danakszoul (danakszoul) wrote in sawyer_sayid,

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Author: Anneko
Title: Bad
Sequel To: 'Ending/Beginning'
ADULT (and when I say 'Bad', I mean it. I mean heavy angsting. I don't want to give too much away, but it is, in fact, very very bad. You've been warned.)
Summary: 'There's three ways that love can go- That's Good, Bad, or Mediocre'. Here's the second. Getting off the island wasn't the good fortune they'd hoped for.
Notes: Mildly spoilerrific for s3 finale.
Disclaimer: They're not mine. I don't own 'em.
Feedback: Would be lovely, thanks.

When a man in a sharp suit and dark glasses knocked on the door, Sawyer's first impulse was to run.

It passed, and he answered the door, turning the charm up to eleven. As expected, the man flashed a badge.

"Good evenin', officer, can I help you?"

"Good evening, Mr. Ford. You're one of the survivors of Oceanic 815, is that right?"

"Sure 'nuff. Is... that why you're here?"

"Actually, I need to know if you've had any contact with one of your fellow passengers."

So he was going to ask about Kate... Well, Sawyer could honestly answer that he didn't know where she'd got herself to, and he could add to that he didn't so much care anymore.

"Since being rescued, have you spoken to Sayid Jarrah?"

Now that came out of left field. He took a second to just be poleaxed, then shook his head. "No, sir. I'm sure you could ask anyone and they'd tell you him and me never got along, exactly. Sorry I couldn't be of more help. Did he, um, did he do something?"

"I'm not at liberty to say."

"Right. Well. I'll be sure and call the authorities if I do hear anything, but we weren't really friends..."

"Call the number on this card if you do hear something."

"Will do. Hey, um-- Look, I was planning on going out of town, are you gonna need me to stay here? I mean, I can reschedule my vacation if you're gonna need to be able to find me. Well... naw, they might not-- No, of course I can. I mean, you seem like a national security type of guy, so I can-- it's just so last-minute-- But if you need me..."

"No, that won't be necessary. We'll see if there isn't someone he was closer to. Good day, Mr. Ford-- and enjoy your vacation."

He kept the big fake helpful smile in place until the door was closed, then he headed back into the bedroom in a panic.

"Start packin', now!"


"See this card?" He handed it to Sayid.

"Yes, but I hardly see what--"

"This guy wants you, and I don't think it's for tea and crumpets. I don't know if the word 'Gitmo' means anything to you, sugar, but I think it's high time we went on the lam."

"Why on earth would--"

"I don't know. God knows you ain't had time to do anything illegal... hardly been out of bed since we got back."

"Well, packing up all our earthly possessions isn't exactly difficult." Sayid snorted, throwing things into his suitcase.

"Someone or something wants you in trouble."


"I know, I know, I'm gonna start talking crazy in a minute, I just-- What if-- No, don't listen to me."

"I stopped a while ago."

"Ha-ha, very funny." He zipped his own suitcase shut. "Go through the house into the garage. Get into the backseat of the car and lie on the floor. There's a blanket on the seat, you're gonna pull it over you. I'm gonna take the bags, go outside, open the garage door, and drive us out of here."


"We can't stay here. They *will* watch me if anyone tells them you might come and see me. They'll probably stake out the house and wait for you to show up and eat all my food once we're gone. You know what, I'm packing the food. We might get hungry on the trip."

"Where do you think we're going, exactly?"

"Italy. They don't extradite. Learned that watchin' 'The West Wing'."

"You're going to drive us there?" Sayid raised one eyebrow.

Sawyer was whistling now, as he packed most of the food in the kitchen into a bag. The whistling, even more than the harried urgency and the little business card, was unsettling.

"Sawyer, I asked you how you thought we were going to get to Italy,"

"I never had a chance to shine, never a happy song to sing, but suddenly half the world is mine, what an amazing thing-- You packed?"

"Now you're *singing*?"

"We can go anywhere."

"I can't get on an aeroplane! Remember, the man with the card, the-- the 'Gitmo'?"

"We'll fly out of Mexico."


"Trust me. It's gonna work out for us. We gotta get out of this place, and I'm gonna get you out. We'll be all right."

"I don't know."

"I promise."

"All right..." He placed his hands on Sawyer's waist, kissing him.

"Go get in the car. Remember like I said,"

"Do you want help with the luggage?"

"Nope, if they're out there, they gotta see me carry every bag that goes in that car."

"You're giving up your home..."

"This ain't home. Lived on that damn island longer'n I lived here. Besides, I bet Italy's nice."

"I'm sure it is. Did he say what I was being accused of?"

"Papers say they don't need to accuse you anymore, they just take you and say you did something, or you will do something, or you know a guy who might do something."


"Get in the car." He pressed a hasty kiss to Sayid's temple before letting him go.


"You holdin' up okay back there?"

"I'm fine. It's quite comfortable."

"Don't get sarcastic with me. I'm driving as fast as I can, considering the feds are probably watching me and I got an unseatbelted fugitive in the backseat. Forty minutes."

"Forty minutes?"

"We'll be in Mexico in forty minutes."

Fifteen minutes later, Sawyer spoke again. "Okay, I was wrong."


"Been an accident up ahead. I'm gonna pull off and set awhile. You hungry? We got food."

"I'm not hungry, thank you."


"I'm sure. At least..."

"At least what? You peckish? I got Pringles."


"Sorry. Didn't see the bump there. We're off the road now."

"Out in the desert?" There was a faint twinge of amusement replacing the tenseness and fear now.

"Well... I think it's chapparal. Maybe it's desert. It's got scrubby little plants. I probably hit a prairie dog." Sawyer snorted.

"I don't know why this is happening... but I'm sorry you're involved in it."

"I'd rather be involved in it than-- you know. Not with you."

"This is rather awkward, not being able to look at each other."

"Hang on a tic." Sawyer dug through the bag of food until he came up with a mostly-empty box of crackers, ripping one of the sides off and writing 'Not Broken Down-- Napping' on the reverse. He stuck the sign up in the window and moved into the back, lying down on the seat.


"Hey there, handsome." He uncovered Sayid's face, grinned down at him.

"I love you, you know." Sayid reached up to take his hand.

"Love you, too."

"Yes. I didn't think you went on desperate illegal road trips for people you were only mildly interested in."

"Well, you *are* a fantastic lay, but you're right, I don't think anybody's that good in bed."

"I'm sure it's the adrenaline talking, but I want you inside me right now."

"Me inside you?" Sawyer's eyebrows shot up of their own accord.

"I suppose it will have to wait..."

"I packed the stuff. It's in the car. I can get it right now, we can do it here."

"Is it safe?"

Sawyer looked out the window. Nothing on the horizon. No one peeling off the backed-up highway. "Yeah. It's safe."

"It isn't, is it?"

"Aw, fuck, Sayid, it's never safe. But... if we're careful, if we're quiet. If we do it quick, right down there where you already are..."

"I don't think both of us can fit down here."

"There's nobody watching us." He promised. "Not right now, anyway."

Sayid nodded, undressing with as little movement as possible while Sawyer dug the lube out of his bag. They did their best to arrange themselves on the seat.

It was quick and dirty and inelegant, but it was exactly what they both needed, the touch, the heat, the outlet for all that nervous energy that had built up in the car.

They kissed when it was over, and cleaned up with a couple of tissues, and Sayid moved back down to the floor of the car under the blanket. Sawyer took his sign down, slid out and moved back to the driver's seat. Still no other cars keeping an eye on them as they eased back onto the highway.

Sawyer didn't say maybe John Locke was partly right and maybe they were being punished for leaving the island when there was clearly something screwy going on there, and hadn't they all been brought there by forces beyond their control? Enough of them had, anyway. Maybe life was monumentally sucking for everyone who'd been there. But it sounded crazy even in his head, and he wasn't going to say it out loud.

The accident ahead had been cleared away, and the traffic that had clogged up there was rapidly dissipating. The black SUV that had been idling a few cars behind theirs was gone, and maybe that meant they were never being tailed to begin with.

He let himself think that for a few minutes, let himself believe it when they were the only car on the road. And then there it was, ahead of them, slanted across the lanes, part of a roadblock.

He swore, sliding to a halt.

"Are they checking cars at the border?" Sayid hissed.

"We ain't making it to the border, sweetheart. They set up a roadblock for us."

"Sawyer... turn me in. Tell them-- after you spoke with the man, I surprised you. I forced you to take me."


"Then I will say it."

"Sayid, no." He got out of the car. "Officers. Is that correct, 'Officers'? Agents? Anyway, Gentlemen. I thought I had the all-clear to take off, was there a mistake?"

"Open the car, Mr. Ford."

"Well, that'd be my pleasure." He said smoothly, walking around to the trunk.

"The car, Mr. Ford. The backseat."

"Am I being arrested? You got a warrant?"

"Open the car, Mr. Ford." The man repeated.

"I'd like to know what it is I'm being accused of."

"Helping a suspected terrorist across the border into Mexico, for starters. And lying to a federal agent. Obstruction of justice."

"Justice?" He spat. "I don't know what kind of set-up this is, but I am *not* aiding and abetting no terrorist."

"Then who do you have in the backseat of your car."

"Fuck you."

"Sawyer, stop it!" Sayid climbed out of the car. "It's over. I don't blame you."

"Don't do this,"

"I forced him to take me. I was in his garage. He had no idea." Sayid recited.

"You forced him? He seemed awfully protective."

"Yes. He believed I would shoot him if he attempted to turn me in. Here is the gun I used." He was in the process of handing it over when Sawyer grabbed it from him.

Shots rang out on both sides. It was probably only seconds, barely enough time to close your eyes, and when Sayid opened his, he was surprised to find himself intact.

And destroyed to find Sawyer not.

"No..." He dropped to his knees in the dust, lifting the other man into his arms. "You fool, why would you-- Sawyer, please don't..."

"Yeah... startin' to see what a bad idea that was..."

"Mr. Jarrah, come with us please."

He ignored them, frantically looking for a way to stop the bleeding. There wasn't one. He pressed against the worst of the wounds and kissed Sawyer's brow, his cheek, the side of his head, the corner of his mouth.

"Sh-sh-sh, don't speak..."

"'m dyin', baby..."

"No, no it only feels that way, it isn't that bad."

"I just shot a federal agent." Sawyer coughed, and a thin spatter of blood sprayed down across his chin. "Ain't no one... gonna save my life..."


"J's'member... love you..."

"Please hold on... hold on just a little-- WHY IS NO ONE CALLING FOR AN AMBULANCE?"

"Like the man said. He shot a federal agent. We're not highly motivated." The man said.

Sayid looked around, stricken. There had been four agents. Now there were three, all of them unsympathetic. They had shot to wound, to disarm, to maim. Sawyer had shot to kill, and the fourth agent was past the point of needing an ambulance. They would not call for one.

"Are you going to come with us now, Mr. Jarrah?"

"I am not highly motivated." He bit the words out.

"You can come quietly, or--"

"I will not leave him. Not as long as he lives... You can wait, or you can shoot me, too."

Sawyer shook his head weakly, and Sayid kissed his hair.

"Shh... shh... I will stay with you. I'll stay until it's over..."


"It's all right."


"I said it's all right."


"Estana shoeya..." He murmured, holding Sawyer close, resigned to the fact that he could not stop the bleeding, not yet resigned to losing him so soon. "Please, just... wait a minute, don't--"

"Just once..."

"Shh, don't try to speak,"

"Call me 'James'..."

"James." Another series of soft frantic kisses. He'd expected to be shot more than he'd expected them to stand down and wait, but he was grateful that they had.

It wasn't long after that. For a little while, Sawyer's breathing grew more laboured, and his attempts to soothe were futile, laughable. And then it was over.

"Ma'assalama." He whispered, closed Sawyer's eyes.

The men pried them apart. He did not know where they took Sawyer's body after that. They put him on a plane, and in a way, he wasn't at all surprised when it went off course, when it went down.

This time, he was only sorry he had to survive it.



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