before you trade in your summer skin | jack/claire | 1/2youcallitwinterJune 12 2012, 08:43:34 UTC
There are times he loves her like a sister.
Most times he doesn’t love her at all. Most times he doesn’t even know her, even after all these years, because she isn’t Kate and he isn’t Charlie, and they just never bothered even back there, where the days melted into each other and she was just that girl he felt like he had to take special care of because he was a doctor. Not because he was her brother.
He doesn’t know her favorite color or her first heartbreak or if she likes cinnamon on her coffee or if she ever cried during Titanic or all those things that it feels like every brother should know about his little sister. But sometimes she tilts her head, and that blue vein under her skin carries his blood and he thinks something stupid like home.
He thinks the feeling may just be residual. An ache left over from the times when he could still pretend to fix things and she was lost and alone and needed all the fixing in the world.
But Jack, I don’t think it’s normal that he hasn’t kicked in-
before you trade in your summer skin | jack/claire | 2/2youcallitwinterJune 12 2012, 08:46:01 UTC
“We should go out,” she says, because she has a tendency to wander around bare-feet and occasionally rock her son’s cradle, and this is the fantasy family he wanted.
Except this is that other fantasy, not the one where he pats her over the head and beams down at his nephew, but the one in which he fucks her against the table. So obviously something got screwed somewhere. Possibly his sanity.
“Where?” he asks.
She turns around from the glass door, the wind blowing her hair against her face, and she reminds him of the Island like this. He wants to go back. He wants to go back. There’s no history there. There’s no blood. Her skin was built for the summer, not glass doors and cold streets that line the way outside the house.
“Vegas,” she says, “let’s go to Vegas.”
“Claire,” he says, turns back to the medical report, soaks a little in his stereotype, “you don’t mean that. I’m busy.”
She turns back, rests her head against the glass cage, “if I could mean that, I would.”
He doesn’t look up.
x
“I want to go back,” she says one night, her hand trailing
( ... )
Re: before you trade in your summer skin | jack/claire | 2/2cricketsJune 13 2012, 01:23:07 UTC
Can I just.. I don't even know how to. What do I do with all these feelings? Please tell me!
Your first time writing them and you hit it out of the park! Out. Of. The. Park.
I love how kind of snarky they are here. It's such an amazing dynamic that I hardly ever think to bring to the table with them. And, fuck, this is good. How is this so good?
“I want to go back,” she says one night, her hand trailing across the crib, as she bends down and smiles at Aaron and he thinks he maybe sometimes wants to kiss her when she smiles, “let’s go back.”
He feels the white-hot rage making inroad in his veins, “don’t say that.”
“I want to go back,” she says, looks at him and tilts her head just so, challenges him.
He has her against the door before he’s thought it out, “ do. not. fucking. say. that.”
Re: before you trade in your summer skin | jack/claire | 2/2youcallitwinterJune 15 2012, 21:13:34 UTC
Oh man, you have no idea how glad I am you thought I got them right. I was constantly like 'I CAN'T WRITE THEM OMG', because they barely have any interaction on the show, so the dynamic has to be created. Although the alternate Real World, Claire living with Jack is the best thing ever; I adored their 'breakfast ritual' with Jack and his son trying to make her as comfortable as possible, and all of them so much at ease with each other.
(Oh MAN, now I want fic where Jack and his son are both hardcore crushing on Claire. What are my life choices even? D:)
Re: before you trade in your summer skin | jack/claire | 2/2cricketsJune 16 2012, 02:20:44 UTC
You did you. SO SO FUCKING DID. I don't even know how these two became like crack to me but I always enjoyed "creating" that dynamic where there was none on the show really. Apart from very little early season stuff. And GUH. You GOT THEM. I bow down. Seriously.
There are times he loves her like a sister.
Most times he doesn’t love her at all. Most times he doesn’t even know her, even after all these years, because she isn’t Kate and he isn’t Charlie, and they just never bothered even back there, where the days melted into each other and she was just that girl he felt like he had to take special care of because he was a doctor. Not because he was her brother.
He doesn’t know her favorite color or her first heartbreak or if she likes cinnamon on her coffee or if she ever cried during Titanic or all those things that it feels like every brother should know about his little sister. But sometimes she tilts her head, and that blue vein under her skin carries his blood and he thinks something stupid like home.
He thinks the feeling may just be residual. An ache left over from the times when he could still pretend to fix things and she was lost and alone and needed all the fixing in the world.
But Jack, I don’t think it’s normal that he hasn’t kicked in-
What would you name your child, if you-
Dammit, the ( ... )
Reply
“We should go out,” she says, because she has a tendency to wander around bare-feet and occasionally rock her son’s cradle, and this is the fantasy family he wanted.
Except this is that other fantasy, not the one where he pats her over the head and beams down at his nephew, but the one in which he fucks her against the table. So obviously something got screwed somewhere. Possibly his sanity.
“Where?” he asks.
She turns around from the glass door, the wind blowing her hair against her face, and she reminds him of the Island like this. He wants to go back. He wants to go back. There’s no history there. There’s no blood. Her skin was built for the summer, not glass doors and cold streets that line the way outside the house.
“Vegas,” she says, “let’s go to Vegas.”
“Claire,” he says, turns back to the medical report, soaks a little in his stereotype, “you don’t mean that. I’m busy.”
She turns back, rests her head against the glass cage, “if I could mean that, I would.”
He doesn’t look up.
x
“I want to go back,” she says one night, her hand trailing ( ... )
Reply
Your first time writing them and you hit it out of the park!
Out.
Of.
The.
Park.
I love how kind of snarky they are here. It's such an amazing dynamic that I hardly ever think to bring to the table with them. And, fuck, this is good. How is this so good?
“I want to go back,” she says one night, her hand trailing across the crib, as she bends down and smiles at Aaron and he thinks he maybe sometimes wants to kiss her when she smiles, “let’s go back.”
He feels the white-hot rage making inroad in his veins, “don’t say that.”
“I want to go back,” she says, looks at him and tilts her head just so, challenges him.
He has her against the door before he’s thought it out, “ do. not. fucking. say. that.”
*dies*
Reply
(Oh MAN, now I want fic where Jack and his son are both hardcore crushing on Claire. What are my life choices even? D:)
Reply
PLEASE WRITE THAT FIC.
Reply
(The comment has been removed)
IS IT NOT THOUGH? I LOVE THAT SONG. And omg@this line. Best line ever <3
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