Title: Duality
Rating: PG
Summary: The way Jack figured it, he lived with two different men. There was Sawyer, and then there was James.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: For gemjam, because I can. :)



The way Jack figured it, he lived with two different men. There was Sawyer, and then there was James. Now, don’t misunderstand, there was only literally one man, and Jack still called him Sawyer because they had been through the big revelation that “Sawyer” wasn’t his real name, as well as the long, meaningful conversation that followed in which Sawyer had said he would still be going by that name, but Jack could call him whatever he liked.

(Let us skip the part where Jack said, “Okay…asshole” with a smirk and Sawyer had lunged at him from across the couch, pinning him down to the cushions, as well as the sex that ensued. If only for now.)

The point was that, there are times when Jack looks at Sawyer and sees Sawyer – this persona that he’s been wearing like a mask ever since he was sixteen, to the point where he’s almost forgotten that he can take it off. And there are other times, moments really, when Jack looks at Sawyer and sees James – this person that Sawyer hasn’t let himself be since he was sixteen, that he’s never been comfortable enough to let out unless it’s a complete and utter accident.

Jack still isn’t sure that it isn’t that – an accident. He isn’t sure that Sawyer means to let the better side of his nature out in the little ways that he does from time to time. Jack isn’t sure, if he weren’t head-over-heels in love with him, if he’d even notice.

As for example: the guy who barks at him for hovering over him while he’s trying to read, that’s Sawyer. The guy who picks fights over meaningless, day-to-day crap, half because he doesn’t know how not to and half because he enjoys the part where they make up so damn much, that’s definitely Sawyer.

But the guy who puts a blanket over him when he falls asleep in front of the TV on the couch, that’s James. The guy who dos the laundry on the Saturdays that Jack has bad a particularly long and arduous week because he knows how much Jack hates it, that’s James. And the guy who sent roses, yes roses and twelve of them, to his office on their anniversary, that was definitely James (because Sawyer may not have been a sappy bastard, but James was).

It took getting used to, Jack will admit. At first, it was like dealing with multiple personalities. Jack would often find himself trying to recognize the man who pitched a fit when Jack moved his glasses from the kitchen counter to the dish on the coffee table with the one that crawled into his arms at night and became very insistent about staying there.

After a while, though, it became easier to take the bitter with the sweet. It wasn’t that Sawyer was the devil and James was an angel. It wasn’t like that. Sawyer hid his feelings from Jack away like closely guarded secrets. Allowing himself to be James was the way that Sawyer opened himself up, the way he showed things to Jack that he wasn’t sure how to express otherwise.

As for example: Sawyer played the “I love you” card in the middle of a fight, waved it around like a flag, like that was all Jack needed to hear from him to back off and shut up. It made Jack roll his eyes. It made him angrier.

James mumbled, “I love you” against the side of his neck, drowsily, when they went to bed at night, almost already asleep and Jack’s heart still skipped a beat.

He meant it both times, Jack knew that. But he still couldn’t help but favor the later context.

In the end, though, they were the same man. Sawyer and James were just the parts that made him up. Neither defined him, but they were both part of each other. It had been too long and he had been through too much for them not to be.

It didn’t matter, though, what Jack called him – Sawyer, James, asshole – he was still the man that he was (flaws and good qualities alike) and Jack still loved him.