hand; having carried them across town it's a relief to finally place them down on the floor. Her arms and hands enjoy the rest. "Desmond?" Penny calls.
There's no answer and the house remains peaceful. She wonders if he mentioned going out anywhere today: having lost each other for years it's nice to keep tabs. She hadn't been able to take her eyes off of him at all at first, and it had taken just as long to be able to keep their hands off of each other.
Now, though, the house is silent.
"Desmond!" she says again, but once more there is no response. Panic flutters by instinct in her chest but she calms it as she reaches for the bags. She takes them through to the kitchen. Being alone in the house leaves her unsettled, though she knows it shouldn't. She turns the radio on just to hear the noise.
She puts the groceries away, hangs on the laundry, does some gardening. She finds a sweater inside and pulls that on when it gets to be a little too cold, and once the sun sets she retreats back inside. The living room is lit by a bright selection of lamps; she curls onto the couch, turns the television on instead of the radio and flicks through today's newspaper.
Desmond still isn't home.
Midnight strikes and the house is still empty save for her rumbling presence. She bounces around the place like she's stuck in a pinball machine. When it hits 3am she forces herself to go to sleep. He'll be back when you wake up, she assures herself - but her heart speeds and races in her chest.
Penny wakes naturally the following morning and rolls onto her back, stares at the ceiling. She doesn't look at Desmond's side of the bed. The coolness of the covers there tells her that he has not been home. She can't call the police. They're supposed to be hiding: they're supposed to be dead.
In a determined daze she gets out of bed, takes a shower, gets changed, does her make-up, fixes her hair… She should be screaming; she should be running the streets searching for her missing husband. She has to cling to any cool centre of calm that she can find - she needs to be rational, even when the circumstances are insane.
When she walks downstairs and into the kitchen everything turns a little more topsy-turvy: Sun Kwon is sitting at the table, waiting patiently. Penny has not seen her in years but she looks very much the same. Only the round hint of pregnancy has gone. Her hair is longer. The raw grief on Sun's face has settled and frozen into steel.
"What-" Penny takes a moment to pull herself together, drag her thoughts into logical order. "Sun, this is…"
Sun stands with all the grace of a dancer. "There isn't a lot of time," she says. "We need to go."
"Go?" Penny parrots. Thoughts seem pointless, lifeless. "What do you mean?"
"I'll explain later."
"You'll explain now." She could stamp her feet and dig her heels in but there's something in Sun's eyes that causes her to fall quiet, something that reeks of blood and danger. "Where's my husband?" she asks softly. Her voice doesn't shake. She won't let it. "Where's Desmond?"
Sun's hand holds tightly onto the strap of her handbag. She's dressed all in black. A woman in mourning, Penny thinks. She never knew Jin: technically she never knew Sun either, other than that fragile week they'd spent together on the boat.
"There isn't time," Sun says before sighing. "He's alive - and that is a lot more than you will be unless you listen to me now: do you remember Sayid Jarrah?"
"Sayid?" She remembers him - quiet and thoughtful, eyes full of sorrow. She nods.
"One week ago a man named Benjamin Linus gave him your name."
"Benjamin Linus… I don't understand."
"He feels your father is response for his daughter's death. As far as he sees it… This is justice." She looks over her shoulder at the door - Penny tries to imagine a killer bursting into her home. It doesn't seem like anything that should happen in the real world. "Sayid said no."
"But-"
"Someone else will accept the job." Sun walks towards the back door. "Penny, you need to come with me. Now."
She does - there doesn't seem to be any choice in the matter. They slip from the back door into her neatly tended garden as she hears a polite knock on the front door. By the time that knock has faded to the tickering sound of a lock being picked they have climbed into Sun's sleek black car and left this place, far into the distance.
*
"I want to speak to Desmond," Penny insists, voice like pencil shavings, when they sit in a hotel room and - god, she doesn't even know what they're doing. Are they hiding? Waiting? "I have the right to speak to my husband."
"So do I," Sun says. Her back faces Penny as she stands by the window, watching the world outside through the grimy lace curtains. "But my husband is dead. Do you know why?"
There are no words that could provide an acceptable answer to that question. Penny hears the buzzing roar of cars moving back and forth on the road outside but otherwise their room is silent.
Sun turns to face her. No tears stain her dark eyes. "He was caught in the crossfire between Ben and your father. He was innocent, a good man - collateral damage in the fight for that stupid island. I don't think that your father is even aware that he is to blame."
Penny doesn't know if he'd care. She loves her dad, the strong, stoic and mysterious man who would tuck her into bed at night, but she has not talked to Charles Widmore since long before she finally became Penelope Hume.
"I won't allow the same thing to happen to you, Penny. You won't be another number in the death toll."
Yet someone else will be - Sun can't protect everyone and Penny doesn't think that she even wants to. "Thank you," Penny says. She keeps her voice steady.
"We need to keep moving," Sun says. "They won't stop looking for you - sleep, now. I'll wake you in a few hours."
"What about you?" Sun is the one that's driving. She needs to rest more.
She smiles, a sombre occasion, and shakes her head. "Don't worry about me. I'll take care of myself."
The hard, harsh set of her face says that's true - and the unmovable knot in Penny's chest says that it really shouldn't have to be.
*
A week is all it takes to break her down: everything she's built her identity on disappears. She no longer wears make-up and her hair is a mess. The clothes she wears are cheap and mass-produced, purchased in cash at supermarkets. Her cell phone was thrown into the bin at the beginning of this mess - and she still has no news of Desmond.
That's what hurts the most, she thinks as the low-pressure drizzle of the motel's shower hits her skin. Desmond, being separated from him… She'd sworn herself that it would never happen again, that she wouldn't lose him, that he wouldn't slip away. Now her fingers tremble as she threads shampoo through her tangled hair. If she is crying, the tears are lost to the shower's drops.
Sun does not look at her when she leaves the bathroom wrapped in a towel. She watches the window instead, twitching around the curtain and waiting for the inevitable day that he will find them.
*
"Your father would like to see you," Sun says, her hands on the wheel. The sun shines through the windscreen onto their skin and the car seats are not nearly as comfortable as they look.
Penny shakes her head. "No."
She sounds petty, like an impudent toddler. It doesn't matter; she doesn't care.
"Penny-"
"That man is the reason why I'm here," Penny says. "He's the reason that Desmond is gone."
"Desmond is safe," Sun assures her. "Trust me."
"I do." Penny sighs: while little else in this situation is certain, she humbly believes that Sun has her best interests at heart. "He might be safe, but he isn't here. He isn't with me." Like a love-sick teenager, the yearning for him is almost too much. The longing is stronger than she remembers.
Sun's smile is nostalgic; it must feel like a long time since she'd last been able to feel that selfish want with her own husband. Penny wants to apologise, but she bites her tongue and holds it in.
"We don't have to see him," Sun says eventually, breaking the awkward silence. "I think he must be worried."
"I don't care," Penny says. She closes her eyes, breathes. "Everything that's happening is his fault, Sun."
Sun nods, small and discreet. The car speeds up and the countryside rushes past around them: they keep going, always moving, always travelling. Her legs are stiff by the time they find a motel for the night. She has to eat fast food yet again for dinner - she sits on the bed, her shoes abandoned on the floor. Sun writes in a notepad beside her, her hair loose and free by her shoulders. Kinks are left behind where she usually ties it back.
"I don't think I've eaten this many burgers before in my entire life," Penny comments, glancing towards Sun.
Sun looks up at her; the harshness that rules her face has vanished in the soft lamp-light. "We'll get something better tomorrow," she promises as she reaches to pluck a few sweaty chips from Penny's collection. Their fingers brush; hers feel like cold electricity. "Perhaps we can find a nice restaurant at the next place we stop."
"I'd like that," Penny says. The prospect of real food makes her belly ache after the week she's had. While the rest of the evening passes in silence, it is comfortable and safe. She doesn't dread the coming day.
*
They eat surrounded with polite conversation. Sun asks her about the wedding: there is very little to tell. It was a quiet occasion, little fanfare. The happiest day of her life passed unnoticed by the wider world.
And after that there is little to speak of that they can discuss in public. Penny enjoys the rich food and she could moan at the mere sight of the chocolate-laden dessert. It feels like a lifetime since she's had such good food: Sun watches her with a curious and indulgent smile, but Penny doesn't feel self-conscious.
"Could I ask you a question?" Penny asks after she dabs at the corner of her mouth with the thick napkin provided.
"You can ask," Sun says. Her eyes twinkle in the restaurant's lighting: a candle flickers between them. "I can't guarantee that I'll give you an answer."
Penny nods. It's the most she can expect. She plays with the red edge of the napkin, running her thumb over the material. "Why are you here?" she asks slowly, uncertainly. This question could ruin everything. "Your daughter…"
"She is safe," Sun says - the sparkle has gone and her eyes are dead. "Where I will be going… She can't go with me."
"Where are you going?" Penny sounds more alarmed than she should.
"We have to return to the island." Her voice is stiff, rehearsed. "I don't know how long it will take… It shouldn't be forever."
"Who's 'we'?"
"Everyone who left." Sun meets her eyes even as she says it, steady and sorry. "Once it's… We can come back for good when everything is…"
She shakes her head and the explanation dies: the shell-shocked expression on her face says it all. Penny reaches across the table and takes Sun's hand, holding her fingers lightly. "I could come," she offers, whispered words.
"No." Sun frowns regretfully. "It has to be us and only us. Before I leave, Sayid and I will make sure that you're safe."
"Desmond's going with you, isn't he?" Penny tries to remain strong but she can feel the world shrinking. "That's why he's gone?"
"Sayid collected him the afternoon that we had to start running," Sun confirms. "I'm sorry."
Penny withdraws her hand, crawling back across the table. "I might never see him again." Saying it out loud it sounds insane, impossible, irrational. Desmond is everything. He is her constant. "I might…"
"I'm so sorry," Sun whispers. Her voice stays strong - she gestures to their waiter. They need to get out of here, escape. They are running from reality, not a stealthy assassin. They are running from the knowledge of everything that they are about to lose.
*
The phone is already ringing, number dialled, when Sun walks smoothly into their hotel room and presses it into Penny's hand. "Be quick," she urges.
Penny's eyes are watering by the time Desmond answers. Hearing his voice, suspicious and bewildered, is enough to prompt a desperate, aching sob even as it makes her smile. "It's me," she says, and hears him breathe her name. "It's Penny. Sun, she let me…"
"Sayid said it's too dangerous," Desmond rasps. He sounds like he's breaking apart and Penny wants nothing more than to be with him, to hold him. The island - and everything he went through there - had left him battered, bruised. It had left scars that he was only beginning to heal from. "Pen, I… I'm so…"
"I know," she whispers. She can't hear him apologise. She just can't. "I know, Desmond. It's…"
"I'll come back to you." She thinks that he shouldn't say anything like that to her. It's not fair to resuscitate her hopes when they should be left to drown. "I promise. I will come back to you."
"Desmond." Sayid's voice quietly admonishes him. "There isn't much time."
"I love you," Penny says - and her voice sounds too rough, too strained. Isn't much time means isn't enough. Sun glances at her watch as she stands by the side of the room, politely pretending not to listen in.
"Love you too," Desmond whispers back.
She can't hang up, she can't, but he can and he does. She thinks Sayid may have taken the phone from him: the dial tone sounds, a long and endless beep that she listens to as if it might morph into his voice. Perhaps this is the best goodbye for them: those three words ought to be the last thing he ever hears from her.
Sun takes the phone from her unresisting hands and places in on the ground: with the sharp spike of her heel she destroys it, bits and pieces crushed into the ground. "You deserve more," she says. "I'm sorry I can't-"
"Please." Penny doesn't mean to snap. "I swear I'll go mad if I hear one more apology."
Her voice quivers and her breath hitches as she tries to remain calm. Sun sits beside her, a soft dip on the bed. Their hands find each other blindly and cling on tightly: Penny wishes that she could sap the cold, frozen strength from Sun's chest. How else is she going to survive?
"Sayid and I are going to take care of everything tonight," Sun whispers, barely stirring the air.
"Do I want to know what that means?"
Penny has seen the gun that Sun keeps in her black handbag. She knows the firepower that Sun carries and she has absolutely no doubts that Sun would not hesitate to use it. It's impossible to imagine what Sayid and Sun have planned, purely because she doesn't want to. Penny can't think of the life that will be taken in order to save her own: she feels dizzy just at the fancied suggestion.
"It's better for us all if you don't," Sun admits. She presses her lips to the top of Penny's head, soft and protective. "You will be okay, Penny."
"You mean I'll survive," Penny clarifies. "I'm not going to be okay, not like this."
Sun's arm is around her shoulders: she thinks that this is probably the warmest gesture that Sun has ever shown her. "I lost my husband too," Sun says, "and I'm still here."
"But you're not okay." Penny pulls away and looks to Sun's face: hard edges and sharp features. There's nothing soft there. There is no comfort, just pain and heart-break. This is what I have to look forward to, Penny thinks. This is who I'm going to become. "You can tell me you are but you're not. Not really."
"I get by," Sun says. "That's all you need: a way to get by."
Sun's hand reaches up to push her hair away from her face: it feels too much like Desmond, a gesture he's done again and again. She closes her eyes and reaches forward, her hand finding its way to thread through Sun's hair. Their lips brush, bump, bumble together. Uncertain. Unsure. Unsteady. There is no excuse for either of them, but Sun's fingers cup her jaw all the same.
She's never kissed a woman before. She's never wanted to: she doesn't even think that she wants to now, because this isn't about Sun's gender. This is about a quiet, aching need for connection, an endless gratitude for Sun saving her life, and raging frustration for what's happening around them.
They fall against the bed together, tears and sweat: at its heart, this is about 'getting by'. Nothing more.
*
She wakes in an empty hotel room and can feel the hollow gap in world: the Oceanic Six are gone, she knows. Desmond, Ben, Frank… They'll have returned as well. She rolls onto her side, stiff and awkward, and finds a note pinned to her bag, waiting for her.
She finds her clothes in a creased heap on the ground and grabs for them: her hands tremble as she pulls them on, waiting to adjust to the world as it is now. When she's clothed again, strong again, she walks to her bag.
The note is short and Sun's delicate hand explains all that needs to be said:
Just in case
Inside the bag's pouch, a black and slim gun looks innocent enough. Penny stares at it: her stomach turns in mind-numbing terror. It's real, suddenly: she is alone in the world. No Desmond. No Sun. Nobody at all.
A gun for company and an empty hotel room.
She thinks of the soft feel of Sun's fingers on the inside of her thigh and tries to recall the steel that had always lingered in that woman's eyes. Swallowing hard, she picks up her bag: ready to face the world.
Ready to just get by.