All That's Left Behind [3/3] - Lost - Sawyer/Kevin
Title: All That's Left Behind [3/3]
Pairing: Sawyer/Kevin (Sawyer/Kate, Kevin/Kate, Jack/Kate)
Word Count: 3300
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Written with writing_rainbow's "Thumb" prompt. AU - the Oceanic Six here are not the Oceanic Six of the show.
Previously: Part One :: Part Two
Summary: Kevin really should know better than to pick up strange hitchhikers in the rain.
Kevin leans over the sink, brushing his teeth and trying not to think about his visitor. Sunlight streams through the privacy glass onto his face - he's cutting it fine this morning. Needs to be at work in about twenty minutes and he still doesn't feel ready. Sleeping in through his alarm always leaves him groggy, but just this once he reckons he has a decent excuse.
He places his toothbrush back in the cup by the sink and splashes water on his face. He looks rough this morning, he knows that. He'll probably get a curious look or two at the station and he might have to field a couple of questions, but it's nothing he can't handle. His main worry right now is the man still sleeping in his living room.
He glances towards the door. It's still dark and his guess is that Sawyer is still dreaming. He hasn't peeked in all morning, going out of his way to avoid that room. For all he knows Sawyer has left during the night. Part of him hopes he has.
He checks his watch and knows he has to get going but his feet take him to the kitchen instead. He find a glass, fills it with cold water. Makes sure to find a pack of painkillers as well. There's no way for him to accurately guess how much Sawyer had had to drink last night - no way to guess how much of that behaviour had been purposefully exaggerated - but he'd guess Sawyer might end up with a splitting headache when he finally wakes.
Clutching the glass he heads through to the living room. The sun is muffled by the curtains but he can still see the lumpy outline of Sawyer's figure under the blanket in the dusky light. Holds himself back from swearing under his breath and instead creeps forward to place the drink and pills on the coffee table. He picks up the bottle that Sawyer had left behind there and pauses to look at him. Sleeping, he doesn't look at all like his criminal record says he should. Hell, even when he's alive and sweet-talking he ain't at all how Kevin's imagination would usually conjure up a criminal. Even bulky and strong, he looks fragile. The world's had too many free hits already.
Kevin shakes his head and banishes all sentimentality as he exits the room and closes the door quietly behind him. His house doesn't feel like it's his any more and won't 'til Sawyer's gone: he reminds himself as he throws the bottle in the bin in the kitchen that he probably won't have long to wait now. By the time he comes home tonight the red car outside will be gone and Sawyer will be gone with it.
And that's a good thing. It really is.
He grabs his keys by the door and steps outside, taking a large lungful of fresh air to try and keep himself on the edge of calm. Everything's gonna work out fine, he tells himself as he walks to his car. Nothing to worry about.
*
"Alright," Christine says when she dumps the files he'd asked for on his desk. "I hope you're planning on spilling soon."
"Spilling?" Kevin asks. He glances up to see that despite her light tone she really does look worried. "What is it I should be in such a hurry to spill about?"
"Hell if I know." She grabs the chair from the desk next to him and spins it over until she can sit down. There are deep lines on her face and her brown eyes try to implore the truth from him. "All I know is that you've been acting jumpy as hell all day. I let it go at first, but I was at the diner for lunch today. 'pparently you were in there last night."
"Yeah, I was."
"And apparently you had someone with you and apparently the evening ended a little- tense between you and him." She pauses and stares at him, eyebrows raised expectantly. He's not quite sure how she wants him to respond but he's not too surprised she found out. This town doesn't have a whole load of gossip to go around. "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."
"Good, 'cause I don't. Ain't nothing to tell, Chris."
Her lips press together unhappily. "Alright," she agrees slowly, "but you tell me if you need any help, you hear me? We take care of our own around here. You're one of us by now, Callis."
He can just imagine her chasing down Sawyer to scold him for hurting his feelings - and that image is enough to allow him to smile for her. "Thank you," he says. "That's real good to hear."
Her hand closes over his and he thinks she'd protect him if she could. There's that whole mama-bear vibe to her: claws hidden under teddy's fur. "You'd best get back to work, honey," she says.
He nods and tries to focus once more, flicking through the files as she stands up and makes her way through the office. The words blur in front of his eyes until he wants to yell at himself to get a grip. Ain't no point thinking like this. He can't allow Monica to screw up his life again - she's not even here and yet she always is, isn't she? Always lurking in the back of his mind, always there in the corner of his eye. A few years in this little town had allowed him to believe that maybe he'd escaped that. Maybe he'd finally be able to move on.
Yet when he goes home tonight there will be reminders scattered everywhere. An empty glass by the sink. Two painkillers missing from the pack he left on the table. A crumpled blanket left on the couch. Invisible fingerprints all over his house.
He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. Don't think about this, he tells himself. Don't torture yourself.
But - really - what else is he gonna think about today?
*
When he enters the house his heart sinks: he can hear shuffling movement in the kitchen. The clink of dishes. The murmur of the radio. He stays frozen in the hallway, unable to move as he listens and tries to snap out of it. His home is supposed to be empty. He's holding onto his house keys hard enough that the jagged edge digs into the flesh of his palm.
He doesn't want to move from the spot but standing out there isn't going to get anything done. He places the keys down, wrenching his fingers apart, and walks towards the kitchen. Doesn't know he's going to manage to deal with this, with him, but he'll work out some kind of way.
Sawyer is standing by the oven, a pan sizzling on the hob, and doesn't stir when Kevin enters. There are dishes soaking in the sink and the room is filled with the scent of spices. Kevin stands in the doorway and can't move, doesn't want to. The scene feels like a snapshot of a home life he never had. One move and it shatters. One word and it falls apart.
Can't last forever. Sawyer looks up at him, flicking the hair from his face, and grins wide. "You always work this late, Holmes?"
Kevin doesn't answer to that - he's pretty sure that Sawyer knows exactly what his schedule usually is anyway. He knew where to be standing when he was hitchhiking. Knew when. "What're you doing here?" he asks instead.
"Makin' you something to eat." He prods at the pan with a wooden spoon. "And is that any way to talk to a guest?"
"You aren't a guest." He's not. He's not a guest, he's not welcome, he's not invited. "Thought I made it perfectly clear I didn't want to have to see your face again."
"Didn't get that impression when you invited me in last night." Sawyer's smirk is nothing but dirty and the look in his eyes seems so much worse. It reawakens the sensory memory of Sawyer's fingers trailing on his skin last night. That isn't something Kevin'd say he should be thinking about, not ever. "In fact, I'd say you went out of your way to make me at home."
"Sawyer-"
"I wanna be here." Sawyer looks down at the pan. "So go upstairs, change out of that uniform of yours and then come and get something to eat. It's good, I promise."
Kevin really ought to refuse. He ought to kick up a fuss and call the station for backup if Sawyer refuses to get out. The whole situation's spinning out of control and he doesn't like that. Can't handle it. Sawyer's a dangerous element, a spark to fuel, and Kevin got his fill of danger when Monica swept through his life. He's not interested in it now.
Sawyer's not watching him and he's fallen silent, focused on whatever it is he's cooking instead. There's something about him when he's like that, when he's not putting on an act… Kevin doesn't know what it is, can't work it out, but it's enough to stop him from insisting Sawyer leaves. "We seem to be making a habit of this," he comments. He's eaten with Sawyer three nights this week. He feels sure that ought to mean something.
Sawyer shrugs. "It's not a habit I'm gonna break any time soon."
He's sticking around then, Kevin thinks - and he can't decide if that's really a good or bad thing.
"Go on," Sawyer says, looking towards him again. "Go get changed. No point in hanging around here staring at me."
Kevin nods and turns to leave the kitchen behind, acting without thinking. Been doing a lot of that lately, hasn't he? Or maybe not, maybe that's the whole problem: he's doing a little more thinking than he should. Either way it's one big problem that he just doesn't know how to solve. He's lost, he's at sea, and it feels like his life is changing around him without his consent.
The stairs creak when he climbs them, just as they always do. The house shifts and settles, the walls are the same colours, there's the same unexplained marks on the carpet. His bedroom is undisturbed but he wonders if Sawyer's been in here while he was at work. Wonders if Sawyer has shifted through his things to glean specks of knowledge. Wonders, yet again, what Sawyer's game is.
Whatever it is, he's not sure if he should be playing along.
He opens his closet and is greeted with the sight of the same clothes as always - clothes that are comfortable and functional, along with spare clothes for work. It's not like he usually has any need to impress anyone outside of work and so he doesn't have the wherewithal to do so. It makes him feel as he grabs for a few items that he doesn't think have holes in them that he's going to be disappointing Sawyer when he climbs down the stairs. He's not sure why and he's certain that he won't be able to find an explanation for it: but he's never met a man in his life that makes him feel like Sawyer does. Angry, confused and excited. It's an uneasy combination.
When he walks downstairs he finds Sawyer curiously rooting through his kitchen cupboards, only stopping when he alights upon a set of plates. He turns when Kevin clears his throat and enters, looking ready to start spouting bullshit yet again.
"Why're you here, Sawyer?" Kevin asks before Sawyer can speak. His voice sounds hushed - he ain't demanding answers, but he needs something. Anything. "Please."
Sawyer takes a harsh inhale of air through his nose. He places two plates down on the counter and reaches for the dial on the hob, switching it off. He seems to be mulling over his answer so Kevin waits, moving to sit at the kitchen table.
"I told you," Sawyer says eventually. "I wanted to talk to you - about Kate. Do we have to go over this again?"
"Yeah, actually. We do. 'cause despite all that you haven't talked to me about her. Not once, 'part from when I brought it up." When he asks questions he gets shut down. He doesn't like being lied to. Had too much of that for one lifetime. "So try again. Why're you here?"
"I loved her," Sawyer says - like Kevin hadn't figured that one out already. Sawyer doesn't seem like the kind of man who easily tumbles head-over-heels, but if he's this dogged then that has to mean something. "She married you. Guess I wanted to see what you're like."
"Why?"
Maybe he's pushing too hard, too far, too much, but he can't sit here and eat and ignore all this. The situation's gone way past 'too weird' by now and it's into a whole other territory that Kevin doesn't have a name for. Sawyer's tumbled into his house, into his life. An explanation is the least he can ask for.
"Because-" Sawyer says, before he pauses. He wets his lips and moves to take hold of the pan handle, serving up. His back is to Kevin and the muscles there are so tense. "Because she didn't choose me."
Those whispered words fall into the air. Words of a broken heart.
"There was another guy. A doctor," Sawyer explains. "She chose to stay behind with him on the island. I haven't seen either of them since, and I just-"
He picks up the plates and moves them to the table but he doesn't sit down, standing aimlessly. He looks like he's wishing for something else to do; sitting down and explaining is probably at the very bottom of the agenda. Kevin moves his foot under the table and pushes the chair opposite him out for Sawyer. No running away, not this time.
Sawyer sits down heavily. "When I look at you, I think I get it."
He's got no way of interpreting that, no way of knowing what the hell Sawyer's supposed to be implying there. Sawyer's staring at a spot above his shoulder instead of at him and Kevin's fine with that. Absolutely fine.
"I'm sorry," he says - and he can remember what he was like after Monica ran, remembers apologising to everyone he knew and everyone that went to the wedding. As if it was his responsibility, his fault, even though the biggest con had been on him. He should've seen through it.
Sawyer smiles and shrugs. "Ain't nothing to do with you, not really," he answers. Absolved just like that, but it's not that easy. Nothing ever is. "Now eat up. It'll get cold if you don't."
Kevin snorts and just like that things seem normal: like he hasn’t had that confession and like he isn't trying to imagine the doctor Kate is with now. He can't see it, Kate and a doctor. A killer and a healer. Maybe that works. Kate always had a thing for irony and opposites.
They wash the dishes together and that feels so normal it aches. I don't do taco night, Kevin thinks. He wonders how long he and Kate might've made it if he'd never bought those plane tickets or if she'd never had that pregnancy scare or a thousand different 'what ifs'. Pointless. With Sawyer beside him he talks instead. Tells him about that job in Tampa and watches the way Sawyer's mouth twitches in the hint of a smile. Decides not to ask about that either. He's probably better off not knowing.
He knows he shouldn't ask, warm water flooding around his hands. "Do you ever-" he asks, wishing he could stop, "Do you ever wish you'd stayed behind? With her, I mean."
And Sawyer doesn't answer, doesn't look at him, doesn't do anything. He dries the plate he's holding with a novelty tea towel then puts it away. Places the towel down on counter. "You ever wish she'd told you earlier?" Sawyer asks in return. "Before you got married. If she'd been honest with you…"
"I would've married her anyway."
"Figured as much."
"That's the past now." Got to be. Don't look back. Don't regret. He's trying not to but when Sawyer's here it's so damn hard not to think about that. About her.
Sawyer smiles and nods as if he's finally got a glimmer of insight. "C'mon, we can do these later."
Kevin ought to resist and get this done but he allows Sawyer to lead him through to the living room again. The blanket has been neatly stacked at the end of the couch and it's comfortable when they sit down there together. Should feel weird and maybe it does but Kevin doesn't resist when Sawyer's arm finds its way around his shoulders. Television's switched on and there's an old movie playing, black and white.
Sawyer's arm around his shoulders feels heavy and settled, final confirmation that he's not going anywhere. Kevin can push and rage at him all he wants, but right now that desire has long since faded. It takes a hesitant second - a moment during which Sawyer is so damn careful not to look at him, paying too much attention to the screen instead - but Kevin settles down and feels the tension fade. He shifts on the couch, gets comfortable, and isn't too surprised when it turns out that 'comfort' these days means resting his head against Sawyer's shoulder.
Shouldn't be this easy, he tells himself, though he's not sure what kind of delusion he's living in where conning him into picking up a hitchhiker and then refusing to leave him the hell alone counts as 'easy'. You're gonna get hurt.
"If we do this," he says levelly, not even knowing what this is. Not yet. He's starting to get the feeling he ain't ever gonna know, but he likes the feeling he's got right now and he sure as hell wants to hold onto it. "If we do this, it can't be about her. About Kate, I mean."
Leaning against Sawyer's shoulder he can hear the man's heart beating - too fast, even though he's putting up a damn good show of being the calmest man on Earth. "Kevin?" Sawyer says, a lazy smiling curling through his words. When Kevin looks up, there's barely a second to think before Sawyer's lips are against his.
He barely knows this guy, met him less than a week ago, and he should know better than this. Ought to push him away and possibly punch him for even thinking of doing that, but there's that sweet pressure against him and he can feel the burn of Sawyer's stubble against his skin. Sawyer's hand curls by the side of his neck, fingers brushing over his skin, and it's all Kevin can do not to melt on the spot.
It's too short - too damn short for something that feels life-changing - and when Sawyer pulls back he's got that open expression on his face, the one that usually only appears when he thinks Kevin isn't watching. "It's not about her," Sawyer whispers, the first promise Kevin has heard in so long that hasn't sounded empty.
This ain't gonna end well, that goes without saying. Sawyer's arm around him feels a little too desperate and a little too tight: it's not safe and it's sure as hell not smart, but Kevin reaches for the television remote anyway. He's done with playing it safe and closing his eyes to the past. When Sawyer pulls him in for a second kiss, messier this time, they're both smiling and it's a struggle not to laugh. Kevin's thumb fumbles for the button the remote.
The screen goes dark.
Pairing: Sawyer/Kevin (Sawyer/Kate, Kevin/Kate, Jack/Kate)
Word Count: 3300
Rating: PG-13
A/N: Written with writing_rainbow's "Thumb" prompt. AU - the Oceanic Six here are not the Oceanic Six of the show.
Previously: Part One :: Part Two
Summary: Kevin really should know better than to pick up strange hitchhikers in the rain.
Kevin leans over the sink, brushing his teeth and trying not to think about his visitor. Sunlight streams through the privacy glass onto his face - he's cutting it fine this morning. Needs to be at work in about twenty minutes and he still doesn't feel ready. Sleeping in through his alarm always leaves him groggy, but just this once he reckons he has a decent excuse.
He places his toothbrush back in the cup by the sink and splashes water on his face. He looks rough this morning, he knows that. He'll probably get a curious look or two at the station and he might have to field a couple of questions, but it's nothing he can't handle. His main worry right now is the man still sleeping in his living room.
He glances towards the door. It's still dark and his guess is that Sawyer is still dreaming. He hasn't peeked in all morning, going out of his way to avoid that room. For all he knows Sawyer has left during the night. Part of him hopes he has.
He checks his watch and knows he has to get going but his feet take him to the kitchen instead. He find a glass, fills it with cold water. Makes sure to find a pack of painkillers as well. There's no way for him to accurately guess how much Sawyer had had to drink last night - no way to guess how much of that behaviour had been purposefully exaggerated - but he'd guess Sawyer might end up with a splitting headache when he finally wakes.
Clutching the glass he heads through to the living room. The sun is muffled by the curtains but he can still see the lumpy outline of Sawyer's figure under the blanket in the dusky light. Holds himself back from swearing under his breath and instead creeps forward to place the drink and pills on the coffee table. He picks up the bottle that Sawyer had left behind there and pauses to look at him. Sleeping, he doesn't look at all like his criminal record says he should. Hell, even when he's alive and sweet-talking he ain't at all how Kevin's imagination would usually conjure up a criminal. Even bulky and strong, he looks fragile. The world's had too many free hits already.
Kevin shakes his head and banishes all sentimentality as he exits the room and closes the door quietly behind him. His house doesn't feel like it's his any more and won't 'til Sawyer's gone: he reminds himself as he throws the bottle in the bin in the kitchen that he probably won't have long to wait now. By the time he comes home tonight the red car outside will be gone and Sawyer will be gone with it.
And that's a good thing. It really is.
He grabs his keys by the door and steps outside, taking a large lungful of fresh air to try and keep himself on the edge of calm. Everything's gonna work out fine, he tells himself as he walks to his car. Nothing to worry about.
*
"Alright," Christine says when she dumps the files he'd asked for on his desk. "I hope you're planning on spilling soon."
"Spilling?" Kevin asks. He glances up to see that despite her light tone she really does look worried. "What is it I should be in such a hurry to spill about?"
"Hell if I know." She grabs the chair from the desk next to him and spins it over until she can sit down. There are deep lines on her face and her brown eyes try to implore the truth from him. "All I know is that you've been acting jumpy as hell all day. I let it go at first, but I was at the diner for lunch today. 'pparently you were in there last night."
"Yeah, I was."
"And apparently you had someone with you and apparently the evening ended a little- tense between you and him." She pauses and stares at him, eyebrows raised expectantly. He's not quite sure how she wants him to respond but he's not too surprised she found out. This town doesn't have a whole load of gossip to go around. "You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to."
"Good, 'cause I don't. Ain't nothing to tell, Chris."
Her lips press together unhappily. "Alright," she agrees slowly, "but you tell me if you need any help, you hear me? We take care of our own around here. You're one of us by now, Callis."
He can just imagine her chasing down Sawyer to scold him for hurting his feelings - and that image is enough to allow him to smile for her. "Thank you," he says. "That's real good to hear."
Her hand closes over his and he thinks she'd protect him if she could. There's that whole mama-bear vibe to her: claws hidden under teddy's fur. "You'd best get back to work, honey," she says.
He nods and tries to focus once more, flicking through the files as she stands up and makes her way through the office. The words blur in front of his eyes until he wants to yell at himself to get a grip. Ain't no point thinking like this. He can't allow Monica to screw up his life again - she's not even here and yet she always is, isn't she? Always lurking in the back of his mind, always there in the corner of his eye. A few years in this little town had allowed him to believe that maybe he'd escaped that. Maybe he'd finally be able to move on.
Yet when he goes home tonight there will be reminders scattered everywhere. An empty glass by the sink. Two painkillers missing from the pack he left on the table. A crumpled blanket left on the couch. Invisible fingerprints all over his house.
He closes his eyes and breathes through his nose. Don't think about this, he tells himself. Don't torture yourself.
But - really - what else is he gonna think about today?
*
When he enters the house his heart sinks: he can hear shuffling movement in the kitchen. The clink of dishes. The murmur of the radio. He stays frozen in the hallway, unable to move as he listens and tries to snap out of it. His home is supposed to be empty. He's holding onto his house keys hard enough that the jagged edge digs into the flesh of his palm.
He doesn't want to move from the spot but standing out there isn't going to get anything done. He places the keys down, wrenching his fingers apart, and walks towards the kitchen. Doesn't know he's going to manage to deal with this, with him, but he'll work out some kind of way.
Sawyer is standing by the oven, a pan sizzling on the hob, and doesn't stir when Kevin enters. There are dishes soaking in the sink and the room is filled with the scent of spices. Kevin stands in the doorway and can't move, doesn't want to. The scene feels like a snapshot of a home life he never had. One move and it shatters. One word and it falls apart.
Can't last forever. Sawyer looks up at him, flicking the hair from his face, and grins wide. "You always work this late, Holmes?"
Kevin doesn't answer to that - he's pretty sure that Sawyer knows exactly what his schedule usually is anyway. He knew where to be standing when he was hitchhiking. Knew when. "What're you doing here?" he asks instead.
"Makin' you something to eat." He prods at the pan with a wooden spoon. "And is that any way to talk to a guest?"
"You aren't a guest." He's not. He's not a guest, he's not welcome, he's not invited. "Thought I made it perfectly clear I didn't want to have to see your face again."
"Didn't get that impression when you invited me in last night." Sawyer's smirk is nothing but dirty and the look in his eyes seems so much worse. It reawakens the sensory memory of Sawyer's fingers trailing on his skin last night. That isn't something Kevin'd say he should be thinking about, not ever. "In fact, I'd say you went out of your way to make me at home."
"Sawyer-"
"I wanna be here." Sawyer looks down at the pan. "So go upstairs, change out of that uniform of yours and then come and get something to eat. It's good, I promise."
Kevin really ought to refuse. He ought to kick up a fuss and call the station for backup if Sawyer refuses to get out. The whole situation's spinning out of control and he doesn't like that. Can't handle it. Sawyer's a dangerous element, a spark to fuel, and Kevin got his fill of danger when Monica swept through his life. He's not interested in it now.
Sawyer's not watching him and he's fallen silent, focused on whatever it is he's cooking instead. There's something about him when he's like that, when he's not putting on an act… Kevin doesn't know what it is, can't work it out, but it's enough to stop him from insisting Sawyer leaves. "We seem to be making a habit of this," he comments. He's eaten with Sawyer three nights this week. He feels sure that ought to mean something.
Sawyer shrugs. "It's not a habit I'm gonna break any time soon."
He's sticking around then, Kevin thinks - and he can't decide if that's really a good or bad thing.
"Go on," Sawyer says, looking towards him again. "Go get changed. No point in hanging around here staring at me."
Kevin nods and turns to leave the kitchen behind, acting without thinking. Been doing a lot of that lately, hasn't he? Or maybe not, maybe that's the whole problem: he's doing a little more thinking than he should. Either way it's one big problem that he just doesn't know how to solve. He's lost, he's at sea, and it feels like his life is changing around him without his consent.
The stairs creak when he climbs them, just as they always do. The house shifts and settles, the walls are the same colours, there's the same unexplained marks on the carpet. His bedroom is undisturbed but he wonders if Sawyer's been in here while he was at work. Wonders if Sawyer has shifted through his things to glean specks of knowledge. Wonders, yet again, what Sawyer's game is.
Whatever it is, he's not sure if he should be playing along.
He opens his closet and is greeted with the sight of the same clothes as always - clothes that are comfortable and functional, along with spare clothes for work. It's not like he usually has any need to impress anyone outside of work and so he doesn't have the wherewithal to do so. It makes him feel as he grabs for a few items that he doesn't think have holes in them that he's going to be disappointing Sawyer when he climbs down the stairs. He's not sure why and he's certain that he won't be able to find an explanation for it: but he's never met a man in his life that makes him feel like Sawyer does. Angry, confused and excited. It's an uneasy combination.
When he walks downstairs he finds Sawyer curiously rooting through his kitchen cupboards, only stopping when he alights upon a set of plates. He turns when Kevin clears his throat and enters, looking ready to start spouting bullshit yet again.
"Why're you here, Sawyer?" Kevin asks before Sawyer can speak. His voice sounds hushed - he ain't demanding answers, but he needs something. Anything. "Please."
Sawyer takes a harsh inhale of air through his nose. He places two plates down on the counter and reaches for the dial on the hob, switching it off. He seems to be mulling over his answer so Kevin waits, moving to sit at the kitchen table.
"I told you," Sawyer says eventually. "I wanted to talk to you - about Kate. Do we have to go over this again?"
"Yeah, actually. We do. 'cause despite all that you haven't talked to me about her. Not once, 'part from when I brought it up." When he asks questions he gets shut down. He doesn't like being lied to. Had too much of that for one lifetime. "So try again. Why're you here?"
"I loved her," Sawyer says - like Kevin hadn't figured that one out already. Sawyer doesn't seem like the kind of man who easily tumbles head-over-heels, but if he's this dogged then that has to mean something. "She married you. Guess I wanted to see what you're like."
"Why?"
Maybe he's pushing too hard, too far, too much, but he can't sit here and eat and ignore all this. The situation's gone way past 'too weird' by now and it's into a whole other territory that Kevin doesn't have a name for. Sawyer's tumbled into his house, into his life. An explanation is the least he can ask for.
"Because-" Sawyer says, before he pauses. He wets his lips and moves to take hold of the pan handle, serving up. His back is to Kevin and the muscles there are so tense. "Because she didn't choose me."
Those whispered words fall into the air. Words of a broken heart.
"There was another guy. A doctor," Sawyer explains. "She chose to stay behind with him on the island. I haven't seen either of them since, and I just-"
He picks up the plates and moves them to the table but he doesn't sit down, standing aimlessly. He looks like he's wishing for something else to do; sitting down and explaining is probably at the very bottom of the agenda. Kevin moves his foot under the table and pushes the chair opposite him out for Sawyer. No running away, not this time.
Sawyer sits down heavily. "When I look at you, I think I get it."
He's got no way of interpreting that, no way of knowing what the hell Sawyer's supposed to be implying there. Sawyer's staring at a spot above his shoulder instead of at him and Kevin's fine with that. Absolutely fine.
"I'm sorry," he says - and he can remember what he was like after Monica ran, remembers apologising to everyone he knew and everyone that went to the wedding. As if it was his responsibility, his fault, even though the biggest con had been on him. He should've seen through it.
Sawyer smiles and shrugs. "Ain't nothing to do with you, not really," he answers. Absolved just like that, but it's not that easy. Nothing ever is. "Now eat up. It'll get cold if you don't."
Kevin snorts and just like that things seem normal: like he hasn’t had that confession and like he isn't trying to imagine the doctor Kate is with now. He can't see it, Kate and a doctor. A killer and a healer. Maybe that works. Kate always had a thing for irony and opposites.
They wash the dishes together and that feels so normal it aches. I don't do taco night, Kevin thinks. He wonders how long he and Kate might've made it if he'd never bought those plane tickets or if she'd never had that pregnancy scare or a thousand different 'what ifs'. Pointless. With Sawyer beside him he talks instead. Tells him about that job in Tampa and watches the way Sawyer's mouth twitches in the hint of a smile. Decides not to ask about that either. He's probably better off not knowing.
He knows he shouldn't ask, warm water flooding around his hands. "Do you ever-" he asks, wishing he could stop, "Do you ever wish you'd stayed behind? With her, I mean."
And Sawyer doesn't answer, doesn't look at him, doesn't do anything. He dries the plate he's holding with a novelty tea towel then puts it away. Places the towel down on counter. "You ever wish she'd told you earlier?" Sawyer asks in return. "Before you got married. If she'd been honest with you…"
"I would've married her anyway."
"Figured as much."
"That's the past now." Got to be. Don't look back. Don't regret. He's trying not to but when Sawyer's here it's so damn hard not to think about that. About her.
Sawyer smiles and nods as if he's finally got a glimmer of insight. "C'mon, we can do these later."
Kevin ought to resist and get this done but he allows Sawyer to lead him through to the living room again. The blanket has been neatly stacked at the end of the couch and it's comfortable when they sit down there together. Should feel weird and maybe it does but Kevin doesn't resist when Sawyer's arm finds its way around his shoulders. Television's switched on and there's an old movie playing, black and white.
Sawyer's arm around his shoulders feels heavy and settled, final confirmation that he's not going anywhere. Kevin can push and rage at him all he wants, but right now that desire has long since faded. It takes a hesitant second - a moment during which Sawyer is so damn careful not to look at him, paying too much attention to the screen instead - but Kevin settles down and feels the tension fade. He shifts on the couch, gets comfortable, and isn't too surprised when it turns out that 'comfort' these days means resting his head against Sawyer's shoulder.
Shouldn't be this easy, he tells himself, though he's not sure what kind of delusion he's living in where conning him into picking up a hitchhiker and then refusing to leave him the hell alone counts as 'easy'. You're gonna get hurt.
"If we do this," he says levelly, not even knowing what this is. Not yet. He's starting to get the feeling he ain't ever gonna know, but he likes the feeling he's got right now and he sure as hell wants to hold onto it. "If we do this, it can't be about her. About Kate, I mean."
Leaning against Sawyer's shoulder he can hear the man's heart beating - too fast, even though he's putting up a damn good show of being the calmest man on Earth. "Kevin?" Sawyer says, a lazy smiling curling through his words. When Kevin looks up, there's barely a second to think before Sawyer's lips are against his.
He barely knows this guy, met him less than a week ago, and he should know better than this. Ought to push him away and possibly punch him for even thinking of doing that, but there's that sweet pressure against him and he can feel the burn of Sawyer's stubble against his skin. Sawyer's hand curls by the side of his neck, fingers brushing over his skin, and it's all Kevin can do not to melt on the spot.
It's too short - too damn short for something that feels life-changing - and when Sawyer pulls back he's got that open expression on his face, the one that usually only appears when he thinks Kevin isn't watching. "It's not about her," Sawyer whispers, the first promise Kevin has heard in so long that hasn't sounded empty.
This ain't gonna end well, that goes without saying. Sawyer's arm around him feels a little too desperate and a little too tight: it's not safe and it's sure as hell not smart, but Kevin reaches for the television remote anyway. He's done with playing it safe and closing his eyes to the past. When Sawyer pulls him in for a second kiss, messier this time, they're both smiling and it's a struggle not to laugh. Kevin's thumb fumbles for the button the remote.
The screen goes dark.