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alliecat8Title: Prisms and Echoes, Chapter 4 (Final)
Characters: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: R (this part), NC-17 (overall)
Word Count: 2,650
Disclaimer: Only mine in my dreams
A/N Thank you to those of you who were brave enough to read, not knowing where it would end. Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
uberaeryn for writing a fic so powerful that it stayed with me for 2 years, and inspired this, my own scenario. And thank you in advance to those of you who were waiting til I posted the last chapter, whew, here it is.
Chapter 1, "No Miracles," is here.
Chapter 2, "Faraway So Close," is here.
Chapter 3, "Grace," is here.
Chapter 4
The Promise and the Truth
The world looked different to Jack, now that he was seeing it through Sawyer’s eyes. Jack had always been in a hurry, focused on whatever came next, the next step in a patient’s treatment, the next challenge to the islanders’ survival, the next run-in with Sawyer. Now he was trying to slow down, to notice the world around him, to drink it in as Sawyer had. How else could he do what he’d vowed to himself he’d do; how else could he be Sawyer’s eyes?
“Why are you doing this?” Kate asked him more than once. “Why do you let him hit you and push you away when you’re just trying to help?”
He didn’t know where it’d come from, this need to help Sawyer even when Sawyer didn’t want it, even when Sawyer fought him. “He wants it,” he told Kate, who looked at him with something like pity. “He just has to put up a fight first. If he didn’t fight, he wouldn’t be Sawyer.”
Kate only looked at him and shook her head. Maybe Sawyer was right about Jack’s love of broken things. Hadn’t he married Sarah? Hadn’t he fought to give Boone everything? Now it was Sawyer who was broken but not dying, no, Sawyer was alive and he needed things that Jack could give, words and touch, and in giving it Jack had discovered that he needed it, too. He needed it so much that he couldn’t stop giving it even if he had to. He kept his eyes open all day, absorbing colors and shapes and movement for Sawyer, to give to Sawyer when he went to him, but more than this, more than anything, Jack lived for the nights.
Sawyer never rejected him, never pushed him away on those dark and fevered nights. He couldn’t hide the fact that he wanted it, too, couldn’t hide from Jack’s fingers when Jack was deep inside him and he’d reach for Sawyer’s cock to find him hard and slick and ready. Sawyer almost always came first, and though his voice remained unaffected by his other handicaps, after the first time he never made a sound. It was all about touch, and Jack could never hold himself back when he felt Sawyer convulse in his hand, his ass spasming in tandem, and always in that one moment Jack forgot everything except their shared pleasure, that thing that was uniquely and unassailably theirs. He was the one who cried out, though Sawyer could not hear his sounds of satisfaction and soul-wrenching carnal release.
It was the same way every time, the only way Sawyer would allow it, and Jack didn’t question his choice because he knew that Sawyer could reject him any minute and shut himself off completely in the dark silent tunnels of his mind. Jack lived for the rare times when he could bring Sawyer out of himself, make him forget everything but the feel of their two bodies, joined and soaring free.
From that first night on the sex was desperate and frantic, as if they were on an urgent quest, leading somewhere that they had to find, leading to some kind of trust, and yes, sure enough, one night as Jack lay weak and panting in the aftermath of their coupling, Sawyer demanded in his rough, rusty, rarely used voice, “Take the bullet out.”
Jack's lack of surprise told him that he’d been waiting for this all along. He brought Sawyer’s hand to his cheek and made sure Sawyer felt it when he said emphatically “No.” Sawyer didn’t want anything to do with signing that night so he mustered his most commanding, demanding voice and said, “I don’t want to live like this. You don’t want to live like this. It ain't enough. Take the goddamn bullet out before I pull it out myself."
Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “No,” he signed again. “We’ve made our own way here, just the two of us,” but Sawyer cut him off, repeating, “It ain’t enough. Take the bullet out, and whatever happens after that, happens.”
Not enough. Those words haunted Jack. Those words encompassed his greatest fear, his fear that he could give and give and give, and it would never be enough. It hadn’t been enough for Sarah, it hadn’t been enough for Boone. He was afraid that he could give Sawyer all the words in the world, all the sex in the world, hell, all the love in the world, and Sawyer would still say it wasn’t enough. Jack still needed to do more. He paced and he stared out to sea and he wondered, when would it ever be enough?
Over a space of days and an ocean’s worth of stubbornness on both sides, Sawyer wore Jack down. Finally, against his better judgment, Jack asked Juliet if she could smuggle instruments, anesthesia, and anti-seizure medications from Alcatraz. Not as an afterthought, he asked her if she’d mind killing Pickett while she was at it
Juliet smiled her wry smile and said, “There’s another way, Jack.”
Now that he’d made up his mind, her words only agitated him. “I’ve already tried every other way,” he snapped. “I’ve given him everything I know how to give. Nobody could’ve given him more than I did. It’s just not enough, Juliet. He needs more.”
“And I know a way that we can give him more. Without killing him, Jack.”
Jack laughed a small, bitter laugh. “You’re sure I’m gonna kill him, huh?”
“No, Jack, of course I don’t think you’ll kill him. I think you’ll drive yourself half crazy trying to fix him. I just want you to be aware of all your options, that’s all.”
After a long, tense silence Jack inclined his head toward her. “I’m listening.”
“Let me take you to Ben,” she began.
”Ben.” Jack spat the word at her. “This is all his fault –“
“I know you feel that way, Jack,” Juliet said, “And it’s perfectly understandable. But he’s hurt, too, you know. He’s still in his wheelchair –“
“That’s to be expected,” Jack said in his doctor’s voice. “He’s undergone major surgery, and recovery takes a while. I hope somebody’s giving him physical therapy –“
“He should be walking by now,” Juliet interrupted. “Things happen…faster, on the island. Or…they used to.”
Jack looked at her in annoyance. “Are you saying I should’ve done more for him? In case you’ve forgotten, they sent me home.”
“No, no,” she said quickly, “Not you. Not you, Jack, I meant the island.”
“The island.” Jack ran his hand over the soft bristles of his hair. “Ben thinks the island should’ve done more.”
“Jack,” Juliet said softly, “We’re both doctors. We both believe in medical science. But I’ve seen the island heal people.”
Jack snorted. “And you think it can heal Sawyer?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. All I know is that Ben is planning to go to the Temple in hopes that the island will help him walk. He thinks that the source of the island’s healing energy might be sleeping and needs to be woken up, and he says that he's been told how to do that. I don't know if that's true, but if there's any chance...maybe we could convince him to take Sawyer along.”
Jack stared at her for a long time. There it was again, that hated old argument, science vs. faith and here was Juliet, of all people, suggesting that he send Sawyer on a journey of faith. With Ben, for God’s sake. “I’m doing the surgery,” he said. “Get me what I need.”
********
The next day he found himself in their makeshift operating room, scalpel in hand. He’d done all the prep work, anesthetized Sawyer and shaved a small area of hair away from the wound, and now here he stood, ready to cut. Ready or not. He took a deep breath, willing his hands not to shake. Juliet touched his forehead with a cool cloth and said, “You can do this, Jack.”
And then he had Sawyer’s blood on his gloved hands, and there was no going back. He followed the trajectory of the bullet as closely as he could. He was surprised to see how little shredding there had been of the nerves that supplied blood and reflexes to the rods and cones in his eyes. So little, in fact, that he began to question Sawyer’s blindness. Could it merely have been due to shock, some sort of Post Traumatic Stress reaction? Jack sewed and repaired what he could, and when he was finished, he allowed himself to hope.
Sawyer’s hearing was a more complicated issue, but Jack conscientiously did what he could. Somehow, the bullet had missed all of the nerve pathways to Sawyer’s eyes and ears. How to fix what isn’t broken?
Still, soon it was clear that he hadn’t done enough. “I don’t know if you’ll ever be the same,” he told Sawyer when the anesthesia began to wear off, when Sawyer lay there in silence and darkness still, with Jack’s fingers working awkwardly against his hand. If ever there’d been a test of Jack’s bedside manner, this was it, and he knew he was failing but he didn’t know what else to say. He moved his free hand up, started to push a strand of hair off of Sawyer's forehead, out of his eyes, as if he could see it there and then he stopped and the hand dropped uselessly to his side. “I told you there was a good chance it wouldn’t change anything. I did everything I could.” At least I didn’t kill you, he added silently to himself.
At least he’d done no harm.
“The temple, Jack,” Juliet said to him several days later. Sawyer hadn’t emerged from his tent since the surgery, he’d kept to himself and even though Jack knew of no reason for it, he was still profoundly deaf and blind. Jack imagined that Sawyer felt betrayed by Jack’s failure, by his fall from grace. Jack had lost the invisible tarnished halo he’d borne for so long, because whatever ailed Sawyer now, it was beyond Jack’s powers of healing. It was hard to tell who had fallen deeper into depression, Jack or Sawyer, and here was Juliet trying to convince him that there was one more chance. A chance to fix Sawyer that didn’t involve Jack.
********
“I don’t recall inviting you on my journey,” Ben said, his typical attitude of sarcastic superiority as strong as ever in spite of his continued dependence on his wheelchair, “but I do apologize if I overlooked your name on my list.”
Jack’s temper had been simmering throughout his journey with Juliet across the island. It was barely held in check now that he was face-to-face with the leader of the Others, the Enemy who had hurt Sawyer so badly, and finally it cracked through his tenuous control. “You’re only alive to be able to make this journey because of me! And even though you honored most of our agreement, Sawyer is still being tortured and condemned to a prison that you and your people made. You want to get out of your chair and walk, well, Sawyer wants to be whole again, too. To deny him a chance would be…inhuman.”
“Your proposition is not in the best interest of myself or my people,” Ben mused.
Jack thought fast. “Even if he fully recovers,” he said, calling on his bargaining skills, “he’ll be prohibited from killing your people from this point on. I’ll make sure of it. You’d be taking a major player out of the game.”
“I believe we already have,” Ben said with the most sinister, satisfied smile Jack had ever seen. “And I’m far from sure of your abilities to control that one. Even now.”
Jack wanted to punch something, a wall, Ben, it didn’t matter. Here he was, practically begging, and it made no sense that he was there, none at all, how could he be here in the Others’ camp begging Ben Linus to escort Sawyer on a mission of faith? But Juliet’s hand was steady on his arm, and Juliet claimed that the island could heal. He had no choice now but to believe her; faith was all that was left.
Ben was sitting still as stone before him, humming thoughtfully under his breath. Finally he said, “But the man knows what the island can do; he’s sensed it from the start. He can hear the whispers, you know. On this island even the deaf can hear them, and they’ll draw him in. If he chooses to live, he’ll find the Temple with or without us eventually, so we might as well take him along. And you, of course, since you seem to have appointed yourself his guardian. But there’s nothing there for you, Jack.”
But there was, even though there was no way that a man like Ben could understand it. Jack loved Sawyer, and loving means that you feel things in total connection with the other person, whether it's joy or pain, helplessness or victory. Healing Sawyer would be the only way that he, Jack, could ever heal.
********
In the weeks and months and years that followed, Jack often watched the man that Sawyer had become, and wondered why. Had it been Pickett’s bullet? Had it been Jack’s doctoring? Or had it been the island that had made him what he was, who he was? Had it been science or faith, or simply the psychology of a complicated mind? Because although Sawyer had been given back his eyes and ears, he was a man defined by all that had been taken from him.
********
Epilogue
After they returned from the temple, Sawyer’s hearing improved only slightly. All he could hear were bits and pieces of Jack’s words. Only Jack’s, though whether this was physical, or if it was simply because he wouldn’t listen to anyone else, no one knew. His sight returned in small ways, too. At first Sawyer thought that colors were coming back to him – the red-gold of the sunset, the bruised purple-green of the horizon before a storm, the ocean’s blue, blue water. Jack tested him thoroughly, high on hope, but those hopes were dashed by what he found. Sawyer could “feel” colors, but he couldn’t see them. He remembered them. He thought in color, and he dreamed in color. But he couldn’t see it. All his beautiful, ravaged eyes could see was black and white; two shades that weren’t really colors at all.
But still…black and white. Those were the two threads that ran consistently through the wildly inconsistent, crazily-changing riot of island colors. Opposites, though they always seemed to balance one another. Constants. A black stone and a white one. A white bear and a black horse. Even the advent of their lives on the island was marked by black and white; Jack in his black-and-white suit; black thread holding together torn white skin. Sawyer’s life had been shot through with color, ever-shifting color without boundaries, while Jack’s had been defined and rigidly controlled within the borders of black and white. Order and chaos, light and dark, good and evil. Now everything had changed. Right or wrong, for better or worse, black and white were all Sawyer had left, without even the sound of words to describe the colors around him.
To most, this would be a failure, a tragedy, a disappointment too sharp to bear. But to Sawyer, the ability to see black and white meant everything. It had given him back his words, silent though they were. Even though he couldn’t hear, with the sight he’d been given Sawyer could read. And more than that, he could see Jack. Black hair, white skin, and in his dark eyes, the pure light of authentic love. Not pity. And not obligation. In that bright light, Sawyer could finally see the truth that had been there all along.
In his mind’s eye he saw red; crimson and pink and ruby and rust, red the color of hate and rage and death, but also one of the many, endless, ever-shifting colors of love.
Jack held them safely for him, the colors.
It was enough.
End
Characters: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: R (this part), NC-17 (overall)
Word Count: 2,650
Disclaimer: Only mine in my dreams
A/N Thank you to those of you who were brave enough to read, not knowing where it would end. Thank you to
uberaeryn for writing a fic so powerful that it stayed with me for 2 years, and inspired this, my own scenario. And thank you in advance to those of you who were waiting til I posted the last chapter, whew, here it is. Chapter 1, "No Miracles," is here.
Chapter 2, "Faraway So Close," is here.
Chapter 3, "Grace," is here.
Chapter 4
The Promise and the Truth
The world looked different to Jack, now that he was seeing it through Sawyer’s eyes. Jack had always been in a hurry, focused on whatever came next, the next step in a patient’s treatment, the next challenge to the islanders’ survival, the next run-in with Sawyer. Now he was trying to slow down, to notice the world around him, to drink it in as Sawyer had. How else could he do what he’d vowed to himself he’d do; how else could he be Sawyer’s eyes?
“Why are you doing this?” Kate asked him more than once. “Why do you let him hit you and push you away when you’re just trying to help?”
He didn’t know where it’d come from, this need to help Sawyer even when Sawyer didn’t want it, even when Sawyer fought him. “He wants it,” he told Kate, who looked at him with something like pity. “He just has to put up a fight first. If he didn’t fight, he wouldn’t be Sawyer.”
Kate only looked at him and shook her head. Maybe Sawyer was right about Jack’s love of broken things. Hadn’t he married Sarah? Hadn’t he fought to give Boone everything? Now it was Sawyer who was broken but not dying, no, Sawyer was alive and he needed things that Jack could give, words and touch, and in giving it Jack had discovered that he needed it, too. He needed it so much that he couldn’t stop giving it even if he had to. He kept his eyes open all day, absorbing colors and shapes and movement for Sawyer, to give to Sawyer when he went to him, but more than this, more than anything, Jack lived for the nights.
Sawyer never rejected him, never pushed him away on those dark and fevered nights. He couldn’t hide the fact that he wanted it, too, couldn’t hide from Jack’s fingers when Jack was deep inside him and he’d reach for Sawyer’s cock to find him hard and slick and ready. Sawyer almost always came first, and though his voice remained unaffected by his other handicaps, after the first time he never made a sound. It was all about touch, and Jack could never hold himself back when he felt Sawyer convulse in his hand, his ass spasming in tandem, and always in that one moment Jack forgot everything except their shared pleasure, that thing that was uniquely and unassailably theirs. He was the one who cried out, though Sawyer could not hear his sounds of satisfaction and soul-wrenching carnal release.
It was the same way every time, the only way Sawyer would allow it, and Jack didn’t question his choice because he knew that Sawyer could reject him any minute and shut himself off completely in the dark silent tunnels of his mind. Jack lived for the rare times when he could bring Sawyer out of himself, make him forget everything but the feel of their two bodies, joined and soaring free.
From that first night on the sex was desperate and frantic, as if they were on an urgent quest, leading somewhere that they had to find, leading to some kind of trust, and yes, sure enough, one night as Jack lay weak and panting in the aftermath of their coupling, Sawyer demanded in his rough, rusty, rarely used voice, “Take the bullet out.”
Jack's lack of surprise told him that he’d been waiting for this all along. He brought Sawyer’s hand to his cheek and made sure Sawyer felt it when he said emphatically “No.” Sawyer didn’t want anything to do with signing that night so he mustered his most commanding, demanding voice and said, “I don’t want to live like this. You don’t want to live like this. It ain't enough. Take the goddamn bullet out before I pull it out myself."
Jack didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “No,” he signed again. “We’ve made our own way here, just the two of us,” but Sawyer cut him off, repeating, “It ain’t enough. Take the bullet out, and whatever happens after that, happens.”
Not enough. Those words haunted Jack. Those words encompassed his greatest fear, his fear that he could give and give and give, and it would never be enough. It hadn’t been enough for Sarah, it hadn’t been enough for Boone. He was afraid that he could give Sawyer all the words in the world, all the sex in the world, hell, all the love in the world, and Sawyer would still say it wasn’t enough. Jack still needed to do more. He paced and he stared out to sea and he wondered, when would it ever be enough?
Over a space of days and an ocean’s worth of stubbornness on both sides, Sawyer wore Jack down. Finally, against his better judgment, Jack asked Juliet if she could smuggle instruments, anesthesia, and anti-seizure medications from Alcatraz. Not as an afterthought, he asked her if she’d mind killing Pickett while she was at it
Juliet smiled her wry smile and said, “There’s another way, Jack.”
Now that he’d made up his mind, her words only agitated him. “I’ve already tried every other way,” he snapped. “I’ve given him everything I know how to give. Nobody could’ve given him more than I did. It’s just not enough, Juliet. He needs more.”
“And I know a way that we can give him more. Without killing him, Jack.”
Jack laughed a small, bitter laugh. “You’re sure I’m gonna kill him, huh?”
“No, Jack, of course I don’t think you’ll kill him. I think you’ll drive yourself half crazy trying to fix him. I just want you to be aware of all your options, that’s all.”
After a long, tense silence Jack inclined his head toward her. “I’m listening.”
“Let me take you to Ben,” she began.
”Ben.” Jack spat the word at her. “This is all his fault –“
“I know you feel that way, Jack,” Juliet said, “And it’s perfectly understandable. But he’s hurt, too, you know. He’s still in his wheelchair –“
“That’s to be expected,” Jack said in his doctor’s voice. “He’s undergone major surgery, and recovery takes a while. I hope somebody’s giving him physical therapy –“
“He should be walking by now,” Juliet interrupted. “Things happen…faster, on the island. Or…they used to.”
Jack looked at her in annoyance. “Are you saying I should’ve done more for him? In case you’ve forgotten, they sent me home.”
“No, no,” she said quickly, “Not you. Not you, Jack, I meant the island.”
“The island.” Jack ran his hand over the soft bristles of his hair. “Ben thinks the island should’ve done more.”
“Jack,” Juliet said softly, “We’re both doctors. We both believe in medical science. But I’ve seen the island heal people.”
Jack snorted. “And you think it can heal Sawyer?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. All I know is that Ben is planning to go to the Temple in hopes that the island will help him walk. He thinks that the source of the island’s healing energy might be sleeping and needs to be woken up, and he says that he's been told how to do that. I don't know if that's true, but if there's any chance...maybe we could convince him to take Sawyer along.”
Jack stared at her for a long time. There it was again, that hated old argument, science vs. faith and here was Juliet, of all people, suggesting that he send Sawyer on a journey of faith. With Ben, for God’s sake. “I’m doing the surgery,” he said. “Get me what I need.”
********
The next day he found himself in their makeshift operating room, scalpel in hand. He’d done all the prep work, anesthetized Sawyer and shaved a small area of hair away from the wound, and now here he stood, ready to cut. Ready or not. He took a deep breath, willing his hands not to shake. Juliet touched his forehead with a cool cloth and said, “You can do this, Jack.”
And then he had Sawyer’s blood on his gloved hands, and there was no going back. He followed the trajectory of the bullet as closely as he could. He was surprised to see how little shredding there had been of the nerves that supplied blood and reflexes to the rods and cones in his eyes. So little, in fact, that he began to question Sawyer’s blindness. Could it merely have been due to shock, some sort of Post Traumatic Stress reaction? Jack sewed and repaired what he could, and when he was finished, he allowed himself to hope.
Sawyer’s hearing was a more complicated issue, but Jack conscientiously did what he could. Somehow, the bullet had missed all of the nerve pathways to Sawyer’s eyes and ears. How to fix what isn’t broken?
Still, soon it was clear that he hadn’t done enough. “I don’t know if you’ll ever be the same,” he told Sawyer when the anesthesia began to wear off, when Sawyer lay there in silence and darkness still, with Jack’s fingers working awkwardly against his hand. If ever there’d been a test of Jack’s bedside manner, this was it, and he knew he was failing but he didn’t know what else to say. He moved his free hand up, started to push a strand of hair off of Sawyer's forehead, out of his eyes, as if he could see it there and then he stopped and the hand dropped uselessly to his side. “I told you there was a good chance it wouldn’t change anything. I did everything I could.” At least I didn’t kill you, he added silently to himself.
At least he’d done no harm.
“The temple, Jack,” Juliet said to him several days later. Sawyer hadn’t emerged from his tent since the surgery, he’d kept to himself and even though Jack knew of no reason for it, he was still profoundly deaf and blind. Jack imagined that Sawyer felt betrayed by Jack’s failure, by his fall from grace. Jack had lost the invisible tarnished halo he’d borne for so long, because whatever ailed Sawyer now, it was beyond Jack’s powers of healing. It was hard to tell who had fallen deeper into depression, Jack or Sawyer, and here was Juliet trying to convince him that there was one more chance. A chance to fix Sawyer that didn’t involve Jack.
********
“I don’t recall inviting you on my journey,” Ben said, his typical attitude of sarcastic superiority as strong as ever in spite of his continued dependence on his wheelchair, “but I do apologize if I overlooked your name on my list.”
Jack’s temper had been simmering throughout his journey with Juliet across the island. It was barely held in check now that he was face-to-face with the leader of the Others, the Enemy who had hurt Sawyer so badly, and finally it cracked through his tenuous control. “You’re only alive to be able to make this journey because of me! And even though you honored most of our agreement, Sawyer is still being tortured and condemned to a prison that you and your people made. You want to get out of your chair and walk, well, Sawyer wants to be whole again, too. To deny him a chance would be…inhuman.”
“Your proposition is not in the best interest of myself or my people,” Ben mused.
Jack thought fast. “Even if he fully recovers,” he said, calling on his bargaining skills, “he’ll be prohibited from killing your people from this point on. I’ll make sure of it. You’d be taking a major player out of the game.”
“I believe we already have,” Ben said with the most sinister, satisfied smile Jack had ever seen. “And I’m far from sure of your abilities to control that one. Even now.”
Jack wanted to punch something, a wall, Ben, it didn’t matter. Here he was, practically begging, and it made no sense that he was there, none at all, how could he be here in the Others’ camp begging Ben Linus to escort Sawyer on a mission of faith? But Juliet’s hand was steady on his arm, and Juliet claimed that the island could heal. He had no choice now but to believe her; faith was all that was left.
Ben was sitting still as stone before him, humming thoughtfully under his breath. Finally he said, “But the man knows what the island can do; he’s sensed it from the start. He can hear the whispers, you know. On this island even the deaf can hear them, and they’ll draw him in. If he chooses to live, he’ll find the Temple with or without us eventually, so we might as well take him along. And you, of course, since you seem to have appointed yourself his guardian. But there’s nothing there for you, Jack.”
But there was, even though there was no way that a man like Ben could understand it. Jack loved Sawyer, and loving means that you feel things in total connection with the other person, whether it's joy or pain, helplessness or victory. Healing Sawyer would be the only way that he, Jack, could ever heal.
********
In the weeks and months and years that followed, Jack often watched the man that Sawyer had become, and wondered why. Had it been Pickett’s bullet? Had it been Jack’s doctoring? Or had it been the island that had made him what he was, who he was? Had it been science or faith, or simply the psychology of a complicated mind? Because although Sawyer had been given back his eyes and ears, he was a man defined by all that had been taken from him.
********
Epilogue
After they returned from the temple, Sawyer’s hearing improved only slightly. All he could hear were bits and pieces of Jack’s words. Only Jack’s, though whether this was physical, or if it was simply because he wouldn’t listen to anyone else, no one knew. His sight returned in small ways, too. At first Sawyer thought that colors were coming back to him – the red-gold of the sunset, the bruised purple-green of the horizon before a storm, the ocean’s blue, blue water. Jack tested him thoroughly, high on hope, but those hopes were dashed by what he found. Sawyer could “feel” colors, but he couldn’t see them. He remembered them. He thought in color, and he dreamed in color. But he couldn’t see it. All his beautiful, ravaged eyes could see was black and white; two shades that weren’t really colors at all.
But still…black and white. Those were the two threads that ran consistently through the wildly inconsistent, crazily-changing riot of island colors. Opposites, though they always seemed to balance one another. Constants. A black stone and a white one. A white bear and a black horse. Even the advent of their lives on the island was marked by black and white; Jack in his black-and-white suit; black thread holding together torn white skin. Sawyer’s life had been shot through with color, ever-shifting color without boundaries, while Jack’s had been defined and rigidly controlled within the borders of black and white. Order and chaos, light and dark, good and evil. Now everything had changed. Right or wrong, for better or worse, black and white were all Sawyer had left, without even the sound of words to describe the colors around him.
To most, this would be a failure, a tragedy, a disappointment too sharp to bear. But to Sawyer, the ability to see black and white meant everything. It had given him back his words, silent though they were. Even though he couldn’t hear, with the sight he’d been given Sawyer could read. And more than that, he could see Jack. Black hair, white skin, and in his dark eyes, the pure light of authentic love. Not pity. And not obligation. In that bright light, Sawyer could finally see the truth that had been there all along.
In his mind’s eye he saw red; crimson and pink and ruby and rust, red the color of hate and rage and death, but also one of the many, endless, ever-shifting colors of love.
Jack held them safely for him, the colors.
It was enough.
End
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-09-18 10:18 pm (UTC)I really think that you handle stories where love is very present so well.
I'm glad you think that I do it well; I always angst about how to bring love into it naturally. It's funny, in fic I find it *so* much easier to write Jack in love with Sawyer, and aware that he's in love, while getting Sawyer to recognize it is (as he would say) a son-of-a-bitch! ;) Yet in canon I truly believe that Sawyer loves Jack. I'm not even gonna qualify that by saying "platonically." I think that Sawyer loves Jack in a way that he KNOWS about, but doesn't know what shape it'll take yet because Jack doesn't know his own soul yet. I love it that I still see a whole "prism" of possibilities for Jack and Sawyer, depending on what the island's future holds for them.
?You are much stronger than I could be, leaving him with significant handicaps and sort of locked into his own head other than Jack.
Oh, I don't know about stronger...I tried to end it with a "vision" of the future, and the hope that Sawyer's handicaps are psychological, so that maybe over time and with Jack's unconditional love and support, Sawyer will continue to heal. That's me, lol, ever the starry-eyed optimist! :D
Thank you again for sticking with this even though it was a tough read. I ♥ you soooooo much!