Lost fic: Rest Despite (Juliet/Sawyer, PG-13)
Title: Rest Despite
Pairing: Juliet/Sawyer
Rating: PG-13
Summary: 1300 words. Takes place pretty soon after current canon. Spoilers for 5.01 and 5.02.
Rest Despite
They're crouched beside a stream, drinking handfuls of water in gulps and breathing just the same way, like the adrenaline will never run itself out. He can still smell the heat, the flames fueled by something that stank like grease piercing the thick night air.
But that was two flashes ago. They're someplace, sometime peaceful now. There's talk of sleeping, but Sawyer doesn't trust it, not when they could wake up to something they're not prepared for. Not that they're prepared now, of course, but that's the point, right?
It's not like he can tell people what to do, though, so some of them tamp down some tall grass out where the field meets the treeline and try to get some rest. He thinks they'll feel worse for wear, but there's no telling people anything. It's like they've forgotten flaming arrows and losing people they've had since day one.
"They need it," Juliet says beside him, and he snaps his head around. He still does that with her sometimes, like his gut doesn't trust her even if he can look in her eyes and know she's right there with him, with them all.
"You think I don't know that?" he murmurs, splashing some water up over his face and neck and ignoring the way she's doing the same, the water running down into her cleavage. Trying, anyway. "I'm so damn tired I could drop, but until I do, I'm not letting it pull me under."
"I understand that," she says. "But when I was on the other side of the island, with Ben, sometimes-"
He huffs, then says, "I don't give a damn about your neat little life in Mayberry."
She doesn't even flinch. In fact, her eyes take on this steely quality. "It wasn't Mayberry," she says. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. It looked safe and normal, but every day, I could've died. Every day, he might've done anything he wanted to me."
"But he didn't."
"James."
"Dear God, what now?" He sighs. "Go ahead, Mystery Island Barbie. Dispense your wisdom."
She opens her mouth to reply, but then she shuts it. But that's just not fucking fair, the way she makes her mouth into a hard line, like she's shutting him out. No time for the two of them to be fucking acting like this.
"What?" he says, exasperated. She just stares at him coolly, blankly. Or almost-there's a hint of a smile there, at his expense.
He rolls his eyes at himself and cocks his head to the side. Generally works with hardass women.
"Seriously, Juliet, what?" he says, trying to keep an edge of gruffness, but only just an edge. He sits down on the ground, finally, leans back against the tree, but she's still crouching there, and she takes another mouthful of water before she answers him.
"I was just going to say that sometimes people have to stop. Even when there doesn't seem to be time or reason to. They have to live. They have to rest. Despite."
He takes a long, deep breath. Rest. The word sounds really nice, he admits, and that's what scares him.
So he grins at her, "So you think we should have a nap, then?"
"We?" she says with a raised eyebrow.
He frowns. "I meant the general we."
"Like hell you did," she replies. "And if anything, I meant one of us."
"Well, then, you go this time around."
She stares at him hard for a minute, like she's going to be fucking obstinate and argue with him. Or like she's thinking the same thing about him, actually.
Finally, she nods. "Wake me if we flash."
"You can be damn sure I'll wake everybody here, it comes to that. But you'll be the first to know."
"Oh?"
"Come here," he says, pulling her by the arm until she sits down beside him, her shoulder touching his. He nods down at it, offering it.
She just wrinkles her nose at him.
"What?" he snaps. "I stink or something?"
She bursts out in a laugh that startles him-and her, by the looks of it. But it's one of the helpless, hysterical kinds of laughs you get when you have to let something out, and you can't cuss or cry.
Still smiling, she leans her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes. She's too close now, like she's weighing him down by just being near him, but now that she's in his space like this, he doesn't want her out of it again. He's hearing a million suspicious noises in the trees, but he can also hear her breathing, and that's enough.
After a long moment, she says, "Thank you, James."
"What the hell for?"
"Pulling me away from… God, I didn't even know his name. The one who got shot with the arrow, and I was...."
"Terrance," he says, and he can feel his hand sliding around her waist, just resting at the curve there. She doesn't even flinch. Maybe she even settles a little.
"Terrance," she repeats. "I'm sorry for Terrance, but I'm glad you pulled me away."
"My gut told me to," he says.
"Your gut has good instincts for protection."
"Aw, fuck. Self-protection, maybe. And that's not my gut, sweetheart."
She groans, poking him in the thigh with a finger.
He says, "I meant experience. That's all. By now, I've had a lot of fucking experience protecting my own hide. Seems we have that in common, anyway."
She doesn't say anything in response, and after a while, he thinks she's asleep, which is fine by him. It's easier when they don't have to fucking talk, just spin into action. This is all so much harder now that it's quiet and there's time to really feel it-and worse, to think about it.
But she's not asleep. She shifts against him, sighing.
"What?" he says.
"Nothing."
"What?"
"It's just...my neck. It was bothering me before we started jumping, and now..."
"What's wrong with it."
"Just tense. Knots."
He's found a way not to be conscious of his arm around her waist, but now that he's letting it creep up her back, it's too much contact, but he can't stop. When his fingers find the nape of her neck and he squeezes, she makes this soft grunting noise and her head drops forward.
"Come here," he says again, turning himself and pulling her into position in front of him, so he can take hold of her neck and work at the knots there.
He thinks they must both be near exhausted if they're doing this, touching and being touched. His thumbs dig into two sizable knots where her neck joins her shoulders, and she doesn't make a sound, just breathes loud, too loud. She's too close, and he's an absolute fool if he thinks he wouldn't like to get his hands on her under some other circumstance than this, despite all the things he knows she's been and probably still is.
Sawyer gives good massages. Women like them. But he doesn't like to think about Juliet being a woman, because that fucks things all to hell. He could have her eating out of his hands if he wanted, but that doesn't profit him now. He likes her smart and stubborn and just as tough as he is.
"Just so we're clear," she says quietly, "you still think I'm a bad guy. I'm just less bad than the rest."
"The enemy of my enemy," he says, letting his thumb sweep up the back of her neck, to swirl for a moment just where her hairline starts, that hollow there at the nape. "Yeah, that's about right."
"Just checking," she says, a smile in her voice she's not trying particularly hard to hide. Like this isn't all that serious. Like this isn't the goddamn weirdest circumstance for a pair of human beings to be in. Like they might not find themselves in hell with just a flash of light.
Or maybe just despite it all.
~
Pairing: Juliet/Sawyer
Rating: PG-13
Summary: 1300 words. Takes place pretty soon after current canon. Spoilers for 5.01 and 5.02.
Rest Despite
They're crouched beside a stream, drinking handfuls of water in gulps and breathing just the same way, like the adrenaline will never run itself out. He can still smell the heat, the flames fueled by something that stank like grease piercing the thick night air.
But that was two flashes ago. They're someplace, sometime peaceful now. There's talk of sleeping, but Sawyer doesn't trust it, not when they could wake up to something they're not prepared for. Not that they're prepared now, of course, but that's the point, right?
It's not like he can tell people what to do, though, so some of them tamp down some tall grass out where the field meets the treeline and try to get some rest. He thinks they'll feel worse for wear, but there's no telling people anything. It's like they've forgotten flaming arrows and losing people they've had since day one.
"They need it," Juliet says beside him, and he snaps his head around. He still does that with her sometimes, like his gut doesn't trust her even if he can look in her eyes and know she's right there with him, with them all.
"You think I don't know that?" he murmurs, splashing some water up over his face and neck and ignoring the way she's doing the same, the water running down into her cleavage. Trying, anyway. "I'm so damn tired I could drop, but until I do, I'm not letting it pull me under."
"I understand that," she says. "But when I was on the other side of the island, with Ben, sometimes-"
He huffs, then says, "I don't give a damn about your neat little life in Mayberry."
She doesn't even flinch. In fact, her eyes take on this steely quality. "It wasn't Mayberry," she says. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. It looked safe and normal, but every day, I could've died. Every day, he might've done anything he wanted to me."
"But he didn't."
"James."
"Dear God, what now?" He sighs. "Go ahead, Mystery Island Barbie. Dispense your wisdom."
She opens her mouth to reply, but then she shuts it. But that's just not fucking fair, the way she makes her mouth into a hard line, like she's shutting him out. No time for the two of them to be fucking acting like this.
"What?" he says, exasperated. She just stares at him coolly, blankly. Or almost-there's a hint of a smile there, at his expense.
He rolls his eyes at himself and cocks his head to the side. Generally works with hardass women.
"Seriously, Juliet, what?" he says, trying to keep an edge of gruffness, but only just an edge. He sits down on the ground, finally, leans back against the tree, but she's still crouching there, and she takes another mouthful of water before she answers him.
"I was just going to say that sometimes people have to stop. Even when there doesn't seem to be time or reason to. They have to live. They have to rest. Despite."
He takes a long, deep breath. Rest. The word sounds really nice, he admits, and that's what scares him.
So he grins at her, "So you think we should have a nap, then?"
"We?" she says with a raised eyebrow.
He frowns. "I meant the general we."
"Like hell you did," she replies. "And if anything, I meant one of us."
"Well, then, you go this time around."
She stares at him hard for a minute, like she's going to be fucking obstinate and argue with him. Or like she's thinking the same thing about him, actually.
Finally, she nods. "Wake me if we flash."
"You can be damn sure I'll wake everybody here, it comes to that. But you'll be the first to know."
"Oh?"
"Come here," he says, pulling her by the arm until she sits down beside him, her shoulder touching his. He nods down at it, offering it.
She just wrinkles her nose at him.
"What?" he snaps. "I stink or something?"
She bursts out in a laugh that startles him-and her, by the looks of it. But it's one of the helpless, hysterical kinds of laughs you get when you have to let something out, and you can't cuss or cry.
Still smiling, she leans her head on his shoulder and closes her eyes. She's too close now, like she's weighing him down by just being near him, but now that she's in his space like this, he doesn't want her out of it again. He's hearing a million suspicious noises in the trees, but he can also hear her breathing, and that's enough.
After a long moment, she says, "Thank you, James."
"What the hell for?"
"Pulling me away from… God, I didn't even know his name. The one who got shot with the arrow, and I was...."
"Terrance," he says, and he can feel his hand sliding around her waist, just resting at the curve there. She doesn't even flinch. Maybe she even settles a little.
"Terrance," she repeats. "I'm sorry for Terrance, but I'm glad you pulled me away."
"My gut told me to," he says.
"Your gut has good instincts for protection."
"Aw, fuck. Self-protection, maybe. And that's not my gut, sweetheart."
She groans, poking him in the thigh with a finger.
He says, "I meant experience. That's all. By now, I've had a lot of fucking experience protecting my own hide. Seems we have that in common, anyway."
She doesn't say anything in response, and after a while, he thinks she's asleep, which is fine by him. It's easier when they don't have to fucking talk, just spin into action. This is all so much harder now that it's quiet and there's time to really feel it-and worse, to think about it.
But she's not asleep. She shifts against him, sighing.
"What?" he says.
"Nothing."
"What?"
"It's just...my neck. It was bothering me before we started jumping, and now..."
"What's wrong with it."
"Just tense. Knots."
He's found a way not to be conscious of his arm around her waist, but now that he's letting it creep up her back, it's too much contact, but he can't stop. When his fingers find the nape of her neck and he squeezes, she makes this soft grunting noise and her head drops forward.
"Come here," he says again, turning himself and pulling her into position in front of him, so he can take hold of her neck and work at the knots there.
He thinks they must both be near exhausted if they're doing this, touching and being touched. His thumbs dig into two sizable knots where her neck joins her shoulders, and she doesn't make a sound, just breathes loud, too loud. She's too close, and he's an absolute fool if he thinks he wouldn't like to get his hands on her under some other circumstance than this, despite all the things he knows she's been and probably still is.
Sawyer gives good massages. Women like them. But he doesn't like to think about Juliet being a woman, because that fucks things all to hell. He could have her eating out of his hands if he wanted, but that doesn't profit him now. He likes her smart and stubborn and just as tough as he is.
"Just so we're clear," she says quietly, "you still think I'm a bad guy. I'm just less bad than the rest."
"The enemy of my enemy," he says, letting his thumb sweep up the back of her neck, to swirl for a moment just where her hairline starts, that hollow there at the nape. "Yeah, that's about right."
"Just checking," she says, a smile in her voice she's not trying particularly hard to hide. Like this isn't all that serious. Like this isn't the goddamn weirdest circumstance for a pair of human beings to be in. Like they might not find themselves in hell with just a flash of light.
Or maybe just despite it all.
~