A Momentary Thing - Lost story
May. 25th, 2005 10:47 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
tommygirlTitle: A Momentary Thing
Author: Tommygirl/![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
storydivagirl
Fandom: Lost, Jack/Sawyer
Written For:nickeyb for the Jack/Sawyer/Kate Ficathon with Charlie, whiskey, forgiveness included.
A/N: Both Jack and Sawyer were being quite impossible to write for awhile there and I must thankladybug218 for helping me create something readable. It's set up through the last episode that aired (so all but the finale) so there will be spoilers if you're not caught up. Hopefully it's enjoyable and feedback is always appreciated.
Jack often lived in absolutes prior to Oceanic Flight 815. Part of it was that it was a way to avoid becoming his father, a man lost somewhere in the middle in a blurry consciousness. The rest of it was part of his personality. He liked when things made sense, when there was an obvious answer to everything. It’s why he loved science and medicine so much. Jack was at his best when he could figure out people and label them somehow. But life on the island with the other survivors had taught him that was impossible sometimes; that there was more than one thing to a person, more than one way of existing within the world.
Take Sawyer, for example. When Jack had gone to give Sawyer the gun for the raft, he hadn’t counted on some big scene – unless the idea of Sawyer getting in one last insult and Jack pummeling him counted. He thought there would be short words and quick goodbyes, instead he got hit in the gut with things he had longed to hear for so long. Jack never expected those words to come out of Sawyer’s mouth, for Sawyer to be the one to free him of the guilt that still plagued him whenever he tried to sleep, despite the catastrophe he was caught up in and the people he was trying to help. His father didn’t blame him. His father was proud of him. It played on repeat in his head the way stupid songs had a habit of doing.
Sawyer had been the one to share this revelation with him, a half-grin plastered on his face and a comment like, “It’s a small world.” Sawyer, the guy who drove Jack crazy most of the time, was the one who helped to free him, and he couldn’t figure out why. Sawyer wasn’t the sentimental type. There was no love lost between the two of them on a good day. And Sawyer wasn’t known for his extraordinary acts of kindness on the island. For the first time, Jack realized he would actually miss having Sawyer around, if for no other reason than understanding the motivation for lightening Jack’s load.
**
The day the raft washed up a couple miles down the beach, Jack had gathered as many medical supplies as he could fit in his backpack and took off down the beach in a hurry. He told himself that it was because these people had become family and that he was a doctor who took care of people in trouble. It had nothing to do with the fact that he had been having dreams the last few nights. Dreams that involved Sawyer like the last time he had seen him – stupid half-grin that turned into a smirk, shirtless and glistening with sweat, which caused his hair to stick to his forehead – and him taking part in illicit acts. Dreams that also involved Jack waking up moaning and flushed more than once. It seemed Sawyer was as infuriating in dreams as he was in reality.
It was as though a light had switched on in his head after their talk. No longer did he see Sawyer, the adversary, but a guy with a cute butt and endless possibilities. Jack had hoped that the dreams would wane with time and that, upon being rescued, he could go back to his normal life. And lord knew there was nothing normal about Sawyer or Jack’s attraction to him. But it didn’t matter really. All those hopes for normal had washed away with the remnants of the raft when he and Charlie found the foursome on the beach.
“This doesn’t look good, Jack,” Charlie muttered. He took out his bottle of water and rushed over to Jin’s side. He said, “He’s unconscious.”
Jack knelt down and checked Jin’s vitals. He sighed and said, “His pulse is normal.” Jack moved him carefully, checking for any noticeable injuries and said, “No head or other wounds that I can see.” He patted Charlie on the shoulder and said, “Try to get some water in him without choking him. I’ll check on the others.”
Walt was already awake, staring up at the sky with a stoic gaze that freaked Jack out a bit, and Michael appeared to be stirring as Jack felt for a pulse. That left Sawyer, the one Jack had hoped would prove to be just fine so Jack didn’t have to worry about him or touch him or...anything else for that matter.
Except Sawyer didn’t appear to be moving as Jack approached him. He had a cut on his forehead and was too still. Jack leaned over him, thankful for the rise and fall of his chest. Jack’s hands traversed Sawyer’s chest, as he ordered himself to get a grip and not think about inappropriate dreams. Sawyer groaned and Jack fell backwards into the sand at the sound of the familiar twang and sarcastic tone.
“Doc, were you copping a feel on an unconscious man? Aren’t there codes about that sort of thing?”
Jack rolled his eyes, relief coursing through him, and asked, “Where does it hurt?”
Sawyer groaned again as he sat up. He rubbed the back of his head and said, “Where doesn’t it.”
Jack stared at him and asked, “How’s your vision? Any blurriness? Seeing double?”
“No.”
“Any—”
“I’m fine, doc. Stop fussing over me,” Sawyer said. He narrowed his gaze on Jack and said, “You haven’t gone and gotten sentimental on me the last few days, have you?”
Jack rolled his eyes and smiled. He said, “You seem to be as exasperating as usual. You should be fine.” He started to walk away, ignoring the weird churning in his stomach, like a spoon was being twirled around his organs until he gave into whatever it wanted, and stopped. He pulled a water bottle out of his bag and tossed it to Sawyer. No warning, just the simple knowledge that Sawyer would realize and catch it.
Jack watched Sawyer gulp down a mouthful. Sawyer shook his head and said, “This is the problem with you good folk. I nearly die and you offer me water. Whatever happened to a nice shot of whiskey?”
There was a lot that Jack wanted to say in that moment, but somehow going from nearly enemies to whatever Jack kept imagining seemed like a long shot. And how exactly did he broach something like that anyway – so since you told me about my dad, I’ve been thinking you’re not a horrible monster and now I find you quite attractive, and wanna do something about it? Somehow it didn’t really work. So Jack did the only thing he could. He said, “You’re dehydrated. Stick to water for the time being.” He turned and walked off to check on the others again, leaving Sawyer to fend for himself.
**
Jack made his way around the bonfire, taking a mental count of familiar faces. He stopped next to Charlie and sat down. He said, “Thanks for helping me today.”
“It’s nice to be of some use occasionally,” Charlie replied as he strummed his guitar. He said, “There are only so many songs I can write about monsters and crazy French ladies.”
Jack smiled and patted his back. “Claire mentioned your idea of lullabies when I gave the baby a check up.”
Charlie shrugged and replied, “I want Turniphead to be prepared, especially now that the raft was a bust. We could be here for awhile, you know.”
“Yeah, we could,” Jack admitted. He noticed Sawyer walk off into the jungle alone. He told himself that he wouldn’t follow, that he would stay where he was, because being alone with Sawyer tended to lead to heartfelt conversations and personal realizations that maybe Jack’s instant hate-on for the guy was a lie the whole time.
Jack stood up and said, “I’m heading back to the caves.”
Charlie nodded and went back to strumming his guitar. Jack smiled at some of the other castaways and headed off in the same direction Sawyer had gone in. He didn't know what he was doing, except that he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep again until he dealt with things with Sawyer, until they were at least beyond the sniping.
Jack found Sawyer resting against a tree, guzzling down what was probably the last of the alcohol from the plane. Sawyer looked up at him and asked, “Come to check my vitals?”
Jack wasn’t going to let Sawyer bait him. He took a deep breath and said, “I never got the chance to thank you for—”
Sawyer waved him off and replied, “I don’t partake in wishy-washy conversations.”
“I don’t really care, Sawyer.”
Sawyer rolled his eyes and said, “The one hope we had for getting off this damn island was pulverized and you want to have a heart-to-heart talk? I’m not drunk enough for that.” Sawyer motioned to a row of empty bottles. He tossed one to Jack and said, “Drink up, doc.”
Jack tossed the bottle back and said, “I don’t drink.”
“Ahh, of course.”
“I doubt you would either if you witnessed what it does to a person first hand.”
Sawyer shook his head and said, “Some of us choose to become the evil we grew up with. It’s easier that way.”
“I understand that...there were times I thought it would be easier too, to be like my father, to give up on the world the way he did because then I wouldn’t have to be the one who had to turn him in or destroy my family.”
“You’re too good for that.”
“And what are you? Evil?” Jack scoffed and said, “Annoying, yes. Selfish, that’s a given. But not evil.”
Sawyer didn’t say anything, just stared off into the distance. Jack took the opportunity to move closer and sat down on the ground next to Sawyer. He dropped his bag and stretched back. If he looked hard enough, he could almost make out the outline of the stars beyond the trees. He glanced at Sawyer and said, “There’s still hope that we’ll be found.”
Sawyer chuckled and said, “Good ‘ole doc, always gotta look on the bright side, dontchya?”
It was Jack’s turn to laugh. He said, “Most people think I’m too practical. Trying to move everybody to the caves and set up residence. They think I gave up a long time ago.”
“Have you?” When Jack didn’t answer, Sawyer motioned around the area and said, “It’s just you and me now, so be honest.”
“According to the pilot, we were thousands of miles off course. If they were even looking, they weren’t going to look here. It’s been a month now. Unless some freighter ship comes by in the near future, I think we’re gonna be staying here for awhile.”
“Great,” Sawyer replied. He opened another bottle of whiskey and downed it in one long gulp. He caught Jack staring at him and grinned, as though he knew exactly what Jack was thinking.
Sawyer must have too, because he didn’t say anything, simply closed the remaining distance between them and kissed Jack on the lips. Jack froze in that moment, not responding, but not denying the advances. It wasn’t until Sawyer’s lips grew hungrier, his tongue trying to force its way into Jack’s mouth, that Jack’s hands found their way to Sawyer’s back, tugging at the fabric of his shirt until he felt skin.
Jack pulled back first, unsure what the motivation was, if there was any or if this was simply something that had been building between them for a long time. He didn’t want to make some mistake, to cause more chaos on the island, but the urgent look in Sawyer’s eyes nullified all his worries.
Jack’s lips pressed against Sawyer’s as he practically ripped off his shirt. Sawyer’s hands fumbled with his own shirt until all Jack felt was air and Sawyer’s skin against his as Sawyer pushed him down on the ground. Sawyer’s mouth moved along Jack’s chest and it took a minute for Jack to convince himself this wasn’t another one of his dreams. That Sawyer was really there and it was really happening.
Sawyer’s mouth hovered over his as he moaned and said, “I’ve wanted to do this for awhile.”
Jack nodded and managed to get out a whisper of “me too” before Sawyer’s hands took over. Jack closed his eyes and, for the first time in a long while, decided to enjoy the moment. It didn’t matter where it led, if anywhere, or what it would mean tomorrow. All that counted was that moment, something palpable, flesh against his, whiskey-scented breath causing goosebumps on his skin.
The island had taught him that. Moments mattered. People mattered. And absolutes had no place in his life anymore. After all, look how wrong he had been about Sawyer, even if it was nothing more than a momentary thing.
{fin}
Author: Tommygirl/
storydivagirlFandom: Lost, Jack/Sawyer
Written For:
nickeyb for the Jack/Sawyer/Kate Ficathon with Charlie, whiskey, forgiveness included.A/N: Both Jack and Sawyer were being quite impossible to write for awhile there and I must thank
ladybug218 for helping me create something readable. It's set up through the last episode that aired (so all but the finale) so there will be spoilers if you're not caught up. Hopefully it's enjoyable and feedback is always appreciated. Jack often lived in absolutes prior to Oceanic Flight 815. Part of it was that it was a way to avoid becoming his father, a man lost somewhere in the middle in a blurry consciousness. The rest of it was part of his personality. He liked when things made sense, when there was an obvious answer to everything. It’s why he loved science and medicine so much. Jack was at his best when he could figure out people and label them somehow. But life on the island with the other survivors had taught him that was impossible sometimes; that there was more than one thing to a person, more than one way of existing within the world.
Take Sawyer, for example. When Jack had gone to give Sawyer the gun for the raft, he hadn’t counted on some big scene – unless the idea of Sawyer getting in one last insult and Jack pummeling him counted. He thought there would be short words and quick goodbyes, instead he got hit in the gut with things he had longed to hear for so long. Jack never expected those words to come out of Sawyer’s mouth, for Sawyer to be the one to free him of the guilt that still plagued him whenever he tried to sleep, despite the catastrophe he was caught up in and the people he was trying to help. His father didn’t blame him. His father was proud of him. It played on repeat in his head the way stupid songs had a habit of doing.
Sawyer had been the one to share this revelation with him, a half-grin plastered on his face and a comment like, “It’s a small world.” Sawyer, the guy who drove Jack crazy most of the time, was the one who helped to free him, and he couldn’t figure out why. Sawyer wasn’t the sentimental type. There was no love lost between the two of them on a good day. And Sawyer wasn’t known for his extraordinary acts of kindness on the island. For the first time, Jack realized he would actually miss having Sawyer around, if for no other reason than understanding the motivation for lightening Jack’s load.
**
The day the raft washed up a couple miles down the beach, Jack had gathered as many medical supplies as he could fit in his backpack and took off down the beach in a hurry. He told himself that it was because these people had become family and that he was a doctor who took care of people in trouble. It had nothing to do with the fact that he had been having dreams the last few nights. Dreams that involved Sawyer like the last time he had seen him – stupid half-grin that turned into a smirk, shirtless and glistening with sweat, which caused his hair to stick to his forehead – and him taking part in illicit acts. Dreams that also involved Jack waking up moaning and flushed more than once. It seemed Sawyer was as infuriating in dreams as he was in reality.
It was as though a light had switched on in his head after their talk. No longer did he see Sawyer, the adversary, but a guy with a cute butt and endless possibilities. Jack had hoped that the dreams would wane with time and that, upon being rescued, he could go back to his normal life. And lord knew there was nothing normal about Sawyer or Jack’s attraction to him. But it didn’t matter really. All those hopes for normal had washed away with the remnants of the raft when he and Charlie found the foursome on the beach.
“This doesn’t look good, Jack,” Charlie muttered. He took out his bottle of water and rushed over to Jin’s side. He said, “He’s unconscious.”
Jack knelt down and checked Jin’s vitals. He sighed and said, “His pulse is normal.” Jack moved him carefully, checking for any noticeable injuries and said, “No head or other wounds that I can see.” He patted Charlie on the shoulder and said, “Try to get some water in him without choking him. I’ll check on the others.”
Walt was already awake, staring up at the sky with a stoic gaze that freaked Jack out a bit, and Michael appeared to be stirring as Jack felt for a pulse. That left Sawyer, the one Jack had hoped would prove to be just fine so Jack didn’t have to worry about him or touch him or...anything else for that matter.
Except Sawyer didn’t appear to be moving as Jack approached him. He had a cut on his forehead and was too still. Jack leaned over him, thankful for the rise and fall of his chest. Jack’s hands traversed Sawyer’s chest, as he ordered himself to get a grip and not think about inappropriate dreams. Sawyer groaned and Jack fell backwards into the sand at the sound of the familiar twang and sarcastic tone.
“Doc, were you copping a feel on an unconscious man? Aren’t there codes about that sort of thing?”
Jack rolled his eyes, relief coursing through him, and asked, “Where does it hurt?”
Sawyer groaned again as he sat up. He rubbed the back of his head and said, “Where doesn’t it.”
Jack stared at him and asked, “How’s your vision? Any blurriness? Seeing double?”
“No.”
“Any—”
“I’m fine, doc. Stop fussing over me,” Sawyer said. He narrowed his gaze on Jack and said, “You haven’t gone and gotten sentimental on me the last few days, have you?”
Jack rolled his eyes and smiled. He said, “You seem to be as exasperating as usual. You should be fine.” He started to walk away, ignoring the weird churning in his stomach, like a spoon was being twirled around his organs until he gave into whatever it wanted, and stopped. He pulled a water bottle out of his bag and tossed it to Sawyer. No warning, just the simple knowledge that Sawyer would realize and catch it.
Jack watched Sawyer gulp down a mouthful. Sawyer shook his head and said, “This is the problem with you good folk. I nearly die and you offer me water. Whatever happened to a nice shot of whiskey?”
There was a lot that Jack wanted to say in that moment, but somehow going from nearly enemies to whatever Jack kept imagining seemed like a long shot. And how exactly did he broach something like that anyway – so since you told me about my dad, I’ve been thinking you’re not a horrible monster and now I find you quite attractive, and wanna do something about it? Somehow it didn’t really work. So Jack did the only thing he could. He said, “You’re dehydrated. Stick to water for the time being.” He turned and walked off to check on the others again, leaving Sawyer to fend for himself.
**
Jack made his way around the bonfire, taking a mental count of familiar faces. He stopped next to Charlie and sat down. He said, “Thanks for helping me today.”
“It’s nice to be of some use occasionally,” Charlie replied as he strummed his guitar. He said, “There are only so many songs I can write about monsters and crazy French ladies.”
Jack smiled and patted his back. “Claire mentioned your idea of lullabies when I gave the baby a check up.”
Charlie shrugged and replied, “I want Turniphead to be prepared, especially now that the raft was a bust. We could be here for awhile, you know.”
“Yeah, we could,” Jack admitted. He noticed Sawyer walk off into the jungle alone. He told himself that he wouldn’t follow, that he would stay where he was, because being alone with Sawyer tended to lead to heartfelt conversations and personal realizations that maybe Jack’s instant hate-on for the guy was a lie the whole time.
Jack stood up and said, “I’m heading back to the caves.”
Charlie nodded and went back to strumming his guitar. Jack smiled at some of the other castaways and headed off in the same direction Sawyer had gone in. He didn't know what he was doing, except that he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to sleep again until he dealt with things with Sawyer, until they were at least beyond the sniping.
Jack found Sawyer resting against a tree, guzzling down what was probably the last of the alcohol from the plane. Sawyer looked up at him and asked, “Come to check my vitals?”
Jack wasn’t going to let Sawyer bait him. He took a deep breath and said, “I never got the chance to thank you for—”
Sawyer waved him off and replied, “I don’t partake in wishy-washy conversations.”
“I don’t really care, Sawyer.”
Sawyer rolled his eyes and said, “The one hope we had for getting off this damn island was pulverized and you want to have a heart-to-heart talk? I’m not drunk enough for that.” Sawyer motioned to a row of empty bottles. He tossed one to Jack and said, “Drink up, doc.”
Jack tossed the bottle back and said, “I don’t drink.”
“Ahh, of course.”
“I doubt you would either if you witnessed what it does to a person first hand.”
Sawyer shook his head and said, “Some of us choose to become the evil we grew up with. It’s easier that way.”
“I understand that...there were times I thought it would be easier too, to be like my father, to give up on the world the way he did because then I wouldn’t have to be the one who had to turn him in or destroy my family.”
“You’re too good for that.”
“And what are you? Evil?” Jack scoffed and said, “Annoying, yes. Selfish, that’s a given. But not evil.”
Sawyer didn’t say anything, just stared off into the distance. Jack took the opportunity to move closer and sat down on the ground next to Sawyer. He dropped his bag and stretched back. If he looked hard enough, he could almost make out the outline of the stars beyond the trees. He glanced at Sawyer and said, “There’s still hope that we’ll be found.”
Sawyer chuckled and said, “Good ‘ole doc, always gotta look on the bright side, dontchya?”
It was Jack’s turn to laugh. He said, “Most people think I’m too practical. Trying to move everybody to the caves and set up residence. They think I gave up a long time ago.”
“Have you?” When Jack didn’t answer, Sawyer motioned around the area and said, “It’s just you and me now, so be honest.”
“According to the pilot, we were thousands of miles off course. If they were even looking, they weren’t going to look here. It’s been a month now. Unless some freighter ship comes by in the near future, I think we’re gonna be staying here for awhile.”
“Great,” Sawyer replied. He opened another bottle of whiskey and downed it in one long gulp. He caught Jack staring at him and grinned, as though he knew exactly what Jack was thinking.
Sawyer must have too, because he didn’t say anything, simply closed the remaining distance between them and kissed Jack on the lips. Jack froze in that moment, not responding, but not denying the advances. It wasn’t until Sawyer’s lips grew hungrier, his tongue trying to force its way into Jack’s mouth, that Jack’s hands found their way to Sawyer’s back, tugging at the fabric of his shirt until he felt skin.
Jack pulled back first, unsure what the motivation was, if there was any or if this was simply something that had been building between them for a long time. He didn’t want to make some mistake, to cause more chaos on the island, but the urgent look in Sawyer’s eyes nullified all his worries.
Jack’s lips pressed against Sawyer’s as he practically ripped off his shirt. Sawyer’s hands fumbled with his own shirt until all Jack felt was air and Sawyer’s skin against his as Sawyer pushed him down on the ground. Sawyer’s mouth moved along Jack’s chest and it took a minute for Jack to convince himself this wasn’t another one of his dreams. That Sawyer was really there and it was really happening.
Sawyer’s mouth hovered over his as he moaned and said, “I’ve wanted to do this for awhile.”
Jack nodded and managed to get out a whisper of “me too” before Sawyer’s hands took over. Jack closed his eyes and, for the first time in a long while, decided to enjoy the moment. It didn’t matter where it led, if anywhere, or what it would mean tomorrow. All that counted was that moment, something palpable, flesh against his, whiskey-scented breath causing goosebumps on his skin.
The island had taught him that. Moments mattered. People mattered. And absolutes had no place in his life anymore. After all, look how wrong he had been about Sawyer, even if it was nothing more than a momentary thing.
{fin}
