I'm going to find a time to catch your hand and make you stay for krilymcc
Title: I’m going to find a time to catch your hand and make you stay.
Author: phelipa
Recipient: krilymcc
Pairing or Characters: Sawyer/Juliet
Rating: R
Warnings: Spoilers for “The Incident”, speculation for season 6
Prompt: Sawyer/Juliet off-Island (Either an AU or a reset!fic), based on these lines from Ryan Adams ‘Oh my god, whatever, etc.‘ “Something's beating on the wall on the other side/Strange lovers moan each others names on by-hour sheets for the very first time/One of them's james/The other's some name she changes every time she lies across his bed”
Summary: Reset!fic, Sawyer/Juliet. Aftermath of “The Incident”.
Author notes: Merry Christmas! I hope this fits your request and brightens your holidays! Title taken from “Find a Way” - Safety Suit.
One
He stifles a yawn and backs into the door of the coffee shop, giving it a nudge and stumbling towards the cashier, black suitcase still clutched in his hand. The giggly girl behind the counter eyes him eagerly and he swallows a snarky comment, sliding a five dollar bill across the counter and wearily saying,
“Black coffee, whatever’s fastest.”
He waits impatiently, giving a jerking nod in thanks when she hands him the cup with a dopey grin. Turning around, he frowns and groans; the place is absolutely packed. Sidling past the growing line, he tosses his suitcase to the ground and sinks down across from a woman who seems completely engrossed in her reading.
She glances up, lifts a seemingly critical eyebrow and returns to her reading.
“No other place to sit.” He justifies gruffly.
She nods, barely looking away from her reading as she takes a sip of what appears to be plain coffee. He’s impressed, most others have thick, chocolate drinks doused with whipped cream. He downs the rest of his drink in several swallows, suddenly uncomfortable in the stifling room and irritated when he’s hit in the back of the head with a sharp elbow. With a nod in her direction, he pushes away from the table and gathers his case,
“Enjoy.”
She smiles, a sad little hint of a smile, and lifts her cup in acknowledgment.
Two
He’s standing in the aisle of utter pinkness, suppressing the urge to run as far away as possible when a woman brushes his elbow,
“Who are you looking for?”
He turns his head, catches a glimpse of her mocking smile and cart full of toy cars, trains and transformers. Laugh all she wants, she’s got it easy. He runs his fingers over a box, Christmas Barbie, and shakes his head,
“Just a kid.”
She’s staring at him in a way that makes him squirm, her blue eyes critical and analytic. He takes his hand from the box and stuffs it in his pocket, scanning the rows of too-perfect dolls. The hard edge in her gaze disappears when she smiles,
“You know, not all girls like Barbies. I’m a huge fan of the mini microscopes and science kits myself.”
“Thanks.” He says, following her directions to aisle three, relieved to escape the realm of bubble-gum happiness.
He leaves the mall empty handed, grumbling to himself as Christmas carols flood the halls and children wail as they’re thrust upon Santa’s knee. What’s Clementine going to care if it’s another thousand dollars in a bank account instead of a doll or a grow-your-own-grass science kit?
She has no idea who he is.
Three
New Year’s Eve finds him more or less alone, hunched over the end of the bar with a beer in front of him. His keys are long gone, along with his judgement, when he stumbles out of the bar at three in the morning, tripping over his own feet as he sways down the street. He nearly bowls her over when she steps out of the four star hotel, giggling into her phone.
He watches her for a moment, leaning up against the brick exterior of the building as she promises someone to be home before morning. She hangs up, tossing her phone into her clutch, and catches sight of him, giving him a dazed smile,
“I never do this.”
He grins, no one ever does.
She cocks her head, watching him for a moment before outstretching a hand,
“Come in with me.”
Why the hell not?
He follows; his jeans and black shirt a stark contrast to her knee length, black cocktail gown. They’re heading for a raucous New Years party in the lobby when she suddenly reaches for his hand, pulling him towards the elevator.
She has her hands all over him before they reach her room, taking only a moment to swipe the key and shove it open before she’s tugging his shirt over his head and reaching for the clasp of her own dress. He gives her a hand, smoothly unzipping the dress and letting it pool at her feet. Their movements are drunk, uncoordinated but somehow she knows just how to make him unravel. She knows that he loves it when she whispers in his ear, just before she comes, that he wants to kiss her as she rides out the waves of her orgasm, that swirling her tongue over his peaked nipple is enough to send him over the edge when paired with a clenching roll of her hips.
She disappears into the bathroom after a few moments and he stumbles out of bed, reaching for his jeans and hastily beginning to tug them on. He’s just tying his shoes when she pokes her head out of the bathroom, freshly dressed in a fluffy white bathrobe,
“Why don’t you stay? Just for one night.”
He considers for a moment, after all it is New Year’s Eve and he is alone, but shakes his head,
“Thanks sweetheart, but no thanks.”
She smiles, but her eyes are sad as she watches him watch away, a strange, empty feeling settling in the pit of his stomach as he closes the door behind himself.
Four
He slumps down in the waiting room, his wrists bound to the chair in cold handcuffs. The officer next to him leafs through a paper and Sawyer snarls internally, he could kill him for his nonchalance. When the nurse finally calls him in, seven hours and one incredibly uncomfortable bathroom trip after their arrival, he waits impatiently for the cop to cuff his hands together and avoids the looks shot in his direction as he’s taken to the curtain area.
The officer glances as his watch impatiently once they get behind the curtain and Sawyer snaps,
“What’s ‘a matter tubby, you got a hot date?”
“Watch it, Ford.” He warns, turning back to his paper as he settles in the chair after cuffing Sawyer to the bed rail.
Another hour passes before he hears voices outside the curtain, an offer to take the chart and then stifled laughter, “Be my guest.”
He bristles and prepares to shoot a biting comment until the doctor comes in but immediately swallows the remark when she smiles at him, warm and genuine. She’s hot. Smokin’. His eyes fall to her long, bare legs before swivelling back up to her face as she starts to talk to the officer,
“Why don’t you get a coffee? We’ll be done in a little bit.”
“I dunno, doc. You know the rules.”
She shrugs and opens the chart.
Sawyer’s about to open his mouth when the officer glances at his watch again and frowns, “You know what, maybe I will get a coffee, make a phone call.”
He roughly cuffs Sawyer’s other arm to the bed before leaving, turning to the doctor as he leaves, “You call me if he gives you any trouble, I’ll be just down the hall.”
The doctor nods, promises, before tugging the curtain shut and snapping on a pair of gloves,
“Alright, Mr. Ford. I’m Dr. Carlson, are you going to let me take a look at your arm?”
“Suppose so, if you can get this shirt off.” He says, moving his hands in the cuffs.
Her fingers are warm and gentle through the gloves as she slides his shirt gingerly over his shoulder and down around his wrists, making him hiss in pain as she brushes the shoddily bandaged wound. She removes the bloody bandage gently from his shoulder and nods,
“You need stitches.”
“No shit.” His arm is throbbing and it’s making him pissy.
She frowns and he rolls his eyes, “Sorry.”
She lifts a large syringe of lidocaine, holding it up in front of her as she checks the dose. The way she says, ‘No problem’, and approaches with the syringe seems oddly sadistic. He eyes it warily,
“Where you goin’ with that?”
“Unless you want me to stitch it shut without anesthetic, it’s going into the wound.”
He grimaces as she uncaps the needle and suppresses the urge to yell and push her away when she gives the first shot. He feels unsteady as she gives the final dose and when she glances up at him, his face is chalky white, skin clammy,
“Are you feeling alright, Mr. Ford?”
“Sawyer.” He mumbles, “Just peachy.”
“Lay back,” She says, a forceful hand settling him down against the gurney, “Drink this and close your eyes.”
He does as she says, sipping down orange juice as she sympathizes, “They keep you waiting out there too long without anything to eat; I’m not surprised you’re feeling faint.”
“I ain’t feelin’ faint, sweetheart.” He says, downing the last of the juice.
She doesn’t say anything but turns her back to him, opening the suture kit as she waits for the lidocaine to take effect. He sits in uncomfortable silence for several minutes before voicing the question that’s been on his mind for the last few minutes,
“Why’d you do that? Send him away?”
She has her back to him when she replies, “No one deserves to be humiliated, James.”
He spends the next half hour trying to remember whether he told her his real name or not.
Five
She rolls over in bed, stumbling to the bathroom and dry swallowing a couple aspirin for the perpetual ache in her bones. She showers quickly and wraps herself in the robe hanging from a hook by the door, wandering around the unfamiliar house to find the front door. She tugs it open and frowns as she’s greeted by a layer of fluffy, white snow. Definitely not Miami.
Shivering, she reaches for the newspaper and hurries to shut the door behind her, scanning the header for information,
December 21st. Iowa.
Iowa!?
She sighs and heads back up to the bedroom, sifting through a rack of clothes that look like they could be hers until she finds a warm outfit and an old winter jacket. After a hastily prepared breakfast, she wanders out into the snow, it’s been years since she’s seen any in person, and through the neighbourhood until she comes to what appears to be a main street. There’s a bus coming down the street and she quickly digs for change in her pockets, scrounging up enough to get on and at least explore the town she’s ended up in.
She’s wearily used to the routine now, waking up in an unfamiliar place, potentially an unfamiliar time, and trying to piece together a simple life until Mittelos Bioscience comes calling, or Richard comes to visit. She’s not stupid, she’s tried to avoid them beofre, tried to run, but every time she ends up back on that damn island, just biding her time. She doesn’t really see the point of running anymore.
She looks up and her heart pounds as she sees him sitting in a window seat, his nose buried in what appears to be Carrie. The irony almost kills her. She steadies her trembling hands and walks over; sitting next to him though almost every other seat on the bus is empty. He gives her a sidelong glance, making sure that she knows he’s irritated with her seating selection, before turning back to his book. She knows he doesn’t remember (he never does), that it’s not his fault, but it hurts nonetheless.
More often than not she’s happy to stand back and watch or let some higher power(or alcohol) intervene and draw her into a situation, turning her into the girl in the coffee shop, the kindly doctor, or the one night stand that he never seems to remember when she’s wrapped in his embrace in their quaint Dharma home. This time, she’s fed up.
Grinning tentatively, she sticks out a hand and smiles,
“Hi, I’m Juliet.”
He gives her an odd look, just as she expected, and she drops her hand. Then, unexpectedly, he gives her another glance which turns into a blatant once over and he immediately changes his tune, flashing a winning smile. His voice is smooth and his accent thicker than she remembers when he says,
“Sawyer, what can I do you for Juliet?”
She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and simply smiles again,
“Care to get a cup of coffee?”
*
Author: phelipa
Recipient: krilymcc
Pairing or Characters: Sawyer/Juliet
Rating: R
Warnings: Spoilers for “The Incident”, speculation for season 6
Prompt: Sawyer/Juliet off-Island (Either an AU or a reset!fic), based on these lines from Ryan Adams ‘Oh my god, whatever, etc.‘ “Something's beating on the wall on the other side/Strange lovers moan each others names on by-hour sheets for the very first time/One of them's james/The other's some name she changes every time she lies across his bed”
Summary: Reset!fic, Sawyer/Juliet. Aftermath of “The Incident”.
Author notes: Merry Christmas! I hope this fits your request and brightens your holidays! Title taken from “Find a Way” - Safety Suit.
One
He stifles a yawn and backs into the door of the coffee shop, giving it a nudge and stumbling towards the cashier, black suitcase still clutched in his hand. The giggly girl behind the counter eyes him eagerly and he swallows a snarky comment, sliding a five dollar bill across the counter and wearily saying,
“Black coffee, whatever’s fastest.”
He waits impatiently, giving a jerking nod in thanks when she hands him the cup with a dopey grin. Turning around, he frowns and groans; the place is absolutely packed. Sidling past the growing line, he tosses his suitcase to the ground and sinks down across from a woman who seems completely engrossed in her reading.
She glances up, lifts a seemingly critical eyebrow and returns to her reading.
“No other place to sit.” He justifies gruffly.
She nods, barely looking away from her reading as she takes a sip of what appears to be plain coffee. He’s impressed, most others have thick, chocolate drinks doused with whipped cream. He downs the rest of his drink in several swallows, suddenly uncomfortable in the stifling room and irritated when he’s hit in the back of the head with a sharp elbow. With a nod in her direction, he pushes away from the table and gathers his case,
“Enjoy.”
She smiles, a sad little hint of a smile, and lifts her cup in acknowledgment.
Two
He’s standing in the aisle of utter pinkness, suppressing the urge to run as far away as possible when a woman brushes his elbow,
“Who are you looking for?”
He turns his head, catches a glimpse of her mocking smile and cart full of toy cars, trains and transformers. Laugh all she wants, she’s got it easy. He runs his fingers over a box, Christmas Barbie, and shakes his head,
“Just a kid.”
She’s staring at him in a way that makes him squirm, her blue eyes critical and analytic. He takes his hand from the box and stuffs it in his pocket, scanning the rows of too-perfect dolls. The hard edge in her gaze disappears when she smiles,
“You know, not all girls like Barbies. I’m a huge fan of the mini microscopes and science kits myself.”
“Thanks.” He says, following her directions to aisle three, relieved to escape the realm of bubble-gum happiness.
He leaves the mall empty handed, grumbling to himself as Christmas carols flood the halls and children wail as they’re thrust upon Santa’s knee. What’s Clementine going to care if it’s another thousand dollars in a bank account instead of a doll or a grow-your-own-grass science kit?
She has no idea who he is.
Three
New Year’s Eve finds him more or less alone, hunched over the end of the bar with a beer in front of him. His keys are long gone, along with his judgement, when he stumbles out of the bar at three in the morning, tripping over his own feet as he sways down the street. He nearly bowls her over when she steps out of the four star hotel, giggling into her phone.
He watches her for a moment, leaning up against the brick exterior of the building as she promises someone to be home before morning. She hangs up, tossing her phone into her clutch, and catches sight of him, giving him a dazed smile,
“I never do this.”
He grins, no one ever does.
She cocks her head, watching him for a moment before outstretching a hand,
“Come in with me.”
Why the hell not?
He follows; his jeans and black shirt a stark contrast to her knee length, black cocktail gown. They’re heading for a raucous New Years party in the lobby when she suddenly reaches for his hand, pulling him towards the elevator.
She has her hands all over him before they reach her room, taking only a moment to swipe the key and shove it open before she’s tugging his shirt over his head and reaching for the clasp of her own dress. He gives her a hand, smoothly unzipping the dress and letting it pool at her feet. Their movements are drunk, uncoordinated but somehow she knows just how to make him unravel. She knows that he loves it when she whispers in his ear, just before she comes, that he wants to kiss her as she rides out the waves of her orgasm, that swirling her tongue over his peaked nipple is enough to send him over the edge when paired with a clenching roll of her hips.
She disappears into the bathroom after a few moments and he stumbles out of bed, reaching for his jeans and hastily beginning to tug them on. He’s just tying his shoes when she pokes her head out of the bathroom, freshly dressed in a fluffy white bathrobe,
“Why don’t you stay? Just for one night.”
He considers for a moment, after all it is New Year’s Eve and he is alone, but shakes his head,
“Thanks sweetheart, but no thanks.”
She smiles, but her eyes are sad as she watches him watch away, a strange, empty feeling settling in the pit of his stomach as he closes the door behind himself.
Four
He slumps down in the waiting room, his wrists bound to the chair in cold handcuffs. The officer next to him leafs through a paper and Sawyer snarls internally, he could kill him for his nonchalance. When the nurse finally calls him in, seven hours and one incredibly uncomfortable bathroom trip after their arrival, he waits impatiently for the cop to cuff his hands together and avoids the looks shot in his direction as he’s taken to the curtain area.
The officer glances as his watch impatiently once they get behind the curtain and Sawyer snaps,
“What’s ‘a matter tubby, you got a hot date?”
“Watch it, Ford.” He warns, turning back to his paper as he settles in the chair after cuffing Sawyer to the bed rail.
Another hour passes before he hears voices outside the curtain, an offer to take the chart and then stifled laughter, “Be my guest.”
He bristles and prepares to shoot a biting comment until the doctor comes in but immediately swallows the remark when she smiles at him, warm and genuine. She’s hot. Smokin’. His eyes fall to her long, bare legs before swivelling back up to her face as she starts to talk to the officer,
“Why don’t you get a coffee? We’ll be done in a little bit.”
“I dunno, doc. You know the rules.”
She shrugs and opens the chart.
Sawyer’s about to open his mouth when the officer glances at his watch again and frowns, “You know what, maybe I will get a coffee, make a phone call.”
He roughly cuffs Sawyer’s other arm to the bed before leaving, turning to the doctor as he leaves, “You call me if he gives you any trouble, I’ll be just down the hall.”
The doctor nods, promises, before tugging the curtain shut and snapping on a pair of gloves,
“Alright, Mr. Ford. I’m Dr. Carlson, are you going to let me take a look at your arm?”
“Suppose so, if you can get this shirt off.” He says, moving his hands in the cuffs.
Her fingers are warm and gentle through the gloves as she slides his shirt gingerly over his shoulder and down around his wrists, making him hiss in pain as she brushes the shoddily bandaged wound. She removes the bloody bandage gently from his shoulder and nods,
“You need stitches.”
“No shit.” His arm is throbbing and it’s making him pissy.
She frowns and he rolls his eyes, “Sorry.”
She lifts a large syringe of lidocaine, holding it up in front of her as she checks the dose. The way she says, ‘No problem’, and approaches with the syringe seems oddly sadistic. He eyes it warily,
“Where you goin’ with that?”
“Unless you want me to stitch it shut without anesthetic, it’s going into the wound.”
He grimaces as she uncaps the needle and suppresses the urge to yell and push her away when she gives the first shot. He feels unsteady as she gives the final dose and when she glances up at him, his face is chalky white, skin clammy,
“Are you feeling alright, Mr. Ford?”
“Sawyer.” He mumbles, “Just peachy.”
“Lay back,” She says, a forceful hand settling him down against the gurney, “Drink this and close your eyes.”
He does as she says, sipping down orange juice as she sympathizes, “They keep you waiting out there too long without anything to eat; I’m not surprised you’re feeling faint.”
“I ain’t feelin’ faint, sweetheart.” He says, downing the last of the juice.
She doesn’t say anything but turns her back to him, opening the suture kit as she waits for the lidocaine to take effect. He sits in uncomfortable silence for several minutes before voicing the question that’s been on his mind for the last few minutes,
“Why’d you do that? Send him away?”
She has her back to him when she replies, “No one deserves to be humiliated, James.”
He spends the next half hour trying to remember whether he told her his real name or not.
Five
She rolls over in bed, stumbling to the bathroom and dry swallowing a couple aspirin for the perpetual ache in her bones. She showers quickly and wraps herself in the robe hanging from a hook by the door, wandering around the unfamiliar house to find the front door. She tugs it open and frowns as she’s greeted by a layer of fluffy, white snow. Definitely not Miami.
Shivering, she reaches for the newspaper and hurries to shut the door behind her, scanning the header for information,
December 21st. Iowa.
Iowa!?
She sighs and heads back up to the bedroom, sifting through a rack of clothes that look like they could be hers until she finds a warm outfit and an old winter jacket. After a hastily prepared breakfast, she wanders out into the snow, it’s been years since she’s seen any in person, and through the neighbourhood until she comes to what appears to be a main street. There’s a bus coming down the street and she quickly digs for change in her pockets, scrounging up enough to get on and at least explore the town she’s ended up in.
She’s wearily used to the routine now, waking up in an unfamiliar place, potentially an unfamiliar time, and trying to piece together a simple life until Mittelos Bioscience comes calling, or Richard comes to visit. She’s not stupid, she’s tried to avoid them beofre, tried to run, but every time she ends up back on that damn island, just biding her time. She doesn’t really see the point of running anymore.
She looks up and her heart pounds as she sees him sitting in a window seat, his nose buried in what appears to be Carrie. The irony almost kills her. She steadies her trembling hands and walks over; sitting next to him though almost every other seat on the bus is empty. He gives her a sidelong glance, making sure that she knows he’s irritated with her seating selection, before turning back to his book. She knows he doesn’t remember (he never does), that it’s not his fault, but it hurts nonetheless.
More often than not she’s happy to stand back and watch or let some higher power(or alcohol) intervene and draw her into a situation, turning her into the girl in the coffee shop, the kindly doctor, or the one night stand that he never seems to remember when she’s wrapped in his embrace in their quaint Dharma home. This time, she’s fed up.
Grinning tentatively, she sticks out a hand and smiles,
“Hi, I’m Juliet.”
He gives her an odd look, just as she expected, and she drops her hand. Then, unexpectedly, he gives her another glance which turns into a blatant once over and he immediately changes his tune, flashing a winning smile. His voice is smooth and his accent thicker than she remembers when he says,
“Sawyer, what can I do you for Juliet?”
She suppresses the urge to roll her eyes and simply smiles again,
“Care to get a cup of coffee?”
*