Title: Who We Were (pt 1)
Pairing/Character: Sawyer/Juliet
Word Count: 2500ish
Rating: R
Spoilers: The End
Summary: The only time Sawyer allowed himself to think of her was when he got very, very drunk.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's notes: My plan is for this to flash back and forth between James and Juliet's time together in Dharmaville and Sawyer's life after the island. This is unbetaed, and I am not the best typist, so please let know if you catch something.
Who We Were
The Island 2004-1974
Juliet had a credo. A rule, and she did a pretty good job following it. It was this: never really depend on anyone. It had saved her more than once.
She thought she had adopted this rule after about a year on the island, around the time she stopped believing that she was going to find a cure for the pregnant women, and that Ben would actually let her go if she did. It really started twenty-five years earlier with an empty place at the dinner table and a speech about the futility of love.
When Edmund had affairs right under her nose, when he left all but physically (he left that to her) of course it hurt. It was also, somehow, expected. That he was a total asshole and good riddance and - seriously, what was she thinking?- didn't change the fact that part of her knew it would never last.
A lifetime later there was Goodwin. Obviously that wasn't going to last. He was a sweet man, and Juliet thought that he was probably an honestly good man, but you can't depend on another woman's husband, no matter whose bed he's in. And then he died. Like Edmund. Maybe like Jack.
Jack. Oh, Jack. For a while he skirted near the edges of her resolve, tempting her to put her faith in him. Resolve made thin by desperation and irrational hope. Juliet nearly believed in him, his desperation reflecting her own and creating the illusion of togetherness.
But she must not have believed in him as much as she thought, because when he left without her and the freighter blew up and all hope was lost, she was bitterly disappointed and totally unsurprised. She even felt somewhat vindicated. If she had really depended on him, really loved him, this final abandonment could have broken her. But Jack was never hers, and secretly she always knew that she was never really his, and she was never any good at holding on to people, anyway.
So she got a little drunk and watched another man saunter out of the ocean, looking far more cheerful than he should. And because she's a little drunk she could only think that of all the people who might have come back for those left behind, James Ford was the last one she expected, and yet his arrival filled her with a hazy sense of relief.
And then the world flashed away, again and again, and suddenly depending on someone else wasn't a matter of entrusting her heart or her hope, but a matter of not dying. There wasn't time to safeguard against her feelings getting hurt when she was busy dodging bullets and flaming arrows; nearly getting her hands cut off or bleeding to death from her nose.
At camp in regular time, Juliet was pretty sure James had hated her. And maybe he had, but that didn't seem to matter anymore. Now he was bad tempered and sarcastic, but he was here, and he wasn't leaving anyone behind if he could help it. For the first time she could remember Juliet trusted someone completely. And she did so without thinking about it because there was no time to think.
Two weeks. James asked her for two weeks. He teased and cajoled her while making jokes and flashing his dimples, as though they were friends. As she sat on the edge of the dock with an empty freedom in front of her and James behind, she realized that somehow, they kind of were.
So again she made her decision without thinking, without calculating how much she could trust him while still withholding and protecting herself. She'd give him two weeks. They had saved each other during the flashes, and maybe that made him her responsibility. Maybe he needed someone to depend on. Maybe he needed to depend on her.
Los Angeles - 2007
The only time Sawyer allowed himself to think of her was when he got very, very drunk. It's why he stopped drinking.
He could never really remember the details about those first couple months back in the real world. He does remember being constantly amazed that they ever tried so hard to get here.
Sawyer couldn't believe the stupid shit he missed. He thought of things all the time. The heat, the smell of salt in the air. Having a job. Jin. He would've missed Miles, but he won't go away.
What he missed the most he couldn't think about at all.
The drinking, the serious, heavy drinking, started almost immediately. When he was good and drunk (good and cynical), normally right before he passed out, Sawyer always reminded himself that the first and last times he saw Juliet were moments of shock and pain. It's poetic justice that a relationship that started with a shock to his heart should end with it broken beyond repair. Some people were meant to be alone. He really should have known.
The morning after he always woke up hung over and alone, ashamed and vaguely disgusted with himself. For drinking so much, for wasting this second chance he was given. For thinking about Juliet. Blaming her. For being so angry at her for leaving him when he knew it was all his fucking fault.
The first time it got really bad was when they'd been back about three weeks. Their reentry to society had gone so smoothly it was freaky. Oceanic Airlines and Ajira seemed to accept the insane story that Frank had crashed on the same damn island, lost all his passengers, and discovered two of the lost 815ers. Sawyer couldn't believe anyone was buying any of it, it was all so ridiculous. Even if it was the truth.
Oceanic threw an insane amount of money at Sawyer and Claire (now he understood why Kate insisted that they both make their return from the dead known) and at their request agreed not to reveal their identities to the press. Frank also agreed not out them, and he kept his word, even when David Letterman begged him.
Richard, mysterious man of magic that he was, had conjured up fake ID's and snuck himself, Kate and Miles back into the country.
Kate, for what must have been the first time in her life, had actually thought things through and had been flying Ajira Airlines under an assumed name with fake identification. Provided by Sun, of all people. Since she'd only been gone a week, no one, meaning her parole officer, even noticed she'd been gone.
Easy as pie, smooth as molasses.
It was like fate, or destiny, or maybe even the damn island itself, after putting them all through so much hell, was trying to make it up to them. Well, too little, too fucking late.
So now Sawyer was staying in the nicest apartment he'd ever set foot in without a con being involved. It was courtesy of Oceanic Airlines, who by now probably wished the 815 survivors would just stay dead already.
As he sat in the living room that was bigger than his entire house in Dharmaville, he'd literally never felt more lost and alone in his life. Not after his parents died, not the first time he heard the cell door slam shut behind him. Not when he jumped out of the helicopter. Not even when he walked away from Juliet's grave, the dirt still clinging to his hands. On the island her presence, the fact of her, was everywhere. Here she was nowhere. She's just gone.
So he drank not to forget her, but to find her. Drank until he relived every mundane, boring, exquisite facet of their life together. A slideshow through his mind that included detailed commentary from one Jim LaFleur. Why he brought her yellow flowers. The fact that despite living on a tropical island, her toes were always freezing. How she got that scar on the inside of her right forearm. Why he hadn't given her the ring until it was too damn late.
What he did to destroy it all. What he would do to fix it should he ever go back in time and get a second chance. It could happen.
Once the alcohol really kicked in and the lines of reality were well and truly blurred, Sawyer started what if-ing. Making up alternate endings, none of which included Juliet falling down a fucking hole. One featured him deciding the hell with the two weeks and getting on the sub with her back in 1974. In this one he told himself he would buy Microsoft and figure out how to make her love him once they were safely on the mainland.
His favorite was the close call, the one where he dragged her back from the edge of the Swan pit at the last minute. This one included scenes of Jack, as retribution for coming up with the dumb-ass bomb plan in the first place, dying a premature and painful death. At least until he remembered that that had probably actually happened, and guiltily tried to imagine all of them (even Jack) somehow making it off the island on the Ajira plane (how much weight can duct tape support, anyway?), but the alcohol had completely taken over and Sawyer was still angry, angry and the last thing he saw before he blacked out was her hand slipping out of his. His defenses were gone and he couldn't stop the thought that flashed across his mind. She let go.
That bender, like the ones to follow, ended about 48 hours in. Sawyer never remembered, but apparently he drunk-dialed Miles, who showed up and threw out his liquor, fixed him a huge pot of disgusting coffee, and stood outside the bathroom door while he took shower. Sawyer wasn't sure if it was to make sure his inebriated self didn't slip on the tiles, or to make sure he didn't hang himself from the shower head.
That time, the first time, Miles had tried to talk about it, to talk about Juliet, but got no further than, "I know it sucks, man. I mean, we all loved her." before Sawyer completely lost it, because while later he would understand what Miles was trying to say, in that moment all he could think was: no, he loved her, he was in love with her and the huge hole in his chest that was all that was left of her was too fresh and raw to let anyone touch, even to share the pain.
So he stood up, screamed at Miles to get out. And Miles, after blinking at him for a minute, uncharacteristically shut up and left. The second time Miles didn't try to talk about Juliet. He didn't try to talk about anything. He just got Sawyer in and out of the shower and into the kitchen for some coffee. He didn't comment about the tears sliding from the corners of his eyes that Sawyer couldn't seem to stop, but before he left he gave him a look. Not like he wanted to say something, but that he didn't know what to say.
And so it went. Until the last time. The last time was a little worse.
Sawyer had been drinking steadily for he didn't know how long, weaving in and out of consciousness, trying to find her. He thought that if he just drank some more she'd be there, but instead of becoming clearer she just seemed to fade farther into the distance.
His mind was playing tricks on him and his memories were like a deck of cards scattered across the floor.
One minute she's in his arms laughing, and the next she's staring at him with disinterested eyes, a taser in her hand. There's a flash of light, like a time leap, and she's behind the cafeteria, slumped against the wall, blood smeared across her lip. He is filled with fury, until she reaches for his hand and they're lying in their bed. Juliet is reading "The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe" out loud and James is thinking he's never felt so content.
But there's another flash and he's back in the nightmare of the Swan pit. She lets go of his hand and he is falling, into his house that isn't, there with Locke (but not) who tells him again that he never had a home. Sawyer knows it isn't true, but he's surrounded by black smoke and he can't see anything, can't see her, and he doesn't know how much longer he can remember happiness or the point of anything at all.
Something flashes again and for one second she's in front him, stunning, as happy as he's ever seen her. She leans toward him, her eyes laughing, "Can I tell you a secret?"
Abruptly, darkness.
When he came to his first thought was that he really wanted an Apollo candy bar.
The second was that his head was going to explode. An alarm was going off and smoke was creeping in from the kitchen and someone -Miles- was pounding on the door screaming that if Sawyer didn't let him in he was calling the police. He couldn't even see straight to get to the door, but he figured Miles was bluffing. He knows Miles' identification was procured by some contact of Richard's, and probably wouldn't hold up to the scrutiny of being carded for beer, much less the police.
Fifteen minutes later, with the door busted in, it turns out Miles wasn't bluffing and Richard's contacts must be better than he thought. The police, far from arresting Miles for impersonating someone who didn't actually exist, instead stood in front of him in Sawyer's ridiculous living room, with the busted-in door behind them, and stared down at him with a mixture of pity and concern.
One of the officers suggested under his breath to the other that maybe there were some mental problems going on here, and all Sawyer could do was lie on the couch, staring up at him through an alcoholic daze and think; you'd better fucking believe it.
Miles, pale and shaken, stepped forward over the broken doorway and touched Officer Freud on the arm.
"His wife died." He spoke softly, but Sawyer was hit with every word. "Unexpectedly. It hasn't even been two months." Miles turned and looked right at Sawyer. "He's not crazy. He's just sad."