James "Sawyer" Ford (
confidenceman) wrote2014-03-23 10:21 pm
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party's over and you don't look so good
Somewhere along the lines of learning how to live with and support an infant, Sawyer completely forgot that he was a smoker.
Well, that wasn't completely true.
He hasn't smoked regularly for years now. It wasn't a habit that Juliet was fond of, and Sawyer wasn't in the habit of denying her anything that she asked of him. He'd picked it up briefly again after her death, but in the last stretches of tumult that the island threw at them, there wasn't much time for it. Even in Darrow, he's only smoked to be social more than anything else too many troublesome rules and laws about where they're permitted to smoke in the city for him to bother with. It's easier going without.
And when Cleo came along, well. He was too engrossed in constantly being by her side to even think about stepping away for a smoke. The rare occasions that he returned with the smell of it on his clothes from others in construction, he'd thrown those clothes directly in the hamper. Hell, if he were shaving regularly, he might even look cleaned up.
But for some reason, when he's at the grocery store today, his gaze turns towards the cigarettes. And then towards the alcohol. Would it be so bad if he bought a couple of beers? He stands in the middle of the aisle, looking slightly helpless, before a man gives him a glare for stopping right in the middle of the walkway.
"Sorry," he mutters, hanging his head briefly. "Damn it. Just hit the list and get your ass home, LaFleur."
Well, that wasn't completely true.
He hasn't smoked regularly for years now. It wasn't a habit that Juliet was fond of, and Sawyer wasn't in the habit of denying her anything that she asked of him. He'd picked it up briefly again after her death, but in the last stretches of tumult that the island threw at them, there wasn't much time for it. Even in Darrow, he's only smoked to be social more than anything else too many troublesome rules and laws about where they're permitted to smoke in the city for him to bother with. It's easier going without.
And when Cleo came along, well. He was too engrossed in constantly being by her side to even think about stepping away for a smoke. The rare occasions that he returned with the smell of it on his clothes from others in construction, he'd thrown those clothes directly in the hamper. Hell, if he were shaving regularly, he might even look cleaned up.
But for some reason, when he's at the grocery store today, his gaze turns towards the cigarettes. And then towards the alcohol. Would it be so bad if he bought a couple of beers? He stands in the middle of the aisle, looking slightly helpless, before a man gives him a glare for stopping right in the middle of the walkway.
"Sorry," he mutters, hanging his head briefly. "Damn it. Just hit the list and get your ass home, LaFleur."
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She's making her way through the store, pushing her gradually filling cart, when she passes an aisle and gets a glimpse of a familiar figure. Stopping, she turns down the aisle towards him, shooting a look at the man passing by who'd just glared at him.
"Hey," she says, smiling softly. "Fancy meeting you here."
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Sure does make him feel weak, almost caving.
"Yeah," he says, trying to shake off the moment with an arch of his brow, lips parted in what doesn't quite become a smile. "Don't look real natural, does it? Someone like me shoppin' for groceries. Slim Jims and beer just don't cut it anymore, I'm afraid."
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He's not precisely sure where Helen's limit is, though he knows he's angered her before. He knows that he still doesn't feel entirely comfortable confronting that past, one he doesn't fully remember, one that he doesn't want to be held accountable for.
So humor is easier. Light. Promising nothing.
"Slim Jims. What would the overcompensatin' man name after himself? It's a long length of sausage. Pretty dried out so it doesn't go bad. Probably falls in the same family as jerky. Easy, filling, and absolutely horrible for you," he says with an arch of his brow.
He doesn't know how to respond to the quip about beer. The guilt's already settled squarely in the center of his chest.
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"Well, your little one shouldn't be too particular hard to shop for yet, at least," she says. "But I hope you're planning on getting something a little more substantial for yourself as well. Daddy needs to be healthy and well-fed too, after all."
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There's a long way he has to go.
"Cleo's real easy to buy for, you're right. Applesauce, rice krispies. I've been eatin' alright. Lots of sandwiches and fruit," Sawyer adds, shaking his head. "Doesn't look right on a guy like me, does it? I'm practically sensible now."
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It's easier to leave parts of his history behind. He's not sure what knowing about the other island's gotten him, either, aside from a mix of confusion and heartache.
"Still ain't got much of an idea what it means for the future, but day by day's... easy enough, I guess."
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He quirks a brow at Helen's remark.
"Yeah? Why's that?"
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"I'd be more than happy to help you carry your groceries home," he says earnestly. For all that his younger years were tumultuous, Sawyer still ended up learning the niceties and behaviors expected of him, especially down in the South. "But I don't want to add to what sounds like a long list of folks you already look out for. And I gotta get home to my girl anyway; I don't wanna keep the babysitter too long."
Brushing his hair out of the way, Sawyer gives her a more thoughtful look. "I know I ain't always been the nicest of guys, 'specially to those of y'all who know some version of me from that island. I'm tryin' to figure things out. But I still don't like owin' favors."
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