sorrydontsuitme | (no subject)

(no subject)

Take me out to the ball game,
Take me out with the crowd.
Buy me some peanuts and cracker jack,
I don't care if I never get back,
Let me root, root, root for the home team,
If they don't win it's a shame.
For it's one, two, three strikes, you're out,
At the old ball game.

Back when he was a little kid, he played in a peewee league. He always liked that: the uniforms, swingin' the bat, hitting the ball as far as little arms could make it go. That was fun, and he ain't no slouch when it comes to bein' in shape -- better now he ain't smoking no more -- but he's pretty damn far from a pro athlete. Don't mean he can't admire it. So when Freckles said hey, Sawyer, how about a baseball game? he didn't even have to think twice.

Home team's called the Tokyo Tarantulas, and they're playin' the Earth-based Blue Sox. Don't even matter he ain't got a team to root for. As him and Freckles -- Freckles Loress, while they're here on Mars, to match her passport -- file into the stadium, he takes a deep breath of nighttime Martian air.

There's somethin' about a ball park. It's the way it looks and the way it smells. It's the arc of the lights, the hum of the crowd. People eatin' hot dogs and drinkin' beer, and guys working their way through the stadium selling all that stuff that's awful for you but you can't do without. Freckles had a lot of luck at that casino the first night, and maybe he'll have his turn at it tomorrow night but here in Halley Stadium ("Home of the Galaxy-Famous Tarantulas"), he's just a guy taking his woman to see the major-league baseball. It's warm and bright and the company's good and the beer's cold, and he hands her one as they sit about a third of the way back on the first base line -- good seats, good view -- and as soon as that hot dog guy comes around he's buyin' two with the works. And hell, if he had one he'd have brought a mitt.

Fly balls. Got to go for 'em. Got to love those souvenirs that come with near-death experiences attached.

"You good, Freckles? Want anything?" Got to also love those open-ended questions.

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"Honest, Freckles? I wasn't so sure how it was gonna go." He ain't sayin' it to be mean, and it's more about him than about her, especially in this case. "Usually I've done my traveling solo. Hell if I know if I make a good vacation buddy or not." He knows he makes a crap partner on a con, but what con-man don't? You can't trust 'em or they wouldn't be good con-men. Even Cass fell for it, and that one was about as close to not being an act as he ever got back in the days.

I've never been in love.

Would he drink to that one now? How does a man know? Love has to be the single most complicated and layered con of 'em all. So many damn facets to it, so many pieces of it to peel away and when you do -- when you think you got it all figured out -- you only find more layers. More intricacies. It's like a spider's web, perilous and different from how innocent it looks on the outside, and it's the kind of puzzle ought to just dare him to figure it out. And still, the question remains: how does a man know?

Seems like the only way to figure it out is to dive in head-first and take it apart from the inside, 'cause he knows standin' around on the outside lookin' in has gotten him about as far as carrying that letter has all these years. As they step inside the front doors to their hotel, he does the only thing he can: he kisses her and this time it ain't no little stolen-moment kiss. He's done stealin' from her. No, this is the big shebang, the whole deal, the kind of kiss that's supposed to leave her weak in the knees and wanting for more. Some passerby tells 'em to get a room and this smug little voice filtering out all the noise speaks up real loud. We got one. Mind your own damn business: we got one.

They've barely even set foot inside the lobby when he stops her, and the kiss he gives her steals her breath right away from her.

It's a little like the time he surprised her with a kiss back on the island, when they'd been breaking and hauling rocks for the Others. (You taste like strawberries.) For a few brief seconds, right in front of the door, her awareness shrinks in on itself until all she can think of is how he unceremoniously presses his lips against hers.

Get a room, she hears a disapproving voice say, and Sawyer pretends with the best of them, not showing any evidence that he heard or cares.

(He doesn't taste like fish biscuits, and she couldn't be happier about it.)

When she puts space between them, she reaches for him, two fingertips tapping against his mouth.

"I'll walk you to your room."

Slowly, she grins.

"And I'll walk you to yours. Come on, Earthling."

He's always wanted to use that and now it actually makes some damn sense. Who knew. When he reaches over to tilt the brim of his Blue Sox cap one more time, he can feel the grin on his face widen. She does look all kinds of good in blue, and she's got the prettiest eyes, and he likes the way her nose scrunches up real cute when she smiles big. He likes the curl of her hair, especially after it's rained.

They were in the rain. On Mars. The little realities still grab him right in the gut. Moving to the bank of elevators, they step in together. Only thing that's a shame about this scenario is they ain't the only ones in the thing. Another kiss just like the last is gonna have to wait.

But not for long. The numbers crawl by and the door can't open up again for 'em soon enough as far as he's concerned. He'll take a hotel on Mars any day over a lean-to on the island, although he'll take the lean-to on the island if Freckles is there with him over the fanciest hotel if she ain't there.

Oh, damn. Did he really just think that? Looks like it, and he might just be in real trouble here. Only one way to find out. As the door opens, he reaches for her hand, laces their fingers together.

Tonight, she's his.

Let loose into the hallway, she feels a warm wash of anticipation creep through her as though there's no telling what they could get up to alone.

She knows what. It's happened before and it'll happen again, and even though she's kept him at a respectable arm's length behind their locked hotel room door for two nights now, it's going to happen tonight.

It's just as much a certainty as the dimples in his cheeks when he grins at her, just as sure as the two side-by-side cages waiting for them back on the island.

The two turned-down beds that greet them when she lets go of his hand and opens the door are a whole lot nicer to think about.

She lets the door swing shut behind them, turns the lock, and drops her bag into the nearest chair, but once that's done, she turns toward him and hesitates, almost cautious, almost shy.

(And when was the last time you were either one of those? she can practically hear in Diane's voice, and in that same tone she had when she said you can't help who you love, Katherine.)

The hesitation doesn't last long. Before he can say anything about it, she moves toward him and puts her hands on either side of his face to coax him in for a repeat of the kiss he was so eager to give her before.

This time there ain't no waiting. No call for it, and he's ready. He's been ready for this since the last time they did it, and he ain't countin' the days but it's been a while. She keeps him at arm's length, Freckles does, but sometimes she doesn't and it always keeps him on his toes, ready for anything.

Maybe in this thing with her, he ain't the con-man. Maybe the tables are turned. Or just maybe neither one of 'em needs to con the other. They could just be honest, take what they can get when they can get it, and enjoy the hell out of the ride.

That's exactly what he plans on doing now. She tastes so damn sweet, like that ambrosia and the Martian rain and desire. It's one hell of a combination and there ain't much that's rational about this but who cares about thinkin' things through? He's on that pill, and that's enough planning for him. Kisses like this have a way of ending up exactly where they want to, no matter what the intentions were of the kissers when they started out. Ain't no surprise at all when they find themselves backed up against one of the beds; he lowers them both onto it.

Lookie here, Freckles. Guess where we are. The time for words will come later but now he's gonna keep his mouth shut (in a manner of speakin') and let things go where they will. And how nice of someone to turn down the sheets for 'em. Couldn't have happened better if he'd planned it and for once, he didn't.

She's been dozing against his chest for who knows how long when she wakes up and feels compelled to get out of bed.

It's hard to ease herself out, and it's not just because they've been so tangled up together for the past few hours that she figures he's bound to notice pretty fast.

Her lips brush against the curve of his shoulder, an unspoken apology for not shaking old habits, and as she lifts the sheet just enough to slide out from under it, she has to admire how the moonlight coming in through window paints him -- stubborn jaw and shaggy hair and all -- with a very subtle glow.

She doesn't escape to the empty bed right away, and she doesn't retrieve her clothes and start putting them on, either.

First she's drawn to the window, and her view between the partially opened curtains treats her to the two small moons in all their nighttime glory.

One eye half open, he watches as she pads all silent across the room, standing naked by the window. It's got to be late by now, or early's more like it, but he's been waitin' for this. For her to move back to her own bed. Bothered him the first time and hell yes he'd like to hold her in his arms the whole night, but he gets enjoyment out of her stubbornness.

A lot of enjoyment. While she's lookin' outside, he looks at her curves, her muscles, the shape of her silhouette. One word tumbles out of his mouth. Just one.

"Beautiful."

He can feel that smile tug hard at the corners of his mouth, but he's so satisfied and lazy that he doesn't move, not even to tuck the pillow further underneath his head and arm so he could have a better view. No, he doesn't think he'll wake up in the morning to find her gone. Only one door to this place, and he sleeps real light. Always has, ever since he was eight years old. He swears he could hear the sound of those gunshots for years clear as bells.

But he don't hear 'em tonight. Tonight he lets his eyes close heavily. He's sated, not wanting for anything. He knew she wasn't gonna stay in his bed.

"Sweet dreams, Freckles." Comes out a mumble and he ain't gonna apologize for that. No way and besides, if she wants him she knows right where to find him.

Holding the curtain back just a little, she turns around to look at him. His voice is thick with sleepy satisfaction, and her expression melts into a slow smile as she watches him close his eyes.

She knew she'd wake him.

(It's been a while since anyone called her beautiful.)

"'Night, Sawyer."

She watches for just a moment longer before moving away from the window and gathering her clothes on the chair beside her bed for quick access in the morning. The empty bed is definitely not as warm or inviting, but she has no problem climbing in and pulling the sheet right up to her chin as she curls up on her side.

When she falls asleep, she's still facing him.

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