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07 June 2006 @ 06:04 pm
Like Father, Like Son  
James "Sawyer" Ford
Before the plane crash
Author: sanguinepen
Word Count: 621
Rating: PG
Prompt: #2 Dark Path 50_darkfics, Story from your parent's POV deviant_muses
Posted to: fanficbylee, lost_fanfic, lost_roundrobin

He settled into the shadows of the bar, which wasn’t hard, since the place was made mostly of shadows. The floor was stained, from years of spilt beer, whiskey and blood, a dull dark grayish brown. The man swirled the cheap whiskey in his glass. He hadn’t been able to afford a named brand, and with things turning out the way there were he was going to have to keep a low profile down under. His knuckles were stained with yellow from too many cigarettes, cracked and brushed from a fight he’d tried to avoid the night before. When he glanced into the dirty mirror behind the bar, he almost didn’t recognize the old man who was looking back at him. At times like this, when he was low on cash, he had a hard time remembering who he had been.

The door of the bar opened, sending in a shaft of stabbing light. The man with the cheap whiskey wasn’t the only creature of the night that cringed as it flickered across the room until it faded into a thin line and vanished. He looked up from beneath a stained baseball cap that hid his now balding head. He remembered what it was like when he had thick golden hair that any mark would sell her soul to wrap her fingers into. Those were the good old days.

Sawyer watched as a tall blond shambled into the bar. He was shaking a bit, and looked like he’d just watched something horrible happen. He didn’t care, didn’t matter to him who anyone was as long as they weren’t looking for him. He’d heard rumors that he there was someone looking for him, and that that someone had actually come all the way to Australia to find him. But so far, he’d flown under the radar of whoever it was.

“I need a shot of Jack,” the new blond said, hair a bit too long to be in style, but enough to make a woman’s knees week framed his face. His accent wasn’t Australian at all. He was an American, and Sawyer didn’t miss the twang of the south in his voice. He’d spent quite a bit of time down south running one con or another over the years. He’d moved on when some bitch had got herself killed for hopping in the sack with him. “Make it a double.”

Another man came into the bar. He looked worse than Sawyer felt on a bad day. He was old and had the shakes that only came from being a long standing friend with the bottle. He settled down next to the blond, and they chatted a bit. Neither man said their names, so Sawyer settled back down when neither of them seemed to notice him to drink his rock gut whiskey.

Eventually the older guy left and the blond ordered another shot just as the door flew open again. This time, everyone froze as badges were flashed. “James Ford!” One of the cops said looking at the blond. Ford got up and started to try to get away. He was spitting and snarling out a string of cussing that would have made a navy man flinch. “You’re under arrest.”

James Ford, Sawyer shook his head and drained the last of his drink as the cops dragged him out of the bar. “Well as I live and breath,” he said watching as the man he’d created was taken away in handcuffs. He hadn’t raised the boy. Hadn’t been married to his mother, but what he’d done to James Ford’s family had made him who he was today. If Sawyer knew the half of it, he’d have either been proud or very, very afraid.

My Beef: drunkdrunk
The Dashboard: Dixie Chicks