Feb. 16th, 2005

milliways_sawyer: (Woe.)
As usually happens when he wakes up in a place that isn't his own, Sawyer is disoriented. Then, the pain hits, and he's brought to full awareness.

Hello, pain, my old friend.

Physical pain is good. Physical pain demands the mind's attention, draws it away from other sorts of pain. It's not the sort of aid recommended by mothers everywhere, but his mama's dead anyway and couldn't recommend anything different.

Slowly, wincing, Sawyer sits himself up and looks around. He doesn't know who's room it was, but it doesn't look like Charlie's style. Sawyer looks down and realizes he's still wearing the other man's shirt like some sort of smitten cheerleader who wears her boyfriend's football jersey. At some point, he'll need to give it back, and that means talking to Charlie.

Sawyer sighs and pushes himself up into a standing position. Time to head out into the bar for round 2.
milliways_sawyer: (Default)
Sawyer walks back to camp as quietly as he can. He doesn't want to wake anyone and explain the fresh bruises on his shirtless torso. Although, it probably wouldn't matter anyway. No one really looked at him on the island, not if they could help it. Maybe Kate, or Jack if he was suspicious. But, other than that, no one looked unless they made him.

Sawyer creeps just inside the edge of the jungle and looks for the tree that bent just so. From a hollow near the base, he pulls a muddy plastic garbage bag. He has stashes all over the beach, but this is the one he needs. He rummages for a few minutes before finding what he's looking for. Taking one more glance around to make sure no one is watching, Sawyer tucks the bag back in its hiding place and heads back up the beach.


milliways_sawyer: (Default)
James "Sawyer" Ford

February 2006


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