La Mer
(A/N:Alright, this came to me in the form of one of those irritatingly tempting muse bunnies that come hopping around at off times. In my case, it was at two in the morning while walking down the street, on the Wednesday Maternetiy Leave was played with a group of friends. Not a good place for a Muse, due to the fact that I had absolutely no paper. I started jumping around asking for a pen, and finally I got one, and wrote the general idea on my arm. Yes, I'm wierd. Don't ask. :) This is assuming that the girl who saved Claire is Danielle's daughter. If she's not, oh well, my mistake. I do not own any of the characters, or the song "La Mer," though I wish I posessed the genius to be able to. Anyway, this is my first fanfiction I am posting here, ever, and my first LOST fic, so please, go easy on me!))
"La mer
Qu'on voit danser le long des golfes clairs
A des reflets d'argent
La mer
Des reflets changeants
Sous la pluie
La mer
Au ciel d'été confond
Ses blancs moutons
Avec les anges si purs
La mer bergere d'azur
Infinie
Voyez
Pres des étangs
Ces grands roseaux mouillés
Voyez
Ces oiseaux blancs
Et ces maisons rouillées
La mer
Les a bercés
Le long des golfes clairs
Et d'une chanson d'amour
La mer
A bercé mon cœur pour la vie" She whispered, her voice barely making it through her lips, words strained and choked by tears. The jungle around her was deathly still, no animal nor plant moving, for it was an unusually still day.No bird call echoedn from the leafy canopy, no boar grunted from the low, leafy foliage. No whisperes from the Others. It was pristine, nothing wrong. Like the day her daughter was born.
'Alex," she whispered, letting the tears flow freely now, unstopped. Her back against the tree, she hugged her knees to her chest, forhead resting on her knees as she rocked back and forth, the figure of greif. They had taken her daughter from her to satisfy whatever needs they had, for whatever sick social expiriment she suspected them of doing. And she had almost caused another woman such greif when she had stolen her son. Driven mad with grief and the agony of seeing a mother happy with her child, while she had known her daughter for only such a breif moment in time, she had knocked her out and taken her son to the fire that was burning, where she had assumed the Others had gathered. She had been wrong, and they had found her, had brought baby Aaron back to his mother. Leaving Danielle Raussau alone again, trusted less than ever by the other survivors. Until the other day, when the truth about what had happened with Claire had surfaced. When Claire had remembered that Danielle had been trying to help her.The day they had gone into the Dharma's other hatch, where Claire had been taken. Kate, Claire, and herself had all gone down in search of, at first, primarily medicine for baby Aaron. However, she had been looking for someoneherself. Her daughter, who would be sixteen by now. A young woman.The thought made the tears come faster, coursing down her face as the sobs racked her body.She had known her daughter for a day. A day and a day alone, for after that day, that one, precious day, she had been taken from her in a flurry of white medical coats and plastic gloves.
"For her safety," they had said. "So she will not become infected. She is safe down here. You must go back to your camp." Oh, how she had struggled against them How she had screamed, and flailed and kicked, holding her crying daughter tightly in her arms. But to no avail. The little girl was taken from her, Danielle had been knocked out and dragged back to answer questions from the few survivors left at camp. The distraught Danielle hadn't answered their questions, leaving them to believe that she had left her daughter. Left her own child for dead. That was the day they had become infected, the day the first half died. The next day the rest left the earth, Danielle being the sole survivor. That was the day she transmitted her message, leaving her greif-and-fear stricken voice on a loop, not to be heard by another human for sixteen years.
"La mer Qu'on voit danser..." She managed to whisper before succombing to the rest of the tears.
They hid in the trees, the weaponry clenched tightly in their hands, fingers on the triggers, eyes aiming, searching for a target. Basically, whatever moved. Her first patrol. Her comrades were higher up than she, their weapons relaxed as they watched one of their younger members. A movement in the bushes, just on the border between the beach and the jungle. Another rustle. Definately something, she decided, shaking hands clasping the weapon tightly, knuckles whitening. Panting, a bark, and an animal moved, it's golden fur glinting in the early morning sunlight of the island, passing right beneath the tree of the ten or so Others that had remained behind, specifically for this patrol.
"Any of the 815 survivors that overstep their lines," their leader has said, "Any at all, shoot them. Leave them for their friends to find."
"Vincent!" It was a female's voice, that was for sure, and more rustling in the brushes proved that the female was coming this way.
'Brace yourself,' she told herself mentally, aiming toward the bushes.
"Vincent!" The woman soon burst through the trees, her dark, curly hair held back in a ponytail, a worried look on her face as she repeated the name.
"Kate!"
A male's voice, as someone else rushed out of the bushes.
"Kate, where are you going?"
"Jack, I'm just looking for the kid's dog. It ran off."
The two standing beneath the tree didn't seem to realize that a gun was being aimed at them, as they soon got into a heated argument over something concerning not going off alone, and "Being able to take care of myself."
She was nearly given away when another of her party jumped from a branch higher up, landing with a cat-like stealth behind her.
"What the hell are you waiting for?" he hissed.
"You heard what the boss said." With that, the male climbed back up the tree, making little noise as he did so.
"Jack, I'll be fine. I just don't want the kid to come back and find his dog's misisng."
"Kate, face it, we don't even know if Walt's alive. The Others could have killed him for all we know. We don't need you getting killed too."
"I don't need your help, Jack. I'll be fine, I can take care of myself. Believe me, I've been doing it for years.
"If you count running from the cops to be taking care of yourself."
"Alex! Do it! NOW!" the hiss came from one of the older Dharma workers, his fake beard secured with the theatrical glue kept in the numerous hatches for when a disguise was needed.
Biting her lip, she lifted the gun to eye level, squinting her eyes to get a better look.If one of the two looked up, they would have a nice view up the barrel of a rifle. Her finger closed on the trigger as she braced herself for the force of the shot, gripping the branch with her knees so that she wouldn't be knocked off when her shot was fired. However, just as she was about to fire, something stopped her. She couldn't shoot these people. They had never done anything to harm her or the rest of them. There was no point in this.
"I can't!" she whispered as she lowered the gun, letting the two walk away unharmed, though still bickering. Once they were safely out of earshot, the rest of her comrades lowered themselves onto the branches beside her, the one with the fake beard punching her in the nose. She let out a small whimper of pain, bringing a hand to her nose in order to wipe away the blood.
"Idiot! You should have gotten them when youhad the chance!" He said, punching her face and then elbowing it. The elbow came at her with such force that, when it hit, she fell from the high limb, plunging to the ground. On the way down, numerous branches scraped at her face, leaving ugly scratches on her arms and face, even her eyelids, for her eyes were screwed shut. Somehow, however, her hands made contact with a branch and she held it, scraping up her palms.
"Pull yourself up, Alex!" a female Dharma worker said, trying to make her way down the tree. Letting go to hang with one hand, Alex managed to pull a nine-millimeter from the holster they supplied everyone with.
"Stop or I'll shoot!" she called up, tears stinging her eyes as she fought to keep them from coming. When they did, the salt burned the scratches on her face, making her wince. Calls of "traitor" and worse names were flung toward her, and she smiled grimly as she looked down. One shot was fired, a warning, just past the older woman's ear. A close shot, though well planned. And then she fell, dropping the now empty handgun, toppling through the space between branch and ground. As she fell, a faint tune echoed in her mind, as if she had heard it before.
"La mer, Qu'on voit danser..."
French lyrics, she thought as she fell. The tune going through her head was beautiful, melancholy and hopeful. She knew she had heard it before. Making contact with the earth, her head hit a tree, and she saw stars behind her eyes. She was knocked into unconsiousness. It was nighttime when she woke. Whispers, shrill and creepy filled her mind, though she felt no fear. It was them, the ones who had raised her. They were plotting. They always whispered when they were plotting. Calmly she stood and walked back into the jungle, rubbing the bloody gash on her head in a daze, stumbling through the brush.
Snap, crack...
"What in the world?" she muttered, glancing down as her foot connected with what looked to be a peice of wire. Then, falling from the sky, came a huge log, spiked with sharpened twigs. Potentially fatal if it gained enough speed. Screaming, she ducked, running. Across a huge pit, made passable only by a fallen tree she ran, through thorns and brambles, earning more scratches as she ran.
Ssssssnap!
Not two meters from her, an explosion dented the earth, filling her nostrils with the acrid smell of smoke. She screamed again, running blindly, eyes stinging. Eventually she stopped, leaning against a tree for support, sobbing, the tears stinging her fresh and newly opened wounds, which made her cry all the harder.
She jerked awake to the sound of a scream, female by the sound of it. And oh, so familiar! Shaking herself, she stood, finding her gun and filling it with the ammunition she had persuaded Sayid to give her. One could never be too careful around here. Standing, she heard her explosion set off...a bit of dynamite stolen from the Black Rock. Only a stick, nothing much. It had been easy to hide from Jack, Kate, and Arzt. Another scream, and then the sound of sobbing. It was the sobbing that made her run. She knew that cry, for it was what her daughter had sounded like so long ago when they had taken her. Running toward the sound with a mother's instinct to protect her child, she ran swiftly, stopping at the edge of her encampment. A young girl sat there, sobs shaking her slender body, her hair tangled with branches and leaves, the thick stuff trying to break free of a red scrunchie. Danielle walked forward, fear and sadness, even nerves gripping her as she took another step, purposely stepping on a dry twig that snapped loudly. The girl jumped, turning toward Danielle, her blue eyes wide. She watched as those eyes flew straight to the gun still held tightly in her hands.
"Please," she pleaded, tears even in her voice.
"Please, do not hurt me! I didn't mean to! Please!"
Danielle held herself back from running to the girl, her hands trembling as she dropped the gun.
"I will not hurt you, child," she said softly.
"What is your name?"
Danielle watched as the girl relaxed when the gun was set down, how the tears had all but stopped, though they welled up in those eyes the colour of the ocean on a sunny day.
"A-Alex. My name is Alex."
'Is...is that...a nickname, by any chance?" Danielle asked, a lump rising in her own voice, and she fought to keep the tears down. The girl nodded, her pretty face so scratched up, still watching the woman with apprehension.
"Alexandra," she said softly.
"Where am I?"
Danille was openly crying now, the tears falling swiftly.
"You are home," she managed to choke out.
Alex looked at Danielle in confusion.
"What?"
She asked, backing up slightly with her hands.
"You are home, Alex. Finally."
"I-I don't know what you're talking about. Who are you? What are you telling me!"
She had stood, seeming over excited, shell shocked and confused, all at once. In reply, Danielle closed her eyes to stem the flow of tears, and in a voice, lovely in it's own, untrained way, sang softly.
"La mer
Qu'on voit danser le long des golfes clairs
A des reflets d'argent
La mer
Des reflets changeants
Sous la pluie
La mer
Au ciel d'été confond
Ses blancs moutons
Avec les anges si purs
La mer bergere d'azur
Infinie
Voyez
Pres des étangs
Ces grands roseaux mouillés
Voyez
Ces oiseaux blancs
Et ces maisons rouillées
La mer
Les a bercés
Le long des golfes clairs
Et d'une chanson d'amour
La mer
A bercé mon cœur pour la vie"
"I know that song," Alex whispered, eyes widened still further.
"I don't know how, but I remember it."
"I sang it to you when you were born," Danielle replied, finally letting her tears come.
"Before they took you from me. It was the first sound you heard."
Still confused, Alex cradled her head in her hands.
"You're my mother, aren't you?" She finally asked, the poor thing looking as if she might faint. Danielle nodded slowly, and was surprised when Alex ran to her, throwing her arms around her in a hug. As if in a daze, Danielle encircled her daughter with her arms, resting her head on the top of the sixteen-year-old's head, her tears slipping into her daughter's hair.
La mer
Qu'on voit danser le long des golfes clairs
A des reflets d'argent
La mer
Des reflets changeants
Sous la pluie
La mer
Au ciel d'été confond
Ses blancs moutons
Avec les anges si purs
La mer bergere d'azur
Infinie
Voyez
Pres des étangs
Ces grands roseaux mouillés
Voyez
Ces oiseaux blancs
Et ces maisons rouillées
La mer
Les a bercés
Le long des golfes clairs
Et d'une chanson d'amour
La mer
A bercé mon cœur pour la vie
Somewhere, beyond the sea
Somwhere, waiting for me,
my lover stands on golden sands...
And watches the ships that go sailing.
On the beach, the survivors were completely oblivious to the fact that, not that far into the jungle behind them, poor, greif-stricken Danielle had been reunited with her daughter after sixteen years. They had no way of knowing, for the survivors of Flight 815 and the French Woman barely spoke. It was an unspoken fact between them. Standing on the sand, under the dark sky, Kate watched the water, arms wrapped around herself as if for protection. She remembered watching ships with crisp white sails with her father as a child, the military man more her father than Wayne ever would be.
"Daddy, look! " An excited, five-year-old Kate pointed out, jumping up and down excitedly in the cool water, her curls bouncing.
"You like those sailboats, Katie?"
"Yes!" she had replied, eyes wide with wonder as she watched the boats glide easily on the smooth water of the calm sea.
There were no boats to watch on the island. It was all dark waves and jungle here.
Somwehere, beyond the sea
She's there, waiting for me.
If I could fly like birds on high...
Then straight to her arms I'd go sailing.
He sat on a log by the jungle, blonde hair ruffled in the slight, cool, night breeze as he watched her wade out into the ocean. She had to be crazy, he thought, to be in the water at night. But then again, anyone would be crazy to be out at night around here.
Anyone would be crazy to want to be here.
Sawyer shook his head slightly as he stood, glancing down at his shoulder, the one the bullet had pierced. He still had a hard time believing that she had sat with him for so many nights as he was delerious with an infection, where odd dreams had floated through his mind. But then again, he had always been addled by bad dreams. Ever since his father had killed his mother, and then killed himself. Ever since he had taken on the name Sawyer, the name of the man who had torn his family apart. He had killed men too, had ripped families apart himself.
And he hated himself for it.
It's far, beyond a star;
it's near beyond the moon!
I know beyond a doubt
My heart will lead me there soon.
Insomnia was never a very pleasant thing. It kept people up all night, making them drowsy the next morning. It was a working man's worst nightmare, and a survivor's worst fear. It would leave one drowsy when they needed to be alert. Jack supposed he had become too dependent on the sleeping pills he had used when his shift changed at work.
He regretted that now, after a few nights of little to no sleep.
This night was in the second category. He assumed it was well past two in the morning, and here he was, still awake beneath the blue tarp that made up the tents used by the survivors. He was caught up in the stress of being the island's only doctor, of being the unapointed leader, along with Locke.
That was the thing with Jack. He worried too much.
All four of those who had known real civilization silently promised that, should they ever get off of this island, they would never travel, at least by plane, again.
We'll meet beyond the shore,
We'll kiss just as before,
Happy we'll be beyond the sea,
And never again I'll go sailing.