Three Sticks And 26 Minis
Sawyer hunkers down in the sand beyond the light of the fires on the beach. Not too far, because his mama didn't raise her son to be a fool, but not close enough to listen to them all being sniffly and sentimental. And damn, if that's not a waste of time here, he doesn't know what is. His eyes take in the dark shadow of the treeline and the stars in the sky above it. It's freakishly clear, the sky over this little spit of sand in the middle of the fucking ocean, a thousand miles from who knows where.
He has three smokes left. Three precious sticks of cancer in a wrapper, fuck you very much, Jack-O. He also has one bottle of brandy, half a bottle of Southern Comfort, three cans of beer and 26 minis from the galley, a fine assortment of the doc's poison of choice. Sawyer's not sure what the fine doctor might choose to drink when he's not off being a goddamn hero, but he's seen the shakes starting to creep in.
Pretty soon, the hero of the masses is going to be needing a drink, and Sawyer's going to make him say please. He's going to make him ask so very nicely, and he might make him ask as many times as he's caught that look on his face when Jack thought Sawyer couldn't see him. The look that said Sawyer was a redneck asshole. The look that said Sawyer was trouble.
There was the other look, and that one was harder to catch. Infinitely better, but Jack was careful and so it was rare. Because it's fine for all the other folks here to see that Jack thinks Sawyer's about one step away from being sent off to find his own little place to call home; it's a whole other story to get caught with the look that says he'd like to push him up against the nearest flat place and fuck him blind. No, that might make Kate lose the glow of admiration, Sawyer thinks with a dry little laugh that no one else can hear. That might mean everyone who's called him a saint, a savior, a brilliant, kind man, would have to see that the doc's not about to go strolling across the Pacific on top of the waves and lead a rescue party back to the island. That he's one of the rest of them, no better or worse than this particular redneck when it comes to wanting something.
Wanting someone.
So Sawyer waits, because he can be patient. He's got himself a temper but he can sure as hell be patient when the end result gets him Jack-O with that mouth saying please and those eyes looking right back at Sawyer and showing that he wants more than just a bottle of Stoli to drink where no one else can see. Yeah, that's something Sawyer can damn straight be patient for.