Pairing: Sawyer/Kate, with a side of Jack/Sawyer/Kate
Summary: All he can do is wait
Spoilers: Up through "I Do." I started this right after "Every Man For Himself," so it follows some elements of canon after that and ignores other ones.
Notes: An early birthday present for eponine119, who, I think, loves the OT3 like I do. Many thanks to cmonkatiekatie and zelda_zee for the beta. Claiming for fanfic100 prompt "Sight"
He stares straight ahead, his mind blank, as he mechanically chews the food they’ve left for him. Refusing to eat was only making him weak, so he gives in, does what they want. He has to keep up his strength, because God knows what they have in store for him.
The intercom on the wall crackles to sudden life. It startled him the first time, but it’s done that before. Just meaningless noise.
But this time, the hair on the back of his neck stands up when he hears a voice underneath the static. A man is screaming. What the hell are you doin’?
He freezes. Sawyer. He doesn’t breathe, in case the voice goes away, in case he hears only static again.
A different voice comes through. Not Sawyer’s. Bite down on this. There’s one last, muffled scream of pure panic and then the intercom goes dead.
He spits out the food and doubles over, his hand covering his mouth. Sawyer is in this building, and god knows what they’re doing to him. He might have just heard Sawyer’s last words on earth.
Rage and sorrow hit him in successive waves. Rage wins out. He throws the bowl of food across the room. If they’re doing this to get a reaction out of him, they might as well know they’ve succeeded.
He wants to punch that speaker box. Demand they produce Sawyer. Except he’s not in a position to make demands. All he can do is wait by the box, wait to hear it come to life again.
For the first time, he wishes he were alone. Kate’s too smart to take him at his word that they didn’t do a goddamn thing to him. He can’t stand to look at her right now. Even from twelve fuckin’ feet away, that stare of hers, anxious and concerned, is making him feel even more helpless.
He can’t even tear up his cell. Can’t rage around, cursing, like he wants to. Gotta keep his damn heart in line. He turns his back to her and lets his head rest on his knees. Of all the fucked-up things you could do to a guy, this isn’t one that’d ever crossed his mind, that’s for damn sure.
He’s been behind bars before, got out pretty much the same man he went in. Can’t say the same thing now. He’s not getting out of this new cage unless they see fit to take the fucking thing out of his chest.
The rabbit didn’t scream, at least. He’d always heard they could.
When the intercom starts speaking again, he can’t make sense of the voices coming through. Nothing cuts through static like a scream, but there aren’t any more screams. He doesn’t know whether to be relieved or worried.
It was a mistake bringing those two here, a man says, and then she appears, splattered in blood. She says it’s not Sawyer’s. He wants to refuse, wants to hold out until they can produce Sawyer, alive and well, but there’s no time. Someone is dying. It doesn’t matter who.
He goes with her, not because he has no choice, but because he can’t refuse. He will have to keep his questions until later.
Sawyer’s always been sensitive to noise, always wanted to tune out the traffic, the cell phone conversations, neighbors arguing, babies crying.
But here noise means news. Whispers between the people holding them here, snippets overheard from the squawk of a walkie talkie. And this morning, frenzied shouts in the background. Confusion. One of us shot one of them, and that makes Sawyer feel damn good. He hopes she dies. ‘Bout time one of them hurt instead.
So when the alarm blares he knows something big is going down. He rushes to the edge of his cage, presses his head to the bars.
He sees him before Kate does -- even though there’s a bag over his head, Sawyer would know that tattoo anywhere -- but Kate is the first to yell, “It’s Jack.”
They lead him past their cages, five of them, three with rifles, but Jack’s hands are free and he’s not fighting them.
Kate yells “Jack!” over and over and he yells “Doc!” as loud as he can but they can’t be heard over the alarm. But Jack must hear them; his footsteps falter and he turns in their direction, but his captors don’t let him stop.
They disappear out of view, and the alarm dies.
Kate gives Sawyer a despairing glance, like that was the last they’ll ever see of him.
But the sight of Jack gives Sawyer hope. They need the doc and that might be good for all of them. Unless Jack can’t save that woman’s life.
Kate. He knows it was Kate calling his name. And only one person on the island calls him “Doc.” No one can see Jack smile under the bag.
He tells Kate to run, but she doesn’t. He wants to run, but he can’t and he can’t tell her why. He hates the look on her face; pity or disgust. She hasn’t looked at him like that in a long time.
They need Jack, everyone needs Jack, but Sawyer’s just a handy punching bag when things go wrong.
He winces as he dabs at the oozing cuts on his face. All he can do is wait for whatever comes next and keep taking blows meant for other people.
She opens the cage, but there’s nowhere to go. It doesn’t matter now what happens to him. Never did. But she’s here and she’s begging him to run. Her eyes are anguished, frantic.
“There ain’t no place to go. We ain’t on our island. We’re on another island,” he says bitterly, throwing his arms wide.
Her face crumbles, like he knew it would when she found out they don’t stand a chance. She was close to tears already, and now they stream down her face.
She doesn’t love him. That was just a lie, to spare him. So why does she take his head in her hands, why does she lean up to kiss him? Why does she bury her head against his chest and make those little whimpering noises?
When she steps back, she’s breathing hard and so is he and there’s a softness in her eyes he hasn’t seen before. She’s going to leave now, be a good girl and go back to her cage, except that she’s looking at him with something more than pity. More than need.
Now he’s the one to grab her and pull her into a kiss, turn her around so the bars are at her back. He kisses her hard, like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do, the last thing he’ll ever want to do.
She reaches for his shirt, yanking it down his shoulders. He has to stop and look at her, make sure she’s real, this is real, and then she smiles, a crazy, relieved smile she might have been keeping for a damn rescue boat, and all his hesitation is gone.
He could always get hard just thinking about her, but now the way she’s panting, the way she’s looking at him with a kind of dizzy wonder is better than any daydream.
She reaches overhead, grabbing onto the bars, and he clasps her wrists, like he has to force her to stay, even as her hips rock up into him. He lets go only to pull her shirt over her head. He runs his hands down her body, gasping at the feel of her skin against his. The heat coming off her is hotter than the sun on his back.
She’s undoing his belt, fingers fumbling in her haste, and he should tell her to stop, tell her they’re being watched, but there’s no time for should. Tomorrow, they’re going to kill him but he’s not dead yet.
He picks her up and she clings to him, her mouth soft and wet and needy. She’s saying all the right things and then her hand is on his cock and dear God, he’s going to come before he’s even inside her.
He should put his shirt down for her to lie on, but she doesn’t care or doesn’t notice that there’s nothing but dirt. She arches up when he enters her, teeth sinking into her lower lip. She needs him deeper, pulls him closer, green eyes hazy with desire and even if she doesn’t love him, she’s his. Right now, for this moment, she’s his.
Jack hasn’t really paid attention to the television for days now. He never did care much for cartoons. He waits for the next visit, for voices to come over the intercom, for some variation to the daily routine and numbing solitude.
He doesn’t talk when one of them enters. He spends so much time waiting, he can wait until they speak. It’s all a game to them and he’s still learning the rules.
He’s not surprised when she comes in without food. She’s not hurried this time. There’s no crisis. She walks over to the TV and puts in a videotape and his heart clenches when he realizes what he’s seeing. Kate with Sawyer, half-naked. Fucking. Sawyer’s back is to him but of course it’s him. The mess of blonde hair, the slant of his shoulders, the dimples in the small of his back that mirror those on his face. Those telltale dimples deepen each time Sawyer thrusts; the play of muscles on his back and ass somehow more obscene than Jack could ever have imagined.
Jack's hand goes to his mouth. He should not be watching this.
The way Kate arches up to kiss him with such complete abandon ... they can’t know they’re being recorded. He tears his eyes away from the screen to Juliet’s face and that constant smirk is even deeper than usual.
“Why are you showing me this?” His voice sounds tight, strangled.
She doesn’t answer, just leans against the wall, her head lowering to her chest, eyes still on him.
“Why are you showing me this?” He shouts it this time, banging on the glass.
Juliet's face is neutral but he can see a glint of satisfaction in her eyes. He forces himself to calm down. He doesn’t want her to know what this is doing to him.
So he turns his attention back to the tape. There’s no sound, but from the way Sawyer’s body shudders and then stills, he knows he’s watching Sawyer come.
He blows out a breath, trying to stay calm. Of course. They only have each other. They’re in danger. It makes perfect sense. It’s a wonder it never happened before. If it never happened before.
If their roles were reversed, if Sawyer were here and he were in that cage, would he be fucking Kate now? He imagines Sawyer sitting here in his place, watching him with Kate, and the wave of arousal that hits him is so strong he has to close his eyes and force himself to think of something else.
When he opens his eyes again, he sees Sawyer roll to the side. Kate doesn’t break contact; she trails her hand over his stomach and nestles her head into the hollow of his shoulder. He sits up, cradling Kate in his arms and Jack has to bite his lip. They look so right together.
He sees Sawyer’s battered face for the first time, the bandage on his chest, the one Kate lays her hand over. Just pity, he tells himself. They beat him up and she felt sorry for him. Except he can see it’s more than that.
There’s a dull ache spreading out from his heart to his stomach. He’d had so many chances with her, but it never felt right. It wasn’t the right time or he didn’t quite trust her or he didn’t think it was wise. Sawyer pulls her in closer and Jack can almost feel the warmth of her bare skin under his own fingers.
When she kissed him ... when she kissed him, it was a mistake. She didn’t mean it.
Her fingers rub over Sawyer’s arm and his own fingers itch. He doesn’t realize he’s rubbing his thighs until he catches Juliet shifting position out of the corner of his eye, and stops. How many times did he touch Sawyer? How many times did he patch him up? How many hours did he spend at his bedside, bathing his fever away?
He freezes when Sawyer mouths the words. I love you too. The ache in him spreads to his bones, until he feels too heavy to move.
“They make a nice couple, don’t they?” Juliet says, breaking the silence. Her voice is softer now, her expression sympathetic, which is even more maddening. Whatever she’s trying to accomplish, she’s not on his side. She never will be. She’s trying to hurt him, trying to turn him against them. She doesn’t know him at all.
He looks away. At some point, he’s not sure when, she leaves.
The tape keeps playing on a loop. Jack can’t stop watching. He puts his hand up to the glass. He can’t even touch the TV screen.
He might as well have been in a glass cage this whole time. They were both there, right in front of him. He only had to reach out.
If he ever sees them again, if they ever get out of here, it will be different.
He presses his head against the glass wall. He’s never felt so close to them.