truth and reconciliation

It had been a fair amount of time since Sawyer had last gotten drunk. Months, if he was correctly keeping track. Probably slightly over half a year. To be frank, the benefits of getting drunk plain didn't outweigh the consequences anymore, not in a world where he could spend sociable time either buzzed by drink or at least thoroughly convinced of the fact that people had what was coming to them. The island was far too full of do-gooders for Sawyer to quite feel comfortable exposing himself for all the weaknesses he truly wore, each held close to the chest.

But sometimes, a person just needed a damn good drink, and Sawyer himself knew that it'd been far too long since his last.

Which was why he was at the Hub that evening. A couple glasses stood nearby, each bearing remnants of his usual beers, foam sliding down from the lip, but the majority of Sawyer's time that evening had been put to the harder stuff, which stung on his breath as he stared blearily ahead. Between keeping an eye on Jack, all the buzz about the tunnel leading underground to the second island, and successfully pushing away yet more people in his life, Sawyer wanted a set time to wash it all away. And if the Winchester wasn't a place he could apparently do that anymore, all would still be fine and swell, provided he didn't piss the owners of the Hub off. Pretty little redhead that she was, Sawyer didn't think he'd be kicked out if he quietly tended to his glass, and so he did, eyes red and weary as he took another shot. Of what, he wasn't sure. All he knew was that it stung.