notfaking_it | (no subject)

The name got another laugh out of Lily, but she knew he was right. It wasn't something she thought about very often, but if she allowed herself to imagine life after the island, even just a little, she knew she wouldn't last very long without some kind of company or studio to use at least every other day. And there weren't many dancers with tattoos like hers, he was right about that. Someone would know exactly who she was if he asked around at all.

It wasn't like her to think about what ifs or possibilities, but the idea of him finding her in some dance studio in Australia one day was something she allowed herself to consider for a moment. Such a thing wouldn't be so bad, she thought.

"And since you're the one who's given me all this Australian tourist advice, I wouldn't want anyone else to show me," she teased with a grin. "Those kangaroos are all yours."

"Well, boy howdy, now I feel special," he laughed, shaking his head and briefly running his fingers through his hair, so easily blown askew by even the soft breezes on the island. It was nice, in its way, to know that Lily wasn't against the idea of finding him later on in life, whenever she was off doing the things she did best. While he'd never had occasion to test the theory, a part of him believed strongly that the other Oceanic survivors wouldn't much want Sawyer in their lives once they'd all returned to the jobs, the families and more that they knew prior to the accident. He was a survivor, and quick to think on a dime, but what else was he really good for?

"Guess that means I gotta start goin' more places, just be your all-around tourist. Though you'd probably get sick of me," he nodded, reaching out for the front door and holding it open with a slight bow of his head and a sweep of his arm. "After you."

"Never," she answered, grinning as she headed inside the Compound and then turned around in the hall again to face him. "Especially not with such chivalrous door opening skills. You'd be surprised by how many people can't hold a door open for anyone. You know, once, in California, I held a door open for this elderly woman and she told me to fuck off."

Lily grinned again and shook her head at the memory. "I think I was fourteen and I was completely blown away by this. Stunned. My first lesson in just how unhappy some people are, I think." And she remembered, even back then, even as just a kid, she'd never wanted to be like that. It had struck her as odd, especially the explanation her mother gave her, that some people were just angry.

She'd never wanted to be an angry person. Not in California, not in New York, and not here. It was at least part of why she was still so forgiving of the island.

The lesson that Lily had taken away from the incident struck Sawyer, in a way. Had he come across some crabby old woman, he wasn't sure that his immediate impulse would have been to assume that she was deeply unhappy in life, so much as not wanting to be bothered, or venting her anger elsewhere. And hell, he might've vented right back, depending on how well it looked like the person could take it. Perhaps, he thought to himself, he could stand to learn and adopt more of that type of mentality.

"Well, we had our share of folks who could use a bit of soap to clean our their mouths, where I'm from, but the stereotype kinda holds true, too. If a Southern boy don't open up the door for a lady, for kids, for them older folks, sure as hell he'd get an interestin' look," Sawyer replied, easing into the building and feeling the rush of air conditioning, driving the slightest shiver down his skin. "I ain't been to California all that often, but people didn't complain s'far as I remember. Maybe you've just gotta work on your smile."

"Maybe it's my distinct lack of dimples," she replied with a smile as she turned and headed for the kitchen, though she suspected it was more than that. Some people simply didn't want anyone to hold a door open for them, saw it as a slight, somehow, a suggestion that they weren't capable of doing it themselves. She'd never really understood that mentality and certainly didn't hold that opinion herself. It was nice to be treated well.

The kitchen was quiet, though not empty, which was how Lily liked it best, and she set her bag down near a chair. "So, what's for lunch?" she asked, opening the refrigerator to take a look inside. She wasn't really much of a cook, having always prefered a restaurant to using her own kitchen. "I make an amazing sandwich," she offered with a grin.

"Funny," Sawyer pondered, pursing his lips as a crease ran across his forehead. "Seems like I always forget I've got a pair of these until someone reminds me. But heck, they're the only real reason why I'm still capable of so-called boyish charm. I sure ain't gonna manage that by talkin' sweet." He thought, in that moment, of any number of other people who sported similar dimples on their cheeks. Neil. Kate, even, though hers weren't nearly as prominent, only showing for that split second in her smile, before it became full-blown.

Breaking away from that train of thought, Sawyer makes his way over to Nina's side, peering over her shoulder at the offerings inside. "Could grill it. Ain't sure if we've got any cheese, but that sounds damn good to me right now," he admitted, hands settling on his hips. "And I wouldn't mind seein' those sandwich skills of yours. It'd let me know whether or not I've gotta bury my head in the sand outta embarrassment for myself."

Lily laughed, then began to take things out of the refrigerator, handing them off to Sawyer. There was some kind of bird, a nice looking avacado and a few containers with what looked like a dressing or sauce. "I spent so much time at the studios that I had to either accept that my life would be filled with shitty sandwiches from a vending machine or make my own," she said as she turned from the fridge carrying some more vegetables and the cheese she'd found.

"Just for you," she said with a grin, holding the bit cheese toward Sawyer as if it were a gift. Eating on the island was a different experience from anything else she'd had, but she liked it just the same. It was far healthier than she'd ever managed to eat back home and she definitely noticed the difference.

"Seriously?" Sawyer asked, easily transferring the food off as it was handed to him, placing it all neatly on the counter. He frowned for a second, a furrow forming between his brows. "I would've thought that those folks would keep a closer eye on y'all, seein' as how you needed to stay in shape for what you do. Thought maybe they'd bring in some ballet equivalent of craft service."

When she held out the cheese, he split into a grin again, peering around the cabinets for some oil and a griddle. "Perfect," he said, laying the griddle on the stove and sparking up the fire. "Ain't gonna be quite the same as butter on toast, but the coconut oil's got a kick to it." He turned to glance over his shoulder, grin cheeky.

"God, no. Food is... well, a lot of dancers have a complicated relationship with food, I'll say that much," Lily answered honestly. It wasn't everyone, it wasn't even most dancers, but she'd seen more than a few girls in her career who couldn't quite get a handle on what they were doing, and no one ever said anything when they heard the sounds of someone throwing up or noticed a distinct lack of meals being eaten. Everyone always looked the other way. Even she was guilty of it. And the teachers had never helped any of the dancers find healthy alternatives, they only commented when they thought a dancer looked too heavy.

Getting a knife from the drawer, she began to slice cheese and the jungle fowl for the sandwiches, returning Sawyer's grin. "I'm expecting to be impressed now," she told him, though she was sure she would be perfectly happy with whatever they ended up eating. Her own relationship with food, even after being told she could stand to lose weight several times, had never been particularly difficult.

"Can't say I'm too surprised," Sawyer admitted, shaking his head lightly as he poured the oil on the griddle, tilting it in each direction to give the surface a good coat. The smell almost instantly spread through the air, sweet and thick, almost cloying. "I buy that some people're naturally thin, but when it's that big of a majority." He shook his head, turning with an arch of a brow.

"And I ain't even talkin' about thin like..." Vaguely, he waved a hand towards Lily. "I mean girls who look like they could fall over if the big, bad wolf took a huff." Carefully, he reached out for a thick slice of bread, sliding it into the pan with a light sizzle.

"Girls who can still use all their muscles to stand on their toes," Lily pointed out with a grin as she washed the avocado and then returned to the counter to begin slicing it. But she knew the type of girl Sawyer meant, the type she'd seen plenty of times in her own classes and in the companies she'd worked for. They were never the girls who were stars, though. The stars were strong, even if they couldn't see it in themselves.

"It's hard, especially if you don't have anyone outside your dance classes to ground you," she said, looking down at the food she'd been preparing. The oil smelled good; different, unexpected, but she liked it. "It's hard enough being twelve or thirteen without having a teacher tell you that you need to lose weight. Kids shouldn't be dieting."

But it happened. She'd seen it happen.

"Yeah, well," Sawyer muttered, flipping the bread over on the other side, watching as the heat of the pan browned either surface of the slice, deepening its naturally gold hue. He'd never minded burnt bits much, but he did his best to make sure everything heated over evenly before chopping off a slice of cheese to lay on top. "Lots of things kids ain't supposed to do, but they've always happened anyway. Gotta admit though, almost seems worse to be makin' them diet than it is to make them work a couple years early."

Turning the heat down slightly as he moved to help slice the fowl, he glanced up at Lily. "Did you start that early? Twelve, thirteen?"

"I started classes when I was seven," Lily told him, slicing other vegetables for the sandwiches, grinning down at the food for a moment. "But I started pointe training when I was twelve. I was going to four or five classes a week by that point already, twenty hours total." Sometimes, class was the only thing she could remember about being a kid. After dancing had come into her life, she hadn't spent a lot of time running around or playing outside or even playing with any other kids unless they were dancers.

"If I wasn't in school, I was at in rehearsal or dance class," she admitted, but she was still smiling as she said it. Although she hadn't had the same time of childhood as most people, she didn't regret a single moment of anything she'd done. Her parents hadn't been the ones pushing her, as was often the case, even at such a young age, Lily had been pushing herself to spend more time dancing.

She seemed comfortable with everything that she'd grown up doing, and to Sawyer, that was most important by far. At that age, he'd never had anything exactly like that, no single art to pursue, no field that he liked to call his own. All he had were his cons, though he excelled at them. And they were the bulk of what lingered in his memory. Foster homes were always of varying quality, and Sawyer had spent as much time as possible away from the watchful guardians and resentful housemates.

Cons had been the only bite of independence possible for a kid who otherwise had to beg for an allowance. And he'd comforted himself at the time with the notion that everyone he swindled had it coming. Whose fault was it for being so naive and free with their cash?

"Heesh," Sawyer sighed, shaking his head. "And here I thought havin' so many hours of school was already enough for a kid. I ain't ever had anything that took up so much of my week."

She laughed softly, nodding her agreement as she finished with the vegetables, then turned around to lean against the counter. "It's one of the only careers like that," she said, though she knew some sports followed the same sort of regime, kids who spent all their time either in school or playing or practicing. "You start as young as you can and then, by the time you're thirty..." She trailed off and flicked her fingers through the air, miming a wave goodbye to her career.

"I mean, you can keep dancing after that, but you're less likely to get any lead roles and your body is more likely to start protesting," she said. It wasn't something she liked to think about much, having joined a new company with only a few years left before she'd be expected to retire or move toward the back to make room for younger dancers. She'd had no intention of doing that, of course, but it would still have been expected of her.

"Just like pro sports, then," Sawyer concluded, reaching out for some of the vegetables to place on top of the cheese, flipping over the top layer of bread and giving each a considerable press. Hot plates might have been more even, he thought belatedly, having experimented a fair amount ever since arriving on the island. Hurley was the better cook, though, somehow managing the most creative of dinners while they were all on the last island. Even on Tabula Rasa, he'd managed to swing by the kitchen and fix up snacks for the both of them.

And Sawyer clung to that, as one of the few things he had left of his friend.

"You ever think about what you'd want to do after you quit? I'm guessin' you don't go into retirement completely," he considered, sliding the sandwiches onto their separate plates and turning off the stove. "D'you teach? Body might protest, but there are some things you ain't just gonna learn through technique. Or somethin'."

"I was never going to retire," Lily answered as she got plates down from the cupboard, though she was smiling as she said it. All dancers retired eventually, whether they wanted to or not. She was thinking of Beth, of the walk she'd taken in front of that car, the pins in her legs. The fact that she'd never dance again.

"A lot of dancers teach or become artistic directors," she said, setting the plates down on the counter. "Or administrators in dance companies." The expression on her face made it clear that sitting behind a desk for the rest of her life wasn't at all appealing to her. "Maybe choreography. I guess I should have been thinking about this all along, I only have a few good years left, according to most directors."

His gaze lazily raked over her, brows furrowing in disbelief. Granted, he knew next to nothing about ballet aside from pointe shoes, tutus, an overwhelming number of girls in pink, but it was still hard to believe that someone of Lily's health and apparent ease of movement could have so little time left to do what she enjoyed the most.

But, not being the expert on the subject, he left it largely alone.

"Choreographer's got the better job, anyway. Get to boss other people around," Sawyer said, easily sliding a sandwich onto her plate, pivoting to check the fridge for fruit and pulling out a couple bunches of grapes, carrying them over to the sink. "And no one becomes the boss of you."

Lily laughed, because when he put it like that, it was obvious exactly why she would have wanted to do something like that instead of working at a desk. Eventually, a desk job would have driven her crazy. "Except the artistic director," she pointed out, taking the knife to cut her own sandwich and then Sawyers. "And they're almost always complete pricks."

There were things she had appreciated about Thomas, especially the longer she knew him, but she had never really liked him. Not the way Nina seemed to. She could acknowledge that he was a talented man, but she had never completely trusted him or the way he'd treated his girls. The 'Little Princess' bullshit had been way too creepy for her to accept easily.

"And here I thought that the choreographer was the director of all things artistic, but... alright," Sawyer snorted, shaking his head at the complexity of it all. It was possible that he wasn't doing the art enough justice, but on the whole, trying to imagine so many people coming together for what was ultimately dance, a mixture of emotion and technique, seemed to be overcomplicating things. "Then you should try for the goddamn artistic director position, then. Be the minority. One that ain't a prick."

He paused, leaning against the counter while she finished up. "Unless the idea's that the job makes the directors into pricks, in which case I hope you get fired every single time, 'cause I can't and don't wanna imagine you suddenly being a petite asshole."

"No?" Lily asked, turning toward him and holding a plate in his direction. There were probably a few girls she'd crossed paths with who could imagine her an as asshole, but, in general, she got along well with people. It was nice to hear that Sawyer, at least, couldn't picture her being too much like Thomas, even if he'd never known the man and didn't know exactly what she was mentally comparing most artistic directors to.

"Well, I guess it's not something I have to worry much about here," she said, moving over toward the table and sliding into a chair. "There are so few dancers that a company isn't exactly possible, so there's no need for any artistic directors." And there were no rules here. If she was still here when she was fifty, she would still be dancing. Although, if she was still her when she was fifty, she really had no way of knowing how much or little things would have changed.

"No," he drawled in return, taking the plate with a narrow-eyed smirk, as though still trying to squint and picture her being anything but honest, upfront, and fun-loving. And it was impossible. Everyone had a mean streak, that Sawyer learned long before he ever landed on that crazy-ass island after the Oceanic crash, but it was all about severity. Malicious didn't seem to be a part of Lily's character. While life had brought Sawyer across the meaner folks all too often, he honestly preferred people like Lily.

Even if they were too goddamned good for him.

"I always thought that the island philosophy was that even if we ain't really got a need for it, our staples are accounted for anyway, so there ain't no holdin' you back," he replied in earnest, shrugging. It was the only explanation that he could come up with for there being a radio station on the island, even a bakery, luxuries that Sawyer certainly didn't think Robinson Crusoe would have ever needed.

"So I can dance for the rest of my life, until my old bones can't take it anymore," Lily agreed, although she knew the chances of her being here for the rest of her life were slim. The idea of alternate time lines or separate realities still wasn't something she even worried about grasping. For now, she was here. Eventually, if history was to be trusted, she'd leave and what happened beyond that couldn't be anticipated. For the most part, she was okay with that.

It was the people she'd miss leaving. That much was becoming more clear every day and she looked at Sawyer for a moment, then glanced down at her sandwich.

"So what about you? What would you do here if there was nothing holding you back and you could do whatever you liked for as long as you liked?" she asked before taking a big bite of her sandwich.

"I ain't got nothin' like that," Sawyer snorted, shaking his head. And it was true. There wasn't a single thing that he could see himself doing for the rest of his life, nothing that he thought would catch his attention remarkably well, nothing that had touched him in such a way that he knew he wanted it to continue. Jobs never fell into that area for him, nor hobbies. When it came to trying to look into the future and picture what there would be lying there for him, it was only ever the people that Sawyer seemed to care about.

But the thing about people was that one could never really make them stay, and not even just in the sense that the island snatched them away at random. People always changed, and even a steady relationship usually suffered from a slow pull in opposite directions.

"I'm plenty fine working on the IPD and having that stupid radio show," he smirked, before nodding to the sandwich. "Any good?"

"Amazing," she answered honestly, though she felt that way about most food and didn't think the answer would come as much of a surprise. "What's it like working on the IPD?"

When she'd first arrived and spent a few days getting to know the island, she'd been surprised to learn that there was a police department. It had seemed so quiet, so peaceful, and the people had gotten along without worrying about much of anything, she felt. It wasn't until she'd heard some of the stories that she'd realized the need for it. Even if there wasn't a rash of crime that happened every day, there was really no telling what could happen. There was always the possibility of someone dangerous arriving, the 'what ifs' that existed in New York every bit as real here.

"Do you train a lot?" she asked, getting up from her chair to get them both a glass from the cupboard. Then, opening the fridge, she looked back at him and added, "Water?"