Lost fic: 100 [Jack, Sawyer, PG]
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine.
Summary: The last night. Jack, Sawyer. 420 words.
Notes: This is the 100th story for my fanfic100 claim on Sawyer.
100
by eponine119
April 6, 2008
The house has a breakfast bar with two stools, and they sit there like it's a real bar, each of them with a bottle. Sawyer's done away with the pretense of drinking by the glass, and his eyes have gone bleary to show for it. Jack drinks slowly, tasting it, making it last.
"We've been here for a hundred days."
"Jus' like you to keep count." Sawyer's words slur slightly more than usual, the soft cadence of his accent running through them like a river of whiskey. He holds up his bottle and Jack clinks it with his glass, which is printed with oranges on the side, meant for juice. "Happy new year."
"They judge the president by his first hundred days in office," Jack says. "How'm I doing?"
"We're goin' home. Rescued," Sawyer says. "Can't do a better job than that."
"But you don't want to go." Jack doesn't understand. Will never understand, until more days have passed and he is at home where he should be safe and warm but instead he's wasted and wanting to return and then he'll know, know how Sawyer feels right now.
And Sawyer doesn't reply, because there's nothing he's willing to say, aloud, to Jack, about that.
"Then I guess this is goodbye," Jack says, as if he doesn't know that's why they're drinking here like this tonight. And they sound like words that should be accompanied by a kiss.
"Stay til morning," Sawyer says, and reaches out with his big rough hand to touch Jack's face, a fleeting, momentary burn and then it's gone again. "Stay til they come. I don't want to be alone tonight." He knows he'll be plenty alone when they're gone. Alone and safe where he can't hurt anyone anymore, anyone except himself.
"I'm here," Jack says, though he can see the light fading in Sawyer's eyes as his head grows heavier, approaching the counter in drooping centimeters. He tries to think of the right thing to say. To convince him, to release him. Like Sawyer said, before he left on the raft, thinking he was going to be the hero of the story (for Jack hasn't realized Sawyer never intended to return from that journey).
"Don't say goodbye." Sawyer warns, even though he's already said it.
"Okay," Jack says, and then Sawyer sprawls his folded arms across the countertop and rests his head on them, hair fallen forward to leave the soft, vulnerable skin of his neck exposed. Jack puts his hand there, feeling the heat rising. He says "Goodnight," and he doesn't say goodbye.
end
Summary: The last night. Jack, Sawyer. 420 words.
Notes: This is the 100th story for my fanfic100 claim on Sawyer.
100
by eponine119
April 6, 2008
The house has a breakfast bar with two stools, and they sit there like it's a real bar, each of them with a bottle. Sawyer's done away with the pretense of drinking by the glass, and his eyes have gone bleary to show for it. Jack drinks slowly, tasting it, making it last.
"We've been here for a hundred days."
"Jus' like you to keep count." Sawyer's words slur slightly more than usual, the soft cadence of his accent running through them like a river of whiskey. He holds up his bottle and Jack clinks it with his glass, which is printed with oranges on the side, meant for juice. "Happy new year."
"They judge the president by his first hundred days in office," Jack says. "How'm I doing?"
"We're goin' home. Rescued," Sawyer says. "Can't do a better job than that."
"But you don't want to go." Jack doesn't understand. Will never understand, until more days have passed and he is at home where he should be safe and warm but instead he's wasted and wanting to return and then he'll know, know how Sawyer feels right now.
And Sawyer doesn't reply, because there's nothing he's willing to say, aloud, to Jack, about that.
"Then I guess this is goodbye," Jack says, as if he doesn't know that's why they're drinking here like this tonight. And they sound like words that should be accompanied by a kiss.
"Stay til morning," Sawyer says, and reaches out with his big rough hand to touch Jack's face, a fleeting, momentary burn and then it's gone again. "Stay til they come. I don't want to be alone tonight." He knows he'll be plenty alone when they're gone. Alone and safe where he can't hurt anyone anymore, anyone except himself.
"I'm here," Jack says, though he can see the light fading in Sawyer's eyes as his head grows heavier, approaching the counter in drooping centimeters. He tries to think of the right thing to say. To convince him, to release him. Like Sawyer said, before he left on the raft, thinking he was going to be the hero of the story (for Jack hasn't realized Sawyer never intended to return from that journey).
"Don't say goodbye." Sawyer warns, even though he's already said it.
"Okay," Jack says, and then Sawyer sprawls his folded arms across the countertop and rests his head on them, hair fallen forward to leave the soft, vulnerable skin of his neck exposed. Jack puts his hand there, feeling the heat rising. He says "Goodnight," and he doesn't say goodbye.
end