A/N: So, perhaps people may remember Kirsten and Steve, an engaged couple who Claire found the wedding planner of and said a few words about at the cremation of crash victims, way back in the simple days of season one. Well, I was watching and it hit me- here's a couple that no one knows anything of. They could have been anyone of huge or tiny importance, but they were people. So, here's my take on the final moments of this tragic couple that are but a piece of wool on the gargantuan tapestry that is Lost! xD



One of Kirsten's most distinctive features, admittedly, is her scream. It's loud and ridiculous and warbling- he honestly can't remember how many times his apologized for spilling that coffee on her. It was the first thing he ever noticed about her- and probably the first thing he fell in love with.

It's this scream that earned her the nickname, a nickname his friends would tease him mercilessly for creating in the next two years.

You gooey sap, Steve!

None of them have ever felt the way he does when he's with her, so he smiles and says nothing.


No one knows this, but they don't pass away instantly.

There's darkness and noises and patches of sunlight in the fuselage wreck, and she can feel his weight and that of the scrap metal upon her. She can't see it, but her leg and shoulder are the colour of roses he once handed her. Laboured breath in her ear. Screams and noise from everywhere but in their little nook.

"Steve?" The very word feels like being ground down with a lead brick.

A beat of silence. "... Trumpet?"

"Stay with me." He doesn't know if she understands that he's really here, dying too, faster by the second, or if she means something else, too vague and exhausted to elaborate. But the plea is small, afraid, and the answer leaves her to press her damp face into his shoulder and die little by little.

"Yeah. Yeah, I will."


They'll find their bodies before the funeral. Before they burn them and the blonde girl (the one who watched them tussle over bags in the terminal playfully; saw them sleeping, her head on his, on her way to the bathroom) reads impersonal information about people she did not know.

They find their bodies curled around each other, like broken marionettes with entangled strings.

He was going to hire a trumpet player for the wedding. It would have been fitting, now.

The ocean does its best to compete.