Ficlet: Home (Jack/Sawyer)
A present for our luau Queen, inthekeyofd.
Umm...I have a gift for the Queen which at first seems to be a little depressing, but at its heart it’s pure, unadulterated sap. And it features our beloved white dress shirt and some other white things as well. Just a short post-rescue fic that I hope will be more uplifting than sad. This is what the muse gave me for you. White made me think of clean, and somehow it led me to this.
Just a note: I wrote this last night, before I saw zelda_zee’s post. There’s the mind-melding muse at work again.
All hail the queen.
Home
The first thing Sawyer did was shower. Before he ate real food again or talked to the media or even slept on a real bed again, the first thing he did was shower.
The hotel room looked like all the others he’d ever stayed in, at least when he was in the red. This particular one had light wood furniture, green and taupe printed carpet, and a dark green spread on the bed. As familiar as the hotel room was, it was still a little dizzying to be indoors again, and not the fake indoors of the hatch but the real indoors: air conditioning sucking all the humidity from the air, too-bright fluorescent lights and too-dim bulbs in lamps, no incessant hum of the jungle or the electromagnet, just the footfalls of strangers in the hallway. His emotions were so jumbled he didn’t know how long it would take him to straighten it all out. He just knew he needed a shower-and one with good hot water and strong pressure and clean towels to dry off on.
The bathroom gleamed white, so absolutely clean that it nearly made him cry. He shook his head. Stupid crying. Being rescued had absolutely broken him, and maybe not in the way it had everyone else. Beginning mixed with ending mixed with regret until he felt almost sick. When he shed his clothes there on the bathroom floor, he couldn’t imagine even wearing them again. They were dirty, alien here in this clean, normal place. But they were also familiar. They smelled like him, and they smelled like Jack. Jack who he hadn’t seen since they stepped off the boat. They had never talked about what might happen if they ever got off the island. By then, they had been past hope.
The water worked into his back and shoulders, and he felt it coming again. He leaned his forehead into the fiberglass of the shower wall and sobbed, the kind of crying that wracks your body as if it will pull something up out of you. For a moment, he thought he might throw up, but he didn’t; he just sobbed as the water flowed over his face and down his back. It occurred to him that the problem was he felt lost now, more lost than he ever felt back on the island. He knew it would probably go away, but it wouldn’t-couldn’t-until he saw Jack again. He hated himself for needing him this much, but he did.
Feeling clean and hot, but hollow and sick, Sawyer stepped out of the shower and wrapped a big white towel around his waist. He had grown accustomed to letting himself drip or air dry, so he simply stood there, staring at his face through the fog in the mirror. Lost. That was the only word for it.
Coming out of the bathroom, the cold, dry air made him shiver. Then he turned the corner and found Jack sitting at the end of his bed with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He was wearing a crisp white dress shirt, buttoned almost to the top, and khaki pants, but no socks and shoes. Sawyer froze-unsure, afraid, not trusting himself to move or even speak. As Jack’s head raised and his eyes met Sawyer’s, he smiled, but it was a painful smile, because he seemed to hold that same feeling of joy mixed with loss.
Then Jack swallowed hard and said, “God, I missed you.”
He had crossed the room and slid his arms around Sawyer before Sawyer could take another breath. They didn’t even kiss, just held each other there fiercely, Sawyer with his face buried between Jack’s collar and his neck. “It’s only been a couple of hours.”
“I know,” Jack replied, chuckling. Then he murmured, “I can’t do this without you.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing either.”
“That’s not what I mean. I just-“
“I know, Doc.”
Saying those words made him realize that it was happening, it was real. The feeling was the same as setting that first foot on the military ship and finding that it was there to hold him up, carry him to safety. He never liked to admit it to himself, but there was something in Jack’s strong embrace that had always felt like home to him, even when they fought. If they went days without speaking, as soon as one of them cut through all the pride to put things back together, it always felt this way. But this time, there had been no fight, just an interminable two hours of not knowing where things stood anymore. Now he knew. He almost cried again, but he knew that if he did, Jack would too, and neither one of them would be able to stop.
“I love you,” Sawyer whispered in his ear. Jack drew in a short, loud breath. “Don’t act so shocked. You know it.”
“You’ve just never said it.” Jack had, of course, but he had never been able to make the words come out, not even in response.
Withdrawing from his arms suddenly, as if to stop the overflow of feeling that might come at any moment, he shook his head and went over to the window. He asked, “Where did you get those clothes?”
“My mother.” He nodded at the chair in the corner. “Got you something, too.”
The blue slacks were a close enough fit, with the belt tightened. As Sawyer tugged on a similar white dress shirt, one that hung a little loosely on his shoulders, he felt Jack’s eyes on him. As much as he wanted to be close to him-simply needing his body beside his maybe more than he needed sex-he felt like it would be too much. Everything was too much right now, even Jack.
Sawyer said, “We should go and see people. Do something.”
“We could stay here for a while?”
“It’s just…I can’t…”
Jack nodded his head. “I know.” Sawyer had worked the last button through its hole and Jack was watching him, appreciative and amazed. It had taken a lot of getting used to and a lot of convincing him he deserved it, but here he had this man who apparently wouldn’t leave him, who was no more capable of living without him than he was. It should have terrified him, but he found that everything around him now terrified him-everything except Jack.
Jack said, “I’ve already told my mother that wherever I go, you go too.”
“Okay.”
“Just until we figure things out.”
“Okay.”
Jack slid his palm over the back of Sawyer’s neck and smiled at him. “I love you.”
In answer, as was his habit, Sawyer kissed him, slow and light, deepening the kiss just before he pulled back.
They did not walk out hand in hand. They had never been that way before. But there was a keen sense of connection between them, something almost physical, and Sawyer could feel it even as the reporters absorbed them into the pandemonium of cameras and survivors.
Umm...I have a gift for the Queen which at first seems to be a little depressing, but at its heart it’s pure, unadulterated sap. And it features our beloved white dress shirt and some other white things as well. Just a short post-rescue fic that I hope will be more uplifting than sad. This is what the muse gave me for you. White made me think of clean, and somehow it led me to this.
Just a note: I wrote this last night, before I saw zelda_zee’s post. There’s the mind-melding muse at work again.
All hail the queen.
Home
The first thing Sawyer did was shower. Before he ate real food again or talked to the media or even slept on a real bed again, the first thing he did was shower.
The hotel room looked like all the others he’d ever stayed in, at least when he was in the red. This particular one had light wood furniture, green and taupe printed carpet, and a dark green spread on the bed. As familiar as the hotel room was, it was still a little dizzying to be indoors again, and not the fake indoors of the hatch but the real indoors: air conditioning sucking all the humidity from the air, too-bright fluorescent lights and too-dim bulbs in lamps, no incessant hum of the jungle or the electromagnet, just the footfalls of strangers in the hallway. His emotions were so jumbled he didn’t know how long it would take him to straighten it all out. He just knew he needed a shower-and one with good hot water and strong pressure and clean towels to dry off on.
The bathroom gleamed white, so absolutely clean that it nearly made him cry. He shook his head. Stupid crying. Being rescued had absolutely broken him, and maybe not in the way it had everyone else. Beginning mixed with ending mixed with regret until he felt almost sick. When he shed his clothes there on the bathroom floor, he couldn’t imagine even wearing them again. They were dirty, alien here in this clean, normal place. But they were also familiar. They smelled like him, and they smelled like Jack. Jack who he hadn’t seen since they stepped off the boat. They had never talked about what might happen if they ever got off the island. By then, they had been past hope.
The water worked into his back and shoulders, and he felt it coming again. He leaned his forehead into the fiberglass of the shower wall and sobbed, the kind of crying that wracks your body as if it will pull something up out of you. For a moment, he thought he might throw up, but he didn’t; he just sobbed as the water flowed over his face and down his back. It occurred to him that the problem was he felt lost now, more lost than he ever felt back on the island. He knew it would probably go away, but it wouldn’t-couldn’t-until he saw Jack again. He hated himself for needing him this much, but he did.
Feeling clean and hot, but hollow and sick, Sawyer stepped out of the shower and wrapped a big white towel around his waist. He had grown accustomed to letting himself drip or air dry, so he simply stood there, staring at his face through the fog in the mirror. Lost. That was the only word for it.
Coming out of the bathroom, the cold, dry air made him shiver. Then he turned the corner and found Jack sitting at the end of his bed with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He was wearing a crisp white dress shirt, buttoned almost to the top, and khaki pants, but no socks and shoes. Sawyer froze-unsure, afraid, not trusting himself to move or even speak. As Jack’s head raised and his eyes met Sawyer’s, he smiled, but it was a painful smile, because he seemed to hold that same feeling of joy mixed with loss.
Then Jack swallowed hard and said, “God, I missed you.”
He had crossed the room and slid his arms around Sawyer before Sawyer could take another breath. They didn’t even kiss, just held each other there fiercely, Sawyer with his face buried between Jack’s collar and his neck. “It’s only been a couple of hours.”
“I know,” Jack replied, chuckling. Then he murmured, “I can’t do this without you.”
“I don’t know what I’m doing either.”
“That’s not what I mean. I just-“
“I know, Doc.”
Saying those words made him realize that it was happening, it was real. The feeling was the same as setting that first foot on the military ship and finding that it was there to hold him up, carry him to safety. He never liked to admit it to himself, but there was something in Jack’s strong embrace that had always felt like home to him, even when they fought. If they went days without speaking, as soon as one of them cut through all the pride to put things back together, it always felt this way. But this time, there had been no fight, just an interminable two hours of not knowing where things stood anymore. Now he knew. He almost cried again, but he knew that if he did, Jack would too, and neither one of them would be able to stop.
“I love you,” Sawyer whispered in his ear. Jack drew in a short, loud breath. “Don’t act so shocked. You know it.”
“You’ve just never said it.” Jack had, of course, but he had never been able to make the words come out, not even in response.
Withdrawing from his arms suddenly, as if to stop the overflow of feeling that might come at any moment, he shook his head and went over to the window. He asked, “Where did you get those clothes?”
“My mother.” He nodded at the chair in the corner. “Got you something, too.”
The blue slacks were a close enough fit, with the belt tightened. As Sawyer tugged on a similar white dress shirt, one that hung a little loosely on his shoulders, he felt Jack’s eyes on him. As much as he wanted to be close to him-simply needing his body beside his maybe more than he needed sex-he felt like it would be too much. Everything was too much right now, even Jack.
Sawyer said, “We should go and see people. Do something.”
“We could stay here for a while?”
“It’s just…I can’t…”
Jack nodded his head. “I know.” Sawyer had worked the last button through its hole and Jack was watching him, appreciative and amazed. It had taken a lot of getting used to and a lot of convincing him he deserved it, but here he had this man who apparently wouldn’t leave him, who was no more capable of living without him than he was. It should have terrified him, but he found that everything around him now terrified him-everything except Jack.
Jack said, “I’ve already told my mother that wherever I go, you go too.”
“Okay.”
“Just until we figure things out.”
“Okay.”
Jack slid his palm over the back of Sawyer’s neck and smiled at him. “I love you.”
In answer, as was his habit, Sawyer kissed him, slow and light, deepening the kiss just before he pulled back.
They did not walk out hand in hand. They had never been that way before. But there was a keen sense of connection between them, something almost physical, and Sawyer could feel it even as the reporters absorbed them into the pandemonium of cameras and survivors.