future fic
Holy crap but you guys are prolific! Slow down! I needs time to catch up.
title: swallow the one that makes you ill
word count: 1000
rating: pg13
fandom: Lost, some Jack/Sawyer
a/n: Through the Looking Glass fic. I think there might be some plot in here, I think it possibly survived my tinkering.
The thing is, Jack saw it coming.
Call it a personal sense of victimization, or a self fulfilling prophecy. Call it plain old mother fucking bad luck. Doesn’t matter, this was never going to end well and no amount of self reflection or wishful thinking was ever going to make any difference. And boy was he good at self reflection and wishful thinking.
***
Through all those hugs and smiles and his own big toothy grin, he knew it, he met Ben’s eyes and he just knew it.
The helicopter lifted off and he was among the last to leave. Just Kate and him and some guy named Charlie. Not their Charlie, just someone who flew helicopters for a living and happened to have traditionalist parents. When they got high enough it was only bright green below them and bright blue above and another chopper in the distance with Juliet, Hurley and Sawyer.
Within his field of vision were the people he cared about most in the world, and they were going home. But the smile got stretched then. It started to hurt and he thought about Ben who was already on the boat and how he was right. Nothing to go back to - what’s that saying about misery and how it loves company?
But that’s not it. Not really. It’s not that once he was a big fish in a little pond and once they all looked to him and once…once he had cause and now there’s nothing to save, nothing that big. It’s not that, though that exists.
It’s that they brought it back with them. All of them. Every last one.
It’s hard to define and easy at the same time. It’s like undiagnosed bad luck, only that’s such a light, easy way of putting it. Say bad luck and think of Sandra Bullock tripping on the stairs in an adorable fashion or Carey Grant in a bathrobe with a cheetah and Kate Hepburn. There’s a nonsensical, airy charm attached to the term that is not present here.
***
He killed his best friend and walked away with out a scratch. It is of no consequence that Jack was in the passenger seat. He killed him as sure as if he had shot him. Or chocked him, or beaten him to death. He almost rather would have, surely the kind of guilt you carry around after having done that is cleaner, easier to pin down.
At least Marc’s wife had the good sense to stay away from him after that.
***
They’re all cursed and who knew Hurley had it right all along.
***
Kate never believed him.
She always was the sort of person who left a path of destruction in her wake. And the destruction was always her doing. Maybe it was difficult for her to tell the difference. There was no demarcation for before and after.
***
Sawyer believed him, but the believing did no good.
***
It’s painfully obvious that this has never had anything to do with love.
They’re the only ones who see it. Or they’re the only ones who admit they see it.
Hurley sees it, but he’s holed up somewhere in Nevada mumbling about numbers. Jack’s glad that particular part of the equation didn’t follow him home. There was a bitter laugh that followed that realization. He can handle all the bad, all the death and guilt, as long as it doesn’t try to impose reason upon itself. That is apparently where he draws the line.
Jack doesn’t think Sawyer sees patterns of numbers everywhere either, but they don’t talk about it so he has no real way of knowing.
They don’t talk much, period.
There was one night though, when it was late and they were both almost gone to sleep and booze and each other, when Sawyer whispered in his ear and told him why he knew it was so. He said he was like Kate. Bad penny’s the two of them, both before and after the island. Sawyer knew it was so because he never saw Jack that way until they got home.
Back before Jack started hoping on planes and wishing they’d crash, the two of them figured out that they were immune. Jack couldn’t hurt Sawyer and Sawyer couldn’t hurt Jack. Not in any tangible way. Not that any of this is tangible anyway.
Funny thing about the planes. His bad mojo doesn’t work on them either. He hasn’t figured it out yet, but he will. Maybe it has something to do with the hope involved. Maybe Jack can’t summon it or will it. Maybe it’s just semantics; if he wants the bad luck, it isn’t bad at all.
He didn’t tell Sawyer about flying, not at first. He made up conferences and extended shifts at the hospital to account for the time. He felt like he was cheating, but they weren’t together. He didn’t owe Sawyer anything. He told himself this on more than one occasion.
Sawyer left when it came out one night. He sucked him off and told him he had a plane to catch and Sawyer stopped coming around. That was months ago.
It doesn’t change anything. He still has to get back. It’s the only way he can fix it.
***
They shoot movies on this bridge. There’s something cinematic about the arches and the lights.
He only wanted to catch his breath. He can’t breathe in the car. If he had thought this through, he would have found an easier way, pills or exhaust. But he’s facing down that concrete and this’ll work - maybe it’s what he intended all along, he’s not about self reflection anymore, remember?
Only suddenly he is, and suddenly he’s praying and suddenly it’s real. Maybe this is how he wakes up. Maybe this is how he gets back.
But then there’s the familiar sound of squealing tires cut short.
It would be silly if it wasn’t so sick, but there’s something twisted in him that delights in the idea that it’s his own bad luck saves his miserable life.
title: swallow the one that makes you ill
word count: 1000
rating: pg13
fandom: Lost, some Jack/Sawyer
a/n: Through the Looking Glass fic. I think there might be some plot in here, I think it possibly survived my tinkering.
The thing is, Jack saw it coming.
Call it a personal sense of victimization, or a self fulfilling prophecy. Call it plain old mother fucking bad luck. Doesn’t matter, this was never going to end well and no amount of self reflection or wishful thinking was ever going to make any difference. And boy was he good at self reflection and wishful thinking.
***
Through all those hugs and smiles and his own big toothy grin, he knew it, he met Ben’s eyes and he just knew it.
The helicopter lifted off and he was among the last to leave. Just Kate and him and some guy named Charlie. Not their Charlie, just someone who flew helicopters for a living and happened to have traditionalist parents. When they got high enough it was only bright green below them and bright blue above and another chopper in the distance with Juliet, Hurley and Sawyer.
Within his field of vision were the people he cared about most in the world, and they were going home. But the smile got stretched then. It started to hurt and he thought about Ben who was already on the boat and how he was right. Nothing to go back to - what’s that saying about misery and how it loves company?
But that’s not it. Not really. It’s not that once he was a big fish in a little pond and once they all looked to him and once…once he had cause and now there’s nothing to save, nothing that big. It’s not that, though that exists.
It’s that they brought it back with them. All of them. Every last one.
It’s hard to define and easy at the same time. It’s like undiagnosed bad luck, only that’s such a light, easy way of putting it. Say bad luck and think of Sandra Bullock tripping on the stairs in an adorable fashion or Carey Grant in a bathrobe with a cheetah and Kate Hepburn. There’s a nonsensical, airy charm attached to the term that is not present here.
***
He killed his best friend and walked away with out a scratch. It is of no consequence that Jack was in the passenger seat. He killed him as sure as if he had shot him. Or chocked him, or beaten him to death. He almost rather would have, surely the kind of guilt you carry around after having done that is cleaner, easier to pin down.
At least Marc’s wife had the good sense to stay away from him after that.
***
They’re all cursed and who knew Hurley had it right all along.
***
Kate never believed him.
She always was the sort of person who left a path of destruction in her wake. And the destruction was always her doing. Maybe it was difficult for her to tell the difference. There was no demarcation for before and after.
***
Sawyer believed him, but the believing did no good.
***
It’s painfully obvious that this has never had anything to do with love.
They’re the only ones who see it. Or they’re the only ones who admit they see it.
Hurley sees it, but he’s holed up somewhere in Nevada mumbling about numbers. Jack’s glad that particular part of the equation didn’t follow him home. There was a bitter laugh that followed that realization. He can handle all the bad, all the death and guilt, as long as it doesn’t try to impose reason upon itself. That is apparently where he draws the line.
Jack doesn’t think Sawyer sees patterns of numbers everywhere either, but they don’t talk about it so he has no real way of knowing.
They don’t talk much, period.
There was one night though, when it was late and they were both almost gone to sleep and booze and each other, when Sawyer whispered in his ear and told him why he knew it was so. He said he was like Kate. Bad penny’s the two of them, both before and after the island. Sawyer knew it was so because he never saw Jack that way until they got home.
Back before Jack started hoping on planes and wishing they’d crash, the two of them figured out that they were immune. Jack couldn’t hurt Sawyer and Sawyer couldn’t hurt Jack. Not in any tangible way. Not that any of this is tangible anyway.
Funny thing about the planes. His bad mojo doesn’t work on them either. He hasn’t figured it out yet, but he will. Maybe it has something to do with the hope involved. Maybe Jack can’t summon it or will it. Maybe it’s just semantics; if he wants the bad luck, it isn’t bad at all.
He didn’t tell Sawyer about flying, not at first. He made up conferences and extended shifts at the hospital to account for the time. He felt like he was cheating, but they weren’t together. He didn’t owe Sawyer anything. He told himself this on more than one occasion.
Sawyer left when it came out one night. He sucked him off and told him he had a plane to catch and Sawyer stopped coming around. That was months ago.
It doesn’t change anything. He still has to get back. It’s the only way he can fix it.
***
They shoot movies on this bridge. There’s something cinematic about the arches and the lights.
He only wanted to catch his breath. He can’t breathe in the car. If he had thought this through, he would have found an easier way, pills or exhaust. But he’s facing down that concrete and this’ll work - maybe it’s what he intended all along, he’s not about self reflection anymore, remember?
Only suddenly he is, and suddenly he’s praying and suddenly it’s real. Maybe this is how he wakes up. Maybe this is how he gets back.
But then there’s the familiar sound of squealing tires cut short.
It would be silly if it wasn’t so sick, but there’s something twisted in him that delights in the idea that it’s his own bad luck saves his miserable life.