Title: It's Just the State I'm In
Rating: PG
Summary: Jack had learned to accept the things Sawyer did that got on his nerves. He hated that he threw his clothes on the floor two feet from the hamper instead of just throwing them in with all the other dirty clothes. But he accepted it. He hated that Sawyer left the cap off the toothpaste when it took all of two seconds just to screw it back on. But he accepted it.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: So, today's Lost Riffs at lostsquee, prompt was: Today is your day to do something you have NEVER done before. Well, this counts, but barely. Those of you who know me well, know that I have a jealousy kink. I can't explain it, as I hate that sort of thing in life, but, nonetheless, I do. I have never, however, attempted to write it. So I figured, I had something in my head, why not let it out today. :)



Jack had learned to accept the things Sawyer did that got on his nerves. He hated that he threw his clothes on the floor two feet from the hamper instead of just throwing them in with all the other dirty clothes. But he accepted it. He hated that Sawyer left the cap off the toothpaste when it took all of two seconds just to screw it back on. But he accepted it. He hated that, every time they went out together, Sawyer always managed to run across the woman with the shortest skirt he had ever seen and flirt with her without even realizing it. But he accepted it.

He accepted it because there was nothing he could do about it. Because those were all things that were a part of who Sawyer was, and for all that he had managed to change, there were still those things that he stubbornly clung to. He accepted it because, in the end, Sawyer would leave whatever woman he had been talking to high and dry and head for the exit with Jack. He accepted it because he had no other option.

But this? This was different. Jack was all the way across the room, and he could feel it.

Almost an hour ago, they had walked into the bookstore together. Sawyer had dropped Jack off in the café with a couple of medical textbooks and his laptop, saying that should be more than enough to keep him busy for an hour or two (even though they both knew Sawyer could likely spend all day in a bookstore). Jack had gone quickly to work, trying to keep himself busy while looking up every few minutes to watch Sawyer wind his way through the stacks, pulling out a book every now and then and flipping quickly through it.

The next time Jack looked up, however, Sawyer had come to a stop in front of the information desk, curiously eyeing the woman behind it. Her brown hair was up in a sloppy pony-tail, her legs were resting up on the desk, and her glasses were slowly crawling down her nose, which was effectively buried in a particularly thick book. If Jack didn’t know any better, he would have thought that he was watching a movie – one of those romantic comedies where the handsome leading man meets the mousy leading lady who, as it turns out, is blindingly gorgeous when she removes her glasses and takes her hair down from her pony-tail.

She hadn’t even seemed to notice him at first, not until he had – very intentionally, in Jack’s opinion – stepped into her light. Sawyer had never been able to resist when he thought people were ignoring him.

That was about when Jack looked away the first time. He knew what was going to happen, and he didn’t want to watch. He never watched. He just ignored it, like it wasn’t happening, and buried himself in whatever he was doing at the time. Well, that was the plan anyway. He didn’t want to look up, but he did, and the more he looked, the more he came to realize that the conversation they were having had developed from a mere flirtation to something else entirely.

Sawyer was leaning against the counter, with his arms laid across it, but not the way he usually did, not in any way that complimented his body, but just in that comfortable, relaxed way that he leaned across the counter at home while he watched Jack cook. No, Sawyer was actually listening to her, engaged in her, interested in whatever it was they were talking about.

It had never gone this way before, and Jack honestly didn’t know how to react.

He had tried to let it go, like he always did. But it didn’t work. No matter how much Sawyer flirted, he never seemed like he was really there, like he was in it for whoever he was talking to. It wasn’t about the woman, which, Jack guessed, was the reason that Sawyer always left with him.

But now, everything was different.

He couldn’t help the way his heart began to beat heavily against his chest, or the places that his mind began to wander to. He tried to force the thoughts from his brain, but the more the tried, the more quickly they spread.

He knew just how Sawyer would kiss her, slow, at first, because that would draw out something inside of her that would kiss him back, harder, more demanding. He knew because that was how Sawyer kissed him. The first time. Every time. He saw Sawyer’s skin on her skin, her hand in his hair, long fingers grasping and pulling. His hands up her back. His lips on her neck. He could see it all as clearly as if it were happening right in front of him, and he felt sick.

He hated how familiar this feeling was, how it sat like a lead weight in the pit of his stomach. He had been here before, watching from afar, like an observer of a life that he had thought was his. He had come so far only to wind up in the same place, with the same feelings, emotions that time had obviously not managed to change or erase.

Jack didn’t know what to do but leave, gather up his things, leave the books sitting, open, on the table, and exit through the café doors.

One quick phone call to a cap company and an agonizing twenty minute long cab ride later and he was home, pulling off his jacket like it was suffocating him and falling into the nearest chair.

All he could do was wait for Sawyer to come home. If he came home.

He didn’t think he had ever felt so pathetic, so lonely, in his whole life.



Sawyer entered the living room, very slowly, ten minutes later, taking in every detail carefully, bracing himself for a fight. Ever since he had glanced Jack’s way and seen the table empty, books still open on it’s surface and what was surely a still warm cup of coffee next to them, he had been bracing himself for a fight. He wasn’t an idiot. He knew what must have happened, how Jack must have interpreted things from where he was sitting, what had caused him to bolt. He excused himself as quickly as he could, letting the woman return to her book, and hurrying out the front door and into the car.

He was apprehensive, careful, fully prepared to get his head bitten off the second he walked in the door. But all there was was quiet. Stifling, oppressive quiet. And then there was Jack, sitting in the big arm chair in the living room, staring at the window with a void expression on his face.

This was going to be bad, Sawyer could feel it. He sighed, walking around the coffee table and sitting down on the couch across from Jack. He rested his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands, and sighed, again.

“What’s her name?”

Sawyer almost didn’t believe that voice came from Jack. It was deep and dark and so frighteningly unlike him. He had only seen glimpses of this Jack, of the intensity and anger that he was truly capable of. Now, they were face to face.

“Are you drunk?”

It was a fair question, but Jack glared at him anyway.

“Are you gonna tall me what the hell this is all about?” Sawyer asked. Jack seemed so genuinely angry, so unlike himself, that Sawyer was taken aback, wondering why Jack wanted to know the name of some random woman that he had talked to. He couldn’t understand why it seemed to matter to Jack so much.

“Are you going to tell me her name?” Jack replied, his voice stretched tight, biting out every word.

“I don’t know,” Sawyer said through his teeth, his frustration growing. He hated feeling like he was in the dark. If he was in a fight, fine, it wouldn’t be the first time, but he at least wanted to know why.

Jack scoffed, rolled his eyes up and away from Sawyer. “You talked to her for over an hour and you don’t know her name?” he questions, disbelievingly.

Sawyer shook his head at Jack and run his hand loosely through his hair. The way he figured it, that was as good as Jack calling him a liar outright, and he felt himself getting angrier.

“She didn’t give it, I didn’t ask,” he says firmly.

“She was wearing a nametag Sawyer!” Jack snaps.

“I wasn’t exactly lookin’ at her chest!”

“That would be a first!”

For the first time in a long time Sawyer felt like punching him, like knocking him on his ass, and if Jack were anyone else, he would have. But he pushed the urge away as quickly as it came, and took a deep breath.

He knew Jack. This wasn’t Jack. Not his Jack, anyway. This was some demented version of the man, that had temporarily gained control of his mouth and his brain.

“What is this really about Jack?”

He seemed to deflate at that, soften a bit. The anger appeared to drain from his eyes as he slumped in his chair and sighed. He ran his hands over his eyes, obviously trying to get a grip on himself after letting go in such a monumental fashion.

Jack leaned forward, resting his head in his hands and sighing.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was muffled by his hands, but Sawyer heard him loud and clear. He got up, slowly, sitting on the edge of the coffee table in front of Jack and reaching out, holding his hands and looking into his eyes.

“I really don’t know her name, Jack,” Sawyer tells him.

Jack raised his head, tried to explain that he knew, that this wasn’t really about Sawyer, but he couldn’t find the words. So he just let his head fall again and nodded. “I know.” He sighs. “I…I’m just…I’m used to it, for the most part. You flirt, it’s part of who you are. But this time I just…couldn’t.”

Sawyer nodded, finally beginning to understand. “It wasn’t about her Jack,” he assured. Jack nodded back, but he knew that he didn’t believe him, that his guilt was controlling now. “It was the book she was reading. That’s what we were talking about.”

Jack shook his head. “It doesn’t matter Sawyer,” he said. “I shouldn’t have reacted the way I did, I just…”

He wanted to tell Sawyer, wanted to say the words, but he thought, absurdly, that if he didn’t say it, if he kept it inside of him, it wasn’t real, that it didn’t happen. After all this time, he couldn’t believe he still felt this way, that the pain was still this fresh. Sawyer waited patiently, though, giving Jack all the time he needed.

“Sarah, my ex-wife…” He took a deep breath. “She cheated on me.”

“Jack…” Sawyer wanted to say something, felt like he should, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. Maybe there was nothing he could say.

“Don’t, Sawyer, it’s fine. It’s just part of who you are. I understand that,” Jack assured him, smiling slightly, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was lying for Sawyer’s sake, and there were very few things Sawyer hated more than that.

“It don’t have to be part of who I am,” Sawyer said. Jack looked up at him, trying not to appear hopeful, still obviously trying to convince Sawyer that it didn’t matter to him when they both knew it did. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll stop.”

Jack shook his head, resisting the overwhelming temptation. Sawyer only pressed, whispering this time, “Tell me to stop.”

“Please stop.” Jack asked, instead of ordered, meeting Sawyer halfway, giving himself what he really wanted. Sawyer just nodded, squeezing Jack’s hand and smiling slightly.

“You got it.”

“It’s not that I don’t trust you-”

“I know that,” Sawyer said, nodding. “Don’t worry about it, Jack. So I gotta start flirting with you twice as much. Ain’t the end of the world.”

He smirked at him, and Jack couldn’t help it. He smiled back, pulling Sawyer forward arm until their foreheads rested against each other’s.

“Thank you.”

Sawyer smiled. “No problem.”