A Pain That I'm Used To Part Six - Cont'd 2
Jack realizes even before they pull up to the entrance that his mother is up to no good. The route seemed oddly familiar, the neighborhood lodged somewhere in his memory. When the car pulls to a stop, he doesn’t have to look out the darkly tinted windows to know where they are.
His mother’s self-satisfied grin is almost more than he can handle. Sawyer senses a shift in Jack’s mood from tense to positively rife with stress, but doesn’t know what’s caused the sudden change.
He couldn’t.
This is a part of Jack’s first life, a life that Sawyer knows very little about. A life that in all honesty he’d been all too happy to let go of. The sting of personal failure had long ceased to matter, because where he had ended up seemed so much better, so much more right.
The name of the restaurant reads something French and pretentious that Jack had always hated, but it may as well be erased and replaced with Jack and Sarah’s Place. She had loved it here; had discovered while out shopping one day with her girlfriends from the school where she worked and soon after began dragging Jack there for every special occasion. He never particularly enjoyed it, but he didn’t hate it either. He just knew she liked it so he kept his complaints to himself.
This is where he had proposed to her.
This is where they’d met for their last meal together, when he handed her papers and she handed him a ring. He thought the action too bittersweet, too dramatic, but Sarah had wanted one last face-to-face, alone. In truth, she wanted to apologize one last time and wanted Jack to forgive her, to allow her to let go of her guilt.
Jack stares at Sarah across the table, finding it ironic that there is a long stemmed rose in the vase between them, that there is the flickering romance of candlelight when everything between them is falling apart.
He looks away from her and blows the candle out, pushing it off to the side. Sarah glances around the restaurant, alarmed, as if he’s just committed a crime.
“I don’t think you’re allowed to do that, Jack.”
“I really don’t think they care.”
“It’s the ambience of the restaurant. You can’t just-“
“You really want me to re-light it, Sarah? Are we really going to argue over a candle?”
“No one’s arguing, Jack,” Sarah states.
“I just think this is silly. The candles, the flowers, the music…” Jack gestures around the restaurant. “It’s ridiculous, actually. I don’t see why I couldn’t just mail these back to your lawyer like a normal divorcee.”
“This is personal, Jack. I don’t want to end this with a postage stamp and a manila envelope. We owe each other more than that.”
“We owed each other a lot, Sarah. We both failed. We don’t owe each other anything anymore. It’s over.”
“I know that.”
“Then why are we here.”
Sarah falls quiet for a moment, pulling the ring off of her finger. She holds it with both hands, looking at it thoughtfully before reaching out over the table and offering it to Jack.
Jack takes it, not even looking before he shoves it into his pocket. There may have been a time when this exchange would’ve brought tears to his eyes. He would’ve pleaded with Sarah to reconsider, apologized for not being there enough, asked for one more chance. But he’s done that. There’s no more tears to be shed. All there is now is anger and resentment. Toward her, and toward himself.
There are times when he thinks he hates her, that she betrayed him in the worst way possible by seeking comfort in the arms of another man while he toiled away long hours at the hospital. That she had barely given him a chance to right his wrongs, that she had given up all too easily. But then there are times when he thinks he’s gotten what he deserved, that he was a bad husband and that he is the one who had failed her.
Now he looks at Sarah again over the table as he reaches down into his briefcase and pulls out the paperwork, all signed earlier that day in all the appropriate places, brightly colored tabs tauntingly pointing out where his signature must go.
He slides the small stack across the table toward Sarah, who takes it gingerly. She slips it into her lap and out of sight, not looking to make sure he’s done what he was supposed to. She doesn’t need to.
“You never asked.” She says out of nowhere, puzzlingly.
“I never asked what?” Jack’s brow furrows in confusion.
“You never even asked who it is,” Sarah says. “You don’t even want to know who I left for.”
“Why would I want to know that?” Jack asks.
“Most men would.”
“All I need to know is that you left, Sarah. It doesn’t matter who for. It’s not going to make it hurt any less.”
“I never meant to hurt you, Jack. I was just so…I was so lonely, and confused…”
“What we meant to do…” Jack starts, then snorts disbelievingly. “Well, what we meant to do is pretty much of no consequence now. What’s done is done.”
“I just want to be happy, Jack. Don’t you want to be happy, Jack?” Tears start to fall down Sarah’s porcelain cheeks now and for the first time Jack has no desire to console her, to wipe them away. He lets her cry. Sarah reaches across the table to grasp his hand. He stares at their fingers as she forces her grip over his, squeezing hard.
“Sarah…” He says, trying to pull away. She holds fast.
“Remember our wedding vows, Jack? You told me that you didn’t fix me, I fixed you?” She is crying freely now. Jack simply nods, only glancing at her before looking away again. “I didn’t fix you, Jack. I can’t fix you. But maybe someday you’ll find someone who can.”
“What, fix me?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want someone to fix me, Sarah,” Jack states, pulling his hand away from hers and not caring that he hurts her to do so. “I want someone who doesn’t think I’m broken.”
Jack gets up and leaves then, not saying another word and not looking back. He knows she is watching him go, probably contemplating whether or not to go after him. She doesn’t.
That was the last time he saw her before the plane crash. Her things were already gone from the house, all their business settled. There was no need to see her ever again.
Except she had been there when he got back to L.A. from Fiji, when his thoughts were filled of nothing but Kate and the hope of finding her, seeing her, holding her in his arms once more. Instead Sarah had been waiting for him at the gate, standing alongside his mother. His mother had stood there and cried in relief at seeing him again, like she hadn’t really believed it to be true until she saw him with her own eyes. But Sarah had hugged him first, running across the airport and throwing herself in his arms.
He’d been too shocked at first to react and had let her do so, let her kiss his cheeks furiously as she spoke of her happiness and relief at finding out he was alive.
The first few weeks back in town she had persisted, perhaps having realized once he had “died” that she had made an egregious error in letting him go, or perhaps just swept up in the emotion of such a unique and stirring experience - having someone back from the dead. Either way, an endless stream of unreturned phone calls and his clear love for a stranger named Kate had sent Sarah a message she couldn’t ignore.
By the time he moved to Toronto, the calls had stopped.
But now, almost two years later, here he is face to face with Sarah’s memory once again.
“What are we doing here, Mom?”
“Don’t be silly, Jack, this is your favorite place. I thought you would enjoy it.”
“Thrilled,” Jack mutters, getting out of the car. He opens her door for her out of habit, though he has the urge to slam it on her head a few times as she steps elegantly from the vehicle, a coy smile on her demurely colored lips. His grip tightens on the upper edge of the door and he grits his teeth, staring at the fine black shine of the car while his mother saunters toward the entrance.
“Jack, hurry along, dear. We’re already late.”
“I’ll be right in,” Jack snaps, too distraught to care. Margo purses her lips but doesn’t respond, turning on her expensive heel and walking inside.
“Am I missing something, Doc?” Sawyer asks, setting his hands over Jack’s on the door frame.
“I’m going to kill her.”
“Nothin’ like matricide to brighten up a vacation,” Sawyer replies.
“Let’s just get this over with.”
His mother has already been seated when he and Sawyer enter the restaurant. The maitre’d escorts them to their table and on the winding and slow approach through the large room, Jack’s worst fears are confirmed.
Sarah rises from her seat when she spots Jack, trepidation and anticipation present on her face. Jack stops in front of her and his mother, staring in disbelief.
“Sarah.”
“Jack.”
“Isn’t this a nice surprise, Jack? Sarah was in the area for a conference this week - isn’t it so strange how these things work out? I thought it would be nice for you two have a chance to catch up.”
“Mother…”
“I think I’m going to have a drink before dinner. Sawyer, why don’t you accompany me over to the bar.”
“We can order drinks at the table.” Jack says curtly, pointing to the chair his mother had vacated, wanting her to sit back down. She ignores him.
“Let’s give them a moment alone, Sawyer,” She sets her hand on Sawyer’s arm and guides him away; he’s too confused to protest. Jack closes his eyes and lets out a long breath, wishing he was anywhere but here. When he opens them, Sarah is still standing there in front of him, holding out a small wrapped package.
“Here…” she says gently. “I got you a little something. For your birthday.”
“My birthday is on Sunday.”
“I know that. But I thought you might like it now.”
“I’d really rather not, Sarah,” Jack pushes her outstretched hand back toward her.
“Jack…”
“Please.” The word comes out so strong that Sarah relents, tucking the gift back into her purse.
“Should we sit?”
“What did my mother tell you, Sarah? Why are you here?” Jack asks, not moving to sit down.
“Jack, please sit…” Sarah gestures to the seat next to her. Jack takes the one across the table instead. Sarah frowns. “Your mother said that you were going to be in town for a few days and that things had…changed for you.”
”So she explained it all to you?”
“She said Kate was gone. She said the engagement was off. That’d it had been months since and that maybe you were…looking again. She implied that you might want to see me.”
“She implied wrong,” Jack states simply. Sarah is injured by this and Jack knows he sounded harsher than he perhaps should’ve. It’s not her fault that his mother dragged her back into this, lied to her about the reality of the situation. “It’s not about you, Sarah, it’s just…I’m not looking. I’m with someone.”
“Oh.” The rejection is so simple and straightforward that Sarah can’t hide the look of disappointment on her face.
“I don’t know why my mother told you that, Sarah, and I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. I shouldn’t have assumed…I mean, you made it clear a long time ago that you and I had no second chance.”
”Actually, you made that clear, Sarah. Back when you left.”
“Jack…”
“I don’t want to argue,” Jack says quickly.
“Me either.” Sarah agrees. “It is good to see you, Jack. You look good.”
“Thanks. You do too.” Jack plays with the edge of the tablecloth, offering her a shy uneasy smile. It’s strange now, so weird; the thought of spending the rest of his life with this woman seems crazy now, so irrational that he wonders what he was ever thinking. Not that there is something wrong with her; she’s just so very clearly wrong for him. “Um…so what are you doing in L.A.? Last thing I heard you had went to Denver.”
“Yeah…I’ve been there for a year now. It’s nice, I like it.” Sarah pauses. The small talk isn’t even coming naturally between them. “How’s Toronto?”
“It’s great,” Jack smiles.
“This woman you’re seeing…she lives there too?”
Jack hesitates, running through all the different scenarios in his head of how this could go.
“Well actually, Sarah…Sawyer and I live together.”
“Excuse me?” Sarah doesn’t follow.
“Sawyer.” Jack gestures toward the bar where Sawyer is standing with his mother, though they can’t really see them that well. Sarah nods, not getting the big picture.
“You’re roommates?” Sarah inquires, not getting what this has to do with his love life at all.
“He and I are together.”
“Together.” Sarah repeats. “Like…together together?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There’s not really anything to understand…”
“So you’re…I mean…you’re what? You date guys now?”
“I don’t date anyone,” Jack replies. “I’m in love with him, Sarah.”
“What?”
From over at the bar, Sawyer tries to see what’s going on over at Sarah and Jack’s table, but he can only catch glimpses when he manages to lean over enough to see around a large post that is in the way. They seem to be talking quietly; Sarah looks displeased and he can’t see Jack’s face at all.
“I’ve checked up on you, you know,” Margo studies him carefully before taking a sip of her martini. Sawyer looks at her, drawing his attention away from Jack for a moment.
“Excuse me?”
“I know all about you. Where you were born, what happened to your parents, every foster home you lived in, every city and town you’ve passed through in the last 37 years, James Ford. You think I’d let you anywhere near my son without knowing every single thing about you?”
“You don’t know everything, I can guarantee you that,” Sawyer replies.
“I know enough to know you’re nowhere near good enough for Jack.”
“Honey, in your estimation, ain’t no one good enough for Jack. And Jack ain’t even good enough for you. So maybe your standards need a bit of adjustin’.”
“Do you think I haven’t been back talked before, James?” Margo inquires, amused. “If you’re attempting to get a rise out of me, I suggest you simply stop now. I’m sure Jack has told you all about his father. Lord knows I loved that man but he could have an attitude every bit as much as harsh as yours. This isn’t anything new, darling, I assure you.”
“Yeah, Jack’s told me all about his father. Told me how you blamed him for him dyin’. Told me how once he got back after the plane crash, you waited a whole god damn week before diggin’ into him about it. How you got him back but that his father could never come back, and how it was all his fault. So forgive me if I don’t hold much stock in what you think because I’ve pretty much decided that you’re crazy already.”
“I want you to leave him alone. He’s clearly confused and I’m not about to have you take advantage, and wring him for all he’s worth. Jack’s heart has always been stronger than his common sense. He can’t even see a con like you when you’re right in front of him.”
Sawyer glares at her but doesn’t respond.
“So, Sawyer…what will it take?”
Sawyer smirks at her, reaches out, and takes her martini right out of hand. He downs it in one gulp and hands it back to her.
“You know, I promised Jack that I would try to behave, but seeing as how I’m already misbehavin’…might as well go whole hog.” Sawyer rises from the bar stool. “You can’t give me nothin’ that I haven’t already got. If you think offerin’ me money or some shit like that, like you’re in some bad movie, is going to get me out of Jack’s life…well, let’s just say that it makes it strikingly obvious that Jack got his brains from his daddy.”
“You insolent little-“
“Ah ah ah, Margo,” Sawyer cuts her off. “It isn’t classy to curse.”
He walks away then, leaving Margo sputtering and holding her empty glass. He approaches Jack’s table with purpose in his step. He sits down between Jack and Sarah without a word and interrupts Jack mid-sentence, leaning forward in his chair and kissing Jack fiercely, waging a war of action against Margo’s distasteful words.
He cups Jack’s face with his hands, cradling his head and angling it toward his, but there is an ulterior motive for this action. Jack is distracted enough not to notice Sawyer slowly curling all fingers but one downward into his palm, displaying his middle finger for Margo’s appreciation. He pulls away from Jack when he’s sure he’s made his point.
“Sawyer-?”
“Hate to tell you, Doc, but I broke my promise.”
“Excuse me?”
Sawyer looks at Sarah, as if noticing her for the first time, though he’s been inherently aware of her presence since the second they entered the restaurant, and extends his hand.
“Hi. I’m Sawyer, by the way.”
“Sarah…” she says quietly, shocked.
“Pleasure.” He turns back to Jack. “So I misbehaved. A little. A lot.”
“A lot?”
“Basically told your mother to go fuck herself.”
“What?”
Sawyer doesn’t explain; he doesn’t need to, because Margo is there by their side in the next split second.
“Jack, I need to speak with you. Now.” She yanks him upward by the arm like he’s a small child. “Over here.”
Sawyer makes a move to follow but Jack whispers for him to stay.
So he remains seated next to Sarah as Margo leads Jack out of sight, surely about to give him an earful. He turns to Sarah awkwardly, placing both his hands flat on the white linen tablecloth and frowning.
“So…Sawyer.”
”Sarah.”
“I have to tell you…when I came here today, this was the last thing I expected,” Sarah tells him, reaching out and picking up her glass of ice water. She takes a short sip but doesn’t set it back down, focusing absently on the ice clinking in the glass.
“What were you expecting?”
“I don’t know. Not this.”
“What is this exactly?”
“You. And Jack. I can’t believe it.”
“Sometimes I can’t either, sister,” Sawyer responds honestly.
“I thought I’d come here, that I’d see Jack, and he’d see me…I thought with this being our restaurant, and it being his birthday, and…Oh, I don’t know.” Sarah’s words are a small revelation for Sawyer, finally realizing why Jack had been so upset outside, and disturbed by the fact he didn’t know it was Jack’s birthday. He doesn’t let on that either statement bothers him, knowing enough not to show weakness. “I didn’t expect him to tell me he’s gay.”
“That’s the problem with you rich people,” Sawyer states, taking a sip from another water glass on the table. His mouth is still full of the taste of Margo’s terrible martini. “You’re all too hung up on labels.”
“Fine, labels aside, Sawyer…I was still surprised.”
“As I expect you would be.”
“I can’t believe that this is real. I keep thinking this has to be a joke.”
“It’s no joke.”
“You really love him?”
“Don’t see how it’s any of your business, but yeah, I do.”
“You think you’re going to be enough for him?”
“Excuse me?”
“I couldn’t be. I wasn’t enough. I mean…he fixed me…and I thought that meant…”
“Yeah, he fixed you all right. Fixed it so you could walk, and you certainly had no problem walking after that, did you? Walked right on outta there.”
“It didn’t matter, Sawyer. He needs problems to solve, he needs to have something to make better…you can’t win.”
Sawyer stands up, knowing now, very clearly, why this woman could never have stayed with Jack. She doesn’t understand him at all.
“Then all you gotta do is stop tryin’ to win’.” Sawyer replies simply. “If ya’ll excuse me…I think it’s time for Jack and I to be headin’ home.”
Sawyer crosses the room and stops beside Jack, hearing the tail end of Jack’s sentence, hearing him telling Margo that she has no right to tell him how to live his life. It’s enough; he knows Jack is ready to do what he should have done years ago.
Walk away.
“Come on, Jack.” Sawyer interrupts, putting his hand on his forearm. “Let’s go.”
Jack takes a long hard look at his mother, who is furious but speechless, and follows Sawyer right out of the restaurant, out to a cab. No second thoughts.
This life, this screwed up past, that’s all it is now. A past.
And what they have is the future.
It’s all they need.
*******
Sawyer rolls down the passenger side window and extends his hand, gladly taking the cup of coffee that Jack is offering.
“Thanks, Doc,” he says after Jack gets into the driver’s seat, taking a sip of his own large coffee before setting it down in the center cup holder. He turns the car’s headlights back on, ready to head out yet again, but waits for a moment for Sawyer to get his own drink situated. “Lord, that’s strong.”
“I asked them to make a fresh pot,” Jack informs him. “We’re gonna need it if we’re gonna make any headway tonight.”
“You want me to drive for awhile?” Sawyer offers. Jack shakes his head no.
“I got it.” He looks around the empty rest stop parking lot and pulls out, heading back onto the highway.
“We could always pull off and get a hotel, you know. I’m in no rush to get back.”
“You know I have to get back to the hospital, Sawyer. I already took another two days off…we’re supposed to be back in Toronto by tomorrow night.”
“And we’re two thirds of the way there…it’s not gonna be a problem,” Sawyer assures him.
“Sawyer…”
“Okay, fine…just a suggestion,” Sawyer lets it go, knowing Jack is starting to get cranky. When Sawyer had suggested that they drive back across country and up to Toronto instead of flying, Jack had agreed willingly. They had already cut their time in L.A. abruptly short and would need to change their flight anyway to get home. So they simply refunded the tickets, rented a car right there at LAX, bought a map, and took off. They’re somewhere in southern Illinois now, passing through a sparsely populated area where it seems fields and stars far outnumber the people.
They drink their coffee in silence, not even the radio on to break the quiet. Sawyer doesn’t feel the need to talk, to force conversation. The silence is comfortable; Jack concentrates on the road and Sawyer watches the landscape roll by in the darkness.
Twenty minutes pass before Sawyer feels the need to speak again, and his words are born of necessity.
“Gotta take a leak, Doc,” Sawyer says. “Can you pull over?”
“We were just at a rest stop, Sawyer.”
”Yeah, where we got coffee. Now I gotta piss. See how that works?”
“Fine,” Jack grumbles, putting his signal on before pulling over to the side of the road, even though there’s no other drivers around, no other cars to be seen in either direction. When he stops, Sawyer steps out of the vehicle without another word. Jack is acting like an overtired parent trying to handle a rambunctious child, reluctantly restructuring his plans time and time again because Sawyer won’t follow along.
Nonetheless, as Sawyer tromps out of sight into the field, Jack gets out of the car and waits, wanting to make sure that Sawyer’s all right in the dark. He kicks at the gravel with his toe, sending pieces skittering across the broken pavement. He’s tired…exhausted, really. The idea of finding a hotel doesn’t really seem so unappealing, but he knows that he has responsibilities waiting for him when he gets back home. He’s already pushing his luck by taking off more vacation time without warning. Juggling surgeries around, finding different doctors to fill in…he’s going to get an earful the second he walks through the hospital doors.
But Sawyer had wanted to forget reality for awhile, and after what had happened in L.A., Jack couldn’t blame him. He felt like escaping for awhile too.
He knows that there will be phone messages waiting for him at home as well, angry words from his mother about how she was treated and how appalled she is at the person Jack has become. He’s already decided to erase them without listening, not needing to hear what she has to say anymore. He’d had his fill of her comments when he’d been with Kate, her not-so-subtle digs at his life choices, but she had been relatively lax then, still slightly less critical because she felt lucky to even have him back alive.
When she had found out about Sawyer, all bets were off.
He knows Sawyer had been right, when he said that he let his parents treat him like a puppet. And he knows Sawyer would still love him even if he kept dangling from their every word like he had his whole life, that Sawyer had made no ultimatum. Jack had done that on his own, in one split second, and had made his choice right then and there, in that restaurant.
Jack is so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t realize Sawyer is back until the other man is standing at the end of the car, popping the trunk and pulling out the safety blanket and their coats.
“Come on.”
”Sawyer, what are you doing?”
“Follow me.”
”Sawyer, I’m not going to-“
“Doc, just trust me. Come on.”
Sawyer doesn’t wait for Jack, just heads off back into the field. Jack waits for a minute, wondering if Sawyer will give up and just come back if Jack doesn’t follow, but it becomes apparent that Sawyer’s not about to turn around so Jack heads off after him.
“What are we doing out here?” Jack asks him when he catches up, watching as Sawyer lays the blanket down on the ground. He hands Jack his coat and then puts on his own.
“Lay down.”
“What?”
“Like this, Doc, it’s real easy,” Sawyer replies, demonstrating. He sprawls out on his back on the blanket and pats the spot next to him.
“You’re crazy.”
“So’re you. Get down here.”
Jack relents, slowly laying down next to Sawyer on the ground. What he sees when he looks up is a near picture perfect blanket of stars, sparkling and clear against the blue-black night sky.
“God…” he whispers.
“Shit like that takes your breath away, don’t it?”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Decided you needed to take a break and ‘preciate it.” Sawyer murmurs, throwing a sideways look at Jack. Jack sighs and sits up and Sawyer sighs too, seeing the weight of the world on Jack’s broad shoulders. “Why didn’t you tell me it was your birthday tomorrow?”
“What?” Jack is confused.
“At the restaurant. Sarah said it was your birthday. I checked your license. It’s tomorrow. Why didn’t you say anything?”
”I never liked birthdays…”
“It just seems like something I should know.”
“I don’t know when yours is either.”
“You should know that too. July 11th.” Jack nods and Sawyer looks away, shifting on the blanket. “I hate soundin’ all girly, Doc, and lord knows I fuckin’ hate this insecure bullshit, but, are you havin’ second thoughts ‘bout all this?”
“No, Sawyer, I’m not.” Jack looks at him, straight in the eye.
“It’s okay if you are.”
Jack looks away, sighing again. He’s quiet for a moment, formulating what it is exactly that he wants to say.
“Why did you decide to come, Sawyer? To L.A.?”
“Why? Because I wanted to.”
”You did not want to. No one in their right mind would want to. So why did you change your mind?”
“I don’t get where you’re going with this, Jack.”
”Did you think she’d succeed, Sawyer? Did you think that she would get me to break up with you?” Jack inquires seriously. “Did you just come because you were afraid I wouldn’t be back?”
“No.”
“Do you really have that little faith in me?”
“Lookit, Jack…it weren’t about that.”
“Then what was it about?”
“I dunno. I just…”
“You just what?”
“Are you pissed at me for comin’ or something? Where is this coming from?” Sawyer asks, diverting the attention back to Jack, wondering why Jack is bringing this up now.
“Just answer my question, Sawyer.”
“It wasn’t…”Sawyer starts, then stops, knowing what he was going to say would only lead to more problems. There has to be another, better way to say it. “It wasn’t about you…exactly. I guess I’ve never really got why you’re with a guy like me, is all. I keep waiting for the day you wake up and realize this all ain’t worth shit and you made a mistake that day when Kate left.”
“You really think that, Sawyer?”
”And I guess I thought that your mother might be able to wake you up to that fact, especially if I weren’t there.”
“So you really think that.” Jack shakes his head sadly, frustrated and hurt. Sawyer rubs his temples, knowing he’s digging himself a hole that he might not be able to climb out of. This is what happens when he opens up; he says too much, not knowing when to shut the hell up. Not enough practice.
“Maybe I do.”
“God, Sawyer…”
“Look, you gotta understand…I never…” Sawyer sighs. “You ‘member when you were sick on the island? When we thought you weren’t gonna make it?” Jack nods. “I was terrified. I didn’t know what I’d do if you…and I didn’t even have you then. You were hers. But I never cared about someone so much Jack…never cared if they left me or not.”
“I’m not going to leave you, Sawyer.”
“After everythin’…all this shit we been though…I made up my mind that I was always gonna fight for you, cause I got damn sick of runnin’ all the time.” Sawyer continues. He doesn’t look at Jack as he speaks, uncomfortable with being this emotional. “I wanted to stay. And stayin’ meant goin’ with you to L.A.. That’s all there was to it.”
“You have your lighter with you?” Jack’s question is out of left field and Sawyer has to process it before he even realizes the abrupt change in direction.
“What? Yeah, I got my lighter. Why?”
“Give it to me.”
”Jack.”
”Just hand it over, Sawyer.” Jack holds out his hand impatiently. Sawyer digs the red lighter from his back pocket and slaps it into Jack’s hand, shooting him a confused look. Jack’s eyes seem dark and determined in the darkness, the bright moonlight glinting and sparking within them. Sawyer opens his mouth to speak but is stopped by Jack digging something from his own back pocket, something all too familiar.
“You kept that?”
“I did.”
“Why in the world would you…?”
“Because I had to. Because I needed to. Because it’s my only key to understanding why you are the way you are, why you insist on punishing yourself, doubting anything that makes you happy.” Jack holds the crumpled envelope in his hands.
“Jack…”
“Three days ago I burned my bridges, Sawyer. Buried my past. What are you going to do?”
Jack offers the letter to him with one hand, the lighter in the other, and waits. Sawyer stares at him, hearing his words but not able to wrap his mind fully around them, still stunned by their meaning.
“Stop fighting with who you were. Stop fighting with yourself. Stop fighting for me. Just be with me. I’m not asking you for anything else, Sawyer.”
Sawyer’s gaze doesn’t leave Jack’s face as he instinctively finds both the letter and the lighter in his grasp, peeling them out of Jack’s fingers before slowly turning away. He holds out the letter in front of them, over the grass, and watches as the dancing flame creeps it’s way up the length of the letter, paper curling and burning black before breaking and falling in ashes to the ground.
They’re both completely silent until Sawyer drops the last piece from his fingers and lets the lighter go out. Wordlessly he puts the lighter away and glances up toward the night sky before turning his attentions back to Jack.
“What ya said was damn near romantic, Jackass,” Sawyer mutters. “You best look into getting a job at Hallmark.”
“Oh jesus christ,” Jack mumbles, exasperated, and makes a move to get up. Sawyer grabs his arm and pulls him back down, pressing his lips against Jack’s to silence his words.
“It’s done, Jack. All that…it’s done. Just you and me, now.”
“You sure, Sawyer?”
“I’m sure. Damn sure.”
When their bodies meet again in the dark stillness of the night, they do not grasp one another frantically, they’re not tearing off clothes in a heated frenzy, and they’re not whispering lust-filled curses into each other’s ears. Instead Sawyer takes his time to rid Jack of every last article of clothing, taking the time to revel in every last inch of his skin as it is revealed to him in the moonlight before he lets Jack’s hands move to undress him in return.
He hasn’t taken his time with Jack in a long while. Not since the night that Kate had left, when they had made love in his bed all night, languidly and reverently, have they both been so exposed, so unabashedly emotional in this physical exchange.
The air of the night is cold, chilling against their naked skin, but they only feel warm. Not explosively hot, a ball of fire that envelops them all at once and then burns out, but more like that flame that had slowly consumed that fragile piece of paper and turned it to ash. It moves over them now, flushing their skin and stirring the blood in their veins, causing them to groan and whimper at only their first tentative kisses, before their bodies even connect.
Sawyer explores Jack’s mouth with each slide of his tongue, tasting every inch of Jack that he is now sure is his, knowing that this kiss is the only kiss Jack will know for the rest of his life. No other will ever get to press their lips against his, feel the sensation of Jack’s tongue tangling with theirs, know what it’s like when Jack cradles their face with his strong hands and guides them deeper, wanting more.
With each kiss he possesses him, marks him as his own, but knows that it is not ownership. He doesn’t own Jack anymore than Jack owns him, yet they both belong to each other. It is a willing partnership, one that both have entered into only after setting aside all their reservations and insecurities. Sawyer would like to think that there will never be another moment when he doubts this, when he wonders why Jack is with him, but he isn’t a fool. There will be times, many times, he’s sure, when he will be paralyzed with fear that he will wake up and Jack will be gone.
But he’s sure that Jack will allay his fears, just like Sawyer will reassure him when Jack’s own anxieties rear their ugly heads. Because no one is perfect, and no one is safe from fear. There just needs to be trust, the trust that love will destroy fear at every turn.
When Sawyer feels Jack underneath him, his body against his, he has nothing but confidence that they’ll both have the courage to see this through. When he feels Jack’s gasp move through his chest, hears that breathless whisper pass from his freshly kissed lips and into the empty night air, Sawyer knows there will never be anyone else. It will always be Jack.
Jack moves his hands firmly but gently over Sawyer’s bare skin, taking his time to explore him, relearning the body that he hadn’t even realized had been so long without his real touch. There’s nothing fast about this encounter, no hastily shoved down jeans and harsh, fierce movements. It’s not about excitement, about risk, about getting one another off as quickly as they can. In short, it’s not about sex.
Jack doesn’t even think that what they’re doing qualifies as sex except in a technical manner of speaking. Here in the middle of this field, in the middle of Illinois, Jack could easily believe that they are the only two people in the world, lost to everyone but themselves. The world doesn’t exist beyond the periphery of their blanket, beyond the sensation of Sawyer’s kiss and the feel of Sawyer’s hands.
When Sawyer enters him, he enters him when they’re face to face, looking one another in the eyes directly like they haven’t been able to in a long time. What he sees in Sawyer’s face is no longer fear or panic, not even lustful desire, but a softness that Jack knows must be echoed in his own gaze, because he feels it down to his very soul.
The slide of their bodies is slow and rhythmic, ardently purposeful, feverishly deliberate. He feels Sawyer within him in a way that he’s never felt before, like he’s intimately connected to every single thing that Sawyer is feeling, everything he wants, everything he needs.
They kiss deeply when they both come together, whispering one another’s names lovingly against each other’s lips, soft and reverent like holy prayers to gods neither one believes in. They remain like that for what seems like hours, kissing one another, refusing to break apart, so safe and secure in each other’s arms that they don’t want it to end.
“Hey, Jack?” Sawyer asks softly, caressing his face as he draws back slightly.
“Hmmm?”
“It’s gotta be after midnight now.”
“Yeah?”
“It’s tomorrow. Happy birthday, Doc.” He draws Jack close again, knowing that this tomorrow is only the beginning of a series of tomorrows, and that they’ll be there to see every single one together.
They slide into easy, peaceful sleep to the sounds of nature all around them, thinking that perhaps this, the two of them, is the most natural thing of all.
*******
Jack drops his bag to the hardwood floor with a groan, never so happy to be back inside his own home.
“Thank god,” he mumbles. The house is quiet, undisturbed. Shutting the door and leaving his bag where it landed, Jack slowly walks toward the kitchen, loosening his tie and yawning.
He stops just inside the room, seeing a note laying for him on the kitchen table.
Jack picks it up, glancing around the empty room, knowing already what it must say. The silence of the house is enough.
“I know why it has to be this way. And I understand. I love you…Kate.” Jack reads aloud softly, his voice breaking. Sawyer goes to the back door and looks out the window, as if expecting to still be able to see Kate running away, but she’s long gone. He wonders how long ago she left, how long Jack had been sitting on that porch outside, fearing to go inside, when maybe the house had already been abandoned. “She’s gone.”
Jack sounds hurt, sad. Sawyer watches as he sets the note gently back down on the table, clearly in shock. He doesn’t know what to say. Everything that comes to mind seems horribly wrong.
“You gonna go after her?” He finally asks. He looks at Jack but Jack is still staring at the handwritten farewell laying on the kitchen table, so short, the scrawl so tiny, but the meaning of it looming large, filling the space entirely. Jack rubs his fingers over the edges of his mouth like he does when he’s agitated, his lips settling into a deep frown.
The time between when Sawyer puts forth the question and when Jack answers it is agony. He can see Jack thinking, contemplating the next move to make, deciding which emotion he’s going to let take over. The answer, when it comes, is quiet but meaningful.
“No.” It’s just a whisper, as if it’s more of a personal revelation than a shared comment. Then Jack looks at Sawyer, looks him directly in the eye, and repeats it, stronger this time. “No.”
“No?”
Jack picks up the note again, folds it in half, then folds it in quarters. Sawyer thinks he’s going to keep it, put it away as another painful memory, but Jack crosses the room to the garbage can and lifts the lid, dropping it inside.
“I’m finished waiting for her, Sawyer. She’s never going to stop running and even if I wanted to, I couldn’t keep up.” He walks to Sawyer, standing close but not touching, his eyes scanning Sawyer’s face for some kind of reaction. Sawyer manages to remain stoic, not wanting to let the emotion through and then discover too late that it was too early to hope. “I don’t want to keep up, Sawyer. She’s right. This is how it has to be. This is how it’s supposed to be.”
”You really mean that?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” Jack replies. “I’m not chasing after her. I’m standing here with you. I made my choice, and she must have seen that.”
“But this doesn’t bother you? Not even getting to say good-bye? Kate slinking off through the back door and not even havin’ the decency to face up to you?” Sawyer really doesn’t believe that this could be so simple, that Jack is taking this so well.
“Kate’s never been good at good-byes,” Jack says quietly. “And no, I don’t like it, but if this is the way it has to be, this is the way it has to be. I can’t change it.”
“You’re being remarkably calm about this, Doc.”
“I’m worn out, Sawyer. All I want is for this day to be over, to wake up tomorrow and know that things are going to be better.” Jack caresses the side of Sawyer’s face and Sawyer leans into it, closing his eyes. His stone face finally breaks, relaxing into Jack’s touch. “Let’s just go upstairs, all right?”
Sawyer nods gently and covers Jack’s hand with his own, twining his fingers with his as they bring their hands down between them. He lets Jack lead him upstairs and falls into bed by his side, happy in the knowledge that once again there are only two people in this house, the two of them, and that is how it should be.
Jack pushes open his bedroom door, note in hand, and holds it up with a smirk.
“’Get your ass upstairs’, huh?” He asks Sawyer, who is sitting up on his side of their new bed, propped up against the headboard, a discarded book laying in his lap and his glasses still on, though he’s no longer reading. He’s staring intently at the television that he had bought for the bedroom, engrossed in something Jack doesn’t recognize. He crumples the note and tosses it at Sawyer, who swats it away. “You know I don’t take kindly to orders, Sawyer.”
“Oh just quit your whinin’ and get over here. I got you food,” Sawyer lifts up one of the Chinese food containers that are scattered about precariously on the bed, which is also littered with paper plates, napkins and chopsticks. Jack smiles and shrugs off his suit coat, throwing it onto the chair, and then tugs off his tie, sending it to join his jacket.
He sits down carefully next to Sawyer, trying not to jostle the bed too much, not wanting to knock over Sawyer’s impromptu bedroom picnic.
“What’d you get?” He asks, opening up the nearest container, curious.
“The usual.”
“Did you get any of that sauce, that-“
“Could you shut the hell up? I’m tryin’ to watch this.”
“What is this?” Jack laughs, finally looking at the screen and realizing that Sawyer appears to be watching a soap opera, the Soap Net logo displayed prominently in the bottom right hand corner.
“Just be quiet for a sec, somethin’ important is goin’ down.”
“I think you’ve officially lost your mind, Sawyer.” Jack laughs. He settles back against the bed frame and picks up a pair of chopsticks, digging in to a container of lo mein.
“Hey, don’t knock it. It’s the only god damn thing on this time of the night,” Sawyer replies, elbowing Jack in the ribs and nearly knocking over a box of fried rice in the process. “Not much to do when I’m waiting for you to get your ass home.”
“Watch it,” Jack warns him, picking up the container and setting it over on the night stand. He moves some other containers to a new location as well, adjusting it so he can at least put his feet up on the bed.
“You know, this show actually ain’t half bad. Kinda rather like it.”
“You’re serious?”
“You want me to fill you in? See, the chick on the right, with the long brown hair?”
“Hmmm?” Jack responds, fairly disinterested, his eyes already drifting closed. Sawyer pays him no mind.
”The guy she’s talkin’ to, that’s her husband. Except the chick who’s just comin’ in, I think she’s the husband’s ex.”
”Uh-huh…”
“And apparently they had some kid or somethin’ together and now the kid’s run away so the woman’s tryin’ to find her. Thought that she might have gone to find her daddy or whatever. I don’t know. I still dunno any of these people’s names. But the ex is really god damn annoying, I wish they’d kill her off.“
Sawyer stops to take a look at Jack and realizes that he’s falling asleep already, his head back against the headboard, the Chinese container still in hand. Sawyer sighs and reaches over, taking it from him and setting it aside, then shakes his head.
“Tryin’ to tell you a god damn story and you’re fallin’ asleep.”
“Mmm…sorry…” Jack mumbles, turning on his side and slipping down to his pillow, too tired to care.
“Whatever.” Sawyer says, pretending to be pissed off even though he completely understands. He clears the rest of the bed off and lays down next to Jack, turning off the TV and the light on his nightstand before fitting himself against Jack’s body. “Bought all this fuckin’ food and you don’t even eat it,” he mutters, nonetheless letting Jack wrap his arms around him and pull him closer.
“Love you, Sawyer,” Jack murmurs sleepily against his shoulder. Sawyer covers Jack’s hands with his and settles against his pillow, laughing lightly.
“Fuckin’ love you too, Jackass.”
END
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