Inter
Somnia/Whilst Dreaming: LOST; Alpert-centric; established
Richard/Isabella; PG-13 (for cursing, idk, it's not my fault Frank
and Sawyer swear like sailors). Post-series, spoilers for seasons 5
and 6. Also features Miles Straume as a character, references to several other 815 survivors. Prompt used: "Sorry, I must have dozed off for a second."
>>>
Richard
Alpert dreams of water. He dreams of a beautiful, big ship floating
on the surface of the ocean, underneath a clear blue sky and the
light of the summer sun.
Alpert
stands on the deck of the Black Rock. He rubs his wrists and
relishes their feel. Here, he is not in chains. No one is in chains;
on this ship, every man is free. His fine clothes are cut from cloth
befitting a man of his station. No dirty rags for Doctor Alpert. He
is no slave, and he will certainly not dress like one.
A
slender hand presses against his shoulder. “Mi amor.”
Richard
turns. There is a young woman in a white dress. Dark hair spills
across her shoulders in curls. He knows her. This is Isabella, his
wife, and she is alive. Isabella is alive, and as he takes her into
his arms, he knows he is also alive. They watch the sunlight sparkle
on the water's surface.
Richard
Alpert dreams of water, and for the first time, it is not a
nightmare.
“Doctor
Alpert?”
A
voice breaks Alpert away from the attentions of his wife. There is a
young man in the uniform of first mate, and he's Korean. Were there
any Koreans aboard the Black Rock?
“Richard.”
The young man's face, once fuzzy, comes into focus. “Hey, Richard—”
Alpert
blinks. “Is that you?”
The
sound of the waves grow louder. He blinks again—and Richard Alpert
is sitting in a lawn chair on a patio, underneath a blue sky
punctuated with puffy clouds. The world smells of honeysuckles and
freshly cut grass. He has traded the garb of his time for blue jeans
and a T-shirt that isn't his but belongs to someone who attended a
Driveshaft concert in 2003.
“Dude.”
Miles Straume is standing over him. “Did I just wake you up?”
Richard
manages to clear his head of the remaining vestiges of his dreams.
“Sorry, Straume. I seem to have dozed off for a second.” He
smiles. “I rarely had the privilege of such short naps while
working under Jacob's instructions.”
“Geez.”
Miles looks genuinely concerned for Richard's sleep cycle. “Good
thing that's over. I mean, it's not a good thing he's dead.
But—you know—it's good you got your life back.” He pauses.
“What was the dream about?”
“I
was on the Black Rock— the ship—and everything was
different. In a good way. My wife was there, too.” He can't help
but let the wistfulness of a dream world now gone seep through his
words.
“Wow.”
Miles shuffles his feet and Richard recalls telling young Straume the
story of his life before the island, somewhere between landing in Los
Angeles and settling down in the house they all now call home. “Sorry
for interrupting that.”
“It
was only a dream. And if the ship hadn't crashed, all of us would not
have met the way we did.”
Miles
shrugs. “I dunno. Daniel always made it sound like our stories were
written in stone. Maybe we we're all meant to meet up eventually, one
way or another?”
“That
sounds nice,” Richard says, and he means it. He regrets not
spending more time with the physicist Faraday before his death.
Everyone from the freighter spoke of him with a mixture of respect
and fascination. He was very much the Alan Turing of his group, poor
man.
Another
voice cuts through the air, from behind Miles and Richard, a rougher,
older voice at that. “Guys, who’s
here? Claire's comin' over and she's bringin' the kid!”
“It's
me and Richard!” Miles shouts back. “And Sawyer is upstairs
somewhere!”
The
owner of the third voice soon appears in the doorway between the
patio and the house. His wild gray hair and khakis don't mix with his
flamingo-pink apron, but it works for him. He has a whisk in his hand
that is suspiciously wet with batter.
“Well,
shit,” Frank Lapidus curses. “Does anyone know where Kate went
off to? I know she doesn't want to miss seeing Claire and Aaron.”
“She
went to visit Walt this morning,” Miles points out. “So she's
probably coming back right now. C'mon, Frank, relax for a second.”
“All
right, all right. I guess I'll call her. We can't all be relaxing—no
offense, Doc.” On that note, Frank retreats back into the house,
muttering something about pancakes and waffles and allergies that
Richard only catches bits and pieces of before it fades away into the
interior.
Miles
sighs. “I'm gonna make sure Frank doesn't burn the house down. Do
you need anything?”
Richard
stands, reluctantly at first. “No, thank you, go ahead.”
“You
sure?”
The
older man puts his hand on the younger man's shoulder. “Really,
Miles. Don't worry about me. You've done enough for me so far. The
least I can do is—”
Richard's
response is cut off mid-sentence by a loud sound from upstairs that
sounds suspiciously like an electronic explosion—like a motherboard
bursting into flames. It’s
quickly followed by the sound of a Southern accent cursing loudly
with his signature line: “Son of a bitch!”
“The
least I can do,” Richard corrects himself, “is to keep Sawyer
from destroying our only way of contacting Hurley back on the
island.”
“You
can fix computers now?” Miles smirks, a gentler expression on him
than on others.
“What,
did you think the computers on the island fixed themselves? Excuse
me.” Before Miles could retort, Richard is beating a quick tread
into the house and up the stairs, stopping only to grab the fire
extinguisher hanging on the wall.
So
Richard Alpert, on his way to keep James 'Sawyer' Ford from
destroying yet another desktop computer, allows himself a brief
thought on his current living situation. He decides that, all things
given, it isn't a bad way to live.
And
if Doctor Alpert ever grows homesick for the sea, the ship, the feel
of Isabella's hand—he always has his dreams.
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