Pairing: Sawyer/Kate, Sawyer/Juliet
Synopsis: Sawyer always dreaded the morning after.
Word count: 1062
Note: Spoilers for the season four finale. I hadn't written any Lost fic in quite a while but this idea came to me last night. I'm dedicating it to the wonderful lenina20, who's been leaving me the most amazing fb. *HUGS* Unbeta'd.
Kate never stays the night. She always makes some excuse immediately after sex and then she's gone, like she was never there in the first place. He tells himself it doesn't matter that she's just using him, that this something with her is better than nothing at all. They don't lie to each other, there's that, at least. She never says she needs him. He never says, "I love you." Well, not after that once.
He's been just where she is, been who she is, except he never did anything but lie. He lied with every touch, every glance, every word. He dreaded mornings more than anything else, when the woman he'd seduced would wake and gaze at him adoringly and expect the same kind of loving look in return. He lived those lies until he couldn't live them anymore and that's why he can't ask Kate to lie to him, now. It's what he deserves, really, after bedding so many women and breaking their hearts just to steal their cash. He deserves a woman who can't meet his eye, one who rolls away from him as soon as he comes.
He has this crazy idea that if Kate ever stays the night, if she's still there when he opens his eyes, that she'll stay forever. Except when it finally happens, it doesn't mean a thing. Even when she's still there in body, her spirit is itching to be moving along as soon as possible. That root-deep restlessness is as much a part of her as her green eyes or her freckles.
When it sinks in that she's really gone, there's some small comfort in having been the one to say goodbye. It was so easy: He just kissed her and then he jumped. Isn't that what he's been doing all along? He wonders if she worried about him a little in those last moments, in that time between him cheating death and death claiming her instead.
He wonders if she ever hated herself for the way she treated him, if the very reason she couldn't stay was because she saw herself in him, the part she wanted to run away from. Or maybe that's just the kind of b.s. a man tells himself when he's wide awake at three a.m.
The first time he and Juliet fuck, it's because they're drunk and heartbroken and because they're all the other's got left.
He doesn't think, he just lets all the pain, all the rage and loss wash over him until he thinks he's going to drown in it, in her. He doesn't think about what the next day will bring because he can't even imagine it. The alcohol and her body mercifully blot out everything else, at least for tonight.
She's gone when he wakes. His whole body hurts and he winces at the bright light. She's going to be strange and distant now and he chews himself out for bringing on one more unnecessary headache.
But she comes to his tent that night, just walks right in, like Kate always did. Without saying a word, she bends down to kiss him. She doesn't let him speak, just takes off her shirt and puts his hand on her breast. She's breathing fast, her heart racing under his hand, but her eyes never leave his face.
He says her name, once, before he tells her she doesn't have to do this, but he doesn't get that far. She straddles him and he's already hard. She helps him get his jeans off and then hers are down around her knees and she's easing herself onto him. He holds his breath, not releasing it until she makes a little moaning noise and arches her back, rocking into him faster now as he grips her ass.
Her mouth is open, like she's on the verge of telling him something vitally important, but she just fixes him with that wide-eyed stare and finally he has to shut his eyes and give himself over to the sensation of her body wrapped around his.
One hand is on his shoulder, one between her legs, and he feels every shudder as she brings herself to orgasm. He follows her within seconds, a roar like the crash of the ocean in his ears as his loses control.
She presses her forehead against his and they stay like that for a moment, shaky and out of breath. She slides off him but she doesn't reach for her pants, doesn't make any move to leave. She settles against his chest and, without thinking he puts his arms around her and lies down and they fall asleep like that.
He's surprised to see she's still there in the morning, her face oddly more knit with worry in sleep than awake. He doesn't want to wake her, so he just watches her sleep for a moment, studying her face as if he can read whatever bad dream she's having there.
Her eyes flicker open and she looks confused at first and then she smiles at him, yawning as she sits up. She smooths her tangled hair self-consciously and mutters something about looking a sight. He sits back, watching her fuss with her hair and realizes it's been a long time since he's seen a woman do that first thing in the morning. He tries to remember if Cassidy were the last one and how long ago that was.
"Been a while," he says, not saying the "since the last blonde" end of the sentence aloud.
"Me too," she nods, regarding him curiously, as if she knows exactly what he's thinking. He wonders how many men she's been with and is surprised to find the thought upsets him.
"Got a brush? Or a comb?" she asks and he starts to rummage around for one or the other. It's all as normal as you please, the kind of morning after he never had with Kate.
The fact that Kate's gone, really gone, hits him hard, like he's watching the chopper go down all over again, and he feels dizzy, like he can't even breathe for a moment.
And then there's Juliet pulling on her jeans and saying there has to be a brush here somewhere and the feeling passes. He locates a brush and hands it to her and she takes it with a smile.
I can breathe with you here, he thinks, but he doesn't say it, just watches her brush the knots out of her long, blonde hair.