Lost fic: Gold [Sawyer/Juliet, PG]
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine.
Notes: Using for fanfic100 #71, Broken. Spoilers: implied knowledge from season four.
Summary: and if your life was gold, how long would you think you'd stay livin'?
Gold
by eponine119
March 2, 2008
He went back to the beach with a white rag tied around his fingers. The tail of it rippled lightly in the breeze like a flag of surrender. But there was no one left to surrender to.
The beach was empty. The island was empty. Sawyer wasn't all alone; a few stragglers lingered. Locke, gone to commune with the eye of the island. A few other survivors who'd stayed, living in Othertown or in the jungle. He hadn't realized how few of them there were left. Hadn't realized he might be lonely here in the wild.
It took a moment for his eyes to pick out the lone figure on the beach. Sitting in the shade, her long blonde hair blowing in the wind, Juliet must have heard him coming and raised her eyes. "What happened to your hand?" she asked.
"Banged it," he said. An understatement, considering the way his fingers throbbed in time with his heart, the pain more blinding with every step he took.
"Want me to take a look?" she offered.
"I just came to get my stuff," he lied. He'd come looking for her, hoping for Jack.
"Right." She was on to him, he could tell, but she wasn't going to call his bluff.
Sawyer stomped over to his shelter, the best one on the beach. He expected it to have been raided, again. Like every time he left it on some grand island adventure. But his things were where he'd left them. Guess gettin' rescued took their minds off his stuff. He sat down hard and began digging through his treasures, one-handed. He held the airplane bottle of whiskey between his thighs and fought the top off, downing it in two burning swallows. It dulled the pain in his head, but that was all.
"Come on out here and let me take a look at your hand," Juliet said, standing at the entrance to his lair. Her voice was always so calm, so simple. It grated on him. He liked it.
He wiped his mouth off on the shoulder of his shirt and let the bottle fall into the sand. He sighed, then pushed up to his feet and emerged, out into the sunlight.
Juliet's touch was firm but gentle. Like her voice. She picked up his hand, two fingers pressing against the artery just below the surface, counting the beats. Sawyer watched her. With her head bowed, her hair brushed against his skin, pale gold against the darkness of dirt and tan. She began to unwind the rag he'd knotted. "How'd it happen?" she asked, raising her blue eyes to meet his.
"Fell." He'd put his hand out to catch himself, and somehow when he got up again, his ring finger and his pinky were pointing off in their own direction. It turned his stomach to look at them.
She nodded. No judgement. "This was a good idea." She let the wind take the rag. It skated into the sea. Juliet looked down at his hand. "Yep, I'd say they're broken."
"You think?" Sawyer snapped.
She nodded again. Her eyes held his. He felt the silk of her fingertips slip along the meaty side of his hand, up to where it went numb with pain. He thought she was checking out the break, until agony blinded him and he heard a pair of snaps, louder than his scream. When he opened his eyes, fury and adrenaline pouring through him, Juliet was still looking at him so calmly.
"You could have warned me!" he cried.
"You would have flinched." She looked at him for one moment longer. "The bones are set now. I'll find a splint and you can be on your way."
He watched her get up and brush the sand from the backside of her pants. "What makes you flinch?" he asked, annoyed by her calm.
She didn't answer, just returned with a tree branch, which she dropped and stepped on to snap it in half, just the length of his fingers. Then she methodically ripped a thin white t-shirt into strips to tie it with. "A few days and you'll be fine."
A few days, when usually a break took six weeks to heal. He'd seen enough to know she was right. "You're not gonna give me anything for the pain? Doc always --"
"Doc's not here," she interrupted quickly. The nickname sounded strange, coming from her mouth. She tied the last strip more tightly than it needed to be.
"Why'd you stay behind?" he asked her. Genuinely curious.
"They left me, James," she said, the words sharp and bitter. He felt a flutter of recognition. Kinship. She smiled her twisted smile. "I didn't fit into their plan." She was still holding his hand. "What about you?"
"I killed somebody," he replied. He knew they'd had some kind of file on him, on all of them, so he added, "On the island," and waited for her to flinch.
She didn't. "You don't trust yourself back there?" She sounded like she thought he was the biggest idiot in the world. Like she was going to laugh at him.
"My choice, Rapunzel."
Her eyebrow rose and he realized he'd slipped up with the nickname. But the laughter in her eyes disappeared, and she nodded, practical again. "The island isn't treating you very well, James."
"I go by Sawyer," he growled.
"And I go by Juliet," she replied.
He should have bared his teeth and snapped, "Nice to meet ya." He should have gotten up and stomped away. He should have done anything but slide his hand along the soft line of her jaw to grab a handful of her golden hair as he forced her into a kiss.
That was when she flinched.
She kissed him back, warming under his touch. But he couldn't put that momentary tension, that full body reaction to him, out of his head, and he let her go. Even her hair, which the sun caught and spun silk into gold.
He went back to his tent. It was his and familiar, unlike anything else on this island. He could feel her watching him, so he turned back to look at her before he went inside. He expected her to look away, caught, but she didn't. She just sat there, her thoughts hidden, with the sun shining on her hair.
End.
Notes: Using for fanfic100 #71, Broken. Spoilers: implied knowledge from season four.
Summary: and if your life was gold, how long would you think you'd stay livin'?
Gold
by eponine119
March 2, 2008
He went back to the beach with a white rag tied around his fingers. The tail of it rippled lightly in the breeze like a flag of surrender. But there was no one left to surrender to.
The beach was empty. The island was empty. Sawyer wasn't all alone; a few stragglers lingered. Locke, gone to commune with the eye of the island. A few other survivors who'd stayed, living in Othertown or in the jungle. He hadn't realized how few of them there were left. Hadn't realized he might be lonely here in the wild.
It took a moment for his eyes to pick out the lone figure on the beach. Sitting in the shade, her long blonde hair blowing in the wind, Juliet must have heard him coming and raised her eyes. "What happened to your hand?" she asked.
"Banged it," he said. An understatement, considering the way his fingers throbbed in time with his heart, the pain more blinding with every step he took.
"Want me to take a look?" she offered.
"I just came to get my stuff," he lied. He'd come looking for her, hoping for Jack.
"Right." She was on to him, he could tell, but she wasn't going to call his bluff.
Sawyer stomped over to his shelter, the best one on the beach. He expected it to have been raided, again. Like every time he left it on some grand island adventure. But his things were where he'd left them. Guess gettin' rescued took their minds off his stuff. He sat down hard and began digging through his treasures, one-handed. He held the airplane bottle of whiskey between his thighs and fought the top off, downing it in two burning swallows. It dulled the pain in his head, but that was all.
"Come on out here and let me take a look at your hand," Juliet said, standing at the entrance to his lair. Her voice was always so calm, so simple. It grated on him. He liked it.
He wiped his mouth off on the shoulder of his shirt and let the bottle fall into the sand. He sighed, then pushed up to his feet and emerged, out into the sunlight.
Juliet's touch was firm but gentle. Like her voice. She picked up his hand, two fingers pressing against the artery just below the surface, counting the beats. Sawyer watched her. With her head bowed, her hair brushed against his skin, pale gold against the darkness of dirt and tan. She began to unwind the rag he'd knotted. "How'd it happen?" she asked, raising her blue eyes to meet his.
"Fell." He'd put his hand out to catch himself, and somehow when he got up again, his ring finger and his pinky were pointing off in their own direction. It turned his stomach to look at them.
She nodded. No judgement. "This was a good idea." She let the wind take the rag. It skated into the sea. Juliet looked down at his hand. "Yep, I'd say they're broken."
"You think?" Sawyer snapped.
She nodded again. Her eyes held his. He felt the silk of her fingertips slip along the meaty side of his hand, up to where it went numb with pain. He thought she was checking out the break, until agony blinded him and he heard a pair of snaps, louder than his scream. When he opened his eyes, fury and adrenaline pouring through him, Juliet was still looking at him so calmly.
"You could have warned me!" he cried.
"You would have flinched." She looked at him for one moment longer. "The bones are set now. I'll find a splint and you can be on your way."
He watched her get up and brush the sand from the backside of her pants. "What makes you flinch?" he asked, annoyed by her calm.
She didn't answer, just returned with a tree branch, which she dropped and stepped on to snap it in half, just the length of his fingers. Then she methodically ripped a thin white t-shirt into strips to tie it with. "A few days and you'll be fine."
A few days, when usually a break took six weeks to heal. He'd seen enough to know she was right. "You're not gonna give me anything for the pain? Doc always --"
"Doc's not here," she interrupted quickly. The nickname sounded strange, coming from her mouth. She tied the last strip more tightly than it needed to be.
"Why'd you stay behind?" he asked her. Genuinely curious.
"They left me, James," she said, the words sharp and bitter. He felt a flutter of recognition. Kinship. She smiled her twisted smile. "I didn't fit into their plan." She was still holding his hand. "What about you?"
"I killed somebody," he replied. He knew they'd had some kind of file on him, on all of them, so he added, "On the island," and waited for her to flinch.
She didn't. "You don't trust yourself back there?" She sounded like she thought he was the biggest idiot in the world. Like she was going to laugh at him.
"My choice, Rapunzel."
Her eyebrow rose and he realized he'd slipped up with the nickname. But the laughter in her eyes disappeared, and she nodded, practical again. "The island isn't treating you very well, James."
"I go by Sawyer," he growled.
"And I go by Juliet," she replied.
He should have bared his teeth and snapped, "Nice to meet ya." He should have gotten up and stomped away. He should have done anything but slide his hand along the soft line of her jaw to grab a handful of her golden hair as he forced her into a kiss.
That was when she flinched.
She kissed him back, warming under his touch. But he couldn't put that momentary tension, that full body reaction to him, out of his head, and he let her go. Even her hair, which the sun caught and spun silk into gold.
He went back to his tent. It was his and familiar, unlike anything else on this island. He could feel her watching him, so he turned back to look at her before he went inside. He expected her to look away, caught, but she didn't. She just sat there, her thoughts hidden, with the sun shining on her hair.
End.