Fic: Sunny Side Up (1/1)
Title: Sunny Side Up
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sawyer/Juliet
Word Count: 1,118
Summary: She’s a little too eager to give up on them. For the 50scenes Prompt #40 - Breakfast. Spoilers through 5.10 - He’s Our You.
Prompt Table: Here
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: There are certain Suliet scenes that stick out to me when I watch them as begging for commentary. This was one of them. Hopefully I did it some sort of justice.
Sunny Side Up
“I think the bacon’s ready.”
It’s not like her to forget things - anything. The strips are charred, and he flinches as a splatter of grease falls hot and searing on the skin of his wrist; there are eggs that were abandoned halfway through, burnt on the bottom but fully cooked, fried failures at keeping things sunny side up. The bread is sticking out conspicuously from the slots in the toaster, but they’re still soft and cold, never even started, and the orange juice is warm when he brings the carton to his lips, his thumb indenting the Dharma logo in the soggy cardboard side of the container.
“Oh,” she answers absently, her mind elsewhere, her eyes unfocused. “I forgot.”
She was cooking for him, he notices; she likes her eggs scrambled, and the only bacon she’ll so much as touch on her plate is Canadian. His gaze slides back her way, and she’s not looking at him anymore, her eyes glued to whatever lies beyond the panes of glass against her cheek, staring out at them as if the reaper himself has come to down upon them for a visit, the dejection of the inevitable weighing down her world.
“What’s on the TV?” he asks casually, sauntering over and avoiding the lead, the molten despair swimming in her gaze, and he wants nothing more than for the mess of curls that moves through their line of sight to belong to someone else, for the clean-shaven chin jutting out between the leaves as the pair of them walk past their window to be anyone’s but Jack’s, but he knows it’s his own doing. All this time, all they were waiting for was for them to come back. Be careful what you wish for, people always warned him. Now he’s just gotta make do.
“Ah....” He doesn’t know what to say, can’t avoid the truth of it, the complications their friends’ sudden reappearance have introduced to the routine that the pair of them have established; doesn’t know what she wants him to say - he can’t tell what she’s thinking, and he doesn’t like it. He can always read her.
“It’s over, isn’t it?”
It’s not that he hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t pondered the possibilities of their current state of affairs; it’s just that he never expected to hear it from her.
“What’s over?” He doesn’t have to ask, really; he only hopes it’s not what she wants, because the bottom of his stomach drops out from under him just thinking about it. He’s never known stability, never known contentment like he’s been granted these past three years; never known what it was like to not just live with someone, but to be with them, and he’s more than just grown accustomed to it - he’s not sure he remembers how to live any other way. He’s gotten comfortable, s’what it is. Studying the creases, the sadness in her features, perhaps that was his first mistake.
“This. Us.” Her tone is so matter-of-fact that he almost can’t reconcile that it’s her voice, her words. She doesn’t speak like that to him anymore. “Playing house, all of it,” and it’s here that she stumbles, lets herself break through the cracks; the whisper of a sob betraying her, for all of her composure. She lets herself feel the immensity of what she’s implying, the sheer scale of what she’s afraid to lose; and that’s what it is, behind her hard, shimmering eyes - fear, plain and simple. “ I never actually thought they’d come back,” she whispers - and that makes two of them.
But what bothers him most is her resignation, her willingness to surrender. She’s a little too eager to give up on them, and it bothers him. It bothers them both.
“So they’re back,” he tells her bluntly, shaking his head against the regret that it’s true at all. He almost feels guilty for it - for wanting them to just disappear again, for wanting it all to be some twisted and impossible dream, foggy and indistinct upon waking, slipping away by the minute, never to burden them again - he almost feels bad for thinking it, but not quite. He just wants things to go back to the way they were. “Nothing's changed.”
She doesn’t trust him, he can see it in the twitch of her lips, the way her eyes roll between blinks, so subtle that it would almost have been lost on him if he hadn’t known her, hadn’t seen her do it every other day for one reason or another, her silent expression of suspicion, the disbelief she will not voice, but cannot wash away. Then again, he doesn’t even really believe himself, so convincing her was out of the question from the start.
He’s a hell of a liar, but she can see right through him; always has.
“What if Sayid tells them who he is?” she asks, her eyebrows raised, challenging him, daring him to try and fool her into believing that they’ll be alright; begging him to do it well enough that she can buy into it, accept it just enough to smile, to breathe, to fall asleep in his arms when he comes home tonight.
“Sayid ain’t sayin’ nothin’,” he assures her, and his chest tightens as the tears gather at the corners of her wide, frightened eyes, darting to the floor as if caged, as if hunted. “Hey...” his voice drops just a tad as he reaches for her, cupping her chin with his palm and leaning towards her, gripping the line of her jaw with a reassuring insistence, not hard enough to hurt her, but just tight enough to keep her from any shred of doubt. “I got this under control.” And this time he’s sure, absolutely certain that he can fix this - because he has to. There is no other option, no alternative route or “Plan B” to consider. He strokes gently across her cheekbone, letting his thumb linger, drying invisible tears that she’s too strong to let fall, and he knows, knows that he cannot fail her. Not her.
He watches her, and all he wants is to kiss her, to make her forget for just a second, but there’s a knock, and she looks lost for a moment before she realizes what it means.
A knock on the door. Their door. They can keep pretending for a little while longer.
Rating: PG
Pairing: Sawyer/Juliet
Word Count: 1,118
Summary: She’s a little too eager to give up on them. For the 50scenes Prompt #40 - Breakfast. Spoilers through 5.10 - He’s Our You.
Prompt Table: Here
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: There are certain Suliet scenes that stick out to me when I watch them as begging for commentary. This was one of them. Hopefully I did it some sort of justice.
Sunny Side Up
“I think the bacon’s ready.”
It’s not like her to forget things - anything. The strips are charred, and he flinches as a splatter of grease falls hot and searing on the skin of his wrist; there are eggs that were abandoned halfway through, burnt on the bottom but fully cooked, fried failures at keeping things sunny side up. The bread is sticking out conspicuously from the slots in the toaster, but they’re still soft and cold, never even started, and the orange juice is warm when he brings the carton to his lips, his thumb indenting the Dharma logo in the soggy cardboard side of the container.
“Oh,” she answers absently, her mind elsewhere, her eyes unfocused. “I forgot.”
She was cooking for him, he notices; she likes her eggs scrambled, and the only bacon she’ll so much as touch on her plate is Canadian. His gaze slides back her way, and she’s not looking at him anymore, her eyes glued to whatever lies beyond the panes of glass against her cheek, staring out at them as if the reaper himself has come to down upon them for a visit, the dejection of the inevitable weighing down her world.
“What’s on the TV?” he asks casually, sauntering over and avoiding the lead, the molten despair swimming in her gaze, and he wants nothing more than for the mess of curls that moves through their line of sight to belong to someone else, for the clean-shaven chin jutting out between the leaves as the pair of them walk past their window to be anyone’s but Jack’s, but he knows it’s his own doing. All this time, all they were waiting for was for them to come back. Be careful what you wish for, people always warned him. Now he’s just gotta make do.
“Ah....” He doesn’t know what to say, can’t avoid the truth of it, the complications their friends’ sudden reappearance have introduced to the routine that the pair of them have established; doesn’t know what she wants him to say - he can’t tell what she’s thinking, and he doesn’t like it. He can always read her.
“It’s over, isn’t it?”
It’s not that he hadn’t thought about it, hadn’t pondered the possibilities of their current state of affairs; it’s just that he never expected to hear it from her.
“What’s over?” He doesn’t have to ask, really; he only hopes it’s not what she wants, because the bottom of his stomach drops out from under him just thinking about it. He’s never known stability, never known contentment like he’s been granted these past three years; never known what it was like to not just live with someone, but to be with them, and he’s more than just grown accustomed to it - he’s not sure he remembers how to live any other way. He’s gotten comfortable, s’what it is. Studying the creases, the sadness in her features, perhaps that was his first mistake.
“This. Us.” Her tone is so matter-of-fact that he almost can’t reconcile that it’s her voice, her words. She doesn’t speak like that to him anymore. “Playing house, all of it,” and it’s here that she stumbles, lets herself break through the cracks; the whisper of a sob betraying her, for all of her composure. She lets herself feel the immensity of what she’s implying, the sheer scale of what she’s afraid to lose; and that’s what it is, behind her hard, shimmering eyes - fear, plain and simple. “ I never actually thought they’d come back,” she whispers - and that makes two of them.
But what bothers him most is her resignation, her willingness to surrender. She’s a little too eager to give up on them, and it bothers him. It bothers them both.
“So they’re back,” he tells her bluntly, shaking his head against the regret that it’s true at all. He almost feels guilty for it - for wanting them to just disappear again, for wanting it all to be some twisted and impossible dream, foggy and indistinct upon waking, slipping away by the minute, never to burden them again - he almost feels bad for thinking it, but not quite. He just wants things to go back to the way they were. “Nothing's changed.”
She doesn’t trust him, he can see it in the twitch of her lips, the way her eyes roll between blinks, so subtle that it would almost have been lost on him if he hadn’t known her, hadn’t seen her do it every other day for one reason or another, her silent expression of suspicion, the disbelief she will not voice, but cannot wash away. Then again, he doesn’t even really believe himself, so convincing her was out of the question from the start.
He’s a hell of a liar, but she can see right through him; always has.
“What if Sayid tells them who he is?” she asks, her eyebrows raised, challenging him, daring him to try and fool her into believing that they’ll be alright; begging him to do it well enough that she can buy into it, accept it just enough to smile, to breathe, to fall asleep in his arms when he comes home tonight.
“Sayid ain’t sayin’ nothin’,” he assures her, and his chest tightens as the tears gather at the corners of her wide, frightened eyes, darting to the floor as if caged, as if hunted. “Hey...” his voice drops just a tad as he reaches for her, cupping her chin with his palm and leaning towards her, gripping the line of her jaw with a reassuring insistence, not hard enough to hurt her, but just tight enough to keep her from any shred of doubt. “I got this under control.” And this time he’s sure, absolutely certain that he can fix this - because he has to. There is no other option, no alternative route or “Plan B” to consider. He strokes gently across her cheekbone, letting his thumb linger, drying invisible tears that she’s too strong to let fall, and he knows, knows that he cannot fail her. Not her.
He watches her, and all he wants is to kiss her, to make her forget for just a second, but there’s a knock, and she looks lost for a moment before she realizes what it means.
A knock on the door. Their door. They can keep pretending for a little while longer.