[LOST fanfic] Something About the Women
Jun. 29th, 2020 08:35 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stefanie_beanFandom: LOST
Title: Something About the Women
Genre: F/F
Relationships: Kate/Claire, Olivia/Eloise, Mother/Claudia, Ana Lucia/Libby, Juliet/Harper, Isabel/Jill
Rating: T
Length: 10 ficlets, 4159 words total
A series of F/F ficlets originally penned for Femslash February.
On AO3 | On FFN
01: Libby x Ana
(Set during "Two for the Road")
Ana winces with pain as she knits the last stitch through her head wound. Libby's heart almost breaks as she picks up a scrap of mostly-clean cloth and wipes away the thin thread of blood trickling down Ana's cheek.
When Ana doesn't say anything, Libby repeats herself. “Like I said, Ana. Please don't do anything stupid.”
A war rages in Ana's face. Her glance send darts of dark brown fire across the beach camp, then lands on Sawyer as he lazes about like some mangy lion in its concrete zoo prison.
Libby might not have made it through medical school, but she knows precognition is rubbish. Then why is she so sure that whatever Ana's thinking can only end one way? “They hate us here. Maybe not all, but most. Why are you risking your life for them?” She'd like to scream out what comes next: Why can't you risk it for me?
The dark clouds on Ana's face break a little. “You got any brilliant ideas? 'Cause those animals are still out there—“
“The caves.”
“What?”
“No one ever goes there anymore, not since Sayid put together all those rain traps. And there's still a lot of luggage up there.” When Ana hesitates, Libby reaches for her hand under the makeshift table. She would grasp it where everyone could see, but maybe Ana wouldn't like that. There is so much she doesn't know about Ana, so much to find out.
Ana's hand is warm in hers. Her pulse trembles like a caught bird, then gradually slows as Libby waits in the balance. If Ana pulls her hand away, Libby will go back to the beach, away from everything she wants. Time seems to slow, and even the constant rush of waves seems to fall quiet.
When Ana squeezes her hand back, Libby knows that she's won. “Let's get the hell out of here, Ana. Let's just go.”
And they do.
* * * * * * * *
02: Eloise x Olivia
Shortly after Olivia Goodspeed arrived on the Island, someone fired at her husband Horace and missed. His fellow scientists said they'd all gotten the welcome wagon shot. If they wanted you dead, they didn't miss.
Horace had sold this gig to her as a way to prop up their failing marriage with an all-expenses-paid tropical vacation. Instead, the Barracks felt more like a prison.
There were ways to get outside the sonic fence, though. As the Dharma Initiative's only teacher, Olivia snagged the passcode. She told the head of security that if the children couldn't explore the Island, she'd bring its natural features to them. Neither he nor Horace argued with her.
Anyway, Horace spent all his time now with fellow mathematicians Paul Kennedy and his wife Amy. Olivia wasn't sad about it, not really. Whenever she could, she wandered far from the Barracks, sometimes leaving right after dawn and not returning till sunset. No one ever shot at her, either. One day, by a small waterfall that danced over green rocks, Olivia saw the woman.
A Hostile, the first one Olivia had ever seen.
The woman crouched by the icy pool and washed her face with a rag, a rifle slung over her shoulder. Olivia stared, wonder-struck at the woman's beautiful, weathered face and her confident, almost brash air. As if she, the woods and the water were one.
The woman spoke first, crisp and British. “You're breaking the Truce, you know.”
Olivia's baffled expression answered for her.
“Never mind. You should get out while you can. I certainly plan to.”
Olivia found her tongue. “What do you mean by that? You don't know anything about me.”
“Olivia Makepeace Goodspeed of Boston, Massachusetts. You hate teaching, and you're sad because your husband is in love with another woman.”
You're wrong and How dare you? died on Olivia's lips when the woman added, “I also know about your girlfriend from Boston College.”
Hot shame poured over Olivia, followed by anger. “You can't. No one does. Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“Ellie. And I have something for you, for the road.”
She moved towards Olivia, waiting for her to either meet her, or dart away in the jungle forever.
Olivia stayed, and lifted her chin. The kiss landed soft and light as the Pala Bay breezes: a wise kiss, thorough and well-practiced. Above Olivia the trees whispered; water tripped over stone, and Ellie tasted like wet, salty heaven. Afterwards, Ellie ran her hand gently down Olivia's face, and not so much walked into the jungle as faded into it.
Over the next weeks, Olivia could never recover her steps to the waterfall, although she tried. So when the time came, she climbed into the submarine Galaga, took one last look at the Island, and never saw it or Ellie ever again.
* * * * * * * *
03: Jill x Isabel
(Set shortly after "The End")
At the end of a long day at Simon's Butcher Shop, Jill and Isabel cuddle on the couch of their Santa Monica condo. On the kitchen wall hangs a new 2008 calendar (free to Simon's customers) turned to January 2008: the fresh start of a new year.
Across their laps stretches a Labradoodle named Gracie: fifty pounds of fur and adoration topped by winsome brown eyes. Since Jill and Isabel are both sitting quietly on the couch at the same time, Gracie's taking advantage of it.
The two women think about Ben Linus's phone call of an hour ago. While Ben's voice hasn't left a sour taste, exactly, both of them are ambivalent and uncertain. Finally Jill asks, “This new man in charge, Reyes. You ever meet him?”
Isabel shakes her head. “Negative. Only read his file, which took all damn evening.”
“That bad, huh? So what's on Ben's mind, exactly? Hopefully it doesn't involve stashing any more bodies in the meat locker."
Isabel chuckles. “I thought he was going to hang up when I told him that whatever he wanted, I wasn't ever going back. That my 'sheriff days' were over.”
Jill lays her head on Isabel's shoulder. “Ben won't recall us, Izzy, not if he needs us here. But what did he mean by, 'When the packages arrive next week, distribute accordingly?' What packages?”
“Standard phrasing for moving people on and off the Island. There's some incoming, looks like.”
On their laps, the dog gives a contented sigh.
Isabel goes on, “Of the six incoming, four are headed to Portland and thus outside our jurisdiction. We get Kate Austen and Claire Littleton. Don't suppose you met them, either?”
Jill loves Isabel more than life, but she can be dense sometimes. “I had a shop to run, remember? You were on-Island then, not me.”
Isabel cracks a faint smile, then gets serious. “Sounds like they're both a mess. Real walking wounded. The word from the new man himself is that these two are 'priority one,' which means pull out all the stops. Places to live, paperwork, jobs if they want them—“
“Uh, hold on. Not unless they know their way around the meat locker. Our insurance is high enough.”
Isabel's expression is as dry as her tone. “Austen field-dressed wild boar in Texas, while Littleton survived three years in the jungle. If Gabriel shows them the ropes, they'll be fast learners.”
Well, that seems to settle things, then. Jill ruffles the fur around Gracie's ears and murmurs, “Do you think they like dogs?”
* * * * * * * *
04: Sun x Kate
(Set in “Pilot, Part 2”)
Sayid and Jack have been arguing all afternoon about the phone device from the plane's cockpit. When Sayid demands to know if anyone has seen Kate, as he wants her opinion on the matter, Sun decides to find Kate herself. She's watched how Kate breaks these impasses; how Sayid listens to her.
Before she sets off, Sun slips on a mask as ornate as any in Korean traditional theater. Her own, though, is both invisible and renders her the same. Safe behind it, she moves like a wandering ghost among the survivors. They think she can't understand them, but they would be shocked to know how many of their secrets she's learned in such a short time. Whenever she passes by, they avert their eyes.
Except for Kate.
Sun has a good idea where to find her. At the end of the beach's curve, a spit of rock juts forth into the ocean and forms a small lagoon. A ring of stones screens the tidal pool from prying eyes, and there Kate stands, gazing out to sea.
There's no sound except for the cries of the gulls and the distant slap of waves further down the beach. Kate twists her long hair into a knot, and Sun wishes she had pins to offer her, or her own hands. When Kate raises her shirt, the strong muscles in her back tense and relax, tighten and loosen again as she bathes her shoulders and arms.
Sun has been in hiding for so long, over months which have stretched into years. She's faded so deeply into nothingness that if she happens to touch her own hand, she sometimes starts at the feel of flesh stretched over bone. Sometimes she stares at herself in the mirror for long minutes, barely recognizing her own face beneath the mask.
This beautiful woman who stands so free in the sun has probably never had to run and hide. Sun can't imagine Kate hating and fearing her own father as Sun does, or keeping secrets from a husband or lover. And Kate has probably never looked at another woman the way Sun gazes at her now, wanting so desperately to run her hands alongside curved hips, or bury her face in fragrant, luxuriant hair.
When a gull shrieks, Kate turns around. The mask slips, and Sun almost speaks to her in English. She catches herself in time to fix her disguise back onto to a face all aflame, and not from the sun.
“Excuse me,” she say in Korean. “Sayid has sent me to find you.”
Kate's warm half-smile is the only answer Sun needs.
* * * * * * * *
05: Kate x Claire
(Set after "The End")
Early-morning sunlight glints off the silver Subaru Outback parked in the driveway of Kate and Claire's West Hollywood house. Still in pajamas, Aaron darts in and out the front door, each time bearing another stuffed toy for the trip ahead.
Kate loads a cooler laden with drinks and snacks. It's been a year since she and Claire have come back from the Island, and no one is more relieved than Kate to climb behind the wheel and hit the open road.
Aaron holds up a well-loved plush whale. “Grampa can sleep with this one. I'll let him.”
“It's perfect, Goober.”
“Grampa” is Kate's father Sam, living in retirement in Scottsdale. The last time he visited, she and Claire slept in separate rooms for his sake, and now Kate gives a little sigh. She steals a glance at Claire, who's arranging Aaron's books and toys in the back seat.
Claire looks up, alert. “Come on, Aaron. Grandma's going to help you get dressed.” Her tone says, I want to talk to you too. Just not in front of Aaron.
Kate rearranges luggage until Claire comes back. She slips her arm around Kate's waist and says, “You didn't tell him, did you?”
“It's just that... Claire, he's from a different generation, and military at that. And I've already—“
“Disappointed him so much?”
How does she know all this without being told? Kate asks herself. Almost as if she were psychic. Two years ago Kate would have scoffed at the notion, but no longer. Not given what they've both seen, and survived.
Life now is so much more than survival, though, and Kate doesn't want to screw that up. Despite Claire's outward and inward Island scars, she's Kate's rock. This trip was her idea, even. Sam's driven out for Aaron's and Kate's birthdays, as well as last Christmas, never blaming Kate for the terms of her probation. In his own way he's been as steady as Claire.
Even so, Kate's kept this secret from her father, of the love which came for her when she thought love had fled for good, when she was sure her life would be as dry as the desert between LA and Arizona.
Claire quietly waits as Kate rearranges thoughts so much harder to pack and unpack than luggage for a road trip. Finally Claire says in a soft voice, “I think it'll be okay. He loves you, you know.”
“I know.” She pulls Claire close to her, and just as rain waters the desert, it waters Kate's life as well.
* * * * * * * *
06: Greta x Bonnie
(Canon-divergent; set in “Through the Looking Glass, Part 2”)
Behind the closed door of the Looking Glass station's comm room, Greta and Bonnie take a breather from shouting at one another. They've just finished talking to Ben about their prisoner Charlie, who sits tied to a chair on the moon pool deck, singing to himself.
Bonnie's already bloodied his nose, and that pisses Greta off. “I swear to God, Bonnie, if you hit him again, I'll leave you.”
Bonnie spits out, “But he's one of them!”
“So?”
“So?!? You know what Ben's orders were!”
Greta takes a deep breath. She's calmed Bonnie down before, and she can do it again. “I know that we're hiding here, lying to everyone.”
Bonnie paces, frantic and frustrated. “We have to kill him, Greta. He knows about us. He knows this station isn't flooded. He knows we're jamming.”
Greta takes Bonnie by the arms, pulling her in close. “So. Fucking. What. You heard Mikhail talking in the background. That one, he's crazy. If Ben sends him down here, we've got maybe three, four hours.”
“Sends him down here to do what?”
Greta knows from long, intimate years that stubborn Bonnie has to figure things out for herself.
Finally she does. “You think he'd do that? But Jacob would never...”
When Bonnie's voice trails off into silence, it's time to deliver the payload. “I don't know anything about Jacob. But I know you, Bonnie. I love you. And if we're here when Mikhail Bakunin arrives, it's over.”
Bonnie presses her face up to the glass porthole, staring at the moon pool as if a sea monster - or Mikhail himself - might break through the dark grey water. “What do we do?”
“We leave.”
“Ben catches us, he'll kill us.”
“I'd rather die in the jungle than here.”
When they open the heavy door, Charlie's lying back in his chair, eyes closed. At least he's stopped the chanting. As Greta pulls on her diving suit, he starts yelling that they can't just leave him.
“Come on,” Bonnie says, impatient. “You know we can't untie him.”
Not after what you did, Greta thinks, but she holds her tongue.
Just before she and Bonnie dive into the moon pool, Greta loosens Charlie's rope knots. Bending close, she whispers, “Do you like 'Good Vibrations?' You know, the Beach Boys?”
He nods, baffled.
“You're a smart guy. You'll figure it out.”
Charlie still looks puzzled when they hit the water with a splash, and are gone.
* * * * * * * *
07: Kate x Claire
(Set after "The End")
Beneath the high, old-fashioned bed, Claire crouches like a little frightened cat. The rough carpet scratches Kate's elbows as she peers at Claire in the dim light. For the past hour Kate's tried to talk her out, but now she's exhausted and out of words. And it's her own damn fault Claire's under there to begin with.
They've been in this safe house for three weeks now. Claire had a nightmare, another one. Her yelling had dragged Kate out of a deep sleep, and in despair she snapped, “It's just a dream. It's not real. Dreams can't hurt you.”
That's when Claire bolted.
Now she stares back at Kate with eyes like dark hollow sockets, unblinking in the dim light. On Kate's dresser sits a business card for Dr. Curtis at the Santa Rosa Mental Health Center, but Kate hasn't felt the need to make that call. Until now.
How could I have said something so stupid? she asks herself. She remembers a dream of her own: Claire overlooking a sleeping Aaron, her face soft with tenderness and sorrow. The next morning Kate sensed a whiff of jungle greenery in the room, mixed with Claire's own delicate scent.
“I'm sorry, honey,” Kate finally says. “What can I do?”
Claire sniffles a bit. “Stop telling me I'm wrong, that I don't know what I know.”
“I'll try to listen better.” The words drag out of Kate like a tractor stuck in spring mud, because she wants none of it. Wants to believe none of it. It's the right thing to say, though, because Claire scooches forward a little. The tightly-wound spring in Kate's middle relaxes. The time for a 4 AM phone call to Santa Rosa has passed.
Claire's scruffy head pokes out from under the bed, but Kate knows better than to dash forward or grab her. When Claire extends her hand, Kate helps pull her out. Without thinking, she brushes a few dust bunnies from Claire's hair.
“Kate...” Claire hesitates, as if making a claim for herself is a skill long fallen into disuse. “Will you... will you sleep in here with me?” The room has one queen bed, rumpled from Claire's thrashings.
“Of course.”
They climb in. Claire huddles against Kate, little spoon nestled in the bigger one. Soon her breathing slows into sleep, and there are no more nightmares, at least not that night.
That's how it begins.
* * * * * * * *
08: Juliet x Harper
When Harper told Juliet that she knew Juliet was sleeping with Harper's husband, that evening Juliet told Goodwin what Harper had said. “In session,” she added, expecting some sympathy.
She got none. “Look around you, Jules. Professionalism's a rare commodity around here.”
A week later, she was still frozen with indecision, even if the choices were clear. Dump Goodwin as a lover, or dump Harper as a therapist.
Why not both? “Therapy” was just Harper's way of spying for Ben. And Goodwin would never leave his wife.
Pinball helped her think. In the empty recreation room she fired up her favorite table, and soon a grotesque Phantom of the Opera leered at her from the lit display. Under his arm he pinioned a blonde and buxom opera singer whose blue eyes opened wide with fear, just like Juliet's.
Silver balls spit onto the playing table like bullets, and the digit counter racked up points. Just as Juliet came to a decision, the rec room door clicked open behind her. It was Harper, carrying a brown Dharma beer bottle. From her swaying walk and fuzzy expression it wasn't her first drink of the day.
She positioned herself by the adjacent machine. Instead of playing, she glared at Juliet with the same looks Juliet had shot at Goodwin many times: a mix of fury, frustration, and longing.
Juliet fought to keep her voice from shaking. “You're just the person I wanted to see.”
“I doubt it.”
“I've been meaning to... It's just that—“
“Cut to the chase, Juliet.”
So that's how Harper wanted to roll. “I'm done with therapy. It's not doing either of us any good.”
Harper emptied the bottle in one swig. “That's a relief.”
This caught Juliet off-guard. “It's just terribly awkward—“
“You think it isn't for me? How dense are you? Fine, you're done.” No contempt came out, just frustration over something Juliet couldn't see.
Juliet felt compelled to explain. “What did you expect, Harper? Twice a week I spill my guts to you. You know more about me than my own mother, but you act like a sphinx—“
Harper whirled around, tears in her eyes and voice. “You think I warned you away from Goodwin for his sake? To hell with him. You're right, Juliet, I do know you – and that's exactly why I fell in love with you.”
As Juliet stood speechless, Harper brushed the empty bottle with her elbow as she headed towards the door. The bottle crashed to the linoleum floor, leaving a pinwheel of shattered glass and the shards of Juliet's heart.
* * * * * * * *
09: Claire x Kate
(set after “The End”)
On a hot summer night, Kate and Claire sit waist-deep in the shallow end of their pool. To the east, the lights of Los Angeles dance like fireflies in the desert heat, while the western mountains rise shrouded in cool darkness. To the south lies the sea which binds them with unbreakable strands, because in that same ocean rests the Island which they can never forget.
Claire lowers herself down in the water, making her hair float like pale seaweed. “So, what was that question you wanted to ask me? You've been acting mysterious all evening.”
Kate laughs, a little embarrassed. She doesn't know what to call this arrangement she and Claire have assembled, where every night they lie together face to face, lightly kissing or just sharing breath. Claire hasn't asked for more, and beyond that Kate won't go, not until Claire's ready. If ever.
It's sweet, though, to have someone fall asleep in her arms, even if they haven't yet made love, or even seen one another undressed. Even so, that's not what Kate's curious about. “Remember you told me you used to do tattoos?”
Claire looks up, interested. “Why, did you want one?”
“Not me. Scared of needles. The artists I've seen, though... they have ink, a lot of it. But you don't.”
“I do have one. You want to see?” Before Kate can answer, Claire stands and drops her bikini bottom without missing a beat.
A sprinkle of stars curves around the globe of her bottom. Six cluster safely together, while the seventh and smallest appears to tumble from their midst.
“What does it mean?”
“The Pleiades,” Claire says in a faraway voice, as if telling a story. “The constellation, you know? Seven sisters all, and six married gods. But one married a man, a bad one. She fell, and now she hides. It's why you only see six in the night sky, even though there are really seven.”
Kate swallows, hard. It's almost as if she knew what was going to happen. She helps Claire adjust her swimsuit, then gathers her into her arms in the shallow water. “It's okay, honey. You may be a falling star, but I've caught you.”
* * * * * * * *
10: Mother x Claudia
(Set during "Across the Sea")
For centuries the woman had lived without a name, because the only one she remembered had been given to her in slavery. That name she cast aside when she came into the powers of her kingdom. Her first royal act had been to kill the men who had made her cook and wash and open her legs for them, the men who had brought her to this Island.
That name was gone. Afterwards she hadn't needed one, because no one spoke except the birds, the tree frogs, the whispering winds high in the leaves, and those neither had names nor needed them.
The woman in red who lay before her on the birthing pallet had a name, though. Claudia. Her red gown of fine silk showed that she was cared for, maybe even loved. She had named her first son, too: Jacob. He had the spark of life in his body like any infant, but not the spark in his soul. That extra gem glowed in the second one's soul like a jewel in a black velvet bed.
“May I see him?” Claudia said in a low, hoarse voice.
Which child? the nameless woman thought. She didn't look over at the stone lying in convenient arm's reach, there for one purpose alone. Claudia was weak from giving birth and wouldn't fight. It would take nothing to finish her off. But Claudia lay there trusting, helpless. And beautiful, radiantly beautiful.
The child which Claudia hadn't yet named gave a little whimper as the woman pondered. Was this the only way? He whimpered again, almost as if he could read thoughts. As if his unfocused infant eyes could see the stone, and know its purpose.
My life has been hard, the woman thought. Men had died at her hands, or when she dashed their ships against the rocks if they dared approach this Island. What did a few more blood-drops matter?
The second child mewled a third time, and stared at her straight on, as if daring her.
Very well, then. She picked up one infant, then another, and positioned each at Claudia's breasts. As they latched on and suckled hard, Claudia's face shone with gratitude. “What is your name?”
“First, name your child.”
“I have to think. He was unexpected.” Her face glowed with love as she gazed down at the nursing babies.
Perhaps some day she may look at me like that.
“He's fierce at the breast, more so than his brother,” Claudia went on. “Samael. That's his name, Samael.” Again that glance of driving emotion. “And you?”
“Judith,” the woman said, the word rolling on her tongue like long-untasted honey. “My name is Judith.”
(the end)
Title: Something About the Women
Genre: F/F
Relationships: Kate/Claire, Olivia/Eloise, Mother/Claudia, Ana Lucia/Libby, Juliet/Harper, Isabel/Jill
Rating: T
Length: 10 ficlets, 4159 words total
A series of F/F ficlets originally penned for Femslash February.
On AO3 | On FFN
(Set during "Two for the Road")
Ana winces with pain as she knits the last stitch through her head wound. Libby's heart almost breaks as she picks up a scrap of mostly-clean cloth and wipes away the thin thread of blood trickling down Ana's cheek.
When Ana doesn't say anything, Libby repeats herself. “Like I said, Ana. Please don't do anything stupid.”
A war rages in Ana's face. Her glance send darts of dark brown fire across the beach camp, then lands on Sawyer as he lazes about like some mangy lion in its concrete zoo prison.
Libby might not have made it through medical school, but she knows precognition is rubbish. Then why is she so sure that whatever Ana's thinking can only end one way? “They hate us here. Maybe not all, but most. Why are you risking your life for them?” She'd like to scream out what comes next: Why can't you risk it for me?
The dark clouds on Ana's face break a little. “You got any brilliant ideas? 'Cause those animals are still out there—“
“The caves.”
“What?”
“No one ever goes there anymore, not since Sayid put together all those rain traps. And there's still a lot of luggage up there.” When Ana hesitates, Libby reaches for her hand under the makeshift table. She would grasp it where everyone could see, but maybe Ana wouldn't like that. There is so much she doesn't know about Ana, so much to find out.
Ana's hand is warm in hers. Her pulse trembles like a caught bird, then gradually slows as Libby waits in the balance. If Ana pulls her hand away, Libby will go back to the beach, away from everything she wants. Time seems to slow, and even the constant rush of waves seems to fall quiet.
When Ana squeezes her hand back, Libby knows that she's won. “Let's get the hell out of here, Ana. Let's just go.”
And they do.
Shortly after Olivia Goodspeed arrived on the Island, someone fired at her husband Horace and missed. His fellow scientists said they'd all gotten the welcome wagon shot. If they wanted you dead, they didn't miss.
Horace had sold this gig to her as a way to prop up their failing marriage with an all-expenses-paid tropical vacation. Instead, the Barracks felt more like a prison.
There were ways to get outside the sonic fence, though. As the Dharma Initiative's only teacher, Olivia snagged the passcode. She told the head of security that if the children couldn't explore the Island, she'd bring its natural features to them. Neither he nor Horace argued with her.
Anyway, Horace spent all his time now with fellow mathematicians Paul Kennedy and his wife Amy. Olivia wasn't sad about it, not really. Whenever she could, she wandered far from the Barracks, sometimes leaving right after dawn and not returning till sunset. No one ever shot at her, either. One day, by a small waterfall that danced over green rocks, Olivia saw the woman.
A Hostile, the first one Olivia had ever seen.
The woman crouched by the icy pool and washed her face with a rag, a rifle slung over her shoulder. Olivia stared, wonder-struck at the woman's beautiful, weathered face and her confident, almost brash air. As if she, the woods and the water were one.
The woman spoke first, crisp and British. “You're breaking the Truce, you know.”
Olivia's baffled expression answered for her.
“Never mind. You should get out while you can. I certainly plan to.”
Olivia found her tongue. “What do you mean by that? You don't know anything about me.”
“Olivia Makepeace Goodspeed of Boston, Massachusetts. You hate teaching, and you're sad because your husband is in love with another woman.”
You're wrong and How dare you? died on Olivia's lips when the woman added, “I also know about your girlfriend from Boston College.”
Hot shame poured over Olivia, followed by anger. “You can't. No one does. Who the hell are you, anyway?”
“Ellie. And I have something for you, for the road.”
She moved towards Olivia, waiting for her to either meet her, or dart away in the jungle forever.
Olivia stayed, and lifted her chin. The kiss landed soft and light as the Pala Bay breezes: a wise kiss, thorough and well-practiced. Above Olivia the trees whispered; water tripped over stone, and Ellie tasted like wet, salty heaven. Afterwards, Ellie ran her hand gently down Olivia's face, and not so much walked into the jungle as faded into it.
Over the next weeks, Olivia could never recover her steps to the waterfall, although she tried. So when the time came, she climbed into the submarine Galaga, took one last look at the Island, and never saw it or Ellie ever again.
(Set shortly after "The End")
At the end of a long day at Simon's Butcher Shop, Jill and Isabel cuddle on the couch of their Santa Monica condo. On the kitchen wall hangs a new 2008 calendar (free to Simon's customers) turned to January 2008: the fresh start of a new year.
Across their laps stretches a Labradoodle named Gracie: fifty pounds of fur and adoration topped by winsome brown eyes. Since Jill and Isabel are both sitting quietly on the couch at the same time, Gracie's taking advantage of it.
The two women think about Ben Linus's phone call of an hour ago. While Ben's voice hasn't left a sour taste, exactly, both of them are ambivalent and uncertain. Finally Jill asks, “This new man in charge, Reyes. You ever meet him?”
Isabel shakes her head. “Negative. Only read his file, which took all damn evening.”
“That bad, huh? So what's on Ben's mind, exactly? Hopefully it doesn't involve stashing any more bodies in the meat locker."
Isabel chuckles. “I thought he was going to hang up when I told him that whatever he wanted, I wasn't ever going back. That my 'sheriff days' were over.”
Jill lays her head on Isabel's shoulder. “Ben won't recall us, Izzy, not if he needs us here. But what did he mean by, 'When the packages arrive next week, distribute accordingly?' What packages?”
“Standard phrasing for moving people on and off the Island. There's some incoming, looks like.”
On their laps, the dog gives a contented sigh.
Isabel goes on, “Of the six incoming, four are headed to Portland and thus outside our jurisdiction. We get Kate Austen and Claire Littleton. Don't suppose you met them, either?”
Jill loves Isabel more than life, but she can be dense sometimes. “I had a shop to run, remember? You were on-Island then, not me.”
Isabel cracks a faint smile, then gets serious. “Sounds like they're both a mess. Real walking wounded. The word from the new man himself is that these two are 'priority one,' which means pull out all the stops. Places to live, paperwork, jobs if they want them—“
“Uh, hold on. Not unless they know their way around the meat locker. Our insurance is high enough.”
Isabel's expression is as dry as her tone. “Austen field-dressed wild boar in Texas, while Littleton survived three years in the jungle. If Gabriel shows them the ropes, they'll be fast learners.”
Well, that seems to settle things, then. Jill ruffles the fur around Gracie's ears and murmurs, “Do you think they like dogs?”
(Set in “Pilot, Part 2”)
Sayid and Jack have been arguing all afternoon about the phone device from the plane's cockpit. When Sayid demands to know if anyone has seen Kate, as he wants her opinion on the matter, Sun decides to find Kate herself. She's watched how Kate breaks these impasses; how Sayid listens to her.
Before she sets off, Sun slips on a mask as ornate as any in Korean traditional theater. Her own, though, is both invisible and renders her the same. Safe behind it, she moves like a wandering ghost among the survivors. They think she can't understand them, but they would be shocked to know how many of their secrets she's learned in such a short time. Whenever she passes by, they avert their eyes.
Except for Kate.
Sun has a good idea where to find her. At the end of the beach's curve, a spit of rock juts forth into the ocean and forms a small lagoon. A ring of stones screens the tidal pool from prying eyes, and there Kate stands, gazing out to sea.
There's no sound except for the cries of the gulls and the distant slap of waves further down the beach. Kate twists her long hair into a knot, and Sun wishes she had pins to offer her, or her own hands. When Kate raises her shirt, the strong muscles in her back tense and relax, tighten and loosen again as she bathes her shoulders and arms.
Sun has been in hiding for so long, over months which have stretched into years. She's faded so deeply into nothingness that if she happens to touch her own hand, she sometimes starts at the feel of flesh stretched over bone. Sometimes she stares at herself in the mirror for long minutes, barely recognizing her own face beneath the mask.
This beautiful woman who stands so free in the sun has probably never had to run and hide. Sun can't imagine Kate hating and fearing her own father as Sun does, or keeping secrets from a husband or lover. And Kate has probably never looked at another woman the way Sun gazes at her now, wanting so desperately to run her hands alongside curved hips, or bury her face in fragrant, luxuriant hair.
When a gull shrieks, Kate turns around. The mask slips, and Sun almost speaks to her in English. She catches herself in time to fix her disguise back onto to a face all aflame, and not from the sun.
“Excuse me,” she say in Korean. “Sayid has sent me to find you.”
Kate's warm half-smile is the only answer Sun needs.
(Set after "The End")
Early-morning sunlight glints off the silver Subaru Outback parked in the driveway of Kate and Claire's West Hollywood house. Still in pajamas, Aaron darts in and out the front door, each time bearing another stuffed toy for the trip ahead.
Kate loads a cooler laden with drinks and snacks. It's been a year since she and Claire have come back from the Island, and no one is more relieved than Kate to climb behind the wheel and hit the open road.
Aaron holds up a well-loved plush whale. “Grampa can sleep with this one. I'll let him.”
“It's perfect, Goober.”
“Grampa” is Kate's father Sam, living in retirement in Scottsdale. The last time he visited, she and Claire slept in separate rooms for his sake, and now Kate gives a little sigh. She steals a glance at Claire, who's arranging Aaron's books and toys in the back seat.
Claire looks up, alert. “Come on, Aaron. Grandma's going to help you get dressed.” Her tone says, I want to talk to you too. Just not in front of Aaron.
Kate rearranges luggage until Claire comes back. She slips her arm around Kate's waist and says, “You didn't tell him, did you?”
“It's just that... Claire, he's from a different generation, and military at that. And I've already—“
“Disappointed him so much?”
How does she know all this without being told? Kate asks herself. Almost as if she were psychic. Two years ago Kate would have scoffed at the notion, but no longer. Not given what they've both seen, and survived.
Life now is so much more than survival, though, and Kate doesn't want to screw that up. Despite Claire's outward and inward Island scars, she's Kate's rock. This trip was her idea, even. Sam's driven out for Aaron's and Kate's birthdays, as well as last Christmas, never blaming Kate for the terms of her probation. In his own way he's been as steady as Claire.
Even so, Kate's kept this secret from her father, of the love which came for her when she thought love had fled for good, when she was sure her life would be as dry as the desert between LA and Arizona.
Claire quietly waits as Kate rearranges thoughts so much harder to pack and unpack than luggage for a road trip. Finally Claire says in a soft voice, “I think it'll be okay. He loves you, you know.”
“I know.” She pulls Claire close to her, and just as rain waters the desert, it waters Kate's life as well.
(Canon-divergent; set in “Through the Looking Glass, Part 2”)
Behind the closed door of the Looking Glass station's comm room, Greta and Bonnie take a breather from shouting at one another. They've just finished talking to Ben about their prisoner Charlie, who sits tied to a chair on the moon pool deck, singing to himself.
Bonnie's already bloodied his nose, and that pisses Greta off. “I swear to God, Bonnie, if you hit him again, I'll leave you.”
Bonnie spits out, “But he's one of them!”
“So?”
“So?!? You know what Ben's orders were!”
Greta takes a deep breath. She's calmed Bonnie down before, and she can do it again. “I know that we're hiding here, lying to everyone.”
Bonnie paces, frantic and frustrated. “We have to kill him, Greta. He knows about us. He knows this station isn't flooded. He knows we're jamming.”
Greta takes Bonnie by the arms, pulling her in close. “So. Fucking. What. You heard Mikhail talking in the background. That one, he's crazy. If Ben sends him down here, we've got maybe three, four hours.”
“Sends him down here to do what?”
Greta knows from long, intimate years that stubborn Bonnie has to figure things out for herself.
Finally she does. “You think he'd do that? But Jacob would never...”
When Bonnie's voice trails off into silence, it's time to deliver the payload. “I don't know anything about Jacob. But I know you, Bonnie. I love you. And if we're here when Mikhail Bakunin arrives, it's over.”
Bonnie presses her face up to the glass porthole, staring at the moon pool as if a sea monster - or Mikhail himself - might break through the dark grey water. “What do we do?”
“We leave.”
“Ben catches us, he'll kill us.”
“I'd rather die in the jungle than here.”
When they open the heavy door, Charlie's lying back in his chair, eyes closed. At least he's stopped the chanting. As Greta pulls on her diving suit, he starts yelling that they can't just leave him.
“Come on,” Bonnie says, impatient. “You know we can't untie him.”
Not after what you did, Greta thinks, but she holds her tongue.
Just before she and Bonnie dive into the moon pool, Greta loosens Charlie's rope knots. Bending close, she whispers, “Do you like 'Good Vibrations?' You know, the Beach Boys?”
He nods, baffled.
“You're a smart guy. You'll figure it out.”
Charlie still looks puzzled when they hit the water with a splash, and are gone.
(Set after "The End")
Beneath the high, old-fashioned bed, Claire crouches like a little frightened cat. The rough carpet scratches Kate's elbows as she peers at Claire in the dim light. For the past hour Kate's tried to talk her out, but now she's exhausted and out of words. And it's her own damn fault Claire's under there to begin with.
They've been in this safe house for three weeks now. Claire had a nightmare, another one. Her yelling had dragged Kate out of a deep sleep, and in despair she snapped, “It's just a dream. It's not real. Dreams can't hurt you.”
That's when Claire bolted.
Now she stares back at Kate with eyes like dark hollow sockets, unblinking in the dim light. On Kate's dresser sits a business card for Dr. Curtis at the Santa Rosa Mental Health Center, but Kate hasn't felt the need to make that call. Until now.
How could I have said something so stupid? she asks herself. She remembers a dream of her own: Claire overlooking a sleeping Aaron, her face soft with tenderness and sorrow. The next morning Kate sensed a whiff of jungle greenery in the room, mixed with Claire's own delicate scent.
“I'm sorry, honey,” Kate finally says. “What can I do?”
Claire sniffles a bit. “Stop telling me I'm wrong, that I don't know what I know.”
“I'll try to listen better.” The words drag out of Kate like a tractor stuck in spring mud, because she wants none of it. Wants to believe none of it. It's the right thing to say, though, because Claire scooches forward a little. The tightly-wound spring in Kate's middle relaxes. The time for a 4 AM phone call to Santa Rosa has passed.
Claire's scruffy head pokes out from under the bed, but Kate knows better than to dash forward or grab her. When Claire extends her hand, Kate helps pull her out. Without thinking, she brushes a few dust bunnies from Claire's hair.
“Kate...” Claire hesitates, as if making a claim for herself is a skill long fallen into disuse. “Will you... will you sleep in here with me?” The room has one queen bed, rumpled from Claire's thrashings.
“Of course.”
They climb in. Claire huddles against Kate, little spoon nestled in the bigger one. Soon her breathing slows into sleep, and there are no more nightmares, at least not that night.
That's how it begins.
When Harper told Juliet that she knew Juliet was sleeping with Harper's husband, that evening Juliet told Goodwin what Harper had said. “In session,” she added, expecting some sympathy.
She got none. “Look around you, Jules. Professionalism's a rare commodity around here.”
A week later, she was still frozen with indecision, even if the choices were clear. Dump Goodwin as a lover, or dump Harper as a therapist.
Why not both? “Therapy” was just Harper's way of spying for Ben. And Goodwin would never leave his wife.
Pinball helped her think. In the empty recreation room she fired up her favorite table, and soon a grotesque Phantom of the Opera leered at her from the lit display. Under his arm he pinioned a blonde and buxom opera singer whose blue eyes opened wide with fear, just like Juliet's.
Silver balls spit onto the playing table like bullets, and the digit counter racked up points. Just as Juliet came to a decision, the rec room door clicked open behind her. It was Harper, carrying a brown Dharma beer bottle. From her swaying walk and fuzzy expression it wasn't her first drink of the day.
She positioned herself by the adjacent machine. Instead of playing, she glared at Juliet with the same looks Juliet had shot at Goodwin many times: a mix of fury, frustration, and longing.
Juliet fought to keep her voice from shaking. “You're just the person I wanted to see.”
“I doubt it.”
“I've been meaning to... It's just that—“
“Cut to the chase, Juliet.”
So that's how Harper wanted to roll. “I'm done with therapy. It's not doing either of us any good.”
Harper emptied the bottle in one swig. “That's a relief.”
This caught Juliet off-guard. “It's just terribly awkward—“
“You think it isn't for me? How dense are you? Fine, you're done.” No contempt came out, just frustration over something Juliet couldn't see.
Juliet felt compelled to explain. “What did you expect, Harper? Twice a week I spill my guts to you. You know more about me than my own mother, but you act like a sphinx—“
Harper whirled around, tears in her eyes and voice. “You think I warned you away from Goodwin for his sake? To hell with him. You're right, Juliet, I do know you – and that's exactly why I fell in love with you.”
As Juliet stood speechless, Harper brushed the empty bottle with her elbow as she headed towards the door. The bottle crashed to the linoleum floor, leaving a pinwheel of shattered glass and the shards of Juliet's heart.
(set after “The End”)
On a hot summer night, Kate and Claire sit waist-deep in the shallow end of their pool. To the east, the lights of Los Angeles dance like fireflies in the desert heat, while the western mountains rise shrouded in cool darkness. To the south lies the sea which binds them with unbreakable strands, because in that same ocean rests the Island which they can never forget.
Claire lowers herself down in the water, making her hair float like pale seaweed. “So, what was that question you wanted to ask me? You've been acting mysterious all evening.”
Kate laughs, a little embarrassed. She doesn't know what to call this arrangement she and Claire have assembled, where every night they lie together face to face, lightly kissing or just sharing breath. Claire hasn't asked for more, and beyond that Kate won't go, not until Claire's ready. If ever.
It's sweet, though, to have someone fall asleep in her arms, even if they haven't yet made love, or even seen one another undressed. Even so, that's not what Kate's curious about. “Remember you told me you used to do tattoos?”
Claire looks up, interested. “Why, did you want one?”
“Not me. Scared of needles. The artists I've seen, though... they have ink, a lot of it. But you don't.”
“I do have one. You want to see?” Before Kate can answer, Claire stands and drops her bikini bottom without missing a beat.
A sprinkle of stars curves around the globe of her bottom. Six cluster safely together, while the seventh and smallest appears to tumble from their midst.
“What does it mean?”
“The Pleiades,” Claire says in a faraway voice, as if telling a story. “The constellation, you know? Seven sisters all, and six married gods. But one married a man, a bad one. She fell, and now she hides. It's why you only see six in the night sky, even though there are really seven.”
Kate swallows, hard. It's almost as if she knew what was going to happen. She helps Claire adjust her swimsuit, then gathers her into her arms in the shallow water. “It's okay, honey. You may be a falling star, but I've caught you.”
(Set during "Across the Sea")
For centuries the woman had lived without a name, because the only one she remembered had been given to her in slavery. That name she cast aside when she came into the powers of her kingdom. Her first royal act had been to kill the men who had made her cook and wash and open her legs for them, the men who had brought her to this Island.
That name was gone. Afterwards she hadn't needed one, because no one spoke except the birds, the tree frogs, the whispering winds high in the leaves, and those neither had names nor needed them.
The woman in red who lay before her on the birthing pallet had a name, though. Claudia. Her red gown of fine silk showed that she was cared for, maybe even loved. She had named her first son, too: Jacob. He had the spark of life in his body like any infant, but not the spark in his soul. That extra gem glowed in the second one's soul like a jewel in a black velvet bed.
“May I see him?” Claudia said in a low, hoarse voice.
Which child? the nameless woman thought. She didn't look over at the stone lying in convenient arm's reach, there for one purpose alone. Claudia was weak from giving birth and wouldn't fight. It would take nothing to finish her off. But Claudia lay there trusting, helpless. And beautiful, radiantly beautiful.
The child which Claudia hadn't yet named gave a little whimper as the woman pondered. Was this the only way? He whimpered again, almost as if he could read thoughts. As if his unfocused infant eyes could see the stone, and know its purpose.
My life has been hard, the woman thought. Men had died at her hands, or when she dashed their ships against the rocks if they dared approach this Island. What did a few more blood-drops matter?
The second child mewled a third time, and stared at her straight on, as if daring her.
Very well, then. She picked up one infant, then another, and positioned each at Claudia's breasts. As they latched on and suckled hard, Claudia's face shone with gratitude. “What is your name?”
“First, name your child.”
“I have to think. He was unexpected.” Her face glowed with love as she gazed down at the nursing babies.
Perhaps some day she may look at me like that.
“He's fierce at the breast, more so than his brother,” Claudia went on. “Samael. That's his name, Samael.” Again that glance of driving emotion. “And you?”
“Judith,” the woman said, the word rolling on her tongue like long-untasted honey. “My name is Judith.”
(the end)