The Queer Con - Sawyer/Desmond fic
Ok. The block disappeared long enough to let me finish this, and so I proudly present you my very first Lost slash, with a pairing I'd never thought I would write first but things went like this XD
*squees like mad*
Title: The Queer Con
Rating: PG13 me thinks
Word Count: 4,846
Pairing: Sawyer/Desmond, faint Desmond/OMC (but nothing happens, really.)
Disclaimer: Sawyer and Desmond are sure not mine, though I wish; the George guy is mine, though it's not that great creation.
Beta and thanks: many many thanks to the awesome bachlava who made an excellent job betaing this. And special mention to lasamy since she got me into the whole fandom and I know she likes her two show favorites in the same web page ;)
Spoilers: up through the S3 finale; then it's mainly speculation.
Summary: Desmond is running low on his money and gets an unexpected way out.
A/N and such: first Lost slash I ever attempt to post, I hope it works ;) the queer con thing was in Stephen King's Blaze, I sure didn't come up with it but I so wanted to write Sawyer doing it.. And I guess I'll stop rambling and post the thing already. Won for Best Fic featuring an unusual pairing at lost_fic_awards, November 2007.
banner by isis2015
Remember me why I am even doing this.
Because you’re fucked, brother, and you don’t have another way out. And you know it.
Desmond stays on the door of the club, wishing he could just turn and go away. It may have been the third time he does this but he still isn’t confortable with it and sure as hell doesn’t like it one bit. All his life he had always relied on the fact that he was a coward, alright, but an honest one.
Now he isn’t even honest anymore.
This isn’t good , his inner voice tells him again, For two times it was fine but they’ll get you, not him, you, because it’s you on the fucking line and he knows too well that if they catch someone they’ll get you. And you don’t wanna go back to prison, do you?
Well, he doesn’t want either, I can’t blame him. And he’s right, if it has to be us, I can’t do the other part. He has to.
What would Penny think of you, brother?
Desmond’s lips stretch and become almost thinner while he grinds his teeth and tries not to think about her and what she’d say if she could see him right now. He guesses it doesn’t matter anymore. He opens the door of the club and steps in.
--
Six months before
If this wasn’t a time for getting drunk, Desmond didn’t know what it was.
Rescue came, they were carried to LA safely after the mandatory stop in the nearest civilized place for medical visits and such and of course he had lost track of everyone just as they stepped out of the plane. He imagined it; it wasn’t like Claire was interested in seeing his face again, not after Charlie, it wasn’t like Kate would care about him with the FBI taking her away, it wasn’t like Hurley wasn’t surrounded by the press just as he put his feet on the land, it wasn’t like Jack would try to say goodbye to everyone without succeeding, it wasn’t like Sayid wouldn’t want to drift away as quickly as possible, it wasn’t like he was ever going to notice Sawyer leaving in silence.
He had tried to locate his girl, but their old apartment didn’t have a telephone line anymore it seemed and Desmond knew better than to go and ask Charles Widmore.
Then he decided to find himself a place to stay and then to start searching from there; he got a little apartment (and thank God he had some savings from before that goddamn race, not too much but still...) and learned the truth when he was buying some stuff to eat in a mall.
He was going to get something from a shelf that was after the section where the newspapers were and turned around to have a look. And there he saw some celebrity-gossip magazine and Penny was on the cover with a guy that he didn’t know in the slightest. She didn’t look at all happy. He looked jubilant. Desmond bought it and had to learn from there that she had married that nameless very rich guy a few months earlier (under Mr Widmore’s pressure, he didn’t doubt that) and they moved to some far East city where he had his business.
He bought also two bottles of good scotch and drank them all, that evening. Because he sure as hell couldn’t go fetch her there and what hope there was of bringing her back anyway? She probably didn’t like that, of course she didn’t, and he didn’t understand how could she do it when it seemed that she was going to marry him also without her father’s permission, but things were like that and if this was what life had in store for him, Desmond wished they never left the island. Charlie didn’t need to die for this.
--
Desmond pays his five dollar admission and the guy at the entrance lets him in. He puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket and steps ahead going to the bar. He doesn’t think anyone will suspect anything. He shaved, his hair is still long but with a good, clean cut of which the barber said he felt proud. He’s wearing his good shoes, a pair of clear-blue jeans with just a few rips here and there, a plain black t-shirt and an oversized jeans jacket that matches the trousers. He looks good, he knows he does. Doesn’t mean that he enjoys this. Not a bit. He’s tense, tense as he has never been. Not even the first time.
He takes the first seat and calls the bartender.
“What would you like?”
Oh, he hates gentle bartenders.
“A Jack Daniels glass, brother.”
“Coming then.”
Desmond has a look around. All men, but that was the point, right? He starts to think about who he could try with when he hears a voice behind him.
“You look lonely, pal.”
Desmond turns and finds himself staring at a middle-aged man who looks like some of the salesmen that try to sell you the latest vacuum cleaner when you don’t even know how to plug one in. He’s not younger than forty and not older than fifty. His hair has already begun to gray and also to fall, though he still has quite some. He’s perfectly clean-shaved, wears a grey suit with a black tie and a white shirt, his glasses are quite thick and he’s obviously married with children.
Maybe he doesn’t have to look for anyone.
“Aye, brother, I kinda am.”, he says sipping his JD and smiling just a little, hoping he looks as sad as he should feel.
“Well, you wouldn’t be here if you had company, would you?”
“Nay, I guess I wouldn’t.”
--
A week earlier
The money was running very short, but until that Desmond found that he actually didn’t care. He spent everything he had on the rent and on the drinks and on the Dickens books he had bought again (and he had lost his copy of Our Mutual Friend on the island, damnit) and now it was running short, alright. And Oceanic didn’t get him any reward. It wasn’t like he was on flight 815, was it?
He hadn’t realized it before his first rent warning came.
And if he didn’t get three hundred dollars in after two weeks, he and Dickens were going to live most likely under a bridge.
But no one was going to hire him and he knew that. Just by looking at him, he wasn’t going to find a job as shitty as it could be.
That was why he went to the bar again after a day in which no one did him the grace to hire him for anything, and that was where he was having his drink when he heard a known voice behind him.
“Hey, look who’s here! Well Braveheart, of all the places I was expectin’ to run into you, I should’ve imagined I was gonna find ya here.”
Sawyer???
“Well, you have. Found me, I mean.”
“You don’t look like you’re havin’ the greatest time of your life, y’ know?”
“Aye, thank you very much. You look good, I’ve gotta say.”
Because Sawyer definitely looked good. He was as flawless as ever, all dressed in black jeans, black shirt and black leather jacket, blond hair flowing around his neck, that damn smirk and the damn piercing eyes.
“Maybe I do. Didn’t expect to see you so wasted though. Care to share your misery?”
“And why should I?”
“Because I think you want to and that you’re not seein’ many friends these days.”
And Desmond really didn’t know why he should not, and so he told Sawyer everything. Maybe it would have been better if he could have just shut up.
--
“So what’s your name, pal?”
Desmond takes another sip and a deep breath.
“And why should I tell you?”
“Well, we’re getting to know each other, right?”
“Aye, well, guess you’re right. T’s Charlie.”
He knew he had to change his alias because he couldn’t go around and always say he was Charlie, but he found himself unable to think of another one. He’s just sorry that he had to drag even Charlie into that mess.
“Nice, also if I don’t think it suits you.”
“Nay?”
“I think you’d be more of a... mh.. Jack or John kind. Or maybe James.”
Desmond tries not to laugh.
“Not that lucky that I didn’t get to choose. And what’s your name, brother?”
“True enough. And fair enough. I’m George. So you’re searching for company, I dare say. May I ask why?”
Now you have to act classy. And don’t forget what you gotta say.
“Well, me ‘n my... you know, someone I was seein’ kinda regular, just had this... fight, ‘n ugly one, ‘n he said he didn’t know if he still wanted to have anythin’ to do with me, though it’s not like we... broke up, official thing. But I though, hey, for once I can go havin’ some fun too, nay?”
“Well, I totally agree with you. But where are you from? You’ve got a peculiar accent, I must say.”
He has to have studied. He talks like a bloody teacher.
“I’m Scottish, brother.”
“Oh, that’s interesting! You don’t meet that many English people in this place.”
And be lucky that I don’t care about the whole Scotland vs England thing because I’d have kicked your arse by now.
“Really? Guess there’s always a first.”
“Well, true too. But can I ask you something else?”
“Shoot.”
“Why do you call everyone brother?”
“And how d’you know?”
“You called the bartender like that too. Guess if you call the bartender that way, you call everyone that way.”
So he thinks he’s smart, huh?
“True enough. I was a monk once.”
“A monk?”
“Aye, but ‘twasn’t for me. I’m not even that religious. It was just an escape, I guess. But y’know, the brother thing stuck.”
“Fascinating.”
And from how he looks at him, Desmond knows he’s got the guy. He had to get a freak that found it interesting and that maybe got off at the idea of going with a former monk, but whatever.
It wasn’t like they were going to actually do anything; Mr George just didn’t know it yet and Desmond can’t wait for this to be over.
He also hopes that he brought a lot of cash with him, that night, because he still has one hundred and twenty dollars to go and he doesn’t look forward to doing this another time.
--
“So, what you have to say now?”
“I’d say you need three hundred bucks.”
Desmond felt a sudden urge to kill the bastard right there and right now.
“That all you gotta say?”
“I should say I’m feelin’ sorry for you? Brother, ‘s not my fault if you can’t get past things. And I was going to offer a way out, but if you...”
“A way out?”
“’Course. Y’know, I used my fund to pay for some debts and since I shoulda been searchin’ for an honest job or such, I have to say I haven’t tried that much. And I ain’t ever runnin’ long cons again. But some money comin’ in would be nice and if ya need some, we could be a team.”
“If you wanna con anyone, brother, you can forget me doin’...”
“Easy, Robert Burns. It’s not like you’ve got other choices, by what you’ve been tellin’ me.”
“I’ve got my honor.”
“That, Ivanhoe, is lame. You know that there ain’t no honor among thieves and you know that it’s better to be a thief than dead. Or broke. And anyway I told ya, no long cons anymore.”
“Then what would that be?”
“It’d be takin’ some money from someone who has too much. But just the cash that someone’s with him, nothing more. Nothing that will get him beggin’ on the street.”
“Brother, that sounds too good not to be some kinda trick.”
“But you know you’ll accept it, don’t ya?”
That was true too. And anyway, Sawyer was right. Did he have any choice?
“What should I do?”
Sawyer came nearer and gave him a pack on the shoulder that almost made him spit his drink. Damn.
“That is the spirit. All righty then, just see me in front of this place tomorrow evenin’, ‘bout half past eight. That suit you?”
“Aye, that suits me.”
“Good. And brother...”
Sawyer took out his wallet and handed Desmond a fifty dollar bill.
“And what’s that for?”
“Go to a barber, cut your hair, shave that Jesus beard and then go to a second hand store and buy yourself some nice clothes.”
“How should I?”
“Because if ya con, people have to like how you appear. And sorry but you ain’t lookin’ very pleasant.”
Then Sawyer was out of the bar and Desmond had this idea that he should have stayed at home, but it was too late to back out. Or maybe not, but it was worth a shot to see what Sawyer was up to.
--
When they leave the club, Desmond can feel him watching them. It makes him more relaxed, knowing that someone who actually knows what he, Desmond, is doing, because Desmond sure as hell hasn’t figured it out, is keeping an eye on this whole mess. He doesn’t dare turning around, though. Like hell he’s going to betray himself like this.
Desmond knows he’s no con man. He just hopes that he doesn’t have to tell anymore lies for this night, at least until he has to be alone with this guy. Then it won’t be his problem and he won’t have to deal with it and hopefully he’s going to get his money, he’ll pay the rent, he’ll find a job and this is going to be over forever.
It’d be just too good to be true.
“So, you know someplace?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, we should be going somewhere. Your place?”
“I’d rather not, my... you know, the guy I had that quarrel with, he could be there, but I know a nice hotel jus’ a few blocks from here.”
“Sounds nice. Then lead the way.”
“Aye, ‘course.”
Desmond turns and goes towards the same hotel of the night before. The owner is a friend of Sawyer’s and already knows everything. How does he wish he could just pull that con and go home.
--
Desmond had done everything. He had gone to cut his hair and had his beard shaved, he had a nice, hot bath, he bought himself the jeans, the jacket and a couple of shirts and that night he went to the bar. Sawyer was already there, dressed like the day before, only with a red shirt; he looked pleased, when he saw him.
They walked maybe ten minutes and then Sawyer stopped in a corner and looked straight at some club with some terrible name.
“And how we’re here?”
“That’s where we’re going to run our con.”
“Well brother, I actually imagined that. But how shall we do it? What shall I do?”
“Easy, easy. See, that club’s special. It’s for men only.”
“So what?”
“I said men only.”
Suddenly the realization came.
“Hey, I’m no...”
“Neither am I, but that sure don’t stop me. What we’re gonna run, my friend, is called the Queer Con, and it’s one of the most successful short cons ever. Always works, nothin’ to lose for the conned guy, and...”
“Queer con?”
“’course. It works like this. Now you go in and take a look ‘round. Don’t even think about young people, they ain’t a good target. But, those places are full of middle aged guys who look like salesmen and actually are salesman who come there with their wallets full and want to spend a night without their wives n’ children n’ stuff. And who don’t want nothin’ lastin’. Now, you choose one of ‘em, talk with him a bit and convince him to go with you to that fancy hotel over there.”
“But...”
“Let me finish. The owner kinda owes me a couple favours and he’s gonna give you a room of which I already know the number. I’ll be ‘round here, then I’ll be followin’ you and after a minute I come into the room, very angry. ‘Cause I’m your official boyfriend ‘n I’m a very jealous guy. Then you try to calm me down, I throw you out of the room ‘n I have a talk with the guy you brought up. A talk concernin’ also his wife and family. Then he’ll leave scared to death and we divide what was in his wallet. Cash only.”
Oh God almighty that was too much even for him. He just couldn’t.
“No way.”
“Why not?”
“How is that I play the seducin’ bloke?”
“’Cause, Captain Scotland, if you wanna play the jealous guy you’ve gotta convince the other that you’re jealous of me and that you can become very crazy ‘bout that. And while I don’t doubt that you can convince someone of bein’ crazy, I doubt you’d convince anyone that you’re so jealous of me that you wanna kill him. You know one thing? I ain’t ever been a good con man. You know why?”
“Why?”
“’Cause a good con man can run a long con and the only long con I ran sent me into prison, because I couldn’t lie and it was just too much. And you are for sure worse at conning than I am, if only because you do this just ‘cause you needin’ it. So you could trick the guy into followin’ you, but I don’t know if you could trick him into givin’ him every cent in his wallet. Could you?”
Desmond knew at once that he couldn’t and that he had no choice. So he went and seduced a fifty-four year old manager of some bank.
Three hours later, one hundred and fifty dollars were in his wallet and one hundred and fifty in Sawyer’s and he had to admit it had been easy. So easy that he agreed to do it again, but the second time they only got thirty dollars each.
--
Desmond goes to Sawyer’s friend and gets his key. Number 815. of course, but just because once it was a big hotel and now though they usually rent most of the rooms and created apartments out of them they still have the ones from 700 through 900. Desmond goes to the elevator and presses the 8th floor button when George is in too and tries not to flinch when he feels a hand on the small of his back.
He can almost hear heavy boots on the stairs while the elevator goes slowly up, it’s old, but then he tries to tell himself that he’s freaking out for no reason and doesn’t release the breath he had been holding when the elevator doors open.
Every noise seems louder than ever, he thinks he can hear also the bugs crawling in the corners; the click of the key unlocking the door almost makes him cringe and he has to get a grip before he starts shaking.
“Are you alright?”
“Aye, this key’s just rusty. I should... oh, here it goes.”
He steps into the room and when George steps in, he closes the door but doesn’t lock it.
The room’s neat, with just a double bed with clean sheets, a couple of nightstands, a table with a radio on and two bibles next to it.
“Would you like some music on?”
“Well brother that’s really the same...”
“I wouldn’t mind. You like anything in particular?”
“Nay, I’m open minded, quite.”
George turns the radio on and Desmond can only curse classical music stations for existing because he really would do without opera and without Mozart right now, but his target seems to enjoy the godforsaken Don Giovanni and so he just smiles and pays no attention. He scoots up a little bit on the bed and waits for his momentary partner to join him. He does and the more he watches him the more he feels some kind of disgust building into him; when George’s lips touch his he closes his eyes, but before he needs to start thinking about Penny to go along, the door opens with a very loud bang and they both jump on the bed and turn. Desmond jumps too because he really didn’t expect it.
Sawyer is leaning on the wall, a hand clenched in a fist and a look of pure rage on his face that slowly becomes something more subtle but that gives Desmond the creeps. Now he understands why he could have never played that role; he wouldn’t be a quarter as convincing.
“But what a surprise, what do we have here?”
“Jack, please...”
Desmond doesn’t know why the hell Sawyer chose Jack as his alias; but hey, he chose Charlie and he won’t complain about Sawyer’s issues, when he’s got his own.
“Do you know this guy?”
George doesn’t seem to have grasped the whole entity of the situation. Oh well, he’s just about to.
“Erm... brother, you remember the guy I told you ‘bout before? That’s... him...”
Desmond tries to look scared and to his delight, George looks very scared now. The other two had kept their appearances better, he has to say. But he stops thinking about that as he feels Sawyer approaching. He looks at him for a second and then lowers his eyes. It’s incredible how that stare could make him feel ashamed without even doing anything, also if they already released it all.
“I see we decide to go havin’ fun without me, huh? I ain’t very happy ‘bout this.”
“Jack, please, just...”
“No please, Charlie. You and me are going to deal later. Now, if ya don’t mind, and I’m sure you don’t, me and your friend here are going to have a talk. How ‘bout that?”
Desmond doesn’t even need to answer. He stands up and hurries out of the door, slamming it on his way out; then turns the nearest corner in the hall and sits down on the floor, taking long, slow breaths and closing his eyes.
It’s over. He won’t have to see that idiot anymore, hopefully he’s going to get his money, pay the rent, find a job and then forget about it all. He waits, hoping to hear that door open and the noise of someone running to the elevator.
This time it seems like years are passing between the moment in which he sits down and the one in which the door opens and he hears George running away.
He waits for the elevator’s doors to close, then another couple of minutes just to be sure and then he stands up and goes back into the room. Sawyer is sitting on the bed and looks very amused, at least.
Fuck him.
“So?”
“So it went great! Congratulations, you chose an easy one.”
“Meanin’?”
“He didn’t even complain once. And look at what we have here...”
Sawyer turns on the light on the nightstand and motions for Desmond to sit next to him. Desmond sits and his head starts spinning.
On the bed, neatly divided, are at least five rolls of bills.
“What...?”
“He just gave me all his cash n’ ran away. And the cash, well, it was quite some.”
“And you had time to arrange it into rolls divided by size?”
“You’ve been takin’ your time, I guess I’d use mine.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred bucks each, brother.”
That was too much. Just...
“Five hundred ?”
“Yeah, what, ‘s that a problem? You get lucky sometimes, y’know?”
“I guess... yeah... but...”
“Stop fussin’, you done a great job I must say, though you ain’t no natural con.”
“And I’m kinda thankful for it, at least.”
Sawyer just shrugged and went on dividing the money, while the radio played still and Desmond felt so worn out that he couldn’t have stood up and turned it off for his life.
It took Sawyer a couple of minutes to do all the arrangements, but when he was over Desmond held in his hands five hundred dollars in bills neatly divided by size.
“You a perfectionist, brother?”
“Definitely.”
Sawyer stood up and put his share in an inside pocket of his jacket, then turned back to Desmond.
“Y’ know, Braveheart, this has been fun.”
“For you.”
“Oh, I know you were havin’ fun too, though you won’t admit it. Too bad. Oh well, if you ever wanna do it again or if you wanna have a drink and pass an hour laughin’ ‘bout this, I’m around.”
Sawyer went to the table, tore off the first page of the bible, took out a pen and wrote something, obviously his number; then headed for the bed. Desmond was expecting him to hand the note, but suddenly Sawyer had leant down, pressed the piece of paper in one of his hands with some kind of violence, put his other hand on the back of Desmond’s head and then he was kissing him.
Desmond didn’t even try to stop him or think about it; at least because he found himself kissing back without even realizing it. Sawyer’s hold on him didn’t lessen even when he gave in and he had no other choice but going along. He gave Sawyer access without resisting, he let himself feel how Sawyer tasted, something bittersweet that has a faint reminiscence of whisky and that Desmond finds that he’s loving it, not just liking, and so he kisses back as well as he can manage. The kiss goes on and on, Desmond feels like he just can’t have enough of that taste and shivers when Sawyer gives a light bite on his lip before breaking the kiss. Desmond thanks his hands for being well planted on the mattress because he would have fallen on his back on the bed otherwise. Sawyer gives him an half smirk, a dimple showing near the corner of his mouth, before crouching next to the bed in the corner of the room. Desmond hadn’t noticed a paper bag there. Sawyer takes something out of it and goes back to him.
“Y’ know, I’ve been havin’ this since we left the island, it seemed like you were forgettin’ it and I thought, it’s a pity if it’s left there, ain’t it? So, y’know how to reach me. I’m all up for another run.”
Sawyer throws something heavy on the bed and leaves the room.
Desmond stays there, frozen, finding himself unable to move. He opens his hand where the piece of paper was roughly shoved and that’s right, it’s a cellphone. Then he looks at the heavy lump next to him on the bed and fuck it, it’s his copy of Our Mutual Friend .
--
Two weeks later
Desmond has paid the rent and has it covered for at least one month. He found a bookshop searching for staff and got himself a job there, where he usually stays overtime since he’s got no one waiting and he still hasn’t called anyone from the flight nor wants to.
That piece of paper is heavy in his pocket, though, because he can swear he feels how heavy it is.
At nights, he has strange dreams from which he wakes up half aroused at the best of cases. He never remembers them clearly and he never sees things with the clarity in which he saw the flashes that have luckily for him ceased. But in every dream he’s sure to hear a warm, southern voice whispering some obscenities that don’t sound half as obscene as they should, he’s sure to feel warm, strong hands touching him just everywhere and he remembers blue eyes and a piercing stare.
He tries to forget it, he tries to remember that the voice, the hands and the eyes should belong to Penny, but Penny hasn’t got any Southern accent, her hands were much smaller and leaner, her eyes weren’t so blue and she never talked much in those situations.
Two weeks shouldn’t be more than he can take, but he finds out that they are. And God help him, he loves his job but it’s almost boring. It isn’t exciting and it isn’t risky. He almost misses that dreading sense of fear that took hold of him whenever he had to run that damned queer con.
He doesn’t want to know if he’s missing Sawyer, if he’s missing conning , or if it’s really just a mixture of both things, because maybe Sawyer is like a con. It’s a wild ride, a risky one, you don’t know where the hell you’re heading but it’s so damn exciting too, and a kiss isn’t near damn enough.
Well, brother, you’re so fucked, but you know it already so why not?
That evening he goes to a cabin and dials Sawyer’s number.
End.
*squees like mad*
Title: The Queer Con
Rating: PG13 me thinks
Word Count: 4,846
Pairing: Sawyer/Desmond, faint Desmond/OMC (but nothing happens, really.)
Disclaimer: Sawyer and Desmond are sure not mine, though I wish; the George guy is mine, though it's not that great creation.
Beta and thanks: many many thanks to the awesome bachlava who made an excellent job betaing this. And special mention to lasamy since she got me into the whole fandom and I know she likes her two show favorites in the same web page ;)
Spoilers: up through the S3 finale; then it's mainly speculation.
Summary: Desmond is running low on his money and gets an unexpected way out.
A/N and such: first Lost slash I ever attempt to post, I hope it works ;) the queer con thing was in Stephen King's Blaze, I sure didn't come up with it but I so wanted to write Sawyer doing it.. And I guess I'll stop rambling and post the thing already. Won for Best Fic featuring an unusual pairing at lost_fic_awards, November 2007.
banner by isis2015
Remember me why I am even doing this.
Because you’re fucked, brother, and you don’t have another way out. And you know it.
Desmond stays on the door of the club, wishing he could just turn and go away. It may have been the third time he does this but he still isn’t confortable with it and sure as hell doesn’t like it one bit. All his life he had always relied on the fact that he was a coward, alright, but an honest one.
Now he isn’t even honest anymore.
This isn’t good , his inner voice tells him again, For two times it was fine but they’ll get you, not him, you, because it’s you on the fucking line and he knows too well that if they catch someone they’ll get you. And you don’t wanna go back to prison, do you?
Well, he doesn’t want either, I can’t blame him. And he’s right, if it has to be us, I can’t do the other part. He has to.
What would Penny think of you, brother?
Desmond’s lips stretch and become almost thinner while he grinds his teeth and tries not to think about her and what she’d say if she could see him right now. He guesses it doesn’t matter anymore. He opens the door of the club and steps in.
--
Six months before
If this wasn’t a time for getting drunk, Desmond didn’t know what it was.
Rescue came, they were carried to LA safely after the mandatory stop in the nearest civilized place for medical visits and such and of course he had lost track of everyone just as they stepped out of the plane. He imagined it; it wasn’t like Claire was interested in seeing his face again, not after Charlie, it wasn’t like Kate would care about him with the FBI taking her away, it wasn’t like Hurley wasn’t surrounded by the press just as he put his feet on the land, it wasn’t like Jack would try to say goodbye to everyone without succeeding, it wasn’t like Sayid wouldn’t want to drift away as quickly as possible, it wasn’t like he was ever going to notice Sawyer leaving in silence.
He had tried to locate his girl, but their old apartment didn’t have a telephone line anymore it seemed and Desmond knew better than to go and ask Charles Widmore.
Then he decided to find himself a place to stay and then to start searching from there; he got a little apartment (and thank God he had some savings from before that goddamn race, not too much but still...) and learned the truth when he was buying some stuff to eat in a mall.
He was going to get something from a shelf that was after the section where the newspapers were and turned around to have a look. And there he saw some celebrity-gossip magazine and Penny was on the cover with a guy that he didn’t know in the slightest. She didn’t look at all happy. He looked jubilant. Desmond bought it and had to learn from there that she had married that nameless very rich guy a few months earlier (under Mr Widmore’s pressure, he didn’t doubt that) and they moved to some far East city where he had his business.
He bought also two bottles of good scotch and drank them all, that evening. Because he sure as hell couldn’t go fetch her there and what hope there was of bringing her back anyway? She probably didn’t like that, of course she didn’t, and he didn’t understand how could she do it when it seemed that she was going to marry him also without her father’s permission, but things were like that and if this was what life had in store for him, Desmond wished they never left the island. Charlie didn’t need to die for this.
--
Desmond pays his five dollar admission and the guy at the entrance lets him in. He puts his hands in the pockets of his jacket and steps ahead going to the bar. He doesn’t think anyone will suspect anything. He shaved, his hair is still long but with a good, clean cut of which the barber said he felt proud. He’s wearing his good shoes, a pair of clear-blue jeans with just a few rips here and there, a plain black t-shirt and an oversized jeans jacket that matches the trousers. He looks good, he knows he does. Doesn’t mean that he enjoys this. Not a bit. He’s tense, tense as he has never been. Not even the first time.
He takes the first seat and calls the bartender.
“What would you like?”
Oh, he hates gentle bartenders.
“A Jack Daniels glass, brother.”
“Coming then.”
Desmond has a look around. All men, but that was the point, right? He starts to think about who he could try with when he hears a voice behind him.
“You look lonely, pal.”
Desmond turns and finds himself staring at a middle-aged man who looks like some of the salesmen that try to sell you the latest vacuum cleaner when you don’t even know how to plug one in. He’s not younger than forty and not older than fifty. His hair has already begun to gray and also to fall, though he still has quite some. He’s perfectly clean-shaved, wears a grey suit with a black tie and a white shirt, his glasses are quite thick and he’s obviously married with children.
Maybe he doesn’t have to look for anyone.
“Aye, brother, I kinda am.”, he says sipping his JD and smiling just a little, hoping he looks as sad as he should feel.
“Well, you wouldn’t be here if you had company, would you?”
“Nay, I guess I wouldn’t.”
--
A week earlier
The money was running very short, but until that Desmond found that he actually didn’t care. He spent everything he had on the rent and on the drinks and on the Dickens books he had bought again (and he had lost his copy of Our Mutual Friend on the island, damnit) and now it was running short, alright. And Oceanic didn’t get him any reward. It wasn’t like he was on flight 815, was it?
He hadn’t realized it before his first rent warning came.
And if he didn’t get three hundred dollars in after two weeks, he and Dickens were going to live most likely under a bridge.
But no one was going to hire him and he knew that. Just by looking at him, he wasn’t going to find a job as shitty as it could be.
That was why he went to the bar again after a day in which no one did him the grace to hire him for anything, and that was where he was having his drink when he heard a known voice behind him.
“Hey, look who’s here! Well Braveheart, of all the places I was expectin’ to run into you, I should’ve imagined I was gonna find ya here.”
Sawyer???
“Well, you have. Found me, I mean.”
“You don’t look like you’re havin’ the greatest time of your life, y’ know?”
“Aye, thank you very much. You look good, I’ve gotta say.”
Because Sawyer definitely looked good. He was as flawless as ever, all dressed in black jeans, black shirt and black leather jacket, blond hair flowing around his neck, that damn smirk and the damn piercing eyes.
“Maybe I do. Didn’t expect to see you so wasted though. Care to share your misery?”
“And why should I?”
“Because I think you want to and that you’re not seein’ many friends these days.”
And Desmond really didn’t know why he should not, and so he told Sawyer everything. Maybe it would have been better if he could have just shut up.
--
“So what’s your name, pal?”
Desmond takes another sip and a deep breath.
“And why should I tell you?”
“Well, we’re getting to know each other, right?”
“Aye, well, guess you’re right. T’s Charlie.”
He knew he had to change his alias because he couldn’t go around and always say he was Charlie, but he found himself unable to think of another one. He’s just sorry that he had to drag even Charlie into that mess.
“Nice, also if I don’t think it suits you.”
“Nay?”
“I think you’d be more of a... mh.. Jack or John kind. Or maybe James.”
Desmond tries not to laugh.
“Not that lucky that I didn’t get to choose. And what’s your name, brother?”
“True enough. And fair enough. I’m George. So you’re searching for company, I dare say. May I ask why?”
Now you have to act classy. And don’t forget what you gotta say.
“Well, me ‘n my... you know, someone I was seein’ kinda regular, just had this... fight, ‘n ugly one, ‘n he said he didn’t know if he still wanted to have anythin’ to do with me, though it’s not like we... broke up, official thing. But I though, hey, for once I can go havin’ some fun too, nay?”
“Well, I totally agree with you. But where are you from? You’ve got a peculiar accent, I must say.”
He has to have studied. He talks like a bloody teacher.
“I’m Scottish, brother.”
“Oh, that’s interesting! You don’t meet that many English people in this place.”
And be lucky that I don’t care about the whole Scotland vs England thing because I’d have kicked your arse by now.
“Really? Guess there’s always a first.”
“Well, true too. But can I ask you something else?”
“Shoot.”
“Why do you call everyone brother?”
“And how d’you know?”
“You called the bartender like that too. Guess if you call the bartender that way, you call everyone that way.”
So he thinks he’s smart, huh?
“True enough. I was a monk once.”
“A monk?”
“Aye, but ‘twasn’t for me. I’m not even that religious. It was just an escape, I guess. But y’know, the brother thing stuck.”
“Fascinating.”
And from how he looks at him, Desmond knows he’s got the guy. He had to get a freak that found it interesting and that maybe got off at the idea of going with a former monk, but whatever.
It wasn’t like they were going to actually do anything; Mr George just didn’t know it yet and Desmond can’t wait for this to be over.
He also hopes that he brought a lot of cash with him, that night, because he still has one hundred and twenty dollars to go and he doesn’t look forward to doing this another time.
--
“So, what you have to say now?”
“I’d say you need three hundred bucks.”
Desmond felt a sudden urge to kill the bastard right there and right now.
“That all you gotta say?”
“I should say I’m feelin’ sorry for you? Brother, ‘s not my fault if you can’t get past things. And I was going to offer a way out, but if you...”
“A way out?”
“’Course. Y’know, I used my fund to pay for some debts and since I shoulda been searchin’ for an honest job or such, I have to say I haven’t tried that much. And I ain’t ever runnin’ long cons again. But some money comin’ in would be nice and if ya need some, we could be a team.”
“If you wanna con anyone, brother, you can forget me doin’...”
“Easy, Robert Burns. It’s not like you’ve got other choices, by what you’ve been tellin’ me.”
“I’ve got my honor.”
“That, Ivanhoe, is lame. You know that there ain’t no honor among thieves and you know that it’s better to be a thief than dead. Or broke. And anyway I told ya, no long cons anymore.”
“Then what would that be?”
“It’d be takin’ some money from someone who has too much. But just the cash that someone’s with him, nothing more. Nothing that will get him beggin’ on the street.”
“Brother, that sounds too good not to be some kinda trick.”
“But you know you’ll accept it, don’t ya?”
That was true too. And anyway, Sawyer was right. Did he have any choice?
“What should I do?”
Sawyer came nearer and gave him a pack on the shoulder that almost made him spit his drink. Damn.
“That is the spirit. All righty then, just see me in front of this place tomorrow evenin’, ‘bout half past eight. That suit you?”
“Aye, that suits me.”
“Good. And brother...”
Sawyer took out his wallet and handed Desmond a fifty dollar bill.
“And what’s that for?”
“Go to a barber, cut your hair, shave that Jesus beard and then go to a second hand store and buy yourself some nice clothes.”
“How should I?”
“Because if ya con, people have to like how you appear. And sorry but you ain’t lookin’ very pleasant.”
Then Sawyer was out of the bar and Desmond had this idea that he should have stayed at home, but it was too late to back out. Or maybe not, but it was worth a shot to see what Sawyer was up to.
--
When they leave the club, Desmond can feel him watching them. It makes him more relaxed, knowing that someone who actually knows what he, Desmond, is doing, because Desmond sure as hell hasn’t figured it out, is keeping an eye on this whole mess. He doesn’t dare turning around, though. Like hell he’s going to betray himself like this.
Desmond knows he’s no con man. He just hopes that he doesn’t have to tell anymore lies for this night, at least until he has to be alone with this guy. Then it won’t be his problem and he won’t have to deal with it and hopefully he’s going to get his money, he’ll pay the rent, he’ll find a job and this is going to be over forever.
It’d be just too good to be true.
“So, you know someplace?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, we should be going somewhere. Your place?”
“I’d rather not, my... you know, the guy I had that quarrel with, he could be there, but I know a nice hotel jus’ a few blocks from here.”
“Sounds nice. Then lead the way.”
“Aye, ‘course.”
Desmond turns and goes towards the same hotel of the night before. The owner is a friend of Sawyer’s and already knows everything. How does he wish he could just pull that con and go home.
--
Desmond had done everything. He had gone to cut his hair and had his beard shaved, he had a nice, hot bath, he bought himself the jeans, the jacket and a couple of shirts and that night he went to the bar. Sawyer was already there, dressed like the day before, only with a red shirt; he looked pleased, when he saw him.
They walked maybe ten minutes and then Sawyer stopped in a corner and looked straight at some club with some terrible name.
“And how we’re here?”
“That’s where we’re going to run our con.”
“Well brother, I actually imagined that. But how shall we do it? What shall I do?”
“Easy, easy. See, that club’s special. It’s for men only.”
“So what?”
“I said men only.”
Suddenly the realization came.
“Hey, I’m no...”
“Neither am I, but that sure don’t stop me. What we’re gonna run, my friend, is called the Queer Con, and it’s one of the most successful short cons ever. Always works, nothin’ to lose for the conned guy, and...”
“Queer con?”
“’course. It works like this. Now you go in and take a look ‘round. Don’t even think about young people, they ain’t a good target. But, those places are full of middle aged guys who look like salesmen and actually are salesman who come there with their wallets full and want to spend a night without their wives n’ children n’ stuff. And who don’t want nothin’ lastin’. Now, you choose one of ‘em, talk with him a bit and convince him to go with you to that fancy hotel over there.”
“But...”
“Let me finish. The owner kinda owes me a couple favours and he’s gonna give you a room of which I already know the number. I’ll be ‘round here, then I’ll be followin’ you and after a minute I come into the room, very angry. ‘Cause I’m your official boyfriend ‘n I’m a very jealous guy. Then you try to calm me down, I throw you out of the room ‘n I have a talk with the guy you brought up. A talk concernin’ also his wife and family. Then he’ll leave scared to death and we divide what was in his wallet. Cash only.”
Oh God almighty that was too much even for him. He just couldn’t.
“No way.”
“Why not?”
“How is that I play the seducin’ bloke?”
“’Cause, Captain Scotland, if you wanna play the jealous guy you’ve gotta convince the other that you’re jealous of me and that you can become very crazy ‘bout that. And while I don’t doubt that you can convince someone of bein’ crazy, I doubt you’d convince anyone that you’re so jealous of me that you wanna kill him. You know one thing? I ain’t ever been a good con man. You know why?”
“Why?”
“’Cause a good con man can run a long con and the only long con I ran sent me into prison, because I couldn’t lie and it was just too much. And you are for sure worse at conning than I am, if only because you do this just ‘cause you needin’ it. So you could trick the guy into followin’ you, but I don’t know if you could trick him into givin’ him every cent in his wallet. Could you?”
Desmond knew at once that he couldn’t and that he had no choice. So he went and seduced a fifty-four year old manager of some bank.
Three hours later, one hundred and fifty dollars were in his wallet and one hundred and fifty in Sawyer’s and he had to admit it had been easy. So easy that he agreed to do it again, but the second time they only got thirty dollars each.
--
Desmond goes to Sawyer’s friend and gets his key. Number 815. of course, but just because once it was a big hotel and now though they usually rent most of the rooms and created apartments out of them they still have the ones from 700 through 900. Desmond goes to the elevator and presses the 8th floor button when George is in too and tries not to flinch when he feels a hand on the small of his back.
He can almost hear heavy boots on the stairs while the elevator goes slowly up, it’s old, but then he tries to tell himself that he’s freaking out for no reason and doesn’t release the breath he had been holding when the elevator doors open.
Every noise seems louder than ever, he thinks he can hear also the bugs crawling in the corners; the click of the key unlocking the door almost makes him cringe and he has to get a grip before he starts shaking.
“Are you alright?”
“Aye, this key’s just rusty. I should... oh, here it goes.”
He steps into the room and when George steps in, he closes the door but doesn’t lock it.
The room’s neat, with just a double bed with clean sheets, a couple of nightstands, a table with a radio on and two bibles next to it.
“Would you like some music on?”
“Well brother that’s really the same...”
“I wouldn’t mind. You like anything in particular?”
“Nay, I’m open minded, quite.”
George turns the radio on and Desmond can only curse classical music stations for existing because he really would do without opera and without Mozart right now, but his target seems to enjoy the godforsaken Don Giovanni and so he just smiles and pays no attention. He scoots up a little bit on the bed and waits for his momentary partner to join him. He does and the more he watches him the more he feels some kind of disgust building into him; when George’s lips touch his he closes his eyes, but before he needs to start thinking about Penny to go along, the door opens with a very loud bang and they both jump on the bed and turn. Desmond jumps too because he really didn’t expect it.
Sawyer is leaning on the wall, a hand clenched in a fist and a look of pure rage on his face that slowly becomes something more subtle but that gives Desmond the creeps. Now he understands why he could have never played that role; he wouldn’t be a quarter as convincing.
“But what a surprise, what do we have here?”
“Jack, please...”
Desmond doesn’t know why the hell Sawyer chose Jack as his alias; but hey, he chose Charlie and he won’t complain about Sawyer’s issues, when he’s got his own.
“Do you know this guy?”
George doesn’t seem to have grasped the whole entity of the situation. Oh well, he’s just about to.
“Erm... brother, you remember the guy I told you ‘bout before? That’s... him...”
Desmond tries to look scared and to his delight, George looks very scared now. The other two had kept their appearances better, he has to say. But he stops thinking about that as he feels Sawyer approaching. He looks at him for a second and then lowers his eyes. It’s incredible how that stare could make him feel ashamed without even doing anything, also if they already released it all.
“I see we decide to go havin’ fun without me, huh? I ain’t very happy ‘bout this.”
“Jack, please, just...”
“No please, Charlie. You and me are going to deal later. Now, if ya don’t mind, and I’m sure you don’t, me and your friend here are going to have a talk. How ‘bout that?”
Desmond doesn’t even need to answer. He stands up and hurries out of the door, slamming it on his way out; then turns the nearest corner in the hall and sits down on the floor, taking long, slow breaths and closing his eyes.
It’s over. He won’t have to see that idiot anymore, hopefully he’s going to get his money, pay the rent, find a job and then forget about it all. He waits, hoping to hear that door open and the noise of someone running to the elevator.
This time it seems like years are passing between the moment in which he sits down and the one in which the door opens and he hears George running away.
He waits for the elevator’s doors to close, then another couple of minutes just to be sure and then he stands up and goes back into the room. Sawyer is sitting on the bed and looks very amused, at least.
Fuck him.
“So?”
“So it went great! Congratulations, you chose an easy one.”
“Meanin’?”
“He didn’t even complain once. And look at what we have here...”
Sawyer turns on the light on the nightstand and motions for Desmond to sit next to him. Desmond sits and his head starts spinning.
On the bed, neatly divided, are at least five rolls of bills.
“What...?”
“He just gave me all his cash n’ ran away. And the cash, well, it was quite some.”
“And you had time to arrange it into rolls divided by size?”
“You’ve been takin’ your time, I guess I’d use mine.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred bucks each, brother.”
That was too much. Just...
“Five hundred ?”
“Yeah, what, ‘s that a problem? You get lucky sometimes, y’know?”
“I guess... yeah... but...”
“Stop fussin’, you done a great job I must say, though you ain’t no natural con.”
“And I’m kinda thankful for it, at least.”
Sawyer just shrugged and went on dividing the money, while the radio played still and Desmond felt so worn out that he couldn’t have stood up and turned it off for his life.
It took Sawyer a couple of minutes to do all the arrangements, but when he was over Desmond held in his hands five hundred dollars in bills neatly divided by size.
“You a perfectionist, brother?”
“Definitely.”
Sawyer stood up and put his share in an inside pocket of his jacket, then turned back to Desmond.
“Y’ know, Braveheart, this has been fun.”
“For you.”
“Oh, I know you were havin’ fun too, though you won’t admit it. Too bad. Oh well, if you ever wanna do it again or if you wanna have a drink and pass an hour laughin’ ‘bout this, I’m around.”
Sawyer went to the table, tore off the first page of the bible, took out a pen and wrote something, obviously his number; then headed for the bed. Desmond was expecting him to hand the note, but suddenly Sawyer had leant down, pressed the piece of paper in one of his hands with some kind of violence, put his other hand on the back of Desmond’s head and then he was kissing him.
Desmond didn’t even try to stop him or think about it; at least because he found himself kissing back without even realizing it. Sawyer’s hold on him didn’t lessen even when he gave in and he had no other choice but going along. He gave Sawyer access without resisting, he let himself feel how Sawyer tasted, something bittersweet that has a faint reminiscence of whisky and that Desmond finds that he’s loving it, not just liking, and so he kisses back as well as he can manage. The kiss goes on and on, Desmond feels like he just can’t have enough of that taste and shivers when Sawyer gives a light bite on his lip before breaking the kiss. Desmond thanks his hands for being well planted on the mattress because he would have fallen on his back on the bed otherwise. Sawyer gives him an half smirk, a dimple showing near the corner of his mouth, before crouching next to the bed in the corner of the room. Desmond hadn’t noticed a paper bag there. Sawyer takes something out of it and goes back to him.
“Y’ know, I’ve been havin’ this since we left the island, it seemed like you were forgettin’ it and I thought, it’s a pity if it’s left there, ain’t it? So, y’know how to reach me. I’m all up for another run.”
Sawyer throws something heavy on the bed and leaves the room.
Desmond stays there, frozen, finding himself unable to move. He opens his hand where the piece of paper was roughly shoved and that’s right, it’s a cellphone. Then he looks at the heavy lump next to him on the bed and fuck it, it’s his copy of Our Mutual Friend .
--
Two weeks later
Desmond has paid the rent and has it covered for at least one month. He found a bookshop searching for staff and got himself a job there, where he usually stays overtime since he’s got no one waiting and he still hasn’t called anyone from the flight nor wants to.
That piece of paper is heavy in his pocket, though, because he can swear he feels how heavy it is.
At nights, he has strange dreams from which he wakes up half aroused at the best of cases. He never remembers them clearly and he never sees things with the clarity in which he saw the flashes that have luckily for him ceased. But in every dream he’s sure to hear a warm, southern voice whispering some obscenities that don’t sound half as obscene as they should, he’s sure to feel warm, strong hands touching him just everywhere and he remembers blue eyes and a piercing stare.
He tries to forget it, he tries to remember that the voice, the hands and the eyes should belong to Penny, but Penny hasn’t got any Southern accent, her hands were much smaller and leaner, her eyes weren’t so blue and she never talked much in those situations.
Two weeks shouldn’t be more than he can take, but he finds out that they are. And God help him, he loves his job but it’s almost boring. It isn’t exciting and it isn’t risky. He almost misses that dreading sense of fear that took hold of him whenever he had to run that damned queer con.
He doesn’t want to know if he’s missing Sawyer, if he’s missing conning , or if it’s really just a mixture of both things, because maybe Sawyer is like a con. It’s a wild ride, a risky one, you don’t know where the hell you’re heading but it’s so damn exciting too, and a kiss isn’t near damn enough.
Well, brother, you’re so fucked, but you know it already so why not?
That evening he goes to a cabin and dials Sawyer’s number.
End.