krickets | [fic] 5 lost drabbles

I claimed five, FIVE!, prompts in the lightning round at the

lostquee drabble challenge tonight and I wrote all five, FIVE!, of them in an hour. Woo hoo!

accidental truths, pg13
lost, sun/jack, 111
comma, here

"Was it all just revenge?"

Jack stands in the doorway and Sun at the counter, her back to him.

Sun looks up, doesn't turn around. She remembers giving him her forgiveness, taking him to bed. She remembers his hands along her sides, down her back, the feel of his muscles beneath her palms. She remembers telling him she loved him, bringing him home, sharing her secrets, and coaxing him to leave his life behind, to join her.

All of that was supposed to be a lie.

And it was. For a while. And then she fell in love.

(Not a part of her plan.)

"Yes," she tells him.

(It's too late.)

- fin

liquid courage, r
lost, claire/sawyer/jack, 129
pint, here

Sawyer can't remember the last time he pressed a bottle against his lips, felt the hard alcohol sting on the way down. He tries but all his memories are jumbled, can't figure what happened when or where or with whom.

He watches Claire take a drink, kiss Jack's lips, pass the bottle to him. It's all slow motion, her hair falling into her face, her tongue pressing against Jack's, her hand dipping below his belt.

The bottle feels heavy and wet in Sawyer's hand.

Claire laughs. "Go on," she tells him, throaty and with the weight of not meaning what she says. "Take a drink."

"I think I might," Sawyer says, grabs the back of her neck, tastes the liquor on her lips, her tongue. "I think I might."

-fin

my blue memories, r
lost, alex/richard, 100
rushing, here

The sound of water takes her back, a mountain stream, ocean meeting sand, a hard rain. Alex tells Richard she wants to live in Utah or Kansas or someplace where it the sky is always blue and free of clouds, someplace landlocked.

"It won't make the memories go away," he tells her, puts a steadying hand on the small of her back.

"I know," she tells him.

--

Later, in his bed, Alex cries his name, watches Richard come apart beneath her.

"Utah," she tells him, breathless against his chest.

"I'll take you," he promises, and she knows he will.

-fin

snow angels, pg13
lost, jack/claire, 145
twin, here

Nights are cold, the wind whipping against the house, a low, chilling, whistle.

She'll never get used to it. Jack insists, says he can't stand the heat, says he'll stoke the fire before bed.

She sneaks into his bedroom anyway, slips under the covers.

"Claire," he protests, grouchy when he's half asleep, when his sister tangles her legs over his, presses her icy feet against the backs of his warm calves.

"I'm cold," she tells him.

She brushes a hand over his face and his lids open slightly, sleepy smile upon his lips, eyes soft and tired. It startles her how similar they are in the tiny cracks and crevices that make up a person. She traces the outline of his features, kisses his lips, settles further down into the warm blankets with him.

"Every night," he groans, pulls her closer.

"Every night," she echoes.

-fin

i am selfish (i am blind), pg13
lost, jin/michael, 108
one shot from my jin/michael beneath the blue 'verse
brush, here

With Sun here, things are different.

Michael hadn't realized, but they had given up.

No, that's not true. They only hoped for something different: a good day, a decent catch, a cool breeze. These were the things they hoped for.

Now?

Now, they hope for a way home. And Michael doesn't share his cynicism. He sees the love on both their faces, Jin rapt with the thought of a daughter. Michael can't bring himself to destroy that dream.

When Jin brushes against him between their huts one night, Michael catches his arm, kisses him earnestly, quiet.

Jin kisses him back, hands searching.

This is what Michael hopes for.

-fin

+ 1
written earlier this week

threshold, pg
lost, alex/richard, 100
integer, here

"You're going to be different," Richard tells her. "After. Nothing will be the same."

Alex looks at him and he's sure she doesn't understand. There's something about her that remains untouched, uncompromised -- despite all that she's seen. It's a defiant innocence that is so ingrained in her that she can't quite fathom ever being any different.

Richard knows that Jacob means to change that, and though he knows it's necessary, he still hesitates when she holds out her hand.

"I'm ready," she tells him, unafraid.

Richard closes his eyes, takes a breath, and leads her through the temple gates.

-fin