Characters: Jack, Sawyer (slashy if you want it to be)
Spoilers: General S4
Word count: 523
Note: Thank you to zelda_zee for the beta! Written for the Day 4 Lyric Prompt at lostsquee:
Late last night I saw you in my living room
You seemed so close but yet so cold
For a long time I thought that you'd be coming back to me
Those kind of thoughts can be so cruel
[Morphine ~ In Spite Of Me]
Also using for the fanfic100 prompt "Spirit."
He sees Jack, sometimes, in his living room.
The first time it happened, he'd had too much Dharma beer and he could just as easily have imagined that damn boar was after him again. But no, it was Jack standing in the doorway, as if he were about to knock and ask to come in. But when Sawyer looked, really looked at the door, there was no one there.
He tried to shake the image loose the image from his head but Jack was still there, in silhouette, as he closed his eyes in bed.
He felt unsettled all the next day, as if he really had seen a ghost. The thought occurred to him that he wouldn't know if Jack had died in the meantime. He didn't even know if they all made it back to the real world or not. And as far as Jack knew, everyone left on the island, every damn one of them, had died without a real doctor around to take care of them. He wondered if Jack thinks of them, stuck back here on the rock. The next time Sawyer saw him, he thought it must be because Jack does think of them.
He was stone cold sober the second time. It was the middle of the night and he couldn't sleep. Something made him get up, some sixth sense that told him Jack would be sitting there on the couch, waiting for him. He didn't turn on the light, not sure if it was just at trick of the moonlight, even though there was no way a shadow could turn to follow his steps as he approached.
"Hey," he said, not sure if his voice was going to scare Jack off, even though he barely spoke above a whisper.
Jack didn't answer, just seemed to shrug. Sawyer paused, but Jack didn't move again, so he kept walking slowly towards the couch. Jack seemed so near as he sat down next to him that Sawyer couldn't help reaching out his hand. Jack seemed to lean into the touch and then, like that, he was gone.
Sawyer was left sitting alone in the dark, sure that this damn island had finally driven him as mad as Locke.
He still sees Jack, sometimes when he can't sleep. He always has to get up for him, though. Jack doesn't ever come to him. He finds him on the couch, or over by the window, looking out. They don't talk, maybe because this Jack can't. Or maybe there's just nothing to say.
Sawyer doesn't know if Jack's there because Sawyer wants him to be or if this is somehow Jack's way of saying he's coming back or that he's sorry. Mostly, Jack just seems sad, his head down, his shoulders stooped as if he'd aged years instead of a few months.
Whatever Jack's up to in the real world, Sawyer figures, it isn't any better than being here.
"You always were a melancholy bastard," Sawyer says and Jack appears to nod.
One of these days, he's going to ask some of the others, Juliet maybe, if she sees Jack too. But for now he decides to keep Jack to himself.