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remix_redux2007-04-13 11:00 pm
ice-tealc.livejournal.com) wrote in remix_redux2007-04-13 11:00 pm
Feverish (Some strange kind of normal remix) [Lost: Jack Shephard/Kate Austen/ James "Sawyer" Ford]
Title: Feverish (Some strange kind of normal remix)
Author: littlehands
Summary: “Cleanliness is a virtue”: When Sawyer’s infection gets worse,
Jack and Kate need to clean him up.
Rating: PG 13
Fandom: Lost
Spoilers: Up through 2x08 “What Kate Did”, general S2 spoilers.
Title, Author and URL of original story: Feverish, by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
miladygrey
She can’t help touching him, his face-hands-arms. It’s like every time she blinks he’s appearing out of the jungle in the rain again. Just sitting by, watching him breathe, slowly syncing hers to his. Slow inhale - slower exhale, steady although shallow. Sitting with the chair pulled up to edge of the bed, knees pressed against the frame - she’s as close as she can get without actually being in the bed with him.
He’s lying there, naked to the waist, sweating in the cool air of the hatch. Skin is damp, clammy, sweat just clings to him, all over him. The wound bright red against tan skin, raw - she can almost feel the heat from here, the color so vivid and strong. he white of his boxers is almost blinding against his tan skin.
Her fingers brush his cheek up to his forehead then back down. Wonders how it feels, fingers rough and torn from island living - not like they were ever smooth. Laying her palm on his cheek, trying to gauge how bad the fever really was but it’s no use, her face flushes as he stirs. His stubble burns ever so slightly as he moves against her fingers - he smiles.
His eyes are half open, just enough to catch the light, glinting slightly - adding to the smirk on his face. His brow still furrowed in what she takes as pain, and murmurs something resembling words of comfort with the next exhale. She doesn’t like seeing him in pain, just a natural instinct. Even if she doesn’t want to admit it to herself, they do have a bond, beyond the plane crash that joins them all together. A bond that is strung full of tension, just like one with Jack. Strange that two men, so different in many ways, are forever linked in her mind.
The sheet and blanket are twisted up in his legs, the waves of cold and heat flooding in and out - pulled up to just be pushed down again. She can tell when he’s about to get cold, but the heat seems to come on too fast, and all of a sudden he’s flushing red, and the wound seems to almost send heat flares though him - by extension her.
She doesn’t notice Jack coming into the room, so lost in every groan and twitch that Sawyer makes. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was smiling up at her in that charming yet sort of annoying way that he use to on the beach just to piss her off. It was the noise of the curtain being thrown aside, along with Jack’s heavy foot falls that startles her out of her nursing duties.
Cringing inwardly (just a little), she pulls her hands away from his face, coming to rest on her knees, awkward and nervous. Feeling like she didn’t deserve to be kind, that her hands were not for healing, but harming - everyone around her, but mostly herself. She can’t bring herself to look at Jack, not until he leans over Sawyer’s prostrate form and probes the wound.
It’s Sawyer’s smartass comment that makes her look at Jack, that forces her to rejoin the triangle they have formed. It’s the quick banter that at one time is harsh, at the other is confronting ‘cause it’s what they have always done - the lines and the glares cutting through the words. Maybe it was jealousy that flashes in Jack’s eyes, but to her, it’s enough to make the hairs on her neck stand up.
The response is instinctual, the defense perfectly formed at the tip of her tongue, like a lie or maybe like a truth. Part of her knows that it’s just him, that he’s trying to exert some type of control of the situation, that it was medicine, it was his territory. But the bulk of it, is her feeling like whatever it was, it wasn’t good enough, and the memories, and the lies flow like some sort of stream, finally out from around the rocks.
It was Jack’s tone - although she knew, might not have understood right then, that none of this was really about the way she cleaned Sawyer’s wound - the way the words slid out, the sarcasm. The words just were still coming, and she just spit them right back. Then, he sighs, and rubs his hand through his close cropped hair - she can see the circles under his eyes - he’s Jack again.
Instead of snarking at her, he bites back at Sawyer, it makes her smile just a little, on the inside at least - this she know, this is some strange kind of normal. It’s the mention of a shower that shakes her, but ... oh right, the hatch. The fact that she’s been sitting by a bed, in a chair for the last hours doesn’t register until Jack says it.
It’s the word “we” that perks both of them, for two different reasons she’s sure. Jack is thinking ease of the cleaning process - Sawyer is thinking wet t-shirt contest. Hell, if she’s gonna get drenched in a shower with Sawyer, she’s taking Jack along for the ride. Beside the fact that even borrowing on of the plastic chairs, there is no way that either of them could handle Sawyer on their own - both physically and mentally. Together they at least have a shot.
She goes to get the chair, placing it in the shower, slightly away from the spray. She starts it up, creaking like a old house, or some ghost ship - the water sputters and then streams out. Jack’s voice cuts through the dim, and her heart sounds like the shower, all stutters and din. Things change, she mutters, things are ever changing.
Author: littlehands
Summary: “Cleanliness is a virtue”: When Sawyer’s infection gets worse,
Jack and Kate need to clean him up.
Rating: PG 13
Fandom: Lost
Spoilers: Up through 2x08 “What Kate Did”, general S2 spoilers.
Title, Author and URL of original story: Feverish, by
miladygreyShe can’t help touching him, his face-hands-arms. It’s like every time she blinks he’s appearing out of the jungle in the rain again. Just sitting by, watching him breathe, slowly syncing hers to his. Slow inhale - slower exhale, steady although shallow. Sitting with the chair pulled up to edge of the bed, knees pressed against the frame - she’s as close as she can get without actually being in the bed with him.
He’s lying there, naked to the waist, sweating in the cool air of the hatch. Skin is damp, clammy, sweat just clings to him, all over him. The wound bright red against tan skin, raw - she can almost feel the heat from here, the color so vivid and strong. he white of his boxers is almost blinding against his tan skin.
Her fingers brush his cheek up to his forehead then back down. Wonders how it feels, fingers rough and torn from island living - not like they were ever smooth. Laying her palm on his cheek, trying to gauge how bad the fever really was but it’s no use, her face flushes as he stirs. His stubble burns ever so slightly as he moves against her fingers - he smiles.
His eyes are half open, just enough to catch the light, glinting slightly - adding to the smirk on his face. His brow still furrowed in what she takes as pain, and murmurs something resembling words of comfort with the next exhale. She doesn’t like seeing him in pain, just a natural instinct. Even if she doesn’t want to admit it to herself, they do have a bond, beyond the plane crash that joins them all together. A bond that is strung full of tension, just like one with Jack. Strange that two men, so different in many ways, are forever linked in her mind.
The sheet and blanket are twisted up in his legs, the waves of cold and heat flooding in and out - pulled up to just be pushed down again. She can tell when he’s about to get cold, but the heat seems to come on too fast, and all of a sudden he’s flushing red, and the wound seems to almost send heat flares though him - by extension her.
She doesn’t notice Jack coming into the room, so lost in every groan and twitch that Sawyer makes. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was smiling up at her in that charming yet sort of annoying way that he use to on the beach just to piss her off. It was the noise of the curtain being thrown aside, along with Jack’s heavy foot falls that startles her out of her nursing duties.
Cringing inwardly (just a little), she pulls her hands away from his face, coming to rest on her knees, awkward and nervous. Feeling like she didn’t deserve to be kind, that her hands were not for healing, but harming - everyone around her, but mostly herself. She can’t bring herself to look at Jack, not until he leans over Sawyer’s prostrate form and probes the wound.
It’s Sawyer’s smartass comment that makes her look at Jack, that forces her to rejoin the triangle they have formed. It’s the quick banter that at one time is harsh, at the other is confronting ‘cause it’s what they have always done - the lines and the glares cutting through the words. Maybe it was jealousy that flashes in Jack’s eyes, but to her, it’s enough to make the hairs on her neck stand up.
The response is instinctual, the defense perfectly formed at the tip of her tongue, like a lie or maybe like a truth. Part of her knows that it’s just him, that he’s trying to exert some type of control of the situation, that it was medicine, it was his territory. But the bulk of it, is her feeling like whatever it was, it wasn’t good enough, and the memories, and the lies flow like some sort of stream, finally out from around the rocks.
It was Jack’s tone - although she knew, might not have understood right then, that none of this was really about the way she cleaned Sawyer’s wound - the way the words slid out, the sarcasm. The words just were still coming, and she just spit them right back. Then, he sighs, and rubs his hand through his close cropped hair - she can see the circles under his eyes - he’s Jack again.
Instead of snarking at her, he bites back at Sawyer, it makes her smile just a little, on the inside at least - this she know, this is some strange kind of normal. It’s the mention of a shower that shakes her, but ... oh right, the hatch. The fact that she’s been sitting by a bed, in a chair for the last hours doesn’t register until Jack says it.
It’s the word “we” that perks both of them, for two different reasons she’s sure. Jack is thinking ease of the cleaning process - Sawyer is thinking wet t-shirt contest. Hell, if she’s gonna get drenched in a shower with Sawyer, she’s taking Jack along for the ride. Beside the fact that even borrowing on of the plastic chairs, there is no way that either of them could handle Sawyer on their own - both physically and mentally. Together they at least have a shot.
She goes to get the chair, placing it in the shower, slightly away from the spray. She starts it up, creaking like a old house, or some ghost ship - the water sputters and then streams out. Jack’s voice cuts through the dim, and her heart sounds like the shower, all stutters and din. Things change, she mutters, things are ever changing.
no subject
I especially like the idea of Jack and Kate needing to team up to handle Sawyer. :) Nice fic!