Lost/House MD crossover - Poker night
Title: Poker night
Fandom: Lost/House MD crossover
Characters: Jack, Sawyer, Wilson, House
Rating: PG-13 for language and implications.
Spoilers: Lost S3 finale, House 4x09 "Games".
Summary: In the end, tomorrow was too early. But they did have their poker night.
Author's notes: ca. 9000 words, posted in three parts. Sequel to my previous Lost/House crossover, Chances and connections.
I lifted the numbering of the chapters from the Bad Company 'verse by black_cigarette (they say imitation is the highest form of adulation, so I hope the authors don't mind). The first number represents the number of days; day 1 is when the event in Chances and Connections took place (spoiler:Jack's emergency trip to the E.R.); the second number signifies when the fic occurs during that day.
Many thanks to siluria for betaing this. As usual, any remaining mistakes are mine. Comments and concrit welcome.
Parts: Prologue | Poker night | Epilogue
Poker Night
3 - A blip on the radar
Sawyer was surprised when Wilson's impromptu invitation was followed by a phone call at Jack's house just two days after their ordeal in the E.R. Wilson's secretary left him the doctor's personal cell phone and the instructions to call him back so they could arrange the details for the evening. Sawyer hadn't even left his cell number with the man, confident that it had been just an automatic gesture with no real meaning. Apparently, he had been wrong. The doctor was interested enough to check the contacts listed in Jack's hospital chart.
Sawyer worried the slip of paper in his fingers for a few minutes, before putting it away in his back pocket, resolving to deal with it later. He walked to Jack's bedroom to check on him.
Jack was sleeping, or what passed for sleep for him anyway. Sawyer's heart constricted at the sight of the too thin sleeping form under the covers. One of the reasons Sawyer was still deluding himself with was that Jack hadn't actually attempted to kill himself. He had watched, powerless, as Jack ate less and less in the last weeks, and the pills and alcohol must have had a stronger impact than they would, had Jack been as fit as before. But then, why did he take so many anyway? Or mixed them in the first place? Sawyer shook his head, willing the dark thoughts away.
Leaving the bedroom door open, he returned to the kitchen and made himself the third coffee of the day. He settled down on the couch, the steaming cup in his hands not able to warm him.
Truth was, Jack was in no shape to go anywhere. Even before the accident, he spent most of his time sleeping. When he was awake, he was so apathetic that it was like he was still asleep. Now, he was hardly able to stand. But at least he hadn't touched any alcohol or pills for two days. Sawyer hoped that what happened had scared Jack a bit. For sure, it had scared him. Watching Jack helpless, barely breathing, his face ashen in the hospital bed, had been an experience Sawyer didn't wish to repeat.
Sawyer didn't know how long he stayed there, staring into space, before shaking himself out of it and picking up the phone. He had made his decision.
"You have reached Dr. Wilson's cell phone. Please leave a message." The machine beeped in his ear.
"Um. Hi, doc. This is Sawyer. Listen, about that poker game… I'm sorry but tonight we won't make it. Thanks for the invitation anyway."
Sawyer hung up with a sigh and raked his hand through his hair, turning towards the bedroom again and leaning on the doorframe, his eyes unconsciously looking for the regular lifting of the covers, the tell-tale sign of Jack's breathing.
Perhaps feeling Sawyer's gaze on him, Jack stirred, opening his eyes slowly. "Hey," Jack croaked, once his gaze focused on Sawyer's form, his voice thick from sleep, and throat still raw from the pumping.
"Hey" Sawyer answered, walking towards him. "I made some coffee. And I'm going to fix an omelet, do you want some?" Sawyer knew it was pointless to ask Jack how he felt, because the only answer he would get would be a noncommittal shrug and some mumbled words that sounded like "fine" but meant the opposite. Questions about food weren't much better received, but at least he could take Jack's gesture as a yes and feed him some.
7 - The climbing rope
Predictably, Sawyer had never heard back from Wilson. Guy must have his own affairs to take care of. He was right from the beginning; the odd connection he had felt with the doc must've been just a case, or, more likely, a product of his mind. So, on a Saturday morning, when a kind voice called him from behind while he was loading a few grocery bags in his truck, Sawyer was shocked he recognized it immediately.
"Hey, Sawyer", Wilson called.
Sawyer turned "Hey, doc," he answered, politely, but not bothering to put up a fake cheerful expression.
"Nice to see you again. How are things going for you and your friend?" Wilson asked. And he was smiling kindly, though his eyes betrayed a little concern.
This wasn't really the conversation Sawyer wanted to have. "More or less okay, I guess," he shrugged, very Jack-like.
"Not really an enthusiastic reply, huh? Not that I was really expecting one," Wilson smirked.
Sawyer chuckled unwillingly. He was taken aback. How could this man always read him so well, and instantly lighten the mood with such easiness?
He decided Wilson deserved an honest answer. "Well… you know… things ain't great, but I think he's a bit better." Jack still looked far from being recovered. But he still wasn't taking any pills and hadn't drunk anything stronger than coke. Sawyer hung on to that like it was his personal mantra.
Wilson beamed, genuinely pleased. "I'm glad to hear that," he said, then paused, trying to find the words, "look… last time I was out of line. I'm sorry if you felt stalked, with my secretary calling you and reiterating my unwelcome invitation, but..."
"What?" Sawyer interrupted him, "No. What do you mean?"
"Well," Wilson seemed confused, "since you never called back, I assumed…"
As Sawyer was opening his mouth to correct him, Wilson's eyes widened in understanding, "oh. You did call back."
Sawyer nodded, puzzled, as annoyance, embarrassment and a sort of… was that amusement? warred on Wilson's expression.
In the end, Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose and said "I'm sorry. I should've talked to you directly. I should've checked…" Wilson snapped out of his reverie and lifted his gaze to Sawyer "You must think I'm terribly rude."
"Nah. It's okay," Sawyer shrugged again, "We couldn't come anyway, I just thought you were busy."
"Oh. Why?"
"Why, what?"
"Why couldn't you come?" Wilson asked.
This man was really full of surprises. And curiosity, Sawyer thought.
"Oh. You know… Jack had just been in the E.R. and everythin'… he wasn't really up to goin' anywhere," he answered.
"Oh, damn, you're right. I'm sorry, it was tactless and stupid on my part to invite you so soon," Wilson shook his head, scolding himself.
Sawyer interrupted again Wilson's apology. "Slow down, cowboy, it's no big deal," he said, automatically adding - like it's only polite to do in such cases -, "maybe another time." And since when politeness had been one of his traits anyway?
Wilson's face lit up at his words "Sure. When would it be best for you? Both of you, I mean," he asked, looking like an eager hound, ready to go, to fix whatever he felt he did wrong the first time, or, even more likely, whatever the whole world did wrong. It was shocking how much Wilson reminded him of the old Jack in such moments.
Sawyer felt like he had dug himself in a hole, and at the same time someone was offering him a rope to climb out. Conflicted, he sighed and looked down, letting his hair falling into his eyes. "Let me talk to Jack first, this time. I'll get back to you in a couple of days."
Wilson waited for him to meet his gaze, like he was testing how serious Sawyer was. Satisfied, he said "Okay," then he cracked a smile, "just, don't trust any mechanical or human voice besides mine, this time. I mean particularly the human part of it."
Sawyer felt himself mirroring the smile, and with a small wave he got into the car and drove home, bemused. Wilson clearly needed to hire a new secretary. And if his heart felt a little lighter, he supposed it was because of the pleasant autumnal evening, and nothing more.
Notes
I'm sorry if I'm making Wilson behave like a moron. Obviously asking them to come over just a couple of days after Jack's emergency trip to the hospital was too soon (see the ending of Chances and Connections). This is my attempt at fixing it.
8 and counting... - Reading the map
Convincing Jack to go somewhere proved quite hard. The first obstacle being Sawyer himself. He couldn't bring himself to breach the topic with Jack. It was never the right time: one moment Jack was sleeping, the other he was finally eating, the third Sawyer was talking to him, cooking up some stupid tale to keep his thoughts focused on something hopefully more pleasant than withdrawal symptoms. Jack seemed to let him in a bit more since the recovery, even if he still didn't speak much, and Sawyer didn't want to shatter their precarious balance.
But, nevertheless, Sawyer felt that Wilson deserved an answer. So he called, if only to tell the doc that they haven't yet reached a decision. Wilson was amiable on the phone just like he was in person, and he didn't seem in the least disturbed by his call, or by the fact that they still haven't settled on a date for their poker game. Sawyer called him again a couple of days later, only out of politeness, since he still hadn't approached Jack about it. He called again a few days later. Then, somehow, the calls became a sort of habit. The arrangements for the poker night had turned into a joke between them, and the first time Wilson had said "see you on stardate -28.3890," Sawyer had found a dorky grin on his lips. Since then, they had started saying impossible dates, like '35 ABY' or 'on Hogswatchday'. Meanwhile, Sawyer found himself increasingly enjoying the phone conversations with Wilson, letting sometimes his exasperation with Jack slip in, sure that Wilson would give him a good advice or say something to distract his mind and make reality less grim.
And indeed, it was. Jack, judging from his external appearance, was faring a bit better every day. He had regained some weight, he shaved more or less regularly, sometimes he even accompanied Sawyer outside, if not frequently. But he never did anything without being prompted. Jack seemed still impervious to reality, acting around like a well-trained robot and nothing more.
Sawyer had tried yelling when Jack's apathy had driven him out of his mind, but Jack had simply taken everything in and hadn't shown any particular reaction, save for a mumbled 'sorry' and a shrug. He looked so spiritless and indifferent: Jack still wasn't getting better on that account.
Sawyer was worried about him, worried about the nightmares that left Jack shaking, the cry 'we have to get back' again on his lips, the desperation making his eyes wide. Those were the only moments he showed the deep darkness that lurked inside him, ready to break through when Jack's defenses were lower.
21.1 - It looks better in the morning
The morning after one of such nights, a Monday morning, while Jack was sleeping, Sawyer called the hospital again, hoping talking to Wilson had its usual calming effect. While he was lifting the phone from his cradle, he realized Wilson had been right, that time at the E.R. He couldn't have stayed with Jack, he couldn't have kept trying to help him alone. He had needed someone else to confide in, and Wilson, in just a couple of weeks, had become that. A friend. He shook his head at the likelihood of it. Two friends in his life, two doctors. So similar and yet so different. For instance, Jack had never watched Star Trek. He chuckled by himself while waiting for the tone and started dialing, the number familiar to his fingers.
They had agreed that Wilson wouldn't call, Sawyer not wanting to explain it to Jack if he was awake - but then, would he care? - and Wilson not wanting to intrude any more in their life. But, every now and then, it would be Wilson who was the one to talk. He had a difficult situation of his own, pressure at work, an often sorrowful job, family obligations, and a difficult friend. Sawyer had never met the man - hell, he had never met Wilson since that second casual encounter at the grocery store - but he couldn't help being curious, and vaguely in awe of the mysterious Dr. Gregory House. Sawyer himself had started thinking at him as only "House", like Wilson did.
From what Wilson had told him, House seemed a self-centered brilliant bastard with even worse bedside manners than Jack's. But at the same time Sawyer heard the amusement in Wilson's words when he talked about the last prank, and pride when he talked about the unconventional methods House used to solve a case. And Sawyer perceived, even more clearly, the worry Wilson felt when some of those methods put his friend's life in danger. Using himself as a guinea pig… Sawyer shook his head at the memory of Wilson's flat voice a few days ago when he was telling him about the electrical socket experience. That time, it had been Sawyer's turn to crack a stupid line, and he had sensed a little bit of tension easing off from Wilson's voice.
Voice that was now completely calm as Wilson answered Sawyer's call, a note of sympathy in his tone. They chatted about the usual 'not-setting-the-date' thing, until Sawyer found himself narrating about Jack's nightmares. They had often talked about the physical aspects of Jack's recovery, and Wilson had always offered his friendly support and medical advice, and never once suggested Sawyer should take Jack to rehab. Sawyer was relieved: Jack didn't fare well when confined indoors, and Sawyer had no intention to put him through something even remotely resembling a prison. The damned island had done enough damage already.
But this was the first time Sawyer confided in Wilson about the nightmares and Jack's fixation with the island. He sensed Wilson was concerned about them, but he seemed for once at a loss for words. Then, Sawyer heard Wilson's secretary knocking at the door and letting him know his patient was waiting for him. Wilson seemed truly sorry to hang up, he must have picked up the relevance of Sawyer revealing a new layer of Jack, and of himself at the same time. So Wilson suggested a lunch at the hospital, in half an hour.
Sawyer pondered a little, but in the end, why not? He needed a sympathetic ear, otherwise he'd go crazy. It wasn't like he had something else to do, he had never looked for a job since moving in New Jersey, his settlement from the Dharma initiative being still sufficient. Jack had used a bit of his, but not much. And given how simply him and Jack were living at the moment, work hadn't been one of his priorities. Besides, he wouldn't be able to take care of Jack if he had to work. But he could go out for lunch. Jack usually slept late anyway after a night like this, he would be no more than a 20-minute drive away and he had his cell phone. Sawyer scribbled Jack a note and left.
21.2 - Comfort zone
Sawyer parked his truck and walked to the hospital, entering it from the visitor's entrance and trying to stay as far from the ambulance aisle as he could. The hall was airy and bright, the October sunlight filtering freely from the glass roof. He looked around, spotting the entrance to the cafeteria to his left. Checking the hour, he exited the hospital again, pulling a cigarette out of his packet and lighting it while strolling slowly towards a nearby bench, prepared to wait.
Sitting down, he leaned fully against the back of the bench, his skin absorbing the pleasant warmth. He smoked peacefully, the sun helping both his body and his mind unwind. After a last drag, he flicked away his cigarette and kept his face turned towards the sun, his eyes closed. Finally, a few minutes after his appointment, a shadow loomed over him on the pathway.
"Hey", said Wilson, "sorry I'm late."
Sawyer opened his eyes just a slit, and stretched out lazily, before standing up. "You should really stop apologizing so often." he said, a mischievous smile on his lips. "People could start taking advantage of you."
If Wilson found Sawyer's sudden change of mood since the phone call disconcerting, he didn't let it show in his expression. "What makes you think that's worrying?" he argued, arching his eyebrow. Then, Wilson nodded towards the cafeteria "Let's go" and started walking. That earned an incredulous snort from Sawyer, before he took the few steps to catch up.
They were in line at the cashier, when Sawyer noticed the girl behind it. She was a pretty petite blonde, in her early twenties. But her most prominent feature was that she seemed unable to stop staring wide eyed at him. Sawyer was used to having strangers' eyes on him, either because people recognized him, or thought they did, or because they were fascinated with him. But this was bordering on unsettling. "Seen anything you like, sunshine?" he growled, a bit too harshly.
The girl, startled, flushed and started apologizing. To Wilson. "I'm sorry, Doctor Wilson. Doctor House said you were having lunch with one of the actors from the new Harry Potter movie," she babbled, "I'm a collector, so I thought I could ask him for an autograph, but…" she was getting more embarrassed by the minute, but with a visible effort she lifted her trusting eyes to Sawyer "I'm sorry, sir. Which character do you play?"
A moment of suspenseful stillness ensued, before Sawyer let out a disbelieving laugh. Wilson was the one who answered, though, the mix of frustration and amusement that Sawyer was quickly learning to associate with House's actions simmering under his words.
"Lucy, I'm sorry. Dr. House must've mistaken what I told him. He's…" he gestured towards Sawyer, grasping for a definition, "he's… not an actor."
"Oh," the poor girl was now out of her wits. She remained speechless.
Sawyer intervened, a trace of grin on his lips after the comical set up. "I'm afraid he's right, cupcake" he drawled, dimples showing, "but I can sign you an autograph anyway." Winking to the still blushing, but much less dispirited girl, he followed Wilson to a table.
"I take it he's quite possessive of you, then?" Sawyer asked, as soon as they were seated.
"It's not just that," Wilson's eyes were glinting, "he can't live without knowing everything. About me, his patients, my patients, anyone, as long as it tickles him. He can be maniac about it."
"Well, doc. As long as 'maniac' doesn't mean he'd go all 'Carrie' on me, I'm okay with it," Sawyer said, pausing to take a bite of his sandwich. "I ain't got no secrets any more. You can google my entire life before the island." Well, almost my entire life anyway, Sawyer thought. Thankfully, the Australian police never found out about Duckett's murder. "And as for post-island… I s'ppose you told him something about it as well."
"Not much." Wilson replied, while forking his salad, "I thought it wasn't his business, and you wouldn't have appreciated my divulging your and Jack's private life to him."
Sawyer nodded, thankful of the tactfulness of Wilson's behavior, even if it wouldn't really have mattered, when Wilson continued "And besides, it's always better to let him pick up his clues by himself. He's more likely to be well disposed about things then."
Sawyer was intrigued. For sure, Dr. House must be a bizarre guy, and inventive too. Harry Potter? He chuckled by himself.
"I'm surprised he didn't show up, then," Sawyer remarked.
"Oh. Well…It wouldn't be past him to stop by even if I told him this was a private conversation. Actually, that would have made it even more likely. But…he's out."
A devilish look appeared in Wilson's eyes, and he tilted his head towards the cashier.
"Lucy was just his backup plan. I believe he's on his way to the Café Bismarck on Hamilton right now. He must have thought I was lying about having lunch with you here."
Sawyer chuckled again. The relationship between Wilson and his friend must be a bumpy one, but it sounded amusing. He was struck by the thought that maybe it wasn't Wilson's secretary the one who messed with his call, after all.
The conversation then shifted to the more serious topic that had brought Sawyer there. He started explaining what he could about the strange events happened on the island, the black smoke, the Dharma initiative, the rescue. He painted a quick picture, not getting in much detail, but he ended up speaking at length anyway.
"…and, as soon as we were on that rescue boat, we knew that something was wrong. Hell, we felt something tear and break inside us, like it was rippin' us apart. We were all on our knees less than five minutes after leaving the dock. Let me tell you, doc, it was a livin' hell, people screaming and crying so hard… we were acting like crazy monkeys. It was like a fuckin' apocalypse."
The distress was still evident in Sawyer's voice. "I've never been a druggie, but I think if you can concentrate every withdrawal symptom and multiply it by ten, you still wouldn't come near to that." Sawyer shook his head, regrouping himself. "The crew of the boat were so shocked, they almost turned the boat back to the island, but one of us, Sayid - you probably remember him from the news, he was the Iraqi guy..."
Wilson nodded. Of course, the Iraqi ex-soldier saving a whole bunch of Americans and Europeans had made to the news at large at the time of the rescue. So Sawyer kept on.
"Sayid, then, forced them to keep going. I was pretty out of it, screaming my lungs out, but I think he threatened them with a gun. Believe me, he can be fuckin' menacing when he wants." Sawyer paused, taking a sip from his soda.
"And after a while, it diminished. The further we got from the island, the more everyone kept getting better, until, at last, when we landed on Tahiti we were able to function again."
Sawyer stopped talking, a thoughtful expression on his face. Wilson was silent and attentive in front of him. Sawyer took a deep breath and resumed his tale. "Fuck. I should've said, almost everyone got better." He met Wilson's gaze.
"Jack didn't." It wasn't a question, but Sawyer nodded anyway.
"When we started feeling bad, he was still on his feet, helping everyone. He stopped a girl from throwing herself in the water with her baby." Claire. Jack's sister. But Wilson didn't need to know that. "I remember almost envying him, how that thing didn't seem to affect him."
Sawyer had that painful day imprinted in his memory forever. Everyone was out of their minds, and Jack stood, strong, anchoring them all. Then Sawyer lost the ability to think, his head and chest and legs hurting too much for it. He remembered when he had started feeling himself again, good enough to stop screaming and have a look around him. His other companions were more or less in his same conditions, opening their eyes, panting, exhausted but with a definitely relieved look on their faces. Then, just as everyone had started shouting and thanking Sayid, he saw Jack. He was on his side, in a fetal position, rocking slightly with his hands over his ears, eyes shut so hard there were tears in them and teeth grinding to keep inside a keening sound. Sawyer rushed to him, and maybe Jack sensed his presence, because he tried to open his eyes, but it was too much for him, and he passed out.
"We didn't know how bad he had it at first, because he lost consciousness on the boat, and when he came to his senses, we were all in the hospital and he seemed more or less okay."
"But he wasn't."
Sawyer shook his head. "He wasn't. He kept feeling it, not as strong, but he did. He feels it still, I'm sure. I can tell from his nightmares. And if it's anything like I remember it, it's something that'd make you go fucking crazy."
"I'm sorry," said Wilson simply.
"Yeah. Me too."
The conversation died down, the two men studying their unfinished lunch, immersed in their thoughts. Finally, Wilson looked up to Sawyer.
"I don't think there's a medical reason for that. I wish there was, because that way I'd be able to help, but…" Wilson opened his arms, powerless, while Sawyer nodded in agreement.
"Yeah, I know, doc. I don't think it's medical either. Nothin' you can do. But thank you anyway." Sawyer had exhausted his nervous energy telling that tale, and now was simply drained.
After a bit, Wilson kept on, more purposefully. "But I still think the more stimuli he has, the better. That means it's time we settle our poker night. And you will tell Jack, and you'll make him come."
Never one to take well when the decision were taken out of his hands, this time Sawyer felt strangely relieved.
24.2 - Approaching
Sawyer and Wilson agreed on the following Thursday. It gave both of them enough time to tell their friends about it, and it didn't clash with Wilson and House's schedule.
Sawyer had told Jack as soon as he got home from his lunch, and it was much easier than he thought. He had been both disappointed and relieved when Jack didn't object.
On Thursday, driving through the still not completely familiar Princeton streets, Sawyer felt anxious. Relax, it's just a poker night, he told himself, with friends. Friends. He didn't want to acknowledge it, but Jack could be kind of difficult in public. And meeting House made him nervous. He glanced at Jack now, quietly staring out of the passenger's window. For once, he seemed on edge. Maybe meeting new people - friends, Sawyer corrected himself - made Jack nervous too. That wasn't necessarily bad. Anything, to get a reaction out of him.
Following Wilson's indications, he made a last turn to the right, entering Baker Street, and parked the car a couple of buildings after House's place.
They got out the car and walked towards the 221B. In front of the door, Sawyer rang the bell, Jack still silent at his side.
24.3 - The game
The door opened and Wilson welcomed them. "Hi, Sawyer," then, "You must be Jack. I'm James Wilson," he said, extending his hand. Sawyer breathed a small sigh of relief when he saw Jack shaking Wilson's hand, mumbling a more or less polite, if not friendly, "Hello".
"Would you stop channeling your grandmother at tea parties and let them in so we could start playing?" a voice barked from inside.
Wilson cringed, stepping aside. "Please, come in," he said. Sawyer wasn't much surprised. From Wilson's stories, he had got the impression that House was never one to mind appearances. But then, neither did he.
Walking through the door, Sawyer saw a well furnished, cozy lounge, with a piano in the left corner, near the window, and a card table on the right. The voice, coming from the kitchen, spoke again. "I'm taking another sip of my beer now, since mommy won't let me drink during the game."
Asshole. Sawyer thought. Only because they were near, Sawyer heard Jack's sharp intake of breath under Wilson's comeback.
"House." Wilson's tone was almost threatening, and Sawyer found himself wondering if Wilson could look menacing too, at times.
House held up his side of the conversation with a few gulps followed by a clunk, this time. A little shuffling followed, and then he walked out from the kitchen.
Sawyer saw a tall, stubbled man wearing jeans, sneakers and a rumpled button down over a faded t-shirt. He was striding towards them with an uneven gait, leaning on the cane he had in his right hand. This time, Sawyer was taken aback: Wilson had never told him about the limp. He recovered fast, however, seeing the man's fierce expression while he was approaching them. Jack didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't react, much as he didn't react to anything.
When he was near, Sawyer noticed that the man was taller than he thought. Taller than both him and Jack. House stopped with both hands on his cane and focused his piercing blue eyes on Sawyer, ignoring both Wilson and Jack. He looked him up and down, before saying "Sawyer", and nodding in the guise of salutation.
Sawyer was able to match him. "House," he said, much in the same tone.
Then House turned towards Jack, glancing briefly at him. "I take it you're Huck, then. Did you leave your sugar hogshead at home?"
Sawyer heard Jack let out something that sounded like a surprised noise. I must have heard that wrong, he told himself.
But when Sawyer turned towards Jack, he could see a defiant spark in his eyes. "Do you believe you're the first one calling me that?" he asked House.
Indeed, he is, Sawyer thought. Not least because that they had never gone somewhere as a pair. But he wasn't going to spoil Jack's game, whatever it was. He caught Wilson's eyes behind House's back and found a silent agreement there. Wilson didn't seem willing to keep his friend in check. Sawyer was intrigued by how things were playing out.
House eyed Jack again, "Oh, you can talk then. That's nice. We could've played anyway, but Wilson, here," he gestured towards him, "doesn't know the sign language, so that makes things easier."
He then sat down on a chair, leaving Jack, Sawyer and Wilson standing in silence for a small beat. Wilson recovered first, saying "Okay then. Please, take a seat." And the game began.
*
A few rounds in, the game was pretty balanced.
As the night progressed, Sawyer mostly contented himself with a few biting remarks to House's ones every now and then. Hell, can't let the man go on unscathed. But there was no real annoyance on his part. Actually, he found himself almost amused, if not really relaxed. That must be why his tiredness crept out, lessening his concentration. He found himself losing a few rounds, while House and Jack were getting ahead. Some time earlier, he had seen House taking a pill from a small bottle with a colorful sticker over it, but Jack had shown no response at all. This time, Sawyer was grateful for the lack of interest on Jack's part. He hoped that Jack's doctor side had recognized it as a medical gesture not worth noticing.
Sawyer couldn't tell if he did it on purpose, but soon after, Wilson too lost a couple of big rounds in a row, leaving him with only a few chips, while House teased him mercilessly. "Told you, Jimmy, you shouldn't play with the big boys until you've grown a beard of your own." Sawyer had to chuckle. Indeed, Wilson was the only clean-shaved man at the table, while Sawyer, House and Jack's faces were shadowed by what seemed a two- or three-day growth.
"Well. At least my hair doesn't need replanting." Watching the exchange behind the hair that had fallen into his eyes, Sawyer caught the fondness in House's gaze, and in Wilson's sparkling look while he retorted, folding his cards. He wondered idly if they were sleeping together, or if the deep link he perceived just scratching the surface was simply a friendship like he had never seen. It made him almost envious.
Jack had been his closest friend on the island, but they had never reached that easy companionship Wilson and House had, even when they hid it under their banter and pranks. Too much rivalry between him and Jack. Too much tension. At a time, that tense friendship had turned, for him, into something different. Something Sawyer hadn't recognized at first, and never acted upon. Then rescue came and he thought it had been just the exceptional circumstances. He had moved on.
Until Kate had called him. Until then, he had thought Jack was okay, probably with Juliet. Sawyer had never asked where she had gone, and why Jack had started calling Kate instead. But he had answered her call for help. And, as soon as he had seen Jack, Sawyer had known he had only deluded himself. He was still stuck.
But Jack was in no shape to enter a relationship, or whatever that thing between them could be. Too many issues to deal with, without adding another. Wilson could be right about stimuli, but Sawyer knew also that Jack needed to control at least a part of his life. So Sawyer acted as a friend, and he really was one, pretending he didn't want to touch Jack, to keep him as near as possible every time Jack seemed to fade from the world. Pretending he wasn't overly aware of their nearness when they were at home together or of every casual contact between their fingers on the rare occasions Jack helped him with the dishes.
Focusing again on the game, Sawyer lifted his head to see that Wilson was now out, and it was his turn. Each of them, Wilson included, had rolled up their sleeves, and with the light cloud of smoke lazily trailing up from House's cigar, they only needed Fedoras to paint a faithful version of a scene straight out a Bogart movie. Sawyer felt almost amused. But Jack and House were serious this time. They seemed carved in stone, a challenge in their eyes. Sawyer glanced at his cards, they weren't good anyway. Fine, he thought. Bring it on. He folded, while Jack and House both made their bets.
On the table, ace of clubs, five of diamonds and six of hearts. Sawyer was almost sure Jack and House both had a pair, probably not a pair of aces though, judging by their bets.
Wilson, as dealer, turned the next card. Jack of hearts. Sawyer could read the slight narrowing of Jack's pupils, and he wondered if House had seen it too.
Jack went all in, causing House to smile smugly. "I'm all in too."
The last card, the river, was called 'bloody' for a reason. Wilson turned it: seven of hearts. That meant three of the same suit on the table. The likeliness of a flush was pretty high now.
Jack turned his cards. Sawyer had been right: two pair, jacks over sixes. House seemed frozen on the spot. Then, with a theatrical sigh, he threw his cards face down among the other discarded ones. "Damned jacks. I was hoping for a queen."
Jack had won. But something wasn't sitting well with Sawyer. House's behavior was off. He looked as he was waiting for something.
As Sawyer was pondering, Jack spoke. "You let me win." Sawyer watched Jack, who had his eyes trained on House. The tone was low, but he looked furious. And House looked… approving?
Jack kept on, almost shouting. "You had a flush. I know. And you let me win. Why? Fear I'd try to slit my wrists in your bathroom?" He stood up, planting both hands on the table and leaning angrily towards House.
"I can recommend you the electric socket. I tested it personally. It's faster," was House's cold reply.
A simultaneous warning came from Sawyer and Wilson. "Jack." "House."
The tension broke when Jack smirked, relaxing his posture. Sawyer's heart was beating faster. This was completely unexpected. The first sign of emotion Sawyer had seen on Jack's face for a long time.
"I see your friend has just as much faith in you as Sawyer has in me." Son of a bitch. There was something behind Jack's words. Not just the blank façade he had shown for the last weeks.
House's demeanor changed noticeably at that. He shrugged, in a silent apology, and tilted his head to look up at Jack, still hovering over him. "I just wanted to know how good a player you are. Now that it's out of our system," he said, "what do you say we raise the pot?"
Jack didn't miss a beat "Sure. What do you want to bet?"
"Words. Explanations."
Jack snorted. "Words aren't worth playing for. And I don't have explanations to give."
House didn't bulge. "Maybe. But I'm a curious guy. I can bet money, if you prefer. Or we can bet both money and words."
Jack paused, considering. Then he sat down again. "I want you to bet your beer. The one that's on the kitchen counter."
Sawyer's eyes widened in horror. Please don't. It was like someone had kicked him in the gut. He was seeing all his - and Jack's - efforts, and painful days, going down the drain. Hopefully, Jack could be back to having a couple of beers in the future, but not now. He wasn't sure Jack's fragile equilibrium could survive drinking again without falling back into the same state of mind that brought him into the E.R. less than a month before.
"Deal." House said, before either him or Wilson could intervene.
Not much they could do now. Neither Jack nor House were babies that could have been prohibited to do something. With a heavy heart, Sawyer stood up and neared the window, pulling out a cigarette. He needed one if he had to watch that game.
Wilson left his seat, joining him. It was the first time that night they were able to talk. "Sawyer..."
Sawyer interrupted him. He couldn't hear another useless apology. "Don't. I thought everything was going well, hell, he even challenged him. Do you know how long it has been since Jack met someone head on? And it's not your fault anyway."
Wilson nodded. "I know. I think he needed to get his ass kicked. And if there's one thing House could do, besides diagnosing people, is getting a reaction out of them."
Sawyer tilted his head, amazed again. "So you weren't going to apologize, this time?"
"No." Wilson smirked, "I value your opinion. And you should trust mine on this."
Sawyer found himself responding with another nod. Son of a bitch, you too.
*
Jack and House were studying their cards, a concentrated frown on their faces, when Sawyer took his seat again.
House raised by a few chips, Jack called, Wilson dealt the flop. Jack and five of spades, four of clubs.
Jack raised by a few chips. House, eyeing him, called. The turn was eight of diamonds.
This time, Jack went all in, and House followed.
The tension was thick in the room when Wilson finally turned the river: four of hearts. That meant a pair and two cards of the same suit on the table. Nothing big.
House showed his cards - jack of hearts and five of diamonds - and waited. He had two pair, jacks over fives.
It was Jack's turn to show his cards. He had a five of diamonds and a four of spades. Unbelievably, thanks to that last card, he had a full house, fours over fives. Jack had won. House scoffed, incredulous.
Finally, fixing his stare on House, Jack said "I believe you owe me that beer."
House nodded and stood up, limping with his cane to the kitchen and back, beer in the left hand, cane in the other, while Wilson and Sawyer waited for the inevitable. Sawyer felt a lump in his throat he couldn't seem to dislodge.
Without another word, House put the open and half-downed beer on the table, in front of Jack.
A thick blanket of silence seemed to have fallen on the table. Sawyer was unable to peel his eyes off Jack's hand on the bottle. Jack lifted it, then he turned on his seat.
"Sawyer," he said simply. And he offered the beer to him.
Sawyer felt the lump flutter. Without breaking eye contact with Jack, he took the bottle and then drank a small sip. Jack didn't seem to ask for it back. "That all for me?"
Jack nodded, still looking at him. "Yes. I figured you'd be thirsty."
Sawyer laughed, the lump exploding in a bubble of relief. "Well, thank you, doc. In that case, if you don't mind, I'd prefer a cold new one."
Jack, that damn jackass, smirked again. "I know. But I loved seeing your face screwing up in disgust." And then he smiled.
Sawyer could see Wilson's smile in the corner of his eyes just when his laugh was joined by a chuckle from House. The morning was not here yet, but the darker part of the night was over.
Notes
The two rounds of poker described here are slight variations from two different rounds. The first, from Wilson vs Cuddy in "All In", the second, from Moneymaker vs Farha in the 2003 World Series of Poker.
Next part: Epilogue
Fandom: Lost/House MD crossover
Characters: Jack, Sawyer, Wilson, House
Rating: PG-13 for language and implications.
Spoilers: Lost S3 finale, House 4x09 "Games".
Summary: In the end, tomorrow was too early. But they did have their poker night.
Author's notes: ca. 9000 words, posted in three parts. Sequel to my previous Lost/House crossover, Chances and connections.
I lifted the numbering of the chapters from the Bad Company 'verse by black_cigarette (they say imitation is the highest form of adulation, so I hope the authors don't mind). The first number represents the number of days; day 1 is when the event in Chances and Connections took place (spoiler:Jack's emergency trip to the E.R.); the second number signifies when the fic occurs during that day.
Many thanks to siluria for betaing this. As usual, any remaining mistakes are mine. Comments and concrit welcome.
Parts: Prologue | Poker night | Epilogue
Poker Night
3 - A blip on the radar
Sawyer was surprised when Wilson's impromptu invitation was followed by a phone call at Jack's house just two days after their ordeal in the E.R. Wilson's secretary left him the doctor's personal cell phone and the instructions to call him back so they could arrange the details for the evening. Sawyer hadn't even left his cell number with the man, confident that it had been just an automatic gesture with no real meaning. Apparently, he had been wrong. The doctor was interested enough to check the contacts listed in Jack's hospital chart.
Sawyer worried the slip of paper in his fingers for a few minutes, before putting it away in his back pocket, resolving to deal with it later. He walked to Jack's bedroom to check on him.
Jack was sleeping, or what passed for sleep for him anyway. Sawyer's heart constricted at the sight of the too thin sleeping form under the covers. One of the reasons Sawyer was still deluding himself with was that Jack hadn't actually attempted to kill himself. He had watched, powerless, as Jack ate less and less in the last weeks, and the pills and alcohol must have had a stronger impact than they would, had Jack been as fit as before. But then, why did he take so many anyway? Or mixed them in the first place? Sawyer shook his head, willing the dark thoughts away.
Leaving the bedroom door open, he returned to the kitchen and made himself the third coffee of the day. He settled down on the couch, the steaming cup in his hands not able to warm him.
Truth was, Jack was in no shape to go anywhere. Even before the accident, he spent most of his time sleeping. When he was awake, he was so apathetic that it was like he was still asleep. Now, he was hardly able to stand. But at least he hadn't touched any alcohol or pills for two days. Sawyer hoped that what happened had scared Jack a bit. For sure, it had scared him. Watching Jack helpless, barely breathing, his face ashen in the hospital bed, had been an experience Sawyer didn't wish to repeat.
Sawyer didn't know how long he stayed there, staring into space, before shaking himself out of it and picking up the phone. He had made his decision.
"You have reached Dr. Wilson's cell phone. Please leave a message." The machine beeped in his ear.
"Um. Hi, doc. This is Sawyer. Listen, about that poker game… I'm sorry but tonight we won't make it. Thanks for the invitation anyway."
Sawyer hung up with a sigh and raked his hand through his hair, turning towards the bedroom again and leaning on the doorframe, his eyes unconsciously looking for the regular lifting of the covers, the tell-tale sign of Jack's breathing.
Perhaps feeling Sawyer's gaze on him, Jack stirred, opening his eyes slowly. "Hey," Jack croaked, once his gaze focused on Sawyer's form, his voice thick from sleep, and throat still raw from the pumping.
"Hey" Sawyer answered, walking towards him. "I made some coffee. And I'm going to fix an omelet, do you want some?" Sawyer knew it was pointless to ask Jack how he felt, because the only answer he would get would be a noncommittal shrug and some mumbled words that sounded like "fine" but meant the opposite. Questions about food weren't much better received, but at least he could take Jack's gesture as a yes and feed him some.
7 - The climbing rope
Predictably, Sawyer had never heard back from Wilson. Guy must have his own affairs to take care of. He was right from the beginning; the odd connection he had felt with the doc must've been just a case, or, more likely, a product of his mind. So, on a Saturday morning, when a kind voice called him from behind while he was loading a few grocery bags in his truck, Sawyer was shocked he recognized it immediately.
"Hey, Sawyer", Wilson called.
Sawyer turned "Hey, doc," he answered, politely, but not bothering to put up a fake cheerful expression.
"Nice to see you again. How are things going for you and your friend?" Wilson asked. And he was smiling kindly, though his eyes betrayed a little concern.
This wasn't really the conversation Sawyer wanted to have. "More or less okay, I guess," he shrugged, very Jack-like.
"Not really an enthusiastic reply, huh? Not that I was really expecting one," Wilson smirked.
Sawyer chuckled unwillingly. He was taken aback. How could this man always read him so well, and instantly lighten the mood with such easiness?
He decided Wilson deserved an honest answer. "Well… you know… things ain't great, but I think he's a bit better." Jack still looked far from being recovered. But he still wasn't taking any pills and hadn't drunk anything stronger than coke. Sawyer hung on to that like it was his personal mantra.
Wilson beamed, genuinely pleased. "I'm glad to hear that," he said, then paused, trying to find the words, "look… last time I was out of line. I'm sorry if you felt stalked, with my secretary calling you and reiterating my unwelcome invitation, but..."
"What?" Sawyer interrupted him, "No. What do you mean?"
"Well," Wilson seemed confused, "since you never called back, I assumed…"
As Sawyer was opening his mouth to correct him, Wilson's eyes widened in understanding, "oh. You did call back."
Sawyer nodded, puzzled, as annoyance, embarrassment and a sort of… was that amusement? warred on Wilson's expression.
In the end, Wilson pinched the bridge of his nose and said "I'm sorry. I should've talked to you directly. I should've checked…" Wilson snapped out of his reverie and lifted his gaze to Sawyer "You must think I'm terribly rude."
"Nah. It's okay," Sawyer shrugged again, "We couldn't come anyway, I just thought you were busy."
"Oh. Why?"
"Why, what?"
"Why couldn't you come?" Wilson asked.
This man was really full of surprises. And curiosity, Sawyer thought.
"Oh. You know… Jack had just been in the E.R. and everythin'… he wasn't really up to goin' anywhere," he answered.
"Oh, damn, you're right. I'm sorry, it was tactless and stupid on my part to invite you so soon," Wilson shook his head, scolding himself.
Sawyer interrupted again Wilson's apology. "Slow down, cowboy, it's no big deal," he said, automatically adding - like it's only polite to do in such cases -, "maybe another time." And since when politeness had been one of his traits anyway?
Wilson's face lit up at his words "Sure. When would it be best for you? Both of you, I mean," he asked, looking like an eager hound, ready to go, to fix whatever he felt he did wrong the first time, or, even more likely, whatever the whole world did wrong. It was shocking how much Wilson reminded him of the old Jack in such moments.
Sawyer felt like he had dug himself in a hole, and at the same time someone was offering him a rope to climb out. Conflicted, he sighed and looked down, letting his hair falling into his eyes. "Let me talk to Jack first, this time. I'll get back to you in a couple of days."
Wilson waited for him to meet his gaze, like he was testing how serious Sawyer was. Satisfied, he said "Okay," then he cracked a smile, "just, don't trust any mechanical or human voice besides mine, this time. I mean particularly the human part of it."
Sawyer felt himself mirroring the smile, and with a small wave he got into the car and drove home, bemused. Wilson clearly needed to hire a new secretary. And if his heart felt a little lighter, he supposed it was because of the pleasant autumnal evening, and nothing more.
Notes
I'm sorry if I'm making Wilson behave like a moron. Obviously asking them to come over just a couple of days after Jack's emergency trip to the hospital was too soon (see the ending of Chances and Connections). This is my attempt at fixing it.
8 and counting... - Reading the map
Convincing Jack to go somewhere proved quite hard. The first obstacle being Sawyer himself. He couldn't bring himself to breach the topic with Jack. It was never the right time: one moment Jack was sleeping, the other he was finally eating, the third Sawyer was talking to him, cooking up some stupid tale to keep his thoughts focused on something hopefully more pleasant than withdrawal symptoms. Jack seemed to let him in a bit more since the recovery, even if he still didn't speak much, and Sawyer didn't want to shatter their precarious balance.
But, nevertheless, Sawyer felt that Wilson deserved an answer. So he called, if only to tell the doc that they haven't yet reached a decision. Wilson was amiable on the phone just like he was in person, and he didn't seem in the least disturbed by his call, or by the fact that they still haven't settled on a date for their poker game. Sawyer called him again a couple of days later, only out of politeness, since he still hadn't approached Jack about it. He called again a few days later. Then, somehow, the calls became a sort of habit. The arrangements for the poker night had turned into a joke between them, and the first time Wilson had said "see you on stardate -28.3890," Sawyer had found a dorky grin on his lips. Since then, they had started saying impossible dates, like '35 ABY' or 'on Hogswatchday'. Meanwhile, Sawyer found himself increasingly enjoying the phone conversations with Wilson, letting sometimes his exasperation with Jack slip in, sure that Wilson would give him a good advice or say something to distract his mind and make reality less grim.
And indeed, it was. Jack, judging from his external appearance, was faring a bit better every day. He had regained some weight, he shaved more or less regularly, sometimes he even accompanied Sawyer outside, if not frequently. But he never did anything without being prompted. Jack seemed still impervious to reality, acting around like a well-trained robot and nothing more.
Sawyer had tried yelling when Jack's apathy had driven him out of his mind, but Jack had simply taken everything in and hadn't shown any particular reaction, save for a mumbled 'sorry' and a shrug. He looked so spiritless and indifferent: Jack still wasn't getting better on that account.
Sawyer was worried about him, worried about the nightmares that left Jack shaking, the cry 'we have to get back' again on his lips, the desperation making his eyes wide. Those were the only moments he showed the deep darkness that lurked inside him, ready to break through when Jack's defenses were lower.
21.1 - It looks better in the morning
The morning after one of such nights, a Monday morning, while Jack was sleeping, Sawyer called the hospital again, hoping talking to Wilson had its usual calming effect. While he was lifting the phone from his cradle, he realized Wilson had been right, that time at the E.R. He couldn't have stayed with Jack, he couldn't have kept trying to help him alone. He had needed someone else to confide in, and Wilson, in just a couple of weeks, had become that. A friend. He shook his head at the likelihood of it. Two friends in his life, two doctors. So similar and yet so different. For instance, Jack had never watched Star Trek. He chuckled by himself while waiting for the tone and started dialing, the number familiar to his fingers.
They had agreed that Wilson wouldn't call, Sawyer not wanting to explain it to Jack if he was awake - but then, would he care? - and Wilson not wanting to intrude any more in their life. But, every now and then, it would be Wilson who was the one to talk. He had a difficult situation of his own, pressure at work, an often sorrowful job, family obligations, and a difficult friend. Sawyer had never met the man - hell, he had never met Wilson since that second casual encounter at the grocery store - but he couldn't help being curious, and vaguely in awe of the mysterious Dr. Gregory House. Sawyer himself had started thinking at him as only "House", like Wilson did.
From what Wilson had told him, House seemed a self-centered brilliant bastard with even worse bedside manners than Jack's. But at the same time Sawyer heard the amusement in Wilson's words when he talked about the last prank, and pride when he talked about the unconventional methods House used to solve a case. And Sawyer perceived, even more clearly, the worry Wilson felt when some of those methods put his friend's life in danger. Using himself as a guinea pig… Sawyer shook his head at the memory of Wilson's flat voice a few days ago when he was telling him about the electrical socket experience. That time, it had been Sawyer's turn to crack a stupid line, and he had sensed a little bit of tension easing off from Wilson's voice.
Voice that was now completely calm as Wilson answered Sawyer's call, a note of sympathy in his tone. They chatted about the usual 'not-setting-the-date' thing, until Sawyer found himself narrating about Jack's nightmares. They had often talked about the physical aspects of Jack's recovery, and Wilson had always offered his friendly support and medical advice, and never once suggested Sawyer should take Jack to rehab. Sawyer was relieved: Jack didn't fare well when confined indoors, and Sawyer had no intention to put him through something even remotely resembling a prison. The damned island had done enough damage already.
But this was the first time Sawyer confided in Wilson about the nightmares and Jack's fixation with the island. He sensed Wilson was concerned about them, but he seemed for once at a loss for words. Then, Sawyer heard Wilson's secretary knocking at the door and letting him know his patient was waiting for him. Wilson seemed truly sorry to hang up, he must have picked up the relevance of Sawyer revealing a new layer of Jack, and of himself at the same time. So Wilson suggested a lunch at the hospital, in half an hour.
Sawyer pondered a little, but in the end, why not? He needed a sympathetic ear, otherwise he'd go crazy. It wasn't like he had something else to do, he had never looked for a job since moving in New Jersey, his settlement from the Dharma initiative being still sufficient. Jack had used a bit of his, but not much. And given how simply him and Jack were living at the moment, work hadn't been one of his priorities. Besides, he wouldn't be able to take care of Jack if he had to work. But he could go out for lunch. Jack usually slept late anyway after a night like this, he would be no more than a 20-minute drive away and he had his cell phone. Sawyer scribbled Jack a note and left.
21.2 - Comfort zone
Sawyer parked his truck and walked to the hospital, entering it from the visitor's entrance and trying to stay as far from the ambulance aisle as he could. The hall was airy and bright, the October sunlight filtering freely from the glass roof. He looked around, spotting the entrance to the cafeteria to his left. Checking the hour, he exited the hospital again, pulling a cigarette out of his packet and lighting it while strolling slowly towards a nearby bench, prepared to wait.
Sitting down, he leaned fully against the back of the bench, his skin absorbing the pleasant warmth. He smoked peacefully, the sun helping both his body and his mind unwind. After a last drag, he flicked away his cigarette and kept his face turned towards the sun, his eyes closed. Finally, a few minutes after his appointment, a shadow loomed over him on the pathway.
"Hey", said Wilson, "sorry I'm late."
Sawyer opened his eyes just a slit, and stretched out lazily, before standing up. "You should really stop apologizing so often." he said, a mischievous smile on his lips. "People could start taking advantage of you."
If Wilson found Sawyer's sudden change of mood since the phone call disconcerting, he didn't let it show in his expression. "What makes you think that's worrying?" he argued, arching his eyebrow. Then, Wilson nodded towards the cafeteria "Let's go" and started walking. That earned an incredulous snort from Sawyer, before he took the few steps to catch up.
They were in line at the cashier, when Sawyer noticed the girl behind it. She was a pretty petite blonde, in her early twenties. But her most prominent feature was that she seemed unable to stop staring wide eyed at him. Sawyer was used to having strangers' eyes on him, either because people recognized him, or thought they did, or because they were fascinated with him. But this was bordering on unsettling. "Seen anything you like, sunshine?" he growled, a bit too harshly.
The girl, startled, flushed and started apologizing. To Wilson. "I'm sorry, Doctor Wilson. Doctor House said you were having lunch with one of the actors from the new Harry Potter movie," she babbled, "I'm a collector, so I thought I could ask him for an autograph, but…" she was getting more embarrassed by the minute, but with a visible effort she lifted her trusting eyes to Sawyer "I'm sorry, sir. Which character do you play?"
A moment of suspenseful stillness ensued, before Sawyer let out a disbelieving laugh. Wilson was the one who answered, though, the mix of frustration and amusement that Sawyer was quickly learning to associate with House's actions simmering under his words.
"Lucy, I'm sorry. Dr. House must've mistaken what I told him. He's…" he gestured towards Sawyer, grasping for a definition, "he's… not an actor."
"Oh," the poor girl was now out of her wits. She remained speechless.
Sawyer intervened, a trace of grin on his lips after the comical set up. "I'm afraid he's right, cupcake" he drawled, dimples showing, "but I can sign you an autograph anyway." Winking to the still blushing, but much less dispirited girl, he followed Wilson to a table.
"I take it he's quite possessive of you, then?" Sawyer asked, as soon as they were seated.
"It's not just that," Wilson's eyes were glinting, "he can't live without knowing everything. About me, his patients, my patients, anyone, as long as it tickles him. He can be maniac about it."
"Well, doc. As long as 'maniac' doesn't mean he'd go all 'Carrie' on me, I'm okay with it," Sawyer said, pausing to take a bite of his sandwich. "I ain't got no secrets any more. You can google my entire life before the island." Well, almost my entire life anyway, Sawyer thought. Thankfully, the Australian police never found out about Duckett's murder. "And as for post-island… I s'ppose you told him something about it as well."
"Not much." Wilson replied, while forking his salad, "I thought it wasn't his business, and you wouldn't have appreciated my divulging your and Jack's private life to him."
Sawyer nodded, thankful of the tactfulness of Wilson's behavior, even if it wouldn't really have mattered, when Wilson continued "And besides, it's always better to let him pick up his clues by himself. He's more likely to be well disposed about things then."
Sawyer was intrigued. For sure, Dr. House must be a bizarre guy, and inventive too. Harry Potter? He chuckled by himself.
"I'm surprised he didn't show up, then," Sawyer remarked.
"Oh. Well…It wouldn't be past him to stop by even if I told him this was a private conversation. Actually, that would have made it even more likely. But…he's out."
A devilish look appeared in Wilson's eyes, and he tilted his head towards the cashier.
"Lucy was just his backup plan. I believe he's on his way to the Café Bismarck on Hamilton right now. He must have thought I was lying about having lunch with you here."
Sawyer chuckled again. The relationship between Wilson and his friend must be a bumpy one, but it sounded amusing. He was struck by the thought that maybe it wasn't Wilson's secretary the one who messed with his call, after all.
The conversation then shifted to the more serious topic that had brought Sawyer there. He started explaining what he could about the strange events happened on the island, the black smoke, the Dharma initiative, the rescue. He painted a quick picture, not getting in much detail, but he ended up speaking at length anyway.
"…and, as soon as we were on that rescue boat, we knew that something was wrong. Hell, we felt something tear and break inside us, like it was rippin' us apart. We were all on our knees less than five minutes after leaving the dock. Let me tell you, doc, it was a livin' hell, people screaming and crying so hard… we were acting like crazy monkeys. It was like a fuckin' apocalypse."
The distress was still evident in Sawyer's voice. "I've never been a druggie, but I think if you can concentrate every withdrawal symptom and multiply it by ten, you still wouldn't come near to that." Sawyer shook his head, regrouping himself. "The crew of the boat were so shocked, they almost turned the boat back to the island, but one of us, Sayid - you probably remember him from the news, he was the Iraqi guy..."
Wilson nodded. Of course, the Iraqi ex-soldier saving a whole bunch of Americans and Europeans had made to the news at large at the time of the rescue. So Sawyer kept on.
"Sayid, then, forced them to keep going. I was pretty out of it, screaming my lungs out, but I think he threatened them with a gun. Believe me, he can be fuckin' menacing when he wants." Sawyer paused, taking a sip from his soda.
"And after a while, it diminished. The further we got from the island, the more everyone kept getting better, until, at last, when we landed on Tahiti we were able to function again."
Sawyer stopped talking, a thoughtful expression on his face. Wilson was silent and attentive in front of him. Sawyer took a deep breath and resumed his tale. "Fuck. I should've said, almost everyone got better." He met Wilson's gaze.
"Jack didn't." It wasn't a question, but Sawyer nodded anyway.
"When we started feeling bad, he was still on his feet, helping everyone. He stopped a girl from throwing herself in the water with her baby." Claire. Jack's sister. But Wilson didn't need to know that. "I remember almost envying him, how that thing didn't seem to affect him."
Sawyer had that painful day imprinted in his memory forever. Everyone was out of their minds, and Jack stood, strong, anchoring them all. Then Sawyer lost the ability to think, his head and chest and legs hurting too much for it. He remembered when he had started feeling himself again, good enough to stop screaming and have a look around him. His other companions were more or less in his same conditions, opening their eyes, panting, exhausted but with a definitely relieved look on their faces. Then, just as everyone had started shouting and thanking Sayid, he saw Jack. He was on his side, in a fetal position, rocking slightly with his hands over his ears, eyes shut so hard there were tears in them and teeth grinding to keep inside a keening sound. Sawyer rushed to him, and maybe Jack sensed his presence, because he tried to open his eyes, but it was too much for him, and he passed out.
"We didn't know how bad he had it at first, because he lost consciousness on the boat, and when he came to his senses, we were all in the hospital and he seemed more or less okay."
"But he wasn't."
Sawyer shook his head. "He wasn't. He kept feeling it, not as strong, but he did. He feels it still, I'm sure. I can tell from his nightmares. And if it's anything like I remember it, it's something that'd make you go fucking crazy."
"I'm sorry," said Wilson simply.
"Yeah. Me too."
The conversation died down, the two men studying their unfinished lunch, immersed in their thoughts. Finally, Wilson looked up to Sawyer.
"I don't think there's a medical reason for that. I wish there was, because that way I'd be able to help, but…" Wilson opened his arms, powerless, while Sawyer nodded in agreement.
"Yeah, I know, doc. I don't think it's medical either. Nothin' you can do. But thank you anyway." Sawyer had exhausted his nervous energy telling that tale, and now was simply drained.
After a bit, Wilson kept on, more purposefully. "But I still think the more stimuli he has, the better. That means it's time we settle our poker night. And you will tell Jack, and you'll make him come."
Never one to take well when the decision were taken out of his hands, this time Sawyer felt strangely relieved.
24.2 - Approaching
Sawyer and Wilson agreed on the following Thursday. It gave both of them enough time to tell their friends about it, and it didn't clash with Wilson and House's schedule.
Sawyer had told Jack as soon as he got home from his lunch, and it was much easier than he thought. He had been both disappointed and relieved when Jack didn't object.
On Thursday, driving through the still not completely familiar Princeton streets, Sawyer felt anxious. Relax, it's just a poker night, he told himself, with friends. Friends. He didn't want to acknowledge it, but Jack could be kind of difficult in public. And meeting House made him nervous. He glanced at Jack now, quietly staring out of the passenger's window. For once, he seemed on edge. Maybe meeting new people - friends, Sawyer corrected himself - made Jack nervous too. That wasn't necessarily bad. Anything, to get a reaction out of him.
Following Wilson's indications, he made a last turn to the right, entering Baker Street, and parked the car a couple of buildings after House's place.
They got out the car and walked towards the 221B. In front of the door, Sawyer rang the bell, Jack still silent at his side.
24.3 - The game
The door opened and Wilson welcomed them. "Hi, Sawyer," then, "You must be Jack. I'm James Wilson," he said, extending his hand. Sawyer breathed a small sigh of relief when he saw Jack shaking Wilson's hand, mumbling a more or less polite, if not friendly, "Hello".
"Would you stop channeling your grandmother at tea parties and let them in so we could start playing?" a voice barked from inside.
Wilson cringed, stepping aside. "Please, come in," he said. Sawyer wasn't much surprised. From Wilson's stories, he had got the impression that House was never one to mind appearances. But then, neither did he.
Walking through the door, Sawyer saw a well furnished, cozy lounge, with a piano in the left corner, near the window, and a card table on the right. The voice, coming from the kitchen, spoke again. "I'm taking another sip of my beer now, since mommy won't let me drink during the game."
Asshole. Sawyer thought. Only because they were near, Sawyer heard Jack's sharp intake of breath under Wilson's comeback.
"House." Wilson's tone was almost threatening, and Sawyer found himself wondering if Wilson could look menacing too, at times.
House held up his side of the conversation with a few gulps followed by a clunk, this time. A little shuffling followed, and then he walked out from the kitchen.
Sawyer saw a tall, stubbled man wearing jeans, sneakers and a rumpled button down over a faded t-shirt. He was striding towards them with an uneven gait, leaning on the cane he had in his right hand. This time, Sawyer was taken aback: Wilson had never told him about the limp. He recovered fast, however, seeing the man's fierce expression while he was approaching them. Jack didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't react, much as he didn't react to anything.
When he was near, Sawyer noticed that the man was taller than he thought. Taller than both him and Jack. House stopped with both hands on his cane and focused his piercing blue eyes on Sawyer, ignoring both Wilson and Jack. He looked him up and down, before saying "Sawyer", and nodding in the guise of salutation.
Sawyer was able to match him. "House," he said, much in the same tone.
Then House turned towards Jack, glancing briefly at him. "I take it you're Huck, then. Did you leave your sugar hogshead at home?"
Sawyer heard Jack let out something that sounded like a surprised noise. I must have heard that wrong, he told himself.
But when Sawyer turned towards Jack, he could see a defiant spark in his eyes. "Do you believe you're the first one calling me that?" he asked House.
Indeed, he is, Sawyer thought. Not least because that they had never gone somewhere as a pair. But he wasn't going to spoil Jack's game, whatever it was. He caught Wilson's eyes behind House's back and found a silent agreement there. Wilson didn't seem willing to keep his friend in check. Sawyer was intrigued by how things were playing out.
House eyed Jack again, "Oh, you can talk then. That's nice. We could've played anyway, but Wilson, here," he gestured towards him, "doesn't know the sign language, so that makes things easier."
He then sat down on a chair, leaving Jack, Sawyer and Wilson standing in silence for a small beat. Wilson recovered first, saying "Okay then. Please, take a seat." And the game began.
*
A few rounds in, the game was pretty balanced.
As the night progressed, Sawyer mostly contented himself with a few biting remarks to House's ones every now and then. Hell, can't let the man go on unscathed. But there was no real annoyance on his part. Actually, he found himself almost amused, if not really relaxed. That must be why his tiredness crept out, lessening his concentration. He found himself losing a few rounds, while House and Jack were getting ahead. Some time earlier, he had seen House taking a pill from a small bottle with a colorful sticker over it, but Jack had shown no response at all. This time, Sawyer was grateful for the lack of interest on Jack's part. He hoped that Jack's doctor side had recognized it as a medical gesture not worth noticing.
Sawyer couldn't tell if he did it on purpose, but soon after, Wilson too lost a couple of big rounds in a row, leaving him with only a few chips, while House teased him mercilessly. "Told you, Jimmy, you shouldn't play with the big boys until you've grown a beard of your own." Sawyer had to chuckle. Indeed, Wilson was the only clean-shaved man at the table, while Sawyer, House and Jack's faces were shadowed by what seemed a two- or three-day growth.
"Well. At least my hair doesn't need replanting." Watching the exchange behind the hair that had fallen into his eyes, Sawyer caught the fondness in House's gaze, and in Wilson's sparkling look while he retorted, folding his cards. He wondered idly if they were sleeping together, or if the deep link he perceived just scratching the surface was simply a friendship like he had never seen. It made him almost envious.
Jack had been his closest friend on the island, but they had never reached that easy companionship Wilson and House had, even when they hid it under their banter and pranks. Too much rivalry between him and Jack. Too much tension. At a time, that tense friendship had turned, for him, into something different. Something Sawyer hadn't recognized at first, and never acted upon. Then rescue came and he thought it had been just the exceptional circumstances. He had moved on.
Until Kate had called him. Until then, he had thought Jack was okay, probably with Juliet. Sawyer had never asked where she had gone, and why Jack had started calling Kate instead. But he had answered her call for help. And, as soon as he had seen Jack, Sawyer had known he had only deluded himself. He was still stuck.
But Jack was in no shape to enter a relationship, or whatever that thing between them could be. Too many issues to deal with, without adding another. Wilson could be right about stimuli, but Sawyer knew also that Jack needed to control at least a part of his life. So Sawyer acted as a friend, and he really was one, pretending he didn't want to touch Jack, to keep him as near as possible every time Jack seemed to fade from the world. Pretending he wasn't overly aware of their nearness when they were at home together or of every casual contact between their fingers on the rare occasions Jack helped him with the dishes.
Focusing again on the game, Sawyer lifted his head to see that Wilson was now out, and it was his turn. Each of them, Wilson included, had rolled up their sleeves, and with the light cloud of smoke lazily trailing up from House's cigar, they only needed Fedoras to paint a faithful version of a scene straight out a Bogart movie. Sawyer felt almost amused. But Jack and House were serious this time. They seemed carved in stone, a challenge in their eyes. Sawyer glanced at his cards, they weren't good anyway. Fine, he thought. Bring it on. He folded, while Jack and House both made their bets.
On the table, ace of clubs, five of diamonds and six of hearts. Sawyer was almost sure Jack and House both had a pair, probably not a pair of aces though, judging by their bets.
Wilson, as dealer, turned the next card. Jack of hearts. Sawyer could read the slight narrowing of Jack's pupils, and he wondered if House had seen it too.
Jack went all in, causing House to smile smugly. "I'm all in too."
The last card, the river, was called 'bloody' for a reason. Wilson turned it: seven of hearts. That meant three of the same suit on the table. The likeliness of a flush was pretty high now.
Jack turned his cards. Sawyer had been right: two pair, jacks over sixes. House seemed frozen on the spot. Then, with a theatrical sigh, he threw his cards face down among the other discarded ones. "Damned jacks. I was hoping for a queen."
Jack had won. But something wasn't sitting well with Sawyer. House's behavior was off. He looked as he was waiting for something.
As Sawyer was pondering, Jack spoke. "You let me win." Sawyer watched Jack, who had his eyes trained on House. The tone was low, but he looked furious. And House looked… approving?
Jack kept on, almost shouting. "You had a flush. I know. And you let me win. Why? Fear I'd try to slit my wrists in your bathroom?" He stood up, planting both hands on the table and leaning angrily towards House.
"I can recommend you the electric socket. I tested it personally. It's faster," was House's cold reply.
A simultaneous warning came from Sawyer and Wilson. "Jack." "House."
The tension broke when Jack smirked, relaxing his posture. Sawyer's heart was beating faster. This was completely unexpected. The first sign of emotion Sawyer had seen on Jack's face for a long time.
"I see your friend has just as much faith in you as Sawyer has in me." Son of a bitch. There was something behind Jack's words. Not just the blank façade he had shown for the last weeks.
House's demeanor changed noticeably at that. He shrugged, in a silent apology, and tilted his head to look up at Jack, still hovering over him. "I just wanted to know how good a player you are. Now that it's out of our system," he said, "what do you say we raise the pot?"
Jack didn't miss a beat "Sure. What do you want to bet?"
"Words. Explanations."
Jack snorted. "Words aren't worth playing for. And I don't have explanations to give."
House didn't bulge. "Maybe. But I'm a curious guy. I can bet money, if you prefer. Or we can bet both money and words."
Jack paused, considering. Then he sat down again. "I want you to bet your beer. The one that's on the kitchen counter."
Sawyer's eyes widened in horror. Please don't. It was like someone had kicked him in the gut. He was seeing all his - and Jack's - efforts, and painful days, going down the drain. Hopefully, Jack could be back to having a couple of beers in the future, but not now. He wasn't sure Jack's fragile equilibrium could survive drinking again without falling back into the same state of mind that brought him into the E.R. less than a month before.
"Deal." House said, before either him or Wilson could intervene.
Not much they could do now. Neither Jack nor House were babies that could have been prohibited to do something. With a heavy heart, Sawyer stood up and neared the window, pulling out a cigarette. He needed one if he had to watch that game.
Wilson left his seat, joining him. It was the first time that night they were able to talk. "Sawyer..."
Sawyer interrupted him. He couldn't hear another useless apology. "Don't. I thought everything was going well, hell, he even challenged him. Do you know how long it has been since Jack met someone head on? And it's not your fault anyway."
Wilson nodded. "I know. I think he needed to get his ass kicked. And if there's one thing House could do, besides diagnosing people, is getting a reaction out of them."
Sawyer tilted his head, amazed again. "So you weren't going to apologize, this time?"
"No." Wilson smirked, "I value your opinion. And you should trust mine on this."
Sawyer found himself responding with another nod. Son of a bitch, you too.
*
Jack and House were studying their cards, a concentrated frown on their faces, when Sawyer took his seat again.
House raised by a few chips, Jack called, Wilson dealt the flop. Jack and five of spades, four of clubs.
Jack raised by a few chips. House, eyeing him, called. The turn was eight of diamonds.
This time, Jack went all in, and House followed.
The tension was thick in the room when Wilson finally turned the river: four of hearts. That meant a pair and two cards of the same suit on the table. Nothing big.
House showed his cards - jack of hearts and five of diamonds - and waited. He had two pair, jacks over fives.
It was Jack's turn to show his cards. He had a five of diamonds and a four of spades. Unbelievably, thanks to that last card, he had a full house, fours over fives. Jack had won. House scoffed, incredulous.
Finally, fixing his stare on House, Jack said "I believe you owe me that beer."
House nodded and stood up, limping with his cane to the kitchen and back, beer in the left hand, cane in the other, while Wilson and Sawyer waited for the inevitable. Sawyer felt a lump in his throat he couldn't seem to dislodge.
Without another word, House put the open and half-downed beer on the table, in front of Jack.
A thick blanket of silence seemed to have fallen on the table. Sawyer was unable to peel his eyes off Jack's hand on the bottle. Jack lifted it, then he turned on his seat.
"Sawyer," he said simply. And he offered the beer to him.
Sawyer felt the lump flutter. Without breaking eye contact with Jack, he took the bottle and then drank a small sip. Jack didn't seem to ask for it back. "That all for me?"
Jack nodded, still looking at him. "Yes. I figured you'd be thirsty."
Sawyer laughed, the lump exploding in a bubble of relief. "Well, thank you, doc. In that case, if you don't mind, I'd prefer a cold new one."
Jack, that damn jackass, smirked again. "I know. But I loved seeing your face screwing up in disgust." And then he smiled.
Sawyer could see Wilson's smile in the corner of his eyes just when his laugh was joined by a chuckle from House. The morning was not here yet, but the darker part of the night was over.
Notes
The two rounds of poker described here are slight variations from two different rounds. The first, from Wilson vs Cuddy in "All In", the second, from Moneymaker vs Farha in the 2003 World Series of Poker.
Next part: Epilogue