Sorry for dropping out of action a little longer than I'd intended. A bout with some unpleasant side effects of real life.
Thank you so, so, so much for the response to the last chapters. I get so excited when there's a new review in my inbox, you wouldn't believe it. Do a little happy dance and all, I swear and then I re-read your comments obsessively, trying to take it into account when I write the next chapter.
This one dwells a bit on the relationship part. Hope you don't find it terribly dull. And oh, it's a bit shorter than the other chapters… just because it seemed good to cut where I did.
Rated M: For language and mature content…
Disclaimer: Not mine, none of it.
Another land
Another bus. But different now after they've crossed the strait between Java and Bali. From green lush jungle to a harder kind of landscape. Barren, infertile, the villages they pass, poor and struggling to stand up. People look harder too. Wiry, resilient people, watchful and suspicious of strangers.
And how they are different too.
The sense of adventure, being here, shaking along in an old bus across the eastern tip of Java. Banyuwangi, Probolinggo, Malang. Foreign unpronounceable names that make them crack up there in their seats, trying to work them around their tongues. His with an exaggerated drawl that has her spluttering her soda all across his shirt. The current sparkling, fizzling between them, exaggerated because they can't really do anything about it. An enforced inhibition breeding rebellion. Fingers that reach, trying to be discreet. Their neighbors curious, a busload of observers following their every move.
They buy snacks through the bus window. Try psyching each other into trying the most peculiar food items they can spot. Rice cakes with sugar on top, chicken feet with a spicy chili sauce, spring rolls and some kind of jelly sweets. The joy of being here with him completely overshadowing the reason why they're on this bus in the first place.
But best of all, how one part of him remains in contact with her the entire time, an arm, a hand, a shoulder, or a thigh. As if he's afraid that she'll go up in smoke otherwise. It shouldn't surprise her that he'd be like this, how physical he is. But it does. The fleeting caresses, down her arms, only to skid up again, in under her hair. Burrowing his nose against her neck. Not kissing, just smelling her. How similar they are. Both like animals, always sniffing, always trying to inhale one another. Fragrance something of comfort, something to hold onto when all other things are shaky, unreliable, fickle.
A mother and a little boy on the seat in front of them. The boy about one, trying to peak over the seat, eyes round and awake, peering at them. Ears sticking out and cheeks round and sweet. Making her ache for Aaron. Wants to reach over and touch the little plump hand on the top of the headrest. At the same time she can't stand watching him.
"It's rude to stare," Sawyer grumbles as if the kid ought to understand his burly half-assed English perfectly. The boy flashes them a dimpled grin of his own, wiping the floor clean with his little two toothed smile.
"Are you seriously telling me you want one of those," he mutters but she can see him melting. Doesn't know why, but it hurts to watch that too. She tells herself it's because she misses Aaron. It has nothing to do with them. This, whatever they are. It's so early yet, they haven't really had time to screw anything up yet. But they will. She knows they will.
"No. I just want Aaron," she says quietly. "Safe," she adds because it's not right that she should 'want' him. He's not hers.
She swallows hard and has to tear her eyes off the little boy. He tires soon and seems to settle in his mother's arms.
When she yawns, Sawyer gestures, open palms towards his lap and she accepts the invite.
"That's right, you might as well follow suit Sweetheart."
His fingers in her hair, tracing the shape of her ear. Yeah. It could be so easy. If they never spoke again, maybe they could remain like this. They way he sits there peacefully, she has the perfect view of the underside of his jaw, stubble, thousands of little hair glittering in the sunlight.
He will break her heart, she thinks. He will for sure. If she doesn't break his first.
And somehow, that's not enough to make her want to run. Wants the instant gratification of being with him, wants to be careless, stupid and throw caution to the wind. Just for a little while. And a small foolish part of her whispers; it doesn't have to end, he'll come. He won't let her go to the island alone.
"You'll be okay Sweetcheeks. I'll watch out for you. Make sure that sharp-toothed little nipper doesn't attack you in your sleep."
She reaches up to touch the tips of his hair, the way it catches the sun.
"You need a haircut."
"Yeah… I'll deal with it later."
"I can do it."
He doesn't answer, just snorts, head bobbing as if he wouldn't dream of letting her near him with a pair of scissors. Or perhaps remembering that other time, way back when. He doesn't look at her but she knows she has his full attention anyway. Falls asleep, lulled by his hand across her forehead, the warmth from his thighs, rough jeans against her cheek.
Belonging. For now.
…..
She must have turned without noticing it. Awakens with her knees drawn up, ass hanging off the seat. Staring at his belt buckle. Unmistakable bulge under her cheek. Scrambles to get up, away, back to sitting upright in her own seat. Christ. What the hell is wrong with him? Here?
"Seriously Sawyer! she hisses between teeth.
"What?" Oh, the picture of innocence.
"That!" she nods at his lap, making eyes at him. "Seriously, this turns you on!"
"Well, what the hell do you want from me? You've been lying there rubbing up against me for the last half hour. Not as if I have any control over it… 'sides, you snoring like a goddamn hog ain't such a big old turn-on you know."
"I don't snore." Pretends to be indignant, fighting not to look down into his lap again. The edge of metal buttons visible among sky blue denim, like magnets. The vision of him pushing inside her. All smooth and warm toffee, knows all the tricks in the book. And damn, he sees right through her, drawing his mouth up into a one sided smirk. She turns to look out the bus window, arms crossed over her chest. And she can't wait to get those jeans off him.
"We'll get off this damn bus soon Tigger. Let you get your bounce back..." He says and takes her hand, bending it away from her. Places it on his lap, unfurling it with his thumb. A little gesture that does nothing to calm the yearning for him. She shuts her eyes, because she can't sit staring out the window forever. The rhythmical movement of his thumb inside her palm makes her draw her knees together. God, she's no better than him. Has to keep her wits about her but impossible in his company. And as soon as she starts relaxing, he leans in, his breath blowing strands of hair across her ear, whispering:
"Hang in there, we're getting off at the next stop Princess."
There shouldn't to be anything arousing about it, but it is. Thumb gliding up her wrist, seeming somewhat indecent. Impossible not to look at him. Turns her face towards him and his lips are so close, but off limits. Later. Later.
'Soon baby', he mouths, that pointed upper lip, eyes closing and opening again slowly. Like a cat reassuring you everything is okay. It's hard not to let him get to you when he's like that. Eyes that could melt a glacier and the smile, the smile.
Maybe it's the fact that he's hers now. Never thought of a man in those terms before. Hers. Never had this possessive streak, not like this. Impatience making it unbearable to wait. Wants to find a hotel, peal him out of denim and cotton, take him. The way he smiles, eyes crinkling up, laughter lines exaggerated in the strong sunlight.
Can't quite believe this. How she just floats along with this, with him. It won't last. And she refuses to look at it now, their situation, breakable and temporary at the best. Wants to forget all the things that should make this impossible. She'll deal with it later, not now when everything is about him. And her.
…
It's past midday when they arrive at Lumajang, a little provincial city on the Eastern part of Java. The sun is straight above them beating down mercilessly. He lifts his bag up, takes her hand in a steady grip and makes his way off the bus with her. This bus station is the same chaotic mess as the previous one.
His large figure in front of her. The back of his shirt stained dark from perspiration and his hair messy and a bit matted. Can't help staring at the way his buttocks move underneath the jeans. God. She's got to get a grip.
"Hey Freckles… I ain't sure but I have a feeling we should just keep moving," he says plowing through the crowded waiting lines.
She can't help it, the disappointment. Can't wait much longer. Needs him, needs to satisfy the unbearable yearning for him, his skin, his hands. But he's right, the further they go, the better. Safer. When she doesn't answer, he casts a glance back at her, that sly wink he throws her.
"Hang in there Sugartop, I'll get you alone soon enough," he smiles and she pretends that he didn't hit the nail on the head. How her heart picks up speed and how her cheeks heat up. His words like a promise and she knows already how it will be. His hand, large and a little slippery squeezing hers. "Come along, I've got an idea,"
…
He finds he's suddenly obsessed with the idea of arranging their own transportation. He argues that they can spare the money and that it'd be a whole lot safer not to have to rely on public transportation, especially seeing as how catching a plane would be impossible for them. Well, for her. Who knows how much coverage Interpol's wanted criminals might get in a place like this?
In any case, he's got a hair-brained dream of a road trip with her. Wants her, alone with him. Not with a straggle of other passenger, watching their every move. Annoying kids staring at them across bus seats, making her eyes sad. Imagines they might talk, might get closer, open up on the way. Nothing like mile after mile of monotonous highway for making people spill the beans.
They walk around town, sweating like pigs in a clay pot. Start out at a car repair shop just around the corner from the bus station. Snoop around best they can, asking where anyone would buy a car without the proper documents. No one speaks English and everyone plays dumb. After hours of searching, they are hooked up with a somewhat sleazy fellow who brings them in his van to a scrap yard. They pay fifteen million Rupiah for a shitty two hundred year old Toyota in a puke brown color that cleverly disguises the rust. But it starts and they really can't afford anything fancy. The guy brings them back to the bus station in it, to show that it's in working order and it's already quite late in the afternoon when they throw their luggage in the backseat.
He sinks into the drivers seat and just about has a heart attack when she slides into the seat next to him and proceeds to untie the damn sweat shirt. It's so hot and her shirt is sticking to her as if someone has dozed her with a bucket of water. And god, the way her jeans fit her like a second skin. He could just kick himself for not checking into the nearest hotel. Let some steam off. She looks like she could need it too.
"Sorry Sawyer, I can't wear this any longer. It's stupid."
"It ain't stupid and you ain't walking around like that here girl! You don't wanna' shock the locals. A good bit religious in this neck of the woods ya' know."
…
She suspects that's not his only concern.
"Okay smartass, if you're suddenly so culturally sensitive, what do you suggest I put on? Still a bit miffed that they are here and not lying entangled in clean sheets in some cool hotel room, sated, mellow and sleepy eyed. She gestures towards her crummy plastic bag collection in the back and he smirks as he dives in, rejecting a bunch of tight little t-shirts, muttering something about clothes for an eight-year old and what a sick sonofabitch would pick something like this out.
"Here, this you can wear." Proudly shoves a floral dress in her hands. The red-neck in him completely taking over.
"This!" She balks a little because as prude as he's proving to be, she wouldn't have bet on this being his first choice. "I'm pretty sure that's a nightgown Sawyer."
"Yeah, so? It's perfect."
"Perfect for what James?" She holds it up with her index finger and thumb. It's the type of nightie that someone's old bearded aunt would wear. "Is this the way it's going to be now? You're going to get in a hissy fit about everything I wear?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
She struggles with the nightie, pulling it over her top and it snags over head in the tight confines of the car seat and he helps her. Yanks it down and even buttons the frumpy thing all the way up to her throat. It reaches her almost to the knees and that ought to be decent enough for him. Would be nice to get out of those jeans actually. But when she reaches under it to unbutton her jeans, lifting her hips up and wiggling to get out of them, he stops her. Shaking his head.
"No. No way. Those stay 'on' Sugarbuns."
"Seriously James, what am I? A Bedouin refugee? Next you'll suggest a head scarf!"
"Ain't a bad idea Freckles, glad you mentioned it. We'll get you one later." He looks her up and down, where she sits fuming in the seat next to him. He nods, seemingly tremendously satisfied with the result. "Not too bad. Wouldn't wanna' give some horny old goat a heart attack, would we now?"
"The only horny old goat here, is you," she grumbles and fiddles around with the rearview mirror. Making herself at home in their brand new ride.
"Yeah, got that one right Sugarplum," he drawls and looks at her. "Just thinking how much fun it'll be to get you out of all that stuff later."
Those dimples, she imagines he's had them surgically incised. Doesn't know why on earth she does every damn thing he asks her, but somehow, it feels good to have him fuss about her like this. And she's pretty sure he's enjoying it too. Watching her as she braids her hair, just to get it away from her face. Too hot to let it hang loose.
He glows, literally glows as if someone has put something shiny inside of him, just beneath the skin. His hands that don't stay away. Touches her in one way or another, the whole time. Pretends to help her put on her seat belt, sliding fingers by her arms, her hands. His breath hot on her cheek as he leans over.
….
They hit the road and make their way into the swarm of vehicles. And Lumajang is a relatively small city, but they don't get more than four blocks down the road before Sawyer has to admit defeat. Pulling over on the side of the busy street.
"If we're gonna' kill ourselves, I reckon I'd much rather go down drinking," He scrambles to get out of the drivers seat. Gives the old heap a well-deserved kick for good measure.
"Here, throw me the keys!" she quips." I'll give it a shot."
She all but hops up and down. All excited and cute as a button. Shit, this has to stop. This salivating as he looks at her.
"The hell you are Sweets. I like you well enough, you ain't meeting your maker yet."
He picks up his smokes while glaring at the crowd gathering beside the car. A gang of middle aged men, all in head caps and sarongs, prayer mats thrown casually across shoulders like fancy fashion accessories.
"Aw come on! Don't be such a male chauvinist pig Sawyer… give me here!"
And how could he not. The way she stands there, all gung-ho, bright shiny eyes. Her hair pulled into a braid on her back like a good schoolgirl, the dress over the jeans, hah, just pure genius. Not a curve visible as far as the eye can see.
The old men nod and mumble around the car. Pointing at it, shaking their heads, clicking their tongues in a half mocking-half sympathetic manner. The universal sign for 'you've been had, you miserable son of a bitch'.
"All we could afford, alright!" he snaps and gives them the kind of look that ought to disperse a pack of rabid dogs, but does nothing for these calm gentlemen.
"Get in already!" She's in the driver's seat and he realizes that it isn't a matter of discussion. Rounds the car and hops in on the passenger side and solemnly hands her the keys.
"Alright then. Show me what you got, you daredevil. My life is in your hands."
She turns the ignition, the whole wreck takes a frog-leap forward, and he almost hits his chin on the dashboard.
"Woops, sorry…"
But five minutes later, it's smooth sailing and he is shaking his head in disbelief. Who'd have thought? Left hand traffic to boot. Trucks, motorbikes, people, bicycles and goddamn chicken. They don't deter her. Tough as old boots, like she's been doing this her whole life. The air conditioning on full blast and it's almost a breathable temperature inside the car now. And he, so miserably head over heels pathetically in love with her. Wants to kiss her. Would have launched himself on her had he not so desperately wanted to live another day, another night with her. See what another morning might bring.
"Tonight Sugar, tonight I wanna' get drunker than a peach orchard boar," he says looking at her next to him in her ridiculous outfit. Yeah, she was probably right. That must be a nightgown. Figure Jack for packing sexy daytime clothes and off-putting aunty-nigthies. He's got brains, gotta' give him that.
"Yeah. Me to."
They leave the worst behind, but even the country road is fraught with danger. Kids and goats and bull carts seemingly coming out of nowhere. They pass a market, teeming with people and creatures.
"Christ, everybody and their uncle on the road today," he mutters because hell, it's a mess.
"What is this Sawyer…?" she says as she makes a sharp swerve to the left, marginally avoiding smashing into an old lady carrying a huge bamboo crate with fruit.
"What Honey?" What is what?" His heart in his throat. Christ. If they don't kill anyone it'll be a miracle. Kids running after the goddamn car, shouting 'londo, londo' and waving happily. Mothers nursing their babies, openly while peddling their vegetables. Plump brown breasts exposed to the world as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And he guesses it is. A tiny bit odd, coupled with the colorful headscarves. The people running hither and dither, bad enough, throw in bikes and motorcycles and a flock of ducks and shit, it's a goddamn circus.
"Cut it out. You know damn well what I'm talking about… You and… me. What is this?"
"It's whatever you want it to be Darling."
She wants to define them now. And he could just scream with joy. Maybe they are catching up, coming together. For real. They grind to a halt as an old man herds his livestock across the narrow street. People taking the opportunity to offer their goods running sidelong the car. He buys a bottle of water from a fellow with a black head-cap and teeth crumbling like ancient brickwork.
"Yeah well, jeez, that's really helpful Sawyer!" she snaps. Her jaw like a little baby alligator's. Tense and deadly. Changing gears like a goddamn pro.
"You know what it is. You ain't got to ask." He pours the honey on. Wants her to probe him some more. Loves that she cares enough to fret about it. That she wants his confirmation. She sits quietly for a while. Obviously not satisfied with this cop-out of an answer. He takes pity on her.
"Look, ain't nothing sure here. For us. But I reckon that this, you and me, right now might be as good as it gets." Wants to say, come hell or high water, he'll be here. But it's so damn hard. The lie by omission lingering, oxidizing the air between them. He won't let her come with him to the island. Will cheat her out of it. His most loving con ever. He twists the cap off the water and offers it to her. She declines with a swift shake of her head, so he takes a swig himself. The water is cool and clean and delicious in the heat.
"So why haven't you said it?" Grumpy, eyes stubbornly on the road. As they should be. Hell, he has no wish to end up in some flea-infested country hospital in the outskirts of Java. They hit a pothole and bump their head on the ceiling, throwing them off a little. Water spilling out all over his denims so that it looks like he's pissed himself.
"What? Said what?" Trying to pat it dry with the edge of his shirt.
"You know."
And he was right. Well sort of. It's not the boring highway that makes her talk, open up. It's the fun of zigzagging breathlessly through the traffic from hell, on the verge of an anxiety attack.
"I don't know what's with you… and honestly I'm a bit put off by it. What about a truly horrible life-threatening traffic situation, makes you wanna' exchange heated love declarations?"
She snorts, too hard he guesses since she brings up the back of her hand to wipe her nose. Disgusting and cuter than a speckled pup. A man shoving a live chicken against their window as if to illustrate his point.
"I don't know. It's kind of hot…"
"Yeah. Sure it is! If you're a goddamn freak!" She meets his eyes and smiles, as if he's just told her she's the most gorgeous woman in the world. And she is. She is.
They leave the hectic market place behind and the road ahead is somewhat more peaceful, only the odd meeting truck or bus, driving as if their tires are on fire, forcing her to pull over to let them pass.
"You miss her?" she asks biting her bottom lip and he's starting to regret the whole road trip idea. Far too much talking.
"What?" He pretends he has no idea who she's talking about, scratches his stubble and fakes a smile.
"Juliet? Do you miss her?" She looks at him, a little insecure and he can't believe she doesn't know better by now. Wants to tell her not to take her eyes off the goddamn road instead of sitting there ogling him.
"What the…? Why are you asking me that now?" he groans when he realizes that there is no getting out of it.
"I just want to know." That stubborn look she's got. Mouth tight and eyes darting back and forward between him and the road.
"Yeah, well… it was easy."
"And this? We?"
He has to laugh at that, a stupid uncontrollable chuckle that sounds like someone's grandpa.
"Yeah well, you are many things sweetheart but easy ain't one of them."
Love you, you goddamn idiot. And he should say it but to hell with it.
She drops it and they let silence rule inside the car. The air conditioning coughs like it's on its deathbed and then just gives up, spewing a last cloudy spray of Freon before it curls up and dies. Making them laugh, a spontaneous what-the-fuck kind of laughter at their goddamn luck. They roll down their windows and the air is still scorching hot. He leans out on his elbow, breathing in the air of steaming hot nature.
The fertile fields of Java, paddy knee-deep in water, messy banana plantations and patches of jungle. Beyond lies the emerald green steep slopes, reaching for the majestic slate gray volcanoes. Everything warm, wet and green. Java and her, they go together, something about them that breathes strength and mystical attraction. The steering wheel is glossy from her sweaty palms, and her face is flushed, looking like it's a piece of wax about to melt. Reaches over to touch her leg. Gliding his palm over her jean-clad thigh. Letting it rest there. And she doesn't brush it off.
"James… What do we do now?"
"We run. Right? We get the hell out of here and we keep moving." He lifts his hand up snakes it behind her neck, in under the plait. Spreads his fingers wide to caress the nape of her neck. Sweaty and sticky and somewhat too frail beneath his hand.
"Where?" The voice, almost like a purr. Oh she's like a cat, the way she presses her neck backwards against his hand. Her eyes on the road. But he, he can look at her all he wants. How her face is tinted pink from the low sun. A warm peachy pink that makes her look young and innocent.
"Hell, I ain't the one with fugitive experience. I don't know. Wherever you wanna' go Sweetheart."
"Somewhere safe," she says under her breath.
Yeah, hell yeah. It'll have to be safe as hell. She's his. Won't let anything happen to her.
"Some big place, lots of people and confusion. A big city," he says, trying to sound as if he knows the least thing about what it will take to keep her safe.
"How long do you think it's gonna' be? Before Hurley's set up?"
It better be long. Better be months and months so that he has more time. Has to get to her, get her so tied down, so invested in him that this little deception won't matter. He needs time.
"Reckon it'll take a while, it's a hell of an operation he's trying to pull."
How long will they be able to keep this up? Not even a full day on the road and he's so caught up in her. He already dreads that phone call from Hurley. The 'we're set and ready to go' which will inevitably mean the end to them. The end to this.
That jump off the helicopter. Hell, he'd paced back and forward in his ugly little Dharma house more nights than he cares to remember. Wondering if he did the right thing. If it had been worth it. And still, he knows, even in hindsight, that he did it for her and he'd do it again in a heartbeat. The going back to island, without her, it's just how it will have to be. She has to be safe. All else irrelevant.
"Are you coming?" Small timid voice. Shit. Her question too direct, gives him no legroom to maneuver out if it.
"I don't know," he mumbles. She takes him completely off guard when she pulls his hand away from her neck and brings it to her face. A strangely sweet little gesture, kissing his injured knuckles gently.
"I'm… Thank you James… for this…" she says in a curiously courteous manner turning his hand over. Sniffing the inside of his palm, making him slide it across her cheek. Christ, he's so ruined, it's not even funny. Has to withdraw his fingers from her. Fears it will show through, how utterly fucked he is.
"My pleasure baby… any time…" he says to cover it up. Pretending to be sly and flip about it all. As if she couldn't just crush his stupid heart between her fingers. He's so frail now. And god, it has to settle down soon, he has to get this out of his system. He looks forward to the time when he can regard this as mundane, her and him, not be in such a state about it.
He closes his eyes and leans back against the headrest. She's humming something, out of tune for sure. Hell, he doesn't know and he doesn't care. Happiness. This is how it feels. Complete and unpolluted. Just him and her. Nowhere to go. No future.
He imagines how it'll be once they get to a hotel. They'll look for some poky little place , small and homely, will ask to see the room before they make up their mind. Pretending to be choosy when really, he'd sleep in a goddamn dumpster if only she were with him.
The room will be nothing special, but they'll be so needy it won't matter.
He'll register them as Mr. and Mrs. Sawyer, just to tease her. Will watch with satisfaction how she rolls her eyes at him when she cranes her neck to read it over his shoulder. Her face so near he might just turn his head a little and kiss her. He'll sign the guest book with a flourish and pay the clerk in raw cash for one night only.
He can even see the rest, how his eyes will be on her slim hips as she moves up the stairs ahead of him, hair swinging on her back, dragging all of those plastic bags. It's so vivid, techno color clear, the red shoes on her feet. That he bought her.
It'll be warm inside, stuffy and smell funny, but it won't matter. Not to him. He'll take a quick detour to the windows, slam them wide open to the street. Imagines the smell of barbequed meat and spices rising, wafting in from the vendors beneath. He'll swivels around to catch her, his hands ready to grip her hips.
Wants to pleasure her, six ways from Sunday and then some. So that when all goes to hell, she'll remember this and think that she can't live without it. Will forgive him when he dumps her, tricks her out of going back to the island. Because that's what's going to happen.
That song she's humming, it sounds familiar. Realizes that she's trying to string together 'It's a man's world' and not quite succeeding. Bizarrely soothing how she doesn't hit a tone right.
"I love you."
Startling. What's worse, that it's 'his' voice. Hoarse as if he's trying to clear the pipes out. And her, all smug at the wheel when he wedges open one eye to inspect the damage. Grinning, baring front teeth and pulling her nose up at him.
"What? Didn't hear you…" Like the cat that got the cream. All that hair coming loose from her plait. The wind playing with the little stringy strands. And irritating sort of dance across her face, some sticking to her glossy forehead. He doesn't want her wiping them away, letting go of the steering wheel all if the time. He leans over to do it for her, tucking a stray strand behind her ear. Taking the opportunity to touch her cheek. Hot and flushed with life.
"Too bad then Jitterbug 'cause that's all you get today," he mutters. Sits back in his seat again, shutting his eyes. Her snigger warms him to the core. A flush of heat that can be felt up and down his spine and has nothing to do with the sweltering temperature of the car. But he said it. It's out.
Not that it could have been big news to her. Far from it.
…..
"Sawyer…"
"Mmmm."
Please say we're there and that there is a big nice bed waiting for us around the next corner, he thinks.
"That… that doesn't look good. Does it?"
His eyes pop open and it takes a while for him to focus on whatever it is she is indicating. The smoke rising from the engine, an angry lead gray cloud of it.
"Oh fuck it. Jeez, just pull over already Freckles!"
She does, so fast and jerkily, he finds himself with his cheek almost pressed against the windscreen. They scatter out, each on their side to inspect the coil of smoke and the fizzling sound, wheezing out from under the hood like a dying beast.
"Shit." She pops it open and the dumb thing is literally boiling. Trucks keep rushing by them, kicking up large dust clouds that have them coughing. No one stops. It's late now, near dusk and shit. What a great old idea this was.
"Worthless piece of shit. They must be laughing their asses off back there."
"Yeah probably."
"Up the river without a goddamn paddle. Ain't this just great!"
He takes a seat on a large boulder by the roadside, knows jackshit about cars. Picks up his smokes instead. When in doubt, smoke. She looks none too pleased. Leaning over the engine as if she knows what she's doing. Yeah, well, she worked the car pool at Dharma for all of one day. Perhaps she'd managed to pick something up.
Finds himself wishing for Juliet. She'd know what to do with the old wreck. Too bad she's shacked up in Miami with a creep called Goodwin and not stuck on a dust road in the blistering heat of Java. He drags on his cigarette, fascinated by the sight of her. Stripes of black across her face where she's wiped the sweat away, poking gingerly in the engine. Doesn't look like she knows what the hell she's doing either. Hates the look of defeat when she slams the hood closed.
"I have no idea what's wrong with it," she says drawing her underarm across her shiny face. And he doesn't really care. Wants to lie down with her, somewhere cool, close his eyes and pull her close, so close it'd feel like they were made from one cloth.
She tries starting it but the hacking sewing machine-like sound doesn't seem promising even to his uninitiated ears.
"Screw it then, let's hitch a ride to nearest town then Peanut."
She just nods and they get their gear out of the backseat. He crouches on the side of the road and tries packing most of her things into his duffel bag. Enjoys the sight of the girly underwear mixed with his tee's and boxers. Like they belong together. The newness of it.
Aaron's blanket he tucks deep down when she turns away towards the road, keeping watch for meeting cars. He doesn't want to see it for a while, doesn't want her to see it either.
They stand sheepishly looking at the stupid brown heap of garbage. As if looking at it alone could fix it right up again. Damn it, they'd survived on that crazy island long enough, he doesn't understand why it feels so daunting to start the walk down this little road lined with banana trees, palms and lush undergrowth.
"It's going to be dark soon, we better get going," he says, hoists the bag up on his shoulder and pulls his arm around her waist. Not a very effective way of walking. But he just needs it.
The air is cooling down and the color of the sky above the volcano slopes is a ridiculous shade of Egyptian blue. So blue you'd think someone had painted it with ink. The cicadas make a racket in the banana groves and he can feel the mosquitoes picking up their game too. Probably aiming for her, succulent like a sun ripe peach. Hell, he would if he were a goddamn bloodsucker.
"Sawyer…"
Still can't work his mind around it. When he is Sawyer and when he deserves a 'James'.
"Yep Honey bug, you got something on your mind?"
"No… Well, yeah… This was a pretty good day," she says and fires off one of those toothy smiles that makes him loose his balance a little.
He laughs because it was anything but. It was a shitty day from start to finish but he is with her, so how bad can it be?
And foolish, foolish thoughts. That maybe with him, she can move on. Or with thousands of hours on the couch of some shrink or a whole lot of alcohol, damned if he knows. But maybe little by little, that shit that they can never talk about, who she is, will fade away and the good memories will outnumber the bad ones. He likes the thought of that. Of simple mathematics conquering her past.
"It's not all bad... And we ain't killed each other yet. Who'd have thought huh?"
To walk like this, he tucks her in closer to him, making her stumble a little and smells her openly, just pushes his nose into her hair and sniffs like a dog. Something sweet, something salty, a little sweaty too. But it's good. It's all good.
"Yeah, who'd have thought…" Her little affirmation. Like squeezing water from a stone, but he reckons if anyone can, it's him. How she slows him down a little, stands up on her toes and he knows what's coming. God, in spite the awkward angle and the fact that he must smell like a raccoon to her, she kisses him. A light sweeping kiss that honestly stirs up far less innocent thoughts than it should. Tries to hold her there but knows that he has to stop it. Not the time and place for swooning.
She pulls back again with a last little peck on his cheek and they walk on in silence, throwing glances between them. Just the sound of shoes crunching against the road and not a goddamn truck as far as the eye can see now that they need one.
And it's almost dark when they see the silhouettes of people approaching from afar. Feeling ridiculously relieved when they get close enough to see that it's two men pulling a buffalo cart, and two walking behind it. Just about to say 'howdy' when he notices that the two fellows in the back are looking anything but friendly. Eyes large and white against harshly dark leathery faces, and what's more; brandishing crude-looking machetes.
"Eh… Freckles, hope you don't mind parting with a bit of Hurley's dough..."
"No. Not at all," she breathes next to him, pulling away a little.
…..
Reviews are cherished, good or bad. I know the pace was a bit slow in this chapter tried to give them a little time for awkwardness. Being on the road in a place where they can't just give into the attraction.
