Epilogue
Last installment, y'all. Whew. Merry Christmas, and ♥!
ETA: Since this will be the LAST post for this novella, I just want to remind anyone reading this 'verse after it's conclusion that you need to scroll to the BOTTOM of the screen, the first entry in this 'verse, to start the story at the beginning!
Epilogue
Sawyer can tell when he wakes that it’s snowed more through the night. At some point they must’ve gotten up off the floor and made their way to bed, though he doesn’t remember doing so. The room is cold, and the light coming in through the window is almost blinding white. Sun on snow, there’s nothing much brighter than that. He rolls over and drapes a heavy arm over Jack’s still-sleeping form.
He loves the way that Jack sleeps these days. He remembers on the island, even when Jack slept with Sawyer he slept on alert, muscles tense, brow furrowed, arms and legs in cramped positions even if he had plenty of room to stretch out. Here in this house, at first, he’d been just as bad, worried and uptight about making love on Sawyer’s grandparents' furniture even though Sawyer assured him that their ghosts hadn’t seemed to have wanted to hang around. The longer Jack stays, though, the more of his aura permeates the house, until it seemed to absorb and finally to accept him. Now Jack sleeps comfortably and at peace here, as if he’s where he belongs. And Sawyer has done this. In this moment, at last, Sawyer understands. He understands why he’s loved. He understands why he’s trusted. He understands why he’s forgiven. It’s because he stayed. It’s because he never gave up, and they both know that he never will.
He’d waited for Jack, knowing without really understanding that Jack would always come back to him. And Jack had waited for him as well, waited for Sawyer to finally understand. Sawyer has given him a home, given him peace. In giving Jack peace, he’s found it himself.
He glances at his watch and sees that they’ve slept past ten. His muscles are cramped and sore from last night’s round of passion on the living room floor, and he feels the need to move. He gets up, stretches, and pulls back the window curtain to see bright blue skies and sunshine, all underscored by a blanket of pristine white coating every tree, every bush, every expanse of field and road. He knows exactly where he wants to be, and he wants to take Jack with him.
“Hey.” He sits on the bed and pokes him in the arm. “Wake up, I got somethin’ I want to show you.”
Jack opens one eye and starts to glare at him, but Sawyer flashes dimples because he knows that that’s the quickest way to erase Jack’s morning grumpies. “What?” Jack asks, sounding more bewildered than angry. “Now?”
“Yeah. Get dressed.” Sawyer goes to the closet and pulls out flannel shirts for both of them. “Might wanna wear your long johns, too, it’s cold out there.”
“You’re taking me on a hike,” Jack realizes, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sounding resigned. “A long one?”
“Not really. But it’s a beautiful day and I just thought it was time we got out and enjoyed the snow.”
Jack stretches again and lets out a jaw-cracking yawn. “If I’d known how sentimental getting laid makes you, I’d’ve taken you out to a party instead.”
“And you think that’d have stopped me from gettin’ laid?” Sawyer winks at him, determined not to let Jack’s morning persona disrupt his good mood.
Jack dons his winter gear without comment, and they leave the house in silence. Sawyer sets off up the road at a clip, and he turns off on a path that he knows is familiar to Jack. They’ve taken it dozens of times before. After a number of twists and turns, meandering paths and sharp slopes, they emerge on the top of Thunderhead Mountain. A world of white lies spread beneath them, a carpet of unmarred snow. Above them is clear blue sky and a shining golden sun. And drifting among it all is the undulating mist, white and sparkling in the morning light.
“It’s perfect,” Jack says, but he isn’t looking at the scenery. He’s looking at Sawyer.
“You look at a view like this,” Sawyer says, “and you see something that’s pure. That snow is new and untouched, it’s innocent. It’ll melt, and soon the trees’ll bloom again and then they’ll turn to fire and then the leaves will fall and everything will be bare and brown and dead, but the snow always comes back, to cover up what came before and hide it underneath the white until things are ready to come back to life. It’s like a circle, and you can count on it to always come back around.” He remembers hearing those words before, about things coming back around, and believing they were a curse. Now they have a completely new meaning. “It’s like fate, Jack. Even when things are bad, even when they seem dead or too damn broken to ever be fixed, there’s always gonna be another chance if you just wait it out. You just gotta believe.”
It’s not a speech that he could have given anywhere else in the world, to anyone else in the world. But here, now, with Jack, it feels like the only thing he can do. The thing he’s destined to do. And if the man beside him, the man who once didn’t believe in fate, thinks he’s crazy, then so be it. Maybe he is. But it doesn’t matter. “I love you,” he says.
And then, just to make sure Jack understands, he turns his head and shouts it for the whole universe to hear, “I love you!” The sound echoes off the mountains and comes back to them a thousandfold, as if there are a thousand Sawyers in these hills and Jack is loved a thousand times over. Sawyer looks at Jack and sees the stunned look on his face, and underneath that there’s something else, and Sawyer thinks it’s joy. He suddenly sees that, until this very minute, Jack had not really understood that Sawyer loves him completely and forever. But now, Sawyer thinks, he believes.
Sometimes, setting secrets free is the only thing that can save you.
The End
ETA: Since this will be the LAST post for this novella, I just want to remind anyone reading this 'verse after it's conclusion that you need to scroll to the BOTTOM of the screen, the first entry in this 'verse, to start the story at the beginning!
Epilogue
Sawyer can tell when he wakes that it’s snowed more through the night. At some point they must’ve gotten up off the floor and made their way to bed, though he doesn’t remember doing so. The room is cold, and the light coming in through the window is almost blinding white. Sun on snow, there’s nothing much brighter than that. He rolls over and drapes a heavy arm over Jack’s still-sleeping form.
He loves the way that Jack sleeps these days. He remembers on the island, even when Jack slept with Sawyer he slept on alert, muscles tense, brow furrowed, arms and legs in cramped positions even if he had plenty of room to stretch out. Here in this house, at first, he’d been just as bad, worried and uptight about making love on Sawyer’s grandparents' furniture even though Sawyer assured him that their ghosts hadn’t seemed to have wanted to hang around. The longer Jack stays, though, the more of his aura permeates the house, until it seemed to absorb and finally to accept him. Now Jack sleeps comfortably and at peace here, as if he’s where he belongs. And Sawyer has done this. In this moment, at last, Sawyer understands. He understands why he’s loved. He understands why he’s trusted. He understands why he’s forgiven. It’s because he stayed. It’s because he never gave up, and they both know that he never will.
He’d waited for Jack, knowing without really understanding that Jack would always come back to him. And Jack had waited for him as well, waited for Sawyer to finally understand. Sawyer has given him a home, given him peace. In giving Jack peace, he’s found it himself.
He glances at his watch and sees that they’ve slept past ten. His muscles are cramped and sore from last night’s round of passion on the living room floor, and he feels the need to move. He gets up, stretches, and pulls back the window curtain to see bright blue skies and sunshine, all underscored by a blanket of pristine white coating every tree, every bush, every expanse of field and road. He knows exactly where he wants to be, and he wants to take Jack with him.
“Hey.” He sits on the bed and pokes him in the arm. “Wake up, I got somethin’ I want to show you.”
Jack opens one eye and starts to glare at him, but Sawyer flashes dimples because he knows that that’s the quickest way to erase Jack’s morning grumpies. “What?” Jack asks, sounding more bewildered than angry. “Now?”
“Yeah. Get dressed.” Sawyer goes to the closet and pulls out flannel shirts for both of them. “Might wanna wear your long johns, too, it’s cold out there.”
“You’re taking me on a hike,” Jack realizes, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and sounding resigned. “A long one?”
“Not really. But it’s a beautiful day and I just thought it was time we got out and enjoyed the snow.”
Jack stretches again and lets out a jaw-cracking yawn. “If I’d known how sentimental getting laid makes you, I’d’ve taken you out to a party instead.”
“And you think that’d have stopped me from gettin’ laid?” Sawyer winks at him, determined not to let Jack’s morning persona disrupt his good mood.
Jack dons his winter gear without comment, and they leave the house in silence. Sawyer sets off up the road at a clip, and he turns off on a path that he knows is familiar to Jack. They’ve taken it dozens of times before. After a number of twists and turns, meandering paths and sharp slopes, they emerge on the top of Thunderhead Mountain. A world of white lies spread beneath them, a carpet of unmarred snow. Above them is clear blue sky and a shining golden sun. And drifting among it all is the undulating mist, white and sparkling in the morning light.
“It’s perfect,” Jack says, but he isn’t looking at the scenery. He’s looking at Sawyer.
“You look at a view like this,” Sawyer says, “and you see something that’s pure. That snow is new and untouched, it’s innocent. It’ll melt, and soon the trees’ll bloom again and then they’ll turn to fire and then the leaves will fall and everything will be bare and brown and dead, but the snow always comes back, to cover up what came before and hide it underneath the white until things are ready to come back to life. It’s like a circle, and you can count on it to always come back around.” He remembers hearing those words before, about things coming back around, and believing they were a curse. Now they have a completely new meaning. “It’s like fate, Jack. Even when things are bad, even when they seem dead or too damn broken to ever be fixed, there’s always gonna be another chance if you just wait it out. You just gotta believe.”
It’s not a speech that he could have given anywhere else in the world, to anyone else in the world. But here, now, with Jack, it feels like the only thing he can do. The thing he’s destined to do. And if the man beside him, the man who once didn’t believe in fate, thinks he’s crazy, then so be it. Maybe he is. But it doesn’t matter. “I love you,” he says.
And then, just to make sure Jack understands, he turns his head and shouts it for the whole universe to hear, “I love you!” The sound echoes off the mountains and comes back to them a thousandfold, as if there are a thousand Sawyers in these hills and Jack is loved a thousand times over. Sawyer looks at Jack and sees the stunned look on his face, and underneath that there’s something else, and Sawyer thinks it’s joy. He suddenly sees that, until this very minute, Jack had not really understood that Sawyer loves him completely and forever. But now, Sawyer thinks, he believes.
Sometimes, setting secrets free is the only thing that can save you.
The End