Lost Fic: I Would Keep You, If I Could (Juliet/Sawyer)
Title: I Would Keep You, If I Could
Pairing: Juliet/Sawyer
Rating: R (sexual content)
Word Count: 1,981
Warning: Angst. A whole lot of angst, with bonus time-traveling.
Spoilers: Through “The Incident”
Summary: Sawyer can’t hold on to her.
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine. Neither is “Downtown”. Some dialogue is excerpted from “The Incident”, “Through the Looking Glass”, and “One of Us.”
A/N: Written for eponine119 who requested OTPs. This is the only true OTP Lost has ever given me. My apologies for the angst, I hope you enjoy it anyway. :)
It begins as a low hum. The air tastes charged, electric as it would before a storm. Then without warning everything goes white. The light drowns out all of the noise, all of the chaos, all of the anguish that was gnawing in his chest. The whole world is white and empty, and a numbness settles over him. It’s a wonderful relief, the nothingness, until it ends.
***
He’s back on the edge of the well, her fingers wrapped around his wrist. She’s looking up at him, her face calm and reassuring.
“It’s okay.”
She’s letting go. He feels his grip slipping, he can’t hold her, and she won’t stay.
“I love you, James, I love you so much.”
She slips out of his hands. Again. But it doesn’t feel like again, it feels like the first time, the only time.
The absence of her shocks him. Her weight was his anchor, an assurance that she was still there, still alive.
Now his hand is only grasping air.
***
There is an acrid smell of burning on the air. Bacon, forgotten. It turns his stomach and bile rises in his throat. He swallows, forcing it down.
He’s in their bed, alone. His heart is beating too fast and he feels disoriented, as if he has just awoken from a nightmare, but he doesn’t remember dreaming.
He runs his hand over the space where she should be. It’s cold.
Something feels wrong. He needs to see her.
He dresses quickly; his hands shake as he fastens the buttons on his jump suit. He’s not sure why.
He makes his way down the stairs. With each step the feeling of dread grows.
She’s not here, he thinks.
But she is. She’s standing by the window, staring out at something, her breakfast forgotten on the stove.
He relaxes, feeling stupid.
Of course she’s here, where else would she be?
***
She’s beside him. Her fingertips are tracing the curve of his spine. The sensation makes his breath hitch. It’s familiar territory, after three years. She knows his body, like he knows hers. They could draw roadmaps to all of their sweet spots, and some nights they do just that with their mouths and their hands.
The feeling soothes him. His eyelids are drifting shut.
He hears her voice at his ear, but it sounds far away.
“Are you sleeping?”
“I’m awake,” he says, but he’s not sure it’s true.
***
“You going to show me what you’ve got or not?”
He blinks, trying to focus. He must have let his mind drift. She’s staring at him, smirking in fact, a full house splayed on the table in front of her.
He looks down at his own hand, two pair, aces and eights, all black--- the dead man’s hand.
The hairs on the back of his neck rise, but he grins anyway.
“Looks like you got me, Sweetheart.”
She nods, satisfied, and gathers the cards up to shuffle for the next round.
“Try paying attention this time, okay?”
“I’ll do my best.”
***
“And you may find somebody kind, to help and understand you, someone who is just like you…”
He’s humming that damn song again. She plays it all the time, day and night, whether she’s in a good mood or a bad one, it doesn’t matter. Then it gets in his head and all day long he hears the sunshine voice of Petula Clark.
He’s standing in the shower, hot water stinging his eyes, when the hum dies on his lips.
He can’t remember what comes next.
***
She’s breathing quick and irregular. He opens his eyes and she’s above him, her hips rocking against his. There’s sweat beading on her forehead, her blonde hair is sticking to her face.
She’s beautiful, he thinks.
He’s moving inside of her, but he forces himself to stop. He sits up slightly, pulling her towards him as he does. He kisses her, roughly, desperately.
She pulls away and it takes everything he has to let her.
She’s looking into his eyes, concerned. She runs a thumb over his trembling lips.
“James, what’s wrong?”
His voice is raw and broken, when he speaks.
“I love you.”
Before she can respond, he rolls her onto her back and thrusts into her, making her gasp.
***
Outside, thunder claps and she gasps.
“Damnit, the sheets!”
He watches dazed, as she runs to the backdoor. There’s a book in his hands, but he doesn’t remember reading.
He hears the backdoor slam shut and he can’t see her anymore. This unnerves him. He gets up and pads his way across the kitchen, and steps out barefoot, onto the cool wood of their porch.
He stands there watching her remove the sheets from the line. The wind is picking up, causing the sheets to ripple. She disappears behind one and he can only see parts of her---a hand, a strand of hair caught in the breeze.
Just a shadow moving behind the white. Something about the image seems familiar.
“Are going to help me, or are you going to stand there all day?”
She sounds annoyed. The first raindrop falls from the sky and lands on his face. He shivers. There’s something charged about the air. Electric, almost.
“I’m coming!” he calls back.
***
“It’s customary to kiss the girl goodnight at the end of the date.”
Her arms are around his neck, and she’s staring up at him, a look of mischief in her eyes.
What are they doing?
He feels lost. This…what are they doing?
“Am I going to have to make the first move?”
She rolls her eyes and closes the space between them. Her lips are on his, and it comes back to him. They were on a date. Their first “official” date. They had a picnic, watched an old movie over at the Dharma rec room, why does it feel like it happened so long ago?
But she’s here, solid against him. It’s not long ago, it’s now. She pulls away and winks at him.
“Goodnight, James.”
She shuts the door before he can say anything.
***
“Juliet!”
He’s standing on their--her--porch. She was just here. He’s sure she was just here, beside him.
He’s starting to panic.
He rushes down the steps, and spins around, searching for her.
She couldn’t have gone far.
She was beside him.
Right beside him.
“Juliet!”
People are staring now. Horace approaches from across the grass, looking concerned.
“Everything all right, Jim?”
He looks at Horace, confused.
“No, I need to find Juliet.”
“She was over at the motor pool a few minutes ago…”
He’s already running. He tries to find her among the Dharma vans and the men in blue work suits.
She’s not here, a voice whispers in the back of his mind.
But she is. He sees her, her head is buried under the hood of a car, her hands fiddling with a wrench.
He reaches out to touch her…
***
He’s falling forward. His head is spinning and his mouth tastes like stale liquor. He’s vaguely aware of hands on him; someone is pushing him onto a couch. He feels grateful to be off his feet.
“Thanks, Horace, I’ll take him from here.”
Juliet. He was looking for her…
“Do you think he’ll be able to work tomorrow?”
It’s Horace.
“Absolutely, he just needs to sleep it off.”
He listens as the door opens. The distant murmur of their goodbyes nearly lulls him to sleep, but then he feels her next to him.
She’s pulling off his boots. They hit the floor with an ominous thud. Then she leans down to pull a throw over him, her hair tickles his cheek.
He catches her arm, as she moves to leave.
He needs to tell her something. He’s losing her. He sees it now. She’s slipping. He’s losing her.
“Don’t leave me,” he pleads.
“I’m just going to bed, James. I’ll be right upstairs.”
He has to make her understand. He tightens his grip on her arm.
“James, you’re hurting me.” There’s a hint of warning in her voice.
“You can’t let go.”
“You’re drunk,” she says flatly. Her patience is waning.
“No,” his voice cracks. “No, I’m not…you don’t understand, you can’t let go.”
He sits up and stares into her eyes, willing her to understand.
“Promise me, you won’t let go.”
She looks confused and tired and there’s no truth in her voice when she says, “I promise.”
Darkness is creeping over him, his eyes are drifting shut. He lets go of her arm.
***
He’s in a field. A rifle is heavy in his hand; his finger is on the trigger. A shot rings out, but he didn’t fire.
He feels lost, confused. Why is he here?
He turns.
She’s behind him, rifle in hand, her face steady and calm.
***
He’s holding her hand. They’re running and fire is raining down from the sky. Is this hell?
She turns to go back, but he pulls her forward, towards the darkness of the jungle.
He doesn’t want to stop, he never wants to stop.
***
He’s falling. Below him is nothing but ocean. Why? The helicopter. He jumped. Wasn’t he on the beach before? It doesn’t make sense.
The impact takes his breath away. He gasps and his lungs fill with water. He coughs and sputters. He swims out of instinct. He feels like each lap is bringing him closer to…something.
He’s exhausted, but he keeps moving.
At last he sees a flash of gold on the horizon. A mirage? No, it’s a person. Someone is waiting on the shore.
***
He’s dry now. Wasn’t he wet before?
“It’s a runway.”
“A runway for what?”
“The aliens.”
She turns and smiles at him.
He understands now. He’s losing her; he’s losing her piece by piece.
***
She’s standing in front of him, blue eyes flashing. Sayid’s at his side. There’s a case in his hand.
“I'm taking that medication back to Claire. And you're going to let me. Because if she doesn't get it, she's going to die. And the last thing that either of you need right now is more blood on your hands. “
She reaches out to take the case from him. Their fingers brush. The contact stirs something in him. She’s one of them, he thinks.
But no, that’s not right. She’s…
Mine?
***
The last time he sees her is the first time he sees her.
She has him cornered in the jungle.
His tongue moves to form her name. It’s all that he has left. He thinks if he gives it to her like a kiss, they’ll both wake up. This will all have been a horrible dream.
He parts his lips to speak.
She smiles.
Then a shock hits him, knocks him to the ground.
His vision goes white. Then there’s nothing.
***
He comes to on the jungle floor. The air is thick and humid. His head is aching. He groans and pushes himself unsteadily to his feet. Kate, Jack, Hurley, Jin, and Sayid are with him, all looking as disoriented as he feels.
He tastes blood on his lips. He reaches up and touches his face. His nose is bleeding.
“Son of a bitch,” he curses. “What the hell are we doing out in the middle of the damn jungle?”
“I don’t know,” Jack replies shakily.
They’re standing next to a crater. It’s a huge, gaping thing.
“What caused that, Doc?”
Jack looks at the others helplessly. He doesn’t know.
“We should get back to the camp. Maybe the others know what’s going on.”
Kate nods in agreement. They all turn to follow Jack back to the beach.
Sawyer stays a moment longer, staring into the crater.
“That’s one hell of a hole,” he mutters, before jogging to catch up with the others.