Lost Fic: "The Gift of Words" (Jack/Sawyer, PG-13)
Title: The Gift of Words
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: PG-13 for implied sex, alcohol
Length: 1,068 words
Notes: AU, same as Black, White, Red All Over. For her day alliecat8 gave the prompt of "it's better to give than recieve". And with that theme in mind, I hereby dedicate this fic as a belated birthday present to one of my oldest LJ friends halfdutch: a continuation of the much-beloved story of MedStudent!Jack and Librarian!Sawyer.
Summary: Jack knows he's bad at giving gifts. He has to try anyway.
Jack has never been very good at this.
He buys dinner on friends’ birthdays. And even when things were okay with his dad (they were never great) he got him cufflinks or neckties. His old girlfriends thought he was a romantic because he brought flowers and candy; truth is he just never knew what else to give.
Jack has to face facts. He sucks at gifts.
Sometimes he wishes things could be like when he was a kid, when he’d make junk out of macaroni and paint and people would pretend to like it and everything would be okay.
But no, growing up means buying. It means having to show how much you know about a person, or how much you care, or risk looking like an asshole. It means doing “responsible” things, like putting a price-tag on a friendship. Or a relationship.
Or whatever it is that he and Sawyer have.
Jack doesn’t really know that there’s a word for it. They’re not dating. But it’s not like they’re just sleeping together either. And maybe Jack hasn’t told anybody about Sawyer, but without really trying to keep it secret. It’s more like it’s just nobody’s business but theirs.
In any case, the one year anniversary of their “whatever” is coming up. And Jack hasn’t got a clue.
Part of this he wants to call Sawyer’s fault. Because for all Jack’s tried to get to know him, so much of the other man remains in the dark. He isn’t really sure what there is Sawyer wants or needs. He barely knows what Sawyer likes.
He likes books. Jack knows that.
Even that little bit of information is unhelpful. Sawyer knows more about books than Jack ever will. How’s he supposed to find something great out there that Sawyer hasn’t already read? Especially when Sawyer has access to virtually every book in the world at the library? Jack doesn’t know him well enough to guess at any old favorites.
Jack knows just enough to realize that a copy of Huckleberry Finn would be getting too personal, even for the irony.
He’d almost just buy a gift card; Sawyer’s probably not the type to get insulted by carte blanche. But Jack doesn’t want that. He wants to actually get him something that he chose himself.
If it was just about having something so he wouldn’t be embarrassed by showing up empty-handed, he wouldn’t bother. Because he doubts Sawyer’s going to get him anything. It’s not his way. But it’s not about that.
It’s about Sawyer insisting on buying the coffee and beer Jack can easily afford, or not complaining about having to work around the odd hours of Jack’s internship. It’s about how Sawyer conveniently lost the slip for that anatomy book that was a month overdue when Jack finally remembered to return it. It’s about how when Jack told him he wanted a tattoo Sawyer said he was an idiot, but after he got it all Sawyer told him was that it looked cool.
It’s about the evening Sawyer took off wanting to surprise him, but Jack had to study for a big exam so Sawyer spent the whole night at Jack’s place rereading a dog-eared paperback and never saying a word except to insist he was fine with spending time together like that. It’s about how Sawyer doesn’t care about baseball, but he sits on the couch watching the Red Sox with Jack anyway.
So even if it’s dumb or pointless, Jack wants to get him something. To show how much he appreciates all those things.
He eventually winds up going with his first instinct. He doesn’t know whether it’s an act of genius or desperation.
Sawyer chuckles a bit mockingly when he sees his gift.
“Gee,” he says with a playful grin, “I wonder what this could be!” He holds the flat paper-wrapped rectangle by his ear and pretends to shake it in serious consideration: “A book?”
“Just open it,” Jack mutters, feeling his face begin to redden. Sawyer obliges, tearing off the paper with gusto.
His knowing smirk fades into a puzzled expression when he sees what’s inside.
In his hands is one of those leather journals with the purposefully aged covers, the kind used for scrapbooking or writing. Sawyer steals a questioning glance at Jack, who gestures to indicate he should look inside.
Sawyer flips open the cover and his eyes widen slightly.
“Oh,” he says. “Well, I’ll be.”
Jack isn’t a compulsive hoarder but between those covers he’s put everything he can find of him and Sawyer: snapshot pictures and ticket stubs, pages torn from calendars and handwritten notes scrawled to each other and even the receipt from that first day at the library. For the book he checked out the day that they met.
Sawyer turns the pages gingerly, as if working with a rare book from the collection he doesn’t want to damage. His face is unreadable. When he gets to the end, he looks up.
“Got an awful lot of blank pages in here, Doc,” he points out.
“Yeah, I left them that way.” Jack clenches his hands compulsively. “So we could, you know, add to it. Later.”
The implication is clear enough that he doesn’t have to emphasize.
Sawyer puts the album down. Jack ducks his head and starts to say it was a dumb idea, he shouldn’t read too much into it; he just wasn’t thinking. But Sawyer reaches out and puts a hand on the back of his neck, hugging him in a way that isn’t quite a hug.
“Thank you,” Sawyer breathes. There’s a remarkable earnestness in his deep blue eyes, so much it almost seems like it’s hurting him.
“It was nothing,” is all Jack can say. “You’re welcome.”
Sawyer drops his hand and clears his throat, pained and a little annoyed as he pulls something from behind him.
“Well, what I got for you ain’t nearly as special,” he half-laughs, looking like he’s pissed with himself. There’s another flat rectangle in his hands, painstakingly wrapped in shiny bright paper.
Jack stares in surprise and unexpected emotion. “Thank you,” he says, holding out his hands. “Really, thank you.”
And of course Sawyer got him a book. That’s not the part that matters. What matters is that he cared to get him something at all.
It’s the thought that counts. That’s all that Jack really cares about.
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: PG-13 for implied sex, alcohol
Length: 1,068 words
Notes: AU, same as Black, White, Red All Over. For her day alliecat8 gave the prompt of "it's better to give than recieve". And with that theme in mind, I hereby dedicate this fic as a belated birthday present to one of my oldest LJ friends halfdutch: a continuation of the much-beloved story of MedStudent!Jack and Librarian!Sawyer.
Summary: Jack knows he's bad at giving gifts. He has to try anyway.
Jack has never been very good at this.
He buys dinner on friends’ birthdays. And even when things were okay with his dad (they were never great) he got him cufflinks or neckties. His old girlfriends thought he was a romantic because he brought flowers and candy; truth is he just never knew what else to give.
Jack has to face facts. He sucks at gifts.
Sometimes he wishes things could be like when he was a kid, when he’d make junk out of macaroni and paint and people would pretend to like it and everything would be okay.
But no, growing up means buying. It means having to show how much you know about a person, or how much you care, or risk looking like an asshole. It means doing “responsible” things, like putting a price-tag on a friendship. Or a relationship.
Or whatever it is that he and Sawyer have.
Jack doesn’t really know that there’s a word for it. They’re not dating. But it’s not like they’re just sleeping together either. And maybe Jack hasn’t told anybody about Sawyer, but without really trying to keep it secret. It’s more like it’s just nobody’s business but theirs.
In any case, the one year anniversary of their “whatever” is coming up. And Jack hasn’t got a clue.
Part of this he wants to call Sawyer’s fault. Because for all Jack’s tried to get to know him, so much of the other man remains in the dark. He isn’t really sure what there is Sawyer wants or needs. He barely knows what Sawyer likes.
He likes books. Jack knows that.
Even that little bit of information is unhelpful. Sawyer knows more about books than Jack ever will. How’s he supposed to find something great out there that Sawyer hasn’t already read? Especially when Sawyer has access to virtually every book in the world at the library? Jack doesn’t know him well enough to guess at any old favorites.
Jack knows just enough to realize that a copy of Huckleberry Finn would be getting too personal, even for the irony.
He’d almost just buy a gift card; Sawyer’s probably not the type to get insulted by carte blanche. But Jack doesn’t want that. He wants to actually get him something that he chose himself.
If it was just about having something so he wouldn’t be embarrassed by showing up empty-handed, he wouldn’t bother. Because he doubts Sawyer’s going to get him anything. It’s not his way. But it’s not about that.
It’s about Sawyer insisting on buying the coffee and beer Jack can easily afford, or not complaining about having to work around the odd hours of Jack’s internship. It’s about how Sawyer conveniently lost the slip for that anatomy book that was a month overdue when Jack finally remembered to return it. It’s about how when Jack told him he wanted a tattoo Sawyer said he was an idiot, but after he got it all Sawyer told him was that it looked cool.
It’s about the evening Sawyer took off wanting to surprise him, but Jack had to study for a big exam so Sawyer spent the whole night at Jack’s place rereading a dog-eared paperback and never saying a word except to insist he was fine with spending time together like that. It’s about how Sawyer doesn’t care about baseball, but he sits on the couch watching the Red Sox with Jack anyway.
So even if it’s dumb or pointless, Jack wants to get him something. To show how much he appreciates all those things.
He eventually winds up going with his first instinct. He doesn’t know whether it’s an act of genius or desperation.
Sawyer chuckles a bit mockingly when he sees his gift.
“Gee,” he says with a playful grin, “I wonder what this could be!” He holds the flat paper-wrapped rectangle by his ear and pretends to shake it in serious consideration: “A book?”
“Just open it,” Jack mutters, feeling his face begin to redden. Sawyer obliges, tearing off the paper with gusto.
His knowing smirk fades into a puzzled expression when he sees what’s inside.
In his hands is one of those leather journals with the purposefully aged covers, the kind used for scrapbooking or writing. Sawyer steals a questioning glance at Jack, who gestures to indicate he should look inside.
Sawyer flips open the cover and his eyes widen slightly.
“Oh,” he says. “Well, I’ll be.”
Jack isn’t a compulsive hoarder but between those covers he’s put everything he can find of him and Sawyer: snapshot pictures and ticket stubs, pages torn from calendars and handwritten notes scrawled to each other and even the receipt from that first day at the library. For the book he checked out the day that they met.
Sawyer turns the pages gingerly, as if working with a rare book from the collection he doesn’t want to damage. His face is unreadable. When he gets to the end, he looks up.
“Got an awful lot of blank pages in here, Doc,” he points out.
“Yeah, I left them that way.” Jack clenches his hands compulsively. “So we could, you know, add to it. Later.”
The implication is clear enough that he doesn’t have to emphasize.
Sawyer puts the album down. Jack ducks his head and starts to say it was a dumb idea, he shouldn’t read too much into it; he just wasn’t thinking. But Sawyer reaches out and puts a hand on the back of his neck, hugging him in a way that isn’t quite a hug.
“Thank you,” Sawyer breathes. There’s a remarkable earnestness in his deep blue eyes, so much it almost seems like it’s hurting him.
“It was nothing,” is all Jack can say. “You’re welcome.”
Sawyer drops his hand and clears his throat, pained and a little annoyed as he pulls something from behind him.
“Well, what I got for you ain’t nearly as special,” he half-laughs, looking like he’s pissed with himself. There’s another flat rectangle in his hands, painstakingly wrapped in shiny bright paper.
Jack stares in surprise and unexpected emotion. “Thank you,” he says, holding out his hands. “Really, thank you.”
And of course Sawyer got him a book. That’s not the part that matters. What matters is that he cared to get him something at all.
It’s the thought that counts. That’s all that Jack really cares about.