Lost Fic: Asking the Wrong Questions
Nov. 12th, 2004 10:09 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
apocalypsosLost futurefic, Claire/Charlie. (Surprise, surprise. ;))
*****
Tell people you practically live on a tour bus, and all people want to ask you about is what it was like being born on a desert island.
You usually don't answer, because "I was three when we got rescued, dumbass" isn't exactly polite and there's only so much bullshit Mom will let you get away with before she butts in and corrects you. You can't tell people you and Dad hunted boars in loincloths with knives between your teeth, because Mr. Locke did most if not all of the hunting and mentioning Dad in a loincloth will probably drive the fangirls into a frenzy, even at Dad's age.
Not that it wouldn't be fun to watch, of course. Mom always gets a kick out of it, in any event. You're pretty sure it's the flash of stark raving terror that flickers in his eyes when the girls fawn all over him and the looks he darts in Mom's direction that amuse the hell out of her.
Tell people your dad fronts a world-famous rock band, and all they want to ask about if whether the rumor that your middle name is Gilligan is true.
It's not -- it's Hurley after Dad's best friend on the island -- but you've gotten used to it by now. You force a smile when reporters ask you if you were the ring bearer at the wedding on the beach and summon up a laugh at Blue Lagoon jokes. You put up with people who argue Dad only got famous off the rescue, and usually restrain yourself from pointing out that it's been twelve years since you all got off the island and his career's been carrying on. Maybe he's just talented, you point out to one kid in a music class at the school you got to when you're not on the tour bus with Mom and Dad and Sara, and he rolls his eyes as if you can actually live off notoriety for over a decade.
Sara's more vocal about it than you are, if you consider fights to be more vocal. She's a daddy's girl and it shows, because the first thing anyone gets when they say anything disparaging about Dad is a small fist directly into the gut.
For twelve, she punches like a bloody prizefighter, and on the rare occasions when you argue, she's gotten in a blow or two.
Tell some people about your spitfire of a little sister, and they'll be snotty enough to add, "Well, she's only your half-sister, isn't she?"
Times like that, you think of siccing Sara on them.
One day when you were thirteen and home alone, the phone rang. You answered it, and the guy on the other end greeted you with, "Hey, Andy. I'm your dad."
You slammed the phone down on the receiver, and wished he was at the front door so you could have slammed the door in his face.
Jesus, Mom and Dad don't even call you Andy. You hate that.
Tell people your name is Andrew Pace, and all they want to hear about is the love story.
You have no idea what kind of love story they expect to get out of a fifteen-year-old boy, but you've gotten a lot of practice in the last few years. Mom and Dad met on the island. They fell in love and got married (by that Southern guy, of all people, the one who signed away the movie rights -- Mom said he'd made some crack about being ordained over the Internet or something) and here you all are years later.
You're tempted to blurt out the little details People never bothers to mention. The way the two of them will lie on the couch watching TV and spoon-feeding each other peanut butter until you and Sara roll your eyes and head up to bed. The looks they give each other when they dance. The occasional glance Dad gives Mom at concerts during that one song he wrote about her, and the way it always makes her smile and cry.
Tell people your parents are just, you know, your parents, and that you don't think it's all that romantic, and nobody ever believes you.
Then again, you've never been a very good liar. Not about that, at least.
*****
Tell people you practically live on a tour bus, and all people want to ask you about is what it was like being born on a desert island.
You usually don't answer, because "I was three when we got rescued, dumbass" isn't exactly polite and there's only so much bullshit Mom will let you get away with before she butts in and corrects you. You can't tell people you and Dad hunted boars in loincloths with knives between your teeth, because Mr. Locke did most if not all of the hunting and mentioning Dad in a loincloth will probably drive the fangirls into a frenzy, even at Dad's age.
Not that it wouldn't be fun to watch, of course. Mom always gets a kick out of it, in any event. You're pretty sure it's the flash of stark raving terror that flickers in his eyes when the girls fawn all over him and the looks he darts in Mom's direction that amuse the hell out of her.
Tell people your dad fronts a world-famous rock band, and all they want to ask about if whether the rumor that your middle name is Gilligan is true.
It's not -- it's Hurley after Dad's best friend on the island -- but you've gotten used to it by now. You force a smile when reporters ask you if you were the ring bearer at the wedding on the beach and summon up a laugh at Blue Lagoon jokes. You put up with people who argue Dad only got famous off the rescue, and usually restrain yourself from pointing out that it's been twelve years since you all got off the island and his career's been carrying on. Maybe he's just talented, you point out to one kid in a music class at the school you got to when you're not on the tour bus with Mom and Dad and Sara, and he rolls his eyes as if you can actually live off notoriety for over a decade.
Sara's more vocal about it than you are, if you consider fights to be more vocal. She's a daddy's girl and it shows, because the first thing anyone gets when they say anything disparaging about Dad is a small fist directly into the gut.
For twelve, she punches like a bloody prizefighter, and on the rare occasions when you argue, she's gotten in a blow or two.
Tell some people about your spitfire of a little sister, and they'll be snotty enough to add, "Well, she's only your half-sister, isn't she?"
Times like that, you think of siccing Sara on them.
One day when you were thirteen and home alone, the phone rang. You answered it, and the guy on the other end greeted you with, "Hey, Andy. I'm your dad."
You slammed the phone down on the receiver, and wished he was at the front door so you could have slammed the door in his face.
Jesus, Mom and Dad don't even call you Andy. You hate that.
Tell people your name is Andrew Pace, and all they want to hear about is the love story.
You have no idea what kind of love story they expect to get out of a fifteen-year-old boy, but you've gotten a lot of practice in the last few years. Mom and Dad met on the island. They fell in love and got married (by that Southern guy, of all people, the one who signed away the movie rights -- Mom said he'd made some crack about being ordained over the Internet or something) and here you all are years later.
You're tempted to blurt out the little details People never bothers to mention. The way the two of them will lie on the couch watching TV and spoon-feeding each other peanut butter until you and Sara roll your eyes and head up to bed. The looks they give each other when they dance. The occasional glance Dad gives Mom at concerts during that one song he wrote about her, and the way it always makes her smile and cry.
Tell people your parents are just, you know, your parents, and that you don't think it's all that romantic, and nobody ever believes you.
Then again, you've never been a very good liar. Not about that, at least.
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no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 07:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 07:53 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 07:59 am (UTC)It is my opinion that I am desperately in love with you. And your fic. Actually, mostly your fic. And your pairing lists... err ... I'll just stop there.
Indeed, it is my most sincere wish that we get married. While wearing lobster costumes. Just because lobster costumes are fun.
I await your reply.
And more fic.no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 08:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 08:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 08:03 am (UTC)It's always best to start a new fandom with right foot forward, isn't it? This is wonderful.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 08:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 08:26 am (UTC)Thattis all.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 08:33 am (UTC)Absolutely fabulous.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 08:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 08:35 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 08:55 am (UTC)Damn, I really am going to have to start watching this show, aren't I?
no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 08:55 am (UTC)Dee-lish!
no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 09:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 10:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 10:43 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 12:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 12:20 pm (UTC)(My dad got ordained over the internet. He's done three weddings so far, I think.)
no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 02:27 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 03:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 03:58 pm (UTC)Love,
Cindy
no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 04:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-12 08:11 pm (UTC)And the peanut butter. You know you're writing well when you make someone forget about the sexual undertones of Dominic sucking his finger and only see the romantic, sappy, and symbolic side of them eating peanut butter together.
Kudos! Keep writing drabbles like this? Please?
no subject
Date: 2004-11-14 03:36 pm (UTC)...*tries to express self in English*
gah.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-14 04:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-11-29 11:37 am (UTC)Charlie and Claire are so cute, and this story upped the cute ante. :-)
no subject
Date: 2005-01-25 04:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-05-24 06:09 pm (UTC)