dimples, james "sawyer" ford

thirty six

sawyer sat at the bar, staring down at his glass of whiskey, the liquid sloshing lazily as he twirled it between his fingers. the weight of what he had just done hung heavy in the air around him, suffocating and inescapable. the man he'd killed... innocent. not mr. sawyer. not the man who destroyed his life. he'd been set up, played like a fool.

his mind raced, trying to process it all, but the alcohol was doing little to dull the edges of his guilt. he let out a heavy breath, rubbing a hand over his face, feeling the stubble prick against his palm. he should've known better. should've seen it coming. but he didn't, and now it was too late. the darkness that had followed him for so long had finally consumed him whole.

he took another swig of whiskey, the burn in his throat barely registering. his thoughts spiralled deeper into the mess of his life, the mess he'd always been running from, chasing down ghosts and vengeance that never brought him peace.

and then, out of nowhere, she walked in.

sawyer felt her presence before he even saw her. a familiar energy, one he hadn't felt in a long time. his heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, he thought it was just another trick his mind was playing on him. but when he glanced up, there she was—lana. standing in the doorway of that dingy australian bar, like something out of a dream.

even in the dim, smoky light, her dark hair fell in soft waves around her face, her eyes—the deepest, most haunting chocolate eyes—locked onto him. it was like time stopped for a moment, and all the noise of his chaotic world faded into the background. he couldn't believe she was here, in australia of all places. how the hell had she found him?

"figured you'd come lookin' for me," he drawled, not even glancing up again as she approached. he tried to play it cool, like seeing her wasn't ripping him apart inside. he'd always been good at pretending nothing bothered him. but damn if she didn't make it harder than anyone else.

the southern man hadn't changed much—same shaggy hair, same laid-back smirk, and those piercing eyes that seemed to see right through her. but something was different now, and lana had to know it.

"i can always find you, ford," she shot back, leaning against the bar next to him. her voice was familiar, steady, like a lifeline to something better. "i heard you were up to your usual tricks, chasing down ghosts. figured someone had to come drag your ass back home before you got yourself killed."

"home?" he gave her a sideways glance, a playful grin creeping onto his face, even as his insides churned with the truth he couldn't bring himself to tell her. his gaze lingered on her eyes, the way they always softened when she was worried about him. "ain't got one of those, sweetheart. thought you would've figured that out by now."

he couldn't let her in. not now. not after what he'd just done.

lana leaned in a little closer, her voice dropping to a soft but firm tone that had always cut through the layers of his defences. "you think killing him's gonna make it better? you think it'll change anything?"

sawyer stiffened, the smile fading from his face as her words hit a little too close to home. if only she knew. if only he could tell her the truth. but how could he? how could he look her in the eyes and admit that he'd just killed an innocent man? that he'd been chasing down the wrong ghost all along?

"this ain't your fight, lana," he said, his voice rough, like the truth was scraping against his throat. he lifted his glass and took another long swig, hoping the whiskey might drown out the guilt that was eating him alive. but it didn't. nothing ever did.

"maybe not, but i'm here anyway," she replied, her eyes softening as they trailed over his face, taking in the exhaustion, the pain, the anger he couldn't hide from her.

sawyer set the empty glass down with a heavy thud, the stool scratching against the floor as he stood up, towering over her now. his frustration, his guilt—it was all boiling over, but he couldn't take it out on her. not lana.

"hibbs set me up," he finally said, his voice low and bitter. "ain't no man here to kill."

there it was. the truth, or at least part of it. he couldn't bring himself to tell her the rest. couldn't admit that he'd pulled the trigger on a man who didn't deserve it. that he was no better than the man he'd been hunting all these years.

lana looked up at him, her expression unreadable, and for a moment, he wondered if she knew. if she could see through the cracks in his story, the way she always did. but she didn't push. she never pushed.

instead, she reached out, placing a soft hand on his arm. the warmth of her touch cut through the numbness that had been settling over him since the moment he pulled that trigger.

"i'm sorry," she said quietly, and somehow, those two words felt like a lifeline in the storm of his guilt.

sawyer didn't say anything, just looked down at her, wondering how someone like lana could still be standing here with him, after all the shit he'd done. he didn't deserve it. he didn't deserve her.