"Where is it?" Jack walked purposefully to where Sawyer sat cross-legged on the beach. Sand flew out from beneath his worn hiking boots and his fists were clenched tight in an effort to check his rage.
Sawyer laid his book face open in the sand and cocked his head to squint at Jack. "Where's what?" he asked as he pointedly brushed sand from his jeans.
Jack shook his head in barely hidden exasperation. "You know what. Where is it?"
Sawyer slowly picked up his book, it was an old hardback, probably from the hatch. Jack didn't catch the title. Sawyer didn't look up from the pages but said, "Don't care to play games just now Doc. When you're in the mood to be more specific, maybe we can work something out."
Jack bent down and grabbed the collar of Sawyer's black button down, Sawyer's head jerked back unnaturally. "You're gonna take me to it." Jack said, his voice low and threatening, "Now."
They walked through the jungle towards Sawyer's stash, the one Kate had told him about just a few weeks into their stay. Every few paces, Jack would shove Sawyer in the shoulder in an effort to quicken his pace. Mainly though, it was to prove to himself that he still maintained the upper hand in the situation. It was a complete charade. Sawyer had come almost willingly. Well, not quite willingly, Sawyer didn't do much willingly, but he hadn't put up much of a fight and Jack could not figure out why.
Jack shoved his shoulder again and Sawyer turned to glare at him. "You gonna tell me what were out here lookin for?"
Jack didn't answer for a minute, and Sawyer stopped walking. He raised his hands to the side. "Just tryin to make the time pass. Thought a little conversation might loosen you up."
"Just keep moving, Sawyer." It was all Jack could manage.
They walked a few paces in silence until Sawyer broke it again. "You want me to have it, right? Makes it easier to hate me."
"Oh, Sawyer," Jack laughed, "You're plenty easy to hate." But while it wasn't exactly a lie, it wasn't the truth either. Since that day in the jungle, the day he had left on the raft, it was becoming harder and harder to look at Sawyer and not see the sad, fucked up guy behind the smirk.
Jack glanced over to where Sawyer walked sulkily next to him. This was stupid really, maybe Sawyer honestly didn't have it. But before Jack could fully realize the thought, Sawyer turned toward him and opened his mouth to speak. Jack stopped walking and waited expectantly for Sawyer to say something, but nothing came. Then quickly, and with sure feet on the rough jungle floor, Sawyer lunged towards Jack and expertly pinned him against a nearby banyan tree.
"Hey, Jackass, I don't have what you're looking for." And then, just for good measure, he leaned in and snapped his teeth together menacingly.
Jack just stared back at him, his eyes were unreadable in the dim light that filtered through thick trees. Neither of them moved, and the jungle seemed to grow quiet. In the still air, his nostrils filled unwillingly with the sea salt and campfire and sweat that had seeped into Sawyer's clothes and skin. There was something else, something familiar that Jack couldn't quite place. Cologne?
"She kissed me." It came out of nowhere with no preface, but Jack could see that Sawyer knew exactly what he was talking about. It only took him a moment to formulate a response.
He moved his face closer to Jack's and pressed his forearm harder into his neck. "I fucked her." He sneered.
Jack closed his eyes. It wasn't anything he hadn't suspected already. And the reality of it didn't affect him quite as much as he supposed it would. He brought his hands up to Sawyer's shoulders and pushed him away easily. Sawyer didn't even pretend to resist.
Sawyer backed away and Jack could feel him staring at him. Finally, Jack dragged his eyes to his and was surprised by his expression. Was that regret? Or worse, pity? The irony of Sawyer was that in his need to project this image of the self-serving southern fuckoff, he never failed to wear his heart in his eyes, plain as fucking day. Jack had seen the look before, it was the one that made him feel guilty for no good reason. He hated that look.
Jack steeled himself again from seeing the actual person lurking in there somewhere. Nope, Sawyer was just a cocky son of a bitch, that's all he'd ever be.
And then, just so Sawyer would know it too, he took a swing at him. Sawyer blocked the first punch easily, catching Jack's fist in his hand. But the second punch, the one Jack threw with his left hand, caught him in the stomach. They were too close to each other for it to do much damage though. Sawyer had no physical reaction to it, but he jerked Jack's hand toward him with angry force. Jack tried unsuccessfully to wrest it from him, but he just pulled it closer.
With his free hand, Jack grabbed a fistful of Sawyer's thin, tangled hair. He jerked his head toward his and their foreheads slammed together. Jack's eyes found his. "Fuck you, Sawyer." He whispered.
Sawyer didn't say anything, just stood there squeezing the life out of Jack's hand, his own knuckles turning white with the force.
They were so close that neither one knew who moved first. Jack would have said it was Sawyer, and Sawyer would have of course said Jack. But their mouths collided almost as violently as their fists had and Sawyer finally released Jacks hand.
Their tongues and lips and hands were greedy and selfish, and the jungle grew fiercely hot around them. Jack had both his hands in Sawyer's hair, griping it so tight that later he would find strands of it wrapped around his fingers. He forced him backwards by the hair and his own weight, but followed him every step of the way. He felt puffs of Sawyer's breath on his face, felt his nose drag along the stubble on his rough cheeks.
They crashed into a large black rock and Jack reacted as if waking from a dream. He put his hands on Sawyer's chest and tried to push him away. Their mouths came apart and Jack heard him say "Fuck you back, Jack." His voice was low and carried the scratch of a thousand cigarettes.
But even as he said it, his neck was straining towards him. Sawyer grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him forward, their lips meeting again with such aggression. Jack closed his eyes and they stumbled carelessly back. Between Sawyer's traveling hands and his own, he felt his foot catch on a root, felt himself slipping, then tumbling down, but he never fell. It wasn't until much later that night, as he ran the moments over and over again in his head, that he figured out what had stopped him. At that split second, Sawyer had wrapped both arms around him and held him up. He had only kept them there an instant, just long enough for Jack to feel it. It was that tiny, seemingly insignificant gesture that would keep Jack up half the night.
He didn't know what made them stop, a mysterious noise in the jungle, or a sudden change in the light. Whatever it was, it left them standing there breathless, neither looking directly in the others eyes. Sawyer wiped his open mouth with the back of his hand. As Jack's breathing returned to normal, he looked around, searching for something to pick up, just to give him something to do, but there was nothing. He brought his hand to the back of his head and ran it along his close shorn hair. Then he mumbled something about the caves and turned to leave.
"Jack." Sawyer said and reached out to stop him, his hand stopped before touching him. Jack turned slightly and looked at him puzzled. "Aren't you forgetting something?"
Jack shook his head slightly, he had no idea what he was talking about.
"You know," He said it slow, "You were lookin for something. This ringin any bells?"
"Looking for what?" Jack asked.
Sawyer looked at him like he was crazy. "The Holy Fukin Grail. Christ, I don't know, you wouldn't tell me."
"Oh, that." Jack replied, "You probably don't have it anyway." Then he turned and walked away, leaving Sawyer baffled in the jungle.