When They Patch You Up (Lost 2004 Drabbles)
drabbles featuring sawyer ford, sayid jarrah, & jack shepard
tw: mentions of wounds, blood
author's note: currently on season 3 of Lost. may write another collection of drabbles the more I watch.
"I'm going to kill him."
"It wasn't his fault."
"Like heck, it wasn't. You're should be glad I decided to take a stroll out of my tent today. Dufus probably would've left you sittin' there for hours."
You roll your eyes but don't disagree that you would've been stranded in the jungle for God only knows how long before help found you. After all, you didn't know the man's name and he seemed terrified about the prospect of seeing a deathly swollen ankle after you took a tumble from trying to get mangoes out of a tree. Not to mention, his sense of direction wasn't the best. You should've known better than to go marching into the woods with strangers to help them pick mangoes. "Just—can you put me down, so I can go find Jack?"
You didn't have to look up to know that he was smirking. "No can do, Hopscotch. You can barely hop around on that foot of yours and besides, Doc's a bit busy right now in the Hatch."
Before you could respond, you felt gravity lower you gently onto a makeshift blanket. You looked around at Sawyer's tent. It was homey, cozy. In the corner was a pile of books. Opposite the makeshift library was what you deemed to be his infamous 'stash' of weapons, medicines, first aid supplies, and anything else he could scavenge from the crash.
As if he caught your gaze, he quickly shuffled to the corner, blocking your view of his pile of 'lost and found'. He turned around seconds later and presented a roll of bandages in his hand.
You lifted a brow, your ankle throbbing in protest.
"Look, I ain't no doctor or nothing—"
"Clearly."
His smirk widened. "...but I do know how to take care of a sprained ankle until good ole' Doc can get a good look at it. So, either you let me help you or we both can sit here and stare at each other. Your choice."
You roll your eyes in response and he chuckles before kneeling in front of you to get work.
Cumbersomely, he wraps the gauze around your ankle, the bandage encompassing your injury firmly, but comfortable. For a moment he turns his back to you and finds a couple of folded shirts and a sandy pillow. You hiss as he lifts your foot and places it on top of the folded stack. The stack sunk under your weight, but your ankle throbbed a little less.
Sawyer gives a brief apologetic look before lifting his eyes to yours. "There. Now how's that?"
You look down at your foot and nod in approval with a slight smile. "It's...good. Good enough until Jack gets back."
Sawyer mimics your miniscule smile before turning to leave to give you some space. You quickly reach out, fingers latching onto his sleeve. His breath hitches and he stops to look over his shoulder.
"Thanks, Sawyer."
In true Sawyer fashion, he faces you, his rough fingertips finding the tip of your chin. He tilts it upwards and leans forward, this time your breath halting for a moment's time. Then, he whispers, "I knew you were going to thank me something one day, Hopscotch. But no thanks necessary."
"Squeeze my arm if you need to."
You latched onto Sayid's bicep and shut your eyes, your muscles tense. You could hear him quietly counting to three.
One.
Two.
Thr—
The adhesive bandage was ripped from your skin before he even got to 'three'. A whimper escaped your mouth and you hissed as you looked down at the damage to your skin. The wound had stopped crying red tears and was now throbbing, the flesh around it damp with sweat.
You felt a kiss on your brow. "I'm sorry, my love."
You grimaced and then looked down at the blood soaked bandage that was now lying on the ground. Sayid placed a hand over yours — the one digging its nails into his bicep— and brushed his thumb over it. You instantly released your grip with an apologetic smile.
"Don't be sorry," he said, beating you to your apology. "I didn't exactly get to 'three', did I?"
"We're even," you said with a somber smile, your fingers brushing over the imprint marks your nails left on his skin. Being stranded on the island had understandably distracted you from your bad habit. Your nails had never survived past the tips of your fingers before the crash and now, your own hand looked unrecognizable.
Sayid took your hand and pressed a kiss to the back of them. You felt the heat rise to your cheeks.
He sighed."I'm not so sure you'll want to speak to me after this next part."
You didn't have to ask him what he meant by that. You knew what was coming next. Sayid gave your hand a squeeze before reaching for the bottle of antiseptic next to him. You did your best to swallow the whimper climbing its way past your throat.
With Jack off on a hike with some of the others on the island, Sayid had been the next best person to change the soaking red bandages on your arm.
You turned your head away and shut your eyes as he untwisted the cap from the bottle of clear liquid. You felt Sayid move your hand back to his bicep, prompting you to squeeze if it hurt. You made sure the pads of your fingers were fixed on his skin instead of your nails.
This time he didn't count. He applied the damp cloth to your skin slowly, allowing the antiseptic to seep into your superficial wound. You hissed, your fingers clamping down onto his arm as hard as your eyes were squeezed shut. White flashes of light clouded your vision as the stinging came in waves. You felt Sayid work quickly to bandage you up.
When he was done, he pulled you into his arms."
There. How do you feel?"
You winced as you moved your injured arm into a more comfortable position.
"Like I never want to speak to you again."
You both chuckled simultaneously.
"Well, hopefully you'll find it in your heart to forgive me," he said, planting a kiss on your forehead.
You smiled softly, resting your head against his chest. "How could I not?"
"I don't think you have a concussion."
You sighed in relief, your swollen eyes focused on the light drifting across your vision. You had successfully passed the brief concussion screening Jack had given you. At least there was one less injury you had to worry about.
"You got a few minor cuts, though. Stay still for me," he said, using a cotton swab to dab at your injuries. You winced as he leaned forward and gently swiped over the cuts that littered your brow and cheeks. "Any headaches?"
"No, but I feel a little dizzy," you mumbled, briefly closing your eyes as he applied liquid bandages to your cuts. "You sure I don't have a concussion?"
"You took a hard fall. Dizziness is normal," Jack said as he moved back to grab some gauze. "I'll have to monitor you closely to rule it out completely so we can't have you going to sleep tonight." He applied a thick bandage over your cheek where the nastiest cut resided. You groaned softly.
"But don't worry, you'll be fine," he said, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it gently.
Carefully, he put away his supplies, cleaning up the area around you both. He fished through one of his medical bags and found a bottle of pills. He dumped two round white pills into his palm and passed them to you, along with a bottle of a water.
"Take those."
Carefully you took the pills with two big gulps before washing them down with water. Jack took the bottle from you as you leaned back against the wall, an exhausted breath leaving your mouth. You briefly closed your eyes.
"You don't have to babysit me. I won't fall asleep. Just resting my eyes," you mumbled.
You could feel the smile in his next words: "Like I haven't heard that one before."
You scoffed playfully as he shuffled around you. By the time you opened your eyes he was sitting next to you, legs stretched out in front of him. He took your hand and fit your palm against his. You leaned your head against his shoulder.
"Now, you want to tell me how you fell and hit that pretty little head of yours?"