Pairing: Sawyer/Juliet (slight Miles/Charlotte)
Summary: He leads her on, although they have no idea where they're going.
Spoilers: 5.01 and 5.02
At first Juliet keeps her hand on Sawyer's arm to calm him, to stop him from lashing out in his anger and confusion as day turns to night and back again, time whirling away and flooding back without warning, without reason.
Miles has an eerie calm about him that only sparks Sawyer's rage, because it's just not normal to be so unsurprised as trees, camps, hatches, flash in and out of existence all around them. Charlotte draws her own haughty confidence from Miles' certainty. The two of them are maddening in the sureness of their silence, in the glances they exchange, as if they know all, but can't be bothered to explain any of it.
The glass of the hatch is there, solid and sure under Juliet's fingertips,and then, in an instant, it vanishes again. Nothing is solid, nothing but the feel of Sawyer's arm under her fingertips. She finds herself holding on to him more and more, memorizing the way the hairs on his forearm raise when the light changes, the lingering heat on his skin from a sun that's swallowed up in seconds by the night.
Charlotte and Miles scout ahead and she and Sawyer don't make much of an effort to keep up. Juliet is relieved not to have to play the role of trusting follower, not to pretend that this moving forward and backward in time isn't slowly breaking her body and mind, flash by flash.
At some point, she's not sure when, Sawyer's hand has taken hold of her wrist. He leads her on, although they have no idea where they're going. When night comes again, he stops. Their eyes have to get used to the darkness: It's not safe to wander blindly at night, no matter how long the night lasts.
As the air cools, she shivers, although, bare-chested as he is, he must be colder than her. He draws her to him, and he's warm, his skin almost burning. "Looks like it's just you and me, kid," he says and she shivers again, only this time not from the cold.
He bends down to meet her mouth and she kisses him hard, as if she's trying to push through him, to prove once and all whether he's really here. He lays her on the ground and without a word, jerks down her jeans. Her legs are around his waist and he's inside her and it feels so right, so real. There is only his ragged breath, his hands gripping her waist, his long hair tickling her face, and his cock buried deep inside her. There is only Sawyer.
Sunlight flares around his head suddenly and they're both blinded. She closes her eyes and he falters, but she doesn't let him stop, her body urging him on, deeper, closer, more. Dark switches to light and back again and still, they keep fucking. This is the only thing that's real, this here, this now, their bodies fused together.
He comes with a cry that sounds through the jungle, then collapses on top of her, utterly spent. They fall asleep like that, Sawyer still inside her, and they wake to daylight and begin again. There is nothing left but Sawyer, inside her, on top of her, weighing her down, filling her up, bruising her skin, pulling her hair. If they stop, even for a second, she thinks, the world just might stop. She sinks her nails into his back, bites his neck, wanting to leave these marks to remember her by, if the world should end, if he -- or she -- should disappear.
They fuck until they're too sore and exhausted to go on. His body is even heavier in slumber, pressing her into the ground and for the first time since this began, she feels safe. He's not going anywhere, and if he is, she's going with him, she thinks as she drops off into sleep.
She's cold when she wakes and she sits up with a start, realizing she's alone. She tries not to panic, but her heart can't stop pounding and she's dizzy as she gets to her feet, pulling up her jeans stiffly. He's gone, he's really gone, she tells herself as she scans the woods and sees no sign of anything human.
Her muscles ache and she's probably dehydrated but that's not why she sinks to the ground. "Sawyer," she says out loud, her voice raspy and flat.
When she looks up again, he's walking towards her, a vision of golden skin and dirty blue jeans. He's holding two bottles of water and she doesn't even ask where he got them. He looks at her as if seeing her for the first time and her heart jumps -- does he even know me?
There's a blankness about his face that makes it hard for her to breathe, because if she's lost him, she's lost everything.
A cloud passes over the sun, obscuring his face, but it's just a cloud, because he's bathed in radiance as he sits down next to her, collapsing in exhaustion.
"You don't wanna know," he says darkly as he hands her one of the bottles. She just nods and takes a sip, letting the tears running down her face be about how much she needed that drink of cool, clear water.
He leans against her as he tips up his own bottle, letting the water trickle down his chin as if he's too tired to care he's wasting it. He lets out a deep sigh, his body relaxing into hers. She puts her arms around him, reassuring herself he's real, he's here, and they stay like that for a moment. She kisses his forehead; he tastes of sweat and dirt, but he has a taste, because he is here, he is really here.