For Sawyer (Timed for... whenever)

[little_moons]

We had dinner, like a family, but that only seemed to make it more obvious how many chairs around the table are empty now. The girls are moody, angry and cranky and sad, even though they don't always seem to know why, but when we sit at the table, the three of us, it's like they know how thin a thread I'm hanging on by and they just... behave. They

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[cibosity]

I'm pretty sure that all people get moments in their lives when all they can do is stare at the hell that fate's put them in, and I'll be the first to admit- I've had plenty of times when I'm tempted to do little more than give God the finger and ask him why the hell he's singled me out for all this crap. Why the hell he decided to riddle me with a bunch of weaknesses, then have my life shaped so that every single one matters, like I'm just some tragic figure for his divine amusement

[little_moons]

My hair's hanging down in my face when I cut him a sideways look, smoke curling around my head, but I manage a faint smile, one corner of my lips just barely turning upwards.

"Figure I can spare it," I murmur, and my voice sounds impossibly rusty, like I haven't spoken for days, even though I know that isn't true.

On the other end of the bar, there's a scar on the wood. Sirius Black was here carved in by hand, over two years ago. I fuckin' refuse to look at it, but I can't seem to forget it. It's been like that, fuckin' digging into my goddamn skull, the knowledge that it's there, for fuckin' weeks.

[cibosity]

He sounds almost worse than he looks- and I ain't referring to his bone structure, I'll tell you that. I still remember the day I arrived, starin' at a smile from between the bars of a friggin' cage, one that I wanted to wipe right off his smug little face. For the next few months, Neil McCormick was basically the only person who seemed to have his shit together on the island, like there wasn't nothin' that fazed him. Now, he's just broken. Can't blame him. Hell, I was broken for years after I lost my parents- might still be broken now.

But that ain't the kind of look you see without trying to do something about it.

Don't know what, though. So I just take another swig of whiskey, hissing through my lips at the burn. Feels good.

"Every time... you the world's gotten enough of you, it goes and proves that you can lose even more, don't it?" I say quietly, knowing that it don't sound too comforting. "Makes it damned hard to focus on the positive."

[little_moons]

"Didn't take you for some kind of fuckin' optimist in the first place," I say with a snort of laughter, arching a brow, 'cause he speaks the fuckin' truth, but none of it's gonna make either of us feel any better.

The whiskey might. For a little while.

"So, who's Mr. Sawyer?" I ask, cutting right down to it, 'cause I know he remembers seeing me that day. There's no point pretending like I didn't.