pause button {jack, sawyer} (for siluria)
Title: Pause Button
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Jack, Sawyer.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,006
Author's Note: Queen siluria wanted storms. I haven't written this kind of Lost in a while so I'm out of practice.
Summary: Set early Season 1. The first time the rain lasts for longer than an hour people start getting antsy. Another two hours and they start counting.
The first time the rain lasts for longer than an hour people start getting antsy. Another two hours and they start counting. Minutes, hours, whatever, and they start saying things like it’ll stop in a few hours, it’ll stop by afternoon, it can’t rain through the night right, at least not this hard, and these tarps can withstand it, can’t they.
It’s all resounding one big resounding yes, of course, everything will be just fine, because people will say anything after a while, if they’re worn down enough or worried enough or scared enough, anything for that little bit of reassurance, even if they and everyone else knows it a load of bullshit. People will say anything, and these people do say anything, and Sawyer just shakes his head and tries not to listen, tries to focus on his book and not the pouring rain outside or the shitty amount of light in here.
He tries not to focus on the rosy-cheeked boy who keeps getting into it with his sister not far enough away for Sawyer’s taste, or how that dog keeps barking, or the tent flaps that keep opening and closing, slapping back in place, louder than the rain. The Doc’s been making his rounds for the past ten minutes, checking on everyone, doing whatever he does to help himself sleep at night. He doesn’t know what Jack’s so worried about; it’s nothing more than a bad storm that’s lasted a few hours than they expected and has them cooped up. They’ll live; there’s nothing life threatening about it. They’d be in worse shape trekking through the jungle or, hell, taking a bathroom break and running into god knows what that lives out there that made all that noise the first night.
Jack’s getting closer now. He can hear his footsteps just outside, moving away from whoever’s got their camp set up just to the left and behind him. They pause by his tent, a faint shadow of their new hero cast against the walls, before picking up again after a count of five. It’s distracting enough that he sets his book down and actually tries to listen now.
Except Jack’s moved on now, found the next person down the line, and for some reason it bothers Sawyer just a little. It bothers Sawyer that Jack, the one who seems to care about every one of these people that he hasn’t known for more than a week, even the ones who he maybe shouldn’t care for, has deemed him as passable. Not important.
It bothers him enough to get him to open the flap of his own tent and step outside into the pouring rain. It’s coming down in sheets and Sawyer’s clothes are soaked within a minute, but he can just hear Jack over the thunder that claps overhead, saying something about water supply and the corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly before the rain starts coming down harder, obscuring his vision enough that Jack is just a blur of wavy lines, white and blue, soaked to almost black, the color of his clothes.
“Hey Doc,” he hollers, loud enough to be heard over the wind and the rain. Jack’s head turns, his shoulders stiffening as he takes a few steps towards him, so that they can see each other clearly, hear each other better. Sawyer gives him his best charming smile, as he asks, “Did you forget someone?”
Jack looks at him for a moment, before breaking eye contact, a smile and a shake of his head, “No.”
“Now why the hell not?” Sawyer asks, with a frown that’s more for show than anything else. He’s not particularly hurt that the Doc skipped him, he’s just curious. Curious and bored and intrigued, though the last one he has some trouble admitting. “You’ve been checking on everyone else haven’t you?”
“Yeah,” Jack replies, continuing on an apparent trend of one-word answers. Sawyer doesn’t look away; he wants more, and after a beat Jack gives it to him. “Gee Sawyer, I was pretty sure you could take care of yourself just fine.”
It’s all in the phrasing, because if he says anything now he’s giving up something, he’s giving into something. He becomes part of the group if Jack starts checking up on him, and insofar Sawyer’s been pretty good at maintaining his role as the outsider. The ‘every man for himself’ that contrasts Jack’s ‘live together, die alone’ that he’s been pushing so damn hard. So Sawyer just crosses his arms over his chest, and tells him, “Just saying it’s nice to be asked.”
It’s not asking for anything, but it’s not telling him to go fuck himself either. Jack meets his gaze, and there’s something in his eyes that Sawyer can’t quite make heads or tails of. Jack ducks into someone else’s tent then and Sawyer isn’t going to be caught watching him when he ducks back out.
---
Hour six, Jack pokes his head into Sawyer’s tent.
It’s significantly quieter outside, if not because of the rain but because of the people. Late afternoon has set in, not that anyone without a watch could tell, and people have surrendered to quiet conversations or naps, intent on waiting out the storm instead of rebelling against it, like complaining was going to do them any good.
They’ve got time. Hell, all they have here is time.
“Well now, look whose deemed me worthy. Gonna check on my food supply? See if I need any band-aids?” It occurs to him that teasing is probably a surefire way to make sure Jack doesn’t come back the next time he decides that this isn’t a total waste of his time, designed to make no one but himself feel any better, even if that isn’t the intention, but Sawyer wouldn’t be himself if he wasn’t antagonizing the good doctor so he does it anyway.
“You’re the one who took offense the last time.” Jack reminds him, a simple shrug of his shoulders, and, “but I can go if you’ve changed your mind.”
He moves to leave, and Sawyer doesn’t exactly go as far as grabbing a hold of his arm and stopping him physically but he does say, “Get your panties out of a bunch, no one’s kicking you out. I’m just wondering if you think this is really doing any good, running around in the rain, daring the fates or whatever the hell is out there to get you sick.”
Jack pauses then, squatted there in Sawyer’s tent, his fists resting on his knees, wet denim and suddenly white knuckles. People don’t ask questions like that. People say please and thank you and smile even if they don’t really mean it, but no one asks why with these things, either because they’re too nice or they just don’t care. And then he manages to surprise Sawyer, because he doesn’t just say no, and tell him it’s their little secret. Instead he says, “yes” and maybe Sawyer should’ve seen that coming, maybe he should’ve figured Jack would lie. Or maybe he really believes it and he’s really that deluded.
“You are one of a kind,” Sawyer says, with a shake of his head, and he doesn’t mean it nicely, and Jack really doesn’t seem to care.
“So they say,” Jack replies, glancing at Sawyer once more, before he turns and leaves.
Somehow, Sawyer gets the feeling that this particular conversation isn’t finished but that someone in fact just pressed the pause button. Trouble is, he’s not sure which one of them it was.
---
Hour ten and they’re thrust into darkness, clouds obscuring the moon. The rain has lessened ever so slightly, but no one’s about to go out in it for anything that isn’t necessary, and most people have just turned in for the night.
Sawyer isn’t one of those people. He never is. Instead of tired he’s restless, eager to stretch his legs, maybe even see actual people. He’s been alone in here, for the majority of this storm, save for that one visit from Jack, and the time Kate stuck her head inside, a stay that lasted for less time than Jack’s. Sawyer’s an outcast but he isn’t a loner; he needs people to some degree, even if he’s less vocal about it, and so he’ll fight with them and tease them and sometimes even be cordial with them.
More important than that he’s bored, and he knows the one person who is sure to be awake amid all of this, and that’s exactly where he heads.
Jack looks at him funny when Sawyer steps inside of his tent, running a hand through his hair to get it out of his face, giving him another one of those smiles. “Figured if we take turns it’ll save time,” he offers, his only explanation for being there.
“Interesting logic,” Jack decides, placing something back on the cart that serves as a shelf in the back of his tent. It’s full of medical supplies, alcohol, and the like. Stuff he won’t let anyone else at in the interest of conservation. “I think it would’ve worked better a couple of hours ago. Most people seem to be asleep now.”
“Must be nice for you,” Sawyer remarks, easily, and it’s like he lifted his finger right back off that pause button, because Jack looks at him much more seriously than he did a second ago when it could almost be called lighthearted. Jack looks that way sometimes, with him, when he doesn’t look annoyed or pissed beyond belief. “No more running around,” he elaborates. “I bet you’ll be glad when it finally stops raining.”
“Actually,” Jack starts, and Sawyer frowns at him like he can’t quite believe he’s going to sit here and tell him that he doesn’t mind. He can buy that maybe Jack has warped this around enough in his mind that he thinks he’s somehow being productive, asking people the same set of questions that he asked them just after the crash, but there’s just no way that this doesn’t bother him. Not without a damn good reason.
“Don’t go preaching to me about how you don’t really mind going out there and getting soaked every few hours.” Sawyer says, before Jack can finish his sentence. “No one can be that self-sacrificing.”
Jack laughs. It isn’t out of any amount of happiness. Then, “You want to know why I don’t mind?”
It feels like a trick. But from what he knows of Jack it isn’t. “Okay, I’ll bite. Tell me, oh heroic one, why don’t you mind?”
“Because those people out there,” Jack begins, leaning back against the edge of the cart, settling in a little, “right now all they’re thinking about is the rain. When it’s going to stop, if it’s going to flood, whether or not they’re stuff is going to get wet. They’re thinking about the rain, and every hour that they spend fixating on that storm out there is another hour that they’re not spending wondering when we’re going to get rescued, if we’re going to get rescued, and how we’re going to get off this island if we don’t.”
Sawyer looks down, feeling very much like he underestimated the man in front of him, just a little.
“So that’s why I don’t mind Sawyer. Because if it’s not one thing, it’s something else, and they’ll be happy when this ends, for a little while. It’ll buy us some time, a break from people asking questions that no one has answers to, and moping around.”
“And here I was thinking that you just liked making yourself useful,” Sawyer replies.
Jack smiles, rather than read him the riot act, letting it go as the joke that it really is, no mocking tone underneath it. And maybe it makes Sawyer feel a little better that he had something to do with that smile, not that he’ll ever admit it.
He stays in Jack’s tent well past the end of hour ten.
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Jack, Sawyer.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 2,006
Author's Note: Queen siluria wanted storms. I haven't written this kind of Lost in a while so I'm out of practice.
Summary: Set early Season 1. The first time the rain lasts for longer than an hour people start getting antsy. Another two hours and they start counting.
The first time the rain lasts for longer than an hour people start getting antsy. Another two hours and they start counting. Minutes, hours, whatever, and they start saying things like it’ll stop in a few hours, it’ll stop by afternoon, it can’t rain through the night right, at least not this hard, and these tarps can withstand it, can’t they.
It’s all resounding one big resounding yes, of course, everything will be just fine, because people will say anything after a while, if they’re worn down enough or worried enough or scared enough, anything for that little bit of reassurance, even if they and everyone else knows it a load of bullshit. People will say anything, and these people do say anything, and Sawyer just shakes his head and tries not to listen, tries to focus on his book and not the pouring rain outside or the shitty amount of light in here.
He tries not to focus on the rosy-cheeked boy who keeps getting into it with his sister not far enough away for Sawyer’s taste, or how that dog keeps barking, or the tent flaps that keep opening and closing, slapping back in place, louder than the rain. The Doc’s been making his rounds for the past ten minutes, checking on everyone, doing whatever he does to help himself sleep at night. He doesn’t know what Jack’s so worried about; it’s nothing more than a bad storm that’s lasted a few hours than they expected and has them cooped up. They’ll live; there’s nothing life threatening about it. They’d be in worse shape trekking through the jungle or, hell, taking a bathroom break and running into god knows what that lives out there that made all that noise the first night.
Jack’s getting closer now. He can hear his footsteps just outside, moving away from whoever’s got their camp set up just to the left and behind him. They pause by his tent, a faint shadow of their new hero cast against the walls, before picking up again after a count of five. It’s distracting enough that he sets his book down and actually tries to listen now.
Except Jack’s moved on now, found the next person down the line, and for some reason it bothers Sawyer just a little. It bothers Sawyer that Jack, the one who seems to care about every one of these people that he hasn’t known for more than a week, even the ones who he maybe shouldn’t care for, has deemed him as passable. Not important.
It bothers him enough to get him to open the flap of his own tent and step outside into the pouring rain. It’s coming down in sheets and Sawyer’s clothes are soaked within a minute, but he can just hear Jack over the thunder that claps overhead, saying something about water supply and the corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly before the rain starts coming down harder, obscuring his vision enough that Jack is just a blur of wavy lines, white and blue, soaked to almost black, the color of his clothes.
“Hey Doc,” he hollers, loud enough to be heard over the wind and the rain. Jack’s head turns, his shoulders stiffening as he takes a few steps towards him, so that they can see each other clearly, hear each other better. Sawyer gives him his best charming smile, as he asks, “Did you forget someone?”
Jack looks at him for a moment, before breaking eye contact, a smile and a shake of his head, “No.”
“Now why the hell not?” Sawyer asks, with a frown that’s more for show than anything else. He’s not particularly hurt that the Doc skipped him, he’s just curious. Curious and bored and intrigued, though the last one he has some trouble admitting. “You’ve been checking on everyone else haven’t you?”
“Yeah,” Jack replies, continuing on an apparent trend of one-word answers. Sawyer doesn’t look away; he wants more, and after a beat Jack gives it to him. “Gee Sawyer, I was pretty sure you could take care of yourself just fine.”
It’s all in the phrasing, because if he says anything now he’s giving up something, he’s giving into something. He becomes part of the group if Jack starts checking up on him, and insofar Sawyer’s been pretty good at maintaining his role as the outsider. The ‘every man for himself’ that contrasts Jack’s ‘live together, die alone’ that he’s been pushing so damn hard. So Sawyer just crosses his arms over his chest, and tells him, “Just saying it’s nice to be asked.”
It’s not asking for anything, but it’s not telling him to go fuck himself either. Jack meets his gaze, and there’s something in his eyes that Sawyer can’t quite make heads or tails of. Jack ducks into someone else’s tent then and Sawyer isn’t going to be caught watching him when he ducks back out.
---
Hour six, Jack pokes his head into Sawyer’s tent.
It’s significantly quieter outside, if not because of the rain but because of the people. Late afternoon has set in, not that anyone without a watch could tell, and people have surrendered to quiet conversations or naps, intent on waiting out the storm instead of rebelling against it, like complaining was going to do them any good.
They’ve got time. Hell, all they have here is time.
“Well now, look whose deemed me worthy. Gonna check on my food supply? See if I need any band-aids?” It occurs to him that teasing is probably a surefire way to make sure Jack doesn’t come back the next time he decides that this isn’t a total waste of his time, designed to make no one but himself feel any better, even if that isn’t the intention, but Sawyer wouldn’t be himself if he wasn’t antagonizing the good doctor so he does it anyway.
“You’re the one who took offense the last time.” Jack reminds him, a simple shrug of his shoulders, and, “but I can go if you’ve changed your mind.”
He moves to leave, and Sawyer doesn’t exactly go as far as grabbing a hold of his arm and stopping him physically but he does say, “Get your panties out of a bunch, no one’s kicking you out. I’m just wondering if you think this is really doing any good, running around in the rain, daring the fates or whatever the hell is out there to get you sick.”
Jack pauses then, squatted there in Sawyer’s tent, his fists resting on his knees, wet denim and suddenly white knuckles. People don’t ask questions like that. People say please and thank you and smile even if they don’t really mean it, but no one asks why with these things, either because they’re too nice or they just don’t care. And then he manages to surprise Sawyer, because he doesn’t just say no, and tell him it’s their little secret. Instead he says, “yes” and maybe Sawyer should’ve seen that coming, maybe he should’ve figured Jack would lie. Or maybe he really believes it and he’s really that deluded.
“You are one of a kind,” Sawyer says, with a shake of his head, and he doesn’t mean it nicely, and Jack really doesn’t seem to care.
“So they say,” Jack replies, glancing at Sawyer once more, before he turns and leaves.
Somehow, Sawyer gets the feeling that this particular conversation isn’t finished but that someone in fact just pressed the pause button. Trouble is, he’s not sure which one of them it was.
---
Hour ten and they’re thrust into darkness, clouds obscuring the moon. The rain has lessened ever so slightly, but no one’s about to go out in it for anything that isn’t necessary, and most people have just turned in for the night.
Sawyer isn’t one of those people. He never is. Instead of tired he’s restless, eager to stretch his legs, maybe even see actual people. He’s been alone in here, for the majority of this storm, save for that one visit from Jack, and the time Kate stuck her head inside, a stay that lasted for less time than Jack’s. Sawyer’s an outcast but he isn’t a loner; he needs people to some degree, even if he’s less vocal about it, and so he’ll fight with them and tease them and sometimes even be cordial with them.
More important than that he’s bored, and he knows the one person who is sure to be awake amid all of this, and that’s exactly where he heads.
Jack looks at him funny when Sawyer steps inside of his tent, running a hand through his hair to get it out of his face, giving him another one of those smiles. “Figured if we take turns it’ll save time,” he offers, his only explanation for being there.
“Interesting logic,” Jack decides, placing something back on the cart that serves as a shelf in the back of his tent. It’s full of medical supplies, alcohol, and the like. Stuff he won’t let anyone else at in the interest of conservation. “I think it would’ve worked better a couple of hours ago. Most people seem to be asleep now.”
“Must be nice for you,” Sawyer remarks, easily, and it’s like he lifted his finger right back off that pause button, because Jack looks at him much more seriously than he did a second ago when it could almost be called lighthearted. Jack looks that way sometimes, with him, when he doesn’t look annoyed or pissed beyond belief. “No more running around,” he elaborates. “I bet you’ll be glad when it finally stops raining.”
“Actually,” Jack starts, and Sawyer frowns at him like he can’t quite believe he’s going to sit here and tell him that he doesn’t mind. He can buy that maybe Jack has warped this around enough in his mind that he thinks he’s somehow being productive, asking people the same set of questions that he asked them just after the crash, but there’s just no way that this doesn’t bother him. Not without a damn good reason.
“Don’t go preaching to me about how you don’t really mind going out there and getting soaked every few hours.” Sawyer says, before Jack can finish his sentence. “No one can be that self-sacrificing.”
Jack laughs. It isn’t out of any amount of happiness. Then, “You want to know why I don’t mind?”
It feels like a trick. But from what he knows of Jack it isn’t. “Okay, I’ll bite. Tell me, oh heroic one, why don’t you mind?”
“Because those people out there,” Jack begins, leaning back against the edge of the cart, settling in a little, “right now all they’re thinking about is the rain. When it’s going to stop, if it’s going to flood, whether or not they’re stuff is going to get wet. They’re thinking about the rain, and every hour that they spend fixating on that storm out there is another hour that they’re not spending wondering when we’re going to get rescued, if we’re going to get rescued, and how we’re going to get off this island if we don’t.”
Sawyer looks down, feeling very much like he underestimated the man in front of him, just a little.
“So that’s why I don’t mind Sawyer. Because if it’s not one thing, it’s something else, and they’ll be happy when this ends, for a little while. It’ll buy us some time, a break from people asking questions that no one has answers to, and moping around.”
“And here I was thinking that you just liked making yourself useful,” Sawyer replies.
Jack smiles, rather than read him the riot act, letting it go as the joke that it really is, no mocking tone underneath it. And maybe it makes Sawyer feel a little better that he had something to do with that smile, not that he’ll ever admit it.
He stays in Jack’s tent well past the end of hour ten.