sorrydontsuitme | (no subject)

(no subject)

Ain't no such thing as butterflies in his stomach or his heart skippin' beats. None of that Wuthering Heights fated-to-be-in-love crap; he ain't no stalker like that damn Heathcliff son of a bitch and Freckles ain't no mournful mooning Cathy.

He never liked that book.

Over the years he's been with a lot of women. From the time he was sixteen, he's romanced 'em. Wined 'em, dined 'em, fooled around with 'em, conned 'em. He hasn't conned every woman he's slept with and he hasn't slept with every woman he's conned. But he hasn't had very many bedtime partners where he didn't have some kind of ulterior motive and he ain't ashamed to admit it: it's what he does. Reminds him of a long-ago conversation he had with Freckles when she wanted something from him. I've got a lot more of everything, but you ain't got carte blanche yet.

Whether or not she knows it, she's got it now.

So he can't help but wonder: what is it she wants right now? Right here, today, when all the stuff they want is just a phone call away and they got a whole damn asteroid at their disposal? If he was the introspective type he might wonder why him: out of all the guys here, why'd she choose him? Damn good thing he ain't never given introspection a second glance; he don't have time for that shit. So he's only a little bit surprised when he finds himself outside the door to her room, like he was drawn there by somethin' inevitable. Fate? He's a damn opportunist. He goes where his libido takes him.

If only that was always true, he wouldn't ever get into so much trouble like he does. If only he could shut it all up, all those damn little voices inside telling him what's right and what's wrong. Mostly he ignores 'em, always has. And then he woke up this morning going... hey there, Freckles. Only she wasn't there. It's a damn good thing he knows how to remedy that.

He ain't got no cards, no flowers, no pretty poems, no backpack full of mangoes. This time all he's got is himself. One of these days, that'll be enough.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

She freezes, a half-folded shirt in her hands.

Her open backpack sits on her bed with one folded outfit already inside it, and she moves quickly to the door, looking though the peephole.

Sawyer.

She backs away from the door before she calls out for his benefit. "Just a second!"

For a second she's not sure what to do, but she doesn't have much time to decide. Keeping him waiting will only make him more suspicious.

She moves the backpack to the floor, nestling it in an empty corner beside the table, and then stuffs the half-folded shirt in a drawer. Once that's done, she goes back to the door and opens it with a smile that starts off crooked and widens involuntarily.

"Hey."

"How do, Freckles?" The words coming out of his mouth sound flippant and hollow, but only for a moment. He really does want to know how she's doing. It ain't every day that months' and months' worth of tension gets dissolved not once but twice in a single afternoon before the girl sneaks away when she thinks the guy's sleepin'. He ain't gonna ding her for that. It's like he thought: she needs to go, she could go. He don't own her; they didn't make no agreements about nothin'. Didn't stop all those thoughts from runnin' through his brain most of the night, though.

He ain't no incurable romantic. Everyone and everything's got an angle, doesn't it? It's always been the case so far. Here though, he ain't anglin' for a damn thing. All he knows is the want balling up near his loins, and the feel of her hair in his fingers, the strawberry sweetness of her lips, the way she tucks her lower lip beneath her teeth.

There's more than just sex goin' on between 'em and while that ain't no first, the way he feels just might be. His eyes scan the room, rest for a moment on that open backpack, then back to her. "I was gonna take a walk. You game?"

She follows his eyes, inwardly groaning.

She should've put the backpack in the closet. She--

(Immediately she plays it cool and turns her eyes back on him.)

--should've moved her ticket from the little bedside table.

Clock says it's a little after noon; she's got about three hours before she needs to be anywhere.

"A walk, huh?" She pats the pocket of her jeans, feels the keycard there, and gestures to the door. "You got any destination in mind, or are we just wandering?"

Truth of the matter is he wants to go to that little convenience store and see what they got in 2074 for condoms.

"Just down the mall a little bit. Stretch our legs, like that." Crap, he hates this feelin' like he don't know what the hell he's supposed to do. Does he give her a kiss? Woo her? Act like nothin' happened? What they did was so sweet, and he ain't used to sweet. He ain't used to it at all.

In the end he decides just act like normal, or let what's gonna happen be the new normal. He knows what it's like to have a girl; he ain't lived 35 years without knowing a thing or two. But he's never really cared before.

Screw it: he gives Freckles a kiss to the center of her forehead before stepping back. Ain't his fault she feels good against him, even for a brief moment.

When he leans in, she puts her hand on his arm and blinks, eyes looking first to a corner of the ceiling and then to the wall behind him before lowering to meet his. The smile never leaves her face -- not for a second -- but she isn't quite good enough to keep herself from giving off an air of surprise.

(He smells good.)

Is this what Sawyer's like in a relationship? Combing his hair with your fingers? Planting kisses on your forehead when you don't expect them?

She knows he has to be good at romancing women. He made a career out of it. But all the same, she wasn't expecting...

Well, she doesn't know what she was expecting. She wasn't even expecting yesterday to go the way it did.

"You know me. Always up for stretching my legs."

Now he can lean back and smile. "That's good, 'cause I got a shot-up leg and any doc's gonna tell me the key to keepin' it gettin' all stiff is to exercise it." If it wasn't for the feel of the gauze and bandages against his thigh, his jeans rubbing against all that, he might just about forget he's shot up. It's a dull ache, a background thing, and he ain't in love with Freckles. That's ridiculous. He just ain't feelin' it 'cause it's healing.

Right?

So why the hell is he so off-balance? It's not like he hasn't done this before. He's done it a million times.

Sure. Back in the real world, with a briefcase full of pretend cash on a shelf, a satisfied woman in his bed, a fancy suit hangin' in the closet. He ain't never done this on an asteroid, for no stakes except the stakes of the heart instead of the wallet. There's no angle but the angle of honesty, and he could say in a game of I Never that he's never been honest in a relationship with a lady before.

Damn, baby. First time for everything.

I never fell so hard.

"Ladies first." His eyes scan the room again but he don't pay none of it too much mind. She didn't say no to a walk, and that's a step -- no pun intended -- in the right direction.

Her smile crooks -- it really lays on the charm when he dimples up like that -- but she lets him be gallant and follow her out.

Even though she's not completely sure she trusts that he's just being chivalrous. It could be that he's looking for another opportunity to scope out the stuff she's got lying around. Like the ticket.

That's fine. If that's what he's doing, he can do it.

Letting herself out, she holds the door open for him. "Speaking of that leg, how's it doing?"

"It ain't so bad, Freckles." He casts a passing glance at somethin' lying out there on the nightstand, but he ain't gonna take the time right now to try and see what it is. Her stuff, her business. The sanctity of stuff is somethin' he knows all about.

But since she asked, he tries real hard not to limp. He ain't gunnin' for sympathy or nothin' like that. But what hurts hurts and he ain't never been real good at hidin' that. Even when the doc and Al-Jazeera tortured him, he didn't try pretendin' it didn't hurt.

He just asked for more.

Once they're outside the door and he hears that telltale little click, he drapes his arm gentle-like around Freckles' shoulder. That ain't got nothin' to to do with his leg neither; it just feels good.

"Thought I'd see if I could interest you in a burger and fries again."

It's only half innuendo.

The door's barely locked behind them before his arm's around her; it's unintentional when her hip bumps his, and words die on her tongue for a second.

He's not going to make this easy, and she shouldn't be surprised. When has she ever known him to?

She arches an eyebrow up at him. "You talking literal or figurative?"

One she's happy to show some interest in. The other she's been thinking hard about her odds of resisting since last night.

Well, there's a question for a man. One eyebrow raised, he glances over at her. "The way I see, it, Freckles, one's kind of a necessity and the other's up to you."

He ain't sayin' which is which, but she ain't stupid. Kate's gotta know after the necessity's taken care of -- after the food's eaten -- whatever else happens has to be decided between the two of 'em. He'll be happy to spend more time with her either way, but he'll be real happy if she goes for the figurative.

Without a whole lot of apology, he presses the button for the elevator. Stairs ain't that much fun for his leg yet.

Her lips press together in a slow smile, but she doesn't say anything at first.

She's got enough time for this walk and a stop somewhere for the burger and fries they didn't exactly finish yesterday before she'll have to extract herself to come back, shove a few things in her bag, and hop on her shuttle.

In a way, now that they've crossed this imaginary line in the sand, she feels a little like any time she spends with him is dangerous. Putting a time limit on it could make things safer.

Theoretically.

Her gaze drops to his thigh, as if she could see the wound through his jeans and whatever bandages he has on underneath. "Well, you let me know if your leg starts bothering you, and I'll escort you right back. Okay?"

He seems pretty intent on this walk, and going to the shops shouldn't be too bad. After the physical exertion of sex twice in one afternoon, she guesses they already haven't done his leg any favors. But he's the one with the bullet wound. He can decide how he's feeling.

The elevator arrives with a ding, and she steps through the open doors with him. She can't help thinking this shouldn't be so awkward, but she guesses that's what happens when you mix girls who don't do one-night stands with guys who claim they've never been in love.

Why the hell's this bein' so damn awkward, he wants to know. Inside the elevator he leans against the wall, resting his leg. Flexing it, relaxing it.

"Just keeping it loose." He might be talkin' about more than just his leg. What he'd like to do is take her in his arms, have a little fun. Right here: why not? But he ain't so sure she'd go for it, for one thing. What they did yesterday, it was just spontaneous as hell. No one planned it. She didn't come to his room to jump him; it just kind of evolved. And that's the problem. He ain't used to working these things without a script, or if there ain't no script, at least there's usually an outline.

His guess is it's gonna be uncomfortable until one or the other of 'em does or says something about it. Might as well be him.

"You know yesterday?" His eyes stay on her like a hawk zeroing in on a mouse runnin' across a damn field. He nods one time, gives her a dimpled grin. "I wasn't expectin' that. But I liked it, Freckles. Hope you did too."

Her smile more lopsided than ever, she averts her eyes briefly. Even then she's all too aware of him watching her.

"Don't see how I couldn't know yesterday."

She only thought about it all night until she finally fell asleep.

If she hadn't pulled that stunt with the french fry, would he have ended up kissing her at some point anyway? He does have a history of doing it.

She bites the inside of her lip for a second before looking his way again.

"Sorry I skipped out. Have enough trouble sleeping in my own bed sometimes, let alone someone else's."

She didn't answer his implied question, at least not in so many words, but he ain't insecure enough to ask again. If she hadn't liked it, she didn't have to stay for the second round.

All in all, it'd be better if she didn't apologize no more for leavin'. "Sweetheart, you want to sleep in your own bed, I ain't gonna stand in your way." Even as he says it he knows it's only halfway true: he'd be pretty damn happy if she stayed. But he ain't no sappy wimpy romantic and neither is she, and she can go wherever she wants whenever she wants. He saw at a real young age what happens when one person in a relationship tries to tell the other what to do, an he ain't gonna be like his daddy. All angry, all possessive. Nope, not him.

I guess that takes cuddlin' off the table. That's what he told Ana's backside as she walked away after him and her did the horizontal tango. Least this time, Kate didn't jump him just to get a damn gun.

"But if you ever change your mind, I'll keep you warm."

That's one promise he'll make good on. Tentatively and real, real quiet, he moves just a fraction closer.

Just a fraction.

Her eyes size him up mildly one second and edge away from him the next, suddenly eager to take advantage of the distraction of the doors opening onto the lobby. "I'll keep that in mind."

(It almost bothers her when it occurs to her that she'd like it.)

She's not trying to avoid him -- saying she was busy when he showed up at her door would've done that well enough -- but she's...

(She just takes the plane because that's the one thing in the whole world that Kate does care about, she hears Edward's voice, matter-of-fact with an audible sneer. She has no attachments.

He was only ever half right about her.)

She's trying to be realistic here. She should've let herself have fewer attachments over the last three years.

Briefly, the very tip of her tongue is visible between her lips. "Doesn't look bad in here for a place that had a shootout in it two days ago."

And besides that, there's the fact that he's still not really her type.

When he shakes his head and smiles, there are dimples evident on his cheeks. For once, he ain't makin' 'em pop out on purpose. Imagine that: a genuine smile over stuff gettin' shot up. Him and Freckles, they spent most of the shootout downstairs in the garage and he ain't been back there since they got back from the city. Out here, there's a little bit of damage but not a whole lot.

"Good thing repair robots don't need no sleep." They could just keep goin' and goin' on fixing stuff, he imagines, without a break or nothin'. It's a crap job but he don't have to do it, so he don't care. Idly, one of his hands goes to a bullet hole in the wall; a few cracks radiate out from it. That could've been his leg. Hell, it was his leg.

He'd take one for Freckles any damn day. It's a change for him, that kind of behavior: he's usually the kind of man who steps out of the way of a moving car, not one who walks into it. And all 'cause it might harm a hair on her pretty head.

What is it about her, he wonders, that makes him act like that? It ain't just to get her into bed. He would've done near anything for her even without that promise dangling. Hell, he did do it without expectations. That ache in his leg? It don't have squat to do with tryin' to impress Freckles. What it has to do with is this unexpected and damn unusual protective streak. The only thing he's ever protected before was his own sorry ass.

Strangest part? He didn't even think twice. That don't make him no hero. Just makes him like any other guy who ever wandered the halls of any hotel anywhere. Or the paths through an island jungle. And he ain't usually just like most other guys.

Freckles? Her name as a question's just about to fall off his lips, but he bites it back.

Not yet.

She glances over at him, grinning wider than before when he dimples up.

"Tireless workers, right? And it's not like they ever need raises or promotions." Or paychecks at all. Or sick leave or disability. "Discovered those housekeeping robots really keep to a schedule, too. If you don't have your Do Not Disturb sign on the door, they let themselves in pretty much like clockwork."

She was pretty surprised the time she stepped out of the shower, heard something rustling around the bedroom, and tensely cracked the door open to look out just in time to see a robot glide by with a trash bag.

"Bet by this time tomorrow even those bullet holes are gone."

"That's a bet I ain't gonna go against, Freckles." This is a little more like it. Regular old conversation, whatever that is. Not this weird do I or don't I crap he can't seem to shake today. Best just not to think about it and be himself. If he believed in faith -- he don't -- he might even go back to his whole bit about how one day that'll be enough.

Lucky for him he ain't no believer. His hand falls away from the bullet hole on the wall and goes almost automatically to the bullet hole in his leg. That's no ploy for sympathy. More a reminder to himself. It's funny how often it's some damn trauma or other that's brought him and Freckles together. A little torture, a vengeful boar, a couple Others, a fake pacemaker. Some Dragons. Hell yeah, they've had some fun, ain't they? He nods toward the convenience store. "Mind stoppin' in here with me?"

Just a couple supplies. Just in case. Comes a time when a man has to take a little responsibility for the things he does. This seems like one of 'em, like it or not.

Still grinning, she raises her eyebrows slightly and gestures him in. "I don't mind at all."

She'd thought he just wanted to go on a little walk with her, stretch his legs, maybe address yesterday afternoon. Turns out he's actually running errands while he's at it.

No reason not to. Maybe he wants her opinion on more reading glasses or something. That idea makes her smile to herself.

As they walk in, she pulls the hair band from around her wrist and starts gathering her hair back, her eyes drifting to the wall of magazines near the registers. "You need new reading material?"

"Hell no, Freckles. I got me the best of the new magazines already. Someone I know brought 'em right to my room yesterday." No. He heads right for the optimistically-named Family Planning aisle. One kid's enough, thanks. Maybe one of these days he'll tell Freckles all about it, but that'll be a cold damn day in hell.

When he turns to her, it's without much apology. "I figured... bein' an ex Boy Scout and all... well, Freckles, you know what they say. Be prepared."

Thing is, there's so much to choose from, and a package that claims to be a once-a-month male contraceptive catches his eye. Frowning, he reads the details, then puts on his reading glasses and reads 'em again, then gives her a little glance of consternation.

"And I thought women didn't trust men to take care of this kind of thing." But he raises an eyebrow, tilts his head, holds the box out for her perusal: what the hell. "Want me to try it?"

It's a little bold, assuming he'll need it. But one thing he ain't never done yet is run out of hope. Especially not over somethin' like this.

She follows a step behind him, eyebrows rising, and then freezes a little like a deer in headlights when he starts looking over the pills and condoms and jellies and sponges. He picks up one box pretty fast, and as he reads the back of it -- putting his glasses on and everything -- she stands there, her tongue jutting sideways to the corner of her lips and her eyebrows showing no sign of lowering.

Never in a million years would she have dreamed up this scenario, investigating the birth control aisle with Sawyer.

Her instinct is to turn enough to look away until he turns toward her, but she's half taken aback and half mesmerized. Like he's suddenly decided to change his clothes right in front of her or something.

With the box held out to her, she hesitates. When he wants to, Sawyer can craft one hell of a plan. She's seen him in action, even been just another pawn in one of his cons before. This walk of his is turning out to be a lot more practical on his part than she ever suspected.

She doesn't take the box from him, but after a long moment she does finally step closer, close enough that she could read the box he's presenting to her if she chose to. A hint of her surprise lingers in her voice, but her tone stays level. "You really are planning ahead."

Birth control is a good idea in general; she has to respect that he is being practical about it. But she doesn't think that's all this is.

You run, I con.

This feels like his way of getting her to give him some kind of straight answer: is it going to happen again or not?

Well, there's a silence. It ain't like he was expectin' approval or disapproval or nothin' any more than he expected to find an over-the-counter male pill. No, he was gonna ask her opinion on rubbers, see if she had a preference for one kind or another, but this... hell, it's easy and it lasts a whole month, and if they ain't had sex again in that month he can forget about 'em for good. No big deal.

"Tell you what, Freckles." Decisively, he tucks those reading glasses away. "I'm gonna get these. Then if we need 'em, it's all taken care of. And if we don't, all it cost was the swallow of one little pill. No harm, no foul." Now his shrug is casual as can be. "And no pressure either."

That's somethin' he wants her to know. Sure, if it was up to him they'd be buck naked together right now, but it ain't just up to him. He could ask, he could cajole, he could plead. He could con her into it if he wanted; he's got enough experience doin' that.

None of those things are what he wants. What he wants -- besides a repeat performance -- is for the next time to be just as mutual as the first time. That disturbs him a little, that thought, not that he goes around takin' that kind of advantage of women just for the hell of it. Sex should always have some mutual benefit, even if it's just the sheer physical thrill of it.

With Kate, he feels a little different. Mutual benefit, sure, but damn if there ain't this tiny little seed of emotional component to it. Looks like Freckles really is the new sheriff in town, whether or not she knows it.

"Easy peasy. Anything else you want at this place, Freckles?" Today only, it's on him.

"Wait a second."

This time her mouth's the traitor, and forehead wrinkled, she catches herself reaching out, her hand stopping about two inches from his shoulder.

"All you brought me here for was to get an opinion?"

He didn't expect a more straightforward let's try this next time or I think yesterday was a mistake from her? Just her opinion? She can hardly believe that.

"What'd you think, Freckles? That I was gonna waste your time or somethin'?" Grinning, he shakes his head ruefully and picks up a couple of boxes. One says TROJANS -- nice to see some things don't change -- and the other says VENUSIAN DELIGHT. "What I was gonna do, woman, was ask which of these you preferred." Now he sets those boxes back on the shelf like they contain some sort of damn disease or somethin'. "But I kind of like the idea of the one pill a month better. Unless you got some deep-seated thoughts about it one way or t'other."

Maybe it's like he said at first. Maybe women don't trust the men to take care of this kind of thing. Man never knows what his girl -- a girl -- might be thinkin'.

"You got a preference, I'll take it into consideration." His mind's pretty much made up, though.

It's slow, but a smile spreads across her face.

I can't believe we're having this conversation is still plain as day in her eyes.

"In general terms," she offers carefully, "seems like those pills would make most people happy."

He's already made his decision, and she's kind of relieved for it, as if his taking her freely-given advice on what she'd like him to use in bed would make this more complicated than it already is.

Now that it's out of the way, though, she manages to relax about it some. "This one of your usual day-after activities?"