fic, Lost: I've Been Everywhere 14/14 (Jack/Sawyer), NC17
Title: I've Been Everywhere 14/14
Rating: NC17 (yes, yes, that's it.)
Pairing: full on Jack/Sawyer, finally ;)
Word counting: 5883 this part, 50000 ca overall.
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine and all the folk songs used here are not mine. The places really exist and I've never been there.
Summary: Sawyer is a rambling musician during the Dust Bowl, Jack a former doctor from L.A. traveling with him.
Thanks to: elliotsmelliot for the great beta job for which I can't be grateful enough and to fosfomifira for the title. I'd still be searching for one otherwise.
A/N: the songs referenced are I Ain't Got No Home as usual and This Land Is Your Land by Woody Guthrie in its original, uncensored version. ;) Then... ah, I can't believe this took six months to get done but well, it's here, it's done, I'm insanely proud of it and I just hope the end lives up to everything. Thanks so much again to elliotsmelliot whose help was truly priceless and to everyone who stuck with it until now. ♥ And... wow. It's done. Now I'll go have a toast to Woody Guthrie. ;)
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII
13. This Land Is Your Land
Desmond finishes reading the book because he ‘owes it to his audience’, then he and Penny leave the next day. Rose complains for a while about her poor couch (she had seen it fit to offer it for Penny to sleep on, but she hadn’t put into account that Desmond was obviously going to share it), but she’s beaming as she says it so Jack figures it can’t be that bad. They say they’ll be going to Salt Lake City for now since after all she has the shop and she has a place while he hasn’t had a job or a place since he arrived here; both he and Sawyer wish them luck and watch them leave as they hold hands and touch each other every second.
After they leave, Jack suddenly remembers something. He can’t help smiling then.
“What’s so fun?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking… we could make some job out of this.”
“Out of what?”
“Out of this. I mean, I don’t know how it ended but we did send that friend of yours back to Claire, now those two are searching for each other for six years and it happens only when you and me mess with it, at this point we might as well get paid for it, right?”
Sawyer laughs and shakes his head saying that sure as hell matchmaking never was his talent and then asks him whether he’d fancy a trip down memory lane and Jack knows it means Springfield again. He says yes, not sure of what it will bring.
--
Thing is, they hadn’t really planned this at all and Jack knows it alright. When Sawyer asked him to come, they hadn’t exactly signed a contract which stated how long it would have lasted. Jack figures that if they get to Colorado again it’ll be the end and while Jack figures that nothing lasts forever, he also finds himself strangely reluctant at the idea of finding himself on his own again.
He knows it isn’t anything rational, but he figures it’s mostly human.
He had been going on his own for months and he can’t remember a single face from that time frame. Right, maybe it’s also because he was rarely sober, but well. And he was never much of a people person anyway.
The point is that... well, Sawyer might not be the nicest person one could ever meet and sure, he’s a stubborn son of a bitch and he doesn’t know how to hold onto money, but he’s sure that if he was gone, he’d add quite a big hole next to that other one (the one that opened when Sarah left on that train) and Jack knows it just doesn’t make sense. He wishes it did.
It doesn’t and he still doesn’t feel like letting go of the life he has led since January. Now the weather is nicer, spring is coming, the dust is still there but he just doesn’t think about it. He has been… fine, or as close to fine as it gets around here and in these times. Fine is enough of a big word for him these days. He just knows he can’t tell Sawyer that, though. He can’t exactly tell Sawyer that he isn’t just paranoid because he’d rather be with someone than on his own again, but that he wants him to be that someone; it sounds all kinds of wrong and it’s also phrased wrongly anyway and fuck, the problem is that he can’t deny it, to himself at least. He’d miss Sawyer. He’d miss him and that guitar and folk music twenty four hours each day of the week and just feeling fine and everything else. Fuck. He can’t see a way out.
--
Sawyer figures that Jack must have obviously gotten tired. That’s mostly why he suggested Colorado; if he wants to leave, there’s no better place. In truth, he doesn’t have an idea of why he’s still sticking around; he can’t believe that he actually likes this life, even if to be honest he looks better now than he looked when they left Colorado for the first time. Then again, it didn’t exactly take much to improve in that sense.
Also, he isn’t so sure that he wants to keep on doing this.
He has been going alone for years now and doing just alright, but seeing Desmond get his happy ending has just made him realize how much he misses his own (oh, he had had his happy ending for so much time and it took the both of them dying to realize just how good it was and that it wasn’t an ending anyway, not by any mean) and he doesn’t know if he still wants to keep on going around alone. Sure, he’s got friends around, he’s got places he can go, but while he doesn’t want to settle down anywhere (and wouldn’t know a place anyway) and he seriously doubts he ever will, the alternative looks... grim. He can’t find a better word for it.
And while Jack can be a rich uptight ass when he slips into it (but Sawyer won’t make a fault out of it; he knows from experience that for rich people dealing with something they weren’t brought up for is hard) he’s good to have around after all. He’d miss his lectures on wasting money, he’d miss that quiet but not invading presence, he’d miss that sort of safety feeling he gets from knowing there’s someone constantly watching his back (and Sawyer hasn’t had such a feeling in a while), he’d miss Jack’s nonexistent bedside manners and his very dubious sense of humor and, fuck, he has to admit it to himself: if Jack left, he’d leave a hole. He doesn’t know if there’s enough space left in him to welcome a third one though.
--
So they just assume the same thing without talking about it first. The place is full when they get there after a week spent half walking, half on trains and half hitchhiking. Juliet gives them two separate rooms; they take the keys, stand for a while at the top of the stairs. It’s the last day before Sawyer can play again and he figures it won’t hurt to have some more rest. There’s an awkward silence after Jack splits the money in two and gives Sawyer his half.
“So... what now?”
Jack swallows, looking pretty much lost. “Guess I’ll go. Tomorrow, maybe. You?”
“Guess the day after. I wanna play properly ‘fore goin’.”
“Seems... seems reasonable to me.”
“So... see you around?”
“Guess so. It’s been good.”
“Yeah. It has.”
When they shake hands, it lasts barely a couple of seconds and while they don’t jerk away, they both distinctly feel something awkward, like shaking hands it’s just ridiculous by this point but there isn’t an alternative. Then they both head into their rooms and they can’t know that, but they’re thinking at the same time that there’s something wrong.
--
Jack stays awake half the night before he just gives up, wears just his trousers and his shirt and goes knocking on Sawyer’s door. Since he hit the bed it has been a nightmare: all his tiredness had suddenly disappeared as soon as he brought up the covers and he has been restless until now. Before raising his metaphorical white flag, he changed position at least fifteen times, counted a whole lot of numbers, went through the national hymn at least three times in his head before it started to hurt and for the only couple of minutes of sleep he managed to have he had one of those sorry dreams he has been having since the infamous dancing evening where, and that’s the proof he’s definitely going crazy, there was Sawyer instead of the Italian girl. Well, okay, this was the first time for this particular one, but he has had some equally weird ones since then and he doesn’t really like all the possible explanations he can come up with. He just knows there’s something they need to do and he doesn’t know what it is and this is seriously making him uncomfortable in every possible way. But he figures that since dealing with it on his own won’t obviously work, he might as well try to see what happens now. He pushes the door open when Sawyer tells him to come in, not sounding like he just woke up.
Sawyer hadn’t obviously been sleeping either, and he’s reading on the bed (still fully clothed except for the shoes) when Jack comes in. Jack takes the first seat he finds and drops down on it, looking at his hands first, then at Sawyer later, then at his hands again, and then he finally blurts out, “There’s something wrong.”
“I know,” Sawyer answers putting the book and the glasses away. “Just wish I knew what. ‘S between you ‘n me though, right?”
“Yeah. You got the same feeling?”
“I did. And I’ve been feelin’ miserable. Maybe there’s... God, I dunno. Like something’s lackin’ and if you go or I go now we’ll just feel weird for the next century.”
“Not badly put. Yeah. That’s it. More or less.”
“You’ve got a suggestion?”
Jack blushes, realizing that what he has in mind isn’t a good idea. Now he doesn’t even know if it has happened from the dancing or the train. He’s just confused but he’s positive the idea is everything but good. Even if he can’t deny it’s somehow fixed in his head, along with his uncomfortable dreams.
“I don’t know. Fuck, I mean, it’s been eating my head since when you dragged me to dance or something and you’d probably kill me.”
“Kill you after you saved my ass? I doubt it.”
“Maybe, but... just forget it. God, not really.”
“Wait a second.”
Sawyer stands up from the bed and comes closer, quite closer, so much that Jack has to stand up or otherwise he’ll feel intimidated.
“Now I hope as hell you were meanin’ this or I’m fucked.”
Jack freezes when Sawyer kisses him point blank. It’s rough and dry lips over his, nothing more and nothing less, not even the slightest push, but the intention is unmistakable. And well, fine, that’s exactly what he had in mind. His knees are threatening to give out but he just can’t unless he wants to blow this and so his shaking hands reach for the back of Sawyer’s head as he parts his lips and pushes just lightly.
That’s it.
Sawyer suddenly is all over him, his hands gripping Jack’s back, his tongue plunging into Jack’s mouth and his stubble rough against the skin on Jack’s chin (maybe he shouldn’t have shaved before) and oh, he has never kissed a man all his life and he’s been taught for half of it that something such as this is his free ticket to hell, but sincerely? He has kind of stopped believing in such bullshit ages ago and it’s good, so good to be kissed like this. He always was the one doing the kissing; well, as pitiful as it sounds he has only kissed Sarah his whole life because she was his only woman and he never went with hookers who allowed the kissing policy.
Sawyer, though, Sawyer is such a good kisser; well, that wasn’t too hard to figure out. His lips might seem dry at first, but as soon as they’re just a bit wet he can feel them soft against his own; that tongue is doing wonders, swirling against his, touching every inch of his mouth, making his knees threaten to give out. He tastes of dust and good whiskey and Jack shivers as soon as one of his hands reach his cheek, slightly trembling. His fingertips are rough against Jack’s skin and then the kiss breaks with a soft noise. Jack opens his eyes to meet a couple of green ones shining in the dim light of the oil lamp on Sawyer’s nightstand and a strangled sigh comes from Sawyer’s lips. He doesn’t move, though; Jack shivers as he realizes that they’re sharing the same air and that his whole body is aching right now.
“So, I ain’t fucked?”
His lips are so red and swollen now; Jack shakes his head, feeling his throat going suddenly dry.
“No. No, you aren’t.”
“You said since the dance?”
“Yeah. More or less. Let’s just say that. You?”
“Since you played the piano that night. I guess. Somewhat. Fuck. Just realized it lately, though.”
Jack suddenly can feel his trousers getting tight, way too tight; then again, they’re so close that he just feels Sawyer being as hard as he is.
“What... you wanna go the whole way?”
“Shit. Well... I guess... fuck. Never done it with a man and actually never even thought about it but yeah. Fine. I do. Oh, what a mess.”
A mess indeed, Jack thinks, even if at least he knows what they’re supposed to do if they go for it. Well, in theory.
“Doc, I hope you have an idea of what the hell we’re going to do now.”
Jack has an idea that it was supposed to sound less coy than it does; there’s a glint in Sawyer’s eyes that says that he has indeed an idea of what they should do now, but Jack won’t go and question any reasons Sawyer might have here.
“Let’s say I have.”
“You do.”
“... from a strictly medical point of view.”
“Well, better than nothing I’d say.”
Then he’s kissing Jack again slowly, taking time, his tongue tracing Jack’s lips before asking access gently and it’s so intimate that Jack feels this knot of enormous proportions forming somewhere inside him and it stays there even when it’s over. Sawyer nods and Jack nods and they end up on the bed, which is half undone already anyway.
It doesn’t take much to admit that Sawyer is an attractive man. Hell, one would have to be blind not to see it, but right now, right now there’s something more going on. Jack’s fingers shake as he undoes the buttons on Sawyer’s shirt and as Sawyer undoes his own; Jack takes it away and lets it fall on the floor. Below Jack’s fingers now there’s just smooth, tanned skin, shivering under his hand; he kicks his shoes away, bends down, kisses Sawyer again slowly and God, he just can’t help noticing the details. How green Sawyer’s eyes are in the dim light coming from their right (and why does it looks like there’s some kind of turmoil going on behind them? He can imagine why, or maybe he’s just not thinking straight), how their bodies seem to fit against each other, how Sawyer’s hand is rough behind Jack’s back, how soft his hair is even if it’s kind of dirty when Jack’s hand goes there and gets tangled between the strands. His hand trails over the still healing scar on Sawyer’s left shoulder and Jack shivers just out of nowhere.
He doesn’t know why he’s realizing it just now; it doesn’t feel like some passing attraction, not when that knot somewhere inside him is still there and at every touch of Sawyer’s fingertips he feels like he’s going to burst. But while the wrong sensation he had before is gone, he can’t help noticing Sawyer’s torn expression as Jack slowly takes a few strands of hair away from his face.
“What’s going on in there?”
Sawyer just smirks, probably figuring it isn’t the time to postpone dealing with any problem he might have.
“Just... I was wondering whether... this thing would have a future or not. Just... I’m more okay with it than I’d have thought to be if you asked me a month ago, hell, I’m just fucking great with it, but I just can’t see myself bein’ like this with you someplace public.”
Jack nods; Sawyer is right, thinking this could actually last for more than one night is pure utopia. But it’s not enough to stop him right now, even if as usual he can’t exactly say why.
“I know.”
“It’d be just this once.”
“I know.”
“And then we really shouldn’t cross paths.”
“I know. I’ll still go on if you want it though.”
“Fuck, yes. As long as you know what you’re doin’.”
And then Sawyer winks and his hips thrust up against him and Jack’s hands are on his own jeans first and Sawyer’s after. He gets rid of both and well, as long as it’s hands he can safely say he doesn’t just have an idea.
It’s a question of making things good, he thinks as he breathes deeply and takes Sawyer’s cock in his hand, figuring that one should start with what he knows and what can’t be that weird after all. He’s as hard as Jack is and while the temptation to take care of his own needs is becoming pretty much overwhelming and fast, he just bites his lip and as he throws the sheet out of his way his hand starts stroking slowly and Sawyer’s head reclines, exposing his neck slightly, enough of a temptation for Jack to press his lips along the length, leaving a feathered trail of light kisses, while blissful moans fill his ears and he speeds up, his fingers suddenly firm and his head a bit clearer. He feels Sawyer getting even harder and decides he can’t be doing bad. Not at all. It doesn’t last much more; Sawyer comes mere seconds later, hard, his teeth biting Jack’s shoulder lightly, leaving his hand a sticky mess; Jack now has some kind of doubt whether it means that he did a good job or that it was atrocious.
“Fuck, Doc, you have some talent with those hands,” he hears just as soon as he thought it. Well, then he shouldn’t have doubted. “Was… I was tryin’ to hold back but ‘twasn’t really possible.”
“Well, then do I get a reward?”
Sawyer’s eyes are strangely burning, when they stare deep into his.
“’Course you do. Don’t think that you wore me out.”
Then a hand is behind his neck and Jack is pulled down; he meets Sawyer’s lips in a rush, it almost hurts when it happens, but the kiss that follows isn’t as rushed as he had thought it’d be. It’s long, and Jack shivers when the longer nails on Sawyer’s left hand scratch over his back. Jack feels the sheets damp under his right hand, the one not tangled in Sawyer’s hair; and it feels so right that thinking there won’t be a last time is almost enough to make him stop. But he doesn’t and his voice stays low when they part with a soft noise.
“I wasn’t hoping that much. But... listen, you’re sure you...”
“I what? Wanna go the whole way?”
“No, that you don’t want to lead.”
Sawyer snorts and looks at him almost amused.
“Why, thanks but I’ll pass. For once you can do the work here.”
Jack would have tried to come up with some equally smart answer but then lets it go, realizing that he should really, really find something for… his train of thoughts stop as he takes a look around. There isn’t really a better choice.
“Turn over.”
Sawyer does, but then frowns as he sees Jack reaching for the second oil lamp, the one which isn’t lightened.
“What the hell are you doin’?”
“Letting you stand tomorrow morning. You can tell Juliet you used it up. And spread your legs.”
Sawyer nods and does and Jack leaves the lamp near reach; his hand still in Sawyer’s hair works through a couple of knots, his lips hover on his neck a little while, he doesn’t want to rush this, not when there won’t be a second time, his left hand roams slowly over his back before finding out that Sawyer has a couple of mirroring dimples on the small of his back. If he had seen Sawyer half naked before, he had never noticed.
He registers Sawyer shivering a bit as his finger traces the left one and then the right one; moans start coming brokenly from Sawyer’s mouth when Jack starts to feel them with his nails. He really doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, but he’s pretty sure he can’t take things rushing anyway. Not when Sawyer came ten minutes ago, even if Jack is physically aching right now.
“Oh, fuck, you’re a damned tease, y’know that?” Sawyer mutters at one point and Jack figures that he might have reached just the right point. “Anyone has ever told you?”
“No, but I’ll remember it.” He presses his mouth to each of the dimples, smiling inwardly as Sawyer starts to say something and then doesn’t and rather shivers without being able to help it.
He takes the lamp again trying to guess how much oil it has in it and pours about half over both of his hands; his right reaches his own cock (he kind of gasps when he fully realizes how hard he is, he thinks he probably hadn’t until now), his left slowly pushes its first finger in where Jack knows it’s supposed to and it’s so tight and he can feel Sawyer clenching on instinct.
“Do I stop?”
“Fuck no. Nothin’ I can’t take.”
Might be, but Jack is careful before slipping in finger number two and pours some other oil for good measure. And number three. It’s just when he’s sure there isn’t any instinctive clenching going on that he takes a deep breath and hopes the oil was good enough for this, not to mention enough at all since in the end he used it up.
Sawyer does bite his lip hard though as soon as Jack tries to slip in; but he says soon after that he knows it’s supposed to hurt so he should just fucking get on with it.
He doesn’t count the time as he proceeds, painfully slow, inch by inch; it seems like hours have passed when he’s finally buried in Sawyer, his hands shaking as he grabs Sawyer’s hips. He waits for Sawyer to nod before he gives the first push and then a second and everything is so tight and it feels so good, but he won’t give in until he sees Sawyer actually being on the same page.
It doesn’t take much for the small, weak pleasure moans to reach his ear; looks like it starts when Jack hits some particular spot and maybe he should know what he’s doing but it’s already too much for him to keep thinking straight. He cries in pleasure as Sawyer suddenly pushes his hips upwards in his direction, he wasn’t expecting it but oh, it’s just amazing and he feels encouraged and thrusts again, harder.
Jack’s hands creep under Sawyer’s chest, one staying there and the other taking hold of his cock again, noticing that while Sawyer might not be as hard as before, he still quite is. He thrusts faster then, his breath ragged and his head spinning in circles, and Sawyer matches him as his heels grip on Jack’s; Sawyer does curse a lot indeed but it’s mostly along the lines of fuck, so good, just so good, just so... and then Jack feels a rush of blood to his head and doesn’t hear anything anymore and his groin and no, he wants to last some more, but it doesn’t happen. As soon as Sawyer’s head turns a bit on his side, searching for his mouth, Jack comes inside him, his cry dying in the kiss, pleasure taking hold of him and his body shaking all over as he loses himself in his blissful state for a second.
When it’s over, he doesn’t know how much time it lasted, Sawyer is coming again as he did before, whatever he was saying muffled by the pillow (maybe Jack heard his name, maybe not), shaking in pleasure against him, his skin so hot that it almost burns, and it’s a while before they’re both completely spent and still.
Jack would really like not to move anymore but he knows better and slips out after a relatively short time, ending up on his side while Sawyer is still breathing heavily in a prone position.
It’s half an hour before Sawyer speaks. Jack is glad he’s the one speaking first; he couldn’t gather the courage.
“Fuck. For medical knowledge, that wasn’t half bad.”
“Only half bad?”
Sawyer laughs and leans on his elbows, turning towards him; his hair is falling all over on side, his lips are red and swollen, his eyes glisten in the dark. Jack would kiss him again, he really would, but he figures it isn’t the moment.
“No. Not only half bad.”
Jack wonders what would happen if he stayed the night. He knows it’s just wishful thinking.
Sawyer doesn’t stop him when he gathers his clothes; he weakly waves at him as Jack leaves the room, the knot still there and the sensation of wrongness gone, even if now there’s something else that he knows isn’t ever going to work again.
--
Sawyer watches Jack leaving from his window the morning after, same hour as last time.
His back fucking hurts, but as he washes his face in the common room he thinks it was completely worth it, except that now he feels utterly miserable.
Jack did the right thing, he can’t even begin to think how they could have made it work. Sure, one could pretend during the day and when they weren’t alone, but it was still too dangerous. The problem is that even if he barely has an idea of what possessed him to kiss Jack last evening, he knows that it was different. He’s been anything but a monk in the last six years and nothing comes close to last night. Maybe once or twice with Kate, but they both knew it wasn’t ever meant to last and was temporary. Fine, in their case three years temporary, but still.
It didn’t feel exactly like with Cassidy, last night, but it’s the closest he’s ever come to it and well, fine trick of destiny that it had to be with Jack. Fuck. He won’t even start to count all the ways he’s always been taught that there wasn’t much worse he could do in his life than swing that way. After ‘29 he never really cared, that was such petty stuff. And it’s not like he ever swung that way, telling it straight. Jack is the only man he’s ever wanted his whole life and that’s fucked up. Really fucked up.
He stays all day in his room, doing pretty much nothing; he comes down in the evening, guitar slung over his shoulder (which doesn’t hurt anymore) and some kind of feeling of utter loneliness eating him from inside.
That’s when he decides to be a masochist and he plays I Ain’t Got No Home again, and every fucking verse he sings rips his heart out or something.
The inn is full of regulars, they cheer up, they ask for an encore and well, today he definitely feels masochist and he plays it twice. And then three times.
It’s not until he’s at the I worry all the time like I ain’t ever done before that he actually has a good look at the crowd, until now they were just faces and nothing else, and there’s a black bag, an old suit, an old coat and Jack sitting on a chair and totally avoiding his eyes.
He almost misses the rest of the verse, but manages to keep it straight until the end and strangely it feels almost good to sing that damned thing. By that point his fingers menace to start shaking and his head is spinning and Jack has just no right to have this effect on him.
He excuses himself just after and gets out of the place and since it’s just a bit out of the actual town, he finds himself on the open road; there are two abandoned shacks next to each other on the other side and he heads straight to the narrow space in between. It gives good enough cover or so he hopes and the five minutes he waits seem like five hours.
Then Jack is standing next to him, his body impossibly close and far at the same time; Sawyer can hear his breath laboured and fast and he’s suddenly very glad that it’s almost midnight. He doesn’t know if he could do this in the day.
“So?”
“So... I realized one thing.”
“What?”
“We always assumed we were going to split and go our way here, right?”
“Well, I figured you’d have gotten tired of this crap.”
“I never was tired of it.”
“You... you weren’t?”
“No. And I figured you’d want your privacy back.”
“Fuck, you leave privacy ‘nough. I never said I wanted anything back.”
“So we were basically both idiots.”
“Maybe, but...”
“Listen, I thought about it. I... well, I had left for three hours and I was feeling miserable.”
Sawyer figures that lying won’t work. He’s too tired to, anyway.
“So did I.”
“And so... why? I mean... you want it. I want it. I guess we’re not that comfortable with it but however it ends... why shouldn’t we?”
“Yeah, and the day they catch us we’d better pray for a quick death.”
“Never said we shouldn’t pay attention.”
“Ain’t enough and you know it.”
“Yeah, I do, but... well, I’d rather try it than leaving now. I just... I realized that last night won’t be near enough.”
“Don’t you tell me.”
“So?”
Sawyer sighs and shakes his head, a hand reaching his temple. “So it sounds just too good. There has to be a catch somewhere.”
Jack shrugs and comes closer.
“Looks like there isn’t. Not... not for now at least.”
And then Sawyer just relents and they kiss, briefly but firmly; he can barely see Jack’s face at all but the situation looks just clear in his head right now. So clear that he knows he wants it enough to take a couple of risks, even if this still looks too insane to be really happening.
--
The next morning there’s dust all over the place again as they leave the inn more or less together. They stand near each other at the same road they stood at last January.
“So what now?”
“You know somethin’?”
“What?”
“I think... I think I need to rest. And I think you need to work.”
Jack looks at him like he has just gone crazy.
“Rest.”
“Well, one maybe would like to stay in one place for three months after six years.”
Jack nods even if he doesn’t seem too convinced. Well, figures he wouldn’t be.
“So what do you suggest?”
“Why, you ain’t got a job offer up there in Springs?”
Now Jack looks at him like he’s talking nonsense.
“Are you suggesting that we both go back there, find some place, you probably don’t find any kind of regular job but find some way to get paid to do what you’ve always done while I give Boone some hand down there until we both get thoroughly sick of it?”
“More or less.”
Then half a smile breaks on Jack’s face and Sawyer figures it wasn’t that bad of a suggestion. “Fine, whatever. As long as we’re in L.A. in November.”
“And why the hell would you want to be there in November?”
Jack comes closer and winks. “Don’t you remember? Roosevelt needs my vote, too.”
Sawyer laughs then, dust coming in his mouth from all over the place. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care indeed.
“Fine, whatever. L.A. in November. I’m not voting though.”
“Never said you had to. Which way so?”
Sawyer bites his tongue and puts it on the list for the next time they won’t risk getting caught.
“That one.”
Jack smirks and Sawyer starts walking, shaking his head, still wondering about all this and how fast it happened and how he really doesn’t care. Except that maybe he looks worried since at a certain point Jack’s hand reaches his shoulder.
“Hey. Do you... have a problem? I mean, you look... I don’t know...”
“No, I ain’t. I was just thinkin’, that’s all.”
“About how come we’ll end both end up in hell?”
Sawyer laughs briefly, shaking his head again. Maybe it’s time he shares with Jack the true teachings of folk music.
“See, I think you’re missin’ a point here.”
“Am I?”
“Hell yes, you are. You know that song, This Land Is Your Land?”
“Here we go again... why, maybe. I can’t exactly recall it.”
“You know what it says, at one point?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Whatever. It says as I went walking I saw a sign there and on the sign it said ‘No Trespassing.”
“That isn’t exactly encouraging.”
“Yeah, guess not, but then it ends with but on the other side it didn’t say nothing, that side was made for you and me. Hate to break it to you, but if you ever were on the No Trespassing side you’re with us on the other one, now.”
Jack nods and there’s this faint smile over his lips as he turns to Sawyer again.
“Well, I think I like it better here.”
Sawyer fights the urge to look in Jack’s direction as Jack’s hand, fingertips which he knows to be smooth (just the contrary of his own), brushes delicately for a couple of seconds over the small of his back, nothing that couldn’t be taken for a friendly gesture but which he can’t really mistake. It might not seem much but if last evening this whole arrangement seemed insane... now it just doesn’t, maybe because they’re in the daylight, maybe because it felt as intimate as any kiss they’ve shared, maybe because he’s sick tired of being realist and taking the worst for granted.
“I’ll be damned if I ain’t glad to hear it,” he whispers, looking at the road in front of him because he knows that if he looked at Jack he’d probably kiss him right there and then and it wouldn’t do.
“How is it that it was? The song, I mean. After the sign.”
“It was... nobody living can ever stop me as I go walking that freedom highway... ”
“...nobody living can make me ever turn back, this land was made for you and me?”
“What... son of a bitch, you knew it all along!”
Jack shakes his head and doesn’t answer. Well, damn it, he should have imagined it by this point.
The road in front of him is exactly the same; battered, covered in red dust, looking grim and devastated in the pale light of the early sun. But for how much Sawyer tries, he can’t say that he thinks it looks depressing, horrible, a pain to go through as usual. Today the side made for him just looks beautiful, dust and earth and emptiness included. Fun, that it took all this time to see any kind of beauty in such misery.
End.
Rating: NC17 (yes, yes, that's it.)
Pairing: full on Jack/Sawyer, finally ;)
Word counting: 5883 this part, 50000 ca overall.
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine and all the folk songs used here are not mine. The places really exist and I've never been there.
Summary: Sawyer is a rambling musician during the Dust Bowl, Jack a former doctor from L.A. traveling with him.
Thanks to: elliotsmelliot for the great beta job for which I can't be grateful enough and to fosfomifira for the title. I'd still be searching for one otherwise.
A/N: the songs referenced are I Ain't Got No Home as usual and This Land Is Your Land by Woody Guthrie in its original, uncensored version. ;) Then... ah, I can't believe this took six months to get done but well, it's here, it's done, I'm insanely proud of it and I just hope the end lives up to everything. Thanks so much again to elliotsmelliot whose help was truly priceless and to everyone who stuck with it until now. ♥ And... wow. It's done. Now I'll go have a toast to Woody Guthrie. ;)
Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII
13. This Land Is Your Land
Desmond finishes reading the book because he ‘owes it to his audience’, then he and Penny leave the next day. Rose complains for a while about her poor couch (she had seen it fit to offer it for Penny to sleep on, but she hadn’t put into account that Desmond was obviously going to share it), but she’s beaming as she says it so Jack figures it can’t be that bad. They say they’ll be going to Salt Lake City for now since after all she has the shop and she has a place while he hasn’t had a job or a place since he arrived here; both he and Sawyer wish them luck and watch them leave as they hold hands and touch each other every second.
After they leave, Jack suddenly remembers something. He can’t help smiling then.
“What’s so fun?”
“Nothing. I was just thinking… we could make some job out of this.”
“Out of what?”
“Out of this. I mean, I don’t know how it ended but we did send that friend of yours back to Claire, now those two are searching for each other for six years and it happens only when you and me mess with it, at this point we might as well get paid for it, right?”
Sawyer laughs and shakes his head saying that sure as hell matchmaking never was his talent and then asks him whether he’d fancy a trip down memory lane and Jack knows it means Springfield again. He says yes, not sure of what it will bring.
--
Thing is, they hadn’t really planned this at all and Jack knows it alright. When Sawyer asked him to come, they hadn’t exactly signed a contract which stated how long it would have lasted. Jack figures that if they get to Colorado again it’ll be the end and while Jack figures that nothing lasts forever, he also finds himself strangely reluctant at the idea of finding himself on his own again.
He knows it isn’t anything rational, but he figures it’s mostly human.
He had been going on his own for months and he can’t remember a single face from that time frame. Right, maybe it’s also because he was rarely sober, but well. And he was never much of a people person anyway.
The point is that... well, Sawyer might not be the nicest person one could ever meet and sure, he’s a stubborn son of a bitch and he doesn’t know how to hold onto money, but he’s sure that if he was gone, he’d add quite a big hole next to that other one (the one that opened when Sarah left on that train) and Jack knows it just doesn’t make sense. He wishes it did.
It doesn’t and he still doesn’t feel like letting go of the life he has led since January. Now the weather is nicer, spring is coming, the dust is still there but he just doesn’t think about it. He has been… fine, or as close to fine as it gets around here and in these times. Fine is enough of a big word for him these days. He just knows he can’t tell Sawyer that, though. He can’t exactly tell Sawyer that he isn’t just paranoid because he’d rather be with someone than on his own again, but that he wants him to be that someone; it sounds all kinds of wrong and it’s also phrased wrongly anyway and fuck, the problem is that he can’t deny it, to himself at least. He’d miss Sawyer. He’d miss him and that guitar and folk music twenty four hours each day of the week and just feeling fine and everything else. Fuck. He can’t see a way out.
--
Sawyer figures that Jack must have obviously gotten tired. That’s mostly why he suggested Colorado; if he wants to leave, there’s no better place. In truth, he doesn’t have an idea of why he’s still sticking around; he can’t believe that he actually likes this life, even if to be honest he looks better now than he looked when they left Colorado for the first time. Then again, it didn’t exactly take much to improve in that sense.
Also, he isn’t so sure that he wants to keep on doing this.
He has been going alone for years now and doing just alright, but seeing Desmond get his happy ending has just made him realize how much he misses his own (oh, he had had his happy ending for so much time and it took the both of them dying to realize just how good it was and that it wasn’t an ending anyway, not by any mean) and he doesn’t know if he still wants to keep on going around alone. Sure, he’s got friends around, he’s got places he can go, but while he doesn’t want to settle down anywhere (and wouldn’t know a place anyway) and he seriously doubts he ever will, the alternative looks... grim. He can’t find a better word for it.
And while Jack can be a rich uptight ass when he slips into it (but Sawyer won’t make a fault out of it; he knows from experience that for rich people dealing with something they weren’t brought up for is hard) he’s good to have around after all. He’d miss his lectures on wasting money, he’d miss that quiet but not invading presence, he’d miss that sort of safety feeling he gets from knowing there’s someone constantly watching his back (and Sawyer hasn’t had such a feeling in a while), he’d miss Jack’s nonexistent bedside manners and his very dubious sense of humor and, fuck, he has to admit it to himself: if Jack left, he’d leave a hole. He doesn’t know if there’s enough space left in him to welcome a third one though.
--
So they just assume the same thing without talking about it first. The place is full when they get there after a week spent half walking, half on trains and half hitchhiking. Juliet gives them two separate rooms; they take the keys, stand for a while at the top of the stairs. It’s the last day before Sawyer can play again and he figures it won’t hurt to have some more rest. There’s an awkward silence after Jack splits the money in two and gives Sawyer his half.
“So... what now?”
Jack swallows, looking pretty much lost. “Guess I’ll go. Tomorrow, maybe. You?”
“Guess the day after. I wanna play properly ‘fore goin’.”
“Seems... seems reasonable to me.”
“So... see you around?”
“Guess so. It’s been good.”
“Yeah. It has.”
When they shake hands, it lasts barely a couple of seconds and while they don’t jerk away, they both distinctly feel something awkward, like shaking hands it’s just ridiculous by this point but there isn’t an alternative. Then they both head into their rooms and they can’t know that, but they’re thinking at the same time that there’s something wrong.
--
Jack stays awake half the night before he just gives up, wears just his trousers and his shirt and goes knocking on Sawyer’s door. Since he hit the bed it has been a nightmare: all his tiredness had suddenly disappeared as soon as he brought up the covers and he has been restless until now. Before raising his metaphorical white flag, he changed position at least fifteen times, counted a whole lot of numbers, went through the national hymn at least three times in his head before it started to hurt and for the only couple of minutes of sleep he managed to have he had one of those sorry dreams he has been having since the infamous dancing evening where, and that’s the proof he’s definitely going crazy, there was Sawyer instead of the Italian girl. Well, okay, this was the first time for this particular one, but he has had some equally weird ones since then and he doesn’t really like all the possible explanations he can come up with. He just knows there’s something they need to do and he doesn’t know what it is and this is seriously making him uncomfortable in every possible way. But he figures that since dealing with it on his own won’t obviously work, he might as well try to see what happens now. He pushes the door open when Sawyer tells him to come in, not sounding like he just woke up.
Sawyer hadn’t obviously been sleeping either, and he’s reading on the bed (still fully clothed except for the shoes) when Jack comes in. Jack takes the first seat he finds and drops down on it, looking at his hands first, then at Sawyer later, then at his hands again, and then he finally blurts out, “There’s something wrong.”
“I know,” Sawyer answers putting the book and the glasses away. “Just wish I knew what. ‘S between you ‘n me though, right?”
“Yeah. You got the same feeling?”
“I did. And I’ve been feelin’ miserable. Maybe there’s... God, I dunno. Like something’s lackin’ and if you go or I go now we’ll just feel weird for the next century.”
“Not badly put. Yeah. That’s it. More or less.”
“You’ve got a suggestion?”
Jack blushes, realizing that what he has in mind isn’t a good idea. Now he doesn’t even know if it has happened from the dancing or the train. He’s just confused but he’s positive the idea is everything but good. Even if he can’t deny it’s somehow fixed in his head, along with his uncomfortable dreams.
“I don’t know. Fuck, I mean, it’s been eating my head since when you dragged me to dance or something and you’d probably kill me.”
“Kill you after you saved my ass? I doubt it.”
“Maybe, but... just forget it. God, not really.”
“Wait a second.”
Sawyer stands up from the bed and comes closer, quite closer, so much that Jack has to stand up or otherwise he’ll feel intimidated.
“Now I hope as hell you were meanin’ this or I’m fucked.”
Jack freezes when Sawyer kisses him point blank. It’s rough and dry lips over his, nothing more and nothing less, not even the slightest push, but the intention is unmistakable. And well, fine, that’s exactly what he had in mind. His knees are threatening to give out but he just can’t unless he wants to blow this and so his shaking hands reach for the back of Sawyer’s head as he parts his lips and pushes just lightly.
That’s it.
Sawyer suddenly is all over him, his hands gripping Jack’s back, his tongue plunging into Jack’s mouth and his stubble rough against the skin on Jack’s chin (maybe he shouldn’t have shaved before) and oh, he has never kissed a man all his life and he’s been taught for half of it that something such as this is his free ticket to hell, but sincerely? He has kind of stopped believing in such bullshit ages ago and it’s good, so good to be kissed like this. He always was the one doing the kissing; well, as pitiful as it sounds he has only kissed Sarah his whole life because she was his only woman and he never went with hookers who allowed the kissing policy.
Sawyer, though, Sawyer is such a good kisser; well, that wasn’t too hard to figure out. His lips might seem dry at first, but as soon as they’re just a bit wet he can feel them soft against his own; that tongue is doing wonders, swirling against his, touching every inch of his mouth, making his knees threaten to give out. He tastes of dust and good whiskey and Jack shivers as soon as one of his hands reach his cheek, slightly trembling. His fingertips are rough against Jack’s skin and then the kiss breaks with a soft noise. Jack opens his eyes to meet a couple of green ones shining in the dim light of the oil lamp on Sawyer’s nightstand and a strangled sigh comes from Sawyer’s lips. He doesn’t move, though; Jack shivers as he realizes that they’re sharing the same air and that his whole body is aching right now.
“So, I ain’t fucked?”
His lips are so red and swollen now; Jack shakes his head, feeling his throat going suddenly dry.
“No. No, you aren’t.”
“You said since the dance?”
“Yeah. More or less. Let’s just say that. You?”
“Since you played the piano that night. I guess. Somewhat. Fuck. Just realized it lately, though.”
Jack suddenly can feel his trousers getting tight, way too tight; then again, they’re so close that he just feels Sawyer being as hard as he is.
“What... you wanna go the whole way?”
“Shit. Well... I guess... fuck. Never done it with a man and actually never even thought about it but yeah. Fine. I do. Oh, what a mess.”
A mess indeed, Jack thinks, even if at least he knows what they’re supposed to do if they go for it. Well, in theory.
“Doc, I hope you have an idea of what the hell we’re going to do now.”
Jack has an idea that it was supposed to sound less coy than it does; there’s a glint in Sawyer’s eyes that says that he has indeed an idea of what they should do now, but Jack won’t go and question any reasons Sawyer might have here.
“Let’s say I have.”
“You do.”
“... from a strictly medical point of view.”
“Well, better than nothing I’d say.”
Then he’s kissing Jack again slowly, taking time, his tongue tracing Jack’s lips before asking access gently and it’s so intimate that Jack feels this knot of enormous proportions forming somewhere inside him and it stays there even when it’s over. Sawyer nods and Jack nods and they end up on the bed, which is half undone already anyway.
It doesn’t take much to admit that Sawyer is an attractive man. Hell, one would have to be blind not to see it, but right now, right now there’s something more going on. Jack’s fingers shake as he undoes the buttons on Sawyer’s shirt and as Sawyer undoes his own; Jack takes it away and lets it fall on the floor. Below Jack’s fingers now there’s just smooth, tanned skin, shivering under his hand; he kicks his shoes away, bends down, kisses Sawyer again slowly and God, he just can’t help noticing the details. How green Sawyer’s eyes are in the dim light coming from their right (and why does it looks like there’s some kind of turmoil going on behind them? He can imagine why, or maybe he’s just not thinking straight), how their bodies seem to fit against each other, how Sawyer’s hand is rough behind Jack’s back, how soft his hair is even if it’s kind of dirty when Jack’s hand goes there and gets tangled between the strands. His hand trails over the still healing scar on Sawyer’s left shoulder and Jack shivers just out of nowhere.
He doesn’t know why he’s realizing it just now; it doesn’t feel like some passing attraction, not when that knot somewhere inside him is still there and at every touch of Sawyer’s fingertips he feels like he’s going to burst. But while the wrong sensation he had before is gone, he can’t help noticing Sawyer’s torn expression as Jack slowly takes a few strands of hair away from his face.
“What’s going on in there?”
Sawyer just smirks, probably figuring it isn’t the time to postpone dealing with any problem he might have.
“Just... I was wondering whether... this thing would have a future or not. Just... I’m more okay with it than I’d have thought to be if you asked me a month ago, hell, I’m just fucking great with it, but I just can’t see myself bein’ like this with you someplace public.”
Jack nods; Sawyer is right, thinking this could actually last for more than one night is pure utopia. But it’s not enough to stop him right now, even if as usual he can’t exactly say why.
“I know.”
“It’d be just this once.”
“I know.”
“And then we really shouldn’t cross paths.”
“I know. I’ll still go on if you want it though.”
“Fuck, yes. As long as you know what you’re doin’.”
And then Sawyer winks and his hips thrust up against him and Jack’s hands are on his own jeans first and Sawyer’s after. He gets rid of both and well, as long as it’s hands he can safely say he doesn’t just have an idea.
It’s a question of making things good, he thinks as he breathes deeply and takes Sawyer’s cock in his hand, figuring that one should start with what he knows and what can’t be that weird after all. He’s as hard as Jack is and while the temptation to take care of his own needs is becoming pretty much overwhelming and fast, he just bites his lip and as he throws the sheet out of his way his hand starts stroking slowly and Sawyer’s head reclines, exposing his neck slightly, enough of a temptation for Jack to press his lips along the length, leaving a feathered trail of light kisses, while blissful moans fill his ears and he speeds up, his fingers suddenly firm and his head a bit clearer. He feels Sawyer getting even harder and decides he can’t be doing bad. Not at all. It doesn’t last much more; Sawyer comes mere seconds later, hard, his teeth biting Jack’s shoulder lightly, leaving his hand a sticky mess; Jack now has some kind of doubt whether it means that he did a good job or that it was atrocious.
“Fuck, Doc, you have some talent with those hands,” he hears just as soon as he thought it. Well, then he shouldn’t have doubted. “Was… I was tryin’ to hold back but ‘twasn’t really possible.”
“Well, then do I get a reward?”
Sawyer’s eyes are strangely burning, when they stare deep into his.
“’Course you do. Don’t think that you wore me out.”
Then a hand is behind his neck and Jack is pulled down; he meets Sawyer’s lips in a rush, it almost hurts when it happens, but the kiss that follows isn’t as rushed as he had thought it’d be. It’s long, and Jack shivers when the longer nails on Sawyer’s left hand scratch over his back. Jack feels the sheets damp under his right hand, the one not tangled in Sawyer’s hair; and it feels so right that thinking there won’t be a last time is almost enough to make him stop. But he doesn’t and his voice stays low when they part with a soft noise.
“I wasn’t hoping that much. But... listen, you’re sure you...”
“I what? Wanna go the whole way?”
“No, that you don’t want to lead.”
Sawyer snorts and looks at him almost amused.
“Why, thanks but I’ll pass. For once you can do the work here.”
Jack would have tried to come up with some equally smart answer but then lets it go, realizing that he should really, really find something for… his train of thoughts stop as he takes a look around. There isn’t really a better choice.
“Turn over.”
Sawyer does, but then frowns as he sees Jack reaching for the second oil lamp, the one which isn’t lightened.
“What the hell are you doin’?”
“Letting you stand tomorrow morning. You can tell Juliet you used it up. And spread your legs.”
Sawyer nods and does and Jack leaves the lamp near reach; his hand still in Sawyer’s hair works through a couple of knots, his lips hover on his neck a little while, he doesn’t want to rush this, not when there won’t be a second time, his left hand roams slowly over his back before finding out that Sawyer has a couple of mirroring dimples on the small of his back. If he had seen Sawyer half naked before, he had never noticed.
He registers Sawyer shivering a bit as his finger traces the left one and then the right one; moans start coming brokenly from Sawyer’s mouth when Jack starts to feel them with his nails. He really doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing, but he’s pretty sure he can’t take things rushing anyway. Not when Sawyer came ten minutes ago, even if Jack is physically aching right now.
“Oh, fuck, you’re a damned tease, y’know that?” Sawyer mutters at one point and Jack figures that he might have reached just the right point. “Anyone has ever told you?”
“No, but I’ll remember it.” He presses his mouth to each of the dimples, smiling inwardly as Sawyer starts to say something and then doesn’t and rather shivers without being able to help it.
He takes the lamp again trying to guess how much oil it has in it and pours about half over both of his hands; his right reaches his own cock (he kind of gasps when he fully realizes how hard he is, he thinks he probably hadn’t until now), his left slowly pushes its first finger in where Jack knows it’s supposed to and it’s so tight and he can feel Sawyer clenching on instinct.
“Do I stop?”
“Fuck no. Nothin’ I can’t take.”
Might be, but Jack is careful before slipping in finger number two and pours some other oil for good measure. And number three. It’s just when he’s sure there isn’t any instinctive clenching going on that he takes a deep breath and hopes the oil was good enough for this, not to mention enough at all since in the end he used it up.
Sawyer does bite his lip hard though as soon as Jack tries to slip in; but he says soon after that he knows it’s supposed to hurt so he should just fucking get on with it.
He doesn’t count the time as he proceeds, painfully slow, inch by inch; it seems like hours have passed when he’s finally buried in Sawyer, his hands shaking as he grabs Sawyer’s hips. He waits for Sawyer to nod before he gives the first push and then a second and everything is so tight and it feels so good, but he won’t give in until he sees Sawyer actually being on the same page.
It doesn’t take much for the small, weak pleasure moans to reach his ear; looks like it starts when Jack hits some particular spot and maybe he should know what he’s doing but it’s already too much for him to keep thinking straight. He cries in pleasure as Sawyer suddenly pushes his hips upwards in his direction, he wasn’t expecting it but oh, it’s just amazing and he feels encouraged and thrusts again, harder.
Jack’s hands creep under Sawyer’s chest, one staying there and the other taking hold of his cock again, noticing that while Sawyer might not be as hard as before, he still quite is. He thrusts faster then, his breath ragged and his head spinning in circles, and Sawyer matches him as his heels grip on Jack’s; Sawyer does curse a lot indeed but it’s mostly along the lines of fuck, so good, just so good, just so... and then Jack feels a rush of blood to his head and doesn’t hear anything anymore and his groin and no, he wants to last some more, but it doesn’t happen. As soon as Sawyer’s head turns a bit on his side, searching for his mouth, Jack comes inside him, his cry dying in the kiss, pleasure taking hold of him and his body shaking all over as he loses himself in his blissful state for a second.
When it’s over, he doesn’t know how much time it lasted, Sawyer is coming again as he did before, whatever he was saying muffled by the pillow (maybe Jack heard his name, maybe not), shaking in pleasure against him, his skin so hot that it almost burns, and it’s a while before they’re both completely spent and still.
Jack would really like not to move anymore but he knows better and slips out after a relatively short time, ending up on his side while Sawyer is still breathing heavily in a prone position.
It’s half an hour before Sawyer speaks. Jack is glad he’s the one speaking first; he couldn’t gather the courage.
“Fuck. For medical knowledge, that wasn’t half bad.”
“Only half bad?”
Sawyer laughs and leans on his elbows, turning towards him; his hair is falling all over on side, his lips are red and swollen, his eyes glisten in the dark. Jack would kiss him again, he really would, but he figures it isn’t the moment.
“No. Not only half bad.”
Jack wonders what would happen if he stayed the night. He knows it’s just wishful thinking.
Sawyer doesn’t stop him when he gathers his clothes; he weakly waves at him as Jack leaves the room, the knot still there and the sensation of wrongness gone, even if now there’s something else that he knows isn’t ever going to work again.
--
Sawyer watches Jack leaving from his window the morning after, same hour as last time.
His back fucking hurts, but as he washes his face in the common room he thinks it was completely worth it, except that now he feels utterly miserable.
Jack did the right thing, he can’t even begin to think how they could have made it work. Sure, one could pretend during the day and when they weren’t alone, but it was still too dangerous. The problem is that even if he barely has an idea of what possessed him to kiss Jack last evening, he knows that it was different. He’s been anything but a monk in the last six years and nothing comes close to last night. Maybe once or twice with Kate, but they both knew it wasn’t ever meant to last and was temporary. Fine, in their case three years temporary, but still.
It didn’t feel exactly like with Cassidy, last night, but it’s the closest he’s ever come to it and well, fine trick of destiny that it had to be with Jack. Fuck. He won’t even start to count all the ways he’s always been taught that there wasn’t much worse he could do in his life than swing that way. After ‘29 he never really cared, that was such petty stuff. And it’s not like he ever swung that way, telling it straight. Jack is the only man he’s ever wanted his whole life and that’s fucked up. Really fucked up.
He stays all day in his room, doing pretty much nothing; he comes down in the evening, guitar slung over his shoulder (which doesn’t hurt anymore) and some kind of feeling of utter loneliness eating him from inside.
That’s when he decides to be a masochist and he plays I Ain’t Got No Home again, and every fucking verse he sings rips his heart out or something.
The inn is full of regulars, they cheer up, they ask for an encore and well, today he definitely feels masochist and he plays it twice. And then three times.
It’s not until he’s at the I worry all the time like I ain’t ever done before that he actually has a good look at the crowd, until now they were just faces and nothing else, and there’s a black bag, an old suit, an old coat and Jack sitting on a chair and totally avoiding his eyes.
He almost misses the rest of the verse, but manages to keep it straight until the end and strangely it feels almost good to sing that damned thing. By that point his fingers menace to start shaking and his head is spinning and Jack has just no right to have this effect on him.
He excuses himself just after and gets out of the place and since it’s just a bit out of the actual town, he finds himself on the open road; there are two abandoned shacks next to each other on the other side and he heads straight to the narrow space in between. It gives good enough cover or so he hopes and the five minutes he waits seem like five hours.
Then Jack is standing next to him, his body impossibly close and far at the same time; Sawyer can hear his breath laboured and fast and he’s suddenly very glad that it’s almost midnight. He doesn’t know if he could do this in the day.
“So?”
“So... I realized one thing.”
“What?”
“We always assumed we were going to split and go our way here, right?”
“Well, I figured you’d have gotten tired of this crap.”
“I never was tired of it.”
“You... you weren’t?”
“No. And I figured you’d want your privacy back.”
“Fuck, you leave privacy ‘nough. I never said I wanted anything back.”
“So we were basically both idiots.”
“Maybe, but...”
“Listen, I thought about it. I... well, I had left for three hours and I was feeling miserable.”
Sawyer figures that lying won’t work. He’s too tired to, anyway.
“So did I.”
“And so... why? I mean... you want it. I want it. I guess we’re not that comfortable with it but however it ends... why shouldn’t we?”
“Yeah, and the day they catch us we’d better pray for a quick death.”
“Never said we shouldn’t pay attention.”
“Ain’t enough and you know it.”
“Yeah, I do, but... well, I’d rather try it than leaving now. I just... I realized that last night won’t be near enough.”
“Don’t you tell me.”
“So?”
Sawyer sighs and shakes his head, a hand reaching his temple. “So it sounds just too good. There has to be a catch somewhere.”
Jack shrugs and comes closer.
“Looks like there isn’t. Not... not for now at least.”
And then Sawyer just relents and they kiss, briefly but firmly; he can barely see Jack’s face at all but the situation looks just clear in his head right now. So clear that he knows he wants it enough to take a couple of risks, even if this still looks too insane to be really happening.
--
The next morning there’s dust all over the place again as they leave the inn more or less together. They stand near each other at the same road they stood at last January.
“So what now?”
“You know somethin’?”
“What?”
“I think... I think I need to rest. And I think you need to work.”
Jack looks at him like he has just gone crazy.
“Rest.”
“Well, one maybe would like to stay in one place for three months after six years.”
Jack nods even if he doesn’t seem too convinced. Well, figures he wouldn’t be.
“So what do you suggest?”
“Why, you ain’t got a job offer up there in Springs?”
Now Jack looks at him like he’s talking nonsense.
“Are you suggesting that we both go back there, find some place, you probably don’t find any kind of regular job but find some way to get paid to do what you’ve always done while I give Boone some hand down there until we both get thoroughly sick of it?”
“More or less.”
Then half a smile breaks on Jack’s face and Sawyer figures it wasn’t that bad of a suggestion. “Fine, whatever. As long as we’re in L.A. in November.”
“And why the hell would you want to be there in November?”
Jack comes closer and winks. “Don’t you remember? Roosevelt needs my vote, too.”
Sawyer laughs then, dust coming in his mouth from all over the place. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care indeed.
“Fine, whatever. L.A. in November. I’m not voting though.”
“Never said you had to. Which way so?”
Sawyer bites his tongue and puts it on the list for the next time they won’t risk getting caught.
“That one.”
Jack smirks and Sawyer starts walking, shaking his head, still wondering about all this and how fast it happened and how he really doesn’t care. Except that maybe he looks worried since at a certain point Jack’s hand reaches his shoulder.
“Hey. Do you... have a problem? I mean, you look... I don’t know...”
“No, I ain’t. I was just thinkin’, that’s all.”
“About how come we’ll end both end up in hell?”
Sawyer laughs briefly, shaking his head again. Maybe it’s time he shares with Jack the true teachings of folk music.
“See, I think you’re missin’ a point here.”
“Am I?”
“Hell yes, you are. You know that song, This Land Is Your Land?”
“Here we go again... why, maybe. I can’t exactly recall it.”
“You know what it says, at one point?”
“Enlighten me.”
“Whatever. It says as I went walking I saw a sign there and on the sign it said ‘No Trespassing.”
“That isn’t exactly encouraging.”
“Yeah, guess not, but then it ends with but on the other side it didn’t say nothing, that side was made for you and me. Hate to break it to you, but if you ever were on the No Trespassing side you’re with us on the other one, now.”
Jack nods and there’s this faint smile over his lips as he turns to Sawyer again.
“Well, I think I like it better here.”
Sawyer fights the urge to look in Jack’s direction as Jack’s hand, fingertips which he knows to be smooth (just the contrary of his own), brushes delicately for a couple of seconds over the small of his back, nothing that couldn’t be taken for a friendly gesture but which he can’t really mistake. It might not seem much but if last evening this whole arrangement seemed insane... now it just doesn’t, maybe because they’re in the daylight, maybe because it felt as intimate as any kiss they’ve shared, maybe because he’s sick tired of being realist and taking the worst for granted.
“I’ll be damned if I ain’t glad to hear it,” he whispers, looking at the road in front of him because he knows that if he looked at Jack he’d probably kiss him right there and then and it wouldn’t do.
“How is it that it was? The song, I mean. After the sign.”
“It was... nobody living can ever stop me as I go walking that freedom highway... ”
“...nobody living can make me ever turn back, this land was made for you and me?”
“What... son of a bitch, you knew it all along!”
Jack shakes his head and doesn’t answer. Well, damn it, he should have imagined it by this point.
The road in front of him is exactly the same; battered, covered in red dust, looking grim and devastated in the pale light of the early sun. But for how much Sawyer tries, he can’t say that he thinks it looks depressing, horrible, a pain to go through as usual. Today the side made for him just looks beautiful, dust and earth and emptiness included. Fun, that it took all this time to see any kind of beauty in such misery.
End.