Cloud Atlas 1. Chapter 1

**I don't expect to get many hits on this one. Wrote it while watching Cloud Atlas for the third time. It's a drabble that has no purpose beyond my own musings.**

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She could no longer hear the words Joe Napier spoke to her. They got Isaac. She knew nothing, the moment dreamlike to her. Isaac, her Isaac. Except how could he be hers? She'd known him only a day, a few short hours. And yet. And yet she'd felt she'd known him all her life, or before it. The world was ending, and she was the only one who knew it.

Luisa convinced herself, after the entire debacle was said and done and her name was all over the papers, and on the glossy cover of a hardback, that life went on. And it did, though it seemed like she was moving through a fog most days. It was if that one moment in time had changed everything. The slow swing of the door, the reveal of Isaac's face wearing dual expressions of confusion and anticipation. And every word spoken after. She'd convinced herself he was simply a source. But when they'd talked, as solemn as the moment had been, she'd felt easy in his presence. Even with the threat of death hovering over their heads, she felt calm simply watching the fleeting expressions cross his face.

She was lying with him, a man she wished she'd never met. Sunlight streamed in the open windows, illuminating his skin with dawn's early light. He was asleep, and she wished she'd never fallen asleep by his side. He was a replacement, and not one that had given her any comfort. His body was tall and lanky, his face patrician, his skin pale and freckled. But his hair was too dark, too short. His smile too perfect, his attitude entirely too confident. She trailed her fingers across his arms, dusted with dark hair, careful not to wake him. She viewed his body, the covers thrown to the side so it was bared for her perusal. Would Isaac look like this when he slept? Would the small imperfections that marred this man's pale skin suddenly become endearing if they were on someone else?

She'd never know the answer to that question. Isaac was dead and the reason haunted her. He'd wanted to help her. She could picture his face, his endearing smile bringing to mind the eagerness of a puppy. He'd looked at her softly, as if he'd seen someone of worth. And he'd given her the story of a lifetime at the cost of his own.

She slipped out of the man's bed, simply one of a short line of men. She wouldn't see him again. He hadn't given her what she wanted. She was beginning to think no man ever would again.

One day, she reminded herself bitterly. You couldn't fall in love with someone in one day. If only she could believe it.


	2. Chapter 2

**I never intended for this to be anything more than a one-shot. But this idea would not leave me alone, would not stop hounding me. _What if Isaac had lived? _So I wrote this. Forgive the mistakes. **

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Our lives are not our own. We are bound to others, past and present, and by each crime and every kindness, we birth our future.

-David Mitchell_, Cloud Atlas_

XX

The plane Isaac was supposed to be on crashed. He'd had a sudden fit of nausea, an ache that had turned into a sharp pain in his abdomen. He'd been afraid that it was his appendix, an ulcer maybe. It turned out to be a simple stomach flu. But it wasn't pleasant. He'd spent days in bed, oblivious to the outside world.

It had taken days for him to realize that Luisa had broken the story about the reactor. That the reason no one was hounding him was because they thought he was dead. But how did that make any sense? He'd called in sick, promised a sick note on his return. Yet someone had made a mistake, an intern that hadn't known him well enough to understand _who _had called in sick. And Isaac had somehow been reported as boarded on that plane, the one he should have died on. The wreckage hadn't been easy to sift through, twisted and melted together and body parts thrown from the plane, making identification...messy and near impossible for anyone close to the center of the explosion.

He'd known as soon as he'd heard about the 'plane crash' that someone wanted him dead. It wasn't a stretch of any imagination to realize who it was, and who they'd sent to finish him off. He'd been justifiably scared to come forward. Men like Lloyd Hooks had more money than they knew what to do with, and connections that reached far beyond the bars of a jail cell. Lloyd Hooks would get off easy, or as easy as the media would allow. It was a huge story, rocketing Luisa Rey into the spotlight as the newest great journalist. It didn't comfort Isaac to know that Bill Smoke had died. The man was little more than a hired gun, but at least Isaac had been aware of his existence. Now he would have no idea who would be sent to kill him.

He'd felt guilty about not coming forward. He'd always seen giving Luisa Rey the report as the bravest thing he could do, because it afforded him a level of anonymity that gave him a sense of security. Clearly that had been false, Smoke was still sent to kill him. He'd wept for the people who had died on the plane simply because he should have been on it, and wasn't. He wondered if Bill Smoke had known he wasn't on the plane, and yet had blown it up anyway. The guilt settled heavily on Isaac's shoulders, but so did the fear, cloaking him in its darkness and suffocating him.

So he went into hiding, cutting off all contact with anyone that had been in his former life, including the intriguing Luisa Rey. He changed his name, secured fake identification, got a new job, a new life. But he'd made a realization the night after he'd left Luisa, and it wouldn't leave him alone. It was always there at the back of his mind, urging him to do something. He'd fallen in love with the woman, after only a night. And despite the admittedly short period of time they'd spent together, he still needed to see her, to hear her voice, to touch her, even in something as small as a handshake. He missed her, and it was ludicrous, absurd even. But it was still true.

He devoured any articles she wrote, just for a glimpse into the woman who'd stolen all of him. He had a framed photograph of her, something he'd gotten from an article she was featured in. It was odd, and perhaps bordering on stalking. It was all he had, until it was no longer enough.

A year passed very quickly. His work wasn't in the same field. There were too many people that knew him, or knew of him. He'd changed cities, considered changing countries but figured that was too drastic. And there was no way he could find out anything about Luisa from a country away. In 1974, it was easy to lose yourself, to become someone entirely new. But he missed his old field of work, the challenge of it, and if Luisa's continuing success was any indication, Lloyd Hooks had given up his plan to kill people. The man was safely behind bars, convicted of murder for the death of Rufus Sixsmith, though his own murder had recently gone into question. They'd found no evidence of his death, and nor would they. He was tired of hiding himself away. He wanted to be himself again, Isaac Sachs. And he wanted to see Luisa.

So he called her, left a brief message on her voicemail with his alias and contact number and the hope that she would call him back.

It took days, long enough that he considered leaving another message. But she finally returned his call. He was sitting silently on his couch when she called, reading another of her brilliant articles.

"Thomas Briggs." he answered the phone curtly, his tone bordering on annoyed at being interrupted.

"Isaac?" Her voice was shaky, filled with disbelief.

He felt his own reply die on his lips. There was no way she could recognize his voice after only a night of conversation. And yet...she started to sob. And he found himself murmuring nonsense words of comfort, shushing her with inane platitudes when all he wanted to do was be there with her, hold her, wipe the tears from her face.

Finally she quieted after several moments, until her voice returned to her, sharp even if it wavered. "Is it really you?"

"Yes," he confirmed, unable to think of what to say.

"Where can we meet?"

And it wasn't what he expected, her instant belief that he was alive and well. They made plans to meet, and he was jittery at the thought of seeing her. Fear and hope fighting within him. Would she hate him? Slap him? Had she missed him? But then, that thought was ridiculous. She couldn't feel the same. Not about a man she'd believed had been dead. Still he wondered at her reaction to him, sobs that indicated she felt genuine grief, perhaps even felt relieved that he was alive and well.

He'd invited her to his home, unable to think of anywhere that would afford them the level of privacy he sought. He wanted her to himself, at least for a little while. He wanted her anger, her rage even, if it meant that he could see her.

The days before their reunion were lost to him. He could remember pacing, fitful periods of sleep that lasted a few hours at a time. He could remember rehearsing what he was going to say to her, but it never sounded right. He barely ate, rereading her articles with a feverish intensity. Until the night she finally arrived.

He stood at the door to his apartment impatiently, his eye glued to the peephole while his hands clenched together and released spasmodically. She arrived early, and he wanted to throw the door open and embrace her. But he watched, as she walked up to his door and raised her hand to knock, and seemed to lose her nerve. She walked away from his door and his heart dropped. But she returned, her lips moving in a string of words he could not hear. She adjusted her clothing, smoothing her hair, and closed her eyes. He saw her chest move with deep breaths and wondered how she felt. Was she nervous? Afraid? He was both, as well as elated and hopeful. Finally Luisa raised her fist again and knocked, lightly so he might not hear it if he was deeper in his apartment. Maybe that was her goal, to at least say she'd made the attempt truthfully.

He stepped back from the door and opened it, a nervous smile playing on his lips. But she'd already turned away, ready to retreat.

"Luisa?"

Her whole body stiffened before she turned. But when she did, she was everything he'd ever hoped for and feared. Her eyes shone with a fear as deep as his own, anticipation warring with disbelief. He knew he looked different, his hair shorter, dyed pitch black, a color that didn't suit his fair complexion. He'd gained a few pounds, nothing to alter his appearance drastically but enough to make him feel a little self-conscious. He smiled awkwardly, uncertain how to tell her that she looked lovely without coming off as lecherous.

"Isaac." She couldn't seem to take her eyes off of him, her gaze taking him in from top to bottom and back again. He wasn't sure if he should be flattered or concerned. "We should go inside." She finally said.

"Of course." He opened the door wider and gestured for her to come inside.

His apartment was small, cluttered to the point that he had little to no counter space, but it suited his needs. Of course he wished he'd gotten an apartment that was a little grander, now that Luisa was studying her surroundings with a critical eye. He hoped she didn't find it lacking.

"So, this is where you've been hiding."

Isaac flinched at the condemnation that laced her tone. She sounded angry, had every right to be furious with him. He hadn't warned her about Smoke, too much of a coward to do anything but turn tail and run. It was his biggest fault. He was a coward, always would be. He wished that he'd handled things differently, had been brave enough to stand with Luisa. He'd read in the paper that she was engaged, an editor or something. A man that had oozed confidence even in a black and white picture.

"For the last three months, yes. Before that it was a small city in Texas."

Luisa settled carefully on his sofa, grimacing as the lumpy cushions did their best to swallow her. He'd been meaning to get a new sofa. This one had always been too soft.

"So, did you know that Bill Smoke was going to blow up that plane?" She stared him down, her tone making it clear that she would not stand for any lies, even ones of omission.

"Straight to the point then," Isaac coughed, sliding his hands across his knees as he sat on the chair that matched his garish love seat. "No, I wasn't aware Smoke was going to blow up the plane. I'd hope that I would have had enough decency to at least warn the airline." He spoke with an air of wearied regret. He could not say with any certainty that he would have warned the airline even if he'd somehow gotten wind of Smoke's plan.

"Then why didn't you come forward?" Luisa demanded.

Isaac considered lying, but Luisa's eyes demanded the truth. And he'd sworn to himself that he wouldn't lie, at least not to her. "I never claimed to be brave. I caught the flu sometime before I was supposed to leave. I was at the airport, ready to board the plane when I got severe stomach cramps. I rushed to the bathroom and by the time I'd finished vomiting up the contents of my stomach, the plane had already done the last call for boarding. I went home and spent the next week sick as a dog. I called into the office and an intern I'd never met answered. I assumed he'd taken down the correct information but probably not. It was only when I finally dragged myself out of bed that I discovered that the plane that I was supposed to be on had gone down. It was still sensational enough news to be reported, my name included in the passenger manifest. I knew then that I was supposed to be dead." Isaac paused, gauging Luisa's reaction. She watched him with hard eyes. He bowed his head and continued. "I've always been a coward." At Luisa's scoff, he sighed. "I know it is no excuse. Of course it isn't. I was afraid, still am. I look over my shoulder constantly, even knowing that Lloyd Hooks was behind bars, that it is safe to come forward. But I couldn't hide anymore." He implored her to understand. "I just want my life back. I want to be Isaac Sachs again."

Luisa sighed, setting her pen down. She'd been taking notes the entire time he'd talked. "You could get into trouble for this, Isaac. You've already been declared dead, even if that ruling was called into question."

"I know, I'll do whatever it takes Luisa. I need your help."

She stared at him with consideration. He waited anxiously for her reply. "Why come to me?"

"You're connected to the story very intimately. You're the logical choice."

"There are half a dozen reporters in this city alone that would have been a better option. I've had one break, one story that's made any headlines. I've already been forgotten." She glared at him. "Tell me the truth, Isaac."

The truth, as he'd promised himself. But he was afraid, always afraid. "I…I don't know," he finally offered.

Luisa shook her head. "Clearly this was a waste of time." She got to her feet, snapping her notebook closed and grabbing her purse. He got up as she made her way to the front door. He wanted to call her back, wanted to tell her that he loved her, that it felt like he'd loved her forever. But the words would not come, his throat closing in his panic_. Luisa, Luisa, LUISA. _But her name would not escape his lips. She walked out of his life, not with a bang, but a soft click, the door closing softly behind her.

XX

Isaac called her the next day, leaving a pleading voice mail on her answering machine. He left one every day for the next two weeks, babbling words that seemed to make little sense. Promises, demands, pleas. He knew time was running out, had been running out from the moment he'd set his eyes on her. She was getting married and the fear clutched at him, making him irrational.

Isaac quit his job by the end of the two weeks, though no one was surprised to see him go. He'd hardly been coherent. There were whispers of a mental break, of the stress finally getting to him. He could care less. He moved back to San Francisco, keeping the name of Thomas Briggs, at least for the moment.

It took him days more to overcome the voice that insisted quietly in his head that he was not good enough, that Luisa had no interest in him, and that he was worthless. It took him far too long to realize that maybe the voice was right, but there was the equal chance that it was wrong.

He gave up on calling Luisa's home number, instead deciding to visit her at her place of employment. Isaac spent the morning watching the brick building, finding the courage to step inside the building and just go and see her, talk to her, tell her the truth as he'd meant to do in the first place. He was still a coward, but was saved from it just this once. She came out of the building on her own, her purse clutched tightly against her side as she walked towards the park that she ate her lunch at. Isaac could do nothing else but follow her. She sat at an empty bench, pulling out a brown sack from her purse, her lunch. He moved to approach her when a man beat him to her side. Isaac watched with growing dismay as Luisa's fiancé greeted her with a kiss.

Isaac watched her face become more animated as she talked to the man, the sight of her happy smile settling heavily in his stomach. The man was attentive and affectionate, yet his smile was indulgent if anything. It rankled Isaac to see the man silence Luisa with fingers pressed gently to her lips, raising the wristwatch on his arm as an indication of the time. Luisa's smile dimmed immediately but she nodded, dutifully raising her check for him to kiss. The man strode away from her side without so much as a backwards glance, Luisa's eyes dropping immediately to her lap.

He contemplated simply walking away, disappearing once again from her life and this time not returning. And he might have, but Luisa seemed to sense him, her eyes lifting and zeroing in on his location with impossible precision. Her eyes widened but she gestured him over with a wave of her hand. And Isaac found that he could not disobey. He approached her with a sheepish smile.

"Miss Rey." He clung to formalities, her last name a reminder that she wasn't married, not yet.

"Isaac." She seemed to struggle with words. "What brings you to San Francisco?"

He laughed bitterly, wondering how she could act so casually as if she hadn't been avoiding his calls for days. "I wonder that as well."

Luisa frowned, impatience flickering across her face. "What do you want, Isaac? You made it perfectly clear last time that we saw each other that we had nothing left to say."

"Nothing left to say? How could I say anything else when you ignore my calls?" he demanded.

"Ignore your…? Andrew." At the name of her fiancé, Isaac scowled.

"Andrew?"

Luisa patted the bench beside her, Isaac sitting onto it heavily, suddenly tired of the confusion and miscommunication. "It seems I haven't received a single call from you. It isn't hard to imagine why."

Isaac hummed in thought, hope flickering back to life at the realization that she hadn't been avoiding him. "Does he know who I am?"

Luisa shook her head once firmly. "No. I made the mistake of telling him that you were an obsessive fan, the day you'd left your number. He could see I was shaken up by the experience and wondered why. I couldn't tell him who you really were, not when I didn't know for sure that it wasn't some sick joke."

"Ahh, so he deleted my messages as a courtesy."

"Maybe," Luisa pondered. "I don't think he truly believed me about your first message. And he's been very attentive recently, which is very unlike him. Our arrangement worked because we each led our separate lives without interference from the other. Our engagement was hardly one built on passion." More like one built on loneliness and missed opportunities, for her at least.

Isaac smiled at her statement, relieved that he at least had a chance of convincing her not to marry Andrew. Even if she did not want to marry Isaac. Falling in love with her after one night of discussion would hardly seem like something a sane man would do. But then, he felt that he'd been walking a thin line between sanity and madness since the moment he'd met her. She was familiar to him, and he feared he would never be able to let her go.

"Have you ever met someone, and knew from that moment that they would be the most important person in your life, no matter how ludicrous the idea was?" He phrased the question casually but his shoulders were weighed down by doubts, tension threaded through every line of his body. She would either understand him, or think him mad. He wasn't sure which one he was hoping for.

Luisa stared at him, her eyes wide and dark. He couldn't resist the urge to reach out and gently rub a tendril of her short hair between his fingers. He noted the faint blush that stained her cheeks, harder to see over her darker complexion. He loved her skin, longed to touch her, to taste her. But he was still waiting for her answer.

"I think we're both mad," she finally whispered, pressing his hand to her face. "But I don't give a damn, as long as we're mad together."

He laughed in surprise at the over-the-top sentiment, but he could not disagree. She felt it too, the connection that bound them together, and the rightness that settled between them as if they'd been made to fit together. "I'd like that," he stated solemnly.

Luisa shook her head, laughing at the sudden joy that coursed through her. She couldn't wait any longer, tugging on Isaac's short hair and pulling his mouth down to hers.

XX

It _was_ different, she decided. Tracing the faint scars, birthmarks and moles that marred Isaac's pale, freckled skin. She adored every imperfection on his long body. She'd nipped, licked and kissed every inch of him, and he'd done the same to her. He wasn't more handsome than any man she'd let into her bed. He wasn't funnier, or better in any measurable way. But she loved him, and it made all the difference. She smiled faintly at the ring that adorned her finger, the stone small, as she'd wished it to be. Their marriage had created a scandal in his family, though she had no family of her own to disapprove. Sometimes they received glares from the typically small-minded. She didn't care, threading her fingers through Isaac's with a defiant tilt of her chin. And Isaac had learned to let go of his fear, to trust in her and himself.

"Luisa?" Isaac's voice was hoarse from sleep. She snuggled closer to him, lifting her face to press a kiss against his jaw.

"Go back to sleep, Isaac. It's still early."

"Mm-hmm," he agreed, already drifting back into sleep.

Luisa was ready to fall back asleep as well, warm and content in Isaac's embrace. She was only half-conscience when Isaac's voice murmured against her forehead. "Love you, Luisa."

"Love you, Isaac."

XX

**Thanks for reading.**


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Cloud Atlas, Angst, Romance