Lost fic: To A Mouse [Sawyer, FNL x-over, 800 words]
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: Post-island, Sawyer goes back to jail, but this time he's there by choice.
Notes: Using for fanfic100 #12, orange. This is a crossover with Friday Night Lights, but it's an unobtrusive one.
To A Mouse
by eponine119
June 28, 2007
He's changed. The island changed him. He's a good person. He volunteers.
That's just on the surface. Down deep inside, he knows he comes here to remind himself. He was once one of them. He so easily could be again.
Everything is white and smells like bleach, but it's still dirty. The paint peels; the ceiling's cracked. In this room, it smells like books. Like paper rot and mildew, and the faint, not entirely unpleasant scent of sweat from the boy sitting next to him, clad in orange.
He's not really a boy. He's a man, old enough to have gotten himself into a place like this. As much as Sawyer was a man that wicked, hot summer he was nineteen. He's twice this kid's age, and he feels it in his bones.
The kid is fidgety and quiet. His hair hangs sullenly down into his eyes. Waves of emotion are coming off of him: stress, anger, fear. Sawyer may have been a criminal at nineteen, but he didn't go to jail till later.
"Okay," Sawyer says, and opens the book. Just like they taught them in training. He knows what this kid sees. He sees a guy with designer eyeglass frames and clean fingernails.
"I can read," he says.
"I know," Sawyer replies. He saw the test results. The kid's not dumb, and he can read. Barely. But Sawyer's reply gives them nothing to build on. They look at each other, sort of. He looks at the top of the kid's head, and the kid looks at him through the curtain of hair in front of his eyes. "You signed up for this program." He knows why. It's an hour out of the cell. "Read this then." He slides the book along the table.
A moment passes before the kid snatches it up in anger. His voice is rough and uneven as he sounds out the words. He slams it back down, face burning with shame.
"All you need is practice," Sawyer says. It goes ignored. Sawyer sighs, and decides to get real. "What're you in for?"
"Assault, battery." It's a mumble. Not what he expected to hear.
But he gets it. "Bar fight," he says, and the kid nods. "Prob'ly lookin' at a year, then some probation." Another nod. "Year's a long time. And this -- " he puts his hand on the book, "can be your escape."
The kid has green eyes. They're fixed on him now like he's the dumbest person ever to walk the earth.
"You think I never been where you're sittin'?" Sawyer asks. "I been in jail."
"Really?" It's not a teenager's sarcastic tone. It's more like he needs a hero to look up to. It'll work, though Sawyer ain't no damn hero.
"Yeah," Sawyer answers, voice low. Something burns in it like tears. He swallows and opens the book again. Passes it over. "Try again."
"What'd you do?"
"You mean what'd I get caught for," Sawyer corrects, with a flash of his dimples. "I took some money."
"Like from a bank?"
"No, from a woman." He sees the extra notch of respect this gains him from the kid. There's a part of Sawyer that almost can't stand to look at him, because he was this kid, more or less. And he's not here to save him. He's here to teach him to read. "Tell me about your fight."
"I was mad 'n I was drunk." His head hangs on his shoulders again.
"'s all it takes," Sawyer agrees, and he gets a sidelong look for his troubles. He pushes the book over again. This time the kid takes it. Rests its orange spine against his palm.
"'A few miles south of Soledad, the Salinas River drops in close to the hillside bank and runs deep and green.'" The kid stops, and Sawyer waits for his excuses. Instead, he flips back to the cover. "I think I read this already."
"You never read a book in your life," Sawyer says.
"Well, somebody read it to me," he admits. "In school. If I --" he stops himself. There's a story fighting to get out, words waiting to tumble over each other like the rush of a waterfall. But even though he's nineteen years old, school seems like it was a long time ago and a million miles away.
"Maybe that'll make it easier," Sawyer says. "Keep going."
He tips his chair back, and closes his eyes to listen. He isn't picturing the California foothills, though. He's picturing green mountains surrounded by ocean, an island as lost to him now as the idyll of school is for this kid.
They can't go back.
End
Summary: Post-island, Sawyer goes back to jail, but this time he's there by choice.
Notes: Using for fanfic100 #12, orange. This is a crossover with Friday Night Lights, but it's an unobtrusive one.
To A Mouse
by eponine119
June 28, 2007
He's changed. The island changed him. He's a good person. He volunteers.
That's just on the surface. Down deep inside, he knows he comes here to remind himself. He was once one of them. He so easily could be again.
Everything is white and smells like bleach, but it's still dirty. The paint peels; the ceiling's cracked. In this room, it smells like books. Like paper rot and mildew, and the faint, not entirely unpleasant scent of sweat from the boy sitting next to him, clad in orange.
He's not really a boy. He's a man, old enough to have gotten himself into a place like this. As much as Sawyer was a man that wicked, hot summer he was nineteen. He's twice this kid's age, and he feels it in his bones.
The kid is fidgety and quiet. His hair hangs sullenly down into his eyes. Waves of emotion are coming off of him: stress, anger, fear. Sawyer may have been a criminal at nineteen, but he didn't go to jail till later.
"Okay," Sawyer says, and opens the book. Just like they taught them in training. He knows what this kid sees. He sees a guy with designer eyeglass frames and clean fingernails.
"I can read," he says.
"I know," Sawyer replies. He saw the test results. The kid's not dumb, and he can read. Barely. But Sawyer's reply gives them nothing to build on. They look at each other, sort of. He looks at the top of the kid's head, and the kid looks at him through the curtain of hair in front of his eyes. "You signed up for this program." He knows why. It's an hour out of the cell. "Read this then." He slides the book along the table.
A moment passes before the kid snatches it up in anger. His voice is rough and uneven as he sounds out the words. He slams it back down, face burning with shame.
"All you need is practice," Sawyer says. It goes ignored. Sawyer sighs, and decides to get real. "What're you in for?"
"Assault, battery." It's a mumble. Not what he expected to hear.
But he gets it. "Bar fight," he says, and the kid nods. "Prob'ly lookin' at a year, then some probation." Another nod. "Year's a long time. And this -- " he puts his hand on the book, "can be your escape."
The kid has green eyes. They're fixed on him now like he's the dumbest person ever to walk the earth.
"You think I never been where you're sittin'?" Sawyer asks. "I been in jail."
"Really?" It's not a teenager's sarcastic tone. It's more like he needs a hero to look up to. It'll work, though Sawyer ain't no damn hero.
"Yeah," Sawyer answers, voice low. Something burns in it like tears. He swallows and opens the book again. Passes it over. "Try again."
"What'd you do?"
"You mean what'd I get caught for," Sawyer corrects, with a flash of his dimples. "I took some money."
"Like from a bank?"
"No, from a woman." He sees the extra notch of respect this gains him from the kid. There's a part of Sawyer that almost can't stand to look at him, because he was this kid, more or less. And he's not here to save him. He's here to teach him to read. "Tell me about your fight."
"I was mad 'n I was drunk." His head hangs on his shoulders again.
"'s all it takes," Sawyer agrees, and he gets a sidelong look for his troubles. He pushes the book over again. This time the kid takes it. Rests its orange spine against his palm.
"'A few miles south of Soledad, the Salinas River drops in close to the hillside bank and runs deep and green.'" The kid stops, and Sawyer waits for his excuses. Instead, he flips back to the cover. "I think I read this already."
"You never read a book in your life," Sawyer says.
"Well, somebody read it to me," he admits. "In school. If I --" he stops himself. There's a story fighting to get out, words waiting to tumble over each other like the rush of a waterfall. But even though he's nineteen years old, school seems like it was a long time ago and a million miles away.
"Maybe that'll make it easier," Sawyer says. "Keep going."
He tips his chair back, and closes his eyes to listen. He isn't picturing the California foothills, though. He's picturing green mountains surrounded by ocean, an island as lost to him now as the idyll of school is for this kid.
They can't go back.
End