TITLE: Same White Pills
AUTHOR: Niki Blue
RATING: PG-13 for language
DISCLAIMER: No son minos.
SUMMARY: Shannon had come to see him every month though. He didn't turn her away. Couldn't.
SPOILERS: Lots of them. Especially "Abandoned"
PAIRINGS: LCS
AUTHOR'S NOTES: This was written for Chicafrom3, who forced me (completely unwillingly) to write her LCS fic. Unbeta'd, so any mistakes you see are mine and only mine.
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"How long?"
Sawyer glances up, confused, his intense focus on the threads of the carpet underneath his feet broken. "What?"
"How long has it been?" Dr. Williams asks and Sawyer concentrates on the slowly graying hairs at the doctors temples, the awkward progression of the doctors nose-- it had been broken sometime in the past, and the way he steeples his fingers together. Typical shrink pose right there.
"Since we got off that fuckin' island?" he asks, acting like he's got to think about it. Like he doesn't know the answer right down to the day. "'Bout seven months," he answers with a slow drawl. "Or since she died?" he questions. He knows this answer even better than he does the first. "That'd be about one year and three months."
"And--" the doc is cut off by the buzz of that little timer that sits at the edge of his desk. "Well, looks like our time is up Mr. Ford."
Sawyer scowls, "It's Sawyer."
"What is?" the doc asks absently. He's busy shoving papers in Sawyer's charts, marking things off with that stupid red pen that he uses that Sawyer sometimes wants to pick up and shove through his forehead.
"The name," he responds coldy. "It's Sawyer. No mister. No Ford. Saywer."
Before the doctor can respond, there's a knock on the door and a pretty little blonde nurse pokes her head in. He gives her a leering grin, "Lead the way, baby doll," he says, holding out his arms in mock surrender. "I know the drill."
The drill. Breakfasts at 8, therapy at 8:30. Lunch at noon. Group therapy at 3pm and dinner at 6pm.
And then there were the rules. Dozens of them. No sharps. No drugs. Medicine was distributed in the common room every morning and evening, no swapping. Escorts everywhere, especially the bathrooms. Visitors once a month, phone calls twice a month.
Not that he had anyone to call.
Jack had come to see him once. His saint complex was still alive and well, even off of that damn island.
"I don't expect these to become a regular thing, doc," Sawyer had drawled. "You can keep on runnin' for sainthood for all I care but you ain't makin' me your next charity case."
Shannon had come to see him every month though. He didn't turn her away. Couldn't.
The first time she'd come to see him, she'd cried. "Please," she whispered. "Just forget about it. Why can't you just forget about it?" she'd gripped the edge of the table until her knuckles were white. "You'd be ok if you'd just forget all about it."
And he'd tried. The first few months after it had happened, he'd tried to forget. He thought it would be easier once they got off the island. There was alcohol and there were girls he could lose himself in. But she was still there, in the back of his head. And the guilt was still there, just behind his ribcage.
He should have done something. Should have somehow been able to move heaven and Earth. Altered the natural order of things in order to save her. But he couldn't. All he'd been able to do was fall apart when they'd brought her body back.
And fall and fall and keep falling. He hadn't stopped falling, one year and three months later.
The second time Shannon had come to see him, she'd been angry. "God, Sawyer," she hissed. "Why do you do this? Why do you still fucking care so much? You shouldn't. You never did before."
He'd glared at her, just as angry. "I did care, Sticks," he'd growled. "I cared more than you know. More than you'll ever know. I just... I..."
And then she was gone, left before he could even finish the sentence, which was good because he didn't know what to say. There was nothing he could say. She was still gone and he was still crazy.
It had started slowly enough. He'd see her. Even though they'd buried her back near the caves.
But he'd see her. And part of him would know that it wasn't her. The part of him that wasn't falling. But the part of him that was would yell her name and take off crashing under the underbrush and she'd be just out of his reach, giggling her stupid, skinny little ass off.
He dreamed about her. Not the dreams he was used to having about her. Those had been purely sexual; wild and animalistic. The kind of sex dreams where you woke up expecting to feel bruises all over your skin. Those he could deal with. But these dreams-- they were soft and tender. Dreams about stroking her hair back off of her face, helping her make dinner, holding her hand. Dreams about going fucking grocery shopping together.
Those dreams he couldn't handle.
And when that plane had touched down and he'd been able to put thousands of miles between himself and the place where they'd buried her, he'd thought he'd be better. Okay. But it had only gotten worse, the farther away from her he'd gotten.
They'd found him, one night, sitting in the bathroom of the little apartment that he'd managed to rent. Who they were, he couldn't remember. Maybe it had been his neighbors. Maybe it had been her. But they'd found him, screaming at the walls, his arms bleeding where he'd scratched his nails deep into the skin. Probably trying to get her out. He didn't really remember that night.
And still, she wouldn't leave him.
"What do you want, Sticks?" he'd demanded the last time she'd come. "What the fuck do you want?"
Shannon had stared at him with big eyes, her bottom lip jutting out. "Nothing," she said softly, "I don't want anything. It's your fault that I keep coming, Sawyer."
He'd cursed, "What are you trying to do to me? Drive me crazy? Is that what you want? Well, I got news for you Princess, I'm already there."
She'd left quicker that day than any of the other days and the gnawing guilt had lingered for weeks.
But she came back, just like clockwork. He saw her first, sitting on his bed with her back facing him.
"Forget it," she begged, eyes welling up with tears. "Sawyer, it wasn't your fault. There wasn't anything you could have done. Please... just stop thinking about it."
He wanted to tell her that it wasn't that easy. It wasn't that easy to forget all about the only person he ever could have loved, who he would never get the chance to love.
It wasn't that easy to forget all about it when she was sitting in front of him with a hole in her gut.
Shannon lay her bloody hands on the table top, "Sawyer, please..." she begged. "Just let me go."