PB Ficlet: Survival
Feb. 11th, 2009 02:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
out_thereTitle: Survival
Word count: 475
Notes: Think of it as Prison Break in the style of Lost. It's all![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
aurora_84's fault, really.
All Michael remembers of the crash is his stomach lurching as the plane dropped thousands of miles mid-flight and the ominous creaking of metal tearing apart. The rest is darkness. His memory's blank until the image of Sara leaning over him, afternoon sunlight catching on her hair, asking his name and trying to explain that he needed to lie still. She'd explained in medical terms -- concussion, broken ribs, fractured wrist -- but lying on the beach, he'd seen it through an engineer's eyes. Force and pressure, torque and strain, the violence and damage of the crash was twisted into the metal wreckage, carved out of aluminium and steel.
There were frighteningly few survivors. Sara Tancredi, who said she was a doctor; Fernando Sucre, who said he did whatever paid; Alexander Mahone, who didn't mention his job at all.
But Alex -- who apparently did "nothing interesting" back home -- talked about search patterns, longitude and latitude, the importance of shelter. While Sara and Sucre checked the bodies, looking for a pulse, lying the dead in neat rows and closing their eyes, Alex sorted through the cabin wreckage and pulled out bags.
Michael isn't sure what happened next. He remembers the spike of pain when he was moved to the makeshift tent, he remembers the flickering shadows of firelight, he remembers being woken up to drink and to eat, but it's not until days later that he can confidently track what happened. He pieces it together from what the others tell him.
They used Sara's knowledge of tides to trudge North, to search for other survivors. They found Linc and LJ, along with a woman who only spoke Spanish. Sucre tells him that her name is Sofia and translates when necessary. Sara tells him of the other bodies they found, the little boy that Alex insisted on burying. Alex tells him that they found a broken radio and couldn't send a signal, but he paces as he talks, viciously pushes his hand through his hair, and Michael doesn't ask about the boy.
It's Linc who tells him the truth and doesn't sugar-coat it. It's Linc who tells him what the others have discussed in furtive whispers. They won't get saved. They'd changed routes mid-flight and there's no way in hell a search will extend far enough to find them. They're stuck here, surrounded by bodies and twisted metal, until they die, one by one. It's impossible, Linc tells him.
"It's not impossible," Michael hears himself say. For the first time in days, his head feels clear and the thrumming ache in his right wrist isn't bothering him. "It's just difficult."
"Mikey," Linc says, like he's still five years old, "you can't be serious."
"Really think I can't make this work? Get us out of here?"
Linc stares at him for a moment. Then he laughs.
Word count: 475
Notes: Think of it as Prison Break in the style of Lost. It's all
aurora_84's fault, really.All Michael remembers of the crash is his stomach lurching as the plane dropped thousands of miles mid-flight and the ominous creaking of metal tearing apart. The rest is darkness. His memory's blank until the image of Sara leaning over him, afternoon sunlight catching on her hair, asking his name and trying to explain that he needed to lie still. She'd explained in medical terms -- concussion, broken ribs, fractured wrist -- but lying on the beach, he'd seen it through an engineer's eyes. Force and pressure, torque and strain, the violence and damage of the crash was twisted into the metal wreckage, carved out of aluminium and steel.
There were frighteningly few survivors. Sara Tancredi, who said she was a doctor; Fernando Sucre, who said he did whatever paid; Alexander Mahone, who didn't mention his job at all.
But Alex -- who apparently did "nothing interesting" back home -- talked about search patterns, longitude and latitude, the importance of shelter. While Sara and Sucre checked the bodies, looking for a pulse, lying the dead in neat rows and closing their eyes, Alex sorted through the cabin wreckage and pulled out bags.
Michael isn't sure what happened next. He remembers the spike of pain when he was moved to the makeshift tent, he remembers the flickering shadows of firelight, he remembers being woken up to drink and to eat, but it's not until days later that he can confidently track what happened. He pieces it together from what the others tell him.
They used Sara's knowledge of tides to trudge North, to search for other survivors. They found Linc and LJ, along with a woman who only spoke Spanish. Sucre tells him that her name is Sofia and translates when necessary. Sara tells him of the other bodies they found, the little boy that Alex insisted on burying. Alex tells him that they found a broken radio and couldn't send a signal, but he paces as he talks, viciously pushes his hand through his hair, and Michael doesn't ask about the boy.
It's Linc who tells him the truth and doesn't sugar-coat it. It's Linc who tells him what the others have discussed in furtive whispers. They won't get saved. They'd changed routes mid-flight and there's no way in hell a search will extend far enough to find them. They're stuck here, surrounded by bodies and twisted metal, until they die, one by one. It's impossible, Linc tells him.
"It's not impossible," Michael hears himself say. For the first time in days, his head feels clear and the thrumming ache in his right wrist isn't bothering him. "It's just difficult."
"Mikey," Linc says, like he's still five years old, "you can't be serious."
"Really think I can't make this work? Get us out of here?"
Linc stares at him for a moment. Then he laughs.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-02-11 03:39 am (UTC)I want to watch this show! I've given up on Lost ages ago, but this I would watch with joy.
She'd explained in medical terms -- concussion, broken ribs, fractured wrist -- but lying on the beach, he'd seen it through an engineer's eyes. Force and pressure, torque and strain, the violence and damage of the crash was twisted into the metal wreckage, carved out of aluminium and steel.
This is so marvellous. So very, very them.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-11 03:53 am (UTC)*does a victory dance*
(Heh. You can really tell when I'm having a bleh day and don't want to work, can't you?)
I want to watch this show! I've given up on Lost ages ago, but this I would watch with joy.
Hee. I gave up on Lost about a year ago. Because it was supposed to be a *final* season, one that cleared up the questions, and instead, it just raised more. Ultimately, that's very unsatisfying.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-11 02:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-02-12 02:09 am (UTC)Hee! Stranded on an island. Trying to get out! If you ignore hte weirder plot points of Lost -- and in this verse, I totally would -- it'd be an awesome crossover between Castaway and Gilligan's Island (watch the number of amazing contraptions Michael builds to make everyday life bearable! His on-going search for dry, flat paper to use for origami!), except with smut.
And lots of Alex walking around in dirty, open shirt (the buttons would have been victims of the crash).
no subject
Date: 2009-02-12 02:33 am (UTC)the buttons would have been victims of the crash
We mourn their loss. For a couple of seconds.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-12 02:44 am (UTC)It's a sure recipe for HILARITY. I mean, okay, on the surface, it seems possible and bordering on practical for Michael to use origami, but like so many aspects of PB, once you stop and really think about it, it's genuinely funny and a little surreal.
We mourn their loss. For a couple of seconds.
*nods* And then we hope that Sara and Michael will tear off their buttons too, as a gesture of support and mourning.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-11 05:14 pm (UTC)Alex tells him that they found a broken radio and couldn't send a signal, but he paces as he talks, viciously pushes his hand through his hair, and Michael doesn't ask about the boy.
:(( :(( :((
no subject
Date: 2009-02-12 02:07 am (UTC):(( :(( :((
Awwww, poor Alex. If it makes you feel better, I couldn't quite decide if the body was Cameron (Alex taking him overseas on holiday, perhaps?) or just a boy of Cameron's age (which would automatically spark that same level of concern from Alex, and shock him out of the pure survival mode he'd mainly live in on the island).
But Michael and Sara would comfort him. I'm sure of it.
no subject
Date: 2009-02-11 05:47 pm (UTC)The Company = The Others? Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Far, far too awesome!
no subject
Date: 2009-02-12 02:12 am (UTC)Eeeee! Michael/Alex = Jack/Sawyer? Michael/Alex/Sara = Jack/Sawyer/Kate?
Hmmm. You could argue that since Sara's the doctor, technically she's Jack. But Alex is definitely Sawyer -- badass, tough, practical, but tends to sit on the beach wearing his glasses reading novels. but instead of the threesome vibes dragging on forever and ending in lots of hurt feelings, there'd just be porn. A lot of porn.
The Company = The Others? Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! Far, far too awesome!
Oh, awesome idea! That would totally make sense! Way cool!
no subject
Date: 2010-08-12 06:40 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-12 07:29 am (UTC)That is remarkably appealing, I have to say. Michael's absolute surety, even when the situation is plainly insane, makes it easy to trust him, even if you doubt you should be.