He wakes up too early and that damn song is stuck in his head. Sawyer shuts his eyes, willing himself back to sleep, but it's a loosing battle and he knows it. So he sits up in bed, notices there's no random red head next to him, and realizes what day it is. He rubs his temples and sits in bed a little longer than necessary. Then he shrugs and gets up, heading toward the shower. On his way there he stumbles over a few days worth of dirty clothes, an empty carton of cigarettes and, inexplicably, a copy of Vogue (maybe not so inexplicably).

He sings Johnny Cash in the shower. He'll never know why, but every January 16th, he wakes up with that song rattling around in his head. He thinks it must be true. Love is a burning thing, otherwise how could he love so hard and hurt so bad so long after she's been gone?

He gets out of the shower, finds some cleanish jeans, and tries to think of something to do to kill the next 12 hours.

What he really wants is a drink. Bad.

Any other day, he'd get himself one. Maybe make himself a Bloody Mary and call it breakfast. But not today. Today, he has to wait for Jack. He knows if he doesn't wait, he'll never make it out of the house. So he pads barefoot into the kitchen, and instead of making a Bloody Mary, he makes himself a big steaming pot of really bad, really strong coffee.

He stands at the counter waiting for the coffee to percolate and missing her more than he cares to admit.

After the coffee brews, he wanders aimlessly to the living room, just as filthy as every other room, and plops on the couch. Hot coffee spills over the side of the mug and onto his fingers and he curses himself. He reaches beneath him into the couch cushions and pulls out an old black shoe. For a second, he wonders how it got there, then he realizes he just doesn't care. He chucks it towards the door on the other side of the room, then settles back into the couch. Before he takes his first sip, he holds the cup up and mummers "Here's to you, Sweetheart." There's an edge in his voice, as though he thinks he's being absurd. He takes a swig and burns his tongue on the coffee.

"Fk."

-------------------------

He was the one who found her. Jack wasn't far behind him, but he had come upon her first. She hadn't even been missing for that long, a few hours maybe.

Were it not for the awkward way her neck was twisted, she could have been taking a cat nap in the fading sun. Her grey bag lay of to the side and pieces of fruit were scattered about like constellations.

The way she died was so pedestrian, so soul burningly dull, that it inspired anger in him. She would have hated to die that way. Jack said it had probably happened so fast that she didn't know what was going on, at least there was that.

Jack did his doctor thing and immediately knelt by her side, searching in vain for any sign of life. But Sawyer knew immediately. Truth be told, so did Jack, he was just going through the motions.

Not knowing what else to do, his brain a mush of incoherent thought, Sawyer had gathered the bruised fruit and placed it back in her bag. How ridiculous was that?

------------------------

Jack's late. He always is. Who knows how long he'll be if there was an emergency at the hospital. Sawyer doesn't wait for him anymore and orders a shot from the pretty blond waitress. If Jack wasn't meeting him here, he would have sat at the bar, but he knows Jack's usually uncomfortable in this place, so he chose the back booth for his sake. That, and this isn't the sort of reunion you want to have in front of the Moe Szyslak's of the world.

While he waits, he tries to imagine the world with her still in it. He can't anymore. He tries to imagine her sitting next to him and they're waiting for Jack and his wife to meet them for dinner. Whats her name? Abby? Ally? Something with an A, he knows that at least. But the whole thing is too ridiculous and the fantasy doesn't go very far. He chides himself for even trying.

First of all, if he had her next to him, no way in hell they'd be waiting for Jack. No way they'd even be in this seedy bar. Besides, he knew if she was still in this world, Jack never would have gotten married anyway. He would have held out till the bitter end, and so would Sawyer. He'd done it anyway.

When Jack finally gets there, he can tell he's worried about him. It irritates the hell out of him. He wants to tell him he's fine just so he stops fixing him with that concerned doctor look, but he says nothing. Telling Jack that he's fine would be telling Jack a lie. He hasn't lied to Jack in six years and he's not about to start now. Not even if the lie would make them both feel better.

Tonight isn't about feeling better anyway. For him it's about feeling worse.

Later in the night, after the pretty waitress that eyes him like a kid in a candy store has brought them a couple more rounds, it seems like it might be the right time. Sawyer looks at Jack and asks "Ready?"

Jack nods and they both hold up their drinks. They say "Kate" at the same time and clink their glasses together. It's the first and only time they say her name tonight. As the shot burns down Sawyer's throat, he closes his eyes and thinks of the same thing he thinks every year at this moment. He thinks about her at that fire the night before he left on the raft. To this day, he has never seen anyone quite as beautiful as she was that moment. He curses himself for those nasty words he said. But he knows, even if he had somehow known how it would all end, he never could have said anything else. He thinks to himself the same thing he thinks every year. "Neither of us deserved her anyway."

He looks at Jack, lost in his own memory of the girl they both lost and his heart burns.

-----------------------

"You alright getting home? You didn't drive did you?" Jack asks him as they both throw crumpled bills on the table.

Sawyer shakes his head as he stumbles a little and shoves his wallet in his back pocket. "I'm good." He says.

"You know, we can get together more than once a year. Wouldn't kill us to do that." Sawyer suppresses a smile as he watches Jack struggle with his coat.

"Sure thing, Doc." Sawyer says and he can feel himself smile. He doesn't know why he lies now when he was so against it before. Probably because he knows Jack knows he's lying.

"She'd like that." Jack says, and he knows that's true.

"Ain't that the truth." He says, but Sawyer knows if he and Jack had to put up with each other more than one day a year, neither of them would be able to do it. Nope, this is good enough, this one day a year so neither of them has to bear it alone.

"See you then." Jack says. Sawyer nods again and he can feel Jack's eyes follow him as he heads out the door.