Conning a Con
Inspired by: Never Say Never by the Fray and Take a Bow by Rihanna.
Title: Conning a Con
Summary: He realises he's made two of the biggest mistakes he can ever make – he let her come inside the house…and he let her walk away. Sawyer/Kate one-shot.
Set: Post 4x04 Eggtown.
A.n: Dunno what inspired this, but it was in my head. I love Jate far more than I love Skate but I felt like I needed to probe Sawyer's head…and his body. LOL! I think season four was when I really disliked Kate, for various reasons which I won't go into! Enjoy this little one-shot anyway.
He sits in bed, twirling his reading glasses in between his rough, coarse fingers, the same fingers which had, but a few minutes ago, been caressing the soft, pale skin of perhaps the most intriguing, and certainly cruellest, woman he'd ever come across. A woman so deep he'd had to wade through inches of hurt and pain just to find someone he could talk to, someone he could relate to.
He stares at the door, half expecting – half hoping – she'll waltz back in, quiet as always, and sit back down on the bed, wearing those Oh Golly eyes he always loved, mostly because he loves pretending, if only for one moment, that he's a knight in shining armour, rather than some gritty, hard hearted piece of scum, and she's a damsel in distress, rather than an equally hard hearted, frustrating woman with eyes which were forever distant.
His cheek still stings from the slap she delivered him, but he almost likes the echoing sting; it's like a part of her remains with him. He likes that she can rouse such passionate emotions in him – hatred, anger, desire, love – but is constantly frustrated that she can't stay long enough to see the side of him which only appears after she leaves – the side which noticeably softens, and which is, oddly enough, vulnerable.
He realises he's made two of the biggest mistakes he can ever make – he let her come inside the house, allowed her dismal attempt at a con to burn on, and he let her walk away. She became the very thing he hates, the very thing he was so sure would never be something he had to deal with.
She became the girl who got away, who slipped through his very fingers.
He chews the end of his glasses absentmindedly, wondering if there is such thing as karma. He's pretty sure this is it, if such a concept existed. He reeled her in so many times, only to push her away when things became too crazy, too real, and now she's delivered the exact same fate unto him. Only it comes with a side order of extra bitterness, extra resentment.
He sits up, suddenly angry, and knocks the book he'd been reading onto the floor. He'd delivered her a few home truths and she couldn't handle it. That wasn't revenge – it was the world's pettiest tantrum.
Oh, but that's not even half of what's she done. She'd walked in his house, wearing her usual flirty expression, expecting him to fall head first into her trap, her pitiful attempt at a con. Except she has conned him, a con so significant it almost makes all of his seem quite laughable really.
She's made him believe she actually gives a damn about him. That night of passion was real to him, and it actually meant something. But you didn't just walk away from something like that if it'd been real to you.
Well done, Freckles, he thinks to himself. If there's an award for the best liar, it goes to you. For making me believe for even a second that you cared, that you actually gave a damn about me. That you gave a damn about us.
She's conned a con. And it actually hurts. And the fact she's making him question everything he's ever done makes him want to hate her.
But he can't. She's cruel as the sea, and just as restless, but he keeps coming back to her all the same, hoping each time she'll make up her damn mind and stay with him because, even though he might not be the ideal partner, he knows he can take good care of her. They're two equally lost souls, wandering aimlessly on two separate paths which occasionally entwine before diverting back into two different directions.
In her twisted game, she's made him fall for her – hard. And he knows he'll wait for her to come back to him, like some lovesick fool, and he knows how their next encounter will end – with one of them heartbroken and the other taking off without a second thought.
She's conned a con – well, good for her. But he stills sees something in her, and sees the kind of beauty a guy only sees once. His dead heart revives, somewhat, as her image lurks in front of his mind.
She's conned a con and he still waits for her. For what? For another chance encounter which may or may not happen? For another dose of pain he won't ever admit to anyone else, not even himself? For her lips to meet hers in a series of kisses which are basically lies?
Yes – he waits for all that.
More fool him.