Title: The Night Grows Pale
Pairing: Kate/Juliet
Rating: light R
Warning: spoilers for The Incident
Word Count: 833
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine. The title isn't, either.
A/N: Written for the alphabet meme, for lenina20 who requested Kiss (Juliet/Kate). Also for un_love_you: You remind me of someone.
Nominated at lost_fic_awards, best slash fic, June 2009



Her fingers flutter softly against the insides of her thighs, her hair and lips and tongue tickling her lower stomach. She squirms, can't suppress a quiet giggle, and it makes Juliet laugh, her open mouth puffing wet, hot breath into her bellybutton before she lifts her head to look at her, sweaty, blonde curls sticking to her cheeks and forehead.

She pulls her up until they lie chest to chest, lips and tongues fighting tentatively, frantically, peaked nipples rubbing against skin, slowly, their fingers entwined. Her stomach rumbles, and Juliet pulls back from the kiss, laughing again, the quiet, mild sound vibrating through their bodies. She can feel a warm blush creeping up her neck and cheeks, and she smiles, murmuring, “Sorry.”

“Hungry?” She shakes her head, and Juliet whispers, “Liar.”

--

Aaron stays over at a classmate's house, and Juliet stands at the kitchen counter, pale, smooth, naked skin glowing under the warm yellow light of the hanging lamp.

She asks, “So? What are we going to make for dinner?” Juliet turns her head, one corner of her mouth twitching, reaching out her hand, fluting, “It's taco night, darling.”

She doesn't falter, doesn't press her lips together, doesn't lift an eyebrow, “Wow, you read that in the files, too? They must have been pretty detailed.”

Juliet's smile widens, her eyes glistening playfully, dangerously, as she mouths a silent no.

--

She tells Cassidy on the phone, “No, don't come up.”

Two persons have her number. Cassidy is the only one who calls, from time to time, the one who helped her leave the States. She says, “I'm worried about you,” and, “I have to be careful. They are still looking for you.”

She almost rolls her eyes when she thinks about it. Ten years probation and confined to the state, and she gets on that plane to find the mother of her child, ending up in the Seventies trying to blow up the stupid island, and of course it doesn't work, and of course she doesn't open her eyes in Los Angeles, handcuffed, the captive of a man with a shrapnel in his body. She is a fugitive again nevertheless, Claire still missing, Juliet shattered on the bottom of the hatch.

Clementine tells her, “We miss you, Auntie Kate.” Cassidy's voice is calm, “Take care.”

Juliet kisses her, swallows her moan, buries two fingers inside her, assures, “They won't find you.”

--

Juliet's tongue traces her ear, and she shudders.

“Are you with them, too?”

Juliet looks at her, shakes her head softly, and her confused smile is so obviously fake that she can't help but laugh. She almost says it again then, This is crazy. She gulps it down; it's useless, meaningless, worn out.

“Why would I be?”

The hand on her chin slides down to lie against her neck, strong and threatening and soothing. Her own fingers twitch, but the gun in her drawer is long gone, waiting, sleeping in the darkest corner of her wardrobe. Juliet's mouth is on hers again, her icy-blue eyes open, and she whispers against her lips, ”And how should that be possible anyway? I'm right here.”

--

She sucks on Juliet's bottom lip, and she tastes stale and sour, the faint traces of alcohol and tears and vomit hiding under her tongue. It doesn't make her feel sick, not anymore, but she gasps, pulls back. Her own voice sounds bitterer than expected, “How is Jack?”

Juliet rolls off of her, sighs, touches her hand. She looks tired and sad and irritated, “Don't do this, Kate.”

--

Sometimes, seldom, she tastes like cigarettes and guilt and imaginary fish biscuits.

--

It haunts her nightmares, the rattling of the metal chain and the ringing of the telephone and Sawyer's voice, that first and last time - perhaps he doesn't dare to call her again - and the shrill, frightening sound of the doorbell two hours later, Juliet, pale, beautiful, breathing Juliet on her threshold, unharmed and ominous, Aaron in her arms.

When she wakes up, shaking, she is there, her lips breathing comfort across her heated skin.

She learns quickly that “Why won't you leave me?” doesn't work, no pleading and no crying and no “I'm sorry.” Soft kisses say, “It's okay. Don't run, Katie.”

--

There are no scars on Juliet's body except one, and she traces it with her fingertips. She asks, “What does it mean?” What the hell is going on? remains unsaid, taints the air around them.

Juliet looks at her, her smile always gracious and forgiving and wistful, “I don't know.”

She shrugs and leans down to kiss the mark on her lower back. Juliet trembles under her touch.

--

Juliet whispers it into the night, over and over again, glittering tears on her cheeks, “We are free.” Sometimes her voice wavers, her shaking fingers too tight, squeezing, bruising.

She puts one arm around her and presses her lips to her neck. The strong pulse under her tongue still frightens her.