The smoke swirled in the air, patterns of light blue on black. Sawyer took the nicotine in, deeply and let it out slowly. The light from the stars and the moon was bright tonight. A lot different than in the city.
It had been a strange day: first Claire walking around, asking how soon the raft would be done, almost as if something had inspired her to be in a sudden hurry to leave. Then Kate coming to get all the alcohol; something about Boone being injured.
Sawyer hated to act like he cared. It wasn't caring so much, he told himself, just curiosity. Even if it was caring, he wasn't going to lose sleep over it. He hadn't wanted to part with the alcohol, but he couldn't tell Kate no either.
There's a human being in there somewhere.
Was there really? He did care, didn't he? Even if it was just a little.
Sawyer took the envelop out and unfolded the letter. In the dark, he couldn't read it, but he'd read it so many times it just didn't matter any more. He had it memorized in his heart and in his head. He could see the childish scrawl, burned into his mind's eye.
Dear Mister Sawyer…
Up ahead, he thought he heard footsteps. He hesitated, searching the shadows and dropping the cigarette. He kicked sand over it.
Now there was breathing. Someone was definitely coming.
Not that Ethan freak. He was dead. Someone else? One of Ethan's friends? Maybe it was just another survivor, taking a walk like he was. Feeling just as useless. Just as isolated from humanity.
Sawyer looked behind him, making sure he was really alone. The path was narrow, the trees dense, it was dark, even with the moonlight, and the bend ahead of him created a blind curve. Anyone could be on the other side of those bushes, just waiting to jump out.
He thought of Kate, for some reason.
With a deep breath, Sawyer stepped forward.
And ran headlong into someone else.
"Son of a bitch!" he jumped back, fists clenching automatically, just in case he had to fight.
Sawyer stared hard through the darkness, made out the silhouette of a man's muscular body and nearly shaved head.
"Jack?" His own voice sounded so strange in the night that he almost didn't recognize it, and the edge of fear he felt was overwhelming enough to make him forget to put up his emotional shield that he needed more and more often these days.
Before he'd come to this island there'd been no need for it. No one had gotten close. He hadn't allowed them to.
Now it seemed like everyone was trying to get close, and he wasn't sure he could hide his true nature for very long. They were going to figure it out someday. They'd know what he'd done and who he was. Worse than that, they'd understand what he was really made of.
"It's me."
Sawyer relaxed at hearing that, and his cover slipped back into place, "Doc, what the hell ya' wanderin' around for out here? I thought ya' were with the kid."
Jack didn't answer. Sawyer thought he heard him sob.
"Freckles came an' got the alcohol…ya' got it right."
What was almost a sob transformed strangely into a laugh that made Sawyer's hair stand on end, "Oooh yeah. The alcohol. Uh-huh. I got it all right. Thanks a lot, man." Jack bumped unsteadily against Sawyer and slapped him on the back. A little too friendly for Sawyer's taste.
He looked steadily through the dark, trying to make out the features of Jack's face. He could almost see the eyes—dark and sad. And he could definitely smell the scotch on the doctor's breath.
"If I'd known ya' just wanted ta' drink it, I'da' come too. Could use a drinkin' partner."
Sawyer figured he could use a lot of things. He figured Jack was good for a lot of things: reliable, compassionate, heroic. All the things he'd never be, not if he tried for a million years. Great father material, great husband material-all the things a lady would want-and great friend material.
That last one made Sawyer's chest ache slightly. How long had it been since he'd had a friend? A real, true-blue, stay til the end, watch as you die kind of friend?
Never, was the answer. He'd never had a friend. Ever. Not that he could remember. People just wanted to use him and walk away later. That's what he'd learned. And he'd picked that up so now he did it too.
But he and Jack were too different. Jack was practically a saint, and Sawyer was nothing but a criminal. If he were Jack, he wouldn't want to put up with him. He resented Jack for his goodness, hated how perfect he had to be, and the fact that everyone loved him for it.
And at the same time, he had to admire that righteousness, respect Jack's sense of justice and rightness. He had to wish, even when he didn't want to, that he could be like that. But he had made his choice. Everyone hated him, and that was how it had to stay.
"Didn't need one." Jack said simply.
"Drinkin' alone's no fun."
"Depends on wha' kina' drinkin' yer gona' do." Jack tilted the bottle back, taking a big, audible swig.
"I guess it does…"
Sawyer hesitated, watching Jack swirl the bottle in one hand. He was really smashed: Sawyer guessed that meant that Boone hadn't made it. Probably not a good idea to mention that. In fact, it would probably be best to just walk away now: getting Jack back to the caves wasn't his responsibility.
"So," Sawyer started to edge past Jack, not sure what to say. 'Have a nice night' didn't seem quite right somehow. He just let the so linger there.
Jack didn't need much encouragement anyway. He was already walking on himself, but he tripped as he passed Sawyer and stumbled.
More instinctively than anything, Sawyer caught him. On a good day, when the doc was sober, he would have just let him fall in the dirt, but that didn't seem right just now.
But he underestimated how heavy Jack was and they both fell over backward, Sawyer hitting hard on his back, and Jack landing against him roughly, laughing hysterically. The con artist found himself completely pinned down by the other man.
And Jack was just laughing like he didn't have a care in the world, "Wo-oah man, you fell do-own!"
"This just proves that if ya' give a doctor a bottle o scotch he might as well toss his PHD right out the damn window." Sawyer muttered, trying to push Jack upright again. Scotch was sloshing all over, getting on his shirt and jeans. He sat up and snagged the bottle from Jack, "Think ya' had enough, Doc?" He took a quick swig himself, liking the way it burned as it went down. Getting Jack to sit up was hard enough, so he'd work on getting him to his feet in a few minutes. And by now he'd changed his mind. He would take the doc back to the caves: he probably couldn't make it by himself.
Jack seemed to have noticed the letter Sawyer was still holding, and he was looking at it with great interest, "Waz that?"
Quickly, Sawyer stuffed it back into his pocket, "Nothin'. Just some scraps I found."
"Here. Gime' th' bottle back." Jack reached for the scotch.
"What? No way."
"Why not?" Jack was still reaching, but his aim was bad enough that he wasn't getting anything.
"Why not? 'Cause it's mine, Doc. I let ya' borrow it for a while, and now I want it back."
That seemed to satisfy Jack, and he nodded, leaned back against a tree, "Shouldn't be drinkin' an'way, I guess… Big day t'morrow: gotta' bury Boone…gotta' find Locke…"
"He's gone huh?" Sawyer had meant Locke.
Jack sighed, "Yeah…he was hurt bad…too bad. Lotsa' damage…internal bleedin', compar'ment syndrome in th' leg…"
"What about-"
"I-I jus' couldn't save 'im." Jack muttered, lowering his head to his knees. "I-I gave it my bes' shot. I really did."
Without thinking about it, Sawyer said, "'Course ya' did, Doc."
Where had that come from? He wasn't the comforting type. He didn't even like Jack. He needed to get out of here before this got worse.
"Jus' wasn't 'nough."
"Let's get back to the caves, huh, Jack'O?"
"I coulda' tried harder…maybe I jus' din't try…hard 'nough…"
"Don't go beatin' yourself up for it, Doc; ev'rybody's gotta' die some day."
"He was jus' a kid though, Sawyer…I promised I'd fix him." Promised was over-articulated. "Then I coul'n't."
Sawyer sighed and tipped the scotch bottle back to his own lips. At length he asked, "Why ya' always gotta' fix ev'rything, Doc?"
Jack snorted a laugh, "Don' know. Stupid huh? Guess when I was a kid…I looked up ta' my father a lot…thought he could do anything. Had t' do ev'rythin' perfect for him…" he was quiet a long time.
"I was afraid to mess up."
Sawyer nodded. Somehow that almost made sense.
"I wish…" Jack sounded like he was getting choked up, and if he started crying Sawyer wasn't sure what he could do. He wasn't a comforter. He didn't even know what to say when people cried. "…wish I din'n't hafta' fix ev'rythin'. But when I fail…it hurts…too bad. I can't stan' it…"
"It's not like anybody's lookin' down on ya,' Jack. Ya' couldn't save Boone. All right. Ya' saved lotsa' other people since we got here. Like Charlie. They remember that, Doc. They ain't holdin' nothin' against ya'. Don't know if ya' noticed, you're the big hero around here."
Jack was quiet for a long, long time. "I'm…not a hero, Sawyer. I never have been. I don't have what it takes…"
"Don't be an idiot, Jack. After everythin' you've done for these people how can ya' say ya' ain't got what it takes?"
Why was he trying so hard to comfort Jack in the first place? The doctor hated him. He'd made that clear.
Sawyer thought about the glasses Jack had had Sayid make, just this afternoon. It seemed so long ago. It seemed so ridiculous. At the time, he'd hated it. When it was over though…he'd almost missed the companionship. He'd almost thought that if he were a little less difficult Jack would be easier to be around. If he could loosen up, then maybe Jack could loosen up, and then maybe Jack wouldn't hate him. Then maybe he'd have a friend.
Don't need any goddamn friends…That wasn't true though. He'd been hanging on tight to that old lie for years now. And he was starting to see just how much of a lie it was.
"Easy for you t' say, Sawyer. You din't see Boone die. An' now Shannon…I hafta' tell 'er… How can I? How can I tell 'er that…'er brother's dead…? I hate t' think she'd still have a brother…if I were just better."
"Just cut it out." Sawyer snapped. "Listen ta' yourself, Doc. You're ravin' like a madman. Look around, Doc. Look where we are!"
Jack suddenly grew very quiet.
"I mean, how can ya' save anybody out here? Let alone a kid that fell offa' cliff and had his leg crushed and needed a blood transfusion an' ev'rything. Last I heard, that kinda' stuff has ta' be done in a hospital, with clean equipment and pretty nurses. The works. Not in some back-water cave on a haunted island that's not even on the map." He took a deep breath, then muttered, sort of hoping Jack wouldn't hear him, "I'm sure that…if you'd been in a hospital and Boone had been just another patient…then ya' coulda' saved him. So it ain't your fault, 'kay? So quite blamin' yourself."
"I've…gotta'…blame somebody…"
"But it doesn't gotta' be you. Not when ya' did ev'rythin' possible."
Without warning, Jack slumped over, leaning on Sawyer's shoulder, just lying there, staring up at the stars, and Sawyer had to fight the urge to push him away. It took all of his willpower, and then some. It wasn't every day people just touched him for no reason, and he couldn't remember how to respond. A little awkwardly, he draped his arm over Jack's shoulder.
"Like Locke."
"What'd Locke do?" Sawyer had hear bits and pieces of rumors lately, but he still wasn't' sure what had happened to Boone exactly.
"He lied…about Boone's injuries. If he han'nt…maybe I coulda' saved him."
Sawyer lit another cigarette and mused over that for a moment. "Ya' think he killed Boone on purpose?"
Jack shook his head. It seemed heavy—likely from alcohol. "Idunno…maybe. All I know is…he lied an' he's responsible for Boone's death." His voice seemed to clear up for just a moment, "I swear to God, Sawyer…if I ever see him again…I'm gonna' do somethin' so horrible…people'll think you're th' hero."
Sawyer tried to laugh. Even a nervous laugh was better than nothing. But then he reached in his pocket and touched his letter again. "Revenge…is never what we expect it ta' be, Jack."
The doctor turned his head to look at him, almost as if the serious tone was confusing to him. Then he sighed and slapped Sawyer on the back again, "An'one e'er tol' ya', Sawyer?"
The con artist looked at him, not sure what to say.
"Yer a good guy."
Sawyer knew it was just because Jack was drunk, and he didn't mean any of it, and he wasn't going to remember any of it, but still, it felt good to hear that for once. It felt right. And there was the strangest sense of belonging that came with it. A little voice that whispered, You could belong here…you could be someone important. To Kate. To Jack even. To anyone. If you'd just try…
But Sawyer didn't want to try. Life had been this way for a long time, and he didn't want to change it, for the same reason Jack felt compelled to fix everything. There was a poignant fear of change. Fear that if people got close he would only hurt them—just like everyone else.
Kate. He thought about her for a second, wondered where she was. He'd never felt so drawn to anyone in his life, and he wondered if somehow she could help redeem him.
"All right, Doc," Sawyer swallowed the last of the scotch and stood up, pulling Jack to his feet and looping the doctor's arm around his neck so he could help him along, "Let's get back ta' the caves.
Jack still had his own arm over Sawyer's neck, and as they made their way forward, together, for the first time, that sense of camaraderie was almost enough to make him think he'd been wrong about everything.
The thought that it would all be over in the morning was nearly enough to knock him out.