James Ford (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
sorrydontsuitme) wrote2009-01-31 05:50 pm
sorrydontsuitme) wrote2009-01-31 05:50 pm
(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.
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.
no subject
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."
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)
(no subject)