Lost fic: A Job Half Finished [Sawyer/Kate]
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine.
Summary: Sawyer knows he can't keep Kate.
Author's note: Using for fanfic100 #85, She
A Job Half-Finished
by eponine119
March 19, 2006
He's watching her, nose to nose, as she startles awake. He stares into the confusion in her eyes, watches as she blinks sleep and terror away. "You were havin' the dream again," he murmurs, his voice no more than a creak between them. "The bad one."
She closes her eyes, then. When she opens them again, she's not vulnerable anymore.
He strokes the hair off her face with two gentle fingers. "What were you dreaming about, baby?"
She presses her lips together. Ensuring her silence. He hates her in that moment. He's won her body, but not her trust. He didn't think it would matter to him, but it does.
"What do you want?" he asks. "Right now, what do you want?" His heart beats oddly. Dropping back into old habits, except this time he doesn't know what happens next.
"For you to stop asking me stupid questions," she replies. His hands barely make contact with the soft skin of her waist, knowing she's going to make her escape a second before she does, slipping out of his grasp and bounding to her feet, reaching for her clothes.
He lets out an agitated sigh, rolling onto his back and letting his hands fall against the blanket draped at the level of his hips. He watches her quick movements as she dresses. There's nothing tantalizing about it, not even a hint of a strip tease, but he aches for her.
She tosses her hair back over her shoulder, tugging the orange t-shirt down and stepping into her shoes. He doesn't think she'll look back at him. But then she does. As she stands over him, dressed and confident, a marked contrast to his nakedness and his uncertainty, there's something like pity in her eyes.
Then she's gone, leaving him with that look burned into his senses, and he wants to break something. Instead he makes a soft, frustrated noise and pulls the blanket up over his shoulders, curling up and closing his eyes hard. They all think he's lazy and there's nothing to get up for anyway. He can stay in bed, such as it is.
Eventually he can't sleep anymore. He wipes his eyes and shoves his hair back and pulls on his jeans before he steps outside. He thinks it's funny that you can never smell the ocean here. The air is damp and salty, but it doesn't have that smell. Of all the strange things about this place, that one's pretty minor.
He can't help looking for her. She's not on the beach. He hasn't figured out yet where she goes in the mornings, any more than he can figure out what's in her head when she's dreaming. Jack won't meet his eyes. Hasn't, since all this came about. Sawyer fixes a smile on his face, the smile of the richest man in the world, a man who has everything he could ever want. But even the richest man in the world has troubles and fears. He worries about losing his wealth. Sawyer knows he can't keep Kate.
His tent smells like her, smells like them. He picks up his book only to remember he finished it the day before. There's not much to do on the island, just sleep and read and fuck. There've been a couple times he thought that was all he wanted out of life, but he needs more. He's bored.
The axe is buried deep in the stump of the log. It takes serious wiggling for Sawyer to get it free. The rhythm of the strokes and the burn in his muscles aren't enough to take his mind off things. The wood is for the signal fire, but they all know no one's coming. He doesn't think about rescue anymore, or the real world. Maybe he should.
When the axe is too heavy for him to lift anymore, he gives up. He leaves the wood where it's fallen, not even bothering to stack it properly. A job half-finished, the kind of thing that used to get his ass whipped. He'd just smile through the pain, because he could see the potential in it. If you never finished anything, you'd never want for things to do, and you could never fail.
The hatch is his next stop. He needs a shower and he needs something to read. Idle thoughts of Kate plague him as he walks. This isn't how he thought it'd be. He should have anticipated his disappointment; he already knows that wanting is better than having. Except he still wants her so much it scares him.
He doesn't see her at first, and thinks the hatch is empty, even though he knows they never leave the button unattended. But he takes another step and that’s when he sees her, small hands propping up her chin, eyes half-focused in the distance, the same look she gets when she's staring out at the ocean. She's not seeing anything real.
She blinks and sees him, and he just turns his back. Leaves her to her thoughts. He tugs off his rancid t-shirt and heads for the shower, where he stands under the hot spray, letting it pound the pain away. He braces one arm against the tile and lets his head hang down, waiting for the tightness in his neck to release.
The heat reminds him of her. The soap they all use smells like her hair, tastes like her skin. A shudder runs through him and he smacks his fist hard against the tiles. He feels his lips curling as he wraps the towel around him and walks out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him.
He hears her intake of breath, and when he turns his head to glower in her direction, he catches her with her mouth open and loose and a flush fading across her cheeks, her eyes so dark and bright he can feel it deep underneath his skin. He lowers his head and shakes it to one side, to get the hair out of his eyes, and continues on to the bookcase.
After awhile, she comes to stand next to him. He can feel her there without looking, her pulse fitting into the spaces where his heart beats. He could reach out his arm and pull her against him and she'd fit perfectly in the hollow where his arm meets his body. But he doesn't move, just waits to see what she'll do.
"It's not like I thought it'd be," she says, in that frank tone he's come to expect from her.
"What'd you think it'd be," he murmurs softly. Wants to be sarcastic and can't.
Her tongue slides over her lips. "Not like this," is all she says, and she leans into him then. He doesn't put his arm around her, just sighs softly at the touch of her body. She rubs her cheek against his skin and turns her wide eyes up toward his, and he sways slightly but stands his ground.
When she pulls away, he feels cold. "Here." She tugs a book from the shelf and smacks it into his hand, turns on her heel and returns to her perch at the computer, that faraway look returning easily to her eyes.
He looks down at the book and shakes his head. He clenches his hand around it and goes to get his clothes.
…
Sawyer eats dinner with his book. Across the beach, Kate is sitting with Jack. She's eating off his plate and they're both smiling and when Jack laughs, it's so loud Sawyer can hear it. He knows better than to protest. Kate called him possessive when he tried, with the fire in her eyes that threatened that he'd lose her. She needed to be free more than she needed anything, so he raised his hands and let her be.
The tide turns, that's what Sawyer's learned spending his days on the beach. Jack used to have Kate, and Kate would come to Sawyer to flirt and smile and play. Now she's his, and with that comes responsibility. One that seems to preclude the fun they used to have. That's just how Kate's wired, though. She doesn’t feel safe with either of them. If their relationship could be whole, it would terrify her and she'd flee. He knows.
She comes to him long after quiet has settled over the camp. He's already stretched out, and he's tired. His eyes only half-open when he hears her. He makes a soft sound and rolls to one side, making room for her next to him.
Her fingers fumble with her clothes and she throws herself onto him with desperate recklessness. Her nails rake against his scalp and her thighs squeeze his hips. "Damn, girl," he groans, eyes closed against the waves of pleasure that roll through him. His hands skim against the soft smoothness of her skin. All the hours spent apart, avoiding each other, are almost worth it when it comes to this.
Except he wants more. In the tenderness afterward, he asks her again. "What do you dream about, Katie?" The name is tentative, unfamiliar on his lips as he tries it out. She shudders at the sound of it and makes the little squeak he recognizes from her troubled sleep. He'd pull the words back if he could, but he can't, so he pulls her into his arms.
"I dream about you," she whispers, hot against his ear. "I dream that you're him, the man I killed." Something cold flows down his spine. He's never asked her what she did. He's never wanted to know, but now he does. And suddenly this all seems inevitable to him. Their coming together and their remaining apart, and how it all has to end. With her heated body pressed up against his, he's not sure he'll ever be warm again.
End
Summary: Sawyer knows he can't keep Kate.
Author's note: Using for fanfic100 #85, She
A Job Half-Finished
by eponine119
March 19, 2006
He's watching her, nose to nose, as she startles awake. He stares into the confusion in her eyes, watches as she blinks sleep and terror away. "You were havin' the dream again," he murmurs, his voice no more than a creak between them. "The bad one."
She closes her eyes, then. When she opens them again, she's not vulnerable anymore.
He strokes the hair off her face with two gentle fingers. "What were you dreaming about, baby?"
She presses her lips together. Ensuring her silence. He hates her in that moment. He's won her body, but not her trust. He didn't think it would matter to him, but it does.
"What do you want?" he asks. "Right now, what do you want?" His heart beats oddly. Dropping back into old habits, except this time he doesn't know what happens next.
"For you to stop asking me stupid questions," she replies. His hands barely make contact with the soft skin of her waist, knowing she's going to make her escape a second before she does, slipping out of his grasp and bounding to her feet, reaching for her clothes.
He lets out an agitated sigh, rolling onto his back and letting his hands fall against the blanket draped at the level of his hips. He watches her quick movements as she dresses. There's nothing tantalizing about it, not even a hint of a strip tease, but he aches for her.
She tosses her hair back over her shoulder, tugging the orange t-shirt down and stepping into her shoes. He doesn't think she'll look back at him. But then she does. As she stands over him, dressed and confident, a marked contrast to his nakedness and his uncertainty, there's something like pity in her eyes.
Then she's gone, leaving him with that look burned into his senses, and he wants to break something. Instead he makes a soft, frustrated noise and pulls the blanket up over his shoulders, curling up and closing his eyes hard. They all think he's lazy and there's nothing to get up for anyway. He can stay in bed, such as it is.
Eventually he can't sleep anymore. He wipes his eyes and shoves his hair back and pulls on his jeans before he steps outside. He thinks it's funny that you can never smell the ocean here. The air is damp and salty, but it doesn't have that smell. Of all the strange things about this place, that one's pretty minor.
He can't help looking for her. She's not on the beach. He hasn't figured out yet where she goes in the mornings, any more than he can figure out what's in her head when she's dreaming. Jack won't meet his eyes. Hasn't, since all this came about. Sawyer fixes a smile on his face, the smile of the richest man in the world, a man who has everything he could ever want. But even the richest man in the world has troubles and fears. He worries about losing his wealth. Sawyer knows he can't keep Kate.
His tent smells like her, smells like them. He picks up his book only to remember he finished it the day before. There's not much to do on the island, just sleep and read and fuck. There've been a couple times he thought that was all he wanted out of life, but he needs more. He's bored.
The axe is buried deep in the stump of the log. It takes serious wiggling for Sawyer to get it free. The rhythm of the strokes and the burn in his muscles aren't enough to take his mind off things. The wood is for the signal fire, but they all know no one's coming. He doesn't think about rescue anymore, or the real world. Maybe he should.
When the axe is too heavy for him to lift anymore, he gives up. He leaves the wood where it's fallen, not even bothering to stack it properly. A job half-finished, the kind of thing that used to get his ass whipped. He'd just smile through the pain, because he could see the potential in it. If you never finished anything, you'd never want for things to do, and you could never fail.
The hatch is his next stop. He needs a shower and he needs something to read. Idle thoughts of Kate plague him as he walks. This isn't how he thought it'd be. He should have anticipated his disappointment; he already knows that wanting is better than having. Except he still wants her so much it scares him.
He doesn't see her at first, and thinks the hatch is empty, even though he knows they never leave the button unattended. But he takes another step and that’s when he sees her, small hands propping up her chin, eyes half-focused in the distance, the same look she gets when she's staring out at the ocean. She's not seeing anything real.
She blinks and sees him, and he just turns his back. Leaves her to her thoughts. He tugs off his rancid t-shirt and heads for the shower, where he stands under the hot spray, letting it pound the pain away. He braces one arm against the tile and lets his head hang down, waiting for the tightness in his neck to release.
The heat reminds him of her. The soap they all use smells like her hair, tastes like her skin. A shudder runs through him and he smacks his fist hard against the tiles. He feels his lips curling as he wraps the towel around him and walks out of the bathroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints behind him.
He hears her intake of breath, and when he turns his head to glower in her direction, he catches her with her mouth open and loose and a flush fading across her cheeks, her eyes so dark and bright he can feel it deep underneath his skin. He lowers his head and shakes it to one side, to get the hair out of his eyes, and continues on to the bookcase.
After awhile, she comes to stand next to him. He can feel her there without looking, her pulse fitting into the spaces where his heart beats. He could reach out his arm and pull her against him and she'd fit perfectly in the hollow where his arm meets his body. But he doesn't move, just waits to see what she'll do.
"It's not like I thought it'd be," she says, in that frank tone he's come to expect from her.
"What'd you think it'd be," he murmurs softly. Wants to be sarcastic and can't.
Her tongue slides over her lips. "Not like this," is all she says, and she leans into him then. He doesn't put his arm around her, just sighs softly at the touch of her body. She rubs her cheek against his skin and turns her wide eyes up toward his, and he sways slightly but stands his ground.
When she pulls away, he feels cold. "Here." She tugs a book from the shelf and smacks it into his hand, turns on her heel and returns to her perch at the computer, that faraway look returning easily to her eyes.
He looks down at the book and shakes his head. He clenches his hand around it and goes to get his clothes.
…
Sawyer eats dinner with his book. Across the beach, Kate is sitting with Jack. She's eating off his plate and they're both smiling and when Jack laughs, it's so loud Sawyer can hear it. He knows better than to protest. Kate called him possessive when he tried, with the fire in her eyes that threatened that he'd lose her. She needed to be free more than she needed anything, so he raised his hands and let her be.
The tide turns, that's what Sawyer's learned spending his days on the beach. Jack used to have Kate, and Kate would come to Sawyer to flirt and smile and play. Now she's his, and with that comes responsibility. One that seems to preclude the fun they used to have. That's just how Kate's wired, though. She doesn’t feel safe with either of them. If their relationship could be whole, it would terrify her and she'd flee. He knows.
She comes to him long after quiet has settled over the camp. He's already stretched out, and he's tired. His eyes only half-open when he hears her. He makes a soft sound and rolls to one side, making room for her next to him.
Her fingers fumble with her clothes and she throws herself onto him with desperate recklessness. Her nails rake against his scalp and her thighs squeeze his hips. "Damn, girl," he groans, eyes closed against the waves of pleasure that roll through him. His hands skim against the soft smoothness of her skin. All the hours spent apart, avoiding each other, are almost worth it when it comes to this.
Except he wants more. In the tenderness afterward, he asks her again. "What do you dream about, Katie?" The name is tentative, unfamiliar on his lips as he tries it out. She shudders at the sound of it and makes the little squeak he recognizes from her troubled sleep. He'd pull the words back if he could, but he can't, so he pulls her into his arms.
"I dream about you," she whispers, hot against his ear. "I dream that you're him, the man I killed." Something cold flows down his spine. He's never asked her what she did. He's never wanted to know, but now he does. And suddenly this all seems inevitable to him. Their coming together and their remaining apart, and how it all has to end. With her heated body pressed up against his, he's not sure he'll ever be warm again.
End