Title:  “Reunion”
Author:  uberaeryn
Fandom:  Lost
Pairing:  Jack/Sawyer
Warnings:  Spoilers for the End of S1 & Spoiler Speculation for S2
Rating:  Adults Only, Language and Sexual Situations
A/N:  Started Out as a PWP But I Seem Unable to Write Those Anymore, WTF?
 

It had been almost a week when Jack was finally forced to admit he was on the verge of breaking.

It had been almost a week since twenty-three additional survivors of Oceanic Flight 815 had suddenly arrived in their midst, filthy and hungry and exhausted but excited, babbling about what had happened on their end of the island and wondering how the two groups could have gone so long with finding one another.

It had been almost a week since Jack had watched, dumbfounded, as Michael and Jin had led the group along the beach and into their encampment, Kate and Sayid hurrying to meet them and asking questions that neither of them could answer and Hurley already pulling out the manifest and checking off names.

It had been almost a week since Michael and Jin had attempted to explain what had happened, hurried words English and Korean tumbling over one another and with Sun interjecting translation when necessary, her hand tight in Jin’s as she spoke and her eyes bright with tears and relief.

It had been almost a week as Jack had watched with envy as there had been two emotional reunions between a husband and wife and then and a mother and daughter who had, by chance or by fate, been seated separately on the plane.

It had been almost a week since Jack’s eyes had frantically searched the new group, himself panicked and excited and not wanting to hope but finding himself doing so anyway.

~*~

Six months since the raft had sailed. Six months since Jack had decided they were dead, Michael, Jin and Walt. Earlier, even, he’d mentally written off the raft idea as a suicide mission the minute Michael had brought it up. He considered them all dead well before the raft hit the water, Michael, Jin and Walt.

And Sawyer.

Six months since he’d given up, resigned himself to the fact that the rest of them were never going to find a way home and were also fated to die, out here, forgotten.

And he had grieved alone and in silence, chilled at the loss of the touch of warm hands in the night.

But then, resurrection, and of so many people, but there was one in particular who was apparently still in the grave, he thought, as his gaze continued to roam over the crowd.

And then, as he found himself quickly overwhelmed with the questions of how and why and what now, he heard Michael say something about Sawyer being shot.

His head jerked up and he stared at Michael who was completely focused on Sayid and now speaking, with great difficulty, about Walt, and Jack’s brief flash of sympathy was suddenly and completely knocked under by another wave of panic.

He turned again, searching the new tribe, hope now completely gone but looking anyway, and then, finally, at the end of the long line of stragglers, he found what he was looking for and it felt like the world and time and his heart and his breath stopped.

He was moving slowly, well back from the rest of the group, hands deep in his pockets and his head down as he stared at his feet and his hair, longer now, hiding his face.

Jack closed his eyes against an overpowering surge of feeling, emotional and physical and slamming through him with such force that it hurt and threatened to bring him to his knees, then he opened his eyes again to find that Sawyer had stopped and was staring at him and they looked at one another for a long, tense moment.

Then Sawyer smiled, briefly, but a different smile, one that lacked the spark of the smiles to which Jack had become accustomed and he realized suddenly how tired Sawyer seemed and he moved then, stepped forward, only to be halted when Sawyer gave a quick shake of his head and then nodded in the direction of the others, who had already surrounded Jack and were demanding that he check over the injured and the ill and asking question upon question - where they were going to sleep, how were they going to feed everyone and would they ever get home.

Jack sighed, ran one hand over his face and turned his attention to the rest, assigned Sayid and Kate the duty of getting the story from Michael and Jin and asked Charlie, Claire and Hurley to see about getting everyone settled while he again took up the role of doctor and began checking over the newcomers one by one.

When he looked up again, Sawyer was gone.

~*~

Almost a week, and he hadn’t seen Sawyer since that moment, and the few opportunities he had to lie down and rest he wondered if Sawyer hadn’t simply been an apparition, a ghost, a spectre sent to remind Jack of all he’d lost, the island being cruel for cruelty’s sake.

But as they all had worked to integrate the two tribes he heard Sawyer’s name mentioned time and again by the others, so Jack knew he must be out there somewhere. And it puzzled him, it hurt, the idea that Sawyer might be hiding from him, that after six months apart Sawyer had been back for a week and they’d yet to even speak.

He made his own attempts to seek Sawyer out but was always pulled in another direction; someone ill, decisions to be made, strategies to devise.

When he had the rare opportunity to lie down, he simply waited – before Sawyer would sometimes sneak up to caves and lure Jack outside and into the jungle with a grin and eyes bright and full of promise.

And Jack waited now but, as it turned out, for nothing.

Almost a week and things had started to settle, although it still seemed he had yet to get any real sleep, and it was when he found himself on the verge of shouting at Hurley over something trivial that he realized he had to get away – too much noise, too many people, too many questions he couldn’t answer, too much hurt to handle while trying to play leader and doctor at once.

Jack had turned from Hurley and stared at Sayid helplessly, and Sayid had noticed, had understood, had said something, knowing that Jack would never leave unless he’d been given some sort of reassurance that it was the right thing to do, and he nodded his silent approval as he watched Jack leave the caves, bedroll and pack on his back.

~*~

The sun was well below the horizon but the western sky was still bright as Jack struggled up the path, relaxing slightly as he heard the soft, muted and lyrical sound of the water. He stepped out of the jungle and stood for a moment, closing his eyes and breathing deeply. It was a quiet spot and beautiful, lush and green, a pool into which a small stream flowed, the sound so different from the roar of the falls of the other pools, and a small clearing Jack himself had made.

It had been his own, private, and difficult to get to which had been one of its attractions, initially. He had told Sayid where it was, out of necessity, in case they happened to need him when he escaped the caves to sleep here occasionally.

But he’d only shared with it one other person. And as he flung his bedroll carelessly on the ground and collapsed, he wondered if it had been a good idea to come here. So many memories, he thought as his eyes began to close, and he wondered absently if maybe he shouldn’t go elsewhere but sleep was already sliding over him like velvet, warm and soft and black.

~*~

“'Bout damn time, Doc, thought you’d never get your ass up here.”

Jack was suddenly and completely awake and he rolled on to his back, glaring at Sawyer as he knelt over Jack and grabbing Sawyer by the shirt collar and pulling him across his body.

“Where in the hell have you been?” he spat, face shoved into Sawyer’s.

Sawyer grinned, but again, Jack noticed, even in the pale, milky touch of the moonlight, the spark was gone from his eyes and Jack was unsure whether to be angry or afraid and then found he was feeling both.

“Where’ve I been? On the other end of this goddamned island with a bunch of nutcases even nuttier than the ones I left behind here . . .” Sawyer began, but was cut off when Jack shook him roughly.

“You know what I mean! Where in the hell have you been?” Jack asked again, trying to read Sawyer’s face in the gloom.

Sawyer tensed, tried half-heartedly to pull away and then sighed when it became obvious Jack wasn’t about to let go, so he relaxed and settled fully along the length of Jack’s body and rested his chin on Jack’s shoulder, and Jack’s anger and hurt became mixed with concern as he felt the exhaustion and the fear rolling off Sawyer in overheated waves.

“Here, mostly. Waitin’,” Sawyer whispered.

“For what?” Jack murmured, and then his fingers were threading through Sawyer’s hair, a touch that had quickly become habit in the brief time they’d been together, and Sawyer breathed deeply and made a small noise of appreciation and Jack felt Sawyer relax more fully as he buried his face in Jack’s neck.

“For you,” Sawyer whispered, lips and breath and beard grazing against sensitive skin and Jack closed his eyes and shuddered, inhaling deeply, cheek rubbing against Sawyer’s, and the scent of sea and salt and something verdant, and also something of earth and water and of falling rain before it reached the ground, the scent of Sawyer, and for the first time Jack realized that Sawyer, all of him, had become bound to the island, wrapped up in it, was part of it.

“Something’s wrong,” Jack said, tense suddenly and wrapping himself around Sawyer as tightly as he could.

“Stop it,” Sawyer whispered and then his hips started moving slightly and Jack’s body, already ablaze with desire, responded immediately and he groaned softly, thrusting up against Sawyer and closing his eyes, so long, God, never again, he’d thought but now Sawyer was here and was touching him, and he bucked up harder, causing Sawyer to gasp and sit up, pulling his shirt over his head and then staring down at Jack, still grinding against him as he did so.

“Just waitin’ for you to get the chance to stop bein’ big chief so we could do this right, have plenty of time,” he said, shivering as Jack’s hands ran over his chest and ghosted lightly over the scar on his left shoulder before clamping down hard on Sawyer’s hips and forcing Sawyer to ride him harder, faster, and they both groaned and Sawyer’s head fell back.

“Christ, fuckin’ missed that,” Sawyer muttered, still grinding hard and then he fell forward, hands on either side of Jack’s head and his hair covered his face and eyes and brushed silkily along Jack’s face. “Missed you. God, yes, needed time . . .”

“For what?” Jack asked, hands again sliding into Sawyer’s hair and pulling him close, mouth brushing mouth.

“Reunion,” Sawyer whispered and for some reason his voice broke and again Jack felt fear, something about Sawyer’s tone bringing it raging to the forefront, fiercer than any he’d ever felt, but then Sawyer’s mouth was on his and everything was gone except touch and taste and both were frantic, humping against each other hard, muffled groans of need as Sawyer’s plundered Jack’s mouth, tongue hot and wet and fuck, Jack thought through the maddening haze of arousal, he’d never thought to taste Sawyer like this again but he was, and he sucked and bit and nipped and what was frantic took on an edge violence, as it always did when their emotions were high and they were clawing at one another, Sawyer ripping Jack’s t-shirt away and then Jack bit down hard at the skin of Sawyer’s neck, sucking hard and tongue stroking as he felt the blood come and the bruise heat Sawyer’s skin - Sawyer’s blood and Sawyer’s bruise but Jack’s mark, and he fumbled unsuccessfully with his shorts and then Sawyer tore himself away, stripping himself of his jeans and Jack of his shorts and then he was atop Jack again, hands roaming and teeth biting as Jack’s hands slid again into his hair, yanking hard.

“Inside, need to be inside you, Jesus, Jack, please,” Sawyer groaned against Jack’s mouth and Jack moved by instinct and need and then everything was slick and easy and Sawyer was inside and they both stopped moving, Sawyer staring down at Jack through the curtain of his hair.

“Love you,” Sawyer whispered, voice breaking again and through the red haze of need Jack blinked in surprise, never before had Sawyer said such a thing and then Sawyer planted his hands on the ground along either side of Jack’s shoulders and then he was moving, long, hard thrusts that both hurt and thrilled and then the hurt was gone and it was just an insanely hot sense of pleasure, for them both, and Jack moaned loudly, fingers again tight against Sawyer’s hips and roaming over his ass as he moved.

“God, Sawyer, love the way you fuck me,” Jack muttered, canting his hips and shifting his legs. “Love you.”

Sawyer stopped suddenly, staring down at Jack and saying more with his eyes than he would ever be able to with words and then he was moving again, now speaking with his body, lips hot and wet against Jack’s and then there was nothing more to say, at least not in words, as their mouths met and their bodies collided and the reunion was complete and continued throughout the night.

Reunion.

~*~

Sleep, Jack. If I can come back, I damn well will. If I can’t, well . . . I meant what I said. Love you, Doc, and don’t you fuckin’ forget that and don’t you fuckin’ forget me.

~*~

Again, Jack was suddenly and completely awake.

And suddenly and completely alone.

Then he realized Sawyer had not only meant reunion.

He’d also meant goodbye.

And he knew as well as knew anything that Sawyer was gone. He didn’t know where and he didn’t know why, but Sawyer was gone.

He was surprised at the intensity of the pain he felt. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been through this once already.

The words, he supposed. It had been those words.

He finally got to his feet after the numbness set in and staggered into the pool to clean up. It hadn’t been his imagination or a dream or wishful thinking, he had the marks on his body and the ache in his thighs and the tightness in his chest to prove that Sawyer had been there.

Sawyer had been there, he had.

~*~

He washed up as quickly as he could manage, dressing and packing up his bedroll and making his way down to the caves, and then he had pulled up, stunned at what he saw there.

Michael and Kate, laughing as they watched Walt play with Vincent.

“Hey, Jack,” Kate said, smiling up at him. “Good mini-vacation?”

He stared at her for a long moment, then at Walt.

“Jack?” she asked, frowning. “Something wrong?”

He looked around in confusion, his gaze moving from Kate and Michael to rest on Walt, who had stopped playing fetch with Vincent and was regarding Jack thoughtfully.

“Yeah, something’s wrong,” he found himself saying. “What in hell is going on here, where is Sawyer?”

Kate and Michael both frowned at him in confusion.

“Sawyer?” Kate asked, as if she’d never heard the name before, and Jack felt his knees start to buckle.

Then his view telescoped, the world stopped turning, and all he saw was Walt standing in front of him and his eyes the eyes of ancient warrior, a jarring contrast to the young, boyish face.

“He made a trade,” Walt said, looking up at Jack soberly. “Him for me. He did the right thing, Jack, and now I can do the right thing. And I can’t promise that I’ll bring him back but I can promise that I’ll try. But for now, easiest for everybody if you forget he ever even was here.”

Rage and grief roared, blood pounding in Jack’s ears at the idea of Sawyer’s seemingly unlikely heroism, that his very existence, would be wiped away . . .

“Jack,” Walt said, grabbing his hand. “I’ll remember. But that’s gonna have to be enough for now, because there’s other stuff you’ve gotta do, okay? You have got to take care of the people while I take care of the island, and I can’t do that if everybody’s runnin’ off looking for Sawyer or other stupid stuff. You can’t find him anyway, he’s gone, and I’m the only one that can get him back and I need time and you have keep everyone outta my way, you understand that?”

More rage, rage at the fact the Jack understood, on a very primal level, that what Walt was saying was true, and rage at the idea that what happened between he and Sawyer was about to disappear.

“No, not disappear. It’ll come back when he comes back. And in the meantime you’ll still have something,” Walt said, and then the earth started moving again, almost knocking Jack off his feet.

~*~

He wasn’t sure when everybody had started calling him Doc. It may have been from the day the plane had first crashed.

He couldn’t remember who had said it first but soon they all were calling him that and it was rare these days that anybody used his given name.

And he liked it. Something about it seemed warm and familiar and golden and safe.

And, for some reason, it made him feel loved.

***

End