you never can tell with bees (Ben/Kate, PG-13)
Title: you never can tell with bees
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Ben/Kate, Aaron
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 705
Summary: It's called running. (for weatheredlaw , Y is for Yellow)
There's a strange weight that settles in the back of Ben's neck whenever he stays in one place for too long.
He can't sleep in his old house anymore, his itchy eyes kept open by the sweet lavender perfume of ghosts. Ben settles for the porch, the chair pressed hard into his shoulders.
When he sleeps he dreams, escaping from the stench of rotting wood to get lost in the city. The roads go on forever, and Ben waits for the uneven blinking of stoplights as tall as trees. Water drips from electrical wire and splashes red against the pavement, mingling with the grass stains on white shoes that don't fit him properly.
"It's called running, Ben," Kate says when he visits with no luggage and plenty of excuses. The bitter smirk she sets on him leaves his legs twitching restlessly.
Kate paints her kitchen the color of lies, of little houses pretending to be home to mismatched families, the color of the boy seated at her table eating toast and honey. Aaron smiles up at him, hopeful and sticky. "Did you find my mom yet?"
(In dreams Claire hands him warm rifles that scorch his fingers. He awakes to Kate gently tracing the red marks that line his palms. You should take care of yourself, she says, and she means one day you won't come back.)
"Afraid not," Ben says, rubbing at the crick in his neck. His shoes stick to the linoleum, spilled paint and honey trapping him there, a mother and child who shouldn't belong together needing something stable in their world.
"Oh. I see," Aaron says, his small hands leaving yellow marks on the wood as he runs off to watch cartoons.
Ben follows Kate into the study, where he dances around words with any meaning, scribbling her a list of safe places to go, "just in case." Kate sits on top of the desk and taps her fingers to the happy tune coming from the living room (when i up, down, touch the ground).
Aaron giggles and Ben's hand shakes, smearing the address. Kate digs her knees into his hips, insistent. "Nobody took Claire. She ran."
The three of them agree, but he waves the words away with a kiss. She tastes like honey, and it keeps the empty promises from spilling from his mouth, sweet and sticky on his tongue.
(He dreams Aaron entrusts him with a big box of crayons that Ben leaves out in the sun, watching blankly as greens and blues and purples melt into a slimy mess. It seeps into the ground, the sand turning back to bright gold as it disappears. Ben sinks his hands into the earth too late to save them, his fingers burning.)
"You'll come back as soon as you find something," Kate whispers as he leaves, hands clinging to the back of his neck. Ben doesn't answer, silently kissing her goodbye. As the door shuts behind him he could swear he hears Claire's voice offering a warning (tut tut, it looks like rain).
Ben does come back, with no news, comes back even when he stops looking, comes back because this family is like him, unable to run away. He brings Kate seeds from the Orchid Station, buried deep in soft soil.
Aaron stops asking questions, humming songs about black clouds as Ben gauges the way the flowers take root and sprout bigger between visits. They take over the windowsill, and he helps Kate move them to the front yard.
The three of them kneel in the garden with mud on their cheeks, and it feels like running backwards. "I think we should plant honeysuckle, Mom," Aaron says before he goes inside, and she doesn't correct him the way she used to (you're supposed to call me Kate, remember, baby?).
Ben's body creaks and groans as he stands up and Kate presses her thumbs along his shoulders. "Please," is all she can say.
(Claire climbs trees, her thin red dress clutching at her bones. "Promise me, Ben. Promise me that when I can no longer do Nothing you'll take care of them.")
Ben leans into her, rubbing his blistered hands together to clean off the dirt. "I'm not going anywhere."
Fandom: LOST
Characters: Ben/Kate, Aaron
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 705
Summary: It's called running. (for weatheredlaw , Y is for Yellow)
There's a strange weight that settles in the back of Ben's neck whenever he stays in one place for too long.
He can't sleep in his old house anymore, his itchy eyes kept open by the sweet lavender perfume of ghosts. Ben settles for the porch, the chair pressed hard into his shoulders.
When he sleeps he dreams, escaping from the stench of rotting wood to get lost in the city. The roads go on forever, and Ben waits for the uneven blinking of stoplights as tall as trees. Water drips from electrical wire and splashes red against the pavement, mingling with the grass stains on white shoes that don't fit him properly.
"It's called running, Ben," Kate says when he visits with no luggage and plenty of excuses. The bitter smirk she sets on him leaves his legs twitching restlessly.
Kate paints her kitchen the color of lies, of little houses pretending to be home to mismatched families, the color of the boy seated at her table eating toast and honey. Aaron smiles up at him, hopeful and sticky. "Did you find my mom yet?"
(In dreams Claire hands him warm rifles that scorch his fingers. He awakes to Kate gently tracing the red marks that line his palms. You should take care of yourself, she says, and she means one day you won't come back.)
"Afraid not," Ben says, rubbing at the crick in his neck. His shoes stick to the linoleum, spilled paint and honey trapping him there, a mother and child who shouldn't belong together needing something stable in their world.
"Oh. I see," Aaron says, his small hands leaving yellow marks on the wood as he runs off to watch cartoons.
Ben follows Kate into the study, where he dances around words with any meaning, scribbling her a list of safe places to go, "just in case." Kate sits on top of the desk and taps her fingers to the happy tune coming from the living room (when i up, down, touch the ground).
Aaron giggles and Ben's hand shakes, smearing the address. Kate digs her knees into his hips, insistent. "Nobody took Claire. She ran."
The three of them agree, but he waves the words away with a kiss. She tastes like honey, and it keeps the empty promises from spilling from his mouth, sweet and sticky on his tongue.
(He dreams Aaron entrusts him with a big box of crayons that Ben leaves out in the sun, watching blankly as greens and blues and purples melt into a slimy mess. It seeps into the ground, the sand turning back to bright gold as it disappears. Ben sinks his hands into the earth too late to save them, his fingers burning.)
"You'll come back as soon as you find something," Kate whispers as he leaves, hands clinging to the back of his neck. Ben doesn't answer, silently kissing her goodbye. As the door shuts behind him he could swear he hears Claire's voice offering a warning (tut tut, it looks like rain).
Ben does come back, with no news, comes back even when he stops looking, comes back because this family is like him, unable to run away. He brings Kate seeds from the Orchid Station, buried deep in soft soil.
Aaron stops asking questions, humming songs about black clouds as Ben gauges the way the flowers take root and sprout bigger between visits. They take over the windowsill, and he helps Kate move them to the front yard.
The three of them kneel in the garden with mud on their cheeks, and it feels like running backwards. "I think we should plant honeysuckle, Mom," Aaron says before he goes inside, and she doesn't correct him the way she used to (you're supposed to call me Kate, remember, baby?).
Ben's body creaks and groans as he stands up and Kate presses her thumbs along his shoulders. "Please," is all she can say.
(Claire climbs trees, her thin red dress clutching at her bones. "Promise me, Ben. Promise me that when I can no longer do Nothing you'll take care of them.")
Ben leans into her, rubbing his blistered hands together to clean off the dirt. "I'm not going anywhere."