Title: Jack’s Top Five
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jack had told him to cancel his plans (wasn’t that a laugh) because he was making him dinner. That was two hours ago and Sawyer was sitting at the dining room table, alone, candles burning, feeling like a jackass.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: For inthekeyofd, in honor of her birthday. Also used for philosophy_20, prompt #13: love beyond desire.



“Aren’t you done yet?” Sawyer grumbled. He couldn’t help it. Jack had told him to cancel his plans (wasn’t that a laugh) because he was making him dinner. That was two hours ago and Sawyer was sitting at the dining room table, alone, candles burning, feeling like a jackass.

It wasn’t that he couldn’t appreciate a little bit of romance. He could. But he was a downright cynic compared to Jack. Jack had poured wine, lit candles, broke out his mom’s fancy china, and he was cooking. At this point in their relationship, neither of them needed to be wined and dined, but for some reason, Jack wanted to tonight, insisted on it.

Sawyer didn’t mind, he just thought it was odd. Most nights, they just at take-out on the couch and watched TV. Sawyer had to wonder why tonight was different, why Jack was suddenly in the romantic candle lit dinner kind of mood.

“In a minute,” Jack called back. Sawyer took another, long, drink of his wine, and watched Jack walked out of the kitchen, holding two plates. He set down one in front of Sawyer and rounded the table with the other, taking his seat across from Sawyer at the table.

“Not that I mind, but, what’s the occasion?” Sawyer asked, taking a bite of his steak, and god damn Jack was a good cook. He knew he wasn’t forgetting anything. Their anniversary was in November. It was March. Jack’s birthday was, likewise, months away. As was Sawyer’s. There wasn’t that much cause for celebration apart from those few moments, and they were nowhere near them on the calendar at this point. So Sawyer was left watching Jack cut into his own dinner and waiting for his reply.

“I finished it,” Jack replied, looking up for a moment, before returning his attention to his dinner. Sawyer narrowed his eyes. Jack didn’t know how to do coy and secretive correctly. His borderline-indifferent tone only confused Sawyer more.

“Finished what?” Sawyer asked, through a mouthful of food. Jack smiled a small smile, and set down his silverware.

“My top five,” he replied, sounding a little proud of himself. Sawyer looked up at that, more than a little surprised, because damned if it hadn’t just taken Jack forever.

“Well, damn doc, it only took you three months,” he replied, with a chuckle, and Jack’s hopeful smile sort of crumbled. He dropped his eyes away from Sawyer and started to fidget with his napkin. Sawyer sighed, having apparently still not yet learned which times he could be a smart ass and Jack would be a smart ass back, and which times Jack would really rather be taken seriously.

He smiled and reached across the table, grabbed Jack’s hand and forced his eyes back up. “Come on then,” he said. “Let’s hear ‘em.”

Jack’s smile returned, though slow and apprehensive, and he took a sip of his wine. “Okay,” he agreed, and Sawyer leaned back in his chair. He’d been waiting for three months to heart this, so there was no way in hell he was going to miss even one word.

*

Jack and Sawyer’s bedroom at three a.m.

Jack dropped his luggage to the carpet as gently as possible, setting it by the door and closing it behind him. He could see Sawyer, but just barley. He was in the middle of their king-sized bed (clearly enjoying having all that space all to himself), on his stomach, the blanket covering him from the waist down. Jack smiled at him affectionately and went to work on his tie, pulling it off as fast as he could and then kicking off his shoes. He sat on the left side of the bed with a content sigh. Even if it was three in the morning, and he hadn’t slept a minute on the Red Eye, it was good to be home.

Sawyer didn’t move when Jack’s weight caused the mattress to dip just a little bit. Jack wasn’t surprised, but he was a little disappointed. So, he inched closer until he had pulled his whole body up onto the bed and sat it next to Sawyer’s. Still nothing. Jack let out a quiet huff, and ran a hand up Sawyer’s back, along his spine, across his shoulderblades. Sawyer moved in his sleep, shifted back into Jack’s hands, but he remained steadfast in sleep.

Part of Jack felt instantly guilty about trying so deliberately to wake Sawyer, about wanting to lower himself down on top of the man and kiss him and kiss him and never stop. But that part was small, not nearly as powerful as the rest of him. He’d missed Sawyer, missed him all week long, across the country at a medical conference that he had put off for too long for just that reason. When he could no longer justify his own clingy, neediness, he had bought the plane ticket and left Sawyer alone at home. He insisted that Sawyer would be bored, that he would have nothing to do, and that he would be better off at home. And Sawyer had said fine, if it meant that much to Jack, and he had stayed home. It wasn’t exactly a fight, but Jack didn’t like parting on less than good terms. With a sincere goodbye, but without a kiss.

That was why Jack was home now. Sawyer was supposed to pick him up at the airport the next day – at ten, which wasn’t early but was early for Sawyer. That had been the plan, but Jack had been afforded the opportunity to leave early and he had grabbed it with both hands and run.

All he wanted now was for Sawyer to wake up, to see him, and to give Jack a better look at the man that he hadn’t been sharing a bed with for the past six days. But Sawyer wasn’t moving, not even unconsciously anymore. He just kept sleeping (and snoring) and it was making Jack impatient.

He pushed aside his guilt as far as it would go, and bent down, kissed the side of Sawyer’s neck that was exposed to him, and whispered in his ear, “Sawyer.”

Sawyer made a groggy kind of noise and began to roll over. Jack moved to accommodate him, then leaned back against his own, cold, pillow and smiled affectionately down at Sawyer, watched him blink at Jack like he wasn’t sure he was really seeing him. Sawyer sat up, still blinking, and rubbed at his tired eyes.

“This isn’t a dream, is it?” Sawyer asked, sleepy, and Jack shook his head, still grinning like an idiot.

“No,” he replied, and Sawyer’s hands shot out unexpectedly, grabbed him by his shoulders, and pulled him down. He found himself laying on top of Sawyer, fit between his legs, head against his bare chest. Not that he was complaining. No, not in the least. Especially not when one of Sawyer’s arms wrapped around his shoulders, and the other found it’s way around Jack’s lower back and held on tight. Jack tried to adjust as best the could, held onto Sawyer’s shoulders and buried his face in his neck. He was sweaty, but Jack couldn’t have cared less. He was home and in Sawyer’s arms.

“You’re early,” Sawyer said, his voice slightly muffled. Jack smiled into Sawyer’s shoulder, then lifted his head so that he could look Sawyer in the eyes.

“You complaining?” he asked. Sawyer’s arm slipped from his shoulders and joined the other one, circling the small of his back and gripping him a little bit tighter. He smiled up at Jack, almost predatorily, and narrowed his eyes.

“The hell do you think?” he replied. Jack’s smile grew a little bit wider. God, he had missed this, missed Sawyer. It had been so long since he’d gone to bed alone, and doing it night after night was just a reminder of who wasn’t lying next to him, of the body he couldn’t wrap himself around, of the heartbeat that wasn’t there to lull him to sleep. One thing was for damn sure, he was never going to another medical conference alone again. Sawyer’s boredom suddenly mattered very little to him, and he guessed that it never really had to Sawyer – that his acquiesce to stay home had been his way of teaching Jack a lesson. Well, lesson learned.

“Kiss me,” Jack told him, suddenly, because that was yet another thing he had gone far too long without. Sawyer just chuckled and raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re on top, Jacko,” he replied.

“Like that’s ever stopped you before,” Jack countered. A trace of pride passed over Sawyer’s features as he leaned up on his elbows and kissed Jack, a short, soft peck, a brush of the lips. He leaned back to look at Jack before pulling him all the way down, getting their bodies as close together as they could possibly be. He kissed him again, then, this time long and slow.

Their bodies rolled, and they laid on their sides, still molded together, fit as close to one another as they could be. Sawyer ran his hand up Jack’s side to his face, and Jack’s hand held onto Sawyer’s hip tightly while the other fit into one of the indentations just to the side of Sawyer’s spine.

Sawyer rocked against Jack, loving the way that he gasped just a little bit, still. They’d gone without this, without each other, for far too long. And one thing was for sure; Sawyer had six days worth of kisses in him, and he was prepared to give them all to Jack, right then. Even if it took him all night.

Also Jack and Sawyer’s bedroom, this time at around noon

Jack leaned over, reaching for his nightstand and trying to find a tissue. He didn’t have the energy to lift his head anymore, it felt so heavy, so he reached around blindly and kept coming up empty. With a frustrated sigh, he forced his body to a seated position and grabbed the whole box, pulling it into the bed with him.

“How’re you feelin’?” Jack opened his eyes once more and looked up, watched Sawyer walk into the room with a bottle of water and a couple of pills. Jack knew he shouldn’t envy Sawyer’s health, that he shouldn’t wish he could come and go when he pleased, drink and eat whatever he wanted, or right now, just leave the damn bed like Sawyer kept doing. But he couldn’t help it. He wanted to get up, to do things for himself, but his body – and Sawyer – wouldn’t let him.

“Awful,” Sawyer answered, head falling against the pillow heavily. He held out his hand and Sawyer set the bottle of water down in his palm. He watched Jack drink nearly half of it as he sat down on his side of the bed and handed Jack his pills. Jack took them without question – routine firmly in place – and laid his palm against Jack’s forehead.

“You’ve still got a fever,” Sawyer informed. Jack sneezed, loudly, as if his whole body was saying, ‘No shit, Sherlock.’

“It’ll be over in a few days,” Jack assured and Sawyer chuckled.

“Ain’t I supposed to be sayin’ that to you?” he asked, with a grin that Jack couldn’t quite appreciate in his sick, tired state. “Doctors.”

Jack narrowed his eyes, but as soon as Sawyer turned his head to retrieve the bedroom television’s remote control, he smiled. Jack had a sinus infection, which meant there was nothing he could do, just take cold medicine and wait it out. Sawyer hadn’t stopped fussing over him for three days, and Jack figured that he had another two or three to go.

“What?” Sawyer asked, now holding the remote loosely in his hand and finally noticing the way that Jack was looking at him. Jack shrugged, but he couldn’t keep the smile off of his face. “What?” Sawyer repeated, confused by the sudden, uncharacteristic look on Jack’s face. He’d been in a sour mood for days now – helplessness and dependence did that to Jack – and Sawyer had to wonder what had him in a good mood all of the sudden.

“You love me,” Jack said, in a very sing-song fashion. Sawyer turned away quickly, but Jack could see the faint color in his cheeks. He began flipping through the channels just as quickly as he had turned from Jack.

“Shut up,” he muttered, under his breath. Jack just kept smiling and scooted closer to Sawyer – but not too close, he couldn’t want to get him sick. Sawyer’s stubborn refusal to look at him, to turn his attention away from the television only made Jack’s smile grow wider. “You love me,” he repeated. Sawyer heaved a sigh and turned to face Jack. He looked irritated, but even that irritation was soft. He didn’t tell Jack to shut up again, and he didn’t deny it.

Instead, he bent down quickly and kissed Jack, held his head steady as he pushed in deeper, as Jack tried to pull away. Jack had been going on and one for days that if Sawyer got too close, Jack would get him sick. They couldn’t kiss, they could only cuddle if Jack was facing away from Sawyer, and there was absolutely no sex until Jack was sure he was well again.

And it wasn’t that Sawyer didn’t understand, he did. Jack was a doctor, and the kind of doctor who would torment himself endlessly if he got someone sick – let alone his own boyfriend. Sawyer kissed Jack because he knew it would piss him off, because he wanted to shut him up. And because, yes, he did love him.

“Sawyer!” Jack protested, loudly, when Sawyer finally turned him loose. Sawyer chuckled and generally looked smug. “It isn’t funny! Wipe your mouth for God’s sake, you’re going to get sick!”

“Doc, I think it’s safe to say, the germs are already in there,” Sawyer replied with a chuckle, but Jack glared at him sternly anyway, so Sawyer indulged him and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “Happy now?”

“Why did you do that?” Jack asked, pouting and huffy and generally being stick in the mud. Even when he was sick, Sawyer thought as he watched Jack cross his arms over his chest and settle back into the bed. Sawyer shook his head and reclaimed the forgotten remote, speaking through a few channels.

“Because I love you,” Sawyer replied, in Jack’s earlier sing-song voice. Jack tried to scowl, but he couldn’t manage it. He was blushing and smiling too much. Sawyer smiled back and lowered his head, pressing his lips to Jack’s temple and leaning his cheek against the top of his head.

“I think your fever’s breaking,” Sawyer told him. Jack burrowed against Sawyer’s side, closed his eyes, and wrapped loose arms around his middle. He was, however, sure to keep his head pointed down and away from Sawyer. He was pretty sure that Sawyer would get sick anyway, but it was better to be safe, from here on out, than sorry.

“Mmm,” was his only answer as Sawyer began to flip through channels once more and Jack began to listen to the steady beating of Sawyer’s heart as he fell asleep.

Sawyer’s tent at mid-afternoon

It was hot. Almost too hot. Jack thought that fact should have made this uncomfortable, but it didn’t. He hadn’t done this since he was a teenager, since he had drunkenly wrapped himself around Molly Kilpatrick and spent the night with her on the couch at a friend’s house, in the middle of a friend’s party. He still didn’t remember how long they had kissed for – one, maybe two hours, he guessed. He would also be willing to wager that Molly had been plenty drunk herself, because he had woken up the next morning with the worst taste in his mouth.

All in all, it wasn’t the most pleasant memory. Kissing Sawyer sober was so infinitely better than kissing Molly drunk anyway.

It had all started when Jack had collapsed into Sawyer’s tent after a long morning of baking in the sun. Sawyer was gone – where to, he didn’t know – but it didn’t matter. He hadn’t come here for Sawyer, he’d come here for the quiet and the darkness, to relax and unwind, and maybe, just maybe, to sleep for a little while. All he really wanted was a short nap before heading back outside.

Sawyer had opened the flap of his tent about ten minutes after Jack had entered through the back. They had long since worked it out so that the bed couldn’t be viewed from outside, so that the back exit was obscured by bushes and tress, so Sawyer felt comfortable seeing Jack in his tent – and that he would be the only one doing so.

The light was chased away when the flap of the tent descended once more and Jack felt Sawyer slide up behind him, wrapping both arms around him from behind. Jack groaned at that. “Too hot,” he complained. Sawyer didn’t move, just chuckled against the back of Jack’s neck.

“Damn right,” he answered, pulling Jack even closer. Jack knew that Sawyer was just doing it to irritate him, that elbowing him in the stomach and trying to put some space between them was just the sort of huffy behavior that Sawyer was trying to illicit, but he didn’t care, so he did it anyway.

He didn’t, however, get very far. Sawyer followed him quickly, kept his chest pressed firmly against Jack’s back until Jack sighed and gave up moving, gave up trying to get away. “Tired?” Sawyer asked, putting his arms around Jack once more. Jack grumbled and closed his eyes. He was tired. Too tired to fight Sawyer and his warmth off, too tired to get up, too tired to move.

“Exhausted,” he replied, yawning. Sawyer nudged the back of Jack’s leg with his knee. Jack groaned and Sawyer did it again. “What?” he complained, his voice a little bit shrill. Sawyer just chuckled.

“Hey,” he said, nudging Jack when he wouldn’t open his eyes. Jack let out a sigh and looked back over his shoulder at Sawyer. “Come here.”

Jack rolled over stiffly, falling onto his opposite side and closing his eyes once more. He was pulled, nearly immediately, into Sawyer’s arms, and he rested his head against Sawyer’s chest.

“How long’ve you got?” Sawyer asked. Jack gave what was supposed to be a shrug, but never quite got around to being one.

“Twenty minutes,” he guessed, figuring it was about right whilst, simultaneously, figuring that it wasn’t nearly enough time. He was tired, his body ached, and he was pressed so firmly against Sawyer’s body that he found himself eager to stay there for the time being.

“Alright then,” Sawyer said, pulling Jack up a little by his shirt until Jack was looking up at him, all sleepy and heavy-lidded. Sawyer smirked at him affectionately for half a second before initiating a kiss that turned into three smaller ones, and after that their lips separated never separated for more than a few seconds.

Jack hadn’t done this in so long, wrapped himself around someone and thought about nothing but kissing them, being kissed by them. Kissing Sawyer, being kissed by Sawyer, made him wonder why.

Jack’s office at St. Sebastian Hospital

Sawyer was somewhere in the middle of the classics when his phone started to vibrate inside the pocket of his leather jacket. If there was one place the loud, obnoxious ringing of a cell phone was not appreciated, it was a bookstore. Especially one owned by a grouchy old man who looked like he outdated half of the books on his shelves. Damned if he didn’t have all of the good ones, though.

It was Jack, the called ID announced. Sawyer frowned. It was the middle of the afternoon. Jack didn’t get off shift for another six hours, and it wasn’t his lunch hour. Something had happened.

“Jack?” he whispered, answering the phone, his attempt to remain discrete somewhat tarnished by his haste.

“Hey,” Jack said, sounding very much like a sigh of relief. He sounded awful, like ten miles of bad road. Something had happened, alright, because Jack’s voice was tired and had a kind of tightness to it that made it more than clear to Sawyer had he had been crying.

“What happened?” Sawyer asked, hastily.

“Where are you?” Jack replied. Sawyer sighed, frustrated that his question had gone unanswered.

“A bookstore,” he said, then repeated himself, “What happened?”

“Can you come to the hospital?” Jack requested. If he didn’t’ sound so awful, Sawyer probably would have snapped at him for ignoring his question, not once but twice. But he couldn’t. Because Jack sounded devastated, and, as frustrated as he was, Sawyer could wait until he saw him.

“Yeah,” Sawyer agreed, setting the books that he had intended to buy down on the nearest shelf without a second thought and making his way to the door. “I’m on my way. You in your office?”

“No,” Jack said, sounding a little restless. Sawyer could see him pacing in his mind, walking back and forth, breath coming in short bursts, one hand on the back of his neck. “I’m outside. Near the main entrance. I just…needed some space.”

Sawyer pulled the car out onto the road, vaguely aware that he was speeding – and talking on the phone to boot. He didn’t care. All that mattered to him now was getting to Jack, his worry having doubled within the span of a five minute phone call.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” he estimated. Depending on traffic, it could have been more or less. “You just hand on ‘til then, okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack answered, softly. “Yeah, okay.” And he hung up.

Sawyer did likewise, quickly discarding his phone, tossing it onto the passenger seat and gripping the steering wheel, hard. He wished he didn’t feel so in the dark, so confused and worried. He had no idea what was happening with Jack and it didn’t sit well at all. As far as he was concerned, he couldn’t get to Jack fast enough.

The bookstore was a twenty minute drive from the hospital, but Sawyer made it in ten, parked in the nearest spot, and jogged up to the main entrance. Sure enough, there was Jack, sitting forlornly on the curb, his head in his hands, looking very much like someone had run over his puppy.

He lifted his head at Sawyer’s approaching footsteps, which had slowed to a walk while he crossed the street. Physically, Jack looked like he was still in one piece, but his eyes reflected something else entirely. He looked like someone had put his insides in a blender, like he was trying to bottle up his suffering and failing. He looked pale and tired and absolutely heartbroken.

Sawyer crossed behind a passing car, watching Jack stand up on stiff limbs and stifle a sniffle. Sawyer sighed and asked, “What the hell happened?” He hoped he’d get an answer this time.

Jack reached for Sawyer, pulled him into a tight embrace. Sawyer hugged him back, holding onto his back with both hands. A couple of doctors taking a cigarette break looked up at them, but Sawyer recognized them from a few of the hospital benefits and they obviously placed him, because they nodded and resumed their conversation.

Sawyer felt Jack’s hands wrap around his waist, up under his jacket and along his back. Jack’s face was buried in his neck, his breath coming steadily, in and out. He felt like he was shaking, but if it faded little by little as Sawyer’s hand ran comfortingly up and down Jack’s back.

“Let’s do this in your office, ‘kay?” Sawyer suggested. Jack nodded as best his position would allow and they broke apart slowly. Sawyer put his hand on Jack’s shoulder, smiled reassuringly, and they walked through the halls up to Jack’s office. Jack’s secretary gave them both a sympathetic smile when she glanced up from her paper work as they passed. Sawyer sent one back, even though he didn’t know why, and followed Jack into his office.

Jack went straight for the couch to lay down. Sawyer closed the door behind them, locked it securely. He turned to find Jack laying on his back, hand covering his eyes. He looked the same, and Sawyer wondered what he was supposed to be doing. His presence didn’t seem to be offering much comfort.

But he sighed and decided to try anyway – that was probably all Jack really wanted from him, the effort. So, he sat on the edge of the couch, at Jack’s waist, and laid what he hoped was a reassuring hand on Jack’s stomach.

Jack tensed a bit at first, the contact seeming to put him off balance all of the sudden, but his breath seemed to even out after a few moments, and he eventually removed his hand from his eyes, finding Sawyer’s eyes. He took a deep breath.

“She was fourteen,” Jack said, pain and guilt and regret in his voice, all over his face. Sawyer nodded, sadly, and his eyes slipped closed. No wonder Jack was such a mess. He took every loss hard, and personally, but a kid…Sawyer was amazed that Jack’d had the presence of mind to call him at all. He wondered how long he had waited.

“I just…” There were words there, Jack was sure of it, things that he wanted to say, but he couldn’t. Not even with Sawyer’s reassuring presence at his side. How was he supposed to explain what it was like to watch someone so young slip away, to lose a patient with so much life yet to live? He couldn’t. No one could. So he fell silent, and the hand on his stomach started to run back and forth.

“You don’t gotta explain, Jack,” Sawyer assured when Jack looked up again. He let out a sigh and reached up his hand, held onto the one on his stomach and grasped it tight.

“It’s just so fucking hard,” Jack replied. Sawyer nodded, like he knew. He may not have known exactly, but he knew pain and he knew guilt and he knew the heartache in Jack’s eyes.

He wanted to make it go away, to drive it out of Jack any way he could. He wondered when that had started to happen, when he’d wanted to start doing things for Jack, to help him just because…because he loved him.

That was when it started. Back on the island, all that time ago, when he had first realized how screwed he was, how much he loved Jack. There were other circumstances, he knew, that made him want to protect Jack, but he did love the man. And he wanted to do whatever he could do to make things better for him.

Unfortunately, he didn’t know what that was, so he had to ask, “What do you need me to do, doc? Just tell me, and I’ll do it.”

Jack looked up at him, only sadness in his brown eyes, and God, Sawyer hated that, wanted to drive it away. Jack squeezed Sawyer’s hand and gave him a small, but weak, smile.

“Kiss me,” Jack requested. Sawyer gave him a sideways look. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to – he always wanted to kiss Jack – he just didn’t know if now was the right time.

“You sure?” Sawyer asked. Jack nodded, slowly, fatigued.

“Kiss me,” he repeated, with a nod that said he was sure. So, Sawyer bent his head and kissed Jack. It was quite possibly the most chaste kiss that Sawyer had ever been involved in, on either side. It was a short, sweet, reassuring meeting of their lips that turned into two, then three, just the same as the first. They let Jack know that he was here, that he was going to be okay, and that, however cruel, life moved on.

Jack ran his hand up Sawyer’s arm and let out a sigh. “It’s gonna be okay,” Sawyer told him. Jack looked back up at Sawyer and nodded, slowly.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I know.”

Sawyer sat up, his back starting to ache. Jack followed him and they sat next to each other on the couch in a kind of comfortable silence as Jack tried to get a handle on himself and Sawyer waited to see if he was okay – or, as okay as he could be. Sawyer turned to him, smiled over at Jack, and Jack smiled back.

“You off soon?” Sawyer asked.

Jack shrugged. “Few hours still,” he answered, sounding as if he’d like nothing more than to go home. Sawyer wanted nothing more than to have Jack home too, but realistically, they both knew that they still had some time to wait.

“You need anythin’ else?” Sawyer asked. Jack smiled, as close to genuine as Sawyer had seen since he arrived. He leaned over and kissed Sawyer, rested their foreheads against each other for a second before pulling back and sitting upright.

“Just be there when I get home,” Jack answered.

Sawyer smiled and set a hand on Jack’s knee. “Can do, doc. Can do.”

Jack’s tent

Jack was asleep. Sawyer was watching him. He had never done that before, and he couldn’t believe that it had taken something like this to get him to, to make him sit still and just look at the man.

It wasn’t any of that, thought, and Sawyer knew it. It wasn’t that he wanted to watch Jack sleep, it was that he never wanted to take his eyes off of him ever again.

Sawyer had managed to charm Kate away from Jack’s side under the guise of worrying about her health, about the fact that she hadn’t slept since Jack’s accident. It had been easier than he would have thought, promising to watch over Jack as a favor to her while she got some shut eye as a favor to him. He had thought she would have refused to leave Jack’s side, but she had seemed touched that he had cared enough to take over for her.

Sawyer had thought the ship had sailed on him and Kate a long time ago, but if for nothing else than his ego, it was nice to know he still had some sway over her.

So, Kate had left him alone with Jack and his broken leg, his numerous cuts, and his bruised abdomen. He was quite a sight, and even though he was alive and healing, Sawyer still couldn’t bear to look at him, couldn’t bear the way it felt to know that he had come this close to losing him for good.

It was more than a little uncomfortable, being there, inside Jack’s tent, but he just couldn’t be anywhere else. He didn’t want to be anywhere else. He just wanted Jack to wake up, to hear from the doctor’s mouth that he was going to be okay.

“Jack will be alright,” Sayid had announced, the day Jack had been carried back into camp after falling into one of Rousseau’s traps. Sayid had been there at the time, along with Desmond and Jin, and they had all carried Jack back to cap.

Everyone had, naturally, panicked. Sawyer had attempted to retain a mask of indifference, but when Sayid had called Juliet over and she had begun to examine Jack’s injuries, Sawyer was sure that his rage had been entirely visible, on display for everyone to see. He couldn’t help it, though, and the more he tried to push the anger and jealousy at seeing her hands on Jack’s body (even if they were there only to take stock of broken bones and to set them on their path to healing), the angrier he became.

The secrecy that their relationship was shrouded in made it impossible for Sawyer to do anything that he wanted to do in that moment. He wanted to cross the camp and shove Juliet away from Jack. He wanted to demand answers, to know exactly what was wrong with Jack and how long it would take him to heal. The indifference he was forced to treat Jack with made it impossible for him to act like Jack’s lover. He had to keep his feet firmly planted, to wait for Sayid’s announcement like everyone else while Juliet and Kate crowded around Jack, while they laid their hands on his shoulder and his cheek and fought back tears that Sawyer selfishly believed they had no right to shed. Sawyer couldn’t let his pain show, let his tears for Jack fall, and he resented that they could, resented every moment that they kept him separated from Jack. He should have been over that, but he wasn’t. He was across camp, forced to watch and to wait until they all left Jack the hell alone.

But Sawyer was here now, by Jack’s side, while the man in question slept on. He wanted to lay down next to him, but he couldn’t risk it. Jack’d had visitors non-stop since the accident, and the beach-dwellers would think that him being there at all was strange enough, never mind him laying down at Jack’s side. Sawyer had enough on his mind without having to worry about gossip spreading up and down the beach.

All he could really do now was hope that Jack would wake up, that he would see that Sawyer was there for him now, even if it was only for a second. That was all he needed.

An hour passed, with no change. Jack didn’t wake up and Sawyer sat at his bedside, hands folded, waiting and watching. When his head had fallen and his eyes had closed, Sawyer heard a small sigh. He wasn’t completely sure that it hadn’t come out of him, but he lifted his head once more none-the-less. He found Jack’s head turned to face him now and he was smiling faintly.

“Hey,” he whispered, his voice almost a croak. Sawyer forced a smile, because even though he had got exactly what he wanted, even though Jack was awake and with him, his voice was stark reminder to Sawyer of his state; it sounded just as broken as his body.

“Hey,” Sawyer replied, scooting a little bit closer to Jack. He laid a hand on the part of Jack’s arm with the least scratches and tried his hand at a genuine smile this time.

“How’re you doing?” Jack asked. Sawyer snorted in disbelief and looked at Jack like he was absolutely out of his mind.

“How am I doin’?” he asked. Jack nodded as best he could and Sawyer continued to stare at him in disbelief. “Last time I checked, I wasn’t the one that fell ass over elbows into a pit and broke my damn leg.”

“I know,” Jack replied, much too seriously, because Sawyer was trying to make a joke. Jack had never known how to tell jokes apart from sincere discontent. “You just...you don’t look so good.”

There was a joke there, Sawyer could feel it, but since his last one had missed its mark all together, Sawyer shoved it away and opted for some of that sincerity that Jack seemed to be so fond of.

“I don’t feel so good,” he replied, dropping his head just in time to miss concern and worry take over Jack’s face. His head was back in his hands, fingers twined through blonde hair as he tried to get a handle on himself and kept failing. Jack’s hand reached out, wobbly and weak, and took loose hold of Sawyer’s wrist. He began to lift his head as Jack started to talk to him.

“Sawyer, it’s gonna be-”

“I love you.”

The words left Sawyer’s mouth so quickly he barely had time to register what he had said until the words were already out there, until the rest of Jack’s sentence had died on his lips and all they were doing anymore was starting at one another.

“I love you too,” Jack replied, quickly, his grip on Sawyer’s wrist tightening just a little. Sawyer had said it first, the “L” word Jack had never thought that would happen.

“It’s going to be okay,” Jack finished. Sawyer wasn’t looking at him anymore. His eyes were cast down to the sand at his feet and every few moments he let out a sigh.

“Hey,” Jack said, trying to sit up a bit further, to put a hand on Sawyer’s knee. But his body was heavy and cumbersome and all he was able to do was scoot an inch, then fall on his back with a grunt.

Sawyer looked up at that, concern and worry even more prominent across his features. Jack smiled steadily, he hoped reassuringly, and Sawyer tried to smile back.

“Sawyer...” Jack let out a sigh of his own. Sawyer looked up at him and tried to make himself say something, anything, but he couldn’t. He didn’t know what he might say now that he had blurted that out. Of all of the ways that Sawyer had ever imagined telling Jack that he loved him, this had not been one of them.

“You can take it back if you want to,” Jack offered. Sawyer stared at him like he hand lost his mind (once more), horrified that Jack had interpreted his silence as regret. It was true that letting those words come tumbling out of his mouth in a panic was not his ideal for his particular scenario. But he had meant what he’d said, and he certainly didn’t regret it. And he didn’t want to take it back. Not even a little.

“I ain’t gonna take it back, doc,” Sawyer informed him, adamantly. Jack nodded a few times, tightened and loosened his grip on Sawyer’s wrist nervously. Sawyer looked down at Jack’s hand, at the way his thumb slid along his pulse point. He wondered if Jack could feel the way his heart was beating faster.

“So...” Jack started, unsure of how to go on, even less so when Sawyer slid his fingers back and forth along Jack’s before winding them around each other. “We said it.”

Sawyer nodded. “Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, we did.”

“I never thought you’d be the one to say it first, though,” Jack added. Sawyer chuckled, his head downcast, but a small smile on his face nonetheless.

“You’re tellin’ me,” he replied. He let out a small sigh. “You’re gonna be okay, right?”

Jack nodded slowly, stiffly. “Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he answered. “It’ll take a while for my leg to heal, but it will. I’ll live.”

“Okay,” Sawyer said, having gained some small piece of mind. He still felt on-edge, maybe even a little panicked by Jack’s condition. But it was getting better by the minute, because Jack was smiling and talking, and no matter how many times Sawyer had told himself that he didn’t need to hear it, it was still nice to know, really know, that Jack loved him.

“Sawyer?”

Sawyer shook himself out of his reverie. “Yeah?”

Jack gave him a good-natured (but weak) shove and a smile. “Will you come down here already?”

“Jack-”

“Come on,” Jack cut off Sawyer’s protest. “Please?”

Sawyer let out a short sigh, then smiled and shook his head. “Yeah, alright, I’m comin’,” Sawyer agreed, letting go of Jack’s hand and laying down on the sand next to Jack.

He was pulled, nearly immediately, into Jack’s arms and kissed. He was surprised at Jack’s initiative, especially in his current state, but he couldn’t say that he minded. He was careful to avoid Jack’s injuries as he held onto him, as he let himself be kissed, to scared of hurting Jack to do anything but.

When Jack finally pulled away, he let out a content sigh and leaned his forehead heavily against Sawyer’s. “I love you,” he said, almost yawned.

Sawyer tightened his arms around Jack’s back, carefully pulling their bodies as close together as they could possibly be (and still be comfortable for Jack). “I love you too,” Sawyer whispered back, with nothing but quiet earnesty in his voice.

*

“You are, hands down, the sappiest bastard I have ever met,” Sawyer needled Jack, caught somewhere between disbelief and affection. He had no room to judge, given his own number one, but he couldn’t help it. “The First ‘I love you’“ was such a Jack number one. Jack just shook his head at Sawyer without turning to face him, placed his dirty dishes in the sink and reached out for Sawyer’s.

Sawyer handed them over just as Jack chuckled slightly and sent Sawyer’s plate to join his. “Yeah, well...” was all he said, turning to face Sawyer once more and leaning back against the cold, tiled surface of the kitchen counter. “It’s my top five. And, if I recall, your number one was pretty damn sappy too.”

Of course Jack remembered that too. And of course it had been thrown back in Sawyer’s face. Sawyer shrugged it off, though, and easily. “Yeah, well, I’m only a sap because you made me one,” he defended, taking a few steps toward Jack and playfully reaching for him, trying to pull him away from the counter and against Sawyer’s body. Jack beat him to the punch, though, snagging him by his belt loops with his two index fingers and pulling Sawyer to him.

“Is that so?” he replied, hands on Sawyer’s waist, smirk matching Sawyer’s. If Jack had made Sawyer a sap, it seemed that some of Sawyer’s confidence had managed to rub off on Jack. The man was usually horribly timid, and he blushed far too much to avoid being made fun of every single time. But then there were moments like this (and like his number one) when he took the initiative, when he pulled Sawyer to him, when he got things started. It was nice, Sawyer thought, the balance that they had, the way that they were able to share the upper hand, to pass it back and forth from time to time.

“Yeah,” Sawyer replied with confidence, kissing Jack. Jack responded as quickly as he had in pulling Sawyer against him. He held onto Sawyer tightly, as if he was afraid that he was going to slip away - as if he could at this point. His back dug painfully into the counter’s edge, Sawyer’s body pressing against him and keeping him there. But he didn’t care. He couldn’t, because, though Sawyer’s body was shoving him into the counter, messing up his back, he wouldn’t have moved it even if he was in agony. It was too perfect the way it was, their bodies pressed together, Sawyer’s mouth covering his, hands flexing against Jack’s skin, fitting along his neck so perfectly. If Jack had a choice, he would stay like this forever. If he never needed to come up for air, he never would.

Every kiss they shared now reminded Jack of one that had come before it, let Jack see how far they had come, how much they had grown: as individuals and in their relationship with each other. There was nothing like kissing Sawyer, like being kissed by Sawyer. Every kiss was unique and new. Every new kiss was perfect, even more so than the one that had come before it.

That was why it had taken Jack so long to decide which ones were the best, because he loved them all, because there would always (there but for the grace of God) be more, and he knew that when those kisses came, they too would be, in their own special way, just perfect.