Scars & Stitches Part Three - Misdiagnosis

[elise_509]

Series: Scars & Stitches
Title: Misdiagnosis
Part: 3/6
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: NC-17
Spoilers: None - AU
Prompt: psych_30 #13 Delusion
Disclaimer: Not mine!
Previous Parts: 1 | 2

Sawyer is stirred from the comfort of his deep sleep by the incessant ringing of the telephone, loud and shrill in his ears. Groaning slightly, he rolls over, pulling himself from Jack’s embrace, and fumbles blindly for the cordless phone that he knows Jack keeps bedside. Out of habit he reaches down toward the floor, expecting to find it lying on top of a haphazard stack of his own books. Instead his forehead finds the sharp edge of the night table.

“Ow, fuck!” He exclaims, reeling backward while continuing to feel for the phone, even more blindly now. “God dammit…” He feels it in his grasp and quickly clicks the speak button, though it’s quite a few moments before he actually manages to bring it to his ear and speak. “Yeah, hello?” His pained utterance is partially muffled by the hand he now has pressed to his throbbing head. “No, not Jack…” He turns onto his back and elbows Jack in the ribs, nudging him awake. “Jack…phone.”

Sawyer tosses the phone toward him lightly and it lands on his chest with a thud. Jack grunts and his eyes slowly flutter open, taking a moment to realize that the reason for his rude awakening is the telephone lying on his stomach.

“Hello?” He forces himself to a sitting position and glances at Sawyer, who has turned away and is rubbing his forehead, scowling. “Yeah…yeah, okay. I’ll be right in.” He clicks the off button and sighs heavily, setting the phone carefully on the table by his side of the bed.

“That the hospital?” Sawyer mumbles from behind his hand and Jack nods even though Sawyer isn’t looking at him. Sawyer knows he did anyway and sighs as well. “Thought you didn’t hafta go in ‘til this afternoon.”

“Yeah...well.” Jack says, turning and glancing at the clock. 7:30AM. He groans inwardly, having counted on at least a few more hours of sleep than this. “There's been some kind of bus accident. All interns are being called in.” He leans over Sawyer, gently placing his hand over his on his forehead and giving him a soft smile. “Your head okay?”

“Tell me again why you decided you finally had to get furniture?” Sawyer groans as Jack moves his fingers and replaces them with his own, massaging Sawyer’s temple. “I really kinda liked the whole sparse I'm-ready-to-flee-the-country-and-leave-nothing-behind look that you had goin' there for awhile.”

“It's been three weeks, Sawyer, I'd think you would be used to the table being there by now.” Jack murmurs, his voice dropping lower as he leans closer to Sawyer, his lips brushing against his ear as his fingers continue to move over Sawyer's injury. Sawyer can't help but grin, yet attempts to give Jack a glare anyway as he rolls over onto his back.

“Oh, you'd think so, would you?” He asks, swatting Jack's hand away playfully, only to have it come right back, Jack's fingers finding the soft strands of his hair and running through them. “Well, apparently my learnin' curve ain't so hot.”

“I can just move it, you know,” Jack suggests, glancing toward the table. “You keep hitting your head like that and you're going to do some real damage.”

“Oh, look at you, all worried about me,” Sawyer teases and Jack shakes his head.

“No, I meant to the table,” he says flatly, reaching over Sawyer to rub his thumb over its beveled edge. “You're beating the hell out of it with that skull of yours.” Sawyer stares at him for a moment, knowing Jack is joking but wanting to play at being offended.

“Nice to know you care, Doc,” he snorts and Jack smiles ruefully.

“I was just kidding.”

“Like I didn't know that, punkass,” Sawyer grins back and slides his hands around Jack's waist, grabbing him and pushing him flat onto the bed, rolling on top of him. Jack giggles and that alone makes Sawyer chuckle.

Jack's out of control laugh has to be the silliest and lighthearted sound he's ever heard and it's quickly becoming one of his favorite things in the world. Jack is the most serious guy he's met in his whole life so the giggle that Jack lets out when he simply can't help himself makes Sawyer feel triumphant. He's sure not many people have heard Jack laugh, and probably even fewer have heard him laugh like that.

He kisses Jack's neck as Jack continues to run his strong fingers through his hair, the faint trace of sweat from last night's exertions still lingering on Jack's skin. Sawyer both loves and hates these early mornings between them; how the feeling of Jack warm beside him makes him almost happy to wake up but sad to leave the bed, how Jack’s specific smell - his soap, his aftershave, him - makes his entire body flood with both joy and regret, how he wants this all so badly to last when he knows he's the very reason why it can't.

He loves how Jack touches and kisses him like he knows him, how he almost makes Sawyer believe this could be real.

He hates how Jack doesn't really know him at all.

Of course, that's his own doing, a design of his own creation. Three months and he's still biding his time, like maybe if he waits long enough, a solution to his problem will somehow present itself and he simply won't have to go through with this. He could remain in Jack's bed, in his arms, and Jack would never have to know why Sawyer had sought him out in the first place. Something twisted could straighten itself out into something beautiful.

Grasping onto false, frail hopes like that only make things worse and Sawyer knows it. He needs to bite the bullet and do what has to be done. Hibbs is breathing down his neck for him to get on with it, sick of waiting for him to get the ball rolling. Sawyer hangs onto the paper-thin wish that when he asks Jack for the money - that first small sum to test him, to try him out - that Jack will surprise him by saying no.

But if he holds onto that for a moment too long, that wish disintegrates into pieces in his hands. Because he knows Jack will never say no. He'll hand over the money gladly and probably assure Sawyer that he doesn't even have to pay him back. Sawyer knew that going into this and that's partially why he chose him as a mark in the first place.

He would give anything to go back to that night when he waited for Jack outside the hospital and just walk away instead. Meeting Jack in the ER had been both the best and worst thing that could have happened to him. He had never thought one person could be his undoing, yet here he is, devastatingly real underneath the caress of his hands and his lips.

“I don't want you to go,” Sawyer murmurs against Jack's throat, his hands sliding down underneath the blanket and feeling the smooth, gentle curve of Jack's lower back, urging Jack's body toward his.

“You always say that,” Jack says, and Sawyer can feel Jack's chuckle rumbling through his chest. “If I always stayed when you asked, you'd probably be really sick of me by now.”

“But ya never stay, so how would we know?” Sawyer replies, pulling his head back and then finding Jack's lips, kissing him in short, playful pecks. “I think you should stay right here and we can find out, how 'bout that?”

“Wish I could,” Jack sighs before moving, gently pushing Sawyer away and sitting up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and placing his feet flat on the floor. He bends forward slightly as he rubs the back of his head, reluctant to actually get up from the bed. Glancing back at Sawyer over his shoulder, he frowns, his eyes apologetic. “I need to get going.”

Sawyer flops back onto the pillows with a huffy sigh, rolling his eyes overdramatically.

“Fine then. Leave me here to fall back asleep in this incredibly comfortable bed. See if I care,” he teases. “Bastard.”

“Funny,” Jack mutters, shaking his head as he puts his hands on his knees, pushing himself up to stand. “Rub it in. It's your fault I'm going to be exhausted all day and I hope you feel guilty for that.”

“I totally don't,” Sawyer grins, tucking his arms behind his head and grinning at Jack lazily and arching an eyebrow as Jack pulls his boxer shorts on. “'Sides, you didn't seem to mind stayin' up late last night...I seem to remember you beggin' me for it...”

Jack chuckles and picks up the phone, circling around the bed to Sawyer's side and placing it back in its cradle.

“If that's how you want to remember it...” He replies. Sawyer reaches up and runs his hand over Jack's thigh, his fingers brushing underneath the flimsy fabric of his boxer shorts.

“I remember it all right,” He says lowly, biting his lip and slipping his hand higher. Jack makes a frustrated noise and takes Sawyer's wrist, tugging his hand away.

“I have to go take a shower, Sawyer. I'm sorry, I got to go.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sawyer drops the playful pretense and sits up as Jack turns to walk away, this time reaching out and grabbing Jack's hand, pulling him back sharply. “Hey.”

“What?” Jack asks. Sawyer wants to say something that matters, that's real, but he can't think of a single thing to say. All he has is the intent, the wish, but nothing to back it up. So he lets go of Jack's hand gently, no longer able to hold Jack's stare, letting his gaze fall to the floor.

“I uh…I’m working late tonight. If you’re out on the early side, you should come on over.”

“Yeah?” Jack looks pleased with the offer and it makes Sawyer nearly twinge, wishing it didn’t take so little to make Jack happy. Maybe if he weren’t so damn trusting, so damn easy to like…

“Y’know, just if ya feel like it, if you ain’t too tired. I’ll be there until eleven.” He forces a smile back onto his face, reminding himself that this all isn’t supposed to matter. “Maybe we can grab something to eat, ya know, at that place.”

“What place?”

“I don’t know - that place you like. You know the one I mean, the one with the red lamps and stuff?” Jack laughs lightly and steps toward him, bending down to place a sweet kiss on his lips.

“Okay. I’ll swing by.” He promises as he pulls away. Sawyer taps him on the ass with the back of his hand, smirking.

“You better. Knowin’ the day is gonna end with you makes it go by faster, gets me through.” Jack looks at him and the expression on his face makes Sawyer hesitate. “What, too mushy? Going overboard?” He chuckles, thinking maybe he’d pushed it too far, turned on the charm too heavy even by his flirtatious standards. He’s so used to laying out comments like that that he’d done it without even thinking; he realizes now that he actually meant it and hates everything about it.

“Nope,” Jack replies with a smile and then his lips are on Sawyer’s again, this time deeper, harder. He’s pressing Sawyer back down onto the bed before Sawyer knows what’s happening and he quickly brings his hands to Jack’s shoulders, pushing him back gently.

“Don’t you got somewhere to be, Doc?” He says, wanting Jack to keep going but also not wanting him to stay, scared that he might say more things he doesn’t mean to mean.

Jack sighs deeply and hangs his head for a moment before looking up at Sawyer and standing back up.

“Yeah, I know,” Jack mumbles, annoyed with his responsibilities. He wishes he could just stay in bed all day but unfortunately, duty calls. “Okay. Shower. I’m going. I’ll see you after work.”

He gives Sawyer another short kiss that quickly lengthens and Sawyer chuckles against his lips.

“Doc.”

“Going.”

Sawyer sinks back into the pillows and watches Jack pad across the open loft, watches until he closes the bathroom door and disappears from sight. He knows he should get up and go back to his own apartment. He shouldn’t stay here in Jack’s bed, wrapped in Jack’s sheets, Jack’s smell still lingering there, as much a part of the fabric as the high thread count. He should go back to his own life and leave Jack’s alone, go back to sleeping on his foldout couch with sheets from Kmart and eating leftover cold pizza for breakfast.

But he’ll stay here, drink Jack’s gourmet coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice, eat his expensive granola and read his crisp New York Times. He’ll stay here, taking more things that aren’t his, will never be his, should never be his.

He’ll stay because he doesn’t know how to go.

*******

Jack looks up toward Union Square as he stands on the corner of 12th, waiting patiently for the walk sign to light up. The red and blue lights from the scrolling marquee of the movie theater a block away shimmer across the wet pavement of Broadway while the shining white spotlight illuminating Grace Church two blocks down in the opposite direction seems to light up the dark night sky around it, the rain drops more visible as they slice through the intense glow.

Jack blinks away the light rain and shivers slightly, looking forward to escaping the damp weather. He had gotten wet that morning on the way to work and hasn’t been able to shake the chill since. The thought of Sawyer wrapping his strong arms around him makes him warm slightly from the inside out so he hurries across the street ahead of the crowd, stepping widely to avoid the large puddles that have pooled in the gutter around the corner.

The bell jangles loudly as he pushes open the door and the people nearest by look up from their browsing for a moment before turning away, uninterested. Ignoring the sign that asks customers to deposit their bags up front and passing the display of tote bags and t-shirts, Jack moves through the security gate, glancing at the girl behind the counter.

He raises his eyebrows in question and she points, knowing who he is and who he is looking for even if they’ve never been formerly introduced. Jack smiles and nods in thanks. He follows her direction toward the back of the store, snaking around the many overstacked tables and slipping through the narrow aisles. The smell of old books, musty and familiar, hangs in the warm air; it used to remind Jack of countless hours spent in the library, studying, but now it only reminds him of Sawyer.

Jack finds him standing on a small footstool in the back corner of the store, searching with determined intent through a row high up the towering shelf.

“There we go.” He grabs one slim volume triumphantly and jumps down off the stool in one motion, holding it out to the girl standing patiently beside him. She runs her hands through her haphazardly cut short black hair and takes the book from him, smiling widely. Jack can see the shiny silver ball of her tongue piercing catch the light as she grins and he hears it when she clicks the metal ball against the back of her teeth nervously before speaking.

“Thanks,” she says, looking pleased, and not only with the book. Sawyer smiles back full force, dimples and all, tucking his hair back behind his right ear and looking down at her flirtatiously. Jack remains silent, leaning against the nearest bookcase and watching with interest. He’s seen this scene play out many times before and he wonders what else Sawyer is going to try and sell her next.

Sure enough he’s pulling another book off the shelf, telling her that he’d read it and thought it was great, how he thinks she might like it, and how she should come on back and tell him if she does. By the time she turns to go, she is blushing like any other flirty girl with a crush. Jack wonders for a moment what her other goth-lite semi-punk friends would think of her now if they saw her fawning like any other hormonal looks-obsessed Tiger Beat teenager, the thought amusing him quite a bit.

He remembers the time in his life when what he wore, what he read, what he listened to, meant more than anything else. He thought if he could wear his personality on the exterior people would find him interesting or different, or at least different from the Jack Shephard they’d come to expect. That phase earned him the Chinese symbols on his arm and his father’s contempt. Now he just wears what he should wear, does what he should do, and keeps everything real on the inside. Anyone who thinks they know him solely by how he looks will find themselves mistaken.

Jack feels like maybe Sawyer knows him, but he isn’t sure. If he doesn’t, it’s not Sawyer’s fault. It’s his own; his secrets are so well-kept, Sawyer probably doesn’t even know he has them at all. He waits for the young girl to move past him before pushing back upright from the bookcase and stepping toward Sawyer, smiling gently.

“Hey. Making new friends?” He asks and Sawyer looks toward him slowly and without surprise, like he knew he was there all along. His smile turns genuine.

“She keeps on buyin’ a new book every week and I don’t think she’s read a single one of ‘em yet,” Sawyer murmurs, reaching out and wrapping his hand around Jack’s forearm, tugging him closer by the sleeve of his coat. When Jack’s body moves close to his, cold against warm, Sawyer runs his hand over Jack’s glistening short hair and frowns. “You’re all wet.”

“Well it’s raining...”

Sawyer nods and slides his hands underneath Jack’s coat to where his clothes are still dry, slipping over the thin fabric of his dark maroon t-shirt.

“You feel freezin’,” he comments, rubbing his hands up and down Jack’s sides. “You should’ve taken a cab or somethin’.”

“I wanted to walk,” Jack shrugs. Sawyer gives him a look but doesn’t comment further on it, instead glancing left and right before tugging Jack back into the corner.

“Want me to warm ya up?” He offers huskily, brushing his lips against Jack’s with the question. Jack hesitates, drawing back as Sawyer leans in to deepen it. “Come on, Doc, it ain’t everyday I give ya a come on as blatant as that one.” Sawyer laughs lightly in frustration, thinking Jack is being coy when he is personally trying to make it obvious and easy. Jack shakes his head, looking around guiltily for other browsing patrons. There’s no one close by, but Jack still feels wary.

“I don’t want to get you into trouble,” Jack explains and Sawyer shakes his head, moving in to kiss him again.

“You won’t.” He whispers before sliding his hands down Jack’s lower back, his palms fitting smoothly into the curve there as his fingers sneak below the waistband of Jack’s loose jeans and brush the elastic of his boxers, his touch hidden modestly by the cover of Jack’s jacket. “You miss me today in that lonely hospital o’ yours?” He urges Jack’s hips ever-so-slightly toward his, biting his lip. “I bet you did…”

“I didn’t have time to miss you, unfortunately,” Jack replies, reaching back and taking Sawyer’s wrists, trying in vain to make Sawyer stop touching him. “Things were crazy. Absolutely insane.”

“Cause a that accident?” Sawyer asks. He moves one hand up to the side of Jack’s face, his touch more soft and innocent as he rubs his thumb across Jack’s stubbled cheek.

“That and a lot of other stupid shit going down,” Jack sighs, suddenly looking very tired. Sawyer falls silent for a moment, trying to think of the right response, but Jack quickly brightens up, forcing a smile onto his face. “A guy actually came in today with a knife stuck through his hand. It was right out of The Godfather or something.”

“Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes,” Sawyer replies with a low chuckle. “I haven’t seen that in a real long time.”

“We should rent it some night. Order in,” Jack suggests, pulling Sawyer’s hand from his face and twining his fingers with his. He brings their clasped hands to his mouth and brushes his lips over Sawyer’s knuckles. “Spend the whole time in bed?”

“You’re certainly a lot better than a horse’s head.” Sawyer retorts and Jack laughs.

“That is by far the strangest compliment I have ever received.”

“Hey, I wanted to sidestep the obvious one.” Jack looks at him blankly. “I was gonna say that that was an offer I couldn’t refuse.” Jack shakes his head and chuckles. “Giving Godfather-themed compliments is hard, gimme a break,” Sawyer protests and Jack laughs again.

And then their lips are meeting, Jack sinking into Sawyer’s kiss completely for the first time since he’d arrived. Sawyer sighs as Jack opens his mouth to him, letting his tongue slide against his.

“Sawyer - hey, Sawyer…” Sawyer reluctantly pulls away from Jack and tilts his head toward the sound of his name. Jack turns too, blushing faintly, and finds the girl from the front counter looking at Sawyer expectantly. “I uh…hate to break up the love fest back here, but I need to run to the back for a minute. Can you watch the counter?”

“Callie…” Sawyer starts, about to tell her to ask Pete to do it when Jack nudges him warningly. Callie sighs, knowing that Sawyer is about to give her a hard time about it just because he can.

“I can’t hold it forever,” Callie pleads and Sawyer nods, relenting instead of teasing.

“I got it. No problem.” He gestures for her to go on and heads toward the front. Jack follows slowly a few paces behind, reaching the front counter well after Sawyer has already circled behind it.

“You can come back here, ya know.” Sawyer states, resting his elbows on the wooden countertop next to the beat up cash register and looking across at Jack, who shrugs.

“I’m fine here,” Jack replies, stepping to the side, out of the way, as someone approaches the checkout with an armful of books. The novel on top of the stack slips and hits the floor and Jack quickly bends to pick it up. He sets it on the counter carefully and the older gentleman who had dropped it murmurs a grateful thank you as he hurries to set the rest of his books down before they fall as well. Sawyer smirks at him.

“Boy scout,” he shoots at him in a quiet whisper and Jack simultaneously rolls his eyes and smiles sheepishly.

“I’ll just get out of your way,” he moves away from the counter, pointing over to the new fiction section. “I’ll just be over here.” Sawyer doesn’t bother to protest, knowing better than to keep assuring Jack he’s not in the way at all. He turns to his customer and begins ringing up his items.

“Didja find everythin’ you were lookin’ for?” Jack hears him ask, his southern twang decidedly more pronounced. He always turns it up at work, his accent earning him a few originality points in a city where everyone talks sharp, cold, and fast. Sawyer’s conversation fades into a soft murmur as Jack moves across the store, running his gaze over the shelves of books.

Bookstores always overwhelm him for some reason - perhaps it’s the thought that there’s so much information, so many stories just waiting there and there’s no possibility of him ever delving into them all. No matter how hard he tried, he could never read every one of them, learn everything, know what there is to know. It’s the same way he used to feel in his father’s study, surrounded by leather-bound first editions and stacks upon stacks of endless medical journals. There will always be more; the second he feels like he’s accomplished something, caught up to everyone else, he realizes he’s just been fooling himself.

Jack runs his fingers over a few hardcover copies of someone’s latest bestseller and thinks about what it must be like to be able to write a book. He doesn’t know how to write anything worthwhile - just medical reports and chart notes. When he was young he used to love to write. The usual kid stuff of course: stories about dinosaurs and baseball, ghosts and superheroes. The years went on and his reading turned mainly to biology text books and his notebooks began to fill with the endless scrawl of notes and diagrams. No more whims of the imagination to be found.

Jack glances back to Sawyer. Sawyer writes. He has a messy notebook, falling apart at the binding, that Jack has caught him writing in from time to time. He’s learned not to ask about it since his questions are always met with a firm shake of the head and refusal that he’s writing anything, as if Sawyer denying it will convince Jack that his eyes were simply playing tricks on him. The notebook is snapped shut and the pen is capped and both are set aside and the subject is quickly changed.

He lifts a book off the shelf and lets it fall open in his hands. The type is tiny and the pages are crisp, almost sticking together like newly printed money might. Jack flips to the front book jacket to read the synopsis and then to the back to look at the author’s picture, wondering how that particular person ended up writing this, writing anything. He wonders if they always knew that’s how they would end up or if they wandered into it by accident, like the famous actors who say they just went to an audition to support a friend who was trying out and then somehow walked away with the lead role. Accidental fate.

“That book sucks.” Sawyer’s voice cuts through Jack’s thoughts and Jack looks up, startled.

“Huh?”

“It sucks. And I heard the author’s an ass,” Sawyer adds. “I heard this one was decent but I haven’t read it.” He pulls a different book off the shelf and hands it to Jack. Jack looks at the front and back halfheartedly and then returns it to the shelf.

“I don’t really have time to read anything,” He mumbles, stepping away from the display and absentmindedly turning toward another table, letting his hand trail across the stacks of paperbacks. He doesn’t look at Sawyer, doesn’t want to, and doesn’t know why.

“You okay?” Sawyer asks, picking up on it right away. Jack gets easier to read with every passing day and Sawyer can see it in his posture, his expression, that in the few minutes since he’d walked away, something had changed.

“You ever wonder about things like fate?” Jack replies, lifting his head to look at him for a moment before looking down again. Sawyer snorts lightly.

“And out in left field, we have Jack Shephard…” he murmurs. “Why you asking about that?”

“I don’t know.” Jack wavers, ready to forget he even brought it up, but Sawyer doesn’t let it go so easily.

“Do I believe in it? Is that what you want to know?” Sawyer raises an eyebrow at him, seeming genuinely interested.

“I guess so.” Jack lifts the cover a nearby book and lets it fall shut for no other reason than to keep his hands busy. Sawyer circles the table and stops beside Jack, letting his body brush against his.

“Well, I s’pose I don’t really see the point. Whether I believe in it or not, stuff is still going to happen. If it’s predestined or just plain ol’ chance, does it matter? You just live and that’s it.” He reaches over and runs his fingers over the back of Jack’s hand, his brow furrowing. “Why the sudden philosophical debate?”

“Just thinking. Wondering about coming to New York, and…I guess…my life in general, really. So much of my life wasn’t my choice, but this…this kinda was.”

“New York was?” Sawyer inquires. They are speaking quietly, their words dropping lower the more personal the conversation gets. “Or us?”

Jack turns to look at him, slight surprise in his eyes, slight confusion.

“No. Yes. I mean…yeah, I guess. Both.” Jack laughs nervously, reaching back and shoving his hands in his back pockets, averting his eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t ‘pologize…just tell me why you’re thinkin’ on this so hard.” Sawyer presses, wondering what brought all of this on all of a sudden.

“This is going to sound stupid, but…I guess in a place like this all I see are the choices I didn’t make, the things I didn’t do. It makes me wonder how I wound up where I am.”

“A place like this? Doc, it’s just a damn bookstore,” Sawyer laughs but it sounds hollow. His smile fades quickly. “Don’t you like it?”

“The bookstore?” Jack asks, confused.

“No…where you are. In your life.” Sawyer coughs a little, uncomfortable. He should care about this because Jack wavering isn’t good for his long term plan, but deep down he knows that’s not it. He cares because Jack being unsure - unsure about him - hurts, makes his heart twinge and his stomach twist.

Jack raises his gaze and meets Sawyer’s head-on; the confusion dissipates and he looks almost apologetic. He hadn’t meant to make Sawyer think he was questioning what they had.

“I’m happy with you Sawyer, that’s not…it’s not about you at all…” He trails off, letting it be. He was going to say It’s everything else but that would simply open up a whole new can of worms that was probably best left untouched. He’s never told Sawyer about his relationship with his father or his nagging doubts about his career choice and standing in the middle of the Strand is probably not the best place for a sudden heart-to-heart. He didn’t really think the whole conversation through when he voiced his first pointless pondering. Forcing a smile onto his face, he re-directs back toward something safer. “Listen…Friday night some of the other interns are throwing a party…they rented out this bar in the village for the night and I said I’d stop by.” Jack glances up at Sawyer and finds him waiting expectantly for Jack to make his point, not sure where he’s going with this. Jack sighs. “I mean, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to, but…if you want to...we could go.”

“Why Dr. Shephard, you askin’ me out a date? Look at you, you’re blushin’,” Sawyer teases, pushing Jack lightly on the shoulder.

“Sawyer...we go out on dates all the time, it’s not like-“

“No, but you’re askin’ all official-like, like it’s some important event.” Sawyer slides his hands around Jack’s slender waist and smiles as Jack frowns in frustration. “You’ve never asked me to meet ‘em before. Your friends.”

“Probably cause they’re not really my friends,” Jack replies.

“You work with ‘em all every day and they ain’t your friends?” Sawyer says pointedly.

“We don’t exactly have much time to hang out outside of work,” Jack responds. Sawyer nods, rubbing his thumbs in small circles along the front of Jack’s hipbones, feeling them through his t-shirt.

“They know ‘bout me?” His voice sinks low and his hair falls into his eyes as he angles his head toward Jack, kissing him gently.

“They know I have someone.”

“Hmm-hmmm,” Sawyer murmurs knowingly. “And do they know that this someone has a dick?” His crudeness makes Jack shift uncomfortably in his embrace; he shrugs, his gaze dropping down to his hands as they play with the collar of Sawyer’s plaid shirt.

“It’s never come up in conversation,” Jack replies and Sawyer isn’t in the least surprised. Jack looks back up at him, setting his jaw determinedly. “But I think it’s time they found out.”

“Oh really,” Sawyer says and Jack nods, this time making the move closer to Sawyer and initiating a kiss. ‘So, Friday, huh?”

“Yeah, Friday.”

“Count me in.”

*******

“Hoo-ee,” Sawyer shakes his head as Jack leads him deeper into the smoke-filled room. “Have to say, Doc, you uptight med freaks sure do know how to throw a shindig.” He stops next to Jack at the bar and signals for two beers. While he’s digging in his pocket for some cash Jack beats him to the punch, slipping out his credit card from his wallet and handing it to the bartender.

“Just start a tab,” Jack hollers over the noise and the guy nods, tapping his temple with the corner of his card before turning away to set it up with the rest of the stack from all of Jack’s other friends. Sawyer shakes his head as Jack slides his bottle of beer toward him.

“I was gonna get that, y’know,” Sawyer protests and Jack shrugs it off, not caring.

“Card is easier. Don’t worry about it. Here, let’s go try to find somewhere to sit.” He jerks his head across the room and takes Sawyer’s hand, pulling him through the crowd. Jack finds an empty booth and slides across the wooden seat, leaving room for Sawyer to fit in beside him. Sawyer pulls his pack of cigarettes out from his jacket pocket and tosses them onto the table next to his beer.

“Sure are a lot of smokers in here for a party full a doctors,” he observes, pulling out a cigarette of his own and lighting up as he leans back against the stiff seat.

“I guess it’s a do as I say, not as I do kinda thing,” Jack replies. “We’re probably not the best role models.”

“What? You?” Sawyer starts in surprise. Jack’s eyebrows push together in confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Doc, drinking this here beer is about the worst thing I ever seen you do since I met ya. Now I can’t ‘xactly speak on behalf of your pals here, but you…I don’t anyone would object to holdin’ you up as a picture perfect example of a good guy.”

Jack stares at Sawyer hard for a minute and it’s clear that there are many thoughts going through his head that he’s not so sure he wants to say out loud.

“That’s really how you see me?” Jack asks, interrupting Sawyer’s swig of beer. Sawyer twists to look at him, surprised by the question.

“Yeah, that’s how I see you, how else is there to see you?” Sawyer laughs and Jack’s face darkens. “You got a hidden past as a bank robber that I don’t know about, Clyde?” Jack continues to look at him and Sawyer has to scoff. “What - you kill a man in Reno just to watch him die?”

“I’m being serious, Sawyer. Am I really that one dimensional to you?”

“One dimensional?” Sawyer repeats, setting his bottle on the table with a heavy clunk. “Doc, you’re kiddin’, right?” The look on Jack’s face assures him that he’s not. “Lookit, what’s with you this week? You’re bein’ weird.”

“I’m not. I just…”

“Just what?”

“Nevermind,” Jack waves him off and takes a drink, shifting further into the booth, away from Sawyer. Sawyer moves closer.

“No, no nevermind, spill it. What’s up?”

“We can talk about it later.”

“Hell, we’re alone now, Doc, we can talk about it right here. Now what the fuck’s the matter?” Sawyer sets his hand on Jack’s shoulder and Jack shrugs off his touch. “What’s so bad about bein’ thought of as a decent person, can you at least tell me that much?”

“I’m not perfect, Sawyer, and I don’t want you to think that I am. There’s…there’s stuff about me, me and my family, things that have happened, or haven’t happened…there are things you don’t know.”

“Well you know what, Jack Shephard? There’s plenty a shit you don’t know about me, enough to fill a book - no, probably a whole god damned library. And there’s stuff you’ll prob’ly never know about me, just like there’s things I won’t know ‘bout you.” Sawyer says this like it’s no matter at all, just a fact of life. He pulls back and tilts his head to take another drink, settling into his place again. “That’s how it is. I told you that everyone’s got secrets, I told ya when I met ya.”

“Sawyer-“

“And yeah, I know you ain’t perfect, not really. But you’re the closest to perfect that I ever met, so just hush up and accept it.” Jack falls silent and Sawyer sets down his beer again, sighing deeply. “Jack.”

“I don’t want you to be disappointed in me.”

Sawyer thanks god that Jack isn’t looking up at him then because he knows there’s no way he could have possibly kept the heartbreak at the deep irony from showing in his eyes. Jack is worried about disappointing him. Jack is worried that his deep, dark family secrets, which probably are neither deep or dark, will make Sawyer think less of him. The thought that this straight-forward upright guy is worried about the opinions and feelings of a cut rate con man and all-around sleaze makes Sawyer want to throw up.

He quickly swallows nearly half his beer, trying to suppress the urge to run for the door, to get out before he can hurt Jack anymore than he already has.

“Sawyer?” Jack asks him softly and the sound of his name from Jack’s lips makes something break, a small weak part of himself snapping in two. Sawyer turns to face Jack completely in the booth and grabs either side of his face, pulling him forward into a suddenly desperate kiss.

“Don’t ever say shit like that again, hear me?” Sawyer whispers harshly when he pulls away, stunned by how full of emotion his own voice is. He can sense that it catches Jack off guard as well; he didn’t expect such an intense reaction to his quietly expressed fears.

“Okay…yeah. Okay,” Jack stumbles slightly, nodding once and then twice, unable to look away from Sawyer’s heated stare with Sawyer’s hands still cupping his cheeks, holding him there.

“Good,” Sawyer nods in response and leans in, kissing him again this time more gently, but with no less intensity. His touch on Jack’s face grows soft and he slides closer to Jack slowly, brushing his legs against his and easing him back against the wall as he continues their deep kiss.

“Jack?” The question interrupts their moment and Sawyer can hear that perhaps the inquiry wasn’t intentionally spoken, but burst out unexpectedly from a surprised someone’s mouth. Sawyer draws away from Jack and turns toward the speaker, knowing he’ll find a stupefied colleague of Jack’s standing at the end of their table, maybe with his or her mouth hanging open in shock.

The mouth isn’t open but the eyes are wide for a good moment before the girl standing there manages to recover. Sawyer’s seen her before but her name isn’t coming to him. She’s clearly not the one who asked the question, though. That honor clearly belongs to the guy standing beside her, a smirk plastered on his face.

“Hey Cassandra…Brett,” Jack blushes a little and disentangles his hands from the collar of Sawyer’s shirt, turning to sit up straight in the booth. Sawyer eyes the pair critically, trying to judge just how awkward and rude this encounter is going to be. “This is Sawyer.”

“Hey there, Sawyer.” Brett offers his hand and Sawyer shakes it firmly.

“Wanna sit down?” Jack offers.

“Sure thing, bro.” Brett gestures for Cassandra to sit down first and she does quietly, sneaking a look at Jack and then at Sawyer. “So Jack, Sawyer…you guys like boyfriends? Partners? I don’t know what the correct term is these days.”

“Brett,” Cassandra whispers, clearly uncomfortable with Brett being cavalier about it, not sure if he’s being serious or mocking.

“Jack’s my boyfriend,” Sawyer states, beating Jack to the punch, not knowing what Jack will say and not about to find out. He returns Brett’s favor, knowing, unlike the girl, that Brett had been mocking. “You two? You two pals, boyfriend-girlfriend, or just casual fuck buddies?”

“Sawyer.” It’s Jack’s turn to be the voice of reason and Sawyer forces a tight smile, backtracking into cordiality.

“Sorry. You guys both work at the hospital with Jackie boy here?” He says nicely, turning his attention to Cassandra. “I think I saw you there once, didn’t I?”

Cassandra looks at him for a moment, perhaps connecting the dots, bringing up the old memory, but something doesn’t add up correctly and she shakes her head.

“I don’t think so…but yeah, I'm there. So is Brett. We’re all surgical interns together.”

“How do you guys like it? Hear you had a helluva bus accident earlier this week.” Sawyer picks up his cigarette, which has been slowly burning down unused in the ashtray, and taps off the long curl of ash that has formed at its end. He takes a long drag and blows the smoke out sideways, careful not to blow it in anyone’s face.

“It was awful-“ Cassandra starts.

“It was awesome-“ Brett cuts her off and the pair shoots one another disgusted looks. “A lot of interesting injuries, some really cool surgeries.” Brett continues. “Your boy Jack here got to assist on a spinal.”

“Oh he did, did he?” Sawyer taps his cigarette again and arches his eyebrow at Jack, wondering why Jack hadn’t shared this exciting news himself. Jack knows the question is there and shrugs.

“It wasn’t a big deal, I didn’t get to do anything. I just did stupid shit like suction and retract and answer questions that the surgeon asked to make sure I knew what I was looking at.”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Know what you were lookin’ at,” Sawyer elaborates and Jack nods.

“Uh, yeah. I did.”

“What about you guys? Anything cool?” Sawyer angles this question at Brett.

“Helped take out this chick’s spleen. That was pretty cool.”

“Yeah? She okay now?”

“The patient?” Brett seems surprised that Sawyer is asking. Sawyer nods. “Yeah, she’s gonna be fine.”

“What about you?” Sawyer asks Cassandra, who frowns and glances down at the table. “Oh. Not a good day, huh. Well, hell. Let’s get you a beer.” Sawyer stands up and shoots her a smile. “Be right back.”

Jack watches Sawyer walk away, a faint smile coming over his face.

“He seems nice,” Cassandra states awkwardly and Jack looks toward her like he hadn’t expected her to say that - or anything about it, really.

“He is,” Jack agrees, coughing lightly and picking up his beer. Brett grins at him.

“Never woulda thought in a million years, Shep,” Brett says, shaking his head. “I thought you had some girl waiting on you back in Cali.”

“I did,” Jack states, setting his beer back down.

“Not anymore, huh.” Brett chuckles. “Wow. I’m just…” He rubs his hand over his head, trying to think of the right word.

“Surprised?” Cassie supplies. “I mean, I’m surprised. I’m sure you’re surprised. Not that it’s-“

“No, I think the word I’m looking for is relieved,” Brett says, smiling at Jack. “The great and powerful Jack Shephard doesn’t like girls. You just blew the playing field wide open, dude. Every chick in the hospital who had her eye on you…man. My love life just got so much easier.”

“Glad to know I could help,” Jack replies tightly, barely able to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He glances toward Sawyer and finds him waiting at the bar. He catches his eye and Sawyer grins back, knowing Jack’s face is clearly calling out save me ; his amusement at Jack’s awkward predicament only makes Jack shoot him a dirty look.

Sawyer laughs to himself and turns back to the bar, wondering what’s taking so long. Despite his gentle teasing from across the room, he’s eager to get back and make some lame excuse, pull Jack away from his co-workers, and get the hell out of here. That feeling increases exponentially when the bottle of beer is set on the counter and a familiar hand reaches out and takes it.

“For me? Oh, Sawbucks, you shouldn’t have.” Sawyer looks up in alarm, his eyes narrowing and his body tensing.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He spits out, his fist clenching by his side.

“Could ask you the same thing. Haven’t heard from you in awhile, Sawyer. I was getting a bit worried about ya.”

“You following me now?” Sawyer snaps, nervously glancing toward Jack. At the moment he’s not looking so Sawyer hurriedly pushes Hibbs toward the door, not giving him a choice.

Once outside, Sawyer grabs Hibbs by the jacket and slams him against the brick wall of the building, his fury written plainly all over his face. They are in view of anyone passing by but there’s nowhere else to go.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doin’?” Sawyer demands angrily but lowly. “Are you fucking crazy?”

“Just checking up on you, Sawyer. Seems weird that I haven’t seen so much as a penny from this deal.”

“What the hell you talking about? I’ve been sending you a cut of my paychecks every damn week.” Sawyer mutters, annoyed.

“Oh, you mean from that stupid bookstore? That money is chump change, boy, what exactly am I supposed to do with that? Buy a couple a sandwiches?” Hibbs replies and then laughs sardonically. “I still can’t believe you went out and got yourself a job in the first place.”

“I needed it.”

“No you didn’t. You have a job, Sawyer, and it’s him. Or have you forgotten about that? Maybe I should go on in there and tell your pal Jack all about you, since it’s pretty damn clear you ain’t gonna follow this through.” Sawyer steps back from Hibbs, swallowing hard. “Don’t be stupid. You’re gonna lose either way, Sawbucks. Better to get the cash out of it.”

“Hibbs, you go near him and I swear-“ Sawyer grabs Hibbs by the shirt collar and draws back his fist but Hibbs doesn’t even flinch.

“I need you back in the game, Sawyer. No more bullshitting around. It’s been three months. Move on it or I’m ending it for you.”

“Don’t threaten me,” Sawyer growls and Hibbs smirks.

“It’s not a threat, it’s a promise, son,” Hibbs replies. “You and I had a deal and you’re backing out on me. We’ve been partners awhile but that don’t mean shit. I got people on my case, lookin’ for money that I don’t got. Money you don’t got. And I’ve been covering your ass but I tell you, the longer you stay around wasting time playing kissy face with that damn doctor in there, the more I think that I’ve been wrong about you.”

“Wrong about what.”

“I thought I could count on you to come through, boy. Cold-hearted s.o.b Sawyer Ford…hell, you ain’t nothin’ more than a poor sap who’s gone all soft over some sucker with a pretty face.”

“Fuck you.” Sawyer turns away from him and paces in front of him, seething, but he doesn’t know what to do.

“You know he’ll give you the money. So do it.” Hibbs says simply, leaning back against the wall now and watching Sawyer with amusement. “It ain’t hard. Just ask.”

“I can’t.” Sawyer says quietly, his face turned down toward the pavement as he walks back and forth.

“What?”

“I can’t!” Sawyer exclaims loudly. A woman walking by jumps, startled, and looks at him, but Sawyer doesn’t notice. He looks at Hibbs, pain in his eyes. “I can’t do it. Not this time. I’ll find someone else. Work ‘em quick. Just not him, okay?” Sawyer moves toward Hibbs, close to pleading and Hibbs shakes his head in disappointment.

“You’re pathetic, James. You think you’re living in a fairytale or something?” He shoots the words like bullets, sharp and harsh. “You think he won’t find out about you? You’re not fucking naïve, boy, don’t throw all this away because you’ve been stupid enough to fall for a mark.”

“Sawyer?”

Sawyer jumps away from Hibbs and turns toward the sound of Jack’s voice, his heart seizing inside his chest. Jack is standing a few feet away underneath the soft light from the lamps lining the face of the building, looking confused.

“Jack. Hey.” Sawyer stammers, panicked.

“What’s going on?” Jack asks, glancing between Sawyer and Hibbs, the tall wiry man a complete stranger to him. His brow furrows and he looks to Sawyer now for an explanation. “I thought you were getting a drink and then you were gone. I couldn’t find you.”

“I…I ran into someone and I…” Sawyer, usually so smooth with a lie, falters horribly and Hibbs steps up, extending his hand to Jack with a slow smile that seems so over-friendly that it verges on creepy.

“Bob Howard,” Hibbs tells Jack. “Used to be a pal of the family way back when.” He looks to Sawyer, the smile still plastered on his face, and reaches out and grips his shoulder. “I’ve known this kid here for damn near forever but haven’t seen him in a few years - fancy us running into each other in a city as big as this. Ain’t that somethin’.”

He turns back to Jack and moves away from Sawyer, his smile turning apologetic.

“Sorry to have stolen him away there for a bit. I have a hard time hearing in a joint like that. Ears aren’t what they used to be, ya know?” He winks at Jack. “Don’t be a stranger, you. You know where I’m at now, you should swing by and see Shelly and the kids.”

“Will do,” Sawyer mumbles, barely able to make the effort to keep up this farce.

“Nice to meet you. Keep this boy outta trouble for me, would ya?” Hibbs raises his hand and makes a motion like he’s tipping a hat he does not have, then turns and saunters off down the street, turning back once to give the two men a small wave good-bye.

Silence hovers in the air tensely for a moment after Hibbs’ departure and Sawyer’s mind races, wondering exactly how long Jack had been standing there on the sidewalk before he’d interrupted, what he’d heard, what he’d seen.

“So…” Jack starts, shifting on his feet. “How does that guy know your family?”

“How much of that did you hear, Jack?” Sawyer has to ask, knowing the question will mean he has a lot of explaining to do, no matter what the answer is. Jack eyes him suspiciously.

“I didn’t hear anything…why?”

“Nothing. It’s just…he’s just…he acted like we were buddies but we ain’t. He’s an old family friend, sure, but I don’t like him, don’t trust him.”

“That guy? But he was so sincere…” Jack says sarcastically. His voice cracks and he coughs a little. Sawyer doesn’t look at him but if he had, he would have seen Jack purposely not looking at him.

“Yeah, well…can we just not talk about him? He’s a smarmy asshole and I don’t want to waste my time.” Sawyer mumbles, placing one hand on the wall next to him and watching as his fingers trace the rough ridges in the brick.

“Okay,” Jack nods, shoving his hands in the pockets of his coat. “You wanna just go?”

“But…” Sawyer gestures toward the bar, glancing at Jack. “Your friends?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“What, you don’t have any more people you want me to help out you in front of?” Sawyer regains some of his footing, teasing lightly. Jack shrugs.

“I’m thinking word’s gonna spread. And I didn’t bring you here just to out myself, Sawyer.”

“Then what was this evening all about?”

“It was about…” Jack hesitates, not sure how to put it, not able to focus entirely on his own thoughts. “About you seeing it, I guess. Seeing that part of my life, sharing it…or something.” The words might have sounded sentimental but Jack’s voice doesn’t sound loving. It wavers and breaks and is almost too low to hear. Sawyer mistakes it for embarrassment and smiles faintly.

“Y’know, there are other parts of you I wanna see, Doc,” Sawyer walks toward him and backs him up against the wall, placing his hands on either side of Jack’s head against the brick. “How about you share that too?”

When Sawyer kisses him it feels different somehow, like Jack isn’t completely into it, but Sawyer easily convinces himself that he’s just imagining it. The events of the evening were more than enough to set him on edge and make him paranoid and chances are, he’s the one who’s not fully there.

“Let’s go home,” Sawyer whispers against Jack’s lips as he pulls away and Jack nods slightly.

“Okay.” He reaches down and squeezes Sawyer’s hand. “Let me just go settle up the tab, get my card. I’ll be right back.”

Jack extricates himself from underneath Sawyer’s body and heads inside the bar, leaving Sawyer outside. The second he’s out of Sawyer’s sight he lets out the sigh he’d been holding in and lets his mind spin out of control, finally letting himself feel the insane confusion that he’d tried to ignore in Sawyer’s presence.

In a daze he moves toward the bar. He doesn’t know what he heard. Not really. Maybe he didn’t hear it at all, not correctly anyway, or misinterpreted what they were talking about. Perhaps he didn’t really hear that guy call Sawyer James or talk about him as a mark. A mark for what? Bob, or whoever he is, didn’t use his name…maybe it was something else, someone else. But then that would mean Sawyer was in love with that someone else.

Every option leads to a bad answer or an even worse one and there’s no way Jack can spin it in his head to make it seem less unsavory. He sits down at the bar and rests his head in his hands, feeling like he’s going to be sick to his stomach.

He should tell Sawyer what he heard and demand an explanation. There has to be an explanation, surely. He trusts Sawyer, has no reason to doubt what he’s saying. So what if he’d heard some strange man saying strange things? He hadn’t heard Sawyer say a thing, hadn’t heard him say anything incriminating or revealing.

The bartender comes over and asks Jack if he wants something else and somehow Jack manages to mumble something about the bill. When the white slip of the receipt is slid across to him, he scrawls his name even more messily than usual and grabs his card, shoving it in his back pocket and not bothering to put it back in his wallet.

When he goes outside he discovers Sawyer leaning against the brick wall, smoking a cigarette lazily, and the image is so familiar, so comforting that Jack decides right then to opt for trust over suspicion. He won’t ask. He won’t voice his vague worries and jeopardize things because he’d heard some jerk make some weird remarks late at night outside some bar. Sawyer smiles at him when he sees him and it feels real, feels honest.

“Ready to go?” Sawyer asks, tossing his cigarette to the ground promptly and walking toward Jack.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Jack replies, choosing to ignore how hard it is to smile back.

------->THIS PART CONTINUED