Fic: Never Let You Go (Claire) Lost, PG
Mar. 16th, 2007 03:53 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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noblealiceworksTitle: Never Let You Go
Author: lily_268
Character: Claire
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set after S3.12 Par Avion
Disclaimers: I do no own ABC or LOST
Summary: Flashes of Claire's life
Word Count: 1000
She watches the bird fly away into the blue and she inwardly yells at it, encouraging it to flee. To escape. She watches it until it leaves her patch of sky, taking with it all her hopes. You can only let go of the things you don’t truly care about. If you really love someone, you hold them so tight they can never leave you.
She takes Charlie’s hand.
--------
Another birthday ended with the crash of slammed doors and loose spackle from the ceiling floats down onto her head as she slumps down the doorframe to the scratchy carpet.
Music blasts through her speakers to drown out her mother’s tears. She throws back the sash and opens the window to look at the grey parking lot behind their apartment complex. There is no wind to cool her down and she later slides the window closed because the humid air is stifling.
She knows it’d be different with Dad, she tells herself that he’d understand what it’s like to be fourteen with a mother who works at the local library. He wouldn’t have bought her the Spice World album when all she had hinted towards was a black leather jacket. She fingers the letter from him to her mother, the last one her wrote before he died on the black tarmac. She traces the curves of his writing, memorising the lines. She doesn’t dare ask her mother his name, instead she calls him “My heart”, after the way he signs his letters.
--------
She pushes her long hair out of her eyes, holding it back with one hand while maintaining her grip of steel the toilet. She groans through the churning waves in her stomach, cursing Thomas, seafood and the lack of air conditioning in the shop. She’s been secretly hoping that the test was wrong, and as she hovers over her breakfast, she knows without a doubt that she’s going to give birth.
She’s not ready to be a mother, not when her own is laying in a hospital bed, fed by tubes.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and flushes the toilet. She wants to call Thomas but her fingers take over and after the ringing stops she’s realised that she’s on hold at the hospital to talk to her mother’s nurse. She hangs up when she hears the click and cheery greeting.
--------
She sits by the swings and draws on the sidewalk with her chalk, not paying attention to the squeals of delight that float from the other side of the playground. The swirl of colours caused by tiny legs being picked up and twirled in the air catches her attention from the corner of her eye. She stares longer than is polite.
She asks her mother who the man was at the park and if they can play with him next time. She feels left out as she pushes the green beans around her place. Her aunt coughs and stands up to clear the empty plates, sending a glance to her mother. Claire sits and waits, tight-lipped.
Despite being told that she doesn’t have a father anymore, she waits stubbornly for five years before giving up hope. She knows they’d get along. She’s a Sagittarius and those are highly compatible with Taurus. She tries to hear his laugh when she’s in a crowd, piecing bits of his face and personality from the people she sees around her.
--------
She cradles her baby in her arms, aware of how fragile he is. Aware of how scared her own mother felt. She knows her mother will never meet him, she’s probably been taken off life support by now, without Claire there to check up on her. She thinks of the way her aunt’s nose will crinkle when she sees the state of Claire’s nails or how skinny her baby is.
She thinks of it as her baby now. Not some baby that she has on loan. Hers.
She smells his forehead and gently nuzzles him with her nose. She hasn’t thought of a name and she wishes that he was a girl, so she could name the baby after her mother, so she could have someone to talk to on this mysterious island. She hears the gentle ruslting of twigs that signal Charlie’s approach and quickly buttons her shirt and moves Aaron to her shoulder, rubbing his back with small circles. She waits for the soft hitch and the wet feeling on her back before she puts him down to rest.
For the first time she wishes she knew her father’s name. Just so that she could be sure she wouldn’t be naming her baby after him.
--------
She knows she isn’t ready, and there are nights when she’s so tired and her nerves are so frayed she wants to leave Aaron in his crib and go for a walk where she can’t hear his cries.
She feels guilty for these thoughts, and doesn’t confess them to anyone, afraid that they will take him away from her. She tries to make up for it during the day, smiling at every coo and giggle.
She’s waiting for him to walk, to wander, to explore. She’s petrified of how far from her he’ll go.
She’s waiting for him to talk, to exclaim, to yell. She’s hurt when she thinks to the future and sees herself being hated by a baby that she can’t stop loving, even though it’s killing her.
She loves and misses her mother. She hates herself.
She holds him tight to her chest at night, tracing his smooth skin with her fingers, stroking where his hair will grow in. She cries silent tears knowing that one day he’ll be too old for her to hold like this. She doesn’t want to let go.
--------
Her hands are across his chest, fingering a hole in his t-shirt. Her hair flutters with every breath of his and she wants to move it so it’s not draped over his face, but she’s afraid of moving her arms. She doesn’t want him to wake up.
She looks across at the small mattress of leaves, staring intently at the silent figure there, counting the number of times that his chest rises and falls, mentally calculating how many days since his last hair cut. She thinks she’ll have to change the hem of his pants again, he’s growing too fast for the ones he’s wearing now.
She whispers to them, her two sleeping boys.
“I’m sorry, but I can never let you go. Either of you.”
Rolling over, she asks for forgiveness from the crashing waves.
Author: lily_268
Character: Claire
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Set after S3.12 Par Avion
Disclaimers: I do no own ABC or LOST
Summary: Flashes of Claire's life
Word Count: 1000
She watches the bird fly away into the blue and she inwardly yells at it, encouraging it to flee. To escape. She watches it until it leaves her patch of sky, taking with it all her hopes. You can only let go of the things you don’t truly care about. If you really love someone, you hold them so tight they can never leave you.
She takes Charlie’s hand.
Another birthday ended with the crash of slammed doors and loose spackle from the ceiling floats down onto her head as she slumps down the doorframe to the scratchy carpet.
Music blasts through her speakers to drown out her mother’s tears. She throws back the sash and opens the window to look at the grey parking lot behind their apartment complex. There is no wind to cool her down and she later slides the window closed because the humid air is stifling.
She knows it’d be different with Dad, she tells herself that he’d understand what it’s like to be fourteen with a mother who works at the local library. He wouldn’t have bought her the Spice World album when all she had hinted towards was a black leather jacket. She fingers the letter from him to her mother, the last one her wrote before he died on the black tarmac. She traces the curves of his writing, memorising the lines. She doesn’t dare ask her mother his name, instead she calls him “My heart”, after the way he signs his letters.
She pushes her long hair out of her eyes, holding it back with one hand while maintaining her grip of steel the toilet. She groans through the churning waves in her stomach, cursing Thomas, seafood and the lack of air conditioning in the shop. She’s been secretly hoping that the test was wrong, and as she hovers over her breakfast, she knows without a doubt that she’s going to give birth.
She’s not ready to be a mother, not when her own is laying in a hospital bed, fed by tubes.
She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and flushes the toilet. She wants to call Thomas but her fingers take over and after the ringing stops she’s realised that she’s on hold at the hospital to talk to her mother’s nurse. She hangs up when she hears the click and cheery greeting.
She sits by the swings and draws on the sidewalk with her chalk, not paying attention to the squeals of delight that float from the other side of the playground. The swirl of colours caused by tiny legs being picked up and twirled in the air catches her attention from the corner of her eye. She stares longer than is polite.
She asks her mother who the man was at the park and if they can play with him next time. She feels left out as she pushes the green beans around her place. Her aunt coughs and stands up to clear the empty plates, sending a glance to her mother. Claire sits and waits, tight-lipped.
Despite being told that she doesn’t have a father anymore, she waits stubbornly for five years before giving up hope. She knows they’d get along. She’s a Sagittarius and those are highly compatible with Taurus. She tries to hear his laugh when she’s in a crowd, piecing bits of his face and personality from the people she sees around her.
She cradles her baby in her arms, aware of how fragile he is. Aware of how scared her own mother felt. She knows her mother will never meet him, she’s probably been taken off life support by now, without Claire there to check up on her. She thinks of the way her aunt’s nose will crinkle when she sees the state of Claire’s nails or how skinny her baby is.
She thinks of it as her baby now. Not some baby that she has on loan. Hers.
She smells his forehead and gently nuzzles him with her nose. She hasn’t thought of a name and she wishes that he was a girl, so she could name the baby after her mother, so she could have someone to talk to on this mysterious island. She hears the gentle ruslting of twigs that signal Charlie’s approach and quickly buttons her shirt and moves Aaron to her shoulder, rubbing his back with small circles. She waits for the soft hitch and the wet feeling on her back before she puts him down to rest.
For the first time she wishes she knew her father’s name. Just so that she could be sure she wouldn’t be naming her baby after him.
She knows she isn’t ready, and there are nights when she’s so tired and her nerves are so frayed she wants to leave Aaron in his crib and go for a walk where she can’t hear his cries.
She feels guilty for these thoughts, and doesn’t confess them to anyone, afraid that they will take him away from her. She tries to make up for it during the day, smiling at every coo and giggle.
She’s waiting for him to walk, to wander, to explore. She’s petrified of how far from her he’ll go.
She’s waiting for him to talk, to exclaim, to yell. She’s hurt when she thinks to the future and sees herself being hated by a baby that she can’t stop loving, even though it’s killing her.
She loves and misses her mother. She hates herself.
She holds him tight to her chest at night, tracing his smooth skin with her fingers, stroking where his hair will grow in. She cries silent tears knowing that one day he’ll be too old for her to hold like this. She doesn’t want to let go.
Her hands are across his chest, fingering a hole in his t-shirt. Her hair flutters with every breath of his and she wants to move it so it’s not draped over his face, but she’s afraid of moving her arms. She doesn’t want him to wake up.
She looks across at the small mattress of leaves, staring intently at the silent figure there, counting the number of times that his chest rises and falls, mentally calculating how many days since his last hair cut. She thinks she’ll have to change the hem of his pants again, he’s growing too fast for the ones he’s wearing now.
She whispers to them, her two sleeping boys.
“I’m sorry, but I can never let you go. Either of you.”
Rolling over, she asks for forgiveness from the crashing waves.
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