All She Needs
Title: All She Needs
Fandom: Lost
Disclaimer: If I owned Lost, I probably wouldn't have stopped watching during the 3rd season.
Rating: G
Pairings: Sawyer/Claire friendship
Genre: Angst
Spoilers: Takes place after 2.09 - "What Kate Did"
Summary: "He always takes time to read to her son." Short one-shot.
Author's Note: I wrote this one over 6 years ago, which seems like a small lifetime now. I had always considered it my best piece before I started writing again, so it holds a special place in my heart. There was a prequel and a sequel written, but I'm not sure if I'll end up posting them here too.
This one just begged to be re-shared though, so here it is - revised, revamped, and resurrected.
He sits down next to her on the cool ground, right in between where the forest meets the sand and the sand meets the ocean. She doesn't have to look over to know it's him.
He comes at the same time every day, when the sun is low on the water and there's a slight chill beginning to fill the air. She doesn't know when this started exactly - days, weeks... maybe even months ago. Time is an irrelevant thing to her now.
He always shows up, though; usually with a book but sometimes with a magazine. The pages are always torn and tattered, worn out and weathered by the elements of the island - much like the survivors themselves, she notes silently each time.
Today he brings a book, one she recognizes instantly as being from the hatch. She sends him a small smile of encouragement, and he opens the book and begins to read. They never say anything before he starts; there are no need for pleasantries anymore.
She listens to the steady drawl of his voice, and she thinks that maybe she enjoys his reading more than Aaron does. He always takes time to read to her son, and she appreciates it more than he knows. Or maybe he does know, and maybe that's why he comes.
Her mind begins to drift as the words from the pages roll off his tongue, and she wonders when he became her only source of comfort on the island. It must have been after the other survivors stopped coming around, but she finds she doesn't really care anymore. Sawyer reading to them is all she needs; nothing more and nothing less.
His voice trails off right before he closes the book, and she shakes her head as she comes back to reality. The sun is setting now and the story is done for the day. He stands, dusting the sand off his jeans while he asks her if she wants to go get dinner with him; this is always the first time he addresses her personally. He even offers his hand to help her up, the same way he does every day. She politely declines the invitation, the same way she does every day.
She'll stay here until the stars come out, and they both know it. He doesn't push her, only nods in acknowledgement.
"Goodnight, Claire," he says softly, the same way he did yesterday and the same way he will tomorrow.
Then he turns and walks away, leaving her alone in front of the small grave.
She stays there until the cold makes her shiver and exhaustion makes her weary, and then she leans down in front of the wooden cross and bids her sweet boy goodnight.
She'll be back tomorrow.
And so will he.
Fandom: Lost
Disclaimer: If I owned Lost, I probably wouldn't have stopped watching during the 3rd season.
Rating: G
Pairings: Sawyer/Claire friendship
Genre: Angst
Spoilers: Takes place after 2.09 - "What Kate Did"
Summary: "He always takes time to read to her son." Short one-shot.
Author's Note: I wrote this one over 6 years ago, which seems like a small lifetime now. I had always considered it my best piece before I started writing again, so it holds a special place in my heart. There was a prequel and a sequel written, but I'm not sure if I'll end up posting them here too.
This one just begged to be re-shared though, so here it is - revised, revamped, and resurrected.
He sits down next to her on the cool ground, right in between where the forest meets the sand and the sand meets the ocean. She doesn't have to look over to know it's him.
He comes at the same time every day, when the sun is low on the water and there's a slight chill beginning to fill the air. She doesn't know when this started exactly - days, weeks... maybe even months ago. Time is an irrelevant thing to her now.
He always shows up, though; usually with a book but sometimes with a magazine. The pages are always torn and tattered, worn out and weathered by the elements of the island - much like the survivors themselves, she notes silently each time.
Today he brings a book, one she recognizes instantly as being from the hatch. She sends him a small smile of encouragement, and he opens the book and begins to read. They never say anything before he starts; there are no need for pleasantries anymore.
She listens to the steady drawl of his voice, and she thinks that maybe she enjoys his reading more than Aaron does. He always takes time to read to her son, and she appreciates it more than he knows. Or maybe he does know, and maybe that's why he comes.
Her mind begins to drift as the words from the pages roll off his tongue, and she wonders when he became her only source of comfort on the island. It must have been after the other survivors stopped coming around, but she finds she doesn't really care anymore. Sawyer reading to them is all she needs; nothing more and nothing less.
His voice trails off right before he closes the book, and she shakes her head as she comes back to reality. The sun is setting now and the story is done for the day. He stands, dusting the sand off his jeans while he asks her if she wants to go get dinner with him; this is always the first time he addresses her personally. He even offers his hand to help her up, the same way he does every day. She politely declines the invitation, the same way she does every day.
She'll stay here until the stars come out, and they both know it. He doesn't push her, only nods in acknowledgement.
"Goodnight, Claire," he says softly, the same way he did yesterday and the same way he will tomorrow.
Then he turns and walks away, leaving her alone in front of the small grave.
She stays there until the cold makes her shiver and exhaustion makes her weary, and then she leans down in front of the wooden cross and bids her sweet boy goodnight.
She'll be back tomorrow.
And so will he.