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eponine119 Deeper Into Black, Deeper Into White: NEW
Jul. 19th, 2009 04:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alliecat8Title: Deeper Into Black, Deeper Into White: NEW Chapter 17
Fandom: Lost
Characters: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,327
Disclaimer: Only mine in my dreams
Once upon a time a little girl named Allie wrote a novel called, Deeper Into Black, Deeper Into White. (she stole the title from a U2 song) Her BFF,eponine119 (Megan) was there to hold her hand and pat her back and brain her with solid objects when necessary (Allie has a very hard head) and eventually it was (you must speak this in the tone a mother uses to feed her 12-month-old) ALLLLLLL DONE!. Only not really, because years later one of Megan’s ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
lostsquee queen days came around and she wanted OTPs and who is more OTP-ish to Allie but her Deeper boys? So she decided to write another chapter. And. Here. It. Is. (and it even has a sequel, eep!)
This chapter is a stand-alone, just as long as you know that canon ended with S1 and Jack is now living more-or-less happily (ahem) with Sawyer in what was once Sawyer’s grandparents’ house in the Smoky Mountains. And that they worked their omgHOTT asses off – literally and figuratively – to renovate it and get to the point they’re at now.
“Get up,” Jack says, his voice tinged with both frustration and worry. “You can’t lie in bed all day.”
“Why the hell not?” Sawyer slides down lower under the covers as he scrunches up his face in a scowl. “Ain’t no point in gettin’ up, I got nothin’ to do.”
He knows he’s depressed. He’s read up on it, and not wanting to get out of bed is one of the symptoms. Another symptom is Jack. He hates the way Jack nags at him and pulls at him and harrasses him over the slightest little thing, like morning. He still loves Jack, more than anything, but they haven’t made love in days and that can’t be right. He knows that something’s bad wrong with him, but he doesn’t have a clue how to fix it.
“Come on, get dressed,” Jack says, pulling jeans and a flannel shirt out of the closet and tossing them onto the bed. “You’re going in to the hospital with me so I can run some tests on you.” The way he says it brooks no argument, but Sawyer talks back anyway.
“There’s no way in hell you’re gettin’ me to set foot in that hospital and you damn well know it. So don’t even try, Jack.”
Jack sighs and sits down next to him. He puts his hand on Sawyer’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever,” he says, “just like I thought. This is all in your head, Sawyer, you’ve turned into one big bundle of neuroses. You’re afraid of the hospital, you never go into Knoxville anymore, you won’t even go to the track to jog with me; it’s like we attached you to the house when we were putting in the fixtures. People who are afraid to leave their houses are called agoraphobes. If you’re turning into one of them, we need to get you some help.”
Sawyer sits up and glares at him. “I ain’t scared,” he says defensively. “I just don’t have any reason to go out. I got everything I need here –“
“You need a job,” Jack snaps. “You had a good excuse to stay home while we were renovating this house, but now it’s done and you did a great job on it. I know there are plenty of contractors who’d love to hire somebody like you –“
Fine.” He says it so abruptly that Jack looks startled. Sawyer never lets Jack win that easily. This time, though, he’s too exhausted to keep arguing. Jack can lead a horse to water, Sawyer thinks, but he can’t make him get a job. He throws back the covers and swings his legs off the bed. “If you can wait til after I shower, I’ll ride into town with you. Happy?”
A little smile appears on Jack’s face, but he’s not gloating. It isn’t about winning an argument, Sawyer realizes; Jack really wants to help. “Yeah, I’m happy,” he says. “Go on and shower. I’ll make pancakes.”
********
“I’m not going inside that hospital,” Sawyer repeats when they’re in Jack’s car, as he drives with careless ease along the winding mountain roads. “And you can’t make me. I’ll drop you off and then I’ll see what I can get done in town until it’s time to pick you up.”
Jack nods, looking satisfied. He knows not to push Sawyer into visiting Jack’s workplace, because it had also been Sawyer’s mother’s workplace and the association rankles, even after all this time. He’ll go when he’s ready, if ever. In the meantime, he’ll find something to do while Jack’s doing his doctoring. Then he’ll take him out to dinner and maybe, just maybe, tonight will be the night his missing libido shows up again. Maybe they can spend the night crawling all over each other like they used to. They’re both likely to die of deprivation, otherwise.
After he lets Jack out at the hospital Sawyer drives through the streets of the Old Town, looking at all of the renovations that have been made on the little shops occupying the bottom floor of tall buildings. He has a new appreciation for architectural elements and décor since he’d rebuilt his own house, and the brightly-painted doors, gabled entryways, and shiny window displays lure him in for some shopping.
He hasn’t shopped in as long as he can remember, and he decides to buy some clothes even though he doesn’t know where he’ll wear them. Hell, he might even buy something for Jack, just to prove that he can. Just to prove that Jack isn’t the only one with taste. They wear the same size so it’s easy for him to pick out a few nice shirts – blacks and whites for Jack, blues and greens for himself – and some gabardine trousers for Jack and chinos for both of them. As the salesman leads him through the store he asks Sawyer, “Would you like to buy anything for your lady today? Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, you know.”
Sawyer stops in his tracks, caught completely off-guard. “There’s no lady,” he says absently, as his mind tries to process how in the world he and Jack will deal with Valentine’s Day. They’d decided to celebrate Christmas and New Year’s in a big way, partly because it was their first holiday season together and partly because they needed the structure of longstanding traditions to help them build the structure of their own relationship. But Valentine’s Day was a holiday created by evil greeting card companies, wasn’t it? Or by a woman. He and Jack are men. They wouldn’t –
And then he spots a table decked out in red and white, topped by a sign that says, “Sexy treats for the man in your life.” There are candy hearts imprinted with suggestive sayings (“DO ME NOW,” and “SPANK ME BABY”), sexy board games (Sip ‘n Strip, Naughty Nookii), and boxers and briefs covered with bright red hearts. He actually considers them for a moment, but although Jack has developed a kind of weird sense of humor since he and Sawyer started living together, he isn’t sure if it would extend to something like this. Shaking his head in complete bafflement, he pays for the clothes and leaves.
As he strolls through the busy downtown streets he passes one jewelry store after another, and he wonders if Jack would ever wear jewelry. Jack comes across as straightlaced almost to the point of being a prude, but Sawyer has seen his tattoos (and licked them, and probably done everything to them that the lewd candy hearts suggest), so he knows that the conservative act is a con, and he wonders what Jack would think about body piercings. He stops to look in a window full of shiny, glittering baubles, and after several minutes he realizes that he’d been staring, mesmerized, at wedding rings. No need for those, he thinks and he moves on, grinning.
He turns onto a side street and there, in a prime corner location, is a used bookstore. It stands out among its neighbors not because of its décor, but because of its complete lack of style and charm. Its large picture windows are so crammed with dusty, ragged books that it’s impossible to see inside, and tables on the sidewalk are overflowing with rumpled Harlequin Romances, presumably on display for Valentine’s Day. The place is a mess but Sawyer has never met a bookstore he didn’t like, so he makes his way past crooked tables and over fallen books and pushes open the door.
For an instant he just stands there, stunned. Never has he seen so many books in one place, nor has he seen them treated so carelessly. Battered volumes spill from shelves, hutches, tables and windowsills. Cobwebs seem to be the only decoration, and the lighting is a dim flourescent yellow that casts a sickly glow over the whole disaster. The shop appears to be empty, prime hunting ground for someone like Sawyer. To his surprise and delight he begins to find treasures among the trash. There are books that look almost new, well-cared-for leather-bound volumes, and even a couple of first editions. One thing he can say about whoever owns the place: he knows the value of his merchandise. The first editions make Sawyer long for the kind of money it’d take to afford them, and his fingers itch to steal them. Before the temptation becomes too much for him to bear, though, he’s saved by the appearance of a very old woman pointing a cane threateningly at his head.
“ARE YOUR HANDS CLEAN, BOY?” she yells, and Sawyer quickly puts the books he’d been thinking about stealing back on the shelf and displays his hands like a little boy fearing trouble at the dinner table. His hands are clean, his nails neatly trimmed, the skin smooth and unmarked. Sawyer takes pride in his hands, and he’s offended that their cleanliness is being challenged, especially in such a booming and critical tone of voice.
“They were clean until I touched those,” he snaps, waving the hands in question at the stacks of books. “Ever hear of a feather duster?”
The stoop-shouldered woman straightens up to her decidedly un-imposing height of not-quite-five-feet and shouts, “EVER HEAR OF MANNERS, BOY?”
“It’s Sawyer,” he tells her, mellowing out his voice and hoping she’ll catch on and follow his example. “Not ‘boy.’ Nice place you’ve got here.”
“IT’S A PIGSTY,” she trumpets, and Sawyer suddenly realizes that she’s hard of hearing; she doesn’t realize she’s breaking his eardrums. “ARE YOU LOOKING FOR ANYTHING IN PARTICULAR? I HOPE NOT. NEW STUFF COMES IN ALL THE TIME AND I JUST PUT IT WHEREVER IT’LL FIT. YOU’RE WELCOME TO DIG, THOUGH, LONG AS YOUR HANDS ARE CLEAN.”
He almost laughs at that, figuring he’ll be fit for a pigsty after he wallows through all these books, but the idea of wallowing through books sounds like heaven to him, and before he knows it he’s spent the entire afternoon spelunking through filthy caverns. To keep the persnickety old woman off his back, he turns on the charm, impressing her with his knowledge of some books, flattering her by asking her clever questions about others. In return she hollers her life story at him, ending with how her husband died and left her in charge of running his pigsty. She loves books but she knows nothing about the business end of things and no longer has the physical capacity to keep up the shop. He gets so involved in both the books and the woman’s plight that he loses track of time, and by the time he remembers that he’s supposed to pick up Jack he’s already fifteen minutes late.
A visibly annoyed Jack climbs into the car and slams the door. He opens his mouth to bitch at Sawyer but stops, almost comically, to stare and sniff. “You’re all gray,” he says, and sneezes. “Even your hair. And you stink. What the hell did you do all day?”
“I shopped,” Sawyer tells him innocently. “And I bought you some presents.” He opens the bag and lets Jack have a glimpse of the new clothes. “Why don’t we get a hotel room tonight and I’ll shower and change and we can put these on and go out to dinner. Then when we get back to the room…maybe a change of scenery’ll jump-start my batteries.” He grins suggestively at Jack.
Jack’s eyebrows draw down into an accusing scowl. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”
“Sober as a judge,” Sawyer assures him.
“I don’t believe you. A dinner date? A hotel room? This from the guy who refused to leave the house just this morning? What the hell’s going on, Sawyer?”
“A celebration, Doc!” Sawyer beams. “I got myself a job.”
********
The first time Jack sees the bookstore his eyes bug out and he has an allergy attack. “Are you insane?” he asks Sawyer. “I wouldn’t touch this place with John Locke stretched end-to-end with a ten foot pole.”
“That’s what you said about my house the first time you saw it, too,” Sawyer says, unperturbed.
*
The second time Jack sees the bookstore his eyes bug out again, but for an entirely different reason. The dust is gone. The cobwebs are gone. The books are still in piles on the floor and every available surface, but Sawyer assures him that now there’s method in the madness. “I’m gettin’ ‘em organized,” he says proudly. He shows Jack where the classics will go, and the collectables, and the new additions. “I was thinkin’ I could paint the walls that color,” he points to the light green dust cover on one of the books, “something that says ‘stay a while.’ ‘Course, we’d have to get some more shelves, too. And some eye-catchin’ window displays to draw folks in. What color do you think I should paint the trim?”
*
The third time Jack sees the bookstore, just that evening, he finds Sawyer sitting in a folding chair in the back of the store, holding a stack of books on his lap and looking utterly dejected.
“The old bat didn’t like your ideas?” Jack guesses, gearing up to give Sawyer’s boss a piece of his mind. Sawyer had looked so happy that morning, and now his sad eyes break Jack’s heart.
“No,” he says. “I mean, yeah, she liked ‘em. Loved ‘em. Can’t wait for it to get done. But she’s sellin’ the store.”
“Oh.” Jack sees it all clearly now, how the old woman scammed Sawyer. She’s using him to fix the place up, just so she can sell it out from under him. It might not be so bad, though. “You can probably convince the new owners to keep you on,” he tells Sawyer confidently. “Just turn on that smile of yours; nobody can resist those dimples –“
“No, you don’t get it, Jack,” Sawyer says miserably. “She says she was getting ready to retire and she’s got nobody to leave the place to, so she was going to donate it all to charity. She figured it’d never sell with the mess it was in. Now she’s changed her mind. Said she was just waitin’ for the right person to come along. The only person she’s willin’ to sell it to is me.”
********
They argue about it for days. “How many times do I have to tell you, Jack, I ain’t got any money. Unless those trees outside start sproutin’ dollar bills –“
“And how many times do I have to tell you,” Jack interrupts, almost yelling, “that I’ll be happy to loan you the money. You can pay me back when you start to turn a profit. It’s so simple—“
Sawyer’s balled-up fist an inch from his face stops him in mid-sentence, and they glare at each other. They’re getting nowhere fast and they both know it. Finally Jack asks quietly, “Are you going to hit me because I love you and I want to do you a favor?”
At that moment Sawyer wants to hit Jack more than anything else in the world. He wants to hit Jack for having money, when Sawyer’s got none. He wants to hit Jack for offering to do him a favor and saying that he loves him in the same damn breath, because loving him means knowing him well enough to understand that the last thing Sawyer wants is to be beholden to anybody, especially Jack. How many emotional mountains have they climbed in the last few months to get to the place where they feel like equals? And now this is coming between them. Punching Jack would feel so good, because it would get rid of the frustration that’s boiling over inside of him and put them back on equal footing. But Jack is just being Jack, doing what Jack does – trying to fix everything – and Sawyer can’t hit him for being himself, irritating though that might be.
Instead he drops his hand and takes a step backward. “I don’t need no favors,” he says shortly but not unkindly. “There might be another way. It could be a longshot, but I decided it’s worth a try. I put the house up for sale today.”
Jack opens his mouth to speak but Sawyer drowns him out in a flood of words. “You hate this house, Doc, you’ve always hated it and it’s damned inconvenient, way out here all by its lonesome, it’s a bitch when you’re on call and have to get up at two in the mornin’ and drive all the way to the city. I had an appraiser look at it and now that it’s all fixed up he says that considerin’ all the upgrades and the location it’s in, somebody'll want it for a vacation house. We can get a pretty penny for it. Enough for a down payment on the store and, if we pool our money, a condo or a house in the city. It’s the only sensible thing to do, admit it.”
Jack gapes at him. “You love this house.”
Sawyer feels a twinge, and the tightness in his throat threatens to make him mute, but he’s able to say, “This is mushy as hell, and try not to puke, but my home’s wherever you are.”
If Sawyer had expected the music to swell and Jack to sweep him into his arms like in the old movies, he’s disappointed. Jack sighs and turns his back on Sawyer, and Sawyer wonders what he’s thinking. He won’t find out for a long time, though, because even through the pre-sale inspection and the invasions of Realtors and prospective buyers at all hours, Jack is utterly and bafflingly stoic.
********
Before they know it, it’s Valentine’s Day. Jack and Sawyer both put in twelve-hour days at work – Jack because he’s got surgeries, Sawyer because he’s still working feverishly to get the bookstore in some kind of order so it can be sold. It’s looking more and more like the buyer won’t be Sawyer, since no one who has looked at Sawyer’s house has even so much as made an offer. He’s developed a grudging respect for his eccentric boss, though, and maybe if he keeps working on her she’ll agree to sell the shop to someone else, just as long as Sawyer gives his okay. Maybe someone who’ll agree to keep Sawyer on as the hired help. She is the second person in Sawyer’s life to trust him, and he wonders if there’s something about being loved by Jack that gives him an aura of honesty. It’s unnerving.
Once back home, after Jack surprises him with a fancy meal that includes things like doilies and raspberry glace and scalloped gruyere and hoity-toity-tortes and a bill from the caterer so outrageous that Jack must’ve destroyed it before Sawyer got home, Sawyer offers Jack a carefully-chosen Valentine’s present.
Jack unwraps it as carefully as Sawyer had chosen it (why do rich people have to save every bit of paper, every bow, every shaving of Scotch tape, Sawyer wonders) and pulls out a book. He glances at Sawyer questioningly, because Jack just isn’t into books of the non-medical variety. “Just read it,” Sawyer says. “Maybe then you’ll understand. If not, I guess I’ll have to explain.” He smiles a little to himself, knowing Jack so well, his literal mind and his hard head. Symbolism and superstition are Sawyer’s forte, not Jack’s, even after everything they’ve been through. But this book is something special. He hands him the second, more pragmatic gift. “Happy Valentine's Day.”
Jack unfolds the sheet of paper, a form that Sawyer had printed off of the computer. “Kiawah Island,” he reads, and looks at Sawyer questioningly. “A resort community?”
Sawyer grins, proud of himself. “Yeah, a vacation. I thought you might want to see how far I’ve come. No more hidin’ in the mountains. I’m not afraid to be on an island, the sand and the water and all the memories, not if I’m with you. Hell, I’ll even fly there if you want to, long as you don’t mind me holdin’ your hand awfully tight in public.” He winks.
“South Carolina,” Jack says, still studying the form. “I’ve never been there, have you?”
“Yeah.” There aren't many places in the South that he hasn't been, pulling some con or another. Everything’s different now, though. “It’s right outside of Charleston. Great golf courses.” Not like our golf course on the island," he adds silently, and sees the same thought pass through Jack’s amused eyes. “And Charleston’s got Fort Sumter, the place where the first shot of the Civil War was fired, and the Battery with lots of big old houses, and the slave market – well, it used to be the slave market, now they sell all kinds of stuff there, and –“
“You’re a regular travel agent,” Jack says, his eyes twinkling. “When do we go?”
“I left it open. You’ll need to see when you can get off work. And I want to get the house sold first.” He can’t stop the note of sadness that creeps into his voice, much as he wants to hide that from Jack. No sense cryin’ over spilt milk.
“Speaking of Valentine’s Day," Jack says, opening the sofa-table drawer and producing a box, “I hope you’ll like it, Sawyer.”
Puzzled at its small size, Sawyer unties the ribbon and opens the lid. Oddly enough, they’d both given each other paperwork. Sawyer unfolds the forms and begins to read. Then, with a catch in his breath, he drops the small bundle and stares at Jack. “What did you do?” he asks, dumbfounded.
“Just read it.”
“I did read it.” His voice is flat with shock. “You bought my house? Jack? What the fuck?”
“I bought the house,” Jack says quietly, evenly. “Our house.”
“But…but…” Speechless, Sawyer drops his eyes back to the offer that had literally fallen into his lap, an offer for the full asking price. A flush creeps up his cheeks as his temper starts to ignite. “I told you I don’t want your money –“
“Shut it, Sawyer,” Jack says firmly. “You’re not the only one who’s pissed off, you know. Who do you think you are, putting our place on the market without asking me? It’s my house too.”
“You hate it!” Sawyer’s scowl is ferocious, his eyes flashing with indignation. “You’ve always hated it –“
“I hated it,” Jack agrees, but then he adds, “Past tense. Look at it now, Sawyer, look at what we’ve done to it. It’s beautiful.”
Sawyer just blinks at him. He’d never expected to hear this place, the shack in the holler that he’d lived in with his grandparents, called beautiful. “Jack…,” he begins, his voice faltering.
“Remember what you said, Sawyer? Just the other day you said that wherever I am is home. Well, I feel that way, too. Wherever you are is my home. And look at this place, just look! You’ve put so much of yourself into it – we’ve put so much of ourselves – how can we just hand it over to a stranger? It’s ours, James. It’s us.”
Jack never uses his real name except in moments where he wants to get Sawyer’s full attention. Now Sawyer sees a kind of passion in his eyes that isn’t lust but it is love; love for Sawyer and love for what they’ve built together. He isn’t lying or looking for an excuse to give Sawyer money, to patronize him; he simply can’t stand to give up their house. And yet somehow still, Sawyer wants to argue. “Our house, you said. If I let you do this, it’ll be your house.”
Jack answers back so quickly that he’s obviously already thought it through. “That’s just temporary. As soon as you buy the bookstore and it starts to turn a profit – which it will, how could it not with you in charge – your love shows through, you know – we’ll list you as a co-purchaser until you’ve got a half-interest in the house. Then it’ll really be ours.”
There’s still some back-and-forth between them but Sawyer’s heart’s not in it, because he understands that Jack has truly done it; he’s fixed everything. And Jack is so proud of himself – Sawyer can see it in his eyes – that there’s no doubt that he truly wants this. All that’s left is for Sawyer to accept graciously. And so finally, just as soon as his pride will allow it, he does. “Thank you,” he adds, and those words seem to mean more to Jack than anything.
Later, as they’re undressing for bed, Jack produces a bag from the closet and says, “I got you something else.”
“What, a bookstore ain’t enough?” Sawyer flashes a dimple as he reaches for the bag, and then he sees what’s in it. “You’re a certified whacko,” he says, pulling out white boxer shorts covered with big red hearts.
“That’s why you love me,” Jack says with a cocky, confident grin. And he’s right. It’s just one of the infinite number of reasons why Sawyer loves him, and he looks forward to discovering more for the rest of his life.
TBC
Fandom: Lost
Characters: Jack/Sawyer
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4,327
Disclaimer: Only mine in my dreams
Once upon a time a little girl named Allie wrote a novel called, Deeper Into Black, Deeper Into White. (she stole the title from a U2 song) Her BFF,
eponine119 (Megan) was there to hold her hand and pat her back and brain her with solid objects when necessary (Allie has a very hard head) and eventually it was (you must speak this in the tone a mother uses to feed her 12-month-old) ALLLLLLL DONE!. Only not really, because years later one of Megan’s lostsquee queen days came around and she wanted OTPs and who is more OTP-ish to Allie but her Deeper boys? So she decided to write another chapter. And. Here. It. Is. (and it even has a sequel, eep!)This chapter is a stand-alone, just as long as you know that canon ended with S1 and Jack is now living more-or-less happily (ahem) with Sawyer in what was once Sawyer’s grandparents’ house in the Smoky Mountains. And that they worked their omgHOTT asses off – literally and figuratively – to renovate it and get to the point they’re at now.
“Get up,” Jack says, his voice tinged with both frustration and worry. “You can’t lie in bed all day.”
“Why the hell not?” Sawyer slides down lower under the covers as he scrunches up his face in a scowl. “Ain’t no point in gettin’ up, I got nothin’ to do.”
He knows he’s depressed. He’s read up on it, and not wanting to get out of bed is one of the symptoms. Another symptom is Jack. He hates the way Jack nags at him and pulls at him and harrasses him over the slightest little thing, like morning. He still loves Jack, more than anything, but they haven’t made love in days and that can’t be right. He knows that something’s bad wrong with him, but he doesn’t have a clue how to fix it.
“Come on, get dressed,” Jack says, pulling jeans and a flannel shirt out of the closet and tossing them onto the bed. “You’re going in to the hospital with me so I can run some tests on you.” The way he says it brooks no argument, but Sawyer talks back anyway.
“There’s no way in hell you’re gettin’ me to set foot in that hospital and you damn well know it. So don’t even try, Jack.”
Jack sighs and sits down next to him. He puts his hand on Sawyer’s forehead. “You don’t have a fever,” he says, “just like I thought. This is all in your head, Sawyer, you’ve turned into one big bundle of neuroses. You’re afraid of the hospital, you never go into Knoxville anymore, you won’t even go to the track to jog with me; it’s like we attached you to the house when we were putting in the fixtures. People who are afraid to leave their houses are called agoraphobes. If you’re turning into one of them, we need to get you some help.”
Sawyer sits up and glares at him. “I ain’t scared,” he says defensively. “I just don’t have any reason to go out. I got everything I need here –“
“You need a job,” Jack snaps. “You had a good excuse to stay home while we were renovating this house, but now it’s done and you did a great job on it. I know there are plenty of contractors who’d love to hire somebody like you –“
Fine.” He says it so abruptly that Jack looks startled. Sawyer never lets Jack win that easily. This time, though, he’s too exhausted to keep arguing. Jack can lead a horse to water, Sawyer thinks, but he can’t make him get a job. He throws back the covers and swings his legs off the bed. “If you can wait til after I shower, I’ll ride into town with you. Happy?”
A little smile appears on Jack’s face, but he’s not gloating. It isn’t about winning an argument, Sawyer realizes; Jack really wants to help. “Yeah, I’m happy,” he says. “Go on and shower. I’ll make pancakes.”
********
“I’m not going inside that hospital,” Sawyer repeats when they’re in Jack’s car, as he drives with careless ease along the winding mountain roads. “And you can’t make me. I’ll drop you off and then I’ll see what I can get done in town until it’s time to pick you up.”
Jack nods, looking satisfied. He knows not to push Sawyer into visiting Jack’s workplace, because it had also been Sawyer’s mother’s workplace and the association rankles, even after all this time. He’ll go when he’s ready, if ever. In the meantime, he’ll find something to do while Jack’s doing his doctoring. Then he’ll take him out to dinner and maybe, just maybe, tonight will be the night his missing libido shows up again. Maybe they can spend the night crawling all over each other like they used to. They’re both likely to die of deprivation, otherwise.
After he lets Jack out at the hospital Sawyer drives through the streets of the Old Town, looking at all of the renovations that have been made on the little shops occupying the bottom floor of tall buildings. He has a new appreciation for architectural elements and décor since he’d rebuilt his own house, and the brightly-painted doors, gabled entryways, and shiny window displays lure him in for some shopping.
He hasn’t shopped in as long as he can remember, and he decides to buy some clothes even though he doesn’t know where he’ll wear them. Hell, he might even buy something for Jack, just to prove that he can. Just to prove that Jack isn’t the only one with taste. They wear the same size so it’s easy for him to pick out a few nice shirts – blacks and whites for Jack, blues and greens for himself – and some gabardine trousers for Jack and chinos for both of them. As the salesman leads him through the store he asks Sawyer, “Would you like to buy anything for your lady today? Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, you know.”
Sawyer stops in his tracks, caught completely off-guard. “There’s no lady,” he says absently, as his mind tries to process how in the world he and Jack will deal with Valentine’s Day. They’d decided to celebrate Christmas and New Year’s in a big way, partly because it was their first holiday season together and partly because they needed the structure of longstanding traditions to help them build the structure of their own relationship. But Valentine’s Day was a holiday created by evil greeting card companies, wasn’t it? Or by a woman. He and Jack are men. They wouldn’t –
And then he spots a table decked out in red and white, topped by a sign that says, “Sexy treats for the man in your life.” There are candy hearts imprinted with suggestive sayings (“DO ME NOW,” and “SPANK ME BABY”), sexy board games (Sip ‘n Strip, Naughty Nookii), and boxers and briefs covered with bright red hearts. He actually considers them for a moment, but although Jack has developed a kind of weird sense of humor since he and Sawyer started living together, he isn’t sure if it would extend to something like this. Shaking his head in complete bafflement, he pays for the clothes and leaves.
As he strolls through the busy downtown streets he passes one jewelry store after another, and he wonders if Jack would ever wear jewelry. Jack comes across as straightlaced almost to the point of being a prude, but Sawyer has seen his tattoos (and licked them, and probably done everything to them that the lewd candy hearts suggest), so he knows that the conservative act is a con, and he wonders what Jack would think about body piercings. He stops to look in a window full of shiny, glittering baubles, and after several minutes he realizes that he’d been staring, mesmerized, at wedding rings. No need for those, he thinks and he moves on, grinning.
He turns onto a side street and there, in a prime corner location, is a used bookstore. It stands out among its neighbors not because of its décor, but because of its complete lack of style and charm. Its large picture windows are so crammed with dusty, ragged books that it’s impossible to see inside, and tables on the sidewalk are overflowing with rumpled Harlequin Romances, presumably on display for Valentine’s Day. The place is a mess but Sawyer has never met a bookstore he didn’t like, so he makes his way past crooked tables and over fallen books and pushes open the door.
For an instant he just stands there, stunned. Never has he seen so many books in one place, nor has he seen them treated so carelessly. Battered volumes spill from shelves, hutches, tables and windowsills. Cobwebs seem to be the only decoration, and the lighting is a dim flourescent yellow that casts a sickly glow over the whole disaster. The shop appears to be empty, prime hunting ground for someone like Sawyer. To his surprise and delight he begins to find treasures among the trash. There are books that look almost new, well-cared-for leather-bound volumes, and even a couple of first editions. One thing he can say about whoever owns the place: he knows the value of his merchandise. The first editions make Sawyer long for the kind of money it’d take to afford them, and his fingers itch to steal them. Before the temptation becomes too much for him to bear, though, he’s saved by the appearance of a very old woman pointing a cane threateningly at his head.
“ARE YOUR HANDS CLEAN, BOY?” she yells, and Sawyer quickly puts the books he’d been thinking about stealing back on the shelf and displays his hands like a little boy fearing trouble at the dinner table. His hands are clean, his nails neatly trimmed, the skin smooth and unmarked. Sawyer takes pride in his hands, and he’s offended that their cleanliness is being challenged, especially in such a booming and critical tone of voice.
“They were clean until I touched those,” he snaps, waving the hands in question at the stacks of books. “Ever hear of a feather duster?”
The stoop-shouldered woman straightens up to her decidedly un-imposing height of not-quite-five-feet and shouts, “EVER HEAR OF MANNERS, BOY?”
“It’s Sawyer,” he tells her, mellowing out his voice and hoping she’ll catch on and follow his example. “Not ‘boy.’ Nice place you’ve got here.”
“IT’S A PIGSTY,” she trumpets, and Sawyer suddenly realizes that she’s hard of hearing; she doesn’t realize she’s breaking his eardrums. “ARE YOU LOOKING FOR ANYTHING IN PARTICULAR? I HOPE NOT. NEW STUFF COMES IN ALL THE TIME AND I JUST PUT IT WHEREVER IT’LL FIT. YOU’RE WELCOME TO DIG, THOUGH, LONG AS YOUR HANDS ARE CLEAN.”
He almost laughs at that, figuring he’ll be fit for a pigsty after he wallows through all these books, but the idea of wallowing through books sounds like heaven to him, and before he knows it he’s spent the entire afternoon spelunking through filthy caverns. To keep the persnickety old woman off his back, he turns on the charm, impressing her with his knowledge of some books, flattering her by asking her clever questions about others. In return she hollers her life story at him, ending with how her husband died and left her in charge of running his pigsty. She loves books but she knows nothing about the business end of things and no longer has the physical capacity to keep up the shop. He gets so involved in both the books and the woman’s plight that he loses track of time, and by the time he remembers that he’s supposed to pick up Jack he’s already fifteen minutes late.
A visibly annoyed Jack climbs into the car and slams the door. He opens his mouth to bitch at Sawyer but stops, almost comically, to stare and sniff. “You’re all gray,” he says, and sneezes. “Even your hair. And you stink. What the hell did you do all day?”
“I shopped,” Sawyer tells him innocently. “And I bought you some presents.” He opens the bag and lets Jack have a glimpse of the new clothes. “Why don’t we get a hotel room tonight and I’ll shower and change and we can put these on and go out to dinner. Then when we get back to the room…maybe a change of scenery’ll jump-start my batteries.” He grins suggestively at Jack.
Jack’s eyebrows draw down into an accusing scowl. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”
“Sober as a judge,” Sawyer assures him.
“I don’t believe you. A dinner date? A hotel room? This from the guy who refused to leave the house just this morning? What the hell’s going on, Sawyer?”
“A celebration, Doc!” Sawyer beams. “I got myself a job.”
********
The first time Jack sees the bookstore his eyes bug out and he has an allergy attack. “Are you insane?” he asks Sawyer. “I wouldn’t touch this place with John Locke stretched end-to-end with a ten foot pole.”
“That’s what you said about my house the first time you saw it, too,” Sawyer says, unperturbed.
*
The second time Jack sees the bookstore his eyes bug out again, but for an entirely different reason. The dust is gone. The cobwebs are gone. The books are still in piles on the floor and every available surface, but Sawyer assures him that now there’s method in the madness. “I’m gettin’ ‘em organized,” he says proudly. He shows Jack where the classics will go, and the collectables, and the new additions. “I was thinkin’ I could paint the walls that color,” he points to the light green dust cover on one of the books, “something that says ‘stay a while.’ ‘Course, we’d have to get some more shelves, too. And some eye-catchin’ window displays to draw folks in. What color do you think I should paint the trim?”
*
The third time Jack sees the bookstore, just that evening, he finds Sawyer sitting in a folding chair in the back of the store, holding a stack of books on his lap and looking utterly dejected.
“The old bat didn’t like your ideas?” Jack guesses, gearing up to give Sawyer’s boss a piece of his mind. Sawyer had looked so happy that morning, and now his sad eyes break Jack’s heart.
“No,” he says. “I mean, yeah, she liked ‘em. Loved ‘em. Can’t wait for it to get done. But she’s sellin’ the store.”
“Oh.” Jack sees it all clearly now, how the old woman scammed Sawyer. She’s using him to fix the place up, just so she can sell it out from under him. It might not be so bad, though. “You can probably convince the new owners to keep you on,” he tells Sawyer confidently. “Just turn on that smile of yours; nobody can resist those dimples –“
“No, you don’t get it, Jack,” Sawyer says miserably. “She says she was getting ready to retire and she’s got nobody to leave the place to, so she was going to donate it all to charity. She figured it’d never sell with the mess it was in. Now she’s changed her mind. Said she was just waitin’ for the right person to come along. The only person she’s willin’ to sell it to is me.”
********
They argue about it for days. “How many times do I have to tell you, Jack, I ain’t got any money. Unless those trees outside start sproutin’ dollar bills –“
“And how many times do I have to tell you,” Jack interrupts, almost yelling, “that I’ll be happy to loan you the money. You can pay me back when you start to turn a profit. It’s so simple—“
Sawyer’s balled-up fist an inch from his face stops him in mid-sentence, and they glare at each other. They’re getting nowhere fast and they both know it. Finally Jack asks quietly, “Are you going to hit me because I love you and I want to do you a favor?”
At that moment Sawyer wants to hit Jack more than anything else in the world. He wants to hit Jack for having money, when Sawyer’s got none. He wants to hit Jack for offering to do him a favor and saying that he loves him in the same damn breath, because loving him means knowing him well enough to understand that the last thing Sawyer wants is to be beholden to anybody, especially Jack. How many emotional mountains have they climbed in the last few months to get to the place where they feel like equals? And now this is coming between them. Punching Jack would feel so good, because it would get rid of the frustration that’s boiling over inside of him and put them back on equal footing. But Jack is just being Jack, doing what Jack does – trying to fix everything – and Sawyer can’t hit him for being himself, irritating though that might be.
Instead he drops his hand and takes a step backward. “I don’t need no favors,” he says shortly but not unkindly. “There might be another way. It could be a longshot, but I decided it’s worth a try. I put the house up for sale today.”
Jack opens his mouth to speak but Sawyer drowns him out in a flood of words. “You hate this house, Doc, you’ve always hated it and it’s damned inconvenient, way out here all by its lonesome, it’s a bitch when you’re on call and have to get up at two in the mornin’ and drive all the way to the city. I had an appraiser look at it and now that it’s all fixed up he says that considerin’ all the upgrades and the location it’s in, somebody'll want it for a vacation house. We can get a pretty penny for it. Enough for a down payment on the store and, if we pool our money, a condo or a house in the city. It’s the only sensible thing to do, admit it.”
Jack gapes at him. “You love this house.”
Sawyer feels a twinge, and the tightness in his throat threatens to make him mute, but he’s able to say, “This is mushy as hell, and try not to puke, but my home’s wherever you are.”
If Sawyer had expected the music to swell and Jack to sweep him into his arms like in the old movies, he’s disappointed. Jack sighs and turns his back on Sawyer, and Sawyer wonders what he’s thinking. He won’t find out for a long time, though, because even through the pre-sale inspection and the invasions of Realtors and prospective buyers at all hours, Jack is utterly and bafflingly stoic.
********
Before they know it, it’s Valentine’s Day. Jack and Sawyer both put in twelve-hour days at work – Jack because he’s got surgeries, Sawyer because he’s still working feverishly to get the bookstore in some kind of order so it can be sold. It’s looking more and more like the buyer won’t be Sawyer, since no one who has looked at Sawyer’s house has even so much as made an offer. He’s developed a grudging respect for his eccentric boss, though, and maybe if he keeps working on her she’ll agree to sell the shop to someone else, just as long as Sawyer gives his okay. Maybe someone who’ll agree to keep Sawyer on as the hired help. She is the second person in Sawyer’s life to trust him, and he wonders if there’s something about being loved by Jack that gives him an aura of honesty. It’s unnerving.
Once back home, after Jack surprises him with a fancy meal that includes things like doilies and raspberry glace and scalloped gruyere and hoity-toity-tortes and a bill from the caterer so outrageous that Jack must’ve destroyed it before Sawyer got home, Sawyer offers Jack a carefully-chosen Valentine’s present.
Jack unwraps it as carefully as Sawyer had chosen it (why do rich people have to save every bit of paper, every bow, every shaving of Scotch tape, Sawyer wonders) and pulls out a book. He glances at Sawyer questioningly, because Jack just isn’t into books of the non-medical variety. “Just read it,” Sawyer says. “Maybe then you’ll understand. If not, I guess I’ll have to explain.” He smiles a little to himself, knowing Jack so well, his literal mind and his hard head. Symbolism and superstition are Sawyer’s forte, not Jack’s, even after everything they’ve been through. But this book is something special. He hands him the second, more pragmatic gift. “Happy Valentine's Day.”
Jack unfolds the sheet of paper, a form that Sawyer had printed off of the computer. “Kiawah Island,” he reads, and looks at Sawyer questioningly. “A resort community?”
Sawyer grins, proud of himself. “Yeah, a vacation. I thought you might want to see how far I’ve come. No more hidin’ in the mountains. I’m not afraid to be on an island, the sand and the water and all the memories, not if I’m with you. Hell, I’ll even fly there if you want to, long as you don’t mind me holdin’ your hand awfully tight in public.” He winks.
“South Carolina,” Jack says, still studying the form. “I’ve never been there, have you?”
“Yeah.” There aren't many places in the South that he hasn't been, pulling some con or another. Everything’s different now, though. “It’s right outside of Charleston. Great golf courses.” Not like our golf course on the island," he adds silently, and sees the same thought pass through Jack’s amused eyes. “And Charleston’s got Fort Sumter, the place where the first shot of the Civil War was fired, and the Battery with lots of big old houses, and the slave market – well, it used to be the slave market, now they sell all kinds of stuff there, and –“
“You’re a regular travel agent,” Jack says, his eyes twinkling. “When do we go?”
“I left it open. You’ll need to see when you can get off work. And I want to get the house sold first.” He can’t stop the note of sadness that creeps into his voice, much as he wants to hide that from Jack. No sense cryin’ over spilt milk.
“Speaking of Valentine’s Day," Jack says, opening the sofa-table drawer and producing a box, “I hope you’ll like it, Sawyer.”
Puzzled at its small size, Sawyer unties the ribbon and opens the lid. Oddly enough, they’d both given each other paperwork. Sawyer unfolds the forms and begins to read. Then, with a catch in his breath, he drops the small bundle and stares at Jack. “What did you do?” he asks, dumbfounded.
“Just read it.”
“I did read it.” His voice is flat with shock. “You bought my house? Jack? What the fuck?”
“I bought the house,” Jack says quietly, evenly. “Our house.”
“But…but…” Speechless, Sawyer drops his eyes back to the offer that had literally fallen into his lap, an offer for the full asking price. A flush creeps up his cheeks as his temper starts to ignite. “I told you I don’t want your money –“
“Shut it, Sawyer,” Jack says firmly. “You’re not the only one who’s pissed off, you know. Who do you think you are, putting our place on the market without asking me? It’s my house too.”
“You hate it!” Sawyer’s scowl is ferocious, his eyes flashing with indignation. “You’ve always hated it –“
“I hated it,” Jack agrees, but then he adds, “Past tense. Look at it now, Sawyer, look at what we’ve done to it. It’s beautiful.”
Sawyer just blinks at him. He’d never expected to hear this place, the shack in the holler that he’d lived in with his grandparents, called beautiful. “Jack…,” he begins, his voice faltering.
“Remember what you said, Sawyer? Just the other day you said that wherever I am is home. Well, I feel that way, too. Wherever you are is my home. And look at this place, just look! You’ve put so much of yourself into it – we’ve put so much of ourselves – how can we just hand it over to a stranger? It’s ours, James. It’s us.”
Jack never uses his real name except in moments where he wants to get Sawyer’s full attention. Now Sawyer sees a kind of passion in his eyes that isn’t lust but it is love; love for Sawyer and love for what they’ve built together. He isn’t lying or looking for an excuse to give Sawyer money, to patronize him; he simply can’t stand to give up their house. And yet somehow still, Sawyer wants to argue. “Our house, you said. If I let you do this, it’ll be your house.”
Jack answers back so quickly that he’s obviously already thought it through. “That’s just temporary. As soon as you buy the bookstore and it starts to turn a profit – which it will, how could it not with you in charge – your love shows through, you know – we’ll list you as a co-purchaser until you’ve got a half-interest in the house. Then it’ll really be ours.”
There’s still some back-and-forth between them but Sawyer’s heart’s not in it, because he understands that Jack has truly done it; he’s fixed everything. And Jack is so proud of himself – Sawyer can see it in his eyes – that there’s no doubt that he truly wants this. All that’s left is for Sawyer to accept graciously. And so finally, just as soon as his pride will allow it, he does. “Thank you,” he adds, and those words seem to mean more to Jack than anything.
Later, as they’re undressing for bed, Jack produces a bag from the closet and says, “I got you something else.”
“What, a bookstore ain’t enough?” Sawyer flashes a dimple as he reaches for the bag, and then he sees what’s in it. “You’re a certified whacko,” he says, pulling out white boxer shorts covered with big red hearts.
“That’s why you love me,” Jack says with a cocky, confident grin. And he’s right. It’s just one of the infinite number of reasons why Sawyer loves him, and he looks forward to discovering more for the rest of his life.
TBC
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Date: 2009-07-20 12:10 am (UTC)This is so lovely and perfect. Sawyer not leaving the house...this strongly resembles my weekend. (sigh) I was thinking that instead of dragging him to the hospital, Jack just needed to take him to a bookstore, and then, lo and behold...Sawyer finds his bookstore. A grungy, nasty dirty one for him to play in, which he will adore.
Love it!
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Date: 2009-07-20 02:21 am (UTC)1. What was the book Sawyer gave Jack, and (since I think you know the book) what was its significance?
2. Why was Sawyer afraid to leave the house?
3. Why did I bring up Kiawah and Charleston? Could it be foreshadowing...?
I can't tell you how happy I am that you liked it! I was so nervous I kept checking my email every 2 minutes, and then you said you thought it was perfect and that made my night! ♥ ♥ ♥
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Date: 2009-07-20 02:41 am (UTC)1. I know the book, and the significance is that they are meant to be together. And possibly that you're going to tie this in with the much-hinted-at pirate book?
2. I didn't actually think of this, beyond being a comment on his mental state. Unless he's afraid he's going to run into more of his former victims. I kind of feel like you addressed this in Deeper but I could be wrong.
3. Foreshadowing, hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm. I know those are places that you love and would like to take Jack and Sawyer someday.
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Date: 2009-07-20 04:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-20 06:59 am (UTC)The history between them is so well-woven and they still manage to retain their essential characters from the early days of the show. I love Sawyer's stubbornness and Jack's secretiveness, and how beautifully it all works in the end! *sigh* Lovely!
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Date: 2009-07-20 04:17 pm (UTC)Oh, aren't you wonderful, with the awesome feedback. It especially touches me that you say they still retain their characters from the show, because I try hard to remember to keep that part of them. I'm soooooo glad you liked it! Thank you for reading and for the lovely feedback. ♥
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Date: 2009-07-23 12:40 pm (UTC)Oh, wow! How good to read something more about the boys of that 'verse, I loved it so much!
And this was so beauiful and full of love. *happy sigh*
I knew they couldn't possibly sell the house!!
I am wondering about the book though. ;)
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Date: 2009-07-23 03:40 pm (UTC)Right now there are two sequels planned. (I know, it's gonna turn into a second book, right? Oy!) You'll find out about the book then. Patience, my dear, patience. ;) (You might know a thing or two about that, considering what you're going through in RL!)
Thank you SO MUCH for reading and for the lovely comment. ♥ ♥ ♥
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Date: 2009-07-26 03:37 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-29 08:19 pm (UTC)Thank you for the insight into why Sawyer acted the way he did. That's one of those things that was *there*, written into the story already, but I hadn't quite grasped it yet. You illuminated it for me, and I love it when that happens, so THANK YOU! ♥
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Date: 2009-07-29 08:04 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-07-29 08:22 pm (UTC)I'm so glad you took a chance on reading this even though you haven't read the book. I hope I didn't mislead you or anyone else about it being a stand-alone; I hope it makes sense even outside of the context of the bigger story. Thank you so much for reading, and I'm so happy you liked it! :D
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Date: 2009-07-31 08:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-08-01 09:36 am (UTC)Thank you for reading and for the wonderful comment. ♥!