(no subject)
Title: Truth Be Told
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Claire/Sawyer
Word Count: 1,000
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: #2 - Decisions for
12_stories
Summary: The night they leave, the night they leave them behind, Sawyer stands in the kitchen and finishes off the last of the wine as the beat of the helicopter fades into oblivion.
The night they leave, the night they leave them behind, Sawyer stands in the kitchen and finishes off the last of the wine as the beat of the helicopter fades into oblivion. He waits for Hurley to say something comforting or tell him to slow down but the house is empty save for him. Floorboards creak, the clock gives a soft little click, and it all just reminds him that he’s alone. Back inside his head, where it’s dangerous to stay for too long.
A knock at the door takes him away from it all. A gentle, hesitant knock that leads him to the door, pausing to makes sure he isn’t hearing things.
“Sawyer, it’s Claire.” He hears her announce through the door and when he opens it she has her hand braced on the wall like she just doesn’t have it in her to stand on her own two feet.
“Fancy meeting you here.” He tells her, holding the door open so she can pass, locking it behind her. He doesn’t know why she’s here but it’s a welcome distraction. “Something I can do for you?”
“The house is too quiet; I can’t sleep.” Claire answers, simply. “Do you mind if I sleep on your couch tonight?”
It would seem strange that she was so forward if it wasn’t getting close to midnight. They’re all tired; she’s had the worst day of all of them.
It’s not like he’s going to say no. “Fine by me.”
“Thanks,” she says, collapsing onto the couch, her elbow on the armrest, letting her head rest in her hand.
He feels bad just leaving her like that. She looks tired, that’s obvious, but there’s something else there too. The demons come out at night after all. “Do you want to talk?”
“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to bother you. Go back to what you were doing.” She says, waving him off, and technically it’s a free pass for him. He asked, he cared, and she turned him down. His job is done.
Still, “You sure?”
She looks up at him, through tired eyes and just stares straight ahead, like she’s either lost in thought or studying him. He shifts after a moment, confuse and uncomfortable. He doesn’t know what to do with her; he doesn’t even know why she went to him instead of someone else. Then again she didn’t have very much in the way of choice.
Finally, she nods, to nothing in particular, and asks, “Do you think I made the right decision?”
“What about?”
She stops looking at him, drops her eyes to her hands that now sit in her lap. “About Aaron. Do you think I did the right thing?”
Claire’s looking for reassurance. She’s looking for someone to pat her hand and tell her that of course she did. Sawyer can’t tell her the truth. He doesn’t know that. And he’s not one for making up stories about how this will all end happily ever after because it won’t, and he’s been done catering to fantasies for awhile now. “You did what you thought was the right thing; that’s all that matters.”
“But do you think it’s the right thing to do?” Clearly restating her own opinion is not what she’s looking for. Go figure.
“At this moment, probably. In a few months or so, who the hell knows.” He replies, not really thinking about it. Careful phrasing and sensitivity are not traits of his when faced with a combination of lack of sleep, alcohol, and sorrow. “Not like we have a crystal ball on this island.”
She nods, takes this in, number than he ever remembers her being. “I might never see him again.”
“I might never see her again.” He says, gesturing towards the sky above them. “But what’s done is done. Everyone made the decision that was right for them at the time and now all anyone can do is hope that it all works out.”
“And you think it will?”
“Honestly no.” Her expression never changes but he can tell that it wasn’t the answer she was looking for, so he adds, “But I didn’t think I was gonna be in a damn plane crash either and look how that worked out.”
“Right.” She doesn’t seem entirely convinced.
Sawyer sighs, feeling bad for bringing her down even further but not sure what to do to fix it. “Look, whether or not we ever get off this island, it’s still no place for a kid. He’s better off in the real world with them where he isn’t getting shot at or mindfucked every five minutes. He’s better of there where he actually has a chance to be normal.”
He thinks he may have said the right thing when he sees her face. Gone is the deadness, now replaced by just the briefest flicker of something akin to hope. Something in that badly thought out monologue of his got through to her and made sense. And that was the point wasn’t it?
She gets up from the couch, coming towards him, and he frowns a second before she embraces him, arms around his neck, head to his chest. A hesitant hand comes up to her back as she sighs against him, shaky but better, and whispers, “You know for someone who acts like such an ass you can actually be pretty nice when you put your mind to it.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that so he doesn’t say anything at all. He lets her break away from him and mutters something about sweet dreams when she tells him goodnight and then he gets in his own bed, suddenly so much more drained than he was half an hour ago.
A few hours later, when she crawls in next to him, still careful to leave some space between them, but close enough that he can feel her body heat against his back, he passes it off as loneliness and leaves it at that.
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Claire/Sawyer
Word Count: 1,000
Rating: PG-13
Prompt: #2 - Decisions for
12_stories
Summary: The night they leave, the night they leave them behind, Sawyer stands in the kitchen and finishes off the last of the wine as the beat of the helicopter fades into oblivion.
The night they leave, the night they leave them behind, Sawyer stands in the kitchen and finishes off the last of the wine as the beat of the helicopter fades into oblivion. He waits for Hurley to say something comforting or tell him to slow down but the house is empty save for him. Floorboards creak, the clock gives a soft little click, and it all just reminds him that he’s alone. Back inside his head, where it’s dangerous to stay for too long.
A knock at the door takes him away from it all. A gentle, hesitant knock that leads him to the door, pausing to makes sure he isn’t hearing things.
“Sawyer, it’s Claire.” He hears her announce through the door and when he opens it she has her hand braced on the wall like she just doesn’t have it in her to stand on her own two feet.
“Fancy meeting you here.” He tells her, holding the door open so she can pass, locking it behind her. He doesn’t know why she’s here but it’s a welcome distraction. “Something I can do for you?”
“The house is too quiet; I can’t sleep.” Claire answers, simply. “Do you mind if I sleep on your couch tonight?”
It would seem strange that she was so forward if it wasn’t getting close to midnight. They’re all tired; she’s had the worst day of all of them.
It’s not like he’s going to say no. “Fine by me.”
“Thanks,” she says, collapsing onto the couch, her elbow on the armrest, letting her head rest in her hand.
He feels bad just leaving her like that. She looks tired, that’s obvious, but there’s something else there too. The demons come out at night after all. “Do you want to talk?”
“No, it’s fine. I don’t want to bother you. Go back to what you were doing.” She says, waving him off, and technically it’s a free pass for him. He asked, he cared, and she turned him down. His job is done.
Still, “You sure?”
She looks up at him, through tired eyes and just stares straight ahead, like she’s either lost in thought or studying him. He shifts after a moment, confuse and uncomfortable. He doesn’t know what to do with her; he doesn’t even know why she went to him instead of someone else. Then again she didn’t have very much in the way of choice.
Finally, she nods, to nothing in particular, and asks, “Do you think I made the right decision?”
“What about?”
She stops looking at him, drops her eyes to her hands that now sit in her lap. “About Aaron. Do you think I did the right thing?”
Claire’s looking for reassurance. She’s looking for someone to pat her hand and tell her that of course she did. Sawyer can’t tell her the truth. He doesn’t know that. And he’s not one for making up stories about how this will all end happily ever after because it won’t, and he’s been done catering to fantasies for awhile now. “You did what you thought was the right thing; that’s all that matters.”
“But do you think it’s the right thing to do?” Clearly restating her own opinion is not what she’s looking for. Go figure.
“At this moment, probably. In a few months or so, who the hell knows.” He replies, not really thinking about it. Careful phrasing and sensitivity are not traits of his when faced with a combination of lack of sleep, alcohol, and sorrow. “Not like we have a crystal ball on this island.”
She nods, takes this in, number than he ever remembers her being. “I might never see him again.”
“I might never see her again.” He says, gesturing towards the sky above them. “But what’s done is done. Everyone made the decision that was right for them at the time and now all anyone can do is hope that it all works out.”
“And you think it will?”
“Honestly no.” Her expression never changes but he can tell that it wasn’t the answer she was looking for, so he adds, “But I didn’t think I was gonna be in a damn plane crash either and look how that worked out.”
“Right.” She doesn’t seem entirely convinced.
Sawyer sighs, feeling bad for bringing her down even further but not sure what to do to fix it. “Look, whether or not we ever get off this island, it’s still no place for a kid. He’s better off in the real world with them where he isn’t getting shot at or mindfucked every five minutes. He’s better of there where he actually has a chance to be normal.”
He thinks he may have said the right thing when he sees her face. Gone is the deadness, now replaced by just the briefest flicker of something akin to hope. Something in that badly thought out monologue of his got through to her and made sense. And that was the point wasn’t it?
She gets up from the couch, coming towards him, and he frowns a second before she embraces him, arms around his neck, head to his chest. A hesitant hand comes up to her back as she sighs against him, shaky but better, and whispers, “You know for someone who acts like such an ass you can actually be pretty nice when you put your mind to it.”
He doesn’t know what to say to that so he doesn’t say anything at all. He lets her break away from him and mutters something about sweet dreams when she tells him goodnight and then he gets in his own bed, suddenly so much more drained than he was half an hour ago.
A few hours later, when she crawls in next to him, still careful to leave some space between them, but close enough that he can feel her body heat against his back, he passes it off as loneliness and leaves it at that.