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It had been a long night. Locke and Boone had returned back to camp with nothing, setting tensions high, and like always he had been antagonized by Jack about some meaningless shit. He wasn’t sure what that guy’s problem was, but it was starting to rub him the wrong way… yet, whenever he was sitting there next to his pile of stolen goods, he would peer over his latest read and hope to see the doctor walking by. Maybe he was just a masochist. Perhaps he kind of liked when they stood chest to chest, Jack trying to wrestle information out of him while he tried to weasel his way out of it. It wasn’t hard to just play that dynamic off as a power struggle, though Sawyer was more than aware that his intentions were not to become head of the pack. Hell, he had seen what that position had put Jack through and he wanted no part of it. No, he was sure it wasn’t a dominance thing. He just enjoyed pissing Shepherd off. He liked when his face flushed red and his forehead glistened with sweat and he prodded his fingers into Sawyer’s chest, stepping closer, breathing hot and heavy either from the argument or the long day of work. Yeah, pissing people off, that’s what he lived for.
Jack hadn’t bothered him for a couple hours, though. Probably had bigger fish to fry – ‘cause they sure as hell didn’t have any boar. It was starting to get dark and the survivors were beginning to crowd around their campfires. Sawyer set down his book, since he could no longer see the words on the pages due to the setting sun, and slipped off his makeshift glasses as he stretched his arms upwards. Despite the far from pleasant activities of the day, he was not as stressed out as some of the others. He could hear worried whispers from the nearest fire and for a moment he strained to listen before realizing just how much he didn’t care. If it were important, Jack would make a big to do about it in the morning. He’d gather everyone up on the beach and make himself the center of attention, all while denying that he wanted any part in leading the disheveled group of misfits. For a doctor that man was pretty stupid. Sawyer grinned at his own musings and folded his arms over his chest, shifting and sliding down the trunk of the tree until he had found a comfortable enough resting position. He closed his eyes and honed in on the sound of the waves and the crackling fire, disregarding any noises in the woods or the frightened murmurs of the others. The last thing he wanted to think about before falling asleep was if he would survive the night. Talk about a bummer. Eventually the man drifted to sleep, troubled as it was. Every once in a while he would wake up in a cold sweat, unsure of what had frightened him so badly in his sleep. It was during one of those times that he realized he was no longer alone by this tree.
“What the… What the hell?” He was a little out of breath, both from shock and the lingering fear of whatever he had dreamt about. Sawyer stared down at Jack, who was resting his head on his shoulder. He must have sat next to him and drifted into a very deep sleep - he was almost jealous. Mostly though he was confused as to how he should react. Should he shove the doctor over? Leave him there? Just as he was contemplating the many ways he could go about this, Jack gave a little groan and turned more towards Sawyer, snaking his arms around the con man’s middle in a tight embrace. It was obvious that the doctor was still asleep, but it was alarming none the less. Sawyer’s heart raced for a minute or two, staring down at him, before exhaustion got the best of him. This was something he could worry about in the morning. Turning to the side so that his back was to Jack, he crossed his own arms and attempted to fall back to sleep. Eventually he managed to, and this time he stayed asleep.
That is, until Jack’s stirring woke him up. It was that kind of groggy early morning movement one does when their body is urging them awake but all they want is to continue sleeping. Sawyer had never experienced it himself; he always jerked awake and then… was. It was hard to get back to sleep. So while Jack stretched out his legs and snuggled closer, Sawyer carefully sat back up and watched him. Of course, it didn’t take long for Jack to actually wake up, blinking open his eyes and glancing up at the man he was clinging to.
“Good morning, princess.”
Jack was not very amused by that. In fact, he immediately let go and scrambled up into a sitting position as well, rubbing at his tired eyes with the back of his hand. “What?”
“I said good morning. Gettin’ awful friendly there, doc.”
Jumping to the defensive instantly, Jack huffed. “I was tired. Leave me alone.”
“Since when do you come snuggle up to me?” Personally, Sawyer found this hilarious. Jack on the other hand was bright red.
“Look, I was really tired and this was the first place I sat down. Do you have a problem with that?”
“Not at all.”
They were quiet after that. The survivors were beginning to stir from their own sleeping spots; Boone was already awake and tending to his fire, and somewhere Charlie was animatedly talking to Claire. Pretty soon they would all be awake and awaiting Jack’s orders. Jack must have realized this was well judging by the exhausted sigh. He figured it was his duty to cheer him up.
“You make a pretty comfortable big spoon, doc.”
“Shut the hell up, Sawyer.” Jack pushed himself to his feet and stretched his arms above his head, his shirt raising a little bit; Sawyer averted his eyes. "Looks like everyone's meeting over there." He followed Jack's eye line to the group of people standing around, idly chatting with each other. He snorted.
"They're waiting for you. You're the chief, chief."
That unnerved Jack, but as much as he wanted to dispute the claim, he couldn't. "You coming, then?"
"Nah." Sawyer had already put back on his glasses and grabbed his book, flipping it open to the dog eared page. "Go get 'em tiger." And with that he was gone from the conversation, paying more attention to the words on the page than to the real life dangers that needed to be discussed. Jack knew there was no arguing with him.
So he left as well, walking over to the crowd of survivors. Sawyer had been right. They stopped talking as he approached. He gulped down his fear, counted to five, and launched into the day's agenda. Occasionally he scanned the faces, and once he swore he saw Sawyer standing at the edge of the group, hands in his pockets and a scowl on his face. He looked again and the con man actually smiled and pulled one of his hands out to salute him.