Lost: Chasing
Title: Chasing
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Sawyer/Juliet
Rating: PG-13 (language, and... adult concepts? idk, I'm bad at ratings)
Word count: 1,817
Summary: A Sawyer/Juliet encounter, about 15ish years pre-island. Set in a time when Damon's "Sawyer's powers don't work on Juliet" comment was still true.
Notes: Massive thanks to my ~army of betas (linzbritcrazed, ozqueen and pann-cake) for their help!
Italicized sections are from the poem Loop by Michael Ondaatje. I own nothing, etc etc.
Chasing
He is the one you see at Drive-Ins
tearing silent into garbage
while societies unfold in his sky.
April. Too early in the year to be so damn hot; it's the sorta day where sun pounds through the windows, leaves a thick stench of stale sweat in the air as they rumble down the highway. Only one thing worse than being on this bus, and that's not being on it. Hitching a ride is cheaper, but it can be slow. Sometimes a fast exit is worth the fistful of cash.
Gotta get the hell away from Cincinnati.
He is only a space filled
and blurred with passing,
transient as shit - will fade
to reappear somewhere else.
At sunset, he's outta that sweatbox and inside the cheapest burger joint he can find. It makes a dent in his wallet, but what can you do? Gotta eat. (He finally, finally scored his ten grand this morning, but it's already gone on debts and a ticket to wherever-the-hell-the-next-bus-is-headed.) He stops at a gas station, splashes his arms and face with cold water from the rusted bathroom faucet.
The cool evening air feels great. No buses til tomorrow, so next thing is to find a place to spend the night. He ain't been to Pittsburgh before, but this part is always simple enough. It don't vary much from city to city; find a college, find a bar, find a nice friendly girl to offer him a bed for the night. It's a good system. Why pay for a bed in some rat-infested motel when he could be a welcomed guest in a dorm room? It's better, it's cheaper, and it's a hell of a lot more fun.
He walks and he walks, relieved to be moving. He sat still way too long today, muscles and brain screaming for something to do. He finished his book too fast and stared at the back of some old man's head for hours. Damn, it feels good to be off that bus. He don't have much, but at least he got space to move again. He also has, in his pockets: $252, couple of condoms, The Grapes of Wrath, the letter. It's enough. Enough to live on, enough to keep going.
He follows street signs and his instincts. He knows what to look for. He still hasn't walked off the day's restlessness, and he don't care if it takes time to find the right place. Days like today drive him crazy. He needs a challenge, he needs to work for it tonight.
After a while, he finds a bar that looks about right. When he steps through the doorway, he does a quick sweep of the room:
Redhead by the door. Pass. Too easy; she looks like she'd be one strategic Kerouac reference away from pulling him into the nearest bathroom.
Blonde chick in the back. Maybe.
Table by the window, three of 'em. Pass. He's been here for half a second and they're already eyeing him. Way too easy.
Blonde clearing tables. Her boss keeps snapping instructions at her; she looks miserable, and he'd consider it if he could ever get a word in. Pass.
That's it. Still too early for much of a crowd. His eyes drift to the blonde at the back, the Maybe. She's pretty, but she looks like she confused bar with library - she has a table to herself, and a pile of thick textbooks with titles like PRINCIPLES OF ORGANIC CHEMISTRY. She's scribbling furiously, twisting her hair around her index finger. Biting the lid of her pen. She don't even look up when the waitress drops a glass.
It's worth a shot. Hell, uptight nerds need to get laid too.
He buys a beer first, waits at the bar till he's had about half. He needs to look as casual as possible, and hurtling straight to her table ain't at all casual. (He savors every moment of this. Each swig of alcohol eats away a little more of the tension in his arms, in his back, his legs. Cold beer is about as close to heaven as he ever expects to get.) Minutes tick away and, after time passes, he decides he's ready for some company. Stands up. Crosses the room.
"Hey." He pulls up a chair before she has time to completely snap out of her studying-reverie. She looks at him, confused.
"Um. Hi. Can I help you?"
He shrugs. "Seat was empty." Something that sounds aimless. He's already sized her up; she's reserved, and if she feels his target on her back she'll be outta there.
"You got a name?"
She stares.
"No."
"No?"
"Parents didn't give me one."
"Well. That's the most tragic thing I ever heard." He leans back in his seat, careful to stay out of her space. Gotta move slow with someone this guarded.
"Uh... what are you doing?"
"Right now? Enjoyin' a beer. Had a long day."
"Uh huh. Me too. And I've got a long night ahead of me."
"That right?"
"Finals next week. Got a ton of studying to do."
She ain't gonna tell him to leave, not yet anyway. She's not the type. She'll skirt around it awhile longer, hoping he'll take the hint. Gives him time to work a distraction.
"What're you studyin'?"
She sighs. "Does it matter?"
"'Course it matters. Gotta study somethin' you like, right?"
She hasn't once met his gaze. Even when she looks at him, she doesn't look at him. She looks slightly to his left.
"Right now, I'm trying to do chemistry."
Me too, sweetheart. "Hard?"
"Hard. And I need to nail this final."
"Why?"
"Excuse me?"
"Why d'you need to nail it? Shit, I'd be happy just to pass."
"Well, I guess that's the difference between you and me."
"Yeah. Probably sums it up." He swallows a mouthful of beer. "You didn't answer my question."
She hesitates. "What question?"
"Why's it so important to ace your final?"
He can see her struggling. A raging battle between nice-girl-from-a-nice-home politeness, and probably (if he's judged her right) echoes of "please be careful, honey" pre-college lectures from her mom. Strangers in bars, etc etc. That's alright, though. The first one'll keep winning as long as she's somewhat comfortable.
"I want to go to med school."
"No kiddin'. You gonna be a doctor?"
"If I get in."
"You'll get in. I guarantee it."
She rolls her eyes. "That's very reassuring. Thanks."
He can sense her thawing, just a little. Very, very slowly.
"Can I ask another question?"
Spotting little tells is second nature to him. Like how her arms tense when she's nervous.
"What?"
"Why study in a bar? Don't you get distracted here?"
"Like, when people invite themselves to my table and make me talk to them?"
"For example, yeah. And hey, I ain't makin' you talk to me. I'll leave, whenever y'want." Carefully chosen words. She needs to feel like she's in control. "So. Why a bar?"
It might (might) have done the trick. There's a barely-perceptible shift in her posture and her voice.
"I met a study group here earlier. They left, I stayed."
"D'you usually study in bars?"
"Sometimes. The library's too quiet."
"What, not enough people with broken bones screamin' for pain killers?"
"Yes, that's exactly it. Maybe I should study at the hospital." The sarcastic streak is a surprise. A good surprise.
"Maybe you should. Never too soon to get a feel for it. Hey, you want a beer?"
"No. Thanks."
"You sure? It's good beer."
"I'm fine." She shifts in her seat a little. Time to change the subject.
"You read?"
"Uh..." She's thrown off by the sudden gear-shift. "Yeah. When I have time."
He pulls The Grapes of Wrath out of his back pocket.
"Finished this today. It's good. You'd like it."
"Would I? And what exactly are you basing that on?"
"What I said. You'd like it 'cause it's good."
She picks up the book, reluctance still in all her movements. Her eyes flick over the front cover. "Steinbeck?"
"That's right."
She reaches into her book bag (and leans forward to do it, so he steals a glance down her shirt) and drops a copy of Of Mice and Men onto the table.
"I read this during the semester. Wrote a paper on it this morning."
"Huh. I ain't read that one yet." He picks it up, scans the back cover. "Thought you were a science-type?"
"I need an English credit to graduate."
"Fair enough. Any good?"
"I think so. It's hard to tell when you have to write a paper, ruins the experience a little."
"I bet. Damn shame."
"It's not that bad."
"Still. Better to read it right." Another mouthful. Drink's nearly empty. "Hey, I got an idea."
She shrinks back a bit, and he wishes she'd accepted that beer. He just can't get her to loosen up. Well, a challenge is a challenge.
"What?"
"You read Grapes yet?"
"No."
"Well, I ain't read Mice and Men. Wanna swap?"
She frowns. "What?"
"Take my book, read it without worryin' about a paper. And I'll take yours. Good old-fashioned trade."
She plays with her pen, twisting it round between her fingers.
"I don't know."
Well, it ain't a no.
"Here, take a look." He pushes it towards her. "Still in decent condition, all things considered."
She picks it up, running her finger down the spine and over the black-on-white F STE sticker.
"This is a library book."
"Was a library book."
She flicks it open.
"Public Library of Cincinnati and Hamilton County," she reads. "Did you steal this from a library? Really?"
"Hey, they had three copies. This one ain't been borrowed in a couple years, so I gave it a good home."
"I don't think your back pocket counts as a good home."
"Yeah, well, I'm tryin' to get you to keep it. Bet your back pocket'll be an upgrade."
She bites her lip, and he curses in his head. Too far. Might've ruined it.
"Ah, c'mon, swap. Tell you what. Trade books with me, and I'll do somethin' for you. Anythin' you want."
She avoids his gaze. Tugs on a blonde curl.
"Anything?"
"Name it."
"Alright... I'll trade books with you," she begins. Pauses. "If you leave me alone. I wasn't kidding about needing to study."
Damn.
Big part of this game is knowing when to back off. If he had more time, maybe, but he ain't getting anywhere with her. Not tonight.
"As you wish," he grins. Tucks Of Mice and Men into his pocket. "I'm outta here. See you round. Nerd."
"Bye. Thief."
He leaves her to it, and heads for the door. New bar. Starting from scratch. Half an hour down the drain.
Not a total loss, though. At least he got a book for tomorrow.
the one
who appears again on roads
one eye torn out and chasing.
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Sawyer/Juliet
Rating: PG-13 (language, and... adult concepts? idk, I'm bad at ratings)
Word count: 1,817
Summary: A Sawyer/Juliet encounter, about 15ish years pre-island. Set in a time when Damon's "Sawyer's powers don't work on Juliet" comment was still true.
Notes: Massive thanks to my ~army of betas (linzbritcrazed, ozqueen and pann-cake) for their help!
Italicized sections are from the poem Loop by Michael Ondaatje. I own nothing, etc etc.
Chasing
He is the one you see at Drive-Ins
tearing silent into garbage
while societies unfold in his sky.
April. Too early in the year to be so damn hot; it's the sorta day where sun pounds through the windows, leaves a thick stench of stale sweat in the air as they rumble down the highway. Only one thing worse than being on this bus, and that's not being on it. Hitching a ride is cheaper, but it can be slow. Sometimes a fast exit is worth the fistful of cash.
Gotta get the hell away from Cincinnati.
He is only a space filled
and blurred with passing,
transient as shit - will fade
to reappear somewhere else.
At sunset, he's outta that sweatbox and inside the cheapest burger joint he can find. It makes a dent in his wallet, but what can you do? Gotta eat. (He finally, finally scored his ten grand this morning, but it's already gone on debts and a ticket to wherever-the-hell-the-next-bus-is-headed.) He stops at a gas station, splashes his arms and face with cold water from the rusted bathroom faucet.
The cool evening air feels great. No buses til tomorrow, so next thing is to find a place to spend the night. He ain't been to Pittsburgh before, but this part is always simple enough. It don't vary much from city to city; find a college, find a bar, find a nice friendly girl to offer him a bed for the night. It's a good system. Why pay for a bed in some rat-infested motel when he could be a welcomed guest in a dorm room? It's better, it's cheaper, and it's a hell of a lot more fun.
He walks and he walks, relieved to be moving. He sat still way too long today, muscles and brain screaming for something to do. He finished his book too fast and stared at the back of some old man's head for hours. Damn, it feels good to be off that bus. He don't have much, but at least he got space to move again. He also has, in his pockets: $252, couple of condoms, The Grapes of Wrath, the letter. It's enough. Enough to live on, enough to keep going.
He follows street signs and his instincts. He knows what to look for. He still hasn't walked off the day's restlessness, and he don't care if it takes time to find the right place. Days like today drive him crazy. He needs a challenge, he needs to work for it tonight.
After a while, he finds a bar that looks about right. When he steps through the doorway, he does a quick sweep of the room:
Redhead by the door. Pass. Too easy; she looks like she'd be one strategic Kerouac reference away from pulling him into the nearest bathroom.
Blonde chick in the back. Maybe.
Table by the window, three of 'em. Pass. He's been here for half a second and they're already eyeing him. Way too easy.
Blonde clearing tables. Her boss keeps snapping instructions at her; she looks miserable, and he'd consider it if he could ever get a word in. Pass.
That's it. Still too early for much of a crowd. His eyes drift to the blonde at the back, the Maybe. She's pretty, but she looks like she confused bar with library - she has a table to herself, and a pile of thick textbooks with titles like PRINCIPLES OF ORGANIC CHEMISTRY. She's scribbling furiously, twisting her hair around her index finger. Biting the lid of her pen. She don't even look up when the waitress drops a glass.
It's worth a shot. Hell, uptight nerds need to get laid too.
He buys a beer first, waits at the bar till he's had about half. He needs to look as casual as possible, and hurtling straight to her table ain't at all casual. (He savors every moment of this. Each swig of alcohol eats away a little more of the tension in his arms, in his back, his legs. Cold beer is about as close to heaven as he ever expects to get.) Minutes tick away and, after time passes, he decides he's ready for some company. Stands up. Crosses the room.
"Hey." He pulls up a chair before she has time to completely snap out of her studying-reverie. She looks at him, confused.
"Um. Hi. Can I help you?"
He shrugs. "Seat was empty." Something that sounds aimless. He's already sized her up; she's reserved, and if she feels his target on her back she'll be outta there.
"You got a name?"
She stares.
"No."
"No?"
"Parents didn't give me one."
"Well. That's the most tragic thing I ever heard." He leans back in his seat, careful to stay out of her space. Gotta move slow with someone this guarded.
"Uh... what are you doing?"
"Right now? Enjoyin' a beer. Had a long day."
"Uh huh. Me too. And I've got a long night ahead of me."
"That right?"
"Finals next week. Got a ton of studying to do."
She ain't gonna tell him to leave, not yet anyway. She's not the type. She'll skirt around it awhile longer, hoping he'll take the hint. Gives him time to work a distraction.
"What're you studyin'?"
She sighs. "Does it matter?"
"'Course it matters. Gotta study somethin' you like, right?"
She hasn't once met his gaze. Even when she looks at him, she doesn't look at him. She looks slightly to his left.
"Right now, I'm trying to do chemistry."
Me too, sweetheart. "Hard?"
"Hard. And I need to nail this final."
"Why?"
"Excuse me?"
"Why d'you need to nail it? Shit, I'd be happy just to pass."
"Well, I guess that's the difference between you and me."
"Yeah. Probably sums it up." He swallows a mouthful of beer. "You didn't answer my question."
She hesitates. "What question?"
"Why's it so important to ace your final?"
He can see her struggling. A raging battle between nice-girl-from-a-nice-home politeness, and probably (if he's judged her right) echoes of "please be careful, honey" pre-college lectures from her mom. Strangers in bars, etc etc. That's alright, though. The first one'll keep winning as long as she's somewhat comfortable.
"I want to go to med school."
"No kiddin'. You gonna be a doctor?"
"If I get in."
"You'll get in. I guarantee it."
She rolls her eyes. "That's very reassuring. Thanks."
He can sense her thawing, just a little. Very, very slowly.
"Can I ask another question?"
Spotting little tells is second nature to him. Like how her arms tense when she's nervous.
"What?"
"Why study in a bar? Don't you get distracted here?"
"Like, when people invite themselves to my table and make me talk to them?"
"For example, yeah. And hey, I ain't makin' you talk to me. I'll leave, whenever y'want." Carefully chosen words. She needs to feel like she's in control. "So. Why a bar?"
It might (might) have done the trick. There's a barely-perceptible shift in her posture and her voice.
"I met a study group here earlier. They left, I stayed."
"D'you usually study in bars?"
"Sometimes. The library's too quiet."
"What, not enough people with broken bones screamin' for pain killers?"
"Yes, that's exactly it. Maybe I should study at the hospital." The sarcastic streak is a surprise. A good surprise.
"Maybe you should. Never too soon to get a feel for it. Hey, you want a beer?"
"No. Thanks."
"You sure? It's good beer."
"I'm fine." She shifts in her seat a little. Time to change the subject.
"You read?"
"Uh..." She's thrown off by the sudden gear-shift. "Yeah. When I have time."
He pulls The Grapes of Wrath out of his back pocket.
"Finished this today. It's good. You'd like it."
"Would I? And what exactly are you basing that on?"
"What I said. You'd like it 'cause it's good."
She picks up the book, reluctance still in all her movements. Her eyes flick over the front cover. "Steinbeck?"
"That's right."
She reaches into her book bag (and leans forward to do it, so he steals a glance down her shirt) and drops a copy of Of Mice and Men onto the table.
"I read this during the semester. Wrote a paper on it this morning."
"Huh. I ain't read that one yet." He picks it up, scans the back cover. "Thought you were a science-type?"
"I need an English credit to graduate."
"Fair enough. Any good?"
"I think so. It's hard to tell when you have to write a paper, ruins the experience a little."
"I bet. Damn shame."
"It's not that bad."
"Still. Better to read it right." Another mouthful. Drink's nearly empty. "Hey, I got an idea."
She shrinks back a bit, and he wishes she'd accepted that beer. He just can't get her to loosen up. Well, a challenge is a challenge.
"What?"
"You read Grapes yet?"
"No."
"Well, I ain't read Mice and Men. Wanna swap?"
She frowns. "What?"
"Take my book, read it without worryin' about a paper. And I'll take yours. Good old-fashioned trade."
She plays with her pen, twisting it round between her fingers.
"I don't know."
Well, it ain't a no.
"Here, take a look." He pushes it towards her. "Still in decent condition, all things considered."
She picks it up, running her finger down the spine and over the black-on-white F STE sticker.
"This is a library book."
"Was a library book."
She flicks it open.
"Public Library of Cincinnati and Hamilton County," she reads. "Did you steal this from a library? Really?"
"Hey, they had three copies. This one ain't been borrowed in a couple years, so I gave it a good home."
"I don't think your back pocket counts as a good home."
"Yeah, well, I'm tryin' to get you to keep it. Bet your back pocket'll be an upgrade."
She bites her lip, and he curses in his head. Too far. Might've ruined it.
"Ah, c'mon, swap. Tell you what. Trade books with me, and I'll do somethin' for you. Anythin' you want."
She avoids his gaze. Tugs on a blonde curl.
"Anything?"
"Name it."
"Alright... I'll trade books with you," she begins. Pauses. "If you leave me alone. I wasn't kidding about needing to study."
Damn.
Big part of this game is knowing when to back off. If he had more time, maybe, but he ain't getting anywhere with her. Not tonight.
"As you wish," he grins. Tucks Of Mice and Men into his pocket. "I'm outta here. See you round. Nerd."
"Bye. Thief."
He leaves her to it, and heads for the door. New bar. Starting from scratch. Half an hour down the drain.
Not a total loss, though. At least he got a book for tomorrow.
the one
who appears again on roads
one eye torn out and chasing.