Lost:Sawyer/Jack - Hidden Talents
This is silly, and ever so slightly teetering on the brink of that genre (slash) which I closet-read but do not ever, ever write. Please don't tell. If you have to blame someone, and I'm sure that you will, blame it on alliecat8 who once wrote a little ficlet concerning pancakes...
Dedicated to elise_509, for her bad ankle, which isn't anymore. My guy wanted to do something nice for your guy, and here you have it. Thanks to hendercats for cheering me on and giving me the incentive. And once again I sing the praises of hereswith, who stayed up late with me on this one.
Answering prompts for my claims at psych_30 and 100_situations, which means it is posted there as well as sawyer_jack and ficinabottle. Deeply sorry about the spamage.
Hidden Talents
Jack had a thing for pancakes. Sawyer knew this because, when he wasn’t trying to fix anyone and everyone on the island, when he wasn’t obsessing over the one-upmanship wars between Locke and himself, when he wasn’t bending over backward to avoid bending over forward whenever Sawyer sauntered by, Jack waxed poetic about pancakes.
He mused on the proper number of strokes necessary to insure batter of the perfect consistency. “You wanna talk proper strokes?” Sawyer murmured, his hand slipping below the equator of Jack’s belt.
Jack debated with himself (because Sawyer refused to be drawn into any meta-discussions of fluffy breakfast food - it was eggs fried up in the bacon drippings and black coffee for him, thank you kindly) the pros and cons of the addition of fruit, sometimes musing that guava might be an interesting way to go, only to decide time and again that a pancake should be enjoyed in its purest form, sans guava, apple or even blueberry. The thought of blueberries always gave him pause, though. Jack did love blueberry pancakes.
He would give dissertations on the importance of the griddle itself, and on how to test for the optimum temperature necessary to result in the perfect pancake. “I know,” Sawyer moaned, attempting to test for a different sort of temperature in his own demented way, with nary a griddle in sight. “One single drop of cold water has to bounce three times on the griddle before it sizzles away to nothing. Only then should the ladling of the batter begin.” He mimicked the earnest tones of Jack’s voice to perfection. “Don’t go making me call you Julia Child again.”
Yes, Jack had a thing for pancakes, but alas, Sawyer did not. Even though he had heard the lessons often enough and could literally make pancakes a’la Jacques in his dreams, he could not do it here on the island. He didn’t have batter for blood, as Jack did. He didn’t have the love, the drive or the griddle, either.
***
“What do you want them for?” Rose mumbled around the wooden pins that she was holding in her mouth.
“Where’d you get clothespins?” Sawyer asked, sidestepping to throw her off course.
“You want to play, baby, I’ll play, but that won’t get you what you want. We got us a little quid pro quo going here.” Rose continued hanging clothes on the line, her back to Sawyer. “You tell me why you need them and I’ll think about giving them to you.”
“Look,” he began, then shook his head once and threw up his hands in surrender. “You know what? Forget it.”
“Shoe doesn’t fit so well on the other foot, does it, James?” Rose stepped away from the clothesline and turned to look at Sawyer, who was hiding behind the fall of his hair while apparently attempting to dig a hole to China with the toe of his boot.
“Oh, for goodness sake. Grab that basket and come on with me.”
“Yes, ma’m.” Sawyer was so relieved to see his plan starting to come together that he completely missed Rose shaking her head and muttering to herself as she led him to her open-air pantry.
***
Sawyer tucked the box carefully into his pack and headed down the beach. Damn but that woman drove a hard bargain. She had taken his last two packages of Dharma Initiative Imitation Oreo Cookies, a gently used tube of Colgate PlusWhite Toothpaste and a trashy romance novel in trade for what he had come looking for.
It wasn’t the lopsided exchange of goods that bothered him so much as it was the super secret plan that she had cajoled him into sharing. Rose had been true to her word, refusing to begin negotiations until he told her why he was on the one-man scavenger hunt.
“I’m tryin’ to do something nice here. That ok with you, Mother Theresa?” One dark look from her and he ditched the attitude, confessed his plan and leaned back against the nearest tree, eyes gone all puppy-dog, hoping for the best.
“Now that’s just sweet, James,” Rose said, patting his arm. “Don’t you worry, I won’t tell a soul.” He felt the blood race up his neck to color his face all the way to the hairline and cursed inwardly, knowing that a man sporting the vivid flush of embarrassment wasn’t worth a shit at the bargaining table.
***
“Penny for your thoughts, Babar.”
“Dude, you see a sign here that says “redneck jerks welcome?”
“Easy there, big guy. Just came to do a little barterin’.”
“Not interested, man.”
“Come on now, Jabba. Must be somethin' in that stash o’mine that you got a hankerin’ for.”
“Nada. And dude? Word to the wise. In an attempted bartering situation like the one we got going on here? Insults are, you know, definitely not the way to go.”
“Tell you what…man. You give me that one can right there and I’ll pull the plug on my terms of endearment for a week.”
“Dude. Seriously, you’ve got to bring more to the table than that!”
“Two weeks.”
“More like two months.”
“Three weeks, and that’s my final offer.”
“A month, and you help me catch tree frogs and relocate them - unsquished. No frogs, no can, man.”
***
The can took its place next to the box in Sawyer’s pack. “You’d better fuckin’ appreciate this, jackass,” Sawyer grumbled as he trudged towards his next mark, hoping that this deal would go down a little easier than the last two had. The cards were in his favor, since it was Mamacita who he had in the cross hairs now. She liked him, he could tell.
***
“You want me to what?” Sawyer tromped away from Clarie and back again, to wither her with his best I so fuckin’ don’t believe you just said that to me glare. He wasn’t all that surprised to discover that it wasn’t working.
“Oh, not all at once,” she babbled, blissfully unaware. “Just a couple of hours here and there, you know, when I want a little “me” time.” The fact that the girl had actually used air quotes around the word me disturbed Sawyer more than he cared to consider. “Some uninterrupted girl talk, or maybe a nice long shower.” Claire looked out to sea and sighed wistfully. “A nap, right in the middle of the afternoon.” She turned a day-dreamy smile to Sawyer. “You know.”
“All I know, little sister, is them’s pretty high stakes. I was thinking more along the lines of choppin’ you some firewood or maybe catchin’ you a few fish. How ‘bout we head in that direction?”
“John and Jin see to those things for me. But nobody can take Aaron for any amount of time…except you. He likes you, Sawyer. He always has.”
“Yeah, well.” Sawyer ran both hands through his hair and huffed out a deep breath. “Every kid needs a degenerate to look up to, ain’t that right, short stuff?” Aaron gurgled and grinned at Sawyer, then grabbed his own bare foot and began to suck happily on his toes. “There you go, boy! I used to know this gal in Tulsa who could..."
Claire snatched Aaron up from his cradle. “I think you guys can wait a couple of years before you have that conversation. So, here’s what you wanted, Sawyer, although I don’t see why you couldn’t have just gone out and gotten your own. I mean, what’s so special about these in particular?” She passed him the bundle and he eased it into his pack, alongside the box and the can.
“Because on all of this stink hole of an island, darlin’, these are the only ones that are just right.”
***
“Freckles!”
“Hey, Sawyer, where’s the fire?”
“Listen, I need you to do me a favor.”
“A favor? I don’t know…”
“Kate. Please.”
Kate’s mouth fell open as she stared up at Sawyer. He had used her real name. And he had said please.
“What do you need?”
***
Sawyer had one more stop to make. He rifled through his own stash until he found the small box that had been his inspiration, Dharma Initiative Artificial Egg Whites.
“Just add water.” The smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of his mouth as he tucked the box into his pack. With Kate enlisted to distract Jack, he was assured of no interruptions for a couple of hours. That’s how long he told her he needed, trusting her to deliver the doc at the appointed hour. No one else would come ‘round when Sawyer was pushing the button; it was one of the perks of being Mr. Personality, all the time in the world to sit on the couch and read with only the beeping of the button to interrupt him. But he wouldn’t be reading today, boys. Today he would be cooking.
***
Maybe Sawyer didn’t know pancakes, but he did have one hidden culinary specialty all his own. As he unpacked his bartered treasures, lining them up oh so carefully on the counter in the hatch kitchen, he thought back to the time in his life when getting this one thing right had been all that grounded him. That was before James had gone AWOL and Sawyer had come to stay.
“We who are about to dine, salute you, great and powerful Dharma Schmarma,” Sawyer gruffed. “Artificial this, imitation that. Ain’t one thing here that’s real, ‘cept these little beauties from the rug rat’s mama.”
“But that’s okay.” His voice softened. “That’s all right. ‘Cause I’m gonna do this anyway, and things will be just fine. This is gonna tickle Jack’s fancy, and that’s gonna tickle mine.”
Sawyer looked around him for a minute, wondering how things had come to this. Him. In an underground kitchen on an uncharted island. Doing something nice for someone with absolutely no ulterior motive whatsoever.
Well, with almost absolutely no ulterior motive whatsoever. After all, the part of him that was Sawyer may have started packing his bags, but he sure as hell hadn’t checked out yet.
“Yeah, whatever,” Sawyer said, reaching for the can opener. "Time to get this show on the road."
***
It was two hours later and Sawyer was lounging on the couch, reading a brand new book. He had found it in a back corner of one of the kitchen cabinets, as thick as his forearm and written by some Russian chick with a bad haircut and an interesting take on the world. Atlas Shrugged. He had a feeling he was going to like it.
The kitchen had been restored to order with everything back in its prescribed place. Didn’t it just figure that some former button-pusher had taken the time to outline each and every utensil, pot, pan and dish on the shelves and in the drawers, so there would be no question about where things went. Anal-retentive little piss pot.
Yes, everything was as it had been in the Dharma Initiative Kitchen, (DIK for short), with one small exception. In the center of the counter, still warm from the oven, condensation beading on the golden brown peaks of nearly perfect, though artificial meringue, sat the most beautiful banana pudding that Sawyer had ever made.
He knew that it didn’t taste half bad. What cook worth his salt didn’t lick the bowl or have a little nibble before the finishing touches were applied? It wasn’t as good as his mama’s by a damn shot, not as good as his when he had all the ingredients and could make the custard from scratch, but it didn’t suck, and that was something. Besides, if presentation counted, (and he knew that it did - even in the epicurean world, it was all in the details) and given an “A” for effort, Sawyer was pretty sure that he had just hit this one out of the park.
It wasn’t long before Jack strolled into the common area, released by Kate right on time. Sawyer was gonna have to kiss that girl, or something. Jack came to sit next to him on the couch.
“Hey,” he said, closing the book around Sawyer’s fingers so he could get a look at the title. “Good read. You’ll like it.”
“Yeah? Figures you’ve already read it.” Sawyer flipped the book open again.
“What can I tell you? Modern Lit, freshman year, or Intro to Philosophy, I can’t really remember. So.” Jack leaned forward, trying to gauge Sawyer’s mood by the look on his face. “What’s up?”
With a little cough, Sawyer closed the book and set it between them. “Same ol’, same ol’,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Where ya been? Thought I’d be seeing you a couple hours ago.” Again, there was a raspy little cough.
“Kate thought she found signs that the Others had been in the area. Wanted me to check it out with her.”
“Really?” The word was spoken softly, as though Sawyer were contemplating the potential seriousness of the situation. “How’d that go?” Cough. “Find anything?”
“Sawyer, is there something wrong with your throat?” Jack was instantly serious. You could take Jack out of the doctoring business, but you couldn’t take the doctoring business out of Jack, especially when it concerned the medically challenged Sawyer. “Sounds like you’ve got a bit of a cough.”
“What’s that?” Cough. Sawyer looked puzzled and not the least bit smug. “Oh. Yeah. Throat’s been a little scratchy, I guess.” One hand traveled up to rest against his throat, as though it could tell him if there was a problem there.
“Do you have a fever?” Jack’s hand was on Sawyer’s forehead before the sentence was completed.
“No. Well, maybe.” Sawyer squirmed back from Jack’s touch. “Quit being such a mother hen, doc. I ain’t sick.”
“Maybe not, but your forehead feels warm, and you definitely have something going on with…” Jack’s diagnostic ramble was cut short by a bout of severe coughing on Sawyer’s part. Eyes watering and face the color of a ripe tomato, Sawyer slumped to the couch, apparently unable to catch his breath.
“Okay. Sit right there. I’m going to get you some water,” Jack said, already on his way to the kitchen. The coughing fit miraculously ceased and a long suppressed smirk lit up Sawyer’s face like a county fair midway at midnight.
He got up and quietly followed Jack to the DIK.
***
Yep, Sawyer thought, watching Jack from the doorway, this was worth all the tradin', and he ain’t even tasted it yet.
Jack was standing in the kitchen, turning the banana pudding in lazy-slow circles on the counter, studying it from every angle, with a look very much like lust in his eyes. Golden discs of vanilla wafers (Dharma Initiative brand Vanilla Wafer look-alikes, Sawyer would later inform him) lined the sides of the glass baking dish, peeking through a thin layer of creamy custard (Dharma Initiative Vanilla Pudding with Artificial Flavors from a can, Sawyer confessed as they helped themselves to seconds half an hour later. “I blended in one of Yul Brynner’s over-ripe banana’s that I found by the computer, to smooth out the texture and kick the flavor up a notch.”)
What Jack couldn’t see, but knew was there from the heavenly aroma filling the kitchen, was more custard mixed with sliced bananas - not too green, not too yellow, but firm and bursting with honest-to-god pure and natural real fruit flavor.
All of that was good…was fantastic, and Jack’s mouth began to water in anticipation of his first bite. What set his heart afire, though, was the meringue. (Dharma Initia… Jack had stopped Sawyer before he could finish. He knew how the song went by that point.) Perfectly browned curls above pristine white valleys, little amber-hued droplets of moisture still clinging to the slopes, promising to melt against his tongue the instant that they were properly introduced.
“Doc?” Sawyer’s voice was a low, throaty rumble. Jack looked up, snapped out of his daze by a momentarily forgotten sense of duty.
“Sawyer, I’m sorry. Your water… I forgot.” Jack stammered, moving to the sink and filling a glass.
“Not a problem, Jack. Seems I’ve been healed.” Gesturing toward the object of Jack’s most immediate desire, Sawyer smiled. “So, whacha think?”
Jack gazed from Sawyer to the most perfect example of banana pudding he had ever seen, and back again. “You did this?” he breathed.
Sawyer broke into a wide grin, pearly whites and dimples both working overtime.
“What can I say, doc? I ain’t worth a damn when it comes to breakfast foods, but this you gotta know…I’m always good for dessert.”
fini
Dedicated to elise_509, for her bad ankle, which isn't anymore. My guy wanted to do something nice for your guy, and here you have it. Thanks to hendercats for cheering me on and giving me the incentive. And once again I sing the praises of hereswith, who stayed up late with me on this one.
Answering prompts for my claims at psych_30 and 100_situations, which means it is posted there as well as sawyer_jack and ficinabottle. Deeply sorry about the spamage.
Hidden Talents
Jack had a thing for pancakes. Sawyer knew this because, when he wasn’t trying to fix anyone and everyone on the island, when he wasn’t obsessing over the one-upmanship wars between Locke and himself, when he wasn’t bending over backward to avoid bending over forward whenever Sawyer sauntered by, Jack waxed poetic about pancakes.
He mused on the proper number of strokes necessary to insure batter of the perfect consistency. “You wanna talk proper strokes?” Sawyer murmured, his hand slipping below the equator of Jack’s belt.
Jack debated with himself (because Sawyer refused to be drawn into any meta-discussions of fluffy breakfast food - it was eggs fried up in the bacon drippings and black coffee for him, thank you kindly) the pros and cons of the addition of fruit, sometimes musing that guava might be an interesting way to go, only to decide time and again that a pancake should be enjoyed in its purest form, sans guava, apple or even blueberry. The thought of blueberries always gave him pause, though. Jack did love blueberry pancakes.
He would give dissertations on the importance of the griddle itself, and on how to test for the optimum temperature necessary to result in the perfect pancake. “I know,” Sawyer moaned, attempting to test for a different sort of temperature in his own demented way, with nary a griddle in sight. “One single drop of cold water has to bounce three times on the griddle before it sizzles away to nothing. Only then should the ladling of the batter begin.” He mimicked the earnest tones of Jack’s voice to perfection. “Don’t go making me call you Julia Child again.”
Yes, Jack had a thing for pancakes, but alas, Sawyer did not. Even though he had heard the lessons often enough and could literally make pancakes a’la Jacques in his dreams, he could not do it here on the island. He didn’t have batter for blood, as Jack did. He didn’t have the love, the drive or the griddle, either.
***
“What do you want them for?” Rose mumbled around the wooden pins that she was holding in her mouth.
“Where’d you get clothespins?” Sawyer asked, sidestepping to throw her off course.
“You want to play, baby, I’ll play, but that won’t get you what you want. We got us a little quid pro quo going here.” Rose continued hanging clothes on the line, her back to Sawyer. “You tell me why you need them and I’ll think about giving them to you.”
“Look,” he began, then shook his head once and threw up his hands in surrender. “You know what? Forget it.”
“Shoe doesn’t fit so well on the other foot, does it, James?” Rose stepped away from the clothesline and turned to look at Sawyer, who was hiding behind the fall of his hair while apparently attempting to dig a hole to China with the toe of his boot.
“Oh, for goodness sake. Grab that basket and come on with me.”
“Yes, ma’m.” Sawyer was so relieved to see his plan starting to come together that he completely missed Rose shaking her head and muttering to herself as she led him to her open-air pantry.
***
Sawyer tucked the box carefully into his pack and headed down the beach. Damn but that woman drove a hard bargain. She had taken his last two packages of Dharma Initiative Imitation Oreo Cookies, a gently used tube of Colgate PlusWhite Toothpaste and a trashy romance novel in trade for what he had come looking for.
It wasn’t the lopsided exchange of goods that bothered him so much as it was the super secret plan that she had cajoled him into sharing. Rose had been true to her word, refusing to begin negotiations until he told her why he was on the one-man scavenger hunt.
“I’m tryin’ to do something nice here. That ok with you, Mother Theresa?” One dark look from her and he ditched the attitude, confessed his plan and leaned back against the nearest tree, eyes gone all puppy-dog, hoping for the best.
“Now that’s just sweet, James,” Rose said, patting his arm. “Don’t you worry, I won’t tell a soul.” He felt the blood race up his neck to color his face all the way to the hairline and cursed inwardly, knowing that a man sporting the vivid flush of embarrassment wasn’t worth a shit at the bargaining table.
***
“Penny for your thoughts, Babar.”
“Dude, you see a sign here that says “redneck jerks welcome?”
“Easy there, big guy. Just came to do a little barterin’.”
“Not interested, man.”
“Come on now, Jabba. Must be somethin' in that stash o’mine that you got a hankerin’ for.”
“Nada. And dude? Word to the wise. In an attempted bartering situation like the one we got going on here? Insults are, you know, definitely not the way to go.”
“Tell you what…man. You give me that one can right there and I’ll pull the plug on my terms of endearment for a week.”
“Dude. Seriously, you’ve got to bring more to the table than that!”
“Two weeks.”
“More like two months.”
“Three weeks, and that’s my final offer.”
“A month, and you help me catch tree frogs and relocate them - unsquished. No frogs, no can, man.”
***
The can took its place next to the box in Sawyer’s pack. “You’d better fuckin’ appreciate this, jackass,” Sawyer grumbled as he trudged towards his next mark, hoping that this deal would go down a little easier than the last two had. The cards were in his favor, since it was Mamacita who he had in the cross hairs now. She liked him, he could tell.
***
“You want me to what?” Sawyer tromped away from Clarie and back again, to wither her with his best I so fuckin’ don’t believe you just said that to me glare. He wasn’t all that surprised to discover that it wasn’t working.
“Oh, not all at once,” she babbled, blissfully unaware. “Just a couple of hours here and there, you know, when I want a little “me” time.” The fact that the girl had actually used air quotes around the word me disturbed Sawyer more than he cared to consider. “Some uninterrupted girl talk, or maybe a nice long shower.” Claire looked out to sea and sighed wistfully. “A nap, right in the middle of the afternoon.” She turned a day-dreamy smile to Sawyer. “You know.”
“All I know, little sister, is them’s pretty high stakes. I was thinking more along the lines of choppin’ you some firewood or maybe catchin’ you a few fish. How ‘bout we head in that direction?”
“John and Jin see to those things for me. But nobody can take Aaron for any amount of time…except you. He likes you, Sawyer. He always has.”
“Yeah, well.” Sawyer ran both hands through his hair and huffed out a deep breath. “Every kid needs a degenerate to look up to, ain’t that right, short stuff?” Aaron gurgled and grinned at Sawyer, then grabbed his own bare foot and began to suck happily on his toes. “There you go, boy! I used to know this gal in Tulsa who could..."
Claire snatched Aaron up from his cradle. “I think you guys can wait a couple of years before you have that conversation. So, here’s what you wanted, Sawyer, although I don’t see why you couldn’t have just gone out and gotten your own. I mean, what’s so special about these in particular?” She passed him the bundle and he eased it into his pack, alongside the box and the can.
“Because on all of this stink hole of an island, darlin’, these are the only ones that are just right.”
***
“Freckles!”
“Hey, Sawyer, where’s the fire?”
“Listen, I need you to do me a favor.”
“A favor? I don’t know…”
“Kate. Please.”
Kate’s mouth fell open as she stared up at Sawyer. He had used her real name. And he had said please.
“What do you need?”
***
Sawyer had one more stop to make. He rifled through his own stash until he found the small box that had been his inspiration, Dharma Initiative Artificial Egg Whites.
“Just add water.” The smallest of smiles tugged at the corner of his mouth as he tucked the box into his pack. With Kate enlisted to distract Jack, he was assured of no interruptions for a couple of hours. That’s how long he told her he needed, trusting her to deliver the doc at the appointed hour. No one else would come ‘round when Sawyer was pushing the button; it was one of the perks of being Mr. Personality, all the time in the world to sit on the couch and read with only the beeping of the button to interrupt him. But he wouldn’t be reading today, boys. Today he would be cooking.
***
Maybe Sawyer didn’t know pancakes, but he did have one hidden culinary specialty all his own. As he unpacked his bartered treasures, lining them up oh so carefully on the counter in the hatch kitchen, he thought back to the time in his life when getting this one thing right had been all that grounded him. That was before James had gone AWOL and Sawyer had come to stay.
“We who are about to dine, salute you, great and powerful Dharma Schmarma,” Sawyer gruffed. “Artificial this, imitation that. Ain’t one thing here that’s real, ‘cept these little beauties from the rug rat’s mama.”
“But that’s okay.” His voice softened. “That’s all right. ‘Cause I’m gonna do this anyway, and things will be just fine. This is gonna tickle Jack’s fancy, and that’s gonna tickle mine.”
Sawyer looked around him for a minute, wondering how things had come to this. Him. In an underground kitchen on an uncharted island. Doing something nice for someone with absolutely no ulterior motive whatsoever.
Well, with almost absolutely no ulterior motive whatsoever. After all, the part of him that was Sawyer may have started packing his bags, but he sure as hell hadn’t checked out yet.
“Yeah, whatever,” Sawyer said, reaching for the can opener. "Time to get this show on the road."
***
It was two hours later and Sawyer was lounging on the couch, reading a brand new book. He had found it in a back corner of one of the kitchen cabinets, as thick as his forearm and written by some Russian chick with a bad haircut and an interesting take on the world. Atlas Shrugged. He had a feeling he was going to like it.
The kitchen had been restored to order with everything back in its prescribed place. Didn’t it just figure that some former button-pusher had taken the time to outline each and every utensil, pot, pan and dish on the shelves and in the drawers, so there would be no question about where things went. Anal-retentive little piss pot.
Yes, everything was as it had been in the Dharma Initiative Kitchen, (DIK for short), with one small exception. In the center of the counter, still warm from the oven, condensation beading on the golden brown peaks of nearly perfect, though artificial meringue, sat the most beautiful banana pudding that Sawyer had ever made.
He knew that it didn’t taste half bad. What cook worth his salt didn’t lick the bowl or have a little nibble before the finishing touches were applied? It wasn’t as good as his mama’s by a damn shot, not as good as his when he had all the ingredients and could make the custard from scratch, but it didn’t suck, and that was something. Besides, if presentation counted, (and he knew that it did - even in the epicurean world, it was all in the details) and given an “A” for effort, Sawyer was pretty sure that he had just hit this one out of the park.
It wasn’t long before Jack strolled into the common area, released by Kate right on time. Sawyer was gonna have to kiss that girl, or something. Jack came to sit next to him on the couch.
“Hey,” he said, closing the book around Sawyer’s fingers so he could get a look at the title. “Good read. You’ll like it.”
“Yeah? Figures you’ve already read it.” Sawyer flipped the book open again.
“What can I tell you? Modern Lit, freshman year, or Intro to Philosophy, I can’t really remember. So.” Jack leaned forward, trying to gauge Sawyer’s mood by the look on his face. “What’s up?”
With a little cough, Sawyer closed the book and set it between them. “Same ol’, same ol’,” he said, and cleared his throat. “Where ya been? Thought I’d be seeing you a couple hours ago.” Again, there was a raspy little cough.
“Kate thought she found signs that the Others had been in the area. Wanted me to check it out with her.”
“Really?” The word was spoken softly, as though Sawyer were contemplating the potential seriousness of the situation. “How’d that go?” Cough. “Find anything?”
“Sawyer, is there something wrong with your throat?” Jack was instantly serious. You could take Jack out of the doctoring business, but you couldn’t take the doctoring business out of Jack, especially when it concerned the medically challenged Sawyer. “Sounds like you’ve got a bit of a cough.”
“What’s that?” Cough. Sawyer looked puzzled and not the least bit smug. “Oh. Yeah. Throat’s been a little scratchy, I guess.” One hand traveled up to rest against his throat, as though it could tell him if there was a problem there.
“Do you have a fever?” Jack’s hand was on Sawyer’s forehead before the sentence was completed.
“No. Well, maybe.” Sawyer squirmed back from Jack’s touch. “Quit being such a mother hen, doc. I ain’t sick.”
“Maybe not, but your forehead feels warm, and you definitely have something going on with…” Jack’s diagnostic ramble was cut short by a bout of severe coughing on Sawyer’s part. Eyes watering and face the color of a ripe tomato, Sawyer slumped to the couch, apparently unable to catch his breath.
“Okay. Sit right there. I’m going to get you some water,” Jack said, already on his way to the kitchen. The coughing fit miraculously ceased and a long suppressed smirk lit up Sawyer’s face like a county fair midway at midnight.
He got up and quietly followed Jack to the DIK.
***
Yep, Sawyer thought, watching Jack from the doorway, this was worth all the tradin', and he ain’t even tasted it yet.
Jack was standing in the kitchen, turning the banana pudding in lazy-slow circles on the counter, studying it from every angle, with a look very much like lust in his eyes. Golden discs of vanilla wafers (Dharma Initiative brand Vanilla Wafer look-alikes, Sawyer would later inform him) lined the sides of the glass baking dish, peeking through a thin layer of creamy custard (Dharma Initiative Vanilla Pudding with Artificial Flavors from a can, Sawyer confessed as they helped themselves to seconds half an hour later. “I blended in one of Yul Brynner’s over-ripe banana’s that I found by the computer, to smooth out the texture and kick the flavor up a notch.”)
What Jack couldn’t see, but knew was there from the heavenly aroma filling the kitchen, was more custard mixed with sliced bananas - not too green, not too yellow, but firm and bursting with honest-to-god pure and natural real fruit flavor.
All of that was good…was fantastic, and Jack’s mouth began to water in anticipation of his first bite. What set his heart afire, though, was the meringue. (Dharma Initia… Jack had stopped Sawyer before he could finish. He knew how the song went by that point.) Perfectly browned curls above pristine white valleys, little amber-hued droplets of moisture still clinging to the slopes, promising to melt against his tongue the instant that they were properly introduced.
“Doc?” Sawyer’s voice was a low, throaty rumble. Jack looked up, snapped out of his daze by a momentarily forgotten sense of duty.
“Sawyer, I’m sorry. Your water… I forgot.” Jack stammered, moving to the sink and filling a glass.
“Not a problem, Jack. Seems I’ve been healed.” Gesturing toward the object of Jack’s most immediate desire, Sawyer smiled. “So, whacha think?”
Jack gazed from Sawyer to the most perfect example of banana pudding he had ever seen, and back again. “You did this?” he breathed.
Sawyer broke into a wide grin, pearly whites and dimples both working overtime.
“What can I say, doc? I ain’t worth a damn when it comes to breakfast foods, but this you gotta know…I’m always good for dessert.”
fini