Perjurers
Title: Perjurers
Author: Half-a-second
Fandom: Lost
Rating: R
Pairing: Goodwin/Alex
Warning: May to December (older man, younger girl)
Summary: Somebody said that man had three loves, three women in his life. I don't remember what he said about the first and second but the third – the last – showed up, he said, just before the death. The last love is more inevitable than Grim, than any omens because it is too strong and painful. And when it possesses the whole your essence you feel almost physically that your time is over ©
Disclaimer: I don't owe Lost. I don't owe summary and epigraph. They belong to James Potter. They are taken from the fic "She smiles". I want to owe Goodwin but who cares?))
Author's Note: Fic devoted to Mafalda. As a present for Ficathon. I love you. I'll love you even more if you don't beat me for this freakish thing.
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I'm looking with a sinking heart and I'm happy because today is an awful day – I became aware of the last love.
Somebody said that man had three loves, three women in his life. I don't remember what he said about the first and second but the third – the last – showed up, he said, just before the death. The last love can't be mixed up with something else because it attends you to the last journey. The last love is more inevitable than Grim, than any omens because it is too strong and painful and when it possesses the whole your essence you feel almost physically that your time is over
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Sometimes at night she wakes up with the scream. Agonizing, soring throat, cutting nerves with the carving knife. Her eyes are wide open, tears are rolling down cheeks, strands stick to neck trying to throttle. She gasps, gulps the air with tiny sips.
In those nights she more than ever wants to hide her wet with tears face into his shoulder and feel his wide palm on her back calming her down. His movements are strong, reliable, rather rude but invariably tender. She always feels some touch of tenderness near him.
She have always surprised why this man loved her. She was too little, stupid, too inexperienced.
But there is no one near her in such nights. Nobody can say her that while tossing and sobbing in her dreams she calls for Goodwin.
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I didn't remember when she had become my delusion. My pain, my delight. My happiness, my agony. My obsession.
Alex, my little girl…
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She never asked about who her parents were. Real parents. Not Juliet and Ben.
Juliet for some reason got inspired to this girl with the strange interest. She loved to romp with her. Wanted to sculpture pottery doll, plait straw toy. Gutta-percha ballerina. Obedient, diligent. Like she was.
But she didn't manage it.
Ben has always taken everything under his control. By little room with a plenty of screens, by his personal observation, by scrupulous studying people's souls. Ben has almost never been wrong. Almost never.
He looked narrowly at children growing up on their island. Dharma's kids. Future scientists, researchers. Kids whom he had to hand down the island sooner or later. He turned them to the right direction, encouraged, pulled by the invisible threads tied to little hands and legs. And he was sure of them. But there was just one snag. Transient error in system, black sheep, vulnerable part.
Ben has always taken everything under his control but he never understood how he could allow that. How he managed to miss the love born in the secret from everyone. How he let them fall in love with each other. Alex and Goodwin. Not Tristan and Isolda, not Bonny and Clyde, not Odyssey and Penelope. But Humbert and Lolita.
Probably it's the only his mistake. But it cost Goodwin's love.
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It must be admitted that I have always got annoyed with kids. Squeaky creatures, little indefatigable nightmares, pissing monsters, creating chaos all around.
But she was different.
I remember the moment she first appeared…
According to the law of genre there was rainy day. "Rainy day" in jungles was downpour crossing the sky with grey flourishes, beating to the face by trenchant floods; it was squally wind knocking off feet; it was semi-darkness in broad daylight.
Tom carried her in his hands. Tiny lump packaged into some rags looked almost irreally little in comparison with a huge Tom's belly.
I was the first to run up to the group.
"Goodwin, hold her for some time please. I'll tie up my tie."
He poked me the roll. I couldn't handle with kids. I delivered her awkwardly. She wasn't crying, wasn't jerking hands. She was just devouring me with her huge blue eyes. Drilling my brain, holing my soul. Strange feeling. I've remembered it for a long time.
"How are you holding the kid? Give her to me right now." This was Juliet.
Gradually the crowd of islanders gathered round our group. Everyone was waiting for Ben. Nobody knew what to do with the baby. Islanders were examining the girl – kids were rarity among us. Even then she was unintentionally the center of universe. At least mine universe.
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She didn't understand why she should be friends with Karl. He read too much Walter Scott, was too pimply and emaciated, besides he was interested in plants. Botanist – what could be more boring?
How much better was Goodwin.
It was always a mystery for her what he did in his personal lab. And mysteries have always attracted her.
She tried to climb in the window in his lab for so many times. Is was at a height of three meters and she just tore off her nails and split knees to blood.
She tried to ask Ethan. He was the doctor and there were no mysteries. He wasn't surrounded with enigmatic halo. The term "medical secret" applied to the conversations with patients either. That's why she could talk with him about everything. But Ethan just smiled – with only his lips, with stark stare as he always did – and said that it was not her business.
It roused her curiosity and exhausted her patience. Her patience wasn't the best thing to play with.
Gradually her attempts to unriddle Goodwin became her hobby.
TBC