fic, Lost: Where The Wild Roses Grow (Locke, Boone), PG13, for un_love_you
Title: Where The Wild Roses Grow
Rating/Warnings: PG13, but see warnings.
Characters: Locke, Boone
Word counting: 2120
Disclaimer: Well, not mine. But if Lost was mine, we'd surely see this happening.
Spoilers: Major for the S4 finale. If you haven't seen it, stop reading now.
Summary: “Well, John, maybe he didn’t tell you the specifics, but he didn’t lie. You are back.”
Warnings: there's a suicide in the first paragraph. Nothing too detailed, but I warned anyway.
A/N: using for un_love_you #8, I'm cruel. Won second place at lostfichallenge #75, loose ends. Tries to explain how/why Locke is in the coffin and if there was some purpose behind it. Even if my two cents aren't really of the happy sort and it took three tries to come together *eyes it badly*. Title stolen from a Nick Cave song that thankfully doesn't have a thing to do with this apart from the setting suggestion. Because if it did, I'd have felt very disturbed.
He smiles when, after seeing Sayid on the other side of the street, a black spot against a white wall, he has a look at his watch.
It’s 5.28; the appointment he gave him was at 5.30. Well, you can’t say that Sayid isn’t a punctual one. He turns from the window then, taking a piece of paper from a table nearby. He writes You’re next on it, in caps; Sayid can be smart, but he’s pretty sure this is going to fool him. He almost feels guilty for having decided on him of everyone, but he is the only one that can bear it and Locke knows it. He did his job and they will come, sooner or later; now it’s time to go back.
There’s a way to come back after you’re done; sure, it implies death, but it will bring you here.
Christian’s sentence plays all over again in his head while he steps on the chair and slips the rope on his neck. Not actually the less painful way to go, but one for which legs are necessary. Right?
“There’s no place like home, indeed,” he mutters before closing his eyes.
Then he kicks the chair away.
--
When Locke wakes up, there’s a small river on his right.
The water is clear and flows slowly, making just the barest of noises; as soon as he sits up, he notices that the banks are covered in wild, red roses.
He sits, feeling his legs and letting out a breath of relief when they move; the ground is humid and so is the grass that his fingers. He watches the roses for a bit, all in bloom, droplets of dew rolling off their petals. When he touches one, it feels like velvet.
Looks like he’s back, even if he has never seen this place before. Well, he thinks, time to go home, except that when he stands up and looks above him, the sky isn’t as blue as it should be; it’s of a light shade of violet and while looking at the way the light scatters one would assume that the sun should be way high up above, there just isn’t the sun. Or any sun. Or a noticeable source of illumination. Absolutely nothing, just that violet sky.
Locke suddenly thinks that he was too late. Whatever was supposed to happen already happened, everybody is probably dead, it was his responsibility and...
“Hi, John. I wouldn’t rush that much, if I were you.”
It can’t be is the first thought flashing through his head. He turns, almost jerking; he wasn’t wrong and he doesn’t know whether it’s a good thing or it isn’t.
Boone stands in front of him; his feet are bare but the thorns he’s trampling upon don’t cut his skin, as pale as he remembered from the last time. Last time in that vision.
He looks a bit different, but not so much.
The hair is the same, the eyes are the same even if they look even bigger now. The clothes aren’t. This time he’s wearing some light gray jeans, just a bit large, low on his hips, and a white silk shirt, the first two buttons opened. His smile is different, though. It’s more of a smirk and it feels way out of place, as Boone’s calm expression does. It’s really too calm.
“Rush...?”
“Yeah, rush. Or maybe jumping to conclusions. Whatever you prefer.”
Am I having a dream?, he thinks, unable to find another explanation.
“Wrong answer, John.”
“What?”
“I can hear you,” he answers shrugging, like it’s a completely common thing to read someone’s mind.
Fuck, now this has to be an hallucination.
“Wrong again.”
The smirk gets wider and Boone shakes his head, long hair falling over his eyes.
“I’d say try another time. It isn’t difficult, not really.”
“There isn’t any other explanation! If I see you I’m either hallucinating or dead and...”
“See? It wasn’t that difficult.”
Suddenly everything seems to stop.
I’m either hallucinating or dead.
“You mean that I’m dead?”
“I didn’t figure it would take it so much time for you to realize it, but well, yes, that’s pretty much it.”
Locke looks down at his feet and suddenly it hits.
He’s standing on a couple of roses and the thorns are pressing into his skin, but he can’t feel them and he isn’t bleeding.
But this is just not right.
“One moment. One moment, that wasn’t in the plans. Jacob never told me...”
“Jacob never told you. Right, sure. A rude thing to overlook now, isn’t it? And just what did he tell you?”
Boone’s voice is calm; the questioning tone almost mocking and Locke can feel a shiver running along his arm. Goosebumps.
Do dead people have goosebumps at all?, he thinks on impulse.
“That if I moved the island, that was the only way to go back.”, he answers, because that’s exactly what Jacob, or better, what that Christian, said. It’s the only way to come back here.
Boone’s eyes light up for a second, flickering with some sort of understanding, then it disappears and he laughs. It’s not pleasant.
Locke usually never thinks about it, but he remembers too well how Boone’s laughter sounded. It always was light, not exactly carefree but as close as you could get there, his voice had that warm and low edge. It was almost refreshing, so spontaneous.
Now it’s all the contrary and he can’t help but shiver again.
“Well, John, maybe he didn’t tell you the specifics, but he didn’t lie. You are back.”
“You mean that this is the island?”
”Why, you thought it was purgatory or something? Of course it’s the island. Only, it’s the island that you can see only from this side of the fence. Charlie calls it the dark side of the moon of Craphole Island. You know, I never was much into Pink Floyd, but I think it fits. Don’t you?”
Locke doesn’t even answer; he just closes his eyes trying to make some sense out of this.
He takes a couple of steps and then it comes and he can feel it. It’s the air, it’s the way the soil feels under his feet when he walks, it’s the atmosphere which is different but still the same. He can’t not recognize it when he’s walking on its soil. It’s just different, but the same thing.
Suddenly, he feels like fainting. It’s too much. Just too much.
“What, you weren’t expecting that? It’s a bit naive, if I can speak my mind.”
Locke opens his mouth, but he has to close it, not finding an argument to reply. It was naive. Really naive.
You’ll speak when you have something worth saying, he remembers. He shivers again.
Boone kneels down, plucking a couple of roses from the ground; Locke can’t help noticing that his lips are almost as red as the petals are; a crimson, rich shade of scarlet. He’s still half smiling, the wind messing his hair; Locke can’t help thinking that he just looks so alive.
“What happens now?” he asks, his voice sounding completely unconvinced. It’s been a long time since he felt unconvinced last. “And... just... why?”
Boone shrugs, turning the roses between his fingers.
“Well, you know, your death will probably be the trigger bringing them all back here. If they’re back, things will... you know, just set themselves on the right direction I guess. And the island... what do you think will happen?”
Locke looks at him before turning his head into another direction, feeling way too uncomfortable. He already knows that Boone is reading him like an open book; seeing it just makes him feel even more nervous.
“The island will be safe, I guess?”
“Let’s say so. So it looks like you’re another sacrifice that the island demanded, John. Probably a more important one that I ever was, anyway.”
Boone’s voice is as casual as it could be, but it hits like a punch to the gut, and an extremely well-assessed one.
That’s called irony, isn’t it?
Then he died. A sacrifice that the island demanded.
Suddenly the sentence makes his stomach turn, but it’s not like he can throw up, right?
Meanwhile, Boone sits cross-legged on the bank of the river; Locke joins him, not knowing what the hell he has to do now.
“I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t know why he says it; he told Boone last time, but well, he didn’t actually say it and there’s really nothing else he could say, not when he looks so young and lively and perfect near him and in truth, that’s how he’s going to remain forever. It’s enough to chill him to the bone.
“A bit late, don’t you think? Let that crap go. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Locke nods, realizing that he should have stayed silent.
“And for what? For letting me climb when you knew or for not telling Jack the truth?”
“Both, I guess.”
Boone nods and picks another rose up; Locke can’t help the question that is just there on the tip of his tongue and wonders when it happened that he stopped giving answers. A long time ago, probably.
“Do you know what is going to happen now?”
“On the island or to you?”
“To me, I guess.”
There’s a minute of silence then, in which Boone doesn’t look at him once; then he drapes one leg to his chest, the other one descending into the river; when his ankle is immersed in the water, he turns again to Locke and his expression is serious. Much more serious than it was until now.
“You know, I can only give you some advice.”
“What?”
“Make yourself comfortable unless someone wants to have a ghostly talk with you and gives you a quick summoning.”
Locke shakes his head, not really getting it.
“What do you mean?”
“John, you don’t want to know. Trust me.”
“Don’t tell me...”
“Alright, fine, I won’t tell you what you can’t do or want to know or whatever. Even if I know better then you do but well, that’s your business. I said make yourself comfortable because you’re exactly like me now. Or like us all.”
“And how are you exactly?”
“Done with, John. Sacrifices aren’t needed after they die. It won’t ever let you back as it won’t let anyone else back.”
“Do you actually mean that there’s no purpose?!” he asks, his voice trembling, standing up when Boone does.
“Oh, there is. Only, you aren’t a part of it anymore unless someone wants to have a talk with you like you did with me.”
“I thought...”
“That you had one? Sure. But in relation to the island. No more, no less.”
“But that’s just cruel!”
Boone laughs again at that one, then shakes his head.
“Well, sure. But why, wasn’t it like that for everyone else? Faith or not, it doesn’t change. Of course it’s cruel. You’re a bit late realizing it, though.”
Again, he’s at a loss for words. What could he say when Boone is right anyway? Of course. He should have waited for them. He shouldn’t have hurried to be back soon and...
“What’s gone is gone, John. I just can’t get how could you ever think about doing it yourself. I mean, if there’s one thing everyone here regrets is being dead and after you survive all this time... oh well. Not my business, I guess. I don’t even want to know.”
“So... so that’s it? It’s all done with? Nothing else to do?”
Boone stands up then, a rose still between his fingers.
“Apart from taking a look on the other side all day because there are limited options regarding socializing activities? No. Not really.”
Suddenly Locke can’t see his feet anymore. Then his legs up to the knees.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
“Oh, I think you need to be alone for a while. We’re all around anyway, you’ll have enough of me pretty soon.”
“But... I still... I need to know...”
Boone now is visible just up to his waist, while he shakes his head.
“Answers. I know. Always answers. But for this time I think you can wait. We have an eternity in front of us, haven’t we?”
He smirks again and it’s the last thing Locke sees before he’s gone.
He drops on his knees, thorns not harming his hands. The only thing he can see now is the sheer cruelty of this all. He just wished he could have realized it much, much before.
The second he had a vision involving a yellow plane crashing down somewhere and he made the mistake of not questioning it, probably.
End.
Rating/Warnings: PG13, but see warnings.
Characters: Locke, Boone
Word counting: 2120
Disclaimer: Well, not mine. But if Lost was mine, we'd surely see this happening.
Spoilers: Major for the S4 finale. If you haven't seen it, stop reading now.
Summary: “Well, John, maybe he didn’t tell you the specifics, but he didn’t lie. You are back.”
Warnings: there's a suicide in the first paragraph. Nothing too detailed, but I warned anyway.
A/N: using for un_love_you #8, I'm cruel. Won second place at lostfichallenge #75, loose ends. Tries to explain how/why Locke is in the coffin and if there was some purpose behind it. Even if my two cents aren't really of the happy sort and it took three tries to come together *eyes it badly*. Title stolen from a Nick Cave song that thankfully doesn't have a thing to do with this apart from the setting suggestion. Because if it did, I'd have felt very disturbed.
He smiles when, after seeing Sayid on the other side of the street, a black spot against a white wall, he has a look at his watch.
It’s 5.28; the appointment he gave him was at 5.30. Well, you can’t say that Sayid isn’t a punctual one. He turns from the window then, taking a piece of paper from a table nearby. He writes You’re next on it, in caps; Sayid can be smart, but he’s pretty sure this is going to fool him. He almost feels guilty for having decided on him of everyone, but he is the only one that can bear it and Locke knows it. He did his job and they will come, sooner or later; now it’s time to go back.
There’s a way to come back after you’re done; sure, it implies death, but it will bring you here.
Christian’s sentence plays all over again in his head while he steps on the chair and slips the rope on his neck. Not actually the less painful way to go, but one for which legs are necessary. Right?
“There’s no place like home, indeed,” he mutters before closing his eyes.
Then he kicks the chair away.
--
When Locke wakes up, there’s a small river on his right.
The water is clear and flows slowly, making just the barest of noises; as soon as he sits up, he notices that the banks are covered in wild, red roses.
He sits, feeling his legs and letting out a breath of relief when they move; the ground is humid and so is the grass that his fingers. He watches the roses for a bit, all in bloom, droplets of dew rolling off their petals. When he touches one, it feels like velvet.
Looks like he’s back, even if he has never seen this place before. Well, he thinks, time to go home, except that when he stands up and looks above him, the sky isn’t as blue as it should be; it’s of a light shade of violet and while looking at the way the light scatters one would assume that the sun should be way high up above, there just isn’t the sun. Or any sun. Or a noticeable source of illumination. Absolutely nothing, just that violet sky.
Locke suddenly thinks that he was too late. Whatever was supposed to happen already happened, everybody is probably dead, it was his responsibility and...
“Hi, John. I wouldn’t rush that much, if I were you.”
It can’t be is the first thought flashing through his head. He turns, almost jerking; he wasn’t wrong and he doesn’t know whether it’s a good thing or it isn’t.
Boone stands in front of him; his feet are bare but the thorns he’s trampling upon don’t cut his skin, as pale as he remembered from the last time. Last time in that vision.
He looks a bit different, but not so much.
The hair is the same, the eyes are the same even if they look even bigger now. The clothes aren’t. This time he’s wearing some light gray jeans, just a bit large, low on his hips, and a white silk shirt, the first two buttons opened. His smile is different, though. It’s more of a smirk and it feels way out of place, as Boone’s calm expression does. It’s really too calm.
“Rush...?”
“Yeah, rush. Or maybe jumping to conclusions. Whatever you prefer.”
Am I having a dream?, he thinks, unable to find another explanation.
“Wrong answer, John.”
“What?”
“I can hear you,” he answers shrugging, like it’s a completely common thing to read someone’s mind.
Fuck, now this has to be an hallucination.
“Wrong again.”
The smirk gets wider and Boone shakes his head, long hair falling over his eyes.
“I’d say try another time. It isn’t difficult, not really.”
“There isn’t any other explanation! If I see you I’m either hallucinating or dead and...”
“See? It wasn’t that difficult.”
Suddenly everything seems to stop.
I’m either hallucinating or dead.
“You mean that I’m dead?”
“I didn’t figure it would take it so much time for you to realize it, but well, yes, that’s pretty much it.”
Locke looks down at his feet and suddenly it hits.
He’s standing on a couple of roses and the thorns are pressing into his skin, but he can’t feel them and he isn’t bleeding.
But this is just not right.
“One moment. One moment, that wasn’t in the plans. Jacob never told me...”
“Jacob never told you. Right, sure. A rude thing to overlook now, isn’t it? And just what did he tell you?”
Boone’s voice is calm; the questioning tone almost mocking and Locke can feel a shiver running along his arm. Goosebumps.
Do dead people have goosebumps at all?, he thinks on impulse.
“That if I moved the island, that was the only way to go back.”, he answers, because that’s exactly what Jacob, or better, what that Christian, said. It’s the only way to come back here.
Boone’s eyes light up for a second, flickering with some sort of understanding, then it disappears and he laughs. It’s not pleasant.
Locke usually never thinks about it, but he remembers too well how Boone’s laughter sounded. It always was light, not exactly carefree but as close as you could get there, his voice had that warm and low edge. It was almost refreshing, so spontaneous.
Now it’s all the contrary and he can’t help but shiver again.
“Well, John, maybe he didn’t tell you the specifics, but he didn’t lie. You are back.”
“You mean that this is the island?”
”Why, you thought it was purgatory or something? Of course it’s the island. Only, it’s the island that you can see only from this side of the fence. Charlie calls it the dark side of the moon of Craphole Island. You know, I never was much into Pink Floyd, but I think it fits. Don’t you?”
Locke doesn’t even answer; he just closes his eyes trying to make some sense out of this.
He takes a couple of steps and then it comes and he can feel it. It’s the air, it’s the way the soil feels under his feet when he walks, it’s the atmosphere which is different but still the same. He can’t not recognize it when he’s walking on its soil. It’s just different, but the same thing.
Suddenly, he feels like fainting. It’s too much. Just too much.
“What, you weren’t expecting that? It’s a bit naive, if I can speak my mind.”
Locke opens his mouth, but he has to close it, not finding an argument to reply. It was naive. Really naive.
You’ll speak when you have something worth saying, he remembers. He shivers again.
Boone kneels down, plucking a couple of roses from the ground; Locke can’t help noticing that his lips are almost as red as the petals are; a crimson, rich shade of scarlet. He’s still half smiling, the wind messing his hair; Locke can’t help thinking that he just looks so alive.
“What happens now?” he asks, his voice sounding completely unconvinced. It’s been a long time since he felt unconvinced last. “And... just... why?”
Boone shrugs, turning the roses between his fingers.
“Well, you know, your death will probably be the trigger bringing them all back here. If they’re back, things will... you know, just set themselves on the right direction I guess. And the island... what do you think will happen?”
Locke looks at him before turning his head into another direction, feeling way too uncomfortable. He already knows that Boone is reading him like an open book; seeing it just makes him feel even more nervous.
“The island will be safe, I guess?”
“Let’s say so. So it looks like you’re another sacrifice that the island demanded, John. Probably a more important one that I ever was, anyway.”
Boone’s voice is as casual as it could be, but it hits like a punch to the gut, and an extremely well-assessed one.
That’s called irony, isn’t it?
Then he died. A sacrifice that the island demanded.
Suddenly the sentence makes his stomach turn, but it’s not like he can throw up, right?
Meanwhile, Boone sits cross-legged on the bank of the river; Locke joins him, not knowing what the hell he has to do now.
“I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t know why he says it; he told Boone last time, but well, he didn’t actually say it and there’s really nothing else he could say, not when he looks so young and lively and perfect near him and in truth, that’s how he’s going to remain forever. It’s enough to chill him to the bone.
“A bit late, don’t you think? Let that crap go. It doesn’t matter anymore.”
Locke nods, realizing that he should have stayed silent.
“And for what? For letting me climb when you knew or for not telling Jack the truth?”
“Both, I guess.”
Boone nods and picks another rose up; Locke can’t help the question that is just there on the tip of his tongue and wonders when it happened that he stopped giving answers. A long time ago, probably.
“Do you know what is going to happen now?”
“On the island or to you?”
“To me, I guess.”
There’s a minute of silence then, in which Boone doesn’t look at him once; then he drapes one leg to his chest, the other one descending into the river; when his ankle is immersed in the water, he turns again to Locke and his expression is serious. Much more serious than it was until now.
“You know, I can only give you some advice.”
“What?”
“Make yourself comfortable unless someone wants to have a ghostly talk with you and gives you a quick summoning.”
Locke shakes his head, not really getting it.
“What do you mean?”
“John, you don’t want to know. Trust me.”
“Don’t tell me...”
“Alright, fine, I won’t tell you what you can’t do or want to know or whatever. Even if I know better then you do but well, that’s your business. I said make yourself comfortable because you’re exactly like me now. Or like us all.”
“And how are you exactly?”
“Done with, John. Sacrifices aren’t needed after they die. It won’t ever let you back as it won’t let anyone else back.”
“Do you actually mean that there’s no purpose?!” he asks, his voice trembling, standing up when Boone does.
“Oh, there is. Only, you aren’t a part of it anymore unless someone wants to have a talk with you like you did with me.”
“I thought...”
“That you had one? Sure. But in relation to the island. No more, no less.”
“But that’s just cruel!”
Boone laughs again at that one, then shakes his head.
“Well, sure. But why, wasn’t it like that for everyone else? Faith or not, it doesn’t change. Of course it’s cruel. You’re a bit late realizing it, though.”
Again, he’s at a loss for words. What could he say when Boone is right anyway? Of course. He should have waited for them. He shouldn’t have hurried to be back soon and...
“What’s gone is gone, John. I just can’t get how could you ever think about doing it yourself. I mean, if there’s one thing everyone here regrets is being dead and after you survive all this time... oh well. Not my business, I guess. I don’t even want to know.”
“So... so that’s it? It’s all done with? Nothing else to do?”
Boone stands up then, a rose still between his fingers.
“Apart from taking a look on the other side all day because there are limited options regarding socializing activities? No. Not really.”
Suddenly Locke can’t see his feet anymore. Then his legs up to the knees.
“Wait! Where are you going?”
“Oh, I think you need to be alone for a while. We’re all around anyway, you’ll have enough of me pretty soon.”
“But... I still... I need to know...”
Boone now is visible just up to his waist, while he shakes his head.
“Answers. I know. Always answers. But for this time I think you can wait. We have an eternity in front of us, haven’t we?”
He smirks again and it’s the last thing Locke sees before he’s gone.
He drops on his knees, thorns not harming his hands. The only thing he can see now is the sheer cruelty of this all. He just wished he could have realized it much, much before.
The second he had a vision involving a yellow plane crashing down somewhere and he made the mistake of not questioning it, probably.
End.