This fic is not for Lost Riffs, but for someone that I promised it to. I'll be writing my contribution to the party a little later, as I am feeling ill and need to lie down.

Title: Stay
Rating: PG
Summary: Follow up to My Brother's Keeper; He had bought this house, with Jack. He had picked out half the furniture. He’d lived in it for almost a year. And yet, somehow, he felt unwelcome, like he had no right to be there anymore.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: For gemjam, who participated in a meme, asking me what happened next, which caused me to want to write a fic about it.



“Sawyer, you have to go inside sometime.”

He turned to face Claire, who sat patiently in the passenger seat of the car with her hands on her protruding stomach and a soft expression on her face. He knew she was still pissed at him, that she was covering it up because now wasn’t the time. Jack wasn’t the only one who’s forgiveness he had to earn back.

“I know.”

He turned back to the house, stared at the door like something was keeping him in that car. He hadn’t even taken his seatbelt off.

“Sawyer…”

“I’m goin’, I’m goin’.”

Sawyer climbed from the car on stiff legs and watched Claire exit through the passenger side door and rounded the car, coming to a stop in front of him.

“Are you sure you can make it home?”

She smiled, nodded.

“I got to you, didn’t I?”

He had to smile at that, to nod back.

“Yeah. You did.”

“Go inside, Sawyer.”

“I am.”

She reached for the door handle, pulled it open and adjusted the seat so that she could fit inside.

“I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He reads the message loud and clear: I am too tired to yell at you now. I will call you tomorrow and finish ripping you a new one.

“Okay.”

She nodded slowly, turned on the car and put her hands on the wheel.

“ ‘Night Sawyer. Good luck.”

“Yeah, thanks.”

Sawyer watched her back out of the driveway, pull out onto the street, disappear around the corner. He didn’t know why he was still waiting, why he felt like some invisible force was keeping him outside. He had bought this house, with Jack. He had picked out half the furniture. He’d lived in it for almost a year. And yet, somehow, he felt unwelcome, like he had no right to be there anymore.

He sighed, shoving his hand into his pocket and reached for his keys. He paused once more before taking a deep breath and pushing the key into the lock, turning the handle and stepping inside.

It was quiet, and dark. Not a single lamp was on, not even the TV. The image of Jack getting drunk in the dark in the middle of the night stuck in his head and tormented him, weighed on him as he searched the first floor and thanked god when he didn’t find Jack passed out on the ground.

He did, however, find several empty liquor bottles and many, many beer bottles on the kitchen counter. He swiped them into the recycling can as quickly and quietly as he possibly could before walking up the stairs and pushing the bedroom door open.

There he was, laying on his stomach with the blanket barely covering him up at all. He had most likely collapsed into bed and fallen to sleep within a matter of seconds.

Sawyer still felt like an intruder, still felt like he had no right to be standing here, looking at Jack like this, looking at Jack at all, but seeing the damage he has done first hand, seeing the way that he has caused Jack to not only fall off the wagon but land on his head, kept him there, made him even more determined to earn back Jack’s trust, his forgiveness. He’d made a mess of Jack, and there was no way he was just going to leave him like this. The house may not have felt like his home anymore, but Jack still did.

He sat on the edge of his side of the bed, which felt cold and stiff. Jack didn’t move, didn’t even shift in his sleep. Sawyer could almost see the tattoo on his shoulder blade, even in the dark, and though he knew that he shouldn’t, he reached out and ran his fingers over it, tracing the lines with the tip of his finger before running his whole hand down the muscles of Jack’s back. The man in question shifted in his sleep, against Sawyer’s hand, but didn’t wake up.

Sawyer couldn’t not smile. He couldn’t not lean over, kiss the raised notches of Jack’s spine until he reached his neck, then lean his forehead against it and wait. A moment later Jack stirred, turned his head and squinted. Sawyer raised his head then, but still couldn’t manage to look Jack in the eyes.

“Sawyer?”

His voice was raspy, a combination of the after-effects of alcohol and sleep.

“Yeah, baby, it’s me.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed a bit and Sawyer could practically see his mind working. He braced himself for a punch to the face, a demand that he leave the house, and whatever was coming to him, he knew he would deserve it. Jack reached out, ran his hands over Sawyer’s face, into his hair. He smiled at that, caught Jack’s hand and held it loosely.

“Are you really here?”
Sawyer let go of Jack’s hand and rested his chin on Jack’s shoulder blade. He looked up at him softly, nodded as well as he could manage.

“I’m here.”

With a deep breath and a groan, Jack sat up, even though every muscle in his body protested. Sawyer followed, facing Jack and leaning against the headboard of the bed. Jack blinked at him a few times, as if he was still trying to figure out of this was all just an alcohol induced dream or not. Sawyer waited.

“If I had the energy, I would punch you right now.”

There is no malice what-so-ever behind Jack’s words, even though there is every reason for there to be. Sawyer couldn’t help it; he laughed. Jack ducked his head, smiling through his fatigue.

“I’d deserve it.”

Jack didn’t offer him comfort or forgiveness, not yet, but he didn’t nod either. He just stared at the blanket, the sheets, before looking up at Sawyer, into his eyes.

“You left.”

Sawyer nods.

“I came back.”

“Why?”

He looked away from Jack’s eyes again, but he didn’t let his gaze wander that far.

“Because I realized something.”

Jack nodded.

“What’s that?”

Sawyer took a deep breath.

“I love you more than I hate him.”

For what seems like forever to Sawyer, neither of them said a work. Jack just took deep breaths in and out, trying to process everything that had happened in the last ten minutes. He only remembered patches of the night, liquor having obliterated most of it. He remembered finishing off what was left of the various bottles in the liquor cabinet – which had actually been a lot easier to jimmy open then he would have thought – and the first few beers, and then nothing until Sawyer’s lips traveling up his back and coming to rest at the top of his spine.

He wanted to say something, to somehow let Sawyer know what his admission meant to him, for them, but the fact that he just couldn’t seem to find the right words in combination with the dull anger that was stubbornly clinging to his insides kept his mouth shut.

Sawyer sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“Look, Doc, I ain’t gonna try to defend myself. I probably can’t. And if you wanna throw me out on the curb, well, you’ve got every right.”

Jack sighed and looked up at Sawyer. He was staring at the blanket and sheets, nervously fidgeting with the hem of the heavy comforter just so he had something to do with his hands. Jack reached out, grabbed his hand and squeezed. Sawyer looked up then, found Jack’s eyes and held his gaze.

“I don’t want you to go.”

Sawyer swallowed, hard.

“You sure?”

“Sawyer, do you want me to throw you out?”

He shrugged.

“I deserve it.”

Jack shrugged back.

“That’s not what I want. I want you to stay. Please stay.”

“I ain’t goin’ nowhere Jack.”

He nodded slowly. Sawyer knew he was skeptical, that he had every right to be, but he watched Jack lay back down against the pillows and he knew that Jack meant it, that he wanted him to stay, that he still wanted him in his house, in his bed, in his life, despite the mess he’d made of all three. He laid down slowly, almost as if he was waiting for the rug to be pulled out from under him, but when his body was laid out along the bed, when he was so close to Jack he could feel his body heat, hear his breath, he knew he was welcomed, that he was home.

“I drank all your beer.”

“I noticed.”

“A year and three months…”

Sawyer nodded. As long as he had known Jack, he had never seen him touch anything with alcohol in it. It wasn’t until they were back in the real world, that they were out to dinner one night, that Jack had told him about his alcoholism. It made sense, in hindsight, especially given how he had met the elder Dr. Shephard, but he had to admit, it wasn’t something he saw coming.

Sawyer had watched Jack closely, helped him through the rare moments that when he had felt close to a relapse, and now...now he had shot it all to hell.

“It’ll be okay, Doc. I threw it all out, and tomorrow we’ll just...start over.”

Jack nodded, yawning, and finally letting his eyes droop closed.

“Yeah. Okay.”

Sawyer watched his chest rise and fall, watched his face, still and peaceful. He looked so…well, there really was no other word than perfect. He wanted to let him drift away, allow him to fall asleep in peace this time, but his guilt won’t stop nagging him.

“You sure you don’t want me to sleep on the couch or something?”

Jack reached out blindly, his hand clamping around Sawyer’s upper arm and pulling him closer, until they were face to face.

“No.”

Sawyer smiled.

“Okay.”

He pulled back for a fraction of a second, turning on his side and pressing his back into Jack’s chest. Jack’s arm wrapped around his waist, securely, and Sawyer leaned back into him, making sure there was little to no space left between them.

“There. Good?”

Jack let out a small, content noise against the back of Sawyer’s neck, nuzzling the hair there aside with his nose so that he could lay a small kiss on Sawyer’s skin.

“Perfect.”

Sawyer couldn’t help the twist in his gut at Jack’s words. He was about the farthest away from perfect that a person could get, and he had to wonder how Jack could ever feel that about anthing he did, especially after what he had done that day, what he had showed Jack that he was capable of.

He ran his hand up and down the arm circling his waist, finding Jack’s hand and squeezing it in his.

“I love you Jack.”

Sawyer couldn’t see it when Jack smiled, but he could most definitely feel it when Jack kissed the back of his head and settled heavily into the bed, against Sawyer.

“I love you.”