Daley finds her bed blindly, tripping almost over carpet. The mattress sinks underneath her, actually bends to fit her frame, welcomes her. Plush sheets and warm quilt both smell as amazing as they feel -- inviting, placating. And Daley should shift instantly to sleep, because she's home and it's a miracle and it seems like she's been wide awake for twenty-eight whole days, and now, she can rest, at peace.
She wakes up at three-fifteen, sweating, from a dream about lizards and oysters, wild pigs and flares, confused when she's comfortable and can't hear the beat of the ocean on the shore.
Melissa has been sitting in her kitchen for a while now, leaning on the counter, head propped on her crossed arms. A glass of water sits in front of her, sweating under her inspection. By now, all the ice cubes have melted and it's just water, so clear she can see through it, a swelled vision of her kitchen, which smells like cleaner and cassarole all at the same time, both left over from her welcome home dinner and no, baby, i'm washing up for you.
She just can't shake the feeling that something is wrong, that water doesn't come from a tap and should be boiled first. She shakes the faulty logic, ends her inner debate, and picks up the glass. It's still cold and she's mesmorized, convinces herself to take the first sip. And it doesn't sting of salt and it's free of tiny sand grains and it's just water, water as she's always known it, but she still finds it hard to swallow.
Taylor sighs as the water hits her shoulders, releasing the breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The water is almost too hot, scalding her back and making her skull tingle and she just wants to melt down the drain. To become one with the vanilla shampoo and flowery body wash, to be absorbed by the steam and stay forever in this state of relaxation.
And then she starts scrubbing, first with her loofa, because she can feel the sand. It's her sixth shower since she's been home, yet she still swears it's everywhere: in between strands of her hair, buried in the curves of her limbs, deep in the dip of her collarbones and earlobes and wedged in between her toes. It's all-encompassing, unshakable, and she'll stand there til the water goes cold, having moved to a washcloth and finally, her fingernails.
Eric has been pacing, remote in hand. He flips it over a couple times, staring at its buttons, tempted and terrified. Overcome with a surge of curiousity, he settles on the couch and with a minor tremble, presses the power button. And it clicks to life, instantly too loud and too bright and strange, alien. He turns it down and sinks back, almost confused with a strange burning in his stomach.
He's been waiting twenty eight days for this and it's lackluster. He finds himself unable to focus, frustrated, desettled. It's television all right, but it pales in comparison to storms and wild pigs and smoke signals and he hates to admit it. He doesn't really want to be back on the island: starving and sleep-deprived, hot and dirty, but he sure as hell doesn't want to be here, parked in front of this obnoxious television set.
Nathan palms the basketball gingerly, not quite sure what he's supposed to do. It feels solid between his hands, a constant that won't be ripped from him by the environment. It's heavier than he's remembered, round, and in some strange way, clean. It's perfect, with evenly spaced ridges and lines, a name brand to entice consumers. And still its alien, as he solidifies his stance and bends his knees you know how to do this, Nathan. He's well-practiced and done it a million times before, puts his arms up and in one fluid motion, shoots the ball.
There is a metallic thud as it hits the rim, bounces in. The shot was ugly but good enough, and the ball bounces down his driveway and he watches it as it continues his path straight into the street. He thinks about Newton's laws and starts to chase it: simple physics, simple simple basketball. And Nathan feels like he's all of eight years old, chasing a basketball of all trivial things, reciting school lessons like a good boy.
Jackson has a sentiment from Daley echoing in his head as he stares down his burger. She'd told him, and well, all the others, that their diets had been so modified by their time on the island that they shouldn't expect to bounce right back into eating whatever they wished. And Jackson could imagine it now: Daley will have buried herself in books, drawing up elaborate eating plans that she and Melissa will both stick strictly to. Nathan will transistion light, knowing his body and his limits, while Eric will only risk being sick on ice cream or cookies. And Taylor, well, Taylor will probably just go back to skipping meals, a practice she probably frequented before their tenure to keep up her appearance.
And Jackson, oh, Jackson is face to face with a quarter pounder. Melting cheese droops over the side, lettuce squarely sticks out underneath the steaming brown bun. And the smell, oh my God, the smell: it's bizarre and amazing and Jackson's hands are itching. He never wants to see a coconut again but rather sink his teeth straight into the warm, juicy burger -- and so, he does.
Chewing mechanically, grimacing all the while, as his waiter watches -- an old man, whose seen him come in to order the exact same meal three nights in the last week. The first time, the waiter had cleaned up Jackson's vomit from the bathroom floor after he scarfed the mess down; the second, he had watched Jackson deconstruct the various pieces of the burger, picking it apart, making a horrible mess to not eat a bite; now, he watches Jackson chew slowly, deliberately, and doesn't question it.
post notes: um, hi. it has been a while since i wrote 'fic (or, well, anything) and i'm immensely surprised it was for this fandom. :) anyway, this wasn't my best, obviously, but i am pleased with it; they start pretty short and ended longer, i don't really know. um, voice is kindof strange, this whole thing is kindof strange, i just am curious about what happens when you come home from that. and i never saw the whole rescue episode, so if i have some horrendous discontinunity, i apologize. i also apologize for no lex. or spelling errors. i would really, truly, epically adore reviews. considering it feels like years since i've gotten feedback. oh, yeah, it kindof has. ha.