It's a Good Enough Life
Title: It's a Good Enough Life
Characters/Pairings: Juliet/Sawyer
Rating: PG
Summary: "You wouldn't know it, but Horace throws a mean punch." Sawyer gets his start as Dharma security.
Spoilers: Up to 5x08.
A/N: Okay, okay, so I've apparently jumped on the Juliet/Sawyer bandwagon. Accidentally, really. Takes place in the early days of Dharma.
----
He shows up with a split lip and a bruised ego, and she has to laugh a little.
"What?" He spits out the word, more blood coming with it.
She smiles, almost serene, unfazed. "So it went well then?"
Sawyer presses delicate fingers to the cut, the swollen lump already rising there, probing the wound gently. "You wouldn't know it, but Horace throws a mean punch."
Juliet reaches for the antiseptic and swabs, reconfiguring her expression; she shoots for empathy but lands closer to patronizing. "Drunk again?"
"As a skunk." He grimaces as she wipes the cut clean, then tackles the blood crusting on his chin. "He's a bad one, too."
Focused on her task, one eyebrow quirks upwards in question. "What happened to your backup?" (It's only a little sarcastic.)
Sawyer snorts his reply, voice arch. "Figured I could handle it on my own."
She moves to the ice, tackling the goose egg rising purple and blue on his temple, feeling the cubes shift -- cold and wet through the dishtowel -- under her palm.
"Hold it there," she instructs; he makes a face. "It'll help the swelling go down."
Sawyer's curt, veering on the edge of impatience. "Sure."
A beat.
"You sure like seeing me taken down a peg, huh?"
He says it -- almost wry, poking and prodding for reaction -- to her back, while Juliet tucks gauze back into the medicine cabinet. She keeps shuffling through her supplies, barely sparing him a glance. "What makes you think that?"
Sawyer shifts, slumping against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. "Well?"
She pauses, turning to face him, her expression measured.
"Everybody needs that once in a while -- to be reminded where they stand." It's the we don't belong here that registers in her tone; the this isn't a game. She's just being careful; Sawyer stumbles, suddenly, upon the knowledge and cusses himself for thinking her once again uncaring, or cold.
She's just smart, is all.
"I guess." He rises from the bathtub ledge, still cradling the dishtowel to his forehead, ice water dribbling down his hand. "Thanks for patching me up, doc. Appreciate it."
That smirk again, bemused bordering on inscrutable. "No problem."
Juliet leads him through the house to the front door, and it's only when he's halfway down the steps that she speaks again.
"James -- take care of yourself, alright?"
(She even sounds like she means it.)
Then the door shuts with a whisper, and Sawyer's left in the dark, smiling to himself.
Characters/Pairings: Juliet/Sawyer
Rating: PG
Summary: "You wouldn't know it, but Horace throws a mean punch." Sawyer gets his start as Dharma security.
Spoilers: Up to 5x08.
A/N: Okay, okay, so I've apparently jumped on the Juliet/Sawyer bandwagon. Accidentally, really. Takes place in the early days of Dharma.
----
He shows up with a split lip and a bruised ego, and she has to laugh a little.
"What?" He spits out the word, more blood coming with it.
She smiles, almost serene, unfazed. "So it went well then?"
Sawyer presses delicate fingers to the cut, the swollen lump already rising there, probing the wound gently. "You wouldn't know it, but Horace throws a mean punch."
Juliet reaches for the antiseptic and swabs, reconfiguring her expression; she shoots for empathy but lands closer to patronizing. "Drunk again?"
"As a skunk." He grimaces as she wipes the cut clean, then tackles the blood crusting on his chin. "He's a bad one, too."
Focused on her task, one eyebrow quirks upwards in question. "What happened to your backup?" (It's only a little sarcastic.)
Sawyer snorts his reply, voice arch. "Figured I could handle it on my own."
She moves to the ice, tackling the goose egg rising purple and blue on his temple, feeling the cubes shift -- cold and wet through the dishtowel -- under her palm.
"Hold it there," she instructs; he makes a face. "It'll help the swelling go down."
Sawyer's curt, veering on the edge of impatience. "Sure."
A beat.
"You sure like seeing me taken down a peg, huh?"
He says it -- almost wry, poking and prodding for reaction -- to her back, while Juliet tucks gauze back into the medicine cabinet. She keeps shuffling through her supplies, barely sparing him a glance. "What makes you think that?"
Sawyer shifts, slumping against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. "Well?"
She pauses, turning to face him, her expression measured.
"Everybody needs that once in a while -- to be reminded where they stand." It's the we don't belong here that registers in her tone; the this isn't a game. She's just being careful; Sawyer stumbles, suddenly, upon the knowledge and cusses himself for thinking her once again uncaring, or cold.
She's just smart, is all.
"I guess." He rises from the bathtub ledge, still cradling the dishtowel to his forehead, ice water dribbling down his hand. "Thanks for patching me up, doc. Appreciate it."
That smirk again, bemused bordering on inscrutable. "No problem."
Juliet leads him through the house to the front door, and it's only when he's halfway down the steps that she speaks again.
"James -- take care of yourself, alright?"
(She even sounds like she means it.)
Then the door shuts with a whisper, and Sawyer's left in the dark, smiling to himself.