milliways_bar | (no subject)

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It would appear Sawyer got restless during one of Claire's outings.

He's going to be in so much trouble.

Anyway, here he is in a booth, having managed to make his way down the stairs without falling. He's dressed only in a pair of jeans and wrapped in a couple of blankets that occasionally shift so that you can see the green scaly skin that has completely taken over his right side. His hand on that side is still missing, as are a couple of toes now.

A plate of dry toast sits nearby. He attempted to eat, but that just wasn't happening.

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"You could have waited," she swallows. "Something could have happened to you before you got down here."

"Someone would have stopped to check on me if it had... even if it was just to make sure I really was dead." He attempts a chuckle at that.

She stares at him, her jaw tight as she tries very hard not to cry at his poor humor. Maybe she's more tired than she relaizes.

Note to self: no joking about dying right now.

"Sweetheart, I'll be fine. A little exercise is good for the system anyway."

"You aren't fine now," she says stubbornly. "You weren't fine yesterday."

"I'm doing better than yesterday, though." Granted, yesterday had been a particularly bad day. "I'm sitting upright and everything. Maybe I'm on the mend."

". . .maybe," she admits begrudgingly, but she still looks more vulnerable then she'd care to.

"I guess if you're going to be down here at least I can keep an eye on you from the bar."

"See? I was thinking that, too." No, he wasn't.

She gives him a look.

"When you're ready to go back upstairs you'll get my attention, right? So I can help you."

Not that he'll have to work too hard to get her to notice him. It's likely she'll be distracted by his presence for the rest of her shift.

A small roll of the eyes. "Yes, ma'am."

She sits there another moment, loathe to leave him alone, but eventually she stands. She brushes the hair off his forehead and leans down to kiss him there. He's still too hot, but he does seem to be doing better.

A chuckle. "You must."

"Love you too, angel."

She smiles, finally, and heads back to the bar where she asks a waitrat to bring him a bowl of chicken noodle soup.

It's better for him than toast at any rate.

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