Title: Random Bursts of Creativity
Author: Me. :)
Summary: Shannon, Kate, and Claire discover a romance novel and discover they have a certain talent with the pen...
Pairings: Charlie/Claire, Jack/Kate, Shannon/Sayid, implied Kate/Sawyer and Shannon/Boone
Rating: PG-13. Definite sexual innuendos in this one, baby. ;)
Disclaimer: Not mine, lovelies! This is just a silly little bit of fluff I wrote at 3 am... Yes, I know! :) Forgive any typos!
Spoilers: I guess up through Special. I hint. :)
Uhhh... it's really, really late. I blame that!
Random Bursts of Creativity
He was dangerous and that was why he intrigued her. She found that she could sit for hours in the sun, doing nothing but watching him. She thought sometimes he was oblivious to the power he held over her; thought he couldn't possibly know that she would sell her soul for one quick flash of dark skin, glowing sensually in the sun. The way she responded to him couldn't be healthy. She was bound to suffer from a heart attack if it kept speeding up as it did whenever he glanced in her direction, black eyes smoldering with a hidden promise.
It was all Shannon's fault, really. If she had bothered to actually discover she liked reading before getting on that damned plane, she wouldn't be in this mess. As it was, she had one cheap overly smutty romance book she'd picked up at the terminal. Anything to keep Boone and his lectures at bay.
She had read it at least a dozen times in the last two months. She had memorized the corny plot line; could recite the leading lady's lines off the top of her head. She had accidentally started dreaming weird twisted dreams where she was a shipwrecked maiden, washed up onto some desolate island in the middle of the ocean.
She hated waking up and finding it true, even if her bosom didn't heave quite like it did in her dreams or entice anybody except maybe her perverted brother. That and Shannon would never be caught dead in period costume.
She didn't mean to fall in love with him. It had just happened. She thought sometimes that circumstance was working against her. Clearly, no woman alive would be able to resist his heroic charm. She was used to life on the run. If there was one thing she knew, it was how to look out for herself. Having somebody else harbour an interest in her was almost beyond comprehension but it was there all the same. He had countless people to save but he was choosing her and she wasn't strong enough to resist.
Kate had caught on next. She hadn't gone over to talk to Shannon about romance books. She had gone over to discuss the maps she'd been translating for Sayid but there it had been, laying out beside her on the towel she was resting on. Kate had been curious. She'd picked it up; had read a little. Shannon had fleetingly said it wasn't a bad read, if you had absolutely nothing else to do.
Kate did have other things to do but, when Shannon offered to lend it to her, she went home with it all the same.
She was having a love affair with his hands. He had such long tapered fingers; such lean hands. Sometimes she thought her attraction lay in the fact that the beauty ended there. They were nervous hands, always flitting to and fro as though they couldn't kept up with his train of thought. His nails were bitten to the quick and he was constantly tapping at something. But his hands were unique, decorated in a way that was all his own. Around each finger, he wrapped tape, on which he scrawled short words that reflected his mood. She waited with bittersweet anticipation for his fingers to spell her name.
Giving it to Claire had been an obvious choice. She was the one with the fussy baby; with the unending nights. Eyes that were heavy with lack of sleep had lit up upon seeing the cover of the now worn book. She had taken it from Kate with a shy smile and had devoured it in half an afternoon.
It was then that their plan had been born. It hadn't come about directly. They had merely been discussing the book's plot and acting out the characters with a bored excitement. It was the only reading material any of them had found, short of a few waterlogged magazines and Boone's novels.
Writing their own had seemed like a good idea. An afternoon had been spent finding paper and pens and then they were done for. Their very own "fiction" was born.
Sometimes, he brought her things. They were never very large items or of the monetary value she was used to, but somehow they were more special. His gifts came from the heart and she treasured them because of it; because they meant that he wasn't as indifferent to her as she had originally thought.
He had requested her help, unlike anybody else she knew. She had always been treated as useless; as nothing more than a pretty object to stare at. He didn't stare at her. When his eyes found her face, she had the most unsettling feeling of really being seen.
Jack and Charlie found it sitting by a log on the fire.
It was an inconspicuous thing to find: nothing more than a stack of paper written in three distinct styles of handwriting and held together by an elastic band almost stretched to the breaking point. The two men eyed it for awhile, warily, before Jack spoke.
"Whose do you think it is?" he asked, glancing around them. They were alone, save for Sayid, who was still pouring over Danielle's maps silently, a few feet away.
"I don't know," Charlie replied, honestly, "The writing looks pretty girly though, don't you think? Do you suppose we should..." Arching an eyebrow, he mimed reading it.
Jack shook his head, obviously uncomfortable with the idea. "No... no, I think we should leave it. It could be anybody's, right? It would be really damn awkward if somebody caught us with it and just... no."
"No," Charlie echoed, shifting his weight, "It's likely very private." A pause. "Unless the island wants us to read it."
"Yeah! I mean, don't you listen to Locke? It's always giving things and taking things. It's a real needy bitch, right? So what if the island left it here for us to find? Maybe it's an omen."
"An omen," Jack repeated, warming to the idea, "Yeah. It could be that. And even if it isn't, I don't think it would hurt if we just took a quick little peek and see whose it is. So we can return it."
"Yeah. Return it."
The two men eyed each other up for a minute and then they were both off, scrambling to get to it first. Charlie won, dodging Jack at the last second, and moved to sit down. Jack joined him, peering over his shoulder. They wasted no time in their perusal or their gasps of surprise.
"Is this what I think...?"
"This can't be about...?"
Charlie snatched at it, moving it closer, and cleared his throat. "'Images of his taped fingers danced through her mind at the most inappropriate times. She imagined him cradling her face before moving lower, calloused fingers sliding over the bodice of her dress in a lover's caress.' Bloody hell, this isn't half bad! Who do you think wrote this?"
Jack gave Charlie a look that stated just how obvious he thought the answer to that was. While Charlie was grinning at that, he grabbed it back and flipped a few pages ahead. What he saw made him laugh.
"Charlie, listen to this. 'He strolled by her, the top button of his shirt undone. She hated that he only ever undid the one, as though he knew what it did to leave her desiring what was hidden. She wanted nothing more than to jump forward and rip it open all the way. She wanted to discover his scars; to find the heart of the soldier she couldn't help falling for.' Sayid!" he called, "You might want to come take a look at this."
His face haunted her in sleep. She knew she should envision somebody else, somebody with biting wit and acidic lines, but that knowledge did nothing to change the fact that he was there whenever she closed her eyes. She was afraid she'd missed her chance with him but he was always there, all the same. He had brought her seeds for her garden and she took it as a sign, despite her better judgement.
Shannon was almost asleep when she realized somebody was standing over her. Instincts working on overtime, she shot up, almost cracking her head on Sayid's hip. She tried to recover; tried to be cool about it, but she thought she might have blushed and that ridiculous smile she hated was back.
"Hi," she said.
"Hello, Shannon," he replied.
Shading her eyes, she noticed for the first time that the top button of his shirt was undone. She frowned, confused, and arched her neck to look up at him. He met her gaze and, slowly, undid the second button.
At night, he sung to her baby. She would hover nearby and listen, waiting for the moment when he would look up and their eyes would lock. She could get lost in his gaze; in the maddeningly blue depths. She thought it might have been wrong to lust after somebody when they were playing father but she didn't care. Seeing him with her child did nothing but fuel the fires smouldering deep within her.
When Kate worked in the garden she had planted with Sun, she always spent extra time with the plants Jack had helped her with. Sometimes she gave them a little extra water. Always she made sure that there were no strange weeds growing up around them. The plants had become her redemption, something good she could contribute without feeling too selfish.
Behind her, a twig snapped and she jerked around, always ready. Jack stood behind her, seemingly shorter due to the height of the grasses around him. He was smiling at her, an odd goofy sort of grin, and all she could do was smile back.
After what seemed like forever, he came and crouched down beside her. His hand found hers in the dirt and she watched as his fingers entwined with hers.
"Kate," he whispered near her ear, "it's not too late."
The miracle of it all, she decided, was that he loved her back.
Claire wasn't wearing a dress but Charlie's hands could work magic over almost any garment. Or under. Or while removing it.
Claire knew that the jungle was loud at night but all she could hear was the breathy little sighs escaping her throat. All she knew- all she needed to know- was that Charlie's voice shook when he said he loved her.