A Pain That I'm Used To - Part One
Series: A Pain That I’m Used To
Title: Part One: Damaged
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer, Jack/Kate
Rating: NC-17, Slash
Note: FutureFic - set 1 year post-rescue
Disclaimer: Not mine!
This is my first NC-17 fic, first Slash fic, and first Lost fic...hopefully it's okay!
We're damaged people
Drawn together
By subtleties that we are not aware of
Disturbed souls
Playing out forever
These games that we once thought we would be scared of…
-DM
It is the kind of evening when summer is dying and the smell of fall is breezing through the night air. Not quite cold yet, but the blazing heat and humidity of July and August have long become a distant memory. Jack looks across the open veranda at the myriad guests, watching as the soft satins of ladies’ evening gowns shimmer in the flickering candlelight.
The music from the string quartet floats out from the hotel and down to his place on the edge of the dock. They’re playing a classical tune he doesn’t recognize, despite the years of piano lessons and constant exposure to his mother’s endless classical collection.
She had wanted him to use his long nimble fingers to create art; his father had said surgery was the highest art. His father had won that battle when Jack opted for pre-med at Harvard rather than choosing to study at Juilliard. His mother, not to mention his classical piano teacher, had been furious at the wasted years of lessons and recitals. His father had never been more proud.
He often wonders how different his life would’ve been if he’d lived out his mother’s dream rather than his father’s. His father might have hated him from that age on, perhaps, but then, maybe that would’ve been the worst of it right there. He wouldn’t have drunk himself to death in Australia and Jack wouldn’t have had to go find him, bring his body home…there would’ve been no plane crash, no island…no her.
Jack turns his gaze from the lively party and looks out past the docked ferries toward the black, empty night, seeing the flickering lights of what must be Niagara across the dark water of Lake Ontario. If only he could be anywhere but here.
He tugs at his black bow tie, the sound of the water slowly rolling to shore in the distance causing a deep ache to roll through the pit of his stomach. How many nights had he fallen asleep to the sound of the ocean? They seemed innumerable now, like he had been on that island forever.
In reality it had only been 8 months. 8 months. It seemed like such a short period of time in the scheme of things. After the first month had gone by, he had given up hope of rescue and had set his mind to accepting his new life. Surgeries and scrubs, trips to the movies or the opera, down comforters and really good scotch…these are things he had let go of and they had let go of him. But they were still here when he came back, ready and waiting, as if he’d never left.
Only 39 years old and he’d already led two entire lives; only 39 years old and here he is in the midst of another. The first had been a life under the oppressive thumb of his father - trying to make the old man proud, trying to make the old man understand, and only seeing too late that his father’s approval perhaps wasn’t something he wanted or needed. It was a life where even his successes seemed like failures because they were never enough. It might’ve been better to fail out right, and then at least his father’s disappointment would’ve been understandable.
But Jack Shephard didn’t fail. He was always striving to do the right thing and somehow wound up hurting those who loved him in the process. His father, his mother, Sarah...and surprisingly, those problems were also waiting for him upon is return.
The second life had been on that island, where he had fallen into typical form as the de facto leader, trying to do everything right and feeling like a failure at that as well. They had all looked to him as if he had to tell them what to do, as if naturally it had to be his responsibility to save them all somehow. When he made a choice they didn’t like or asked for something they didn’t want to give, that leadership was thrown back in his face, as if it was a yoke he had placed on them himself.
Every time he had tried to just let it go, let them fend for themselves, something would happen. And being himself, he couldn’t stand by and just let it happen without trying to help. It was on the island that Jack finally accepted the fact that he had to be that person- it was in his blood, ingrained into his very being. He had to try and help, even if it wasn’t always wanted.
Jack fishes through his pocket to find his lighter and then reaches into his inside breast pocket for a pack of cigarettes. The pack is worn and slightly crumpled and it takes a few tries to get the lighter to work. Smoking isn’t an event he partakes in regularly and when he does, it is on the sly. Each cigarette that touches his lips brings with it sensations of both relaxation and shame. Watching his father indulge in alcohol as he grew up, Jack had promised to himself that he would never use such a vice as a crutch in times of weakness.
“So much for that,” Jack mutters to himself. He takes a long drag and then lets it go slowly, watching as the cloud of smoke drifts away and disappears into the darkness.
“You got a light?”
“You got a light?” Jack swivels toward the sound of Sawyer’s voice and finds him sauntering along the riverbank, cigarette hanging from his lips haphazardly.
“I don’t smoke.”
“Not what I asked,” Sawyer retorts, coming to a stop next to Jack, close enough to make Jack uncomfortable. He eyes Sawyer suspiciously and Sawyer just cocks him a smug grin.
“Cigarettes aren’t any help to a recovering immune system, you know,” Jack responds, his gaze narrowing critically at Sawyer.
“Damn, you saying these things ain’t good for me?” Sawyer takes the cigarette from his mouth and looks at it as if completely stupefied. “Shit, Doc, you’re just blowin’ my mind tonight.” He puts the cigarette back to his lips and rolls his eyes. He takes a step away from Jack, glancing back through the cover of trees toward the camp. He shoves the cigarette into the front pocket of his worn linen button-down shirt and shakes his head in dismay.
“What?” Jack asks.
“I’m too damn lazy to hike back up there just to light this stupid thing,” Sawyer mutters. “Not worth the trouble.”
“Oh jesus.” It’s Jack’s turn to roll his eyes. He sighs in frustration and reluctantly digs something out from the back pocket of his jeans.
“Well would ya look at that…you been holding out on me,” Sawyer grins again, taking the lighter from Jack. “Where’d you find a lighter?”
“Hatch. Where’d you find more cigarettes?”
“None of your business,” Sawyer replies, flicking the lighter on and lighting his cigarette with practiced ease. He takes a long deep drag and closes his eyes, letting it out slowly. When he opens his eyes, he finds Jack turning to leave. “What, you tired of my company already? And here I thought we were havin’ a fascinatin’ conversation.”
“Unfortunately, I have things to do, Sawyer.”
“This time a night? C’mon, Doc…the only thing you’re doing this late is Kate.” Jack stops and looks at Sawyer, surprise evident on his face for a moment before he is able to mask it with an offended air.
“Sawyer, I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”
“See, what you did just there…that would be respondin’…” Sawyer smirks that familiar smirk that makes Jack’s fingers twitch, itching to form a fist and connect with Sawyer’s face. “Besides, there ain’t no use denyin’ it. You certainly don’t have to pretend for the sake of my feelings-“ Sawyer chuckles somewhat sardonically. “We both know you don’t give a shit about me just like I don’t give a rat’s ass ‘bout you.” He pauses, as if pondering something deliciously mean. “Now, I’d be bettin’ that Kate asked you not to say anything. Am I right?” From Jack’s lack of response, Sawyer knows he’s hit something. “Don’t that bother you a bit, Doc?”
“Does what bother me, Sawyer?”
“She’ll screw you ‘bout every night but, for some ol’ reason, she don’t want me to know. Now why do ya think she cares if I find out?”
“Exactly why is it so important to you to make me angry, Sawyer? I mean, we all know you’re an ass, but what is it about me that makes you go that extra mile and really cross the line? What’s it worth to you?” Jack demands, his nerves beginning to fray. Sawyer doesn’t reply. “Quit the bullshit for a second and tell me what it is you want me to do. It’ll save us both some time. You want me to hit you? Curse at you? Hate you? You want me to get jealous of some vague connection you have with Kate? If she wanted to be with you, she’d be with you. She’s not. That’s it. What else is there to say here? What do you want from me?”
Sawyer remains calm in the face of Jack’s questions, though his own anger is boiling below the surface. He stares at Jack, wondering what it is about Jack exactly that gets him so worked up. It’s hard to pinpoint. Anytime they are in the same vicinity, it’s as if he can’t help himself. It’d gotten even harder to resist the temptation since Jack had saved his life; the time Jack had spent tending to Sawyer during his illness grated on him. He hated being in debt to anyone, much less the one person on the island who was precisely everything Sawyer himself could never be. Being around Jack made him feel like he was freaking Lex Luthor and everyone else was merely biding their time, watching and waiting, until Jack got his ass into a phone booth, donned his superhero gear and rid the world of Sawyer’s evil machinations once and for all.
No matter how hard he tried, Sawyer had yet to find the kryptonite to make Jack equally weak as he.
Sawyer realizes he’s been silent for too long and covers it with another long drag from his smoke. He blows it out slowly, staring Jack down through the haze as it dissipates.
“What do I want…” Sawyer repeats slowly, the words drawling slowly from his lips, turning the idea over in his head. “Maybe I just want you to be a god damn human being like the rest of us here, Jack,” Sawyer says coolly, his demeanor clearly unsettling Jack. Jack tries to hold his gaze but his eyes betray him, confusion flickering beneath their usual deep brown tranquility.
“And who says I’m not?” Jack asks, wavering slightly in his usual reserve. Sawyer shrugs and looks away, not wanting to answer him. He sighs and turns back with a forced smirk.
“Smoke?” He offers innocently, like he hadn’t just said an incredibly rare honest thing to Jack. He reaches out, holding out the half-wasted cigarette directly between the two of them. Jack eyes him, clearly unsure of what has just transpired but aware that something has just shifted. He can feel it in the air, almost like the earth had tilted on its axis and set everything slightly off kilter.
His hand trembles ever so slightly as he steps toward Sawyer and takes the cigarette from his calloused fingers. Wordlessly, Jack brings the cigarette to his mouth and tries not to show his distaste as the smoke fills his lungs, a sensation that he hadn’t encountered since he and his friends used to sneak cigarettes between classes in the high school bathroom, thinking they were hard ass rebels. But he hadn’t known Sawyer then, didn’t know what a hard ass rebel really even was. But the pretense had been thrilling.
He breathes out a cloud of smoke slowly, inwardly glad that he hadn’t embarrassingly coughed or gagged on the smoke, though he can feel his eyes watering slightly. Sawyer’s eyes are on him, his gaze intense and disquieting. Jack makes a small movement to give the cigarette back to him when Sawyer closes the gap between them, coming so close that Jack can actually feel Sawyer’s body heat radiating toward him and smell the faint scent of Sawyer’s freshly laundered clothes mixed with the slight aroma of his sweat after the day’s long wear.
Sawyer, with surprising gentleness, lifts the cigarette from Jack’s light grasp. He lets his hand drop to his side, ashes falling off the end of the cigarette and into the grass. Jack is staring at him, in his earnest way that always makes Sawyer feel slightly guilty for hating him. It makes him realize that even if he spit venom, Jack would always respond by digging into an ever deepening well of compassion and patience. It was a look he’d seen many times as Jack tended to his wound, a look that always seemed to grow in intense resolve the more barbs and insults Sawyer threw at him. It was a look that made Sawyer’s stomach clench and it took everything in his being not to either whack the doctor’s good nature right out of him or kiss him until he could no longer think straight.
“I can’t stand to look at you sometimes,” Sawyer murmurs, his voice harsh with distaste and disgust, though he’s not able to stop himself from tracing his thumb across Jack’s bottom lip. He’s not even aware he doing it until it’s already done. He freezes, a small part of him unknowingly waiting to see how Jack reacts while the rest of him hurriedly grasps for a reasonable explanation.
Jack doesn’t speak, though his lips part slightly as if he’s trying to find the words. For a split second, Sawyer thinks Jack is leaning into him, his lips ready to find his. But Jack moves away and something clicks in Sawyer’s mind. The moment disappears and everything snaps back into focus. He quickly takes a last drag from the cig and drops it to the ground, stomping it out and rubbing it into the dirt with the toe of his boot.
“Gotta tell ya, Doc, I’ll never get what Freckles sees in ya. Never get it ‘til the day I die,” he chuckles, bitterness lacing his words. “Just do us all a favor and tell her to keep it down. We all don’t need to know how she likes it.”
Jack doesn’t move for a moment, in disbelief that this is how Sawyer is going to end the conversation. He shakes his head in disgust, and Sawyer can feel the sting of his reproach as surely as if he’d been punched in the gut. He ignores it, shaking his hair back and out of his face, leveling his dark gaze on Jack, daring him to say something.
“Fuck you, Sawyer,” Jack mutters, turning to leave but stopping and turning back.
“I see someone’s finally ready to stop playin’ nice,” Sawyer grins, triumphant. Jack doesn’t seem furious however; his expression is full of nothing but pity.
“You know, someday you’re actually going to fall in love with someone, Sawyer, hard as you try not to, and you know what?”
“You think you’re in love with her?” Sawyer scoffs, ignoring Jack’s question and pouncing on the first half of his statement. “Man, are you in trouble.”
“I’m not talking about me, I’m talking about you.”
“Well go ahead and enlighten me then, Doc, since you know so much.”
“One day you’re going to find someone and I guarantee you, you’ll lose her, whoever she is.”
“Yeah, and why’s that?” Sawyer asks, his jaw tightening as he struggles to maintain his air of indifference.
“Because you’ll finally understand what it takes to care about someone else more than yourself. And you’re going to realize you’re truly incapable of such a thing. And you’re going to hate yourself for it.”
“I already do, Doc,” Sawyer replies lowly. “But thanks for the kind words anyways. Real sweet to know ya care. Gives me the warm fuzzies inside.”
“Jack?” Both men look up the embankment and find Kate looking down to them through the darkness. “Can you come here?” Jack glances back to Sawyer, who merely smirks and shrugs.
“Better go. Lover girl’s callin’ ya,” Sawyer doesn’t wait to watch Jack climb up toward Kate, instead turning and walking off into the darkness of the jungle.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Jack is caught off guard. The voice had been soft and feminine and upon looking toward its source, Jack finds one of his female co-workers standing by his side, a slim cigarette dangling between her perfectly manicured fingernails.
“Oh, I only asked if you had a light,” she repeats with a gentle smile and a light laugh, brushing a stray piece of light blonde hair from her face. She reminds me of Shannon, Jack thinks, feeling a little stab of pain at the memory of the young girl he hadn’t even had a chance to try to save. She does look similar, though older and without the shadow of bitterness and resentment that always lurked in Shannon’s countenance, even when she smiled. This woman’s smile holds no such hidden mystery; it is open and guileless. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, I’m sorry,” she apologizes, clearly sensing that Jack’s mind is not entirely in the present moment. He shakes his head and snaps out of it.
“No, I’m sorry, I was off in another world there for a second…” Jack explains, smiling back at her. “Here, let me." He lifts his lighter to her cigarette, cupping her hand with his to prevent the wind from blowing the tentative flame out.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, her face all too close to his for a split second. “What were you thinking about?”
“Oh…nothing important,” Jack replies with a slight shrug. He watches with interest as the woman simply holds the cigarette, letting it burn. “You going to smoke that?” He inquires with a small chuckle. She blushes enough for it to be evident even in the darkness of the night and giggles with a girlish lilt.
“Um, well…” She eyes the cigarette, looking sheepish. “I actually don’t smoke…I guess I wanted a reason to come over and talk to you,” she admits openly, tossing the cigarette to the ground and putting it out with the tip of her light pink stiletto heel.
“Oh, really?” Jack says good-naturedly, smiling widely for the first time in a good while. “Why not just come over and talk to me?”
“In case you can’t tell, I didn’t really think the scenario through,” she replies, laughing. “Just thought I needed a reason, I guess. You haven’t exactly been circulating,” she gestures back toward the party with the glass of champagne in her left hand.
“Well…” Jack rubs the back of his neck with his hand, realizing that he hasn’t been exactly full of social graces this evening. “I suppose I’m not in the best party mood this evening.” They both pause, not sure where to take the conversation from there. “I’m Jack, by the way.”
“I know,” she says with a grin. “Jack Shephard, new brilliant surgeon at Toronto General…Man of Mystery…Hero of Flight 815…”
“I see the propaganda has already been spread around,” Jack chuckles, a hint of frustration belying his tone. “Believe me, I’m no hero.”
“Not what I heard - also heard you were too modest. Seems they were right.” She pauses for a moment before continuing. “The hospital was quite ecstatic when you accepted the position, believe me, we all heard about it,” she explains, Jack finally starting to pick upon her faint Canadian accent. “My name is Emma. Pediatrics.” She extends her hand to him and he takes it.
“It’s very nice to meet you. I think I’ve seen you around, but I haven’t really met everyone in the hospital yet. It’s been kind of crazy.”
“Well it’s a big hospital. I’ve been working there for years and I still don’t know everybody. You haven't been here that long yet.”
“It’s gone by really fast.”
“You should know, a great percentage of the female population, patients included, are quite interested to make your acquaintance,” Emma gently teases, whispering it to him as if it’s a highly confidential secret. “I personally thought that you must be taken, but when you came to the benefit tonight alone, I thought perhaps I’d give it a shot and be the envy of the locker room on Monday morning.” She winks at him, letting him know that she’s at least half-joking in her brazen pick up attempt. Jack falters for a moment, still feeling bowled over whenever he’s reminded exactly how single he now is. Emma picks up on it and blushes again.
“Oh…you are seeing someone, aren’t you? Wow, do I feel like an idiot. I’m so sorry,” She apologizes profusely, seemingly truly embarrassed. She steps away from him, already making haste to get away and leave him alone.
“We’re…I was with someone. We’re not together anymore,” Jack tells her, feeling bad for causing her state of nervous anxiety. It was either frighteningly obvious that she didn’t have a habit of hitting on men or that she was quite good at pretending to be charmingly flustered. He really has no urge to do anything more than casually flirt, but can’t bring himself to be rude enough to end the conversation. “Would you…would you like to dance?” He offers her his arm. Recovering quickly, she gracefully accepts and links her hand into the crook of his elbow, letting him lead her back inside.
They’ve only just entered the hotel when Jack is stopped in his tracks by an arresting sight.
“Dr. Shephard, please excuse me, but there is a gentleman here who claims to be an acquaintance of yours. He has no invitation but he refuses to leave until he speaks with you. I am prepared to have security forcibly remove him if you request it,” the hotel manager explains, gesturing across the room at the said individual.
The presence of the manager and two security guards has attracted a small bit of attention from the fellow party-goers, not to mention the sight of a tall, scruffy man dressed in jeans, hiking boots, and a loose black linen shirt standing in the doorway.
The color drains out of Jack’s face and the hotel manager seems to think this is enough of an answer. He gestures to the security guards to do what they must.
“No, no, it’s all right, it’s all right,” Jack puts his hand on the manager’s arm, nodding. “It’s okay. I know him. It’s okay, really. I’ll take care of it.” The security guards warily let go of the intruder and he shakes off their touch with a grunt of disgust. Emma looks between Jack and the stranger as he crosses the room, only drawing more attention as he does so.
“Howdy, Doc. Quite the shindig you’ve got goin’ on here,” he smirks as if he’d only seen him yesterday and his presence was the most natural thing in the world.
“Sawyer,” Jack looks at him, puzzled and shocked. “Sawyer…” He repeats his name again, blinking, not sure if perhaps he’s having a really strong hallucination. “What are you doing here?”
“In the neighborhood, thought I’d pay you a visit.”
“But…but how did you…who told you were I was?”
“Went to your house, housekeeper told me where to find you,” Sawyer explains. “Can’t believe you have a freakin’ housekeeper.” He shakes his head and then continues. “Cept she said you were at the Fairmount Roy-ale something or other-“
“Fairmont Royal York?” Emma supplies, not quite sure what to make of what’s going on but trying to be personable.
“That’s the one. But obviously, you ain’t there, you’re here. Luckily, they knew where to send me,” Sawyer says. “And now, here I am, after walkin’ across the whole goddamn city.”
“Here you are,” Jack replies. “And what are you doing here?”
“Told you, I was in the neighborhood,” Sawyer furrows his brow at Jack. “Look, I wasn’t ‘spectin a ticker-tape parade or nothin’, Doc, but a ‘nice to see ya’ wouldn’t kill you, would it?” Sawyer says, cocking an eyebrow at him. Jack remains silent. Emma shifts awkwardly, feeling incredibly strange being witness to this meeting when she has only barely met Jack.
“I’m Emma,” she extends her hand to Sawyer, not knowing what else to do as Jack continues to be quiet.
“Nice to meet ya, Emma,” Sawyer’s eyes flick her way as he shakes her hand, but quickly settle back on Jack. Something about his gaze makes Emma’s heart palpitate; his eyes were dark with intensity and something unreadable but surely passionate. She can feel Jack’s body stiffen underneath her hand. She wants nothing more than to extract herself from the situation, whatever the situation may be.
“You’re a friend of Jack’s?” She asks.
“Yeah, we go back a ways,” Sawyer explains, something in his tone conveying that the history ran deep.
“Kate’s not here,” Jack finally speaks.
“I know that,” Sawyer replies. Emma looks between the two of them.
“You two obviously have a lot of catching up to do, I think I’ll leave you to it,” Emma excuses herself. “I’ll talk to you later, Jack,” she squeezes his arm gently before walking away, glancing back over her shoulder at the two men as she disappears into the crowd, all of whom have lost interest in the scene already. Figures that the first time she’d worked up the nerve to approach him, something like this would happen. Her curiosity is rightly piqued, but somehow she doubts that she’ll ever get an explanation, much less another chance at conversation, with Jack Shephard.
“If you know Kate’s not here, then why are you here?” Jack repeats his question a third time.
“I saw her,” Sawyer says. "Kate." Jack steps toward him, immediately concerned.
“You saw Kate? Where? Is she all right?”
“She’s fine,” Sawyer informs him curtly, annoyed that Kate is the first thing to break his standoffish attitude.
“Where was she?”
“She came to Boston to see me. She told me what happened.”
“What did she tell you?”
“She said that she had been living with you here in Toronto for awhile but that she had to leave. She was worried about you. She wanted me to check on you.”
”She sent you here to check on me?” Jack exclaims in disbelief. “Just…well…that’s just perfect, isn’t it. ” He starts to say something else, but emotion overwhelms him and he turns away, heading for the exit. Sawyer lets out a small groan and then heads after him.
“Jack-“ Sawyer starts as he pushes through the doors into the lobby. Jack turns to him, clearly furious.
“Did she tell you how she left?”
”She didn’t get into-“
“She took off in the middle of the night, Sawyer. I woke up in the morning and she was gone. She left a note. You want to read it?” Jack pulls out his wallet and holds out a piece of paper to Sawyer. Sawyer takes it wearily and reads it. All it says is:
Jack-
I can’t. I’m sorry.
-Kate
“You carry that around with you?” Sawyer hands it back to him. “Always thought you were a bit of a masochist-”
“What did she say to you, Sawyer? When you saw her?”
“I told ya. She told me that she had been with you since we got back. She said she had to leave and had been moving around the country for a few weeks. She seemed really upset about how you might be feeling and wanted me to come up here and make sure you were okay. God knows why I did. It’s fucking cold here,” Sawyer mutters, perhaps meaning more than just the temperature.
“Well, you can tell Kate that I’m not okay. I’m not fine and she can go to hell,” Jack says to Sawyer, his voice grinding in his throat, before turning his back on him, trying to draw in a deep breath. Sawyer can see what he’s doing, seeing as how it’s something the doctor has always done. Sure enough, within a few seconds, Jack has regained control of his emotions. He turns back to Sawyer, averting his gaze. “Forget it. Don’t tell her anything. Tell her you didn’t come to find me or that I was out of town. Anything.”
Jack sits down on the plush sofa in the lobby, putting his head in his hands. Sawyer watches from a few feet away, wanting to say something but not knowing what to say.
“How was she? Was she okay?” Jack looks up at him, his question honest and full of worry. Sawyer shakes his head in amazement, wondering how Jack could possibly still care so much about her when she’d clearly ripped his heart out and stomped on it with gusto. Sawyer wouldn’t have given a damn if she was okay; in fact, he probably would’ve wanted her to be suffering.
“She’s Kate, Doc.” He shrugs. “She acts tough but she ain’t foolin’ anybody. She’s hurt just like the rest of us, no more, no less. She’s fine. She’s her.” Sawyer walks over to Jack slowly and sits down next to him. Jack doesn’t respond.
“So who was the blonde?” Sawyer inquires, the silence getting to him. He gestures back to the party when Jack looks confused.
“The blonde?” Jack asks, taking a minute to even recall. “Oh…” He struggles to think of her name. “Emma. She works at the hospital.”
“Are you two…?”
“I just met her tonight.”
“Never stopped a man before,” Sawyer points out cheekily. “You are in a hotel, ain’t ya?” Jack chuckles softly but doesn’t say anything. “Though why this place has castle in the title, I dunno. Sure don’t look like no castle to me.”
“Don’t think they meant it literally,” Jack replies, smiling faintly, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Did Kate say where she was going?”
“Didn’t say. Didn’t ask.”
“You wouldn’t,” Jack says, as a statement and not a criticism. He sighs. “Maybe she would’ve been better off with you, Sawyer. I wasn’t what she needed.”
“That girl don’t know what she needs, Jack,” Sawyer grumbles. “But it wasn’t me, I can tell you that.” Jack looks at him and the look in his eyes goes straight to Sawyer’s chest, the hurt and uncertainty evident in Jack’s gaze striking him as if it were his own pain. He grunts to cover his own unease and slaps Jack on the back. “C’mon. I’m here now, we might as well get a drink. No broken heart a little booze don’t help.”
“I don’t really drink,” Jack says, rising as Sawyer gets up.
“See, well, that’s your first problem right there,” Sawyer laughs. “Show me to the nearest bar and we’ll get you rip roarin’ drunk and hooked up with something real pretty.”
“I can tell you right now, that’s not going to happen.”
“We’ll see.”
*******
“I can’t believe you live in this place,” Sawyer mutters as he and Jack slowly walk up the front porch steps of the restored Victorian house Jack called home in the Annex. “You should see my shitty apartment.” Jack sits on the top step, breathing the cold night air in deeply. His tie hangs loose around his neck and his shirt is untucked. Sawyer rings the doorbell and waits. Jack lifts his head, puzzled.
“What are you doing? Key’s in my pocket, Sawyer,” he mumbles, half-asleep.
“What, your housekeeper don’t answer doors?”
“My housekeeper comes by twice a week, Sawyer. I don’t exactly have a staff,” Jack replies, standing back up and digging the keys out of his pocket. He looks at his watch. “Besides, it’s 3 in the morning.”
“Well, I never had a housekeeper, damned if I know how it works,” Sawyer mutters. Jack opens his door and steps inside. He stops, realizing Sawyer isn’t following him inside.
“What’s wrong?”
“Maybe I should hit a motel or somethin’ - don’t wanna impose,” he explains, gesturing back to the taxi he has kept waiting in the street.
“You don’t want to impose? Sawyer, nothing you have ever said has sounded more like bullshit.” Sawyer laughs out loud, knowing the doctor is spot-on. “I have a guest room, you can stay here. There’s no need for a hotel,” Jack says, once again digging into his pocket and pulling out some crumpled bills and a couple two dollar coins. “Just pay him and come in.”
“Bossy when you’re drunk, ain’t ya?”
“I’m more tired than drunk.”
“Well I’m more drunk than tired and whatever you are, you’re still bossy.”
“Fine. You want to spend eighty bucks on a hotel room when you can stay here for free?”
“It’s only eighty Canadian bucks.”
"You really want to go to a hotel, go. I was just trying to be a good host,” Jack shrugs, giving up and leaning against his porch railing. He raises his eyebrows at Sawyer, who relents.
“I’ll be right back,” Sawyer says with a groan. Jack doesn’t wait, going inside as Sawyer goes to pay the cabbie.
Sawyer slowly climbs back up the front steps and enters the house, closing the door gently behind him. Jack is nowhere to be seen but he can hear him moving around in the kitchen - making a pot of coffee, from the sound of it.
Alone, Sawyer takes advantage of the time to look around the empty living room. Untouched magazines are piled up on the coffee table but apart from that, the place is pristine. The dark brown couch is decorated with a chenille throw and deep maroon pillows. Two tall bookshelves stand on either side of a large brick fireplace, the shelves almost buckling underneath the weight of too many books. He walks across to the fireplace, looking down as his slightly damp boots leave faint footprints on the oak hardwood floors. The place looks exactly like Jack; he wonders if it had ever looked like Kate as well or if she hadn’t even bothered to pretend to settle down.
The fireplace mantle is half bare, as if pictures have recently been removed and replacements haven’t been found. Sawyer isn’t sure whether to smile or frown as he sees the familiar faces of Charlie, Claire, and the now almost two year old Aaron in one photo, Sun and Jin standing in front of their brand new oceanfront home in another. Rose and Bernard grin out happily from yet another. Sawyer wonders if they are the only people Jack kept in touch with or if they are just the only ones who had sent photos.
Apart from seeing Kate a few weeks ago, he had run into Michael, Walt, and Libby once by accident in New York City. He hadn’t wanted to find out if the other survivors desired to keep him in their lives, afraid of the answer, so he hadn’t given them the opportunity to show him.
Picking up the photo of Sun and Jin, he follows the sound of coffee percolating toward the back of the house until he reaches the kitchen. It’s a small room, but quaint. Jack is standing at the sink, washing out a coffee mug. Sawyer leans against the doorway and crosses his arms, watching Jack quietly for a moment before making his presence known by clearing his throat.
Jack drops the mug into the sink, startled, but it lands with a heavy thud and remains in one piece.
“Jesus, Sawyer, you scared me.”
“You got a nice place here,” he says, gesturing around the kitchen. “Amazing that you’ve got so much crap accumulated already.” He holds up the photo of Sun and Jin. “Looks like they got a new place too?”
“Some of us were able to recover our assets when we got back. Most of mine had been given to my former hospital in accordance with my will, and they returned what hadn’t already been put to use. Jin had apparently been setting aside money in a secret account before the crash that wasn’t under his real name, so it hadn’t been liquidated.”
“It’s annoyin’ that you still use big words when you’re drunk, Doc.”
“I’m not drunk,” Jack points out again.
“Right, just tired,” Sawyer nods, setting the picture on the table. “For someone who doesn’t really drink, you sure can hold your liquor.”
“You can thank my father for that,” Jack mutters, drying a second mug and setting it down on the countertop. He looks at the coffee pot, which is almost full. “You want some?”
“Why not,” Sawyer sits down at the table in the center of the room and puts his feet up on the table. He studies Jack as the other man moves around the room, busying himself with small and pointless tasks. “You keep in touch with everyone?” Jack turns to him, hesitating slightly before answering. He leans against the counter, directly across the kitchen from Sawyer.
“I do…”
“I don’t,” Sawyer states bluntly. “Surprised?” From the look on Jack’s face, the answer is clear. “Didn’t think you would be.” He pauses. “How is everyone doin’?”
“You really want to know?”
“Why not.”
“Okay…well, Sun and Jin got a place in San Francisco. Jin is working on starting his own business. Sun is working as a florist.” Jack sits down across from Sawyer. “Claire, Charlie, and Aaron are staying with Hurley in LA for awhile; they’re both still trying to figure out what to do. They were trying to live on their own for awhile but there were some money issues…but they’re together.”
“Figured they would be.”
“Locke is in Africa on safari, last thing I heard, and was planning on visiting Eko in Nigeria while he was there. Rose and Bernard live in Miami in the winter and Augusta for the rest of the year. Bernard’s pension got reinstated once he came back, so they’re taking it easy for awhile.”
Sawyer pauses. “Ana Lucia?”
“She stayed with the kids until they were reunited with their mother. She was in Vegas for awhile trying to work as a cop…I don’t know where she is now.”
“I saw Mike, Walt, and Libby a few months ago…” Sawyer says. “Walt’s huge. Boy grew like two feet. They’re engaged, I guess. Mike and Libby, I mean.”
“That’s nice to hear,” Jack replies, though his voice sounds slightly strangled. He gets up and pours the coffee into the two mugs. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Black’s fine.” Jack hands Sawyer a cup but doesn’t sit back down. Sawyer relaxes into his chair.
“Sayid?”
“Last I heard he was in England,” Jack replies, rubbing his eye and leaning back against the counter. “I haven’t really…I haven’t really been in touch with anyone since…” Since she left. Neither of them really needs to finish the sentence out loud. “I feel really bad about it…I have phone calls to return and letters and e-mails to write, but I can’t sit down and make myself do it. I don’t know how to tell them…I don’t want to. I keep thinking she’ll come back.” Jack laughs at himself, staring down at the linoleum floor. Sawyer takes a long sip of his coffee , thinking about what he can possibly say.
“I tried to help her, Sawyer…but no matter what I did…” Jack starts to say, but stops. Sawyer sighs.
“Doc, Kate didn’t want to be saved.”
“I wasn’t trying to save her, I just…”
“I ain’t sayin’ she didn’t need it, I’m just sayin’ that no matter how much she really needed ya, she wouldn’t be the kind of girl who admitted it. She don’t wanna depend on nobody.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“No. But I know it. You know it. You knew she wouldn’t stay, Doc.”
“I hoped she would. I thought, for me…”
“Kate didn’t think she deserved you…never did,” Sawyer states bluntly. “Got it in her head that she ain’t good enough to be with ya.”
“Kate deserves more than me, I-“
“That’s what you think, Jack, not what she thinks,” Sawyer points out. “Besides, you’re a pretty hard act to follow, Doc.” Jack looks up at Sawyer’s words, clearly annoyed by them.
“Why is that, Sawyer? I mean, what am I?” Jack asks, his voice growing louder. “I am so sick of people telling me that I am good. What is that? What the hell does good mean, anyway? I’m just as screwed up as everyone else is. I’m no different.”
“Yeah you are,” Sawyer retorts simply. “You may be irreversibly fucked up, I don’t know. But that ain’t never stopped you from tryin’ to do the right thing, from pushin’ on when things are hard. People like me and Kate, Jack, we just cut and run.” Sawyer states this as if it’s painfully obvious. “I hated you for it. Freckles, well, she loves you for it. But that don’t mean she’s about to change.” Sawyer takes another long sip of his coffee, watching Jack over the rim as he processes what Sawyer has just said. The other man closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
Sawyer curls his fingers tightly around the smoothness of the coffee mug, resisting the urge to get up and walk over to Jack. To touch him, to tell him that the pain would go away eventually, that everything would be fine. It had been so long since he’d been in the same room as Jack; apart, his memories had seemed enough. Now, it seemed impossible that he ever had thought never seeing Jack again would be fine.
Jack opens his eyes and realizes that Sawyer is staring at him, his fingers absentmindedly turning the coffee mug around and around in circles on the tabletop. He had forgotten how the color of Sawyer’s eyes changed as quickly as his moods. A different shirt or a different light, and his eyes would tell a different story. His own eyes never changed; they were solid, earthy brown; he focuses them now on Sawyer, wondering why the other man hasn’t broken his gaze yet. It is as if he’s looking through him. Something in it makes Jack feel uneasy.
“It’s late. We should get you settled,” Jack suggests, breaking Sawyer’s concentration. He looks almost startled to hear Jack’s voice. “Did you bring anything with you?” He asks, realizing for the first time that Sawyer had arrived with absolutely nothing in tow.
“It’s in a locker at the bus station,” Sawyer digs into the front pocket of his shirt and holds up the locker key. “Didn’t know if I would find you tonight or not. I have tickets back tomorrow anyway.”
“Tomorrow?” Jack is surprised at the sudden abandonment and loss he feels. “You don’t want to stay a few days? You’re more than welcome to.”
“Naw…I just wanted to make sure you were okay, like I said. Told Kate I would,” he says, as if he hadn’t even had a choice in the matter. He was just fulfilling a duty and there was nothing more to it than that.
“You really came all the way here just because of Kate?” Jack’s question catches Sawyer off guard, the phrasing of the words making him think for a split-second that Jack had suspected a different reason for Sawyer’s being there.
“Why, you really think I fuckin’ care if you got the blues?” Sawyer retorts, a little harsher than even he would’ve liked it to come out. “Besides, I have a job to get back to.”
“All right,” Jack throws up his hands, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. He should’ve known better than to offer in the first place. “Well, follow me, I guess. The spare room’s this way.” Sawyer follows Jack up the narrow back staircase, ducking his head slightly under the low ceiling.
“Christ, Doc, you got a house made for midgets?” He curses as he bumps his head.
“It’s an old house, Sawyer, people used to be a lot shorter,” Jack replies, not even looking back to see if Sawyer’s all right, knowing it’s more whining than actual injury. “Here,” he walks down the hallway and pushes open a heavy door, switching on the light. “This should hold you for tonight at least.”
Sawyer takes in the room; it’s toward the front of the house and Sawyer can see the changing leaves eerily illuminated from the streetlights outside. The windows are made of thick old-fashioned glass, intricate iron patterns separating one pane from another. The floor is bare wood, an old throw rug on the ground by the bed and the dresser. The furnishings are oak and the only light in the room emanates from a Tiffany-style table lamp on the night table. There are a couple of boxes stacked in the far corner near the window seat. Sawyer can sense Jack purposely not looking at them and he knows whose they are.
“Figures your spare room is larger than my entire apartment,” Sawyer mutters, shaking his head at Jack. Jack opens the closet door for Sawyer and gestures inside.
“There are hangers in here if you want to hang your stuff up and some old clothes of mine if you want something for the morning. Towels are in the hall closet right outside the bathroom. Shower takes a while to heat up and runs out of hot water fast, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to fix it yet. Um…books are downstairs if you want something to read, extra blankets are on the shelf below the towels if you get cold…” Jack pauses, trying to think of anything else Sawyer needs to know. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you’re hungry. I don’t have to be at the hospital until tomorrow afternoon so if you want a ride to the bus station, I’ll be around.” Jack heads for the doorway and Sawyer lets him prattle on, amused. “Do you want something to sleep in?”
“Besides the bed?” Sawyer smirks. “Naw, that’s all I need.”
“I meant in terms of clothes, Sawyer,” Jack replies, thinking Sawyer’s being a smartass.
“I know what ya meant,” He says. Jack is too tired to get Sawyer’s meaning immediately, but when he does, he lets it slide.
“Oh. Well, just let me know if you need anything. I’m right down the hall.” Jack points toward his door and Sawyer nods.
“Think I’ll be fine, Doc. You can stop worryin’ about taking care of me now. I’m a big boy.”
“Sorry. It’s just what I do,” Jack shrugs and heads for his room.
“You’re real good at taking care of everybody else, Jack. You ever think about letting someone take care of you for a change?” Sawyer’s comment follows him down the hallway. Jack turns and looks back at Sawyer, who is leaning casually against the doorframe. Jack has no idea how to interpret the comment or how to reply.
“I’m…I’m not very good at that, Sawyer,” he manages.
“It was just a thought,” Sawyer shrugs his shoulders and disappears into his room, as if Jack’s answer was really of no consequence. Jack goes into his own room and closes the door behind him. He leans back against it, putting his face in his hands.
For the first time that night, he lets his mind reel in the knowledge that Sawyer, of all people, is in his house. His mere presence is exhausting. For the past month, all he wanted was to hide out and avoid people; now one of the only people ever capable of really getting under his skin is sharing the same roof. Jack sighs, dropping his hands to his sides.
“It’s just for one night,” he reminds himself, knowing that it’s almost all over. He crosses his bedroom and opens his top drawer, digging underneath his socks for some random items that he stored there. Grabbing his spare key, he opens his bedroom door and heads back toward Sawyer.
********
--------> THIS PART CONTINUED...
Title: Part One: Damaged
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer, Jack/Kate
Rating: NC-17, Slash
Note: FutureFic - set 1 year post-rescue
Disclaimer: Not mine!
This is my first NC-17 fic, first Slash fic, and first Lost fic...hopefully it's okay!
We're damaged people
Drawn together
By subtleties that we are not aware of
Disturbed souls
Playing out forever
These games that we once thought we would be scared of…
-DM
It is the kind of evening when summer is dying and the smell of fall is breezing through the night air. Not quite cold yet, but the blazing heat and humidity of July and August have long become a distant memory. Jack looks across the open veranda at the myriad guests, watching as the soft satins of ladies’ evening gowns shimmer in the flickering candlelight.
The music from the string quartet floats out from the hotel and down to his place on the edge of the dock. They’re playing a classical tune he doesn’t recognize, despite the years of piano lessons and constant exposure to his mother’s endless classical collection.
She had wanted him to use his long nimble fingers to create art; his father had said surgery was the highest art. His father had won that battle when Jack opted for pre-med at Harvard rather than choosing to study at Juilliard. His mother, not to mention his classical piano teacher, had been furious at the wasted years of lessons and recitals. His father had never been more proud.
He often wonders how different his life would’ve been if he’d lived out his mother’s dream rather than his father’s. His father might have hated him from that age on, perhaps, but then, maybe that would’ve been the worst of it right there. He wouldn’t have drunk himself to death in Australia and Jack wouldn’t have had to go find him, bring his body home…there would’ve been no plane crash, no island…no her.
Jack turns his gaze from the lively party and looks out past the docked ferries toward the black, empty night, seeing the flickering lights of what must be Niagara across the dark water of Lake Ontario. If only he could be anywhere but here.
He tugs at his black bow tie, the sound of the water slowly rolling to shore in the distance causing a deep ache to roll through the pit of his stomach. How many nights had he fallen asleep to the sound of the ocean? They seemed innumerable now, like he had been on that island forever.
In reality it had only been 8 months. 8 months. It seemed like such a short period of time in the scheme of things. After the first month had gone by, he had given up hope of rescue and had set his mind to accepting his new life. Surgeries and scrubs, trips to the movies or the opera, down comforters and really good scotch…these are things he had let go of and they had let go of him. But they were still here when he came back, ready and waiting, as if he’d never left.
Only 39 years old and he’d already led two entire lives; only 39 years old and here he is in the midst of another. The first had been a life under the oppressive thumb of his father - trying to make the old man proud, trying to make the old man understand, and only seeing too late that his father’s approval perhaps wasn’t something he wanted or needed. It was a life where even his successes seemed like failures because they were never enough. It might’ve been better to fail out right, and then at least his father’s disappointment would’ve been understandable.
But Jack Shephard didn’t fail. He was always striving to do the right thing and somehow wound up hurting those who loved him in the process. His father, his mother, Sarah...and surprisingly, those problems were also waiting for him upon is return.
The second life had been on that island, where he had fallen into typical form as the de facto leader, trying to do everything right and feeling like a failure at that as well. They had all looked to him as if he had to tell them what to do, as if naturally it had to be his responsibility to save them all somehow. When he made a choice they didn’t like or asked for something they didn’t want to give, that leadership was thrown back in his face, as if it was a yoke he had placed on them himself.
Every time he had tried to just let it go, let them fend for themselves, something would happen. And being himself, he couldn’t stand by and just let it happen without trying to help. It was on the island that Jack finally accepted the fact that he had to be that person- it was in his blood, ingrained into his very being. He had to try and help, even if it wasn’t always wanted.
Jack fishes through his pocket to find his lighter and then reaches into his inside breast pocket for a pack of cigarettes. The pack is worn and slightly crumpled and it takes a few tries to get the lighter to work. Smoking isn’t an event he partakes in regularly and when he does, it is on the sly. Each cigarette that touches his lips brings with it sensations of both relaxation and shame. Watching his father indulge in alcohol as he grew up, Jack had promised to himself that he would never use such a vice as a crutch in times of weakness.
“So much for that,” Jack mutters to himself. He takes a long drag and then lets it go slowly, watching as the cloud of smoke drifts away and disappears into the darkness.
“You got a light?”
“You got a light?” Jack swivels toward the sound of Sawyer’s voice and finds him sauntering along the riverbank, cigarette hanging from his lips haphazardly.
“I don’t smoke.”
“Not what I asked,” Sawyer retorts, coming to a stop next to Jack, close enough to make Jack uncomfortable. He eyes Sawyer suspiciously and Sawyer just cocks him a smug grin.
“Cigarettes aren’t any help to a recovering immune system, you know,” Jack responds, his gaze narrowing critically at Sawyer.
“Damn, you saying these things ain’t good for me?” Sawyer takes the cigarette from his mouth and looks at it as if completely stupefied. “Shit, Doc, you’re just blowin’ my mind tonight.” He puts the cigarette back to his lips and rolls his eyes. He takes a step away from Jack, glancing back through the cover of trees toward the camp. He shoves the cigarette into the front pocket of his worn linen button-down shirt and shakes his head in dismay.
“What?” Jack asks.
“I’m too damn lazy to hike back up there just to light this stupid thing,” Sawyer mutters. “Not worth the trouble.”
“Oh jesus.” It’s Jack’s turn to roll his eyes. He sighs in frustration and reluctantly digs something out from the back pocket of his jeans.
“Well would ya look at that…you been holding out on me,” Sawyer grins again, taking the lighter from Jack. “Where’d you find a lighter?”
“Hatch. Where’d you find more cigarettes?”
“None of your business,” Sawyer replies, flicking the lighter on and lighting his cigarette with practiced ease. He takes a long deep drag and closes his eyes, letting it out slowly. When he opens his eyes, he finds Jack turning to leave. “What, you tired of my company already? And here I thought we were havin’ a fascinatin’ conversation.”
“Unfortunately, I have things to do, Sawyer.”
“This time a night? C’mon, Doc…the only thing you’re doing this late is Kate.” Jack stops and looks at Sawyer, surprise evident on his face for a moment before he is able to mask it with an offended air.
“Sawyer, I’m not even going to dignify that with a response.”
“See, what you did just there…that would be respondin’…” Sawyer smirks that familiar smirk that makes Jack’s fingers twitch, itching to form a fist and connect with Sawyer’s face. “Besides, there ain’t no use denyin’ it. You certainly don’t have to pretend for the sake of my feelings-“ Sawyer chuckles somewhat sardonically. “We both know you don’t give a shit about me just like I don’t give a rat’s ass ‘bout you.” He pauses, as if pondering something deliciously mean. “Now, I’d be bettin’ that Kate asked you not to say anything. Am I right?” From Jack’s lack of response, Sawyer knows he’s hit something. “Don’t that bother you a bit, Doc?”
“Does what bother me, Sawyer?”
“She’ll screw you ‘bout every night but, for some ol’ reason, she don’t want me to know. Now why do ya think she cares if I find out?”
“Exactly why is it so important to you to make me angry, Sawyer? I mean, we all know you’re an ass, but what is it about me that makes you go that extra mile and really cross the line? What’s it worth to you?” Jack demands, his nerves beginning to fray. Sawyer doesn’t reply. “Quit the bullshit for a second and tell me what it is you want me to do. It’ll save us both some time. You want me to hit you? Curse at you? Hate you? You want me to get jealous of some vague connection you have with Kate? If she wanted to be with you, she’d be with you. She’s not. That’s it. What else is there to say here? What do you want from me?”
Sawyer remains calm in the face of Jack’s questions, though his own anger is boiling below the surface. He stares at Jack, wondering what it is about Jack exactly that gets him so worked up. It’s hard to pinpoint. Anytime they are in the same vicinity, it’s as if he can’t help himself. It’d gotten even harder to resist the temptation since Jack had saved his life; the time Jack had spent tending to Sawyer during his illness grated on him. He hated being in debt to anyone, much less the one person on the island who was precisely everything Sawyer himself could never be. Being around Jack made him feel like he was freaking Lex Luthor and everyone else was merely biding their time, watching and waiting, until Jack got his ass into a phone booth, donned his superhero gear and rid the world of Sawyer’s evil machinations once and for all.
No matter how hard he tried, Sawyer had yet to find the kryptonite to make Jack equally weak as he.
Sawyer realizes he’s been silent for too long and covers it with another long drag from his smoke. He blows it out slowly, staring Jack down through the haze as it dissipates.
“What do I want…” Sawyer repeats slowly, the words drawling slowly from his lips, turning the idea over in his head. “Maybe I just want you to be a god damn human being like the rest of us here, Jack,” Sawyer says coolly, his demeanor clearly unsettling Jack. Jack tries to hold his gaze but his eyes betray him, confusion flickering beneath their usual deep brown tranquility.
“And who says I’m not?” Jack asks, wavering slightly in his usual reserve. Sawyer shrugs and looks away, not wanting to answer him. He sighs and turns back with a forced smirk.
“Smoke?” He offers innocently, like he hadn’t just said an incredibly rare honest thing to Jack. He reaches out, holding out the half-wasted cigarette directly between the two of them. Jack eyes him, clearly unsure of what has just transpired but aware that something has just shifted. He can feel it in the air, almost like the earth had tilted on its axis and set everything slightly off kilter.
His hand trembles ever so slightly as he steps toward Sawyer and takes the cigarette from his calloused fingers. Wordlessly, Jack brings the cigarette to his mouth and tries not to show his distaste as the smoke fills his lungs, a sensation that he hadn’t encountered since he and his friends used to sneak cigarettes between classes in the high school bathroom, thinking they were hard ass rebels. But he hadn’t known Sawyer then, didn’t know what a hard ass rebel really even was. But the pretense had been thrilling.
He breathes out a cloud of smoke slowly, inwardly glad that he hadn’t embarrassingly coughed or gagged on the smoke, though he can feel his eyes watering slightly. Sawyer’s eyes are on him, his gaze intense and disquieting. Jack makes a small movement to give the cigarette back to him when Sawyer closes the gap between them, coming so close that Jack can actually feel Sawyer’s body heat radiating toward him and smell the faint scent of Sawyer’s freshly laundered clothes mixed with the slight aroma of his sweat after the day’s long wear.
Sawyer, with surprising gentleness, lifts the cigarette from Jack’s light grasp. He lets his hand drop to his side, ashes falling off the end of the cigarette and into the grass. Jack is staring at him, in his earnest way that always makes Sawyer feel slightly guilty for hating him. It makes him realize that even if he spit venom, Jack would always respond by digging into an ever deepening well of compassion and patience. It was a look he’d seen many times as Jack tended to his wound, a look that always seemed to grow in intense resolve the more barbs and insults Sawyer threw at him. It was a look that made Sawyer’s stomach clench and it took everything in his being not to either whack the doctor’s good nature right out of him or kiss him until he could no longer think straight.
“I can’t stand to look at you sometimes,” Sawyer murmurs, his voice harsh with distaste and disgust, though he’s not able to stop himself from tracing his thumb across Jack’s bottom lip. He’s not even aware he doing it until it’s already done. He freezes, a small part of him unknowingly waiting to see how Jack reacts while the rest of him hurriedly grasps for a reasonable explanation.
Jack doesn’t speak, though his lips part slightly as if he’s trying to find the words. For a split second, Sawyer thinks Jack is leaning into him, his lips ready to find his. But Jack moves away and something clicks in Sawyer’s mind. The moment disappears and everything snaps back into focus. He quickly takes a last drag from the cig and drops it to the ground, stomping it out and rubbing it into the dirt with the toe of his boot.
“Gotta tell ya, Doc, I’ll never get what Freckles sees in ya. Never get it ‘til the day I die,” he chuckles, bitterness lacing his words. “Just do us all a favor and tell her to keep it down. We all don’t need to know how she likes it.”
Jack doesn’t move for a moment, in disbelief that this is how Sawyer is going to end the conversation. He shakes his head in disgust, and Sawyer can feel the sting of his reproach as surely as if he’d been punched in the gut. He ignores it, shaking his hair back and out of his face, leveling his dark gaze on Jack, daring him to say something.
“Fuck you, Sawyer,” Jack mutters, turning to leave but stopping and turning back.
“I see someone’s finally ready to stop playin’ nice,” Sawyer grins, triumphant. Jack doesn’t seem furious however; his expression is full of nothing but pity.
“You know, someday you’re actually going to fall in love with someone, Sawyer, hard as you try not to, and you know what?”
“You think you’re in love with her?” Sawyer scoffs, ignoring Jack’s question and pouncing on the first half of his statement. “Man, are you in trouble.”
“I’m not talking about me, I’m talking about you.”
“Well go ahead and enlighten me then, Doc, since you know so much.”
“One day you’re going to find someone and I guarantee you, you’ll lose her, whoever she is.”
“Yeah, and why’s that?” Sawyer asks, his jaw tightening as he struggles to maintain his air of indifference.
“Because you’ll finally understand what it takes to care about someone else more than yourself. And you’re going to realize you’re truly incapable of such a thing. And you’re going to hate yourself for it.”
“I already do, Doc,” Sawyer replies lowly. “But thanks for the kind words anyways. Real sweet to know ya care. Gives me the warm fuzzies inside.”
“Jack?” Both men look up the embankment and find Kate looking down to them through the darkness. “Can you come here?” Jack glances back to Sawyer, who merely smirks and shrugs.
“Better go. Lover girl’s callin’ ya,” Sawyer doesn’t wait to watch Jack climb up toward Kate, instead turning and walking off into the darkness of the jungle.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” Jack is caught off guard. The voice had been soft and feminine and upon looking toward its source, Jack finds one of his female co-workers standing by his side, a slim cigarette dangling between her perfectly manicured fingernails.
“Oh, I only asked if you had a light,” she repeats with a gentle smile and a light laugh, brushing a stray piece of light blonde hair from her face. She reminds me of Shannon, Jack thinks, feeling a little stab of pain at the memory of the young girl he hadn’t even had a chance to try to save. She does look similar, though older and without the shadow of bitterness and resentment that always lurked in Shannon’s countenance, even when she smiled. This woman’s smile holds no such hidden mystery; it is open and guileless. “I didn’t mean to disturb you, I’m sorry,” she apologizes, clearly sensing that Jack’s mind is not entirely in the present moment. He shakes his head and snaps out of it.
“No, I’m sorry, I was off in another world there for a second…” Jack explains, smiling back at her. “Here, let me." He lifts his lighter to her cigarette, cupping her hand with his to prevent the wind from blowing the tentative flame out.
“Thank you,” she murmurs, her face all too close to his for a split second. “What were you thinking about?”
“Oh…nothing important,” Jack replies with a slight shrug. He watches with interest as the woman simply holds the cigarette, letting it burn. “You going to smoke that?” He inquires with a small chuckle. She blushes enough for it to be evident even in the darkness of the night and giggles with a girlish lilt.
“Um, well…” She eyes the cigarette, looking sheepish. “I actually don’t smoke…I guess I wanted a reason to come over and talk to you,” she admits openly, tossing the cigarette to the ground and putting it out with the tip of her light pink stiletto heel.
“Oh, really?” Jack says good-naturedly, smiling widely for the first time in a good while. “Why not just come over and talk to me?”
“In case you can’t tell, I didn’t really think the scenario through,” she replies, laughing. “Just thought I needed a reason, I guess. You haven’t exactly been circulating,” she gestures back toward the party with the glass of champagne in her left hand.
“Well…” Jack rubs the back of his neck with his hand, realizing that he hasn’t been exactly full of social graces this evening. “I suppose I’m not in the best party mood this evening.” They both pause, not sure where to take the conversation from there. “I’m Jack, by the way.”
“I know,” she says with a grin. “Jack Shephard, new brilliant surgeon at Toronto General…Man of Mystery…Hero of Flight 815…”
“I see the propaganda has already been spread around,” Jack chuckles, a hint of frustration belying his tone. “Believe me, I’m no hero.”
“Not what I heard - also heard you were too modest. Seems they were right.” She pauses for a moment before continuing. “The hospital was quite ecstatic when you accepted the position, believe me, we all heard about it,” she explains, Jack finally starting to pick upon her faint Canadian accent. “My name is Emma. Pediatrics.” She extends her hand to him and he takes it.
“It’s very nice to meet you. I think I’ve seen you around, but I haven’t really met everyone in the hospital yet. It’s been kind of crazy.”
“Well it’s a big hospital. I’ve been working there for years and I still don’t know everybody. You haven't been here that long yet.”
“It’s gone by really fast.”
“You should know, a great percentage of the female population, patients included, are quite interested to make your acquaintance,” Emma gently teases, whispering it to him as if it’s a highly confidential secret. “I personally thought that you must be taken, but when you came to the benefit tonight alone, I thought perhaps I’d give it a shot and be the envy of the locker room on Monday morning.” She winks at him, letting him know that she’s at least half-joking in her brazen pick up attempt. Jack falters for a moment, still feeling bowled over whenever he’s reminded exactly how single he now is. Emma picks up on it and blushes again.
“Oh…you are seeing someone, aren’t you? Wow, do I feel like an idiot. I’m so sorry,” She apologizes profusely, seemingly truly embarrassed. She steps away from him, already making haste to get away and leave him alone.
“We’re…I was with someone. We’re not together anymore,” Jack tells her, feeling bad for causing her state of nervous anxiety. It was either frighteningly obvious that she didn’t have a habit of hitting on men or that she was quite good at pretending to be charmingly flustered. He really has no urge to do anything more than casually flirt, but can’t bring himself to be rude enough to end the conversation. “Would you…would you like to dance?” He offers her his arm. Recovering quickly, she gracefully accepts and links her hand into the crook of his elbow, letting him lead her back inside.
They’ve only just entered the hotel when Jack is stopped in his tracks by an arresting sight.
“Dr. Shephard, please excuse me, but there is a gentleman here who claims to be an acquaintance of yours. He has no invitation but he refuses to leave until he speaks with you. I am prepared to have security forcibly remove him if you request it,” the hotel manager explains, gesturing across the room at the said individual.
The presence of the manager and two security guards has attracted a small bit of attention from the fellow party-goers, not to mention the sight of a tall, scruffy man dressed in jeans, hiking boots, and a loose black linen shirt standing in the doorway.
The color drains out of Jack’s face and the hotel manager seems to think this is enough of an answer. He gestures to the security guards to do what they must.
“No, no, it’s all right, it’s all right,” Jack puts his hand on the manager’s arm, nodding. “It’s okay. I know him. It’s okay, really. I’ll take care of it.” The security guards warily let go of the intruder and he shakes off their touch with a grunt of disgust. Emma looks between Jack and the stranger as he crosses the room, only drawing more attention as he does so.
“Howdy, Doc. Quite the shindig you’ve got goin’ on here,” he smirks as if he’d only seen him yesterday and his presence was the most natural thing in the world.
“Sawyer,” Jack looks at him, puzzled and shocked. “Sawyer…” He repeats his name again, blinking, not sure if perhaps he’s having a really strong hallucination. “What are you doing here?”
“In the neighborhood, thought I’d pay you a visit.”
“But…but how did you…who told you were I was?”
“Went to your house, housekeeper told me where to find you,” Sawyer explains. “Can’t believe you have a freakin’ housekeeper.” He shakes his head and then continues. “Cept she said you were at the Fairmount Roy-ale something or other-“
“Fairmont Royal York?” Emma supplies, not quite sure what to make of what’s going on but trying to be personable.
“That’s the one. But obviously, you ain’t there, you’re here. Luckily, they knew where to send me,” Sawyer says. “And now, here I am, after walkin’ across the whole goddamn city.”
“Here you are,” Jack replies. “And what are you doing here?”
“Told you, I was in the neighborhood,” Sawyer furrows his brow at Jack. “Look, I wasn’t ‘spectin a ticker-tape parade or nothin’, Doc, but a ‘nice to see ya’ wouldn’t kill you, would it?” Sawyer says, cocking an eyebrow at him. Jack remains silent. Emma shifts awkwardly, feeling incredibly strange being witness to this meeting when she has only barely met Jack.
“I’m Emma,” she extends her hand to Sawyer, not knowing what else to do as Jack continues to be quiet.
“Nice to meet ya, Emma,” Sawyer’s eyes flick her way as he shakes her hand, but quickly settle back on Jack. Something about his gaze makes Emma’s heart palpitate; his eyes were dark with intensity and something unreadable but surely passionate. She can feel Jack’s body stiffen underneath her hand. She wants nothing more than to extract herself from the situation, whatever the situation may be.
“You’re a friend of Jack’s?” She asks.
“Yeah, we go back a ways,” Sawyer explains, something in his tone conveying that the history ran deep.
“Kate’s not here,” Jack finally speaks.
“I know that,” Sawyer replies. Emma looks between the two of them.
“You two obviously have a lot of catching up to do, I think I’ll leave you to it,” Emma excuses herself. “I’ll talk to you later, Jack,” she squeezes his arm gently before walking away, glancing back over her shoulder at the two men as she disappears into the crowd, all of whom have lost interest in the scene already. Figures that the first time she’d worked up the nerve to approach him, something like this would happen. Her curiosity is rightly piqued, but somehow she doubts that she’ll ever get an explanation, much less another chance at conversation, with Jack Shephard.
“If you know Kate’s not here, then why are you here?” Jack repeats his question a third time.
“I saw her,” Sawyer says. "Kate." Jack steps toward him, immediately concerned.
“You saw Kate? Where? Is she all right?”
“She’s fine,” Sawyer informs him curtly, annoyed that Kate is the first thing to break his standoffish attitude.
“Where was she?”
“She came to Boston to see me. She told me what happened.”
“What did she tell you?”
“She said that she had been living with you here in Toronto for awhile but that she had to leave. She was worried about you. She wanted me to check on you.”
”She sent you here to check on me?” Jack exclaims in disbelief. “Just…well…that’s just perfect, isn’t it. ” He starts to say something else, but emotion overwhelms him and he turns away, heading for the exit. Sawyer lets out a small groan and then heads after him.
“Jack-“ Sawyer starts as he pushes through the doors into the lobby. Jack turns to him, clearly furious.
“Did she tell you how she left?”
”She didn’t get into-“
“She took off in the middle of the night, Sawyer. I woke up in the morning and she was gone. She left a note. You want to read it?” Jack pulls out his wallet and holds out a piece of paper to Sawyer. Sawyer takes it wearily and reads it. All it says is:
Jack-
I can’t. I’m sorry.
-Kate
“You carry that around with you?” Sawyer hands it back to him. “Always thought you were a bit of a masochist-”
“What did she say to you, Sawyer? When you saw her?”
“I told ya. She told me that she had been with you since we got back. She said she had to leave and had been moving around the country for a few weeks. She seemed really upset about how you might be feeling and wanted me to come up here and make sure you were okay. God knows why I did. It’s fucking cold here,” Sawyer mutters, perhaps meaning more than just the temperature.
“Well, you can tell Kate that I’m not okay. I’m not fine and she can go to hell,” Jack says to Sawyer, his voice grinding in his throat, before turning his back on him, trying to draw in a deep breath. Sawyer can see what he’s doing, seeing as how it’s something the doctor has always done. Sure enough, within a few seconds, Jack has regained control of his emotions. He turns back to Sawyer, averting his gaze. “Forget it. Don’t tell her anything. Tell her you didn’t come to find me or that I was out of town. Anything.”
Jack sits down on the plush sofa in the lobby, putting his head in his hands. Sawyer watches from a few feet away, wanting to say something but not knowing what to say.
“How was she? Was she okay?” Jack looks up at him, his question honest and full of worry. Sawyer shakes his head in amazement, wondering how Jack could possibly still care so much about her when she’d clearly ripped his heart out and stomped on it with gusto. Sawyer wouldn’t have given a damn if she was okay; in fact, he probably would’ve wanted her to be suffering.
“She’s Kate, Doc.” He shrugs. “She acts tough but she ain’t foolin’ anybody. She’s hurt just like the rest of us, no more, no less. She’s fine. She’s her.” Sawyer walks over to Jack slowly and sits down next to him. Jack doesn’t respond.
“So who was the blonde?” Sawyer inquires, the silence getting to him. He gestures back to the party when Jack looks confused.
“The blonde?” Jack asks, taking a minute to even recall. “Oh…” He struggles to think of her name. “Emma. She works at the hospital.”
“Are you two…?”
“I just met her tonight.”
“Never stopped a man before,” Sawyer points out cheekily. “You are in a hotel, ain’t ya?” Jack chuckles softly but doesn’t say anything. “Though why this place has castle in the title, I dunno. Sure don’t look like no castle to me.”
“Don’t think they meant it literally,” Jack replies, smiling faintly, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Did Kate say where she was going?”
“Didn’t say. Didn’t ask.”
“You wouldn’t,” Jack says, as a statement and not a criticism. He sighs. “Maybe she would’ve been better off with you, Sawyer. I wasn’t what she needed.”
“That girl don’t know what she needs, Jack,” Sawyer grumbles. “But it wasn’t me, I can tell you that.” Jack looks at him and the look in his eyes goes straight to Sawyer’s chest, the hurt and uncertainty evident in Jack’s gaze striking him as if it were his own pain. He grunts to cover his own unease and slaps Jack on the back. “C’mon. I’m here now, we might as well get a drink. No broken heart a little booze don’t help.”
“I don’t really drink,” Jack says, rising as Sawyer gets up.
“See, well, that’s your first problem right there,” Sawyer laughs. “Show me to the nearest bar and we’ll get you rip roarin’ drunk and hooked up with something real pretty.”
“I can tell you right now, that’s not going to happen.”
“We’ll see.”
*******
“I can’t believe you live in this place,” Sawyer mutters as he and Jack slowly walk up the front porch steps of the restored Victorian house Jack called home in the Annex. “You should see my shitty apartment.” Jack sits on the top step, breathing the cold night air in deeply. His tie hangs loose around his neck and his shirt is untucked. Sawyer rings the doorbell and waits. Jack lifts his head, puzzled.
“What are you doing? Key’s in my pocket, Sawyer,” he mumbles, half-asleep.
“What, your housekeeper don’t answer doors?”
“My housekeeper comes by twice a week, Sawyer. I don’t exactly have a staff,” Jack replies, standing back up and digging the keys out of his pocket. He looks at his watch. “Besides, it’s 3 in the morning.”
“Well, I never had a housekeeper, damned if I know how it works,” Sawyer mutters. Jack opens his door and steps inside. He stops, realizing Sawyer isn’t following him inside.
“What’s wrong?”
“Maybe I should hit a motel or somethin’ - don’t wanna impose,” he explains, gesturing back to the taxi he has kept waiting in the street.
“You don’t want to impose? Sawyer, nothing you have ever said has sounded more like bullshit.” Sawyer laughs out loud, knowing the doctor is spot-on. “I have a guest room, you can stay here. There’s no need for a hotel,” Jack says, once again digging into his pocket and pulling out some crumpled bills and a couple two dollar coins. “Just pay him and come in.”
“Bossy when you’re drunk, ain’t ya?”
“I’m more tired than drunk.”
“Well I’m more drunk than tired and whatever you are, you’re still bossy.”
“Fine. You want to spend eighty bucks on a hotel room when you can stay here for free?”
“It’s only eighty Canadian bucks.”
"You really want to go to a hotel, go. I was just trying to be a good host,” Jack shrugs, giving up and leaning against his porch railing. He raises his eyebrows at Sawyer, who relents.
“I’ll be right back,” Sawyer says with a groan. Jack doesn’t wait, going inside as Sawyer goes to pay the cabbie.
Sawyer slowly climbs back up the front steps and enters the house, closing the door gently behind him. Jack is nowhere to be seen but he can hear him moving around in the kitchen - making a pot of coffee, from the sound of it.
Alone, Sawyer takes advantage of the time to look around the empty living room. Untouched magazines are piled up on the coffee table but apart from that, the place is pristine. The dark brown couch is decorated with a chenille throw and deep maroon pillows. Two tall bookshelves stand on either side of a large brick fireplace, the shelves almost buckling underneath the weight of too many books. He walks across to the fireplace, looking down as his slightly damp boots leave faint footprints on the oak hardwood floors. The place looks exactly like Jack; he wonders if it had ever looked like Kate as well or if she hadn’t even bothered to pretend to settle down.
The fireplace mantle is half bare, as if pictures have recently been removed and replacements haven’t been found. Sawyer isn’t sure whether to smile or frown as he sees the familiar faces of Charlie, Claire, and the now almost two year old Aaron in one photo, Sun and Jin standing in front of their brand new oceanfront home in another. Rose and Bernard grin out happily from yet another. Sawyer wonders if they are the only people Jack kept in touch with or if they are just the only ones who had sent photos.
Apart from seeing Kate a few weeks ago, he had run into Michael, Walt, and Libby once by accident in New York City. He hadn’t wanted to find out if the other survivors desired to keep him in their lives, afraid of the answer, so he hadn’t given them the opportunity to show him.
Picking up the photo of Sun and Jin, he follows the sound of coffee percolating toward the back of the house until he reaches the kitchen. It’s a small room, but quaint. Jack is standing at the sink, washing out a coffee mug. Sawyer leans against the doorway and crosses his arms, watching Jack quietly for a moment before making his presence known by clearing his throat.
Jack drops the mug into the sink, startled, but it lands with a heavy thud and remains in one piece.
“Jesus, Sawyer, you scared me.”
“You got a nice place here,” he says, gesturing around the kitchen. “Amazing that you’ve got so much crap accumulated already.” He holds up the photo of Sun and Jin. “Looks like they got a new place too?”
“Some of us were able to recover our assets when we got back. Most of mine had been given to my former hospital in accordance with my will, and they returned what hadn’t already been put to use. Jin had apparently been setting aside money in a secret account before the crash that wasn’t under his real name, so it hadn’t been liquidated.”
“It’s annoyin’ that you still use big words when you’re drunk, Doc.”
“I’m not drunk,” Jack points out again.
“Right, just tired,” Sawyer nods, setting the picture on the table. “For someone who doesn’t really drink, you sure can hold your liquor.”
“You can thank my father for that,” Jack mutters, drying a second mug and setting it down on the countertop. He looks at the coffee pot, which is almost full. “You want some?”
“Why not,” Sawyer sits down at the table in the center of the room and puts his feet up on the table. He studies Jack as the other man moves around the room, busying himself with small and pointless tasks. “You keep in touch with everyone?” Jack turns to him, hesitating slightly before answering. He leans against the counter, directly across the kitchen from Sawyer.
“I do…”
“I don’t,” Sawyer states bluntly. “Surprised?” From the look on Jack’s face, the answer is clear. “Didn’t think you would be.” He pauses. “How is everyone doin’?”
“You really want to know?”
“Why not.”
“Okay…well, Sun and Jin got a place in San Francisco. Jin is working on starting his own business. Sun is working as a florist.” Jack sits down across from Sawyer. “Claire, Charlie, and Aaron are staying with Hurley in LA for awhile; they’re both still trying to figure out what to do. They were trying to live on their own for awhile but there were some money issues…but they’re together.”
“Figured they would be.”
“Locke is in Africa on safari, last thing I heard, and was planning on visiting Eko in Nigeria while he was there. Rose and Bernard live in Miami in the winter and Augusta for the rest of the year. Bernard’s pension got reinstated once he came back, so they’re taking it easy for awhile.”
Sawyer pauses. “Ana Lucia?”
“She stayed with the kids until they were reunited with their mother. She was in Vegas for awhile trying to work as a cop…I don’t know where she is now.”
“I saw Mike, Walt, and Libby a few months ago…” Sawyer says. “Walt’s huge. Boy grew like two feet. They’re engaged, I guess. Mike and Libby, I mean.”
“That’s nice to hear,” Jack replies, though his voice sounds slightly strangled. He gets up and pours the coffee into the two mugs. “How do you like your coffee?”
“Black’s fine.” Jack hands Sawyer a cup but doesn’t sit back down. Sawyer relaxes into his chair.
“Sayid?”
“Last I heard he was in England,” Jack replies, rubbing his eye and leaning back against the counter. “I haven’t really…I haven’t really been in touch with anyone since…” Since she left. Neither of them really needs to finish the sentence out loud. “I feel really bad about it…I have phone calls to return and letters and e-mails to write, but I can’t sit down and make myself do it. I don’t know how to tell them…I don’t want to. I keep thinking she’ll come back.” Jack laughs at himself, staring down at the linoleum floor. Sawyer takes a long sip of his coffee , thinking about what he can possibly say.
“I tried to help her, Sawyer…but no matter what I did…” Jack starts to say, but stops. Sawyer sighs.
“Doc, Kate didn’t want to be saved.”
“I wasn’t trying to save her, I just…”
“I ain’t sayin’ she didn’t need it, I’m just sayin’ that no matter how much she really needed ya, she wouldn’t be the kind of girl who admitted it. She don’t wanna depend on nobody.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“No. But I know it. You know it. You knew she wouldn’t stay, Doc.”
“I hoped she would. I thought, for me…”
“Kate didn’t think she deserved you…never did,” Sawyer states bluntly. “Got it in her head that she ain’t good enough to be with ya.”
“Kate deserves more than me, I-“
“That’s what you think, Jack, not what she thinks,” Sawyer points out. “Besides, you’re a pretty hard act to follow, Doc.” Jack looks up at Sawyer’s words, clearly annoyed by them.
“Why is that, Sawyer? I mean, what am I?” Jack asks, his voice growing louder. “I am so sick of people telling me that I am good. What is that? What the hell does good mean, anyway? I’m just as screwed up as everyone else is. I’m no different.”
“Yeah you are,” Sawyer retorts simply. “You may be irreversibly fucked up, I don’t know. But that ain’t never stopped you from tryin’ to do the right thing, from pushin’ on when things are hard. People like me and Kate, Jack, we just cut and run.” Sawyer states this as if it’s painfully obvious. “I hated you for it. Freckles, well, she loves you for it. But that don’t mean she’s about to change.” Sawyer takes another long sip of his coffee, watching Jack over the rim as he processes what Sawyer has just said. The other man closes his eyes and draws in a deep breath, letting it out slowly.
Sawyer curls his fingers tightly around the smoothness of the coffee mug, resisting the urge to get up and walk over to Jack. To touch him, to tell him that the pain would go away eventually, that everything would be fine. It had been so long since he’d been in the same room as Jack; apart, his memories had seemed enough. Now, it seemed impossible that he ever had thought never seeing Jack again would be fine.
Jack opens his eyes and realizes that Sawyer is staring at him, his fingers absentmindedly turning the coffee mug around and around in circles on the tabletop. He had forgotten how the color of Sawyer’s eyes changed as quickly as his moods. A different shirt or a different light, and his eyes would tell a different story. His own eyes never changed; they were solid, earthy brown; he focuses them now on Sawyer, wondering why the other man hasn’t broken his gaze yet. It is as if he’s looking through him. Something in it makes Jack feel uneasy.
“It’s late. We should get you settled,” Jack suggests, breaking Sawyer’s concentration. He looks almost startled to hear Jack’s voice. “Did you bring anything with you?” He asks, realizing for the first time that Sawyer had arrived with absolutely nothing in tow.
“It’s in a locker at the bus station,” Sawyer digs into the front pocket of his shirt and holds up the locker key. “Didn’t know if I would find you tonight or not. I have tickets back tomorrow anyway.”
“Tomorrow?” Jack is surprised at the sudden abandonment and loss he feels. “You don’t want to stay a few days? You’re more than welcome to.”
“Naw…I just wanted to make sure you were okay, like I said. Told Kate I would,” he says, as if he hadn’t even had a choice in the matter. He was just fulfilling a duty and there was nothing more to it than that.
“You really came all the way here just because of Kate?” Jack’s question catches Sawyer off guard, the phrasing of the words making him think for a split-second that Jack had suspected a different reason for Sawyer’s being there.
“Why, you really think I fuckin’ care if you got the blues?” Sawyer retorts, a little harsher than even he would’ve liked it to come out. “Besides, I have a job to get back to.”
“All right,” Jack throws up his hands, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. He should’ve known better than to offer in the first place. “Well, follow me, I guess. The spare room’s this way.” Sawyer follows Jack up the narrow back staircase, ducking his head slightly under the low ceiling.
“Christ, Doc, you got a house made for midgets?” He curses as he bumps his head.
“It’s an old house, Sawyer, people used to be a lot shorter,” Jack replies, not even looking back to see if Sawyer’s all right, knowing it’s more whining than actual injury. “Here,” he walks down the hallway and pushes open a heavy door, switching on the light. “This should hold you for tonight at least.”
Sawyer takes in the room; it’s toward the front of the house and Sawyer can see the changing leaves eerily illuminated from the streetlights outside. The windows are made of thick old-fashioned glass, intricate iron patterns separating one pane from another. The floor is bare wood, an old throw rug on the ground by the bed and the dresser. The furnishings are oak and the only light in the room emanates from a Tiffany-style table lamp on the night table. There are a couple of boxes stacked in the far corner near the window seat. Sawyer can sense Jack purposely not looking at them and he knows whose they are.
“Figures your spare room is larger than my entire apartment,” Sawyer mutters, shaking his head at Jack. Jack opens the closet door for Sawyer and gestures inside.
“There are hangers in here if you want to hang your stuff up and some old clothes of mine if you want something for the morning. Towels are in the hall closet right outside the bathroom. Shower takes a while to heat up and runs out of hot water fast, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to fix it yet. Um…books are downstairs if you want something to read, extra blankets are on the shelf below the towels if you get cold…” Jack pauses, trying to think of anything else Sawyer needs to know. “Help yourself to anything in the kitchen if you’re hungry. I don’t have to be at the hospital until tomorrow afternoon so if you want a ride to the bus station, I’ll be around.” Jack heads for the doorway and Sawyer lets him prattle on, amused. “Do you want something to sleep in?”
“Besides the bed?” Sawyer smirks. “Naw, that’s all I need.”
“I meant in terms of clothes, Sawyer,” Jack replies, thinking Sawyer’s being a smartass.
“I know what ya meant,” He says. Jack is too tired to get Sawyer’s meaning immediately, but when he does, he lets it slide.
“Oh. Well, just let me know if you need anything. I’m right down the hall.” Jack points toward his door and Sawyer nods.
“Think I’ll be fine, Doc. You can stop worryin’ about taking care of me now. I’m a big boy.”
“Sorry. It’s just what I do,” Jack shrugs and heads for his room.
“You’re real good at taking care of everybody else, Jack. You ever think about letting someone take care of you for a change?” Sawyer’s comment follows him down the hallway. Jack turns and looks back at Sawyer, who is leaning casually against the doorframe. Jack has no idea how to interpret the comment or how to reply.
“I’m…I’m not very good at that, Sawyer,” he manages.
“It was just a thought,” Sawyer shrugs his shoulders and disappears into his room, as if Jack’s answer was really of no consequence. Jack goes into his own room and closes the door behind him. He leans back against it, putting his face in his hands.
For the first time that night, he lets his mind reel in the knowledge that Sawyer, of all people, is in his house. His mere presence is exhausting. For the past month, all he wanted was to hide out and avoid people; now one of the only people ever capable of really getting under his skin is sharing the same roof. Jack sighs, dropping his hands to his sides.
“It’s just for one night,” he reminds himself, knowing that it’s almost all over. He crosses his bedroom and opens his top drawer, digging underneath his socks for some random items that he stored there. Grabbing his spare key, he opens his bedroom door and heads back toward Sawyer.
********
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