Leave
Title: Leave
Rating: PG
Notes: Wow, this was totally going to go in a different direction than it did. Eh, well, c'est la muse.
He's always known that she'd be the one to leave him.
It's been inevitable, really, and he thinks he knew it the first time he saw her. The first time they spoke and the first time he told her he's a complex guy and the first time she told him no girl's exactly like her. He knew, and yet he wanted her and he got her, at least the part of her she'd let him have. And somewhere along the way he (almost) conveniently forgot that she was always going to be the one to leave.
See, Sawyer's usually the one who leaves. After a drink, after a date, after a fuck, after a con. It's his M.O., his signature at the end of each of a long string of meaningless, forgettable women.
And then comes the one who's not meaningless, and not forgettable in the least, and he finds himself saying things like, “Come back to bed, Freckles,” and “Don't go tonight; it's late,” and “Sure you don't need me to walk you home?” He pretends not to care when she shakes her head and leaves anyway, and he kisses her goodnight even as he tells himself that someday, the leaving is going to be for good and she'll shake her head and kiss him just like this.
But when it actually happens, it's not like that at all.
When it actually happens, there's a boat moored not far off the shore, and a small dinghy shuttling the survivors from the beach to the vessel. There's tears from Bernard and Rose, and too-tight hugs from Hurley, and bewildered looks from Jack who's just now realizing he's not in charge anymore.
And there's her, standing away from the group, arms limply at her sides, a stance he hasn't seen from her in all the time they've been on the island. He goes to her and brushes her arm and she jerks it away as if she doesn't know who's touching her. Both their eyes are on the two federal marshals stepping off the boat and he whispers in an almost angry tone. “Fight this, Freckles. You can run.”
She laughs at him, she actually laughs at him, but she doesn't shake her head and she certainly doesn't kiss him and instead she walks towards them, them, and offers her hands for the metal bracelets that, until now, he hasn't even been able to picture on her wrists. He watches as she accepts an awkward hug from Sun that she can't return, watches as they escort her to the waiting dinghy.
They put her on the small craft alone, as if she's a danger to the rest of them. He wants to tell them that they're the murderers, that they don't know what they're killing inside of her by taking her away, but all he can do is watch her leave.
He's always known she would.
-----
fin
Rating: PG
Notes: Wow, this was totally going to go in a different direction than it did. Eh, well, c'est la muse.
He's always known that she'd be the one to leave him.
It's been inevitable, really, and he thinks he knew it the first time he saw her. The first time they spoke and the first time he told her he's a complex guy and the first time she told him no girl's exactly like her. He knew, and yet he wanted her and he got her, at least the part of her she'd let him have. And somewhere along the way he (almost) conveniently forgot that she was always going to be the one to leave.
See, Sawyer's usually the one who leaves. After a drink, after a date, after a fuck, after a con. It's his M.O., his signature at the end of each of a long string of meaningless, forgettable women.
And then comes the one who's not meaningless, and not forgettable in the least, and he finds himself saying things like, “Come back to bed, Freckles,” and “Don't go tonight; it's late,” and “Sure you don't need me to walk you home?” He pretends not to care when she shakes her head and leaves anyway, and he kisses her goodnight even as he tells himself that someday, the leaving is going to be for good and she'll shake her head and kiss him just like this.
But when it actually happens, it's not like that at all.
When it actually happens, there's a boat moored not far off the shore, and a small dinghy shuttling the survivors from the beach to the vessel. There's tears from Bernard and Rose, and too-tight hugs from Hurley, and bewildered looks from Jack who's just now realizing he's not in charge anymore.
And there's her, standing away from the group, arms limply at her sides, a stance he hasn't seen from her in all the time they've been on the island. He goes to her and brushes her arm and she jerks it away as if she doesn't know who's touching her. Both their eyes are on the two federal marshals stepping off the boat and he whispers in an almost angry tone. “Fight this, Freckles. You can run.”
She laughs at him, she actually laughs at him, but she doesn't shake her head and she certainly doesn't kiss him and instead she walks towards them, them, and offers her hands for the metal bracelets that, until now, he hasn't even been able to picture on her wrists. He watches as she accepts an awkward hug from Sun that she can't return, watches as they escort her to the waiting dinghy.
They put her on the small craft alone, as if she's a danger to the rest of them. He wants to tell them that they're the murderers, that they don't know what they're killing inside of her by taking her away, but all he can do is watch her leave.
He's always known she would.
-----
fin