It's Wednesday, and Wednesday Briefs is back with the LOST flavored goodness you may or may not be reading! I took a week off to figure out what direction the story is going in, so hopefully it'll really start moving along in these upcoming weeks! This week, Daniel and Desmond are unknowingly drawing closer to each other...
Constants and Variables (Part 4/?): LOST, Desmond Hume-centric, PG-13, prompt - "Sometimes I feel like I'm trapped in time..."
Canon note: Takes place during season five of LOST, albeit an AU take on said events in episode six, "316". It's actually ridiculously AU because it fucks with two major plot points, one involving Desmond and one involving Daniel, both of which will become evident as soon as the story kicks into gear. Spoilers for the rest of season five and events in season six are within. Eventual Desmond/Daniel and implied Juliet/Sawyer & Jack/Kate. Like the previous chapter, this one runs concurrent with the events of "Whatever Happened, Happened".
At this moment, Jack is taking a shower and trying to wash off the dirt of a day of guilt. Miles is explaining time travel—again—to Hurley over a friendly game of dominoes. A young Ben Linus is at death's door without much hope of recovery, Juliet is pissed at the man she once respected and trusted with her own life, and Kate and Sawyer are walking through the jungle, on their way to make things right.
And in the dark waves of the sea, a Dharma Initiative submarine is getting ready to return to the island with its unlikely cargo: a skinny, nervous young man in an sloppily worn buttoned shirt and slacks who thinks he has solved everyone's problems. In his notebook, amid scribbled calculations and theorems, is a note to himself, slightly stained with age and coffee, that says if anything goes wrong, Desmond Hume will be my constant. The my is underlined for importance's sake.
The last time he saw Desmond Hume, the man wore a protective biohazard suit that looked as though it had been preserved since the seventies. He'd also been pointing a gun at him with an intent to shoot, probably to kill. In Desmond's defense, it was the first time they'd ever met. No phone calls, no confused mice in a maze, no freighters or college quads or anything that could ever connect the two men.
Desmond is one of the more prominent faces currently swirling around in Daniel's head, accompanied by visions of Charlotte and Eloise and the people he left behind at the Dharma camp on the island.
At least, Faraday thinks, Hume is far away from the island and in another time, safe from the current situation. He would hate for the other man to be around when the bomb drops.
Thirty years and spare change from now, Desmond Hume is talking to someone who can't talk back. It's not for lack of trying but because the boy has not developed the correct motor skills to make words yet.
It's late at night and Desmond is watching the waves wash up against the hull of Penny's boat, currently in dock. In his arms is baby Charlie, who's on his way to being lulled to sleep for the rest of the evening.
"I'll be back soon, Charlie. I promise." Desmond lays the gentlest of kisses upon Charlie's brow. "I won't be leaving you and your mum behind for long. Not again."
After three years lost to a hatch and having his body operate as a ping-pong ball between past and future, Desmond is reluctant to go back into the madness again. He feels as though he's become trapped in the notion of time that Daniel had described to him once, a thread in a string constantly reweaving itself against outside influence. One last time, he has to go back. One last time—and then Desmond Hume could finally be free.
Charlie burbles in response. He curls his fingers around a lock of Desmond's long hair before settling into sleep.
Back in the late seventies, Desmond Hume is following Hurley's map to where it appears the radio tower is. The bulk of Miles' walkie-talkie grows with every step. What little indecision has been gripping him before has now melted away with the island sun.
I'm coming for you, brotha. Be safe, Faraday, or we're all doomed.
Hume does not hear the sound of footsteps behind him, crunching on leaves strewn across the woodland floor, until it is too late.
Here are the other bloggers who are flashing this week: