Some Things Don't Change - Lost - Gen (Sawyer)
Title: Some Things Don't Change
Characters: Sawyer, Christian
Word Count: 1047
Rating: PG
A/N: For the lostsquee luau, Queen elise_509 asked for us to help her fall back in love with Sawyer. I doubt that this fic will do that, but I found myself wanting to prod S5 Sawyer a little bit, because I still don't 'get' him. Also using for writing_rainbow.
Summary: In 1977, Sawyer runs into a familiar face when he takes a single day away from the island.
It is 1977 and Sawyer is standing on the harbour, fresh outta the submarine. The air in Ann Arbour smells fresh and new after months on that insane island. He breathes in as much of it as he can. Daniel is standing beside him, silent and thoughtful. He's easy to ignore. "Meet you back here," Sawyer says, though he knows Daniel has no intention of returning - not to them, not to the island, not to those memories. "Same time tomorrow."
He meant what he said when he decided to stay on the island, but that don't mean that he's gonna ignore the opportunity to stretch his legs.
And time-travel... Fuck, he's not sure if he believed it before now, but across the street he can see some eye-burning fashion choices. It's gotta be the 70s.
He and Daniel part ways, and he tries not to think too deeply about what it is that Daniel's up to. He tries not to think of Juliet either, as she chooses to walk with Daniel instead of with him. Can't stay glued at the hip all the time, and hell - he wouldn't even want to. Juliet's not Kate and he's not Jack. End of story, right? He's not gonna think about it any deeper than that. Maybe he doesn't even want her to stay, a constant nagging reminder of everything that went wrong on that faux-paradise.
Ten minutes later, he's made it to a bar. The smoke in the air and the bad music on the jukebox are the same in any decade.
As it turns out, so are the patrons.
He's half-way through a glass that's strong enough to make his eyes water when a voice that's a little too familiar says, "Mind if I join you?"
He looks up at his guest.
His hair isn't white - not now - and his hairline hasn't yet started to hike its way up his head, but his eyes are still that amused blue shade and his voice still sounds like he's two seconds away from crying or laughing. Jack's old dad, standing right here in front of him in a rugged pair of jeans. He's got a beer in his hand and a smirk on his lips and, damn, suddenly Sawyer feels like he knows exactly where Jack got his looks from.
"Don't mind at all, Daddio," he says, waving to the bar stool right next to him. His skin itches with the unreality of the situation that he has accidentally tumbled into. He can't stop looking at Christian. Doesn't want to, in case he blinks and then everything reverts to the way it was.
"The name's Christian," he corrects, and Sawyer has to fight not to say, I know.
He smiles instead and nods in acknowledgement. "I'm..."
He doesn't know. It's been too long since he's had to think about the name he's going to give somebody; he doesn't know what to use, doesn't know what his name is any more.
"It's not an exam," Christian chuckles.
"James," he answers. "I'm James."
They shake hands, and Sawyer - no, James - knows that his grip lingers for a little while too long. He doesn't talk too much throughout the conversation either, prodding Christian with a question or two instead.
He's got a kid at home, and he's arguing with his wife.
He's working as a surgeon and spending more and more time at the hospital every day.
"Are you married?" Christian asks. "Got a girl?"
James doesn't think of Kate, doesn't think of Juliet, doesn't think of Cass, doesn't think of any of the women he's met in the past. He shakes his head. "Nope."
"Do yourself a favour: keep it that way. Nothing good ever comes from that picket-fence nonsense."
They drink to that, and James feels the burn of his drink like a welcome punishment. "What about your son?" he asks, casually as he can. "Wasn't it worth it?"
Christian starts to laugh, and it's the driest and least amused sound that James has ever heard. "Y'know something?" he asks, leaning in close until he is pressed, heated, against Sawyer's side. "If I had the chance to do all this all over again, right from the beginning... I'd have got myself snipped long before Jack came along." He winks and leans back again. His breath smells of beer and James feels like, in that one second, maybe he gets Jack a little bit better than he ever has before.
He stares into his glass, where there is only the smallest sip left. He can see the bottom.
"Here, I'll get you another," Christian offers. He raises his hand and catches the bartender's attention with a flick of two fingers, but James is already shaking his head, is already getting to his feet.
The world feels fluffy around him, but he doesn't know if he can really blame the alcohol. "Nah, that's me. Been nice meeting you, Shephard."
Christian doesn't ask how he knows his second name. Probably doesn't even realise; he's already ordering another drink for himself. Social drinker, my ass, James thinks for himself. He leaves the bar, but the air still doesn't taste as fresh as it did when he first stepped off of the submarine. He smells of second-hand smoke and his mouth is filled with the aftertaste of his drink. His surroundings are grey and brown and boring.
He misses the green.
He misses the island; he wants to go home.
He books himself into a hotel and spends the rest of the night watching movies on the tiny television in his room. He has to kick the side once every hour or so when it starts to fuzz over. The sitcoms are stale and boring, much blander than he remembers. It makes him long for Hurley's good-natured jokes, or to hear the sting of Miles's sarcasm. He quirks a broken smile to himself: it's been under twenty-four hours and already he feels homesick.
In the morning, Juliet boards the submarine with him. She stares at him with stormy blue eyes and she asks, bluntly, "Did you go to see your parents?"
Maybe he should have; he thinks she must have expected him to do so, but her face is blank and she does not register surprise when he shakes his head. "Not mine," he says. Meeting Christian, he thinks, had been more than enough.
Characters: Sawyer, Christian
Word Count: 1047
Rating: PG
A/N: For the lostsquee luau, Queen elise_509 asked for us to help her fall back in love with Sawyer. I doubt that this fic will do that, but I found myself wanting to prod S5 Sawyer a little bit, because I still don't 'get' him. Also using for writing_rainbow.
Summary: In 1977, Sawyer runs into a familiar face when he takes a single day away from the island.
It is 1977 and Sawyer is standing on the harbour, fresh outta the submarine. The air in Ann Arbour smells fresh and new after months on that insane island. He breathes in as much of it as he can. Daniel is standing beside him, silent and thoughtful. He's easy to ignore. "Meet you back here," Sawyer says, though he knows Daniel has no intention of returning - not to them, not to the island, not to those memories. "Same time tomorrow."
He meant what he said when he decided to stay on the island, but that don't mean that he's gonna ignore the opportunity to stretch his legs.
And time-travel... Fuck, he's not sure if he believed it before now, but across the street he can see some eye-burning fashion choices. It's gotta be the 70s.
He and Daniel part ways, and he tries not to think too deeply about what it is that Daniel's up to. He tries not to think of Juliet either, as she chooses to walk with Daniel instead of with him. Can't stay glued at the hip all the time, and hell - he wouldn't even want to. Juliet's not Kate and he's not Jack. End of story, right? He's not gonna think about it any deeper than that. Maybe he doesn't even want her to stay, a constant nagging reminder of everything that went wrong on that faux-paradise.
Ten minutes later, he's made it to a bar. The smoke in the air and the bad music on the jukebox are the same in any decade.
As it turns out, so are the patrons.
He's half-way through a glass that's strong enough to make his eyes water when a voice that's a little too familiar says, "Mind if I join you?"
He looks up at his guest.
His hair isn't white - not now - and his hairline hasn't yet started to hike its way up his head, but his eyes are still that amused blue shade and his voice still sounds like he's two seconds away from crying or laughing. Jack's old dad, standing right here in front of him in a rugged pair of jeans. He's got a beer in his hand and a smirk on his lips and, damn, suddenly Sawyer feels like he knows exactly where Jack got his looks from.
"Don't mind at all, Daddio," he says, waving to the bar stool right next to him. His skin itches with the unreality of the situation that he has accidentally tumbled into. He can't stop looking at Christian. Doesn't want to, in case he blinks and then everything reverts to the way it was.
"The name's Christian," he corrects, and Sawyer has to fight not to say, I know.
He smiles instead and nods in acknowledgement. "I'm..."
He doesn't know. It's been too long since he's had to think about the name he's going to give somebody; he doesn't know what to use, doesn't know what his name is any more.
"It's not an exam," Christian chuckles.
"James," he answers. "I'm James."
They shake hands, and Sawyer - no, James - knows that his grip lingers for a little while too long. He doesn't talk too much throughout the conversation either, prodding Christian with a question or two instead.
He's got a kid at home, and he's arguing with his wife.
He's working as a surgeon and spending more and more time at the hospital every day.
"Are you married?" Christian asks. "Got a girl?"
James doesn't think of Kate, doesn't think of Juliet, doesn't think of Cass, doesn't think of any of the women he's met in the past. He shakes his head. "Nope."
"Do yourself a favour: keep it that way. Nothing good ever comes from that picket-fence nonsense."
They drink to that, and James feels the burn of his drink like a welcome punishment. "What about your son?" he asks, casually as he can. "Wasn't it worth it?"
Christian starts to laugh, and it's the driest and least amused sound that James has ever heard. "Y'know something?" he asks, leaning in close until he is pressed, heated, against Sawyer's side. "If I had the chance to do all this all over again, right from the beginning... I'd have got myself snipped long before Jack came along." He winks and leans back again. His breath smells of beer and James feels like, in that one second, maybe he gets Jack a little bit better than he ever has before.
He stares into his glass, where there is only the smallest sip left. He can see the bottom.
"Here, I'll get you another," Christian offers. He raises his hand and catches the bartender's attention with a flick of two fingers, but James is already shaking his head, is already getting to his feet.
The world feels fluffy around him, but he doesn't know if he can really blame the alcohol. "Nah, that's me. Been nice meeting you, Shephard."
Christian doesn't ask how he knows his second name. Probably doesn't even realise; he's already ordering another drink for himself. Social drinker, my ass, James thinks for himself. He leaves the bar, but the air still doesn't taste as fresh as it did when he first stepped off of the submarine. He smells of second-hand smoke and his mouth is filled with the aftertaste of his drink. His surroundings are grey and brown and boring.
He misses the green.
He misses the island; he wants to go home.
He books himself into a hotel and spends the rest of the night watching movies on the tiny television in his room. He has to kick the side once every hour or so when it starts to fuzz over. The sitcoms are stale and boring, much blander than he remembers. It makes him long for Hurley's good-natured jokes, or to hear the sting of Miles's sarcasm. He quirks a broken smile to himself: it's been under twenty-four hours and already he feels homesick.
In the morning, Juliet boards the submarine with him. She stares at him with stormy blue eyes and she asks, bluntly, "Did you go to see your parents?"
Maybe he should have; he thinks she must have expected him to do so, but her face is blank and she does not register surprise when he shakes his head. "Not mine," he says. Meeting Christian, he thinks, had been more than enough.