One-shot: Two Weeks - Sawyer/Juliet
Title: Two Weeks
Pairing: Sawyer/Juliet
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for 5x08
Word count: 1866
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost
Summary: It has been two weeks since Sawyer and Juliet’s talk on the pier, and a decision has to be made.
Author's note: A HUGE thank you to bluelittlegirl for being such an amazing beta! She gets full credit for passing on the Hemingway reference from candylandgal , and thus proves that I don’t read enough American literature ;)
Two Weeks
It was dark outside but the air had remained humid even after sunset. The weather was mostly like that, hot and moist, and he liked it that way. This was a fact he had often wondered about as he was originally from Alabama where the air was drier than it would ever be on the island.
He was standing by the window, his hands spread out on the cool glass.
The moon lit up the rooftops and shiny facades of the houses in the sleeping village. Mesmerized he watched the used footpaths, silent communal playground and empty benches that made the setting of Dharmaville. The place had grown on him over the past two weeks, and so had the people.
Even when he thought about it now - how they all of a sudden were a part of the Dharma Initiative; the very people that had been the cause of frustration, mystery and curiosity for all the Oceanic survivors - it seemed too weird to be real.
He glanced down at himself. The brown, worn-out suit with a white Dharma Initiative logo embroidered on the left side of his chest once more assured him that none of this was a dream.
And to clarify it even further, the clothing started itching.
He pushed himself off the window and scratched his arm.
“Son of a bitch.” He muttered under his breath when the itching, contrary to his belief, got even worse.
A tender knock on the front door saved the suit from getting ripped apart. Usually it took a lot more to aggravate him like this, and in a lame attempt to settle down his feelings, he took a deep breath.
“Comin’,” he said as another knock broke the silence.
The house was dark, and he almost tripped over the thick rug in the hallway. Glaring back at it like it was responsible for all evil, he opened the door.
“Something wrong, James?”
He turned his head, and a pair of silvery eyes caught his.
“Nothin’,” he shrugged, “awfully late to make house visits, don’t ya think, Juliet?”
She smiled and it made her whole face glow, although the moonlight reflecting in her skin probably had part in it as well. She was standing on his porch with her arms at her sides and a look of calm interest. He noticed that she was wearing her navy blue Dharma mechanic suit, and couldn’t help feeling a little amused at the contrast between being a fertility doctor and being a mechanic. He had been quite shocked when she came up with the idea for her new identity -he hadn’t thought of her as having a knack of repairing cars.
But now it seemed like one of the most natural things to see Juliet with a wrench and dirt on her face.
“Awfully late to be awake, James.” She replied, “May I come in?”
She didn’t wait for him to answer so he simply moved aside as she took a step towards him.
Her body brushed his, and he caught the familiar smell of oil. It hung in the air even after she had disappeared into the living room, and he quietly inhaled the scent before closing the door.
She was standing over by the bookcase, studying the small collection of books he had managed to gather in the two weeks they had been here. He stopped in the doorframe between the living room and the hallway, leaning casually against its side.
“You got a new one.” She stated and pulled out a thick old book.
“Tommy gave it to me yesterday.”
“Did you like it?”
He smiled because she was facing away from him. Smiled because it deep down made him happy that she knew him that well, and that she didn’t even doubt herself if she did.
“It was good. I’m sure you’d like it, too.”
“Probably.” She put it back with a nod of her head. “But I can’t borrow it from you.”
She turned around and looked out the window across the room. His heart sped up.
“It’s been two weeks, James.”
She tried to keep any emotion out of her voice but he caught on to a hint of something. His stomach suddenly hurt, and his hands ached with the urge to touch her.
Instead he sat down on the armrest of the couch behind him, his fingers gripping the orange fabric hard enough that his knuckles turned white.
“The submarine leaves tomorrow.”
She tore her gaze off the window and looked at him, her eyes lingering on his neutral face.
“It will be back later,” he said.
“Horace isn’t sure when.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“There’s still The Clairvoyant, Einstein and Santiago the Fisherman.”
A short, joyful laugh escaped her lips, and for a split second all he could see was her. The surroundings zoomed out as he noticed the strand of blond hair that hung down playfully in front of her eye, the way she held her body straight, almost proud, and how she tried to keep the laughter in her throat by covering her mouth with a hand - albeit way too late.
She sobered up, snapped him right out of it, and the mirth faded in her eyes. It hurt him to see her like that, so unlike her.
“Santiago is Cuban,” she pointed out. “But you’ll manage, and the Dharma Initiative has your back, I’m sure.”
None of them spoke for a while. He was battling with himself whether or not to say what he was thinking.
She just stood there, looking more stunning than ever in the dim light. The sight distracted him.
He wanted her to stay. But she had needed convincing just to stay for these two weeks. He shouldn’t make her stay out of selfish reasons, right?
“Guess so,” he finally spoke.
If he hadn’t been too busy staring intently at a single dust mouse on the carpet, he might have seen the small change in her face. He might have caught the quick flicker of emotion in her eyes. But his eyes were fixed on something less important, and when he finally tilted his head upwards to meet her eyes, any sign of anything had been wiped from her face.
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning at 7,” she said matter-of-factly and stretched her hand toward him. “I guess this is goodbye then.”
He looked at the hand as if it had just slapped him across the cheek. After what they had been through, all she offered him was her hand. It seemed so small and fragile, yet so traitorous. When his palm touched hers, she proved him wrong. It was neither small nor fragile; their handshake was almost violent. He rose from the couch as she let go of him.
“I’ll follow you to the door.”
They walked in silence, and this time he didn’t trip over the rug. He didn’t bang against anything. Nothing went wrong, and they reached the door in what seemed like a second.
They both stopped. His breath felt strained, his lungs hurting with every inhalation. He wanted to touch her so badly - how pathetic could a man get?
His fingers reached for hers but at the same moment she grabbed the door handle and all he got hold of was air.
“Thank you, James, for everything.”
The door creaked when she opened it, and he was met by a slightly chilly air and the smell of jungle. But no oil, no gasoline.
She took a step away. Then another. Her arms were crossed under her chest as if she was freezing.
Something, a vague notion, was yelling at him. She skipped down the stairs on the porch, elegantly like no other he had seen. A mild wind got hold of her hair when she left the shelter of his house; blonde locks dancing in the air. Waving goodbye at him.
She was almost out of sight when the words that were painfully stuck in his throat suddenly erupted in a stifled sentence.
“What if I don’t want ‘em to have my back?”
He was shocked to hear how weak his voice sounded, a strong tremble shaking his words into single syllables.
In spite of the wind blowing in the opposite direction, the words carried far enough for her to hear. She stopped in her tracks, her body turning rigid.
“I know I got two weeks,” he said in a steadier tone, “but it wasn’t enough.”
Slowly she turned around. He noticed the difference in her eyes instantly.
“Are you saying that you’ll miss me?” She baited him.
He wasn’t ready to use the word ‘miss’ although that was probably the correct term to use.
“You’re a hell of a shooter.” He smirked instead. “Can’t you teach Horace before ya leave?”
She untangled her arms from each other and sauntered back to his porch, taking cover from the whipping wind under the shelter of the roof once more.
“We both know that might take a while.” She said earnestly and gazed at him.
He was leaning against the façade, one arm in between his back and the wall, the other on the door handle. His hair had been cut two days earlier, making it just too short to reach behind his ears like he wanted it to. His thick stubbles had been shaven off at the same time, giving him a cleaner and friendlier look, and showing off a pair of adorable dimples that had been almost hidden under the dark facial hair.
A puzzled frown besieged his face, making him look both somber and mature at the same time.
It was the result of officially being appointed “leader” by the rest of them when they had ended up in 1974 - even if he had been leading them before that.
The frown appeared every time someone was unhappy, in danger or hurt. And it was definitely sincere.
Other people’s problems turned into his problems as soon as he heard them.
“Tell me, Juliet. And be serious. Do you really wanna leave?”
The question hung unanswered in the air for a long time. But when she took his hand, they both knew what her reply was going to be.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Her hand fit right into his and they held on to each other for what would have been a bit too long to be appropriate between friends.
They were both beaming when they let go but then he couldn’t stop the words in his mind from passing his lips.
“You’re not Kate.”
Taken aback she studied him with her shimmering blue eyes.
“Well, you’re not Jack,” was her rejoinder.
A mix between a grunt, a sneer and a laugh bubbled out of his mouth.
“And thank God for that!” Then, when he realized what he was saying, he added a quick: “Sorry.”
Her face lit up and two delicate dimples formed in her skin. Tiptoeing, she gave him a soft peck on the cheek.
“I’ll come back tomorrow after work to borrow the book. Sleep tight, James.”
“You too, Juliet.”
Grinning inanely like a teenage boy, he closed the door as she disappeared around the corner.
- End
Pairing: Sawyer/Juliet
Rating: PG
Spoilers/Warnings: Spoilers for 5x08
Word count: 1866
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost
Summary: It has been two weeks since Sawyer and Juliet’s talk on the pier, and a decision has to be made.
Author's note: A HUGE thank you to bluelittlegirl for being such an amazing beta! She gets full credit for passing on the Hemingway reference from candylandgal , and thus proves that I don’t read enough American literature ;)
Two Weeks
It was dark outside but the air had remained humid even after sunset. The weather was mostly like that, hot and moist, and he liked it that way. This was a fact he had often wondered about as he was originally from Alabama where the air was drier than it would ever be on the island.
He was standing by the window, his hands spread out on the cool glass.
The moon lit up the rooftops and shiny facades of the houses in the sleeping village. Mesmerized he watched the used footpaths, silent communal playground and empty benches that made the setting of Dharmaville. The place had grown on him over the past two weeks, and so had the people.
Even when he thought about it now - how they all of a sudden were a part of the Dharma Initiative; the very people that had been the cause of frustration, mystery and curiosity for all the Oceanic survivors - it seemed too weird to be real.
He glanced down at himself. The brown, worn-out suit with a white Dharma Initiative logo embroidered on the left side of his chest once more assured him that none of this was a dream.
And to clarify it even further, the clothing started itching.
He pushed himself off the window and scratched his arm.
“Son of a bitch.” He muttered under his breath when the itching, contrary to his belief, got even worse.
A tender knock on the front door saved the suit from getting ripped apart. Usually it took a lot more to aggravate him like this, and in a lame attempt to settle down his feelings, he took a deep breath.
“Comin’,” he said as another knock broke the silence.
The house was dark, and he almost tripped over the thick rug in the hallway. Glaring back at it like it was responsible for all evil, he opened the door.
“Something wrong, James?”
He turned his head, and a pair of silvery eyes caught his.
“Nothin’,” he shrugged, “awfully late to make house visits, don’t ya think, Juliet?”
She smiled and it made her whole face glow, although the moonlight reflecting in her skin probably had part in it as well. She was standing on his porch with her arms at her sides and a look of calm interest. He noticed that she was wearing her navy blue Dharma mechanic suit, and couldn’t help feeling a little amused at the contrast between being a fertility doctor and being a mechanic. He had been quite shocked when she came up with the idea for her new identity -he hadn’t thought of her as having a knack of repairing cars.
But now it seemed like one of the most natural things to see Juliet with a wrench and dirt on her face.
“Awfully late to be awake, James.” She replied, “May I come in?”
She didn’t wait for him to answer so he simply moved aside as she took a step towards him.
Her body brushed his, and he caught the familiar smell of oil. It hung in the air even after she had disappeared into the living room, and he quietly inhaled the scent before closing the door.
She was standing over by the bookcase, studying the small collection of books he had managed to gather in the two weeks they had been here. He stopped in the doorframe between the living room and the hallway, leaning casually against its side.
“You got a new one.” She stated and pulled out a thick old book.
“Tommy gave it to me yesterday.”
“Did you like it?”
He smiled because she was facing away from him. Smiled because it deep down made him happy that she knew him that well, and that she didn’t even doubt herself if she did.
“It was good. I’m sure you’d like it, too.”
“Probably.” She put it back with a nod of her head. “But I can’t borrow it from you.”
She turned around and looked out the window across the room. His heart sped up.
“It’s been two weeks, James.”
She tried to keep any emotion out of her voice but he caught on to a hint of something. His stomach suddenly hurt, and his hands ached with the urge to touch her.
Instead he sat down on the armrest of the couch behind him, his fingers gripping the orange fabric hard enough that his knuckles turned white.
“The submarine leaves tomorrow.”
She tore her gaze off the window and looked at him, her eyes lingering on his neutral face.
“It will be back later,” he said.
“Horace isn’t sure when.”
A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
“There’s still The Clairvoyant, Einstein and Santiago the Fisherman.”
A short, joyful laugh escaped her lips, and for a split second all he could see was her. The surroundings zoomed out as he noticed the strand of blond hair that hung down playfully in front of her eye, the way she held her body straight, almost proud, and how she tried to keep the laughter in her throat by covering her mouth with a hand - albeit way too late.
She sobered up, snapped him right out of it, and the mirth faded in her eyes. It hurt him to see her like that, so unlike her.
“Santiago is Cuban,” she pointed out. “But you’ll manage, and the Dharma Initiative has your back, I’m sure.”
None of them spoke for a while. He was battling with himself whether or not to say what he was thinking.
She just stood there, looking more stunning than ever in the dim light. The sight distracted him.
He wanted her to stay. But she had needed convincing just to stay for these two weeks. He shouldn’t make her stay out of selfish reasons, right?
“Guess so,” he finally spoke.
If he hadn’t been too busy staring intently at a single dust mouse on the carpet, he might have seen the small change in her face. He might have caught the quick flicker of emotion in her eyes. But his eyes were fixed on something less important, and when he finally tilted his head upwards to meet her eyes, any sign of anything had been wiped from her face.
“I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning at 7,” she said matter-of-factly and stretched her hand toward him. “I guess this is goodbye then.”
He looked at the hand as if it had just slapped him across the cheek. After what they had been through, all she offered him was her hand. It seemed so small and fragile, yet so traitorous. When his palm touched hers, she proved him wrong. It was neither small nor fragile; their handshake was almost violent. He rose from the couch as she let go of him.
“I’ll follow you to the door.”
They walked in silence, and this time he didn’t trip over the rug. He didn’t bang against anything. Nothing went wrong, and they reached the door in what seemed like a second.
They both stopped. His breath felt strained, his lungs hurting with every inhalation. He wanted to touch her so badly - how pathetic could a man get?
His fingers reached for hers but at the same moment she grabbed the door handle and all he got hold of was air.
“Thank you, James, for everything.”
The door creaked when she opened it, and he was met by a slightly chilly air and the smell of jungle. But no oil, no gasoline.
She took a step away. Then another. Her arms were crossed under her chest as if she was freezing.
Something, a vague notion, was yelling at him. She skipped down the stairs on the porch, elegantly like no other he had seen. A mild wind got hold of her hair when she left the shelter of his house; blonde locks dancing in the air. Waving goodbye at him.
She was almost out of sight when the words that were painfully stuck in his throat suddenly erupted in a stifled sentence.
“What if I don’t want ‘em to have my back?”
He was shocked to hear how weak his voice sounded, a strong tremble shaking his words into single syllables.
In spite of the wind blowing in the opposite direction, the words carried far enough for her to hear. She stopped in her tracks, her body turning rigid.
“I know I got two weeks,” he said in a steadier tone, “but it wasn’t enough.”
Slowly she turned around. He noticed the difference in her eyes instantly.
“Are you saying that you’ll miss me?” She baited him.
He wasn’t ready to use the word ‘miss’ although that was probably the correct term to use.
“You’re a hell of a shooter.” He smirked instead. “Can’t you teach Horace before ya leave?”
She untangled her arms from each other and sauntered back to his porch, taking cover from the whipping wind under the shelter of the roof once more.
“We both know that might take a while.” She said earnestly and gazed at him.
He was leaning against the façade, one arm in between his back and the wall, the other on the door handle. His hair had been cut two days earlier, making it just too short to reach behind his ears like he wanted it to. His thick stubbles had been shaven off at the same time, giving him a cleaner and friendlier look, and showing off a pair of adorable dimples that had been almost hidden under the dark facial hair.
A puzzled frown besieged his face, making him look both somber and mature at the same time.
It was the result of officially being appointed “leader” by the rest of them when they had ended up in 1974 - even if he had been leading them before that.
The frown appeared every time someone was unhappy, in danger or hurt. And it was definitely sincere.
Other people’s problems turned into his problems as soon as he heard them.
“Tell me, Juliet. And be serious. Do you really wanna leave?”
The question hung unanswered in the air for a long time. But when she took his hand, they both knew what her reply was going to be.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
Her hand fit right into his and they held on to each other for what would have been a bit too long to be appropriate between friends.
They were both beaming when they let go but then he couldn’t stop the words in his mind from passing his lips.
“You’re not Kate.”
Taken aback she studied him with her shimmering blue eyes.
“Well, you’re not Jack,” was her rejoinder.
A mix between a grunt, a sneer and a laugh bubbled out of his mouth.
“And thank God for that!” Then, when he realized what he was saying, he added a quick: “Sorry.”
Her face lit up and two delicate dimples formed in her skin. Tiptoeing, she gave him a soft peck on the cheek.
“I’ll come back tomorrow after work to borrow the book. Sleep tight, James.”
“You too, Juliet.”
Grinning inanely like a teenage boy, he closed the door as she disappeared around the corner.
- End