Fic: Forty Days, Lost, (Jack/Kate/Sawyer), rated R
crickets asked for Jack/Claire/Sawyer at the lostsquee Luau, with a preference for an "End of the world/dystopia" scenario. This is my take on it, I hope you like it honey!
Title: Forty Days
Characters: Jack/Claire/Sawyer
Word count: 1400 words, rated R
Summary: They have to get out.
Note: Used for Future: dystopia on au_bingo .
It's been two hours now and Sawyer should be back already. Jack hits the wall with his open hand, hard enough that it throbs afterwards. Damnit, he hates it when he doesn't know what is going on.
"Sit down, Jack," Claire says, calmly placing worn tarot cards in a diamond figure on the dirty linoleum. She doesn't even look up at him. "You're making me dizzy."
"What is taking him so long?" Jack asks, tempted to go see for himself. But he can't because that means leaving Claire alone and Sawyer would kill him if he got back and found out.
"He must have a good reason," Claire says.
With a sigh, Jack sits down on the ground, back to the wall, and he tries not to count the minutes.
***
When he comes back, Sawyer's been shot. Fortunately the bullet just grazed the shoulder, though it gouged the skin.
"The sons of bitches block all the exits to the West," he says while Claire makes sure the shallow wound is as clean as it can be. "They ask for papers systematically, and check their lists."
They expected as much, but it's still annoying.
"Can't we leave by another route?" Claire asks.
Sawyer flashes a sly smile.
"I'm on it, Goldilocks. If there's a way, I'll find it."
Claire caresses the side of Sawyer face and tucks dirty blond strands of hair behind his ear. Jack focuses on the bandage, as he finishes patching him up.
"I know," Claire says with certainty.
***
"It's my turn," Jack says, putting his hands on his hips.
He can't stay here playing bodyguard anymore, he needs to move. They need food and whatever they can find to drink before the long day ahead. Sawyer rolls his eyes.
"Fine, go. But you have to dash in and out of the store. Don't stop to help anyone," Sawyer says.
"What?"
"I know it's not how you're wired, but you'll have to look the other way if you see people who'd need a hand," Sawyer says. "One hour, tops, we can't wait more than that. Then we go."
Jack nods, checks his watch. The run should take less than forty minutes, he can do it.
"Be careful," Claire says, and to his surprise she gets on the tip of her toes to kiss him lightly on the lips. "We'll wait for you."
"Okay," Jack says, voice rough. He wants this - them - so much, even if it's not the way things are. Claire goes to sit between Sawyer's splayed legs and curls against him like it's the most comfortable place on Earth.
"No more than an hour," Sawyer reminds him as he closes his arms around Claire protectively.
He's sure he'll make it, but Jack knows Sawyer would wait anyway.
***
They've been walking for six hours straight in the no-man's-land that has been enforced past 8th Avenue. Or more exactly they've been walking briskly on too silent streets, then ducking and hiding from patrols before sprinting for another deserted alley to start all over again. They had to mostly move in circles not to get caught, but it's clear Sawyer knows exactly where he's going, or he fakes it good enough. Jack's tired and Claire can barely stand up by herself anymore, though she plows on with her mouth in a thin line and resolve in her eyes.
Jack can't help it, he glances up at the boarded-up buildings every couple of minutes and he's pretty sure they're being observed; the back of his neck itches all the time. Claire stumbles and Jack manages to grabs her elbow to stabilize her. She shoots him a grateful smile, and from then on they hold each other's hands as if it's the key to everything.
***
"Okay, so listen carefully," Sawyer says. "Beyond this river, it should be okay. You two go across, I'll make a diversion."
Claire frowns.
"But we're supposed to go together," she says. "You promised!"
"There are too many guards for my taste, sweetheart," Sawyer says, kissing her forehead. "I'll be right behind ya."
When Sawyer has his mind set on something - especially if it's daring and possibly suicidal - Jack has learned that it's no use to try to convince him otherwise. They come up with a half-decent plan and soon enough Jack is leading Claire in the cold and dark water. Jack grabs what looks like a car bumper from the steady flow of crap that's going downstream, and uses it as a float to shield Claire and him from anyone who could be searching for target practice from the banks. He doesn't dare look back to see how Sawyer's doing with the soldiers, but there are no gunshots - at them or near the tents.
For the moment it's good enough.
***
The rendezvous cabin they agreed on is barely standing up, but it has walls and a roof: these days it's almost a luxury. Jack retrieves the plastic wrapped clothes from his backpack and they strip and change, not saying a word. They can't afford to build a fire, not this close to the city limits, so the only way to fight the chills is to huddle under a scratchy wool blanket.
"What is taking him so long?" Claire asks after a while and Jack squeezes her knee.
"You're usually the one telling me he has a good reason," Jack says with a little smile. "He'll be here soon."
Jack hopes so, because without Sawyer their chances to escape the quarantine are slim to none, even if they're almost out of its geographical range now. The government doesn't respect the forty days rule and keeps tabs of everyone in the zone, even if they never showed symptoms. If they reach an untouched city, they'll need new identities, new papers and that's right up Sawyer's alley. It figures that these days being a conman is what it takes to survive, while doctors are helpless against an incurable plague.
***
Sawyer stumbles into the cabin in the middle of the night, soaked and with shattering teeth. He's shaking so much that he can't even undress himself. What worries Jack more is that he doesn't even talk, which is a first. Jack peels clinging denim and cotton off Sawyer with Claire's helps, while she coos that he'll be alright. Fortunately, Jack sees no injuries, at least nothing that broke the skin; he's got huge bruises that will soon be purple, though. Sawyer doesn't have his backpack anymore so there's nothing dry for him to put on. Instead they end up lying on the old mattress where Claire and Jack were pretending to sleep earlier, Sawyer between them.
The best way to warm him up is skin on skin: Sawyer holds Claire close while Jack gets flush against his back, touching as much as he can. After long minutes the violent shivers start to ease up and Sawyer relaxes between them.
"We should get going," Sawyer finally says. "It ain't safe. They're sure I've drowned, but they could get dogs, start to search."
"You're in no condition to traipse the woods in wet clothes right now," Jack says.
"Then lend me yours and put on the wet ones," Sawyer counters.
Jack chuckles.
"No way," he says. At least not right now; he'll do it in the morning.
"You need your rest," Claire adds.
Sawyer sighs.
"You perverts just like nekkid sandwiches. Admit it," he teases, proving he's definitely getting better.
It makes Claire laugh. It doesn't happen often these days but it's always like a ray of sunshine.
"Maybe I do like it," Jack says. He aimed for it to sound light and fun, but it came out husky.
Instead of tensing in his arms, Sawyer pushes back against him.
"Yeah?"
They've been building up to this for weeks now, and it's like a dam breaks inside Jack, need running through every cell of his body. His own hands are shaking as he caresses Sawyer's side, and then takes a hold of his hip, nosing Sawyer's neck. Jack hears the soft wet sounds of Sawyer and Claire kissing and it's like a jolt when a small hand slides up on his shoulder, determined and steady.
Their world spirals until it's entirely comprised of touches and moans, skin sliding against skin. Who's doing what to whom is irrelevant, everything feeling so good and so right. In this like in everything else they complete each other, make a solid whole.
Together, they are hope.
The End
Title: Forty Days
Characters: Jack/Claire/Sawyer
Word count: 1400 words, rated R
Summary: They have to get out.
Note: Used for Future: dystopia on au_bingo .
It's been two hours now and Sawyer should be back already. Jack hits the wall with his open hand, hard enough that it throbs afterwards. Damnit, he hates it when he doesn't know what is going on.
"Sit down, Jack," Claire says, calmly placing worn tarot cards in a diamond figure on the dirty linoleum. She doesn't even look up at him. "You're making me dizzy."
"What is taking him so long?" Jack asks, tempted to go see for himself. But he can't because that means leaving Claire alone and Sawyer would kill him if he got back and found out.
"He must have a good reason," Claire says.
With a sigh, Jack sits down on the ground, back to the wall, and he tries not to count the minutes.
***
When he comes back, Sawyer's been shot. Fortunately the bullet just grazed the shoulder, though it gouged the skin.
"The sons of bitches block all the exits to the West," he says while Claire makes sure the shallow wound is as clean as it can be. "They ask for papers systematically, and check their lists."
They expected as much, but it's still annoying.
"Can't we leave by another route?" Claire asks.
Sawyer flashes a sly smile.
"I'm on it, Goldilocks. If there's a way, I'll find it."
Claire caresses the side of Sawyer face and tucks dirty blond strands of hair behind his ear. Jack focuses on the bandage, as he finishes patching him up.
"I know," Claire says with certainty.
***
"It's my turn," Jack says, putting his hands on his hips.
He can't stay here playing bodyguard anymore, he needs to move. They need food and whatever they can find to drink before the long day ahead. Sawyer rolls his eyes.
"Fine, go. But you have to dash in and out of the store. Don't stop to help anyone," Sawyer says.
"What?"
"I know it's not how you're wired, but you'll have to look the other way if you see people who'd need a hand," Sawyer says. "One hour, tops, we can't wait more than that. Then we go."
Jack nods, checks his watch. The run should take less than forty minutes, he can do it.
"Be careful," Claire says, and to his surprise she gets on the tip of her toes to kiss him lightly on the lips. "We'll wait for you."
"Okay," Jack says, voice rough. He wants this - them - so much, even if it's not the way things are. Claire goes to sit between Sawyer's splayed legs and curls against him like it's the most comfortable place on Earth.
"No more than an hour," Sawyer reminds him as he closes his arms around Claire protectively.
He's sure he'll make it, but Jack knows Sawyer would wait anyway.
***
They've been walking for six hours straight in the no-man's-land that has been enforced past 8th Avenue. Or more exactly they've been walking briskly on too silent streets, then ducking and hiding from patrols before sprinting for another deserted alley to start all over again. They had to mostly move in circles not to get caught, but it's clear Sawyer knows exactly where he's going, or he fakes it good enough. Jack's tired and Claire can barely stand up by herself anymore, though she plows on with her mouth in a thin line and resolve in her eyes.
Jack can't help it, he glances up at the boarded-up buildings every couple of minutes and he's pretty sure they're being observed; the back of his neck itches all the time. Claire stumbles and Jack manages to grabs her elbow to stabilize her. She shoots him a grateful smile, and from then on they hold each other's hands as if it's the key to everything.
***
"Okay, so listen carefully," Sawyer says. "Beyond this river, it should be okay. You two go across, I'll make a diversion."
Claire frowns.
"But we're supposed to go together," she says. "You promised!"
"There are too many guards for my taste, sweetheart," Sawyer says, kissing her forehead. "I'll be right behind ya."
When Sawyer has his mind set on something - especially if it's daring and possibly suicidal - Jack has learned that it's no use to try to convince him otherwise. They come up with a half-decent plan and soon enough Jack is leading Claire in the cold and dark water. Jack grabs what looks like a car bumper from the steady flow of crap that's going downstream, and uses it as a float to shield Claire and him from anyone who could be searching for target practice from the banks. He doesn't dare look back to see how Sawyer's doing with the soldiers, but there are no gunshots - at them or near the tents.
For the moment it's good enough.
***
The rendezvous cabin they agreed on is barely standing up, but it has walls and a roof: these days it's almost a luxury. Jack retrieves the plastic wrapped clothes from his backpack and they strip and change, not saying a word. They can't afford to build a fire, not this close to the city limits, so the only way to fight the chills is to huddle under a scratchy wool blanket.
"What is taking him so long?" Claire asks after a while and Jack squeezes her knee.
"You're usually the one telling me he has a good reason," Jack says with a little smile. "He'll be here soon."
Jack hopes so, because without Sawyer their chances to escape the quarantine are slim to none, even if they're almost out of its geographical range now. The government doesn't respect the forty days rule and keeps tabs of everyone in the zone, even if they never showed symptoms. If they reach an untouched city, they'll need new identities, new papers and that's right up Sawyer's alley. It figures that these days being a conman is what it takes to survive, while doctors are helpless against an incurable plague.
***
Sawyer stumbles into the cabin in the middle of the night, soaked and with shattering teeth. He's shaking so much that he can't even undress himself. What worries Jack more is that he doesn't even talk, which is a first. Jack peels clinging denim and cotton off Sawyer with Claire's helps, while she coos that he'll be alright. Fortunately, Jack sees no injuries, at least nothing that broke the skin; he's got huge bruises that will soon be purple, though. Sawyer doesn't have his backpack anymore so there's nothing dry for him to put on. Instead they end up lying on the old mattress where Claire and Jack were pretending to sleep earlier, Sawyer between them.
The best way to warm him up is skin on skin: Sawyer holds Claire close while Jack gets flush against his back, touching as much as he can. After long minutes the violent shivers start to ease up and Sawyer relaxes between them.
"We should get going," Sawyer finally says. "It ain't safe. They're sure I've drowned, but they could get dogs, start to search."
"You're in no condition to traipse the woods in wet clothes right now," Jack says.
"Then lend me yours and put on the wet ones," Sawyer counters.
Jack chuckles.
"No way," he says. At least not right now; he'll do it in the morning.
"You need your rest," Claire adds.
Sawyer sighs.
"You perverts just like nekkid sandwiches. Admit it," he teases, proving he's definitely getting better.
It makes Claire laugh. It doesn't happen often these days but it's always like a ray of sunshine.
"Maybe I do like it," Jack says. He aimed for it to sound light and fun, but it came out husky.
Instead of tensing in his arms, Sawyer pushes back against him.
"Yeah?"
They've been building up to this for weeks now, and it's like a dam breaks inside Jack, need running through every cell of his body. His own hands are shaking as he caresses Sawyer's side, and then takes a hold of his hip, nosing Sawyer's neck. Jack hears the soft wet sounds of Sawyer and Claire kissing and it's like a jolt when a small hand slides up on his shoulder, determined and steady.
Their world spirals until it's entirely comprised of touches and moans, skin sliding against skin. Who's doing what to whom is irrelevant, everything feeling so good and so right. In this like in everything else they complete each other, make a solid whole.
Together, they are hope.
The End