sorrydontsuitme | (no subject)

(no subject)

Freckles was right about one thing: he does feel better after a night's sleep. And a big old room service breakfast and the latest tabloids -- damn if that Dr. Harper wasn't right about drug smugglers in the asteroid belt -- and a call to Freckles that went mostly like no, I don't need you, just thought if we're gonna go look for the doc we might as well get it over with before I get too damn used to this place. It didn't feel better to put on his stupid island clothes and that damn watch again, but he knows what he'll do when he gets back.

And revenge is gonna taste sweeter than the orange juice on his breakfast tray.

Twelve hours. They said twelve hours this time: the doc's worth half a day and that seems fair. One of these days they might even get around to timing this stuff to reality back on the island, but sittin' around waiting ain't nobody's idea of fun: if they're going, they might as well get a move on and git. It puts them back in their cages at night, but he's wide awake. He ain't so sure if Freckles is asleep or awake and he don't really feel like having a little tete-a-tete with her from across the aisle neither. Both of 'em got things to think about and he still ain't sure how much she paid for him at that hospital or where the money came from, but he ain't gonna begrudge her no secrets.

Hard to tell how long he lies there, but he knows the monitor's silent. And so is Freckles and so is he, and as the sounds of night deepen they bore him into this kind of half-sleep; he falls in and out of it until the sounds around them quiet and it has to be just before first light when he hears voices. It's the head honcho, Ben, with another couple guys with rifles and they take him out of the cage, real quiet, guns pointed to his back, and march him off. Day breaks around them; they're hiking up a steep path on the side of a hill. It feels like they walk in silence forever.

Finally, Ben opens his yap. "Not much further, James. Just at the top of the next rise." He points to a hill in the near distance -- does that count as an oxymoron, he wonders? -- but don't say no more. So far, they've just been walking.

"What's up there?" Man deserves to know where he's bein' led, don't he.

"Something I want you to see."

As far as he's concerned, Ben can talk all he wants but he knows the truth: there ain't no pacemaker in him. Whatever it is Ben wants him to see ain't gonna be shocking enough to give him a damn heart attack. So Ben wants him to see something? Let him show it off; it won't curb his sarcasm and general disbelief in everything the guy says from now on. He knows better than to trust a single damn word of it. "That little place you always wanted, George?"

Ben looks at him like he's got two heads, maybe three. His sorry? ain't nothin' more than a question mark at the end of the day.

"What, don't you read? It's from Of Mice and Men. You'd like it. Puppies get killed." Ben don't say nothin', neither do the other guys with the rifles. They just keep going, and the hike gets steeper and steeper all the time, covering harder terrain. Sure enough, the thing on his wrist starts beepin'. 125 beats per minute. What'd Ben tell him the top limit was? 140? He puts his hand over the bandage on his chest: now he gets to act it out with everything it's worth. They keep climbin', monitor reads 135. "Bring me up here to kill me? Make that thing you put inside of me blow up my damn heart?" If they don't know he knows, then he's got the damn power here, not them; his hand goes back to his chest like he's waitin' for his heart to pop right on out of there.

The only thing that surprises him even a little is the way the guy's so damn forthcoming about it. "Your heart's not going to blow up, James. The only thing we put inside you was doubt. Oh, the watch is a heart rate monitor, but nothing more." Why the hell's he telling him this now? Ben even pulls a white rabbit out of his satchel like some island magician; damn thing's got the number eight painted on its back. "Look. We gave him a sedative, not a pacemaker."

Yeah, right. Like the sedative and pacemaker they gave him and if he hadn't gone back and hadn't gone along with what Freckles wanted, he wouldn't even know this now, but he does. He ain't gonna act like it, though. The guys with the guns ain't that good, and sooner or later he'll be able to make his move. Not quite yet, though. "How do I know that's the same bunny? That you didn't just paint an eight on another one?"

"You don't," says Ben, matter-of-fact as hell.

That's it: he officially can't stand it no damn longer. Reaches back with his left hand, brings it around, and slugs the guy. Hard. Right in the damn mouth. "You son of a bitch." It's worth it, even though now the other two lackeys got him by an arm each.

Ben takes a minute, spits out a mouthful of blood: good. This is only the beginning. "The rabbit wasn't the thing I wanted to show you."

Now what the hell? Then he sees it, out of the corner of his eye at first and then better, and he can't believe it. Can't believe it for a second: across the way, across the water, another island. "What the--?"

"You ever been to Alcatraz -- take the tour?" Ben ain't even lookin' at him. Just lookin' across the water at the other island. "Right now you're standing on a small island roughly twice the size of Alcatraz. And that over there -- that's your island -- the one you've come to know and love. I just wanted you to know there's nowhere to run."

That don't make no sense. The whole thing ain't got no point. "You did all this just to... just to keep me in a damn cage?"

Now Ben turns to him, cool and casual and king of the damn world. "We did all this because the only way to gain a con man's respect is to con him. And you're pretty good, Sawyer. We're a lot better. Funny thing is, us telling you about the pacemaker wasn't what kept you in line. It was when I threatened her."

Son of a bitch. Son of a bitch! He don't want to hear this, but Ben just keeps right on going.

"You work so hard to make her think you don't care, that you don't need her, but, A guy goes nuts if he ain't got nobody. It don't make no difference who the guy is, long as he's with you. I tell you, I tell you a guy gets too lonely and he gets sick."

Eyes narrowed, he turns to Ben and can't get the view of that other island out of his mind, can't get the sick feeling out of his stomach. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's from Of Mice and Men. Don't you read?"

Of course. Now he gets it. Now he sees. It's a damn layered con, and he fell for it not once, but twice.

Son of a bitch.

"Come on, let's get you back to your cage."

This time, he don't even argue.

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Stiff, reluctant, she wakes to the sounds of metal-on-metal, a horn blaring, something cracking as it hits something else.

Sitting up and blinking sleep from her eyes, she looks over to see Sawyer already awake and tossing rocks at the machine that gives out biscuits.

She absently wets her lips, rises to her feet with her back arched until it pops, and walks over to the bars facing Sawyer's cage. "Hey."

Oh, he's glad to be back now. Damn glad, and he ain't sure whether to laugh or cry over the situation. Instead, he's sitting with his back against the cage bars throwin' rocks at the feeding thing.

He's been awake for hours. Out on a nice little countryside jaunt and everything, and he's pissed off at Ben and the Others but he's even more pissed off at himself. He can't believe he fell for it. After that trip to the hospital proved things were nothin' but a damn lie, he should have known there was more.

But he didn't, 'cause if he had they wouldn't be here. No point in it. No damn reason whatsoever.

Plink, goes the rock against the button.

Warning! says the voice.

Plink, goes the next rock against the button.

Warning! says the voice again. Damn thing never gets tired.

"Hey yourself." He takes one more rock, readies it in his left hand, throws it. He ain't wearing the monitor no more.

Warning!

He's in a mood. She's not sure how he couldn't be, under the circumstances. Watching him throw rocks, she doesn't say anything for a minute.

Did something happen once she was finally able to catch a little sleep? That'd figure.

"What are you doing?"

It doesn't look like he's wearing the watch now, but if they're being listened to out here, she better not ask him if the Others came clean already or if he's just feeling defiant.

What the hell's it look like he's doin'?

"Throwin' rocks."

Plink.

Plink.

Plink.

He don't even turn around to look at her: he ain't sure he can pull it off right now. She's seen him at his worst, but he ain't so sure she's seen him defeated and right now ain't the time for confessions. No, right now he's just a little bit annoyed at the whole damn world.

Casting her eyes down at the flowered shirt they gave her yesterday, she just barely bites back well, it's really loud and it woke me up.

She's not the only one who's tired, she knows. She's not the only one who's irritated, who hates these cages, who can't stand these people.

Maybe she'll drop him a hint. "Thought you had to pull the lever."

She's seen him go through the process a few times; he's not after a fish biscuit.

"I know how to get a damn fish biscuit." Maybe he don't mean to come off sounding quite so pissed off -- it ain't Freckles' fault -- but he can't help himself.

How many more hours they got? How come that glass of orange juice seems so damn far away?

Now he does look back, just a little bit. She looks about as glad to be here as he is. What he wants to say is sorry for the scowl, Freckles, but he already told her once: sorry don't suit him.

At least he's stopped for a second.

She wraps her hands around the bars. "Get me one."

She could use a little something to eat, and if it makes him stop throwing rocks at that thing before she gets a headache, that'd be nice. It's tough to believe he doesn't have one already.

Kind of makes her think of a smart-ass comment he made to her once: there are nicer ways to wake a man up, Freckles.

She's not going to turn that one back around on him.

"Psh. What, you trying to keep me feeling productive?"

That makes him stop, though, and sit up a little straighter, and pay a little better attention. Like he told himself before, it ain't her fault he found out what he did, although strictly speakin', it just might be. If it wasn't for her, they probably wouldn't even be back on this island to begin with.

Whichever damn island this is, and he ain't even sure he believes that son of a bitch's story. Hell, he ain't even sure he believes his own damn eyes no more.

"I'm trying to get a fish biscuit out of you."

He doesn't have to be so difficult about it.

But running a hand through her hair, she half-turns just in time to see their old friend Danny come walking down the path with the usual two armed guards following him like puppies. She folds her arms over her chest and watches them get closer.

"Time for work," Danny announces. For the first time since she was brought to this cage, they come to her first and unlock the door to take her out.

They've never done that. It's always been Sawyer's cage first.

As her arm's grabbed, they don't make any movement to go to his cage, so she nods toward him. "What about him?"

Now this is new and different. Just to be difficult about things, he lies down on the bench and takes off his shirt. They want him, they're gonna have to come get him.

He ain't worried his heart's gonna blow up or nothin'.

And then Broken Nose Man -- Pickett -- surprises him.

"He's got the day off."

Well, well, well. It's about damn time. Maybe they figure he's had enough for now.

On one hand, she figures she could be glad about that. Sawyer deserves a break.

But she doesn't trust these guys -- especially Danny -- as far as she can throw any of them, and if they're making her work but letting Sawyer stay put, it's probably because they've got something up their sleeves.

"Well, if he's not working" -- her arm's tugged, but she doesn't budge -- "neither am I."

Danny doesn't look amused. "Oh, you're not, huh?"

They've already burned a lot of their twelve hours. How much trouble can they get in with the time that's left?

"Go, Freckles. Man wants to give me a day off? Let him give me a day off." Ain't no skin off his back: he could use a break. Not that he wants Freckles off there alone with them, but so far, aside from makin' her collect rocks, there ain't a whole lot they've done to her. Play dress-up, maybe: that's about it.

Nope, he ain't gonna move if he don't got to.

Standing her ground, she shoots him a disapproving look. "No, Sawyer."

What is he thinking? She's almost tired of thinking it by now, but what Jack said about living together and dying alone is right. They can't just invite these people to do whatever the hell they want.

Besides, any opportunity to get out of their cages together is a good one. Something could happen. This could be their chance. She's not leaving him.

"We're a team," she insists. "I break the rocks, you haul them."

Danny, looking supremely exasperated, nods one of the guards over to Sawyer's cage. "All right," he spits out. "Fine."

She doesn't like the way he looks at Sawyer.

"Lord knows I wouldn't want to break up the team."

He's torn between thinkin' thanks a lot, Freckles and appreciating what she's done and what she's doin': people can say what they want about her -- him too -- but they got some loyalty to each other. They're two of a kind, him and her, just like he told her a long, long time ago. When he leaves with Pickett, he grabs his shirt up and puts it on. Man could burn out there.

And today they got somethin' new in mind: they got Freckles piling firewood on some damn fire or other. Like it ain't already hot enough out here, and he's back to pickin' rocks, and even though he only had a shower back at his room at the hotel less than half a day ago, that don't seem like nothin' but a fond, fond memory.

Yeah, business as usual until the words Warning, compound breach come out over the loudspeaker.

Broken Nose Man picks up his walkie real angry now. "Where is she? Someone's on the grid. I want him on the ground." He points over and all of a sudden there's people throwin' him to the ground, face first, guns pointed at his back. He raises his hands in that universal gesture of innocence, just in case they decide they're gonna off him right now. And then Pickett points to Freckles. "Her too." Then he turns back with hatred in his damn eyes. "If he moves, you shoot him!"

He ain't never done nothin' to old Danny Boy besides kick his butt and break his nose. That ain't worth gettin' shot over, is it?

Danny just continues. "Yeah, they're here. The doctor get out again? You sure? Well, does he know? How the hell did she get over here?"

Who the hell is he talking about? What she? He shoots Freckles a confused look but the expression on her face shows she ain't got no more of an idea what's goin' on than he does.

And then all hell breaks loose: things start flying. Literally: one of the guards is hit by some damn... projectile, and the smart thing to do is get the hell back down on the ground, as low as possible.

Then someone else gets hit, and a third, and this -- girl comes running up out of nowhere and she's got a slingshot.

A damn slingshot.

And she yells to him and Freckles. "Come on! Get up! Go!"

What the hell's goin' on?

Her jaw drops in surprise.

It's that girl. The one she saw in the bushes two days ago while they were working on the rocks. In the face of all the other things that've happened, she'd almost forgotten about her.

Now the girl's got a slingshot and she's mad, but it's a slingshot and she's just a slender teenager up against all these guys and--

"What do you think you're doing?" Danny asks the girl, and there's familiarity in it. He knows her pretty well.

Better than he knows her and Sawyer.

"What, are you gonna shoot me?"

The girl won't put down her slingshot, and she's almost hysterical in her anger. She demands to know where someone is, demands to talk to Ben, and Danny's no good at talking her down.

(What are the odds: her and Sawyer, armed with knives, and the girl with the slingshot versus the camp full of Others?)

One of the guards grabs the girl's arms from behind, keeping her from aiming that slingshot, and starts to march her off.

"Get off of me!" she yells, and Danny shouts as if he'd cancel her out: "Get her out of here!"

"Let me go!" Next thing Kate knows, the girl's looking right at her. "Listen, whatever they say, don't believe them!" All the struggling is useless, but there's no letting up. "They're gonna kill your boyfriend just like they killed mine!

As the commotion dies down, she turns to glance worriedly at Sawyer.

She did the right thing when she wouldn't leave him alone at the cages.

There's no satisfaction in the idea.

Damn, baby: that sure ain't what he was hopin' to hear. He can live with the boyfriend mistake -- hell, even Pickett asked Freckles if she loved him -- but kill him?

What time is it? Can they go home now, please?

But the girl (and she's young) gets carted off and there's something going on with her. He ain't known for his attentive loving kindness, Pickett, but he won't touch this kid.

This might be worth figuring out, and it ain't like he's got other things to think about while they're here. Not any more, even if he thought he did this morning before that little hike with Ben and the whole two islands thing, and he still ain't told Freckles. He ain't had the chance.

And maybe he won't, and as the girl gets ushered away things return to normal, and he's directed back toward the rocks and Freckles... well, she's on firewood duty again. All he can do is shake his head and wonder.

It's sweaty work; her shirt -- maybe it belongs to that girl, too -- clings to her, and she's starting to wish she hadn't lost the band she'd been using to pull her hair back.

Stopping for a minute, she turns her face skyward and takes a long breath.

When the blonde from the other day -- the woman Sawyer said would've shot her without batting an eye -- shows up next to her, she's more than a little surprised.

The woman holds out one of those hoods she remembers having put over her head when they were first brought here. "I'd like you to put this on and come with me. Please."

"You think I'm going to put a hood over my head because you said please?"

Not a chance.

"No, Kate," she answers in an overly patient tone. "I think you're going to put a hood over your head because the man standing behind me, the one who's burning a hole in my back?" It's Danny behind her, just feet away, but his attention's not on them. "That man is going to kill Sawyer."

She almost flinches; her chest suddenly aches, like her ribcage is too heavy to let her lungs expand.

In the same low patient tone, the woman goes on: "But if you put this on and you come with me, there's something you can do for us that will save his life."

She aims a backward look at Sawyer before she jerks the hood away, but it's Danny she looks at through narrowed eyes before she covers her own head.

A hand takes her by the upper arm.

I'm taking you to see Jack, Kate, she's told, and she can hear the thumping of her own heart under the woman's words. We need him to do a very important operation, and he's been showing reluctance to agree to it. What we need you to do is talk to him and convince him to operate for us.

If she can do that, they won't let Danny touch Sawyer.

It's one foot after the other, and there are no answers for any of her questions: who needs the operation? why does Danny hate Sawyer so much?

They go through one door and then another, and she feels a strange stillness in the air around her.

The hood is removed, and she blinks as her eyes adjust to the dim lighting in the room.

And there's Jack on the other side of a wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling window. At first she wonders if he can see her or not, but he immediately walks up to the window and puts both palms on it.

She hesitates, and the woman leaves the room, claiming she's giving them privacy.

Like she believes for a minute that this is private, but she's irresistibly drawn to the window and she hates the unhappy twitch of her mouth as she mirrors Jack in resting her hands on the wall.

"Hey." Jack's studying her like he's not sure whether to believe it's really her at all. "You okay?"

"Yeah." The corner of her mouth still twitches, but she bites the inside of her lip and nods. "You?"

"Yeah, I'm great. Where are they keeping you?"

She lowers her hands. "Outside. In a cage."

He asks about Sawyer, too, and when she says they're being put to work, he gives her a look that's a little incredulous, but he never takes his eyes off her. "Work? On what?"

She almost shrugs. "I don't know what it is, but it's big. We're hauling rocks, and..."

He'll never agree to the surgery they need done, and she's not sure she can convince him. She doesn't want to have to convince him.

They shouldn't be here.

"Hey, did they hurt you?"

That's all it takes, and she has to shut her eyes to try to keep back tears.

He says her name again, says it's going to be all right, but it's not going to be okay. How much longer do they have here? Her eyes are wet when she opens them. "Jack, you have to do it, this thing that they told you. This operation."

She'll never forget the shocked look on his face. He looks up, away from her. "What did they do to you?"

The tears that make it to her cheeks are hot, and she shakes her head.

"What did they do to you?" he demands.

Just 24 hours ago she was asking Sawyer the same thing.

But then everything changes: reality shifts and slides back into place. She's left almost dizzied, surprise keeping her from letting out a choked Jack, and where he was, she now sees the door that'll take her back into the hotel lobby.

Behind her, she hears the sliding door close.

One minute he's haulin' rocks and the next minute he looks over to see Freckles being led off by that blond with the gun. Ain't a thing he can do about it, neither: there's a small army of Others got guns pointed right at him, and if that little girl was right, then time can't pass fast enough. Rocks or no rocks, it's just him out here in the sun and he got no idea what they've done with Kate.

And he don't like that one bit.

One minute he's haulin' rocks and the next minute he looks over to see Freckles, her face tear-stained, a sob dying on her lips and there ain't nothin' to say about it. Out of everybody, he knows all about the need to just shut up, Sawyer, and not blow it by tryin' to be smart. Especially not at a time like this. There's sure as hell somethin' he can do about it though: moving over, he wraps his arms around her. He ain't never been so damn glad to see her, and he ain't never been so damn glad to see this place.

"Hell of a day, Freckles."

That's all he's gonna say about it. He'll stay right here with her as long as she wants, but he ain't gonna turn around and go back through that sliding door any time soon.

She doesn't look at him.

She won't look at him.

His arms go around her, and her spine goes rigid, her feet ready to spin on the heels and point her in the opposite direction, her hands moving to wipe angrily at her eyes.

But instead of fleeing, she stays; instead of resisting, she lets herself slump against him.

Her arms don't follow his example, though, and she tells herself this is only for a minute.

She knows where Jack is. She knows that he's no worse off than they were -- physically, at least -- and even had it a little nicer by not being in a cage outside.

She knows that whether or not the blonde was bluffing about how much control they have over Danny and what his plans really are... he'd still kill Sawyer if given another excuse for violence.

"Shut up, James," she tells his shoulder, only a fraction of the usual bite behind the words.

This time she's not going back even if he wants to.

"I'm shuttin' up, Freckles." Arm still around her, he guides her to the door leading to the lobby without saying another damn word. Going back now would be like playing a hell of a game of Russian roulette, and he ain't that accomplished a gambler.

He don't say a thing as they make it through the lobby and he don't say a thing as they get their keys, and he don't say a thing as they wait for the elevator or get in the elevator or ride up to the third floor. What's he gonna say, you okay, Freckles? She ain't and neither is he and the both of 'em know it. When the elevator stops, he holds the door open with one hand but doesn't move the other from around her.

Not yet. Now it's time to say something, and it ain't something he wants to say here inside the elevator so he steps out with her. No, he ain't dim enough to try and hit on her or nothing; he just wants to see her safely to her room.

And say one thing on the way.

"Looks like twelve hours was the right amount of time. We picked good." Hell yeah he's scared of dying. No one's ever accused him of being a noble warrior.

Self-consciously, she fingers the key card in her pocket. "Why're you coming with me, James?"

It's not accusing -- not really -- so much as tired, unsure, and she'd give anything to have called him Sawyer instead. It suddenly makes her wonder if she's making him wear different names at different times just like she does: Katie, Katherine, Kate, Freckles.

(Even he calls her Kate sometimes, she's noticed, usually when he's angry or not feeling up to his usual tricks for one reason or another.)

He's right, though. Twelve hours was enough, and she's glad she refused to go back for any longer than that.

Her cheeks -- and eyes -- are dry now, but she still takes breaths that sometimes threaten to catch in her chest until they're ragged. She still licks her lips and tastes salt.

"You want to compare notes?"

"No." He's too tired to put on an act and honesty don't suit him no more than sorry does, but that's what she gets. "I looked up from rock duty earlier to see you walkin' off with Blondie and a burlap sack over your head and it didn't look none too fun to me. I ain't gonna ask you where they took you or what they did, Kate, 'cause if you want to tell me you will and if you don't, then it ain't my business. The reason I'm walkin' you to your door right now is to make sure no Others jump out and force you away again."

And once he's sure she's okay, he's gonna go up to his own room and get out of these damn island clothes and have a shower, put some of that antibiotic on his chest, and think long and hard about never goin' back to that damn island again.

"If you want to say that's comparin' notes, Freckles, then I guess we're comparin' notes."

Comes a time a man's got to put away his mask and just be himself. He guesses now's as good a time to take that risk as any.

She swallows against the tight feeling in her throat. A few more steps down the hallway, and she goes ahead and slides the key out of her pocket.

"She took me to see Jack."

There's no reason she can't tell him that. He should know. He'll probably even feel better about staying knowing that she's talked to Jack.

She stops in front of her room and turns toward him, leaning her back against the door and folding her arms loosely over her chest.

"They're keeping him inside a building, in a room with a wall that's like an observation window."

The more she thinks about it, the more it all seems tailored to each of them. Her and Sawyer locked in cages, Jack practically under a microscope for scrutiny.

"I think they're treating him a little bit better. They want him to do something for them."

"Took you to see the Doc, huh?" He's got to admit, the idea of him in some observation thing or other ain't no less disquieting then being kept in a damn bear cage. "What do they want him to do?"

At least there's some damn purpose to it somewhere along the line. Ever since they got where they are -- on the island, that is -- he's been wondering what the hell their angle is. Mikey was pretty damn set on it just being the five of them to go, so that means they had a plan from the get-go. Sent Hugo back as a warning so no one else wouldn't come lookin' for them, but Sayid's on the case, ain't he? Least there's one guy who wouldn't sit still and let that happen... if he ever did.

He can see someone needing the Doc for whatever reason. But him and Freckles? What good's a con-man and America's Most Wanted to a bunch of Others? He don't get it.

Anyhow, the idea of the doc being kept in some room like some lab rat... well, he guesses the same level of distaste ought to hold true for each and every one of 'em. It's all damn inhumane.

Then again, look what they did to old Ben, or Henry, or whatever the hell his name is, back at the hatch.

"They want him to do his job."

She wishes she knew more, but she doesn't. The woman who took her to Jack only told her the bare minimum she needed to know to do what they wanted her to. And as much as she hated it, what was she going to do? Refuse and see what they did to Sawyer?

Maybe Danny doesn't even need permission. Maybe he's just waiting for the right opportunity, just like they'd been doing all along. Maybe the next time Sawyer mouthed off he was in for it.

The door's handle nestles against the small of her back. "Somebody needs surgery, and they want him to do it."

"Let the son of a bitch go without the damn surgery. If I was the doc, I wouldn't give 'em the satisfaction." Yeah, anything he could do to be as much of a thorn in their side, he'd do it and he wouldn't think twice.

Of course, it's the Doc's decision, and they're two separate people. Anyhow, it ain't like it matters. That moment's frozen in time no matter what anyone wants: something happened when they walked through that sliding steel door. Something out of some damn Twilight Zone episode, like the one where the guy had that stopwatch that kept everyone but him absolutely still in the moment, and it worked great till he dropped the sucker while everyone else was frozen and got stuck as the only one able to move in the whole damn world.

Everything's got its pluses and minuses.

"Considering how things are goin' there at the moment, excuse me if I ain't all that eager to go rushing back to find out if little Jane or Johnny Other gets their surgery."

"I told him to do it."

She doesn't look at him. In fact, she moves away from the door and turns around to put her hand on the handle and slide the key into the slot until that little green light flashes.

"But it doesn't matter. We're not going back."

She's not planning anything, but maybe one day in the future she'll go herself and see if she can break Jack out. But she's not going now.

And Sawyer's not going with her.

Why the hell would she... well, it don't matter. She must have had her reasons, but any question about that's cut short by her saying they ain't going back.

At least they agree on that one.

"All right, then." As she starts workin' on opening her door, he steps back. "If I don't see these damn clothes again it'll be too soon. I'm goin' up, Freckles." At least the nicknames are back. If it was time for flirting he'd go on and say some crap like don't be a stranger, but she won't be. He'll find her. Kind of hard to stay away from each other no matter what, or so he's found. A long time ago he told her they were two of a kind and he meant it, and it's held true no matter what they been through.

"Goodnight, Moon." He'll just drag his sorry ass upstairs and try real hard not to think about how close he is to being at the top of Pickett's let's kill us a con man list.

Yeah, it'll be a cold day in hell before he walks back through that door willingly.

Only about a step inside her room, she stops and abruptly huffs out a laugh that's equal parts disbelief and amusement and smothered emotion.

She looks around the door at him. "Did you just say goodnight, moon?"

"'Night, Freckles."

It's the first time he's smiled for as long as he can remember, and it stays on his face as he turns and walks off down the hall. This time, he thinks he'll take the stairs.

Change of pace.

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