Work Text:
After a half hour spent shifting about trying to find a comfortable position for sleeping on the sand, Sawyer gave up. Thinking venomous thoughts about bugs and insect bites, and the incredible hardness of sand, he quietly left the sleeping group and cautiously made his way through the dark to his nearest secret stash of supplies.
Pulling the hidden suitcase from its hiding place, he quickly grabbed a bottle of scotch, 2 cigarettes, and a small penlight. The tiny flickering beam barely had the strength to break the darkness, but it was enough to keep Sawyer's feet on the twisting path to the beach. Aiming for a more isolated stretch away from the camp, Sawyer looked forward to having a quiet smoke, a drink or three, and possibly even some sleep. Hopefully, a belt or two of the scotch would help him relax and take the edge off this ongoing nightmare of being stranded and allow him to find peaceful oblivion.
Much to his surprise, a dark lump sticking out from the sand bank resolved itself into the sitting form of Jack, arms wrapped around his knees as he stared at the black ocean. Sawyer deliberately made sounds as he walked towards Jack, giving the other man advanced warning of his approach. Sawyer stopped about three feet behind the seated figure. “Can't sleep either, Doc?” Sawyer asked conversationally.
Jack's reply was curt. “Go away and leave me alone.” Sawyer laughed it off, replying, “No fucking way, Doc. I can't sleep, you can't sleep, and I'm tired of being alone all the fucking time.” He threw himself down on the sand next to Jack, clocking him in the ribs with his elbow. As Jack winced and hissed sharply, Sawyer cracked open the cap on the bottle and handed it over to Jack.
At Jack's curious glare, he dryly added, “It's medicinal – it'll help me sleep. It'll also help your ribs – Sorry 'bout that.” Jack still wasn't smiling, but he did take the offered bottle and unscrewing the cap carefully, took a healthy long swig. “Thanks,” Jack said, his voice less hostile, “I can't sleep either. Too much on my mind to worry about. That's why I came here. To be alone.” The last sentence was said in a more pointed tone.
Sawyer's rough and rumbling laugh was a surprise to Jack. “Jesus, Doc, the main problem we all have stuck out here on this island is that we all have too much time alone.” As Sawyer took the bottle back and had a swig of his own, Jack interjected, “Alone? Right. There's 46 of us left alive, stranded together, all needing each other, always in each others' way. I've yet to have 2 minutes to myself without someone needing me for something.”
Jack's tone was bitter and scornful. Sawyer was a bit taken aback, realizing slowly that Jack had borne more than his share of the work required to keep the group alive, and was already experiencing some burn-out.
Handing back the bottle, Sawyer countered Jack, “Being around each other every minute of every day doesn’t mean anyone here is actually connecting. All of us are stuck in our own heads, like you and me brooding and worrying in the dark and unable to sleep. We all have our own fears and anxieties, and none of us talk about it. We need to stop being alone in our thoughts. We need to come together, sharing our worries, planning for a possible future here on the island. That’s what I meant by we all are spending too much time alone.”
Sawyer laughed a bit bitterly, adding, “I know that’s damned hilarious coming from me, the one guy everyone seems to have mutually agreed upon hating. Ah well, at least everyone else is bonding together over something here on the island.” Jack shot him a curious look, part pity, part questioning, but didn’t respond directly.
Both men were silent after that, handing the bottle back and forth in the darkness, watching the sea as the endless waves washed ashore, over and over and over.
Sawyer woke with the breaking of the dawn, the early sunbeams hitting his shut eyes and making him wince, the warmth of the day rousing him from his vanishing dreams. He wasn't sure where he was at first, until he opened his eyes a crack and realized he was still on the beach, and Jack was still with him, curled up on his side facing away from Sawyer.
Neither had made it back, eventually preferring to crash out where they sat drinking instead of attempting a slightly inebriated walk back in the perfect dark. By the steady rise and fall of the doctor's ribcage, Sawyer figured the doctor was still sleeping, finally getting a night of rest he so clearly needed. And Sawyer himself felt a bit better, more refreshed and more alert for the first time in the days that had followed the traumatic crash that left them all stranded.
And lying there, watching Jack's back, Sawyer felt at peace for the first time. He had been feeling alone for days now, alone in his thoughts and worries and fears and being unable to contain the venom he knew alienated himself from every other survivor. And for some reason, just telling that to Jack last night, sharing that one hidden nugget of pain inside, made the world feel somehow better today.
When Jack actually spoke, his voice sounding dry and rough as it broke the quiet dawn, Sawyer nearly jumped a mile. "Sawyer, it's too damned early to get up yet. Let's just sleep and doze for awhile longer, OK? It's nice, being away from everyone else." Jack didn't roll over, and Sawyer glared at the doctor's muscled back until Jack surprisingly added softly, "And for the record, I don't hate you either."
Shocked silence was Sawyer's only response, and when Jack rolled partially over to face him, Sawyer knew his face gave away his disbelief. They lay facing each other, inches of sand barely separating them, and Sawyer was uncertain whether the increase in heat he felt was coming from the still rising sun, or his reaction to Jack's blunt honesty first thing in the morning. Sawyer shook his head in negation, his sun bleached hair falling into his eyes and creating a barrier between them.
That is, until Jack startled him by raising a hand to softly brush the loose strands off of Sawyer's face and tuck them again behind his ear. With his hand still warm on Sawyer's cheek, Jack said again softly, "Really, I don't hate you. I don't understand you and why you intentionally piss everyone off, but you're right in saying we're all spending too much time thinking and not sharing. So let's just stay here and not think about anything and just sleep for awhile longer, please?"
Jack's voice, steady throughout, shook a bit at the end, and Sawyer suddenly realized that Jack was actually trying to connect with him. And that his hand was still on Sawyer's cheek, partially cupping it, his thumb lightly rubbing the coarse stubble underneath. Sawyer wasn't sure what was going on anymore, but the token peace offering gave him more security and comfort than he had felt since the plane had plummeted out of the sky.
With a small nod, Sawyer muttered softly, "Sure thing, Doc. I don't mind a few more hours of shut-eye." Trying to nice for once, Sawyer added tentatively, "I kinda like it here, you know, just the two of us." The smile that blossomed on Jack's face made the effort to be nice actually worth it. Jack slowly removed his hand from Sawyer's cheek, but only to push at Sawyer's shoulder, and gently ask, "How about rolling over?" Sawyer just nodded again slowly, and turned to his other side, suddenly feeling exposed again, knowing Jack lay behind him awake and watching.
But when he felt the doctor move, his body curving and settling around Sawyer's and his arms pulling Sawyer close into his chest, Sawyer knew it was all fine and good between them, whatever this strange and new connection was. He grabbed Jack's hand and with a murmured, "OK, time for some more shut-eye," closed his eyes and felt back to sleep holding Jack's hand like the lifesaver that it was.