The Absolute True Story of Sawyer's Adventures in Oz (Lost/Oz X-over)
Title: The Absolute True Story of Sawyer's Adventures in Oz
Author:  foxxcub
Fandom: Lost/Oz (crossover)
Pairing: none, although seeing as how this is me, there are slight references to Beecher/Keller.
Rating: R for language
Disclaimer: not mine...but I do own Toby!beard. Yes.
Summary: Sawyer's first stint in prison.
Notes: The following takes place during the events of the Oz season three episode "Legs", but I'm playing fast and loose with canon. As for Lost flashback canon, I'm thinking this is before the events of "The Long Con", but after "Confidence Man". Many thanks to everyone who so politely demanded this, as it gave me an excuse to write Ryan O'Reily for the first time. This was tons of fun to write. Enjoy. :)

 

"Sporting events focus the inmates' aggression in a very positive way." - Sister Peter Marie ("Napoleon's Boney Parts", episode 3.2)



He figured if there was a good day to arrive in prison, it might as well be the day when there was a fuss going on.

No, not a fuss--more like a goddamn commotion.

The main head honcho of Emerald City, a bleeding-heart liberal named Tim McManus, had somehow got it in his head that letting convicts beat the living shit out of each other for sport was a good idea, and Sawyer supposed there just might be some truth there. He'd been around long enough to know that violence, while never completely solving anything, could sometimes lead to blood truces, especially if no one ended up dead in the long run.

Boxing matches, fuckin' A. Score one point for ol' Oswald.

His new cellmate and "sponsor" (Christ, it felt like rehab) was a wheelchair-bound guy named Hill. He was black and smiled a lot, asked Sawyer questions about his crime.

"Took money off pretty ladies. Their husbands didn't like it too much," Sawyer replied, bracing his arms against the plexiglass door of their pod as he watched the goings-on throughout the common room.

"Yeah? And one of 'em caught you?"

"I'm here, ain't I?" Boxing, that's all he cared about at the moment. If he couldn't fuck away this ball of frustration and anger (three million dollars gone, not to mention a month's work) he'd damn well send it flying into some guy's jaw.

"Not a chance, Tex," Hill said the following morning at breakfast when Sawyer expressed his interest.

"Why the hell not?"

"The whole point of the matches is to let all the different factions represent and basically work out their issues without the use of shanks. You gotta be part of the club to play, and you're not a club member."

That was a problem. Sawyer wasn't about to fake his way into the Aryans' or the fags' good graces just to get in the ring.

But there was always the "other" group, misfits who couldn't quite be categorized and were left alone for the most part by the ones who belonged. Those were Sawyer's kind of people.

Except Ryan O'Reily didn't agree.

"I don't think you get it." His tone was neutral, but even through the roar of the gym Sawyer could hear the bullshit. He circled around Sawyer with the pretense of getting a better angle on the punching bag his brother was attacking. "See this? My brother's boxing, not you. Go let Schillinger prag you for awhile and maybe he'll let you sub for Robson."

"Hey, now. That ain't my style, Darby." Why O'Reily was so hell-bent on letting his younger brother Cyril, who obviously wasn't playing with a full deck, fight was beyond Sawyer.

"Fuck you. It's not happening."

Sawyer held up his hands, backed away slowly. He smirked and said, "Alright, alright. Have it your way."

He might have recently lost three million dollars, but Sawyer didn't concede that easily, especially to skinny-ass Irish punks.


**


He needed the whole story on O'Reily and the brother, because in order to play someone, you had to know what made them tick.

"Man, just give it up." Hill shook his head as he watched Sawyer deal cards. Texas Hold 'Em, Sawyer's favorite. "O'Reily's been training Cyril like a dog for days now. It's a lost cause."

"Call it mild curiosity." Out of the corner of his eye he could see O'Reily down by the TVs, watching that kid's show with the blonde Playboy chick. "How'd Little Brother get in here, anyway?"

To his left, the quiet lawyer guy, Beecher, sighed. "O'Reily got Cyril to kill someone."

Sawyer whistled. "That's cold. Who was it?"

"Dr. Nathan's husband."

"No shit. As in the main doc in the infirmary?"

"The exact same. O'Reily's been...preoccupied with her for awhile now. And he wanted the competition gone." Beecher fiddled with his cane as he stared down at his cards. That was another thing Sawyer didn't get; the guy couldn't've been more than thirty-five, and yet he walked with that thing on a pretty decent limp. Either he was older than he looked, or someone had worked him over but good. He'd heard rumors to the latter.

"I'd say that warranted a big helping of guilt on Big Brother's part."

"Probably, but he'd never admit it. Supposedly Cyril boxed before his accident and had won some fights and shit, so now O'Reily's trying to get him back in shape. I fold." He threw his cards on the table face down.

"He wasn't born that way?"

"Naw," Hill said. "That was O'Reily's fault, too. Big brawl or somethin', and Cyril got shot in the head." He eventually beat Sawyer's hand with a straight flush. "Too bad the guy really doesn't know shit about boxing."

Well, now. Guilt helping, indeed. "That a fact? So how's he training him?"

Beecher shrugged, although he was staring intently over Sawyer's shoulder. Actually, it was more like glaring. "He talked Officer Murphy into giving Cyril pointers, but I doubt it's really helping." His hands suddenly curled tight around the head of his cane, but it was a brief movement, his only tell, and in the next second the glare faded into what Sawyer could only describe as faked boredom.

A new voice came from behind him. "If you wanna fight, it's gonna take a lot more than Twenty Questions."

Sawyer liked the way Chris Keller talked; slow, quiet, and deliberate, like a guy who knew exactly how to tell people what they wanted to hear. It was familiar and almost comforting in a really fucked-up way, knowing he could match that tone. He'd heard of Keller long before landing in Oz, but he never said so. He wouldn't be surprised if Keller did the same.

"Are you makin' suggestions, or just pointing out the obvious?" Sawyer made a show out of shuffling the cards and not looking up at Keller.

"Both." He pulled up a chair right next to Beecher and straddled it backwards, and Beecher immediately went to great lengths to subtly put an extra few inches between them. Jesus, what were they, twelve? "I'm not trying to destroy O'Reily's prizefightin' dreams, but I think you might be going about this the wrong way."

"He didn't ask for your help." Beecher was mumbling to the new hand of cards he held.

Keller ignored him. "I say, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em."

"Oh what, you're spoutin' fortune cookie shit to me instead?" Sawyer still hadn't looked away from his cards, but he still heard Beecher snort and Keller drum his fingers once on the table before crossing his arms. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial level and leaned in toward Sawyer, which happened to put him right into Beecher's space, making Sawyer wonder once again about what kind of junior high melodrama bullshit Em City had going on.

"You're a smart guy," Keller drawled, "and you know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Don't listen to him, Sawyer." He finally looked up to see Beecher practically shooting daggers at Keller. "He's just trying to fuck with you."

Yeah, no shit, lawyer boy. Even so, Sawyer's brain started churning over the new details, the existing kinks...maybe, just maybe, the guy had a point.

And Sawyer had a plan.


**


He didn't pretend to know anything technical when it came to boxing. Over the years he'd drifted in and out of makeshift amateur matches and the stray street fight a little wiser and without any broken bones to his name. He didn't watch Holyfield on pay-per-view and thought Tyson was prick.

But for now, Sawyer was a boxing aficionado.

He stood off to the side of the gym, doing bicep curls as he watched the O'Reily brothers "train", which was a fucking joke. It didn't take an expert to see Ryan knew next to nothing about technique; evidently barking "harder" and "focus" were the extent of his coaching abilities.

Finally, Sawyer wandered over in their general direction, careful to keep his head down and out of O'Reily's line of sight until he was standing behind him. He did his best concerned look and aimed it straight at Cyril, who bit his lip and promptly stopped his assault on the punching bag.

"What the fuck? Cyril, what're you..." O'Reily jerked his head around. "Hey, I thought I told you to fuck off, you goddamn redneck."

Sawyer held his hands up and smiled. "I come in peace, slick, promise. I don't wanna take your boy's spot anymore."

"Then take a hike." He turned back and slapped his hand on the bag. "C'mon, Cyril, that was great, let's keep goin'..."

"I was just gonna tell you that I was watchin' ol' Cyril from over there, and you should really think about his right arm."

Cyril's eyes got wide and he immediately grabbed said arm like it was about to fall off. "What's the matter with it?"

"Well, you should really be keeping it up more, y'know. You're slouchin' to the right too much."

Sawyer could see the confusion start to dawn on Cyril, and so did O'Reily.

"His arm's just fine, and what part of fuck off do you not fucking understand?" He shoved Sawyer, hard, which was completely expected, even planned for. "Get outta here before I kick the shit out of your southern ass."

"I realize there's a lot at stake here, and your Irish luck ain't gonna stop him from throwin' his arm out if he keeps throwing punches like that," Sawyer said in rush, looking utterly sincere. "But fine, whatever, let him fuck himself up. From what I hear, you got a natural talent for it."

It was most likely a step too far and he'd probably be spending the next week in the infirmary with the pretty doctor instead of coaching Rain Man. He braced himself for the beating, convincing himself it was worth a shot.

But O'Reily simply got in his face and stabbed his index finger into Sawyer's chest. "Since you're new and all, I'm gonna just say this: you don't ever talk like you know me and my brother. Ever. You got me?"

Sawyer gave him an innocent smile. "I gotcha. But he still needs to keep his arm up."

It didn't matter if O'Reily himself didn't believe him; Cyril had begun to lift his arm in an awkward motion, hitting the bag slowly as he watched his elbow move up and down.

"Is this right, Ryan?" There was a touch of panic in his voice.

"Christ, Cyril, don't fucking listen to him, okay? Just keep doing what you were doing..."

Sawyer kept his smile of victory for when he got back to Em City.


**


Dead presidents got you pretty far in Oz, and that suited Sawyer just fine. He could part with a couple hundred in the grand scheme of things, especially if it meant keeping tabs on O'Reily and Cyril's training schedule.

A few trips to the gym proved that Cyril was more than taking Sawyer's "advice" to heart; his form had suffered in the last few days. O'Reily would give Sawyer the look of death until Sawyer had no choice but to back off, but Sawyer knew--he was beginning to doubt.

One little crack, that's all it took.

The next day Officer Murphy was in the gym, watching from the back of the room and giving O'Reily the yea or nay on Cyril's progression with a simple jerk of his head. Sawyer decided it was time for phase two.

Sawyer leaned against the chain link divider and said casually to Murphy, who stood on the other side, "So, what do ya think? Does Boy Wonder have what it takes?"

Murphy shrugged. "He ain't gonna be winning any heavyweight titles anytime soon, but he'll do alright, I guess."

"Shame 'bout that arm."

"Arm?" He raised an eyebrow at Sawyer.

"Yeah, his right arm. He puts too much weight into it. Eventually, he's gonna rotate somethin' wrong and throw everything outta whack."

"Huh. I hadn't noticed." Murphy rubbed his chin and narrowed his eyes at Cyril. "Although, yeah, he has been looking off, now that you mention it..."

At that precise moment both Cyril and Ryan glanced over at Murphy, just in time to catch his pensive look. Sawyer couldn't have planned it better.

"I tried to tell O'Reily that he needed to work on it, but as you probably gathered, he don't take too kindly to new folk tellin' him what to do." Sawyer shook his head for a little more emphasis. "Someone needs to talk some sense into him, y'know?"

"You know boxing?"

"I've had my share of matches, sure. Maybe even won a few in my early days."

"Look, Cyril really needs major pointers, but I can't be babysitting his ass every day like O'Reily wants me to. It'd be nice to have another perspective on things."

"Hey, I already offered. But if you think you can change his mind..."

"I'll talk to him." He then winked at O'Reily, gave him the thumbs-up.

Sawyer turned away and smirked. That's all I need.


**


Two days before Cyril was scheduled to fight James Robson he dislocated his right shoulder. Sawyer wasn't there when it happened, but he heard Cyril wailed like a banshee when they finally wrenched it back into its socket. He wasn't allowed to box for two weeks, doctor's orders.

Sawyer was sitting next to Keller watching the local news when O'Reily exploded out of McManus's office.

"That's fucking bullshit and you know it!"

"I'm not about to have Cyril suffer permanent physical damage," McManus yelled back. "He's your brother, for Christ's sake!"

"He's stronger than that, he can take it!"

"No is no, O'Reily, get that through your thick skull!"

By now Ryan was already down the stairs and storming through the common room like a pissed off jungle cat. No doubt he was hauling ass to the infirmary to talk that pretty little doctor of his into giving Cyril a clean bill of health.

Keller leaned over to Sawyer, his eyes never leaving the TV. "Nice. Have a good fight."

Sawyer smiled sweetly, and then McManus was calling him upstairs to his office.


**

"Officer Murphy said you know how to box."

"Yeah, I think I said something along those lines."

"He's recommended you to take Cyril's place in the fight tomorrow against Robson."

"Aw, I dunno, boss." Sawyer shifted in his seat where he faced McManus's desk. "O'Reily's not too happy with the situation at the moment, in case you weren't payin' attention during that entertaining exchange."

"You let me deal with O'Reily. Besides, it's not like you had anything to do with Cyril dislocating his shoulder."

Sawyer nodded, shooting for somewhere between gratitude and relief. "Okay, sure. I'll fight."


**


Sawyer beat the Aryan shithead in less than three rounds. It wasn't much of challenge, and that would've disappointed him had O'Reily not shown up and sat in the front row, glaring and keeping his arms folded close to his chest.

But his face still lit up when Robson when down for the final count, and Sawyer had enough balls to actually lean over the side of ring and call out to Cyril, "See, that's how you keep your right arm up, sport!"

Alright, so that got him a "you shut the fuck up, redneck" from O'Reily, but the bite wasn't quite there anymore. Didn't matter, anyway; Sawyer'd got what he wanted. The Brothers O'Reily were free to box their Irish hearts out.

The day after Cyril fought Miguel Alvarez and won, Sawyer got a visit from his lawyer. The girl he'd scammed for the three million had talked her husband into having the charges overturned, said it was her doing, she'd given the money to Sawyer of her own free will.

The irony kind of tickled Sawyer, but he kept quiet.

"You'll be out of Oz within twenty-four hours," his lawyer said. "Once the paperwork is processed, you're a free man."

Shit, all lawyer visits should be that easy, he thought as he packed his things quietly and without fanfare.

"You're a lucky son of a bitch, man," Hill sighed.

"Luck don't got anything to do with it. I just catch a break now and then." And even then it wasn't much, but he wasn't one for complaining.

As he took his last stroll through Em City he heard Keller yell down from the upper balcony, "Yo, Sawyer!"

He looked up and saw him standing with both Beecher and O'Reily, although Beecher had his back to Keller and was idly tapping his cane against the railing.

"Tell Hibbs he still owes me." Keller gave him a faint smile, which Sawyer returned. His old partner had burned his bridges with him ages ago, that goddamn weasel, but Keller didn't need to know that....or maybe he did. Hell, if Keller were out they could collect the debt together.

"Will do." He caught O'Reily's eye for a second, and all he did was raise his chin a fraction. Sawyer figured he should probably be flattered, if not relieved that he wasn't dead.

"Sawyer, move your ass, you've got papers to sign and a cab waitin'," Murphy called.

He gave all three of them a vague salute and walked through the parted gates, out of Em City and then out of Oz for good.