Squee startage - All hail the Queen
I'm going to do as many I can with my ridiculous schedule (busy one day, nothing doing the next, thesis, french, rinse and repeat).
Because I do so love Lost Squee time.
Title: I find the map (and draw a straight line)
Disclaimer: Not mine. Only responsible for their fictional corruption.
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Warning: I haven't seen the last six eps, so this could very well be way AU. (oh and if you don't get the disco light reference, you shoulda been there)
Summary: Jack only sort of wonders how they got here, when Sawyer didn't like the journey, and he, the destination. Something so small it's hard to recognize, or claim, tells Jack that they needed the vacation.
A/N: For my Queen, my dearest, gottalovev, who wanted "vacation" fics, and probably meant something less heavy.
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Parts of Singapore remind Jack of the island so much he wants to return to the hotel, pack both of their bags, and fly back home on the first thing with wings.
The beach, the incredible view of an endless stretch of mostly peaceful ocean, the smell of salt, sweat, fish and fruit.
The bigger Jack, that which is ruled by sense and reason, can turn away from sound and surf, can remember the way Sawyer's hands clinched around his paperback novel on the way here.
Fingertips blanched white and muscles contracting in forearms, a mirror image to the way the man's jaw set at even the smallest hint of turbulence.
Jack only sort of wonders how they got here, when Sawyer didn't like the journey, and he, the destination. Something so small it's hard to recognize, or claim, tells Jack that they needed the vacation.
Turned off cell phones and two weeks of nothing but strange beds and eating out, living like tourists in a city that doesn't know them by name.
In L.A., everytime one of them blinks they make the six o'clock news. Paparazzi sit on their doorsteps waiting to ask what they think about Liam Pace putting out a new Driveshaft album, if they've read Kate's life story, the New York Times best-seller ten weeks and running.
In L.A., Jack has to work twice as hard to regain his reputation after too long away and his subsequent breakdown once returned.
Here, with the door shut and curtains drawn, Jack can forget what he's lost with what he's gained. After years of turmoil, the peace he's found so far.
Sawyer's arms, around him. Sawyer's body, above his. His reason to live, and the only way he's avoided death. Sawyer has become the man who picks Jack up after he falls. Sawyer was always the one who kicked Jack off the pedestals he climbed on, trying to be everyone's hero.
He says Jack "doesn't have to save everybody." Insists that this trip is about "saving himself."
Jack just orders roomservice and tries not to think beyond one hour increments. Beyond what they are having for lunch, and if he's even hungry for dinner.
The suite they are staying in, a beauty they pay for with combined Oceanic pay-off money, has its own hot-tub, complete with disco lights. Jack isn't sure what Sawyer gets out of laying there in the dark, little bits of blue and red barely illuminating his pruning toes.
Jack just likes the smile on his face, the feel of sinking into hot water with the warm man waiting.
Parts of Jack hate Singapore, hate the quiet that constantly points out they've left the city. If there is one thing L.A. provides it's noise, a way to stay awake enough at night to avoid nightmares.
Waking up to the sound of seagulls, for a second Jack thinks they are back, the people he left behind, within reach. He opens his eyes and knows he barely deserves the break, the opportunity to enjoy life beyond.
But Sawyer stretches, rolls until they are touching, and Jack has to do anything to keep them together.
Jack tried with Sarah, with Kate, and it's never worked with anyone but him. Sawyer is lover, friend, and something more Jack may never be able to pin down.
He's like the sunset, something beautiful reminding Jack that they've survived another day, a light bleeding into the dark. He's the sunrise too - the other bookend keeping Jack in place.
They've traveled far, to places off maps, and Jack knows as long as they live they'll keep on going. Something started when flight 815 fell from the sky, something that may never end.
Everything in Jack needs Sawyer to stay, to take the next road with him - wherever it may lead.
Because I do so love Lost Squee time.
Title: I find the map (and draw a straight line)
Disclaimer: Not mine. Only responsible for their fictional corruption.
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Jack/Sawyer
Warning: I haven't seen the last six eps, so this could very well be way AU. (oh and if you don't get the disco light reference, you shoulda been there)
Summary: Jack only sort of wonders how they got here, when Sawyer didn't like the journey, and he, the destination. Something so small it's hard to recognize, or claim, tells Jack that they needed the vacation.
A/N: For my Queen, my dearest, gottalovev, who wanted "vacation" fics, and probably meant something less heavy.
+
+
+
Parts of Singapore remind Jack of the island so much he wants to return to the hotel, pack both of their bags, and fly back home on the first thing with wings.
The beach, the incredible view of an endless stretch of mostly peaceful ocean, the smell of salt, sweat, fish and fruit.
The bigger Jack, that which is ruled by sense and reason, can turn away from sound and surf, can remember the way Sawyer's hands clinched around his paperback novel on the way here.
Fingertips blanched white and muscles contracting in forearms, a mirror image to the way the man's jaw set at even the smallest hint of turbulence.
Jack only sort of wonders how they got here, when Sawyer didn't like the journey, and he, the destination. Something so small it's hard to recognize, or claim, tells Jack that they needed the vacation.
Turned off cell phones and two weeks of nothing but strange beds and eating out, living like tourists in a city that doesn't know them by name.
In L.A., everytime one of them blinks they make the six o'clock news. Paparazzi sit on their doorsteps waiting to ask what they think about Liam Pace putting out a new Driveshaft album, if they've read Kate's life story, the New York Times best-seller ten weeks and running.
In L.A., Jack has to work twice as hard to regain his reputation after too long away and his subsequent breakdown once returned.
Here, with the door shut and curtains drawn, Jack can forget what he's lost with what he's gained. After years of turmoil, the peace he's found so far.
Sawyer's arms, around him. Sawyer's body, above his. His reason to live, and the only way he's avoided death. Sawyer has become the man who picks Jack up after he falls. Sawyer was always the one who kicked Jack off the pedestals he climbed on, trying to be everyone's hero.
He says Jack "doesn't have to save everybody." Insists that this trip is about "saving himself."
Jack just orders roomservice and tries not to think beyond one hour increments. Beyond what they are having for lunch, and if he's even hungry for dinner.
The suite they are staying in, a beauty they pay for with combined Oceanic pay-off money, has its own hot-tub, complete with disco lights. Jack isn't sure what Sawyer gets out of laying there in the dark, little bits of blue and red barely illuminating his pruning toes.
Jack just likes the smile on his face, the feel of sinking into hot water with the warm man waiting.
Parts of Jack hate Singapore, hate the quiet that constantly points out they've left the city. If there is one thing L.A. provides it's noise, a way to stay awake enough at night to avoid nightmares.
Waking up to the sound of seagulls, for a second Jack thinks they are back, the people he left behind, within reach. He opens his eyes and knows he barely deserves the break, the opportunity to enjoy life beyond.
But Sawyer stretches, rolls until they are touching, and Jack has to do anything to keep them together.
Jack tried with Sarah, with Kate, and it's never worked with anyone but him. Sawyer is lover, friend, and something more Jack may never be able to pin down.
He's like the sunset, something beautiful reminding Jack that they've survived another day, a light bleeding into the dark. He's the sunrise too - the other bookend keeping Jack in place.
They've traveled far, to places off maps, and Jack knows as long as they live they'll keep on going. Something started when flight 815 fell from the sky, something that may never end.
Everything in Jack needs Sawyer to stay, to take the next road with him - wherever it may lead.