Emily (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2006-12-01 06:16 pm
iluvroadrunner6) wrote2006-12-01 06:16 pm
Sawyer - Southern Charm and Empty Promises
Fandom: LOST
Title: Southern Charm and Empty Promises
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
iluvroadrunner6
Rating: FRT
Character: Sawyer
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
2x5obsessions Prompt: the middle of the night by the castle clock
Content Warning: Spoilers for "Confidence Man"
Summary: But there was one thing he could hear though. Smooth southern charm and empty promises, the kind that were so good you wanted to believe.
Author's Note: I got this idea in my head, wondering how eight year-old Sawyer (technically James at that point) would have reacted if they had managed to track down the initial Sawyer and they asked him to identify him. And this was what came out.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of LOST. They're owned by ABC.
“Thirsty?”
Sawyer looked up at him, looked him up and down, before giving a slight shake of his head, “I’m fine, thanks.”
The detective gave a shrug before sitting down opposite Sawyer, balancing the coffee cup in his hands. Sawyer watched him for a second, studying him. He was young, that was for sure. Young and fresh. This was probably his first time soloing in interrogation. Sawyer had been through a few of those himself, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen someone this young.
“So,” the detective replied, leaning back in his chair, “We gonna chat?”
“That pretty detective ain’t gonna join us?” Sawyer asked, tilting his head to the side, slightly.
“Who, Detective Cavelera?” he frowned, “Nah, she’s got better things to do.”
“Does she now?” Sawyer leaned back in his chair, a sly grin on his face, “Thinks your big enough to play with the big boys, huh kid?”
The man’s eyes flashed at that, and Sawyer knew he had struck a cord. And he continued to push, “A less open-minded man than myself may think that you’re not ready to play with the big guns. That you just want to prove something to someone. Little Detective David going up against the giant Golaith of this dark city’s underworld.”
“Good thing, I’ve got back up then, isn’t it?” the detective replied, trying his best to remain nonchalant, but there was a strain to his voice, letting Sawyer know that some of the word had gotten through. Some of the bullets were hitting their mark.
“Ahh, so they don’t trust you completely,” Sawyer said, leaning back in his chair, “They’re watching you from behind that little window there, aren’t they?”
“They’re always watching from behind that little window, Sawyer,” the detective replied, “But they aren’t watching me. They’re watching you. Trying to figure you out. I think you know that.”
Sawyer’s eyes widened slightly. He didn’t like the idea of being watched by someone he couldn’t see. Never had.
“So,” the detective said, leaning forward on the table, “Are we going to chat?”
“I thought we were chatting,” Sawyer replied slickly.
“About me, yes,” he nodded, “But I was thinking we could chat about you?”
“I don’t think I’m ready to chat about me just yet.”
“Take your time,” the detective replied, getting comfortable in his chair, “I got all night.”
Outside the interrogation room, a small eight year-old boy was standing, holding the hand of the woman next to him. He wasn’t tall enough to see through the window above him, even though he had always been somewhat tall for his age, but he could hear the voice coming through the speakers next to him. Detective Calevera crouched down next to him, and she spoke softly.
“Now, I know you said you didn’t see him, but I need you to tell me if you recognize his voice, alright?” She phrased her question carefully, making sure it didn’t look like she was leading his decision to Sawyer’s attorney.
“OK,” the little boy nodded.
“Now, James, I want you to close your eyes, and tell me if that man is the same man you heard in your mother’s bedroom.”
“Do you now?” Sawyer’s voice came from the speakers, “Usually y’all are all pushy. Want to get to what you want before I’ve even gotten the chance to get comfortable.”
“Well, that’s not how I do things. I’d like you to be comfortable. Can’t get no where if you’re not comfortable.”
“Is it him, James?”
“I can’t tell,” the boy said, his voice barely a whisper.
“It’s not that hard, sweetheart,” she said softly, “Just close your eyes and tell me if that’s the same voice.”
He pinched his eyes closed, and thought as hard as he could. Thought back to the afternoons when he heard an unfamiliar voice coming from the kitchen or one of the rooms upstairs. A low voice, a smooth voice, filled with charm and empty promises. Sometimes he would hear it in the middle of the night when his father was out of town on business, and he and his mother had the house all to themselves. Well, themselves and whoever that man was. He tried as hard as he could to focus on the man’s voice, but all he could hear was the gunshots coming from the other room that one night, and the one gunshot his father fired as he sat on James’s bed, ending his own life, probably not even knowing that his son was in the room. The stranger’s voice was now muffled by gunshots and he couldn’t for certain say that that was the man in the room.
In fact, the voice didn’t even sound familiar at all.
“No,” he replied softly, “That’s not him.”
He watched the look of disappointment that crossed Detective Calavera’s face, and he knew he had given her the wrong answer. He started to shrink away from her, and she grabbed him firmly by the shoulder.
“James, are you sure that’s not him?”
“I believe the young Mr. Ford has spoken, Detective,” the man behind him spoke up, adjusting his glasses on his face, “I think Detective Donavan and my client are done.”
“This isn’t anywhere near over,” Detective Calavera growled, and James just backed away from them, retreated to the corner of the room, and drowned out the two voices in front of him, the angry, resenting voices gone. They were just wordlessly mouthing at this point, but he could still see the anger, the bitterness written into their faces. But there was one thing he could hear though. Smooth southern charm and empty promises, the kind that were so good you wanted to believe.
“You sure you got all night, Detective? Suddenly, I’m not feeling so chatty.”
Title: Southern Charm and Empty Promises
Author:
iluvroadrunner6Rating: FRT
Character: Sawyer
2x5obsessions Prompt: the middle of the night by the castle clockContent Warning: Spoilers for "Confidence Man"
Summary: But there was one thing he could hear though. Smooth southern charm and empty promises, the kind that were so good you wanted to believe.
Author's Note: I got this idea in my head, wondering how eight year-old Sawyer (technically James at that point) would have reacted if they had managed to track down the initial Sawyer and they asked him to identify him. And this was what came out.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters of LOST. They're owned by ABC.
“Thirsty?”
Sawyer looked up at him, looked him up and down, before giving a slight shake of his head, “I’m fine, thanks.”
The detective gave a shrug before sitting down opposite Sawyer, balancing the coffee cup in his hands. Sawyer watched him for a second, studying him. He was young, that was for sure. Young and fresh. This was probably his first time soloing in interrogation. Sawyer had been through a few of those himself, but he didn’t think he’d ever seen someone this young.
“So,” the detective replied, leaning back in his chair, “We gonna chat?”
“That pretty detective ain’t gonna join us?” Sawyer asked, tilting his head to the side, slightly.
“Who, Detective Cavelera?” he frowned, “Nah, she’s got better things to do.”
“Does she now?” Sawyer leaned back in his chair, a sly grin on his face, “Thinks your big enough to play with the big boys, huh kid?”
The man’s eyes flashed at that, and Sawyer knew he had struck a cord. And he continued to push, “A less open-minded man than myself may think that you’re not ready to play with the big guns. That you just want to prove something to someone. Little Detective David going up against the giant Golaith of this dark city’s underworld.”
“Good thing, I’ve got back up then, isn’t it?” the detective replied, trying his best to remain nonchalant, but there was a strain to his voice, letting Sawyer know that some of the word had gotten through. Some of the bullets were hitting their mark.
“Ahh, so they don’t trust you completely,” Sawyer said, leaning back in his chair, “They’re watching you from behind that little window there, aren’t they?”
“They’re always watching from behind that little window, Sawyer,” the detective replied, “But they aren’t watching me. They’re watching you. Trying to figure you out. I think you know that.”
Sawyer’s eyes widened slightly. He didn’t like the idea of being watched by someone he couldn’t see. Never had.
“So,” the detective said, leaning forward on the table, “Are we going to chat?”
“I thought we were chatting,” Sawyer replied slickly.
“About me, yes,” he nodded, “But I was thinking we could chat about you?”
“I don’t think I’m ready to chat about me just yet.”
“Take your time,” the detective replied, getting comfortable in his chair, “I got all night.”
Outside the interrogation room, a small eight year-old boy was standing, holding the hand of the woman next to him. He wasn’t tall enough to see through the window above him, even though he had always been somewhat tall for his age, but he could hear the voice coming through the speakers next to him. Detective Calevera crouched down next to him, and she spoke softly.
“Now, I know you said you didn’t see him, but I need you to tell me if you recognize his voice, alright?” She phrased her question carefully, making sure it didn’t look like she was leading his decision to Sawyer’s attorney.
“OK,” the little boy nodded.
“Now, James, I want you to close your eyes, and tell me if that man is the same man you heard in your mother’s bedroom.”
“Do you now?” Sawyer’s voice came from the speakers, “Usually y’all are all pushy. Want to get to what you want before I’ve even gotten the chance to get comfortable.”
“Well, that’s not how I do things. I’d like you to be comfortable. Can’t get no where if you’re not comfortable.”
“Is it him, James?”
“I can’t tell,” the boy said, his voice barely a whisper.
“It’s not that hard, sweetheart,” she said softly, “Just close your eyes and tell me if that’s the same voice.”
He pinched his eyes closed, and thought as hard as he could. Thought back to the afternoons when he heard an unfamiliar voice coming from the kitchen or one of the rooms upstairs. A low voice, a smooth voice, filled with charm and empty promises. Sometimes he would hear it in the middle of the night when his father was out of town on business, and he and his mother had the house all to themselves. Well, themselves and whoever that man was. He tried as hard as he could to focus on the man’s voice, but all he could hear was the gunshots coming from the other room that one night, and the one gunshot his father fired as he sat on James’s bed, ending his own life, probably not even knowing that his son was in the room. The stranger’s voice was now muffled by gunshots and he couldn’t for certain say that that was the man in the room.
In fact, the voice didn’t even sound familiar at all.
“No,” he replied softly, “That’s not him.”
He watched the look of disappointment that crossed Detective Calavera’s face, and he knew he had given her the wrong answer. He started to shrink away from her, and she grabbed him firmly by the shoulder.
“James, are you sure that’s not him?”
“I believe the young Mr. Ford has spoken, Detective,” the man behind him spoke up, adjusting his glasses on his face, “I think Detective Donavan and my client are done.”
“This isn’t anywhere near over,” Detective Calavera growled, and James just backed away from them, retreated to the corner of the room, and drowned out the two voices in front of him, the angry, resenting voices gone. They were just wordlessly mouthing at this point, but he could still see the anger, the bitterness written into their faces. But there was one thing he could hear though. Smooth southern charm and empty promises, the kind that were so good you wanted to believe.
“You sure you got all night, Detective? Suddenly, I’m not feeling so chatty.”