Lost Luau: For Queen gottalovev - The First Time Sawyer Met Richard
Queen gottalovev at the lostsquee Luau has requested Firsts. After narrowly missing each other for two seasons, I am pretty sure the first time Sawyer and Richard actually met was in LaFleur.
Title: On a Park Bench
Characters: Sawyer, Richard
Rating: PG
Word Count: 580
Spoilers: Through LaFleur, S5-08
Disclaimer: Lost nor its characters are not mine.
“An eye for an eye.” That’s the motto Sawyer had tried to follow most of his life. It’s better that way - take, before someone takes more from you. Horace didn't have to explain the tenuous basis for the truce that had now been broken. The man waiting out in the darkness was a stranger to Sawyer, sitting quietly on a park bench as if it were adjacent the gazebo in the old-time town of Willoughby instead of the even more out of place gazebo on mystery frickin’ island, sitting quietly as if waiting for an after-work drinking buddy instead of the name of the Dharma member whose blood he would have in exchange. He’d heard of Richard, oh yes - Locke had said he was the man who moved things with the Others and Juliet had mentioned his influence on Ben a couple of times- but he hadn’t seen him up close and personal.
He couldn’t help but put a little swagger in his walk as he strode closer. In the darkness he could make out a square-shaped head, neatly combed hair that was too well cut for a jungle dweller and and tucked-in prep clothes that belonged more in a suburban shopping mall - even in 1974. Eyes as dark as the night sky locked on him as he approached. He hadn’t seen eyes that dark since Sayid’s hurried parting from this very same village a few weeks ago - or was it thirty years from now? But this man’s eyes had no glint and none of Sayid’s occasional softness - they penetrated right through Sawyer like lasers.
He figured there was no hiding and took the direct approach. “Hello, Richard.” There was power in using someone’s name and no one knew that like Sawyer, the man who had used someone else’s name half a lifetime. Must’ve worked because it threw the man off guard a little.
“I’m sorry. Do we know each other?”
The man who never got old posed that question to the man who had re-invented himself just hours earlier.
“I’m the guy that killed your men.” Yeah, the direct approach was getting even more direct. But this black-eyed man didn’t flinch.
He sat down next to him on the bench, not too close and not too distant, and worked his craft, making a deal that this time brought him no cash, no pretty girl, but a peaceful resolution that might keep him and his band alive and well a few more days. He had to play his ace, giving Richard more information about the real provenance of his group than he would ever give to the Dharma people that were to become his own, but it got his attention.
As he stood up to take leave, Sawyer got a whiff of it. Cologne. Jesus, thought Sawyer, he wasn’t the only guy who still took the time to put on a splash on this godforsaken rock the universe forgot, although all his was gone with his stash when the island got sucked through time. Richard’s scent was strangely potent and between that and the tuft of chest hair peeking out of the top of his button-down, it put enough glint in Sawyer’s eyes to make up for the both of them.
“I guess I won’t be seeing you around here again, then,” Richard said as they shook hands.
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” smirked Sawyer with almost a wink. He didn’t know why, but his sudden role as makeshift ambassador started to hold out some tantalizing possibility for ongoing negotiations.
Title: On a Park Bench
Characters: Sawyer, Richard
Rating: PG
Word Count: 580
Spoilers: Through LaFleur, S5-08
Disclaimer: Lost nor its characters are not mine.
“An eye for an eye.” That’s the motto Sawyer had tried to follow most of his life. It’s better that way - take, before someone takes more from you. Horace didn't have to explain the tenuous basis for the truce that had now been broken. The man waiting out in the darkness was a stranger to Sawyer, sitting quietly on a park bench as if it were adjacent the gazebo in the old-time town of Willoughby instead of the even more out of place gazebo on mystery frickin’ island, sitting quietly as if waiting for an after-work drinking buddy instead of the name of the Dharma member whose blood he would have in exchange. He’d heard of Richard, oh yes - Locke had said he was the man who moved things with the Others and Juliet had mentioned his influence on Ben a couple of times- but he hadn’t seen him up close and personal.
He couldn’t help but put a little swagger in his walk as he strode closer. In the darkness he could make out a square-shaped head, neatly combed hair that was too well cut for a jungle dweller and and tucked-in prep clothes that belonged more in a suburban shopping mall - even in 1974. Eyes as dark as the night sky locked on him as he approached. He hadn’t seen eyes that dark since Sayid’s hurried parting from this very same village a few weeks ago - or was it thirty years from now? But this man’s eyes had no glint and none of Sayid’s occasional softness - they penetrated right through Sawyer like lasers.
He figured there was no hiding and took the direct approach. “Hello, Richard.” There was power in using someone’s name and no one knew that like Sawyer, the man who had used someone else’s name half a lifetime. Must’ve worked because it threw the man off guard a little.
“I’m sorry. Do we know each other?”
The man who never got old posed that question to the man who had re-invented himself just hours earlier.
“I’m the guy that killed your men.” Yeah, the direct approach was getting even more direct. But this black-eyed man didn’t flinch.
He sat down next to him on the bench, not too close and not too distant, and worked his craft, making a deal that this time brought him no cash, no pretty girl, but a peaceful resolution that might keep him and his band alive and well a few more days. He had to play his ace, giving Richard more information about the real provenance of his group than he would ever give to the Dharma people that were to become his own, but it got his attention.
As he stood up to take leave, Sawyer got a whiff of it. Cologne. Jesus, thought Sawyer, he wasn’t the only guy who still took the time to put on a splash on this godforsaken rock the universe forgot, although all his was gone with his stash when the island got sucked through time. Richard’s scent was strangely potent and between that and the tuft of chest hair peeking out of the top of his button-down, it put enough glint in Sawyer’s eyes to make up for the both of them.
“I guess I won’t be seeing you around here again, then,” Richard said as they shook hands.
“I wouldn’t bet on that,” smirked Sawyer with almost a wink. He didn’t know why, but his sudden role as makeshift ambassador started to hold out some tantalizing possibility for ongoing negotiations.