Lost and its characters belong to JJ Abrams, Bad Robot and the Others. Borrowing to have fun with the Triangle. Sawyer feels left out by the Look. (Post season two finale.)

Lost – Distance
By Mystic
June 10th 2006
Sawyer watched her turn away from him, watched her body lean slightly to her right, and it made him burn. He waited for Jack to turn, because he knew he would, and he expected him to glance at him first, to give him some reassurance that he hadn't come all this way for nothing, but the man looked down, looked directly into her eyes and he nodded at her. Some signal to her Sawyer didn't understand. He watched the short bob of her head just before they put a bag over his and he growled when they lifted him off the ground.

Lonely was a feeling he knew all too well. He'd grown up being tossed from house to house, one relative dumping him on another, and he learned to fend for himself, to bury his insecurities so far beneath the surface he didn't know they were there. But they were. It was why he had to be the bad boy. Why he pushed her buttons, pushed everyone's buttons. No one could know what bothered him, what hurt him, because they could use it against him somehow.

They tugged at him as they walked back down the dock and into the jungle and he felt his feet stumbling over trees and rocks. No one spoke to him. The girl behind Kate occasionally cautioned her, shifting her out of harms way, but Sawyer fell, something sharp pressing into his chest as he waited for them to lift him up and shove him on. Sawyer hoped Jack was falling too. Cutting himself so she'd know he was vulnerable just like everyone else. Sawyer heard him groan something and he heard her humph something back. He didn't know how they understood each other, but somehow, he knew they did.

His foot caught the edge of a cement floor and he stumbled, his face pressing into her back, rubbing the material over his head against his cheek. It burned and he heard her shout, heard the scuffle and Jack said her name. Hers. Never mind him, lying on the ground. She managed to make out a word, Sawyer, and somehow it made him feel better, for just that second before Jack's silence. Some friend.

The bag came off just before the rope was cut between his hands and he was shoved into a room, his body colliding against someone tall and bony, someone who shoved him away just a bit before grabbing hold of his shoulder and Sawyer blinked up into Jack's face. He frowned and turned away when he saw Jack's concern. It was that fake concern, the kind doctor's give to patients to make them feel better. He smacked his arm away and walked towards the door, testing it because he'd rather concentrate his energy on that.

Sawyer ripped the rag out of his mouth, let it hang damp against his collar bone. He touched his own cheek, feeling the skin rise slightly. It wasn't broken, but it hurt to touch. He watched people outside of the room, flicked a switch near the door that illuminated them by one dim bulb that flickered as though it were only a few flicks short of death. Sawyer groaned up at it, listening to her sigh behind him. She didn't approach him, her footsteps instead shuffling closer to the wall and Jack's followed.

"Are you ok?" He heard Jack whisper. Sawyer half turned to watch him take her face in his hands and touch a spot at the corner of her mouth, where the rag had left a red mark, with his thumb.

After taking a few short breaths, she responded, "Yeah, I'm ok," her voice lighter than he'd ever heard it. More scared than he'd ever heard it.

Sawyer cocked his head to the side and sucked his teeth. "Well, Freckles, ain't gonna get any better, promise you that," Sawyer spat in her general direction, his eyes never leaving the front door.

He didn't expect her to cry. Sawyer never expected her to cry. She was Kate. Woman of the jungle. Tree climber. Boy pusher. Rock thrower. Head butt from hell. Kate. But she broke and he turned, watching her bury herself in Jack's chest, her body convulsing with tears. He started to move towards them, but Jack raised his head, a threat there.

"Sorry," he managed, his head dropping. He was never good with words. Always said the wrong thing. Somehow he never understood how much the wrong words could hurt until that moment, watching her. He never really wanted to hurt her. Toy with her, mess with her mind, turn her in circles and drop her in bed, but not hurt her.

Jack rubbed her back, letting her cry until she stood in his arms silently and Sawyer wondered if she could have fallen asleep like that, but she moved away from Jack a moment later and wiped at her eyes, her back to both of them. Sawyer knew she didn't like to look weak. When she turned back, she avoided his eyes and went back to Jack, whispering something to him. Jack lowered his head, whispered back.

They stood close together. His hand coming up to cradle her elbow, her hands gesturing around his stomach, at his sides, occasionally brushing his body, gripping his shirt, as though this were comfortable. Sawyer watched until he couldn't hear their voices anymore, until they were speaking in glances again and he slumped against the door, the odd man out.

Finis