sorrydontsuitme | (no subject)

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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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"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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