Title: Returned to Sender
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Jack had thought better of coming here almost six times. He had almost gone home three times since he had walked in the door. But something was keeping him there, fidgeting like a nervous teenager on a first date. This wasn’t a first date; it wasn’t a date. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to be here.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost. At all. I wish, but alas...
Author's Note: I'm sure, with the luau, you all have enough to read. But this is something I wrote a few weeks ago, that I don't really like, but am sick of looking at, so, feel free to skip over it. Follow up to one of my previous fics, Correspondence. Used for philosophy_20, prompt #18: And if the answer is no / can I change your mind?.



Jack had thought better of coming here almost six times. He had almost gone home three times since he had walked in the door. But something was keeping him there, fidgeting like a nervous teenager on a first date. This wasn’t a first date; it wasn’t a date. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to be here.

He had barely touched the coffee that was, as he waited, cooling in his hands. There was another sitting across from it, a grande to Jack’s tall. Jack sighed every time he looked at it.

He shouldn’t be here, he really shouldn’t. Not after…everything. He should be at home, doing laundry that he hadn’t had time to do during the week. He should have been grocery shopping, or anything but sitting in a coffee shop, waiting for a man that he had no reason to believe would show up.

Sawyer had taken a big step in writing that letter, in sending it, and in coming back to LA, but he had run scared once, eroded Jack’s trust to the point of non-existence and broke his heart. Jack couldn’t trust him, and couldn’t believe his own idiocy, because he wanted to.

This was Sawyer’s coffee shop. He would walk down the street here whenever he needed to get out of the house, and sit in one of the lounge chairs at the side of the man-made lake adjacent to the coffee shop. If Jack looked out the window, he could see them. If he closed his eyes, he could see Sawyer in one of them, book in hand, hair tossed lightly to and fro by the wind.

But Jack didn’t look out the window and he didn’t close his eyes. He stared at his hands, wrapped around his paper coffee cup, and he sighed once more. He didn’t even look up when he heard approaching footsteps, or when he saw familiar, worn boots. He closed his eyes as Sawyer sat down.

“Hey.”

Jack nods with out opening his eyes. “Hey.”

He wants to look at Sawyer, but he doesn’t. He can’t force himself to. Not yet. So he opens his eyes and keeps them on his hands, on his coffee, on the table. On anything but Sawyer. He misses the hurt expression that passes over Sawyer’s face when he realizes that Jack isn’t going to look at him.

He can see Sawyer’s hands, though, grasping the coffee that Jack had bought for him loosely. He could see that he was wearing his o ld leather jacket and a faded gray tee shirt. Jack knew them both well. He’d seem them crumbled up on the bedroom floor enough times to have them memorized.

“How’ve you been?” Sawyer asked, like he knew it would sounds absurd when he said it. And it did, but Jack just shrugged and shook his head. He didn’t answer, but he could see Sawyer shrug back and guessed that Sawyer had taken that as an answer.

“So, are we just gonna sit here and stare at our coffee?” he asked . Jack almost looked up, but only to glare. He didn’t. He just shrugged again and took a drink of his coffee. It was lukewarm.

“What do you expect from me?” Jack asked, honestly wanting an answer.

“I…” came out of Sawyer’s mouth impatiently, but he clearly thought better of letting the rest of the sentence out because his voice quickly died away. “Nothin’, Jack. I don’t expect anythin’ from you.”

“Then why are we here?” Jack picked at the cardboard that was meant to protect from the hear of the coffee. He hadn’t got that much bolder, still fixing his eyes on Sawyer’s hands, and on his coffee cup.

“Don’t ask me, doc,” Sawyer replied. “You called me.”

“Yeah, you made sure I had to,” Jack answered. The words come out of his mouth fast and angry. He doesn’t try to stop them or take them back. He has six months of pent-up anger inside of him and their target is sitting across from him, drinking coffee. He didn’t think he could stop himself if he wanted to.

“Even after all of this, you still can’t put yourself out there. You have to make me come to you,” Jack accused bitterly, sadly, his eyes falling back to the table top. He heard Sawyer sigh, almost regretfully.

“It ain’t like that, Jack,” Sawyer replied, his voice earnest enough to startle Jack, but not enough to make him look up. He jumped when Sawyer laid his hand on top of his, when he pleaded, “Hey. Will you look at me?”

Jack sighed and his body tensed under Sawyer’s touch. Sawyer pulled his hand away quickly, as if burned, knowing that Jack probably didn’t want to be touched. Jack did look up, though, figuring that he could no longer avoid it. And when he did, he found the man that had walked out on him six months, two weeks, and four days ago looked very much the same as he had the last time Jack had seen him.

His eyes were weary, though, and it was easy to see, now that Jack was looking at him, that he was nervous. “I didn’t ask you to call me because I wanted you to do all the work. I did it because I wanted you to know that the ball was in your court, that everythin’ was up to you. I walked away. I don’t got the right to decide anythin’ anymore, especially whether you wanna see me or not.”

Jack sighed, and nodded. “I…I don’t know what I want,” he replied, honestly. Sawyer nodded and his head fell a little. Jack wondered what he expected. He knew Sawyer wasn’t stupid enough to think that Jack would just hand his forgiveness over on a silver platter. But he can’t help but feel guilty. Causing Sawyer pain or sadness, even pain or sadness he deserves, was a desire completely beyond Jack. Even now.

“You called me, doc,” Sawyer said quietly, almost fearfully, like he was about to be walked out on. There was a kind of dread in his voice that made Jack’s heart ache, because he knew why that dread existed. “After all the shit I did, you read that damn letter and you called me. Don’t that mean anythin’?”

Jack lifted his head and found himself bereft on anything to say. He didn’t even know how he really felt. He still loved Sawyer, even now. But he could only seem to remember all the nights he had spent alone after Sawyer had left. With Sarah, he had spun into a dark period that had lasted nearly a year, but after Sawyer, he had just become numb, hardened himself and detached from nearly everything.

It was hard then, now, to break out of that, to let the walls slip down - but especially for the man who had caused him to put them up in the first place.

“Doc?” Sawyer questioned. Jack looked up, sighed.

“I…I don’t know,” Jack said. “I don’t think you’d have come back if you didn’t mean it, but...you have to understand how hard it is for me to trust you.”

Sawyer nodded. “Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, I know.”

“I want to,” Jack offered, because Sawyer looked crestfallen, like he had put himself out on limb and it had snapped beneath him. Jack wanted to trust Sawyer, badly. He wished it were as easy was picking things up where they had left off, but it just wasn’t. He needed time. “I just...” He explained. “I need more time.”

“Well, I can wait,” Sawyer assured adamantly.

“I mean, it may be a while,” Jack told him, making sure to say just what he needed to in order to make Sawyer understand that they might not ever be back to where they were, that Jack wasn’t sure if he even had the energy to try.

“You got my number,” Sawyer replied, nodding assuredly. “I meant what I said, doc. Everything’s up to you, from here on out.”

*

Three Weeks Later:

Jack hadn’t called. Damned if Sawyer would admit, even now, even to himself, that he was waiting for it. But he was. He tried to busy himself; he read, he found a job, he fixed up his place so it didn't look like it belonged to a psychopathic loner, but he was just trying to get his mind off of the phone call that wasn't coming, that probably wouldn't ever be coming.

Jack wasn’t going to take him back. He had made room for the possibility in the back of his mind. But he had hoped. He had hoped, so of course, Jack wasn't going to take him back. Sawyer still didn't blame him, though. He was the one that had left. He was the one that had messed everything but. Maybe Jack had agreed to see him because he needed closure, or out of morbid curiosity, but with each day that passed, Sawyer became more and more sure that it wasn't because he wanted him back in his life.

The silence spoke for itself.

On Friday, one of his new co-workers, a twenty something kid with a big mouth and energy to burn, had offered to take him out to a bar - said getting laid was the cure for whatever was ailing him. But Sawyer wasn’t interested, and didn’t want to get laid unless it was by Jack. The only one he wanted was the one that didn't seem to want him back.

So, he had come straight home after work, tossed aside his jacket, and fallen onto the couch. He felt listless, joyless. All he really wanted to do was go to bed, but he couldn't force himself to move. He closed his eyes and let out a sigh.

When the phone rang, Sawyer nearly jumped out of his skin. It was an unaccustomed sound, after weeks gone by without it. His hand shook despite himself when he reached for it, and even more so when he checked the caller ID and it read: Shephard, Jack.

This was it, the moment he had waited for, and he was almost too nervous to answer the phone. But he took a deep breath, and flipped the phone open. He betrayed himself right off, his voice shaking slightly. “Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” Jack replied. He didn't sound nervous, though. He almost sounded happy.

“How’ve you been?” Sawyer asked, making nervous conversation.

“I’ve been better, but...” Jack let out a small sigh. “I’ve been thinking, and...if we're going to try this again, I think we need a clean slate. We need to start over.”

“What do you got in mind?” Sawyer replied, confused, yet cautiously optimistic. He wanted to believe that Jack was giving him another chance, especially after the weeks upon weeks spend convincing himself of the contrary, but he couldn't let himself get his hopes up.

“Well, it’s Friday night. What do you say to dinner,” Jack replied.

“You’re askin' me out,” Sawyer answered, a little dumbfounded. Jack giggled that giggle of his and Sawyer found himself grinning like an idiot.

“Yes,” Jack replied. “I am.”

“So, when you say start from scratch, you mean start from scratch,” Sawyer mused. “Not that this ain’t exactly what I want, doc, but...are you sure this is what you want? You really wanna give this another go?”

“Yes,” Jack answered, definitively. “I do. So is that a yes?”

“Abso-fuckin’-lutely, that’s a yes, doc,” Sawyer replied with a giddy enthusiasm like he hadn't felt, or shown, in quite a while. It was going to take a long time, earning back Jack's trust, getting back to the place they had once been, but it felt right, having a clean slate, starting things over. And this time, he thought he had it in him to do things right.