sorrydontsuitme

5/26/74

He didn't like that.

He didn't like that at all. That was a long... how the hell long was it the power was out anyhow? Nine hours? Ten? He sure lost track of time there in the darkness, but now that he's relieved himself and cleaned up a little, put on fresh clothes, it's time for the next order of business. If he was stuck in the elevator, it could be that somethin' bad happened to Freckles too.

Time to check up on Sassafras.

It don't take long at all to haul his ass down the stairs to 317; it's as likely a place to start lookin' as any. The elevator ain't even a damn option today, but in no time he's poundin' at her door. He don't care what time it is (maybe 7:30 in the a.m.) and he don't care if she's asleep and he don't care if he wakes up anyone else. Wake up the whole damn hotel for all he cares.

"You in there, Freckles?"

Hell yes he could have called first, but this ain't no date for a nice little cup of tea. He's got to see her with his own eyes and hold her with his own hands, and that's the only damn way he'll be satisfied.

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"Well, you ain't got a fever." His hand doesn't want to fall back to his side, so he doesn't make it do anything it don't want; it slides to the side of her face and settles in there for the duration. "If I hadn't seen some of the stuff I've seen on that island, Freckles, I'd be a hell of a lot more skeptical. From crazy French chicks settin' booby traps in the jungle to whispers in the dark to boars with a grudge to smoke monsters, makes what you saw sound almost mild."

After all that, he ain't gonna put nothin' past no one. But he sure would like to be a fly on the wall listenin' to Superman explain that some day, if he ever does. Guy's kinda quiet, like Jin before he learned a lick of English, quiet that way.

And no, after careful consideration, his hand ain't goin' nowhere. For hours and hours and hours last night all he wanted was to get a chance to touch Freckles one more time, one last time. Now he's got it, he ain't gonna let it go so fast. "So a man who just had wings and claws but don't no longer gives you somethin' to wake you up, then hands you what, a little bottle and says drink this and you do, just like Alice gone down that rabbit hole? And then what happens?"

There's got to be more. Her story's already winnin' the who-had-it-stranger contest.

She definitely doesn't have a fever, but it's kind of sweet that his hand only moves to her forehead to the side of her face. It makes her tempted to tell him that if she didn't know any better she'd think he was genuinely happy that she's doing all right.

(She knows he is.)

His hand stays there, and she doesn't say a thing about it. But she does laugh at his summary of events.

"Well, you tell me. I look pretty good for someone who got kicked in the stomach, got shot in the leg, and fell out of a tree." She looked herself over; there are no scrapes or scratches left on her arms and hands. She couldn't even find anything wrong with her head, and even though her hair could be hiding something her head isn't tender anywhere. Her middle aches when she turns or stretches in certain ways -- she was kicked hard -- but it's really only her leg that's a problem. "I started feeling a little better. Vincent knew where a first aid kit was, so he took me there and bandaged me up. Promised to tell me all about what I'd seen sometime after the power returned."

She gives Sawyer an easy shrug.

"Looked around for you after that," she admits, her smile just a flicker. "Went back and got my bag full of flashlights and candles, saw the carnage in the lounge, found the door where Dragons broke in and set up camp there because it didn't seem like anybody else had discovered it yet. I dozed off after a while, so it's a good thing no more Dragons came."

And she still doesn't feel like she'd been sleeping long when his knock woke her up, but she's so glad to see him she could never complain.

Only one thing he could really say to that.

"Damn, baby." It's soft, just a little utterance beneath his breath, and because he can he leans forward and kisses her. Real soft, right on the lips. "All last night that's all I wanted. If I could have, Sassafras, I would have looked for you long and hard and all over the damn place. Didn't much care for bein' trapped in there all those hours without my consent."

Consent. Like he would have said okay, power, you can go out now, I'm ready? He doesn't think so. Not unless it was the two of 'em together with a couple pillows and one of those air mattresses and a few blankets. Candles for mood.

Maybe that mix tape he still has to find for her.

"So. Your leg okay, or do I need to get you to the hospital?" Hell, she's done it for him. He's got no reason to be sure Vince knows the first thing about First Aid, so it might be time for a little quid pro quo.

When he leans in to kiss her, her hand cups around his.

Something in her chest aches at the tenderness of it, and she doesn't know when he became sweet to her or when he started caring so much or when he started admitting to it... but she's conscious of it right now even if he's not.

Her hand falls back down to her lap. She swallows self-consciously, as though they haven't slept together right in this bed before. More than once.

"Think I'll be okay. Vincent did a pretty good job." She almost smiles again. "But you could order us some breakfast."

"That," he says with a grin so sly it threatens to slide right off his damn face, "I can do."

It was gettin' a little close in here. For a minute there he almost thought he was running a long con without the con part. Somethin' about facing down all that stuff in a dark and enclosed space makes a man think about what's important and what ain't. And yeah, he's been in the stir, been in lockup, and he knows that's what solitary's all about: makin' a man face what really matters. He never had to do that in prison, and he's glad.

And now that they're gonna get breakfast he realizes exactly how starvin' he is, so he orders up a damn storm. All the stuff they couldn't get on the island: pancakes with syrup. Bacon. Eggs. Bowls of Martian fruits; coffee with cream. Fresh-squeezed orange juice. Cheesecake. Toast.

Hopefully the power reset don't mean whatever it is ain't been chargin' none of 'em to live here all this time is suddenly gonna call in the debts. Course, the flip side of that is maybe the slate's been wiped clean. Fresh start.

(Love you too, Freckles.)

"So. Vincent. He's gonna have a nice little sit-down sometime and explain it all, he said?" If what Nurse Nancy here says is true, then he owes the guy for takin' good care of his girl. But he'd sure as hell like to hear the explanation first-hand.

She breathes a little easier with him up and smiling like that, like everything's back to normal. And with food on the way up.

"Well, Vincent's going to have a nice little sit-down with me. I don't know how much he's going to tell other people."

She'll share with Sawyer, at least to a certain extent, but after seeing how Vincent reacted she feels for the guy. She'll keep quiet about anything he'd like her to keep quiet about.

He may not seem to remember anything that happened when he wasn't the Vincent she's always known, but even then he still played the part of hotel defender.

From what she could tell.

Funny how information is currency in places where money don't exist or don't matter. He doesn't have to tell Freckles he's curious as hell about what the answers are, but then again he ain't the one who was out there and saw it, so he has no business makin' demands on the guy to know what the hell's going on.

Waiting on permission ain't his style, though, and he'll find out what he wants to know one way or another, and won't no one else know it either. Only him, and that's the way it's always been and it's the way he likes it. For Freckles, he shrugs and gives a little nod.

"He tells the rest of us anything, I'll give you the heads-up on it. Don't expect him to make no big public announcements, though." They ain't even talked, to his recollection. Just nodded in passing a couple times, like they know each other and that's enough. Until now, even with the rumors and all, that's been enough. He can wait, but he ain't patient.

Last night in the elevator proved that.

Want to hear somethin' happened in that elevator last night, Freckles? He toys with the idea of sayin' it aloud but can't quite let the words out, like they're stuck so deep inside after a lifetime hidin' what he saw in the dark under that bed that if he lets 'em out now, a flood's gonna follow. Sure, she knows the bare bones of it -- she read that letter he's still got tucked away in his back pocket -- but she don't know the whole story and now ain't the time for confession.

"Sure hope you're hungry. Got you a Coca-Cola and some fries." See what she makes of that.

"Yeah, I don't expect him to."

Somehow she can't imagine Vincent making a big public announcement about it, either. Quietly fielding questions like it's a press conference.

The idea kind of makes her heart ache. He'd seemed so uncertain. He seemed like he wasn't sure that he could trust himself.

Vincent's always struck her as reserved -- even just plain shy -- but uncertain? Never. It's always seemed to her that he knows his abilities well, and she's never seen him act in a way she's considered afraid before.

Looking over at Sawyer, she grins. "You ordered us Coke and french fries for breakfast?"

She'll take it -- she's hungry -- but it does make her laugh.

"Nah." Now he grins again, fit to beat the damn band. "Just pullin' your leg, Freckles. Ordered you the southern pervert special: grits, ham with red-eye gravy, biscuits." Shaking his head, he laughs again. "Nah, don't worry. I'm takin' good care of both our breakfast needs. Think you'll like it."

And in the meantime, till it gets here -- and who knows if it'll take extra long or if the robots are playin' catch-up 'cause of the blackout or whatever, although everything else seems like it's a go -- he'll take care of that shot-up leg of hers, and rub her back or neck if she wants, and let her tell him heroic tales about what all else happened or get mad at him for not ordering up Coke and fries, or... hell, just about anything. He ain't the type of man to go around missin' no one, but he didn't like that elevator business at all, not one little bit and he's glad as hell not to be alone no more.

Maybe sometime he'll even tell her about seein' Daddy.

Maybe.

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5/26/74

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