halfdutch (halfdutch) wrote,

Our Own Little Corner of Hell (Frank, Sawyer) PG-13

Title: Our Own Little Corner of Hell
Characters: Frank, Sawyer (Gen)
Summary: Sawyer's just the kind of drinking buddy he likes.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: General S4. This one's purely speculative.

Frank misses flying, misses it like hell. Not just the freedom of it; he misses the rush of the takeoff, the challenge of nailing the landing, the pride of knowing he was damn good at both. Maybe even more than that, he misses being the pilot, the man in charge. Here he's just another marooned schmuck.

There isn't enough Dharma Beer on the whole island to change that fact.

He might be fond of his drink, but he's not stupid. Definitely not stupid enough to cozy up to Locke. He keeps his distant from the crazy bald coot. Sawyer had it right when he pegged him as Col. Kurtz. They'e all slowly going mad here but Locke has a headstart on them all. He's stark raving bonkers.

Sawyer's just the kind of drinking buddy Frank likes, one who doesn't talk too much except to make the odd, wry joke. They share a bitter laugh over their shared misery and then get back to making a serious dent in the Dharma booze stash. It doesn't matter how much they drink -- just when things looked their bleakest, more always arrives.

Frank started to wait out the Dharma drops, just to get a glimpse of the copter flying overhead, the one he wasn't on. Could have been his job, flying out to God knows where, making drops of God knows what to God knows who. He could keep his mouth shut, dammit. He shouldn't be stuck here, waiting for more of the same crappy beer to fall from the sky. He should be up there, headed off somewhere new, somewhere, anywhere, else.

He tried signaling the pilot, but of course that did no good. He was told of the SOS that Bernard had started, the abandoned one on the beach, and it was only then that the depth of his fellow castaways' indifference to being rescued hit home. They'd dug in here, in this bizarre little village, each closing their own door on the others at nightfall, eager to retreat into his or her own fantasy world where this was home, where your neighbors weren't psychotic murderers. A world where you could come and go as you pleased, wander down to the local bar, or hell, drive across town to one you've never even been in before. Where you could meet a beautiful woman and be fucking her in the alley at the end of the evening, instead of this same boring menu of sad women who want nothing to do with you.

Maybe Frank's the only one who's still new at this, who's still daydreaming about the real world. Trying that line of conversation with Sawyer gets him shut down every time. "Right where I wanna be," Sawyer says, smacking his lips as if he actually enjoys his beer. "Don't miss that shithole one bit." The man is lying through his teeth, Frank's sure, but who is he to call Sawyer a liar?

From what Frank's heard, Sawyer's the kind of guy who has a hair-trigger temper, one who loves a good fight almost as much as a good fuck. Truth be told, so is Frank. So he's kind of disappointed when Sawyer lets vague insults slide off his back, when he shrugs off pointed remarks about his parentage.

Frank doesn't forget the only time he ever got mad. He made some crack about Kate, how he didn't know what Sawyer saw in her anyway, not when she left his ass here.

He was on Frank in a flash, the fist coming out of nowhere, splitting Frank's lip. Frank were on the ground like that - it was late and they'd both had a few -- and Sawyer just stood over him, fist still clenched and eyes that threatened murder. For a second, Frank thought Sawyer really might kill him. He tried to decide whether fighting back would be worth it.

But then Sawyer blew out a breath and unclenched his hand, holding it out to help him

"Sorry," Frank said and Sawyer shrugged, like it was no big deal.

He went back to the couch and Frank settled back into the big chair and they both cracked open new beers and that was that.

It was probably the last time Frank saw any real sign of life in those eyes. Frank might be a sad old drunk, but Sawyer's battling for the crown. He thinks of mentioning Kate again, just for kicks, just to see what Sawyer will do.

Has to be more interesting than sitting here, night, after night, drinking themselves to death.
Tags: lost_fic

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