notfaking_it | (no subject)

"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?"

"Ain't much to it, honestly," Sawyer replied with a grin, pleased with her compliment, even if he couldn't imagine her saying less of decent food. "And water's fine." He takes a bite of his own sandwich— which is pretty good, in fact, though it could probably use some sauce, if he's aiming to try again next time— before turning his mind to thoughts of the IPD. In some ways, intangible and indescribable, he felt gratified just being in the position, having the ability to say that he looked after the welfare of the people and that he was meant to be there in a pinch. In other ways, though, it really wasn't a taxing job. Most of what he did was on his own initiative, save for that stint in Rapture— though even then, he would've gone down without even being prompted.

"You might be mistakin' us for the Task Force. They do all sortsa training, gotta stay in shape, they're the ones who really get into the weird crap that happens on the island. We're here to keep it together between the citizens. Slightly different, though a bunch of us end up overlappin' anyway," Sawyer waved his hand dismissively. "On my end, it just gives me an excuse to go all 'round the island."

Lily poured them both a glass of water and returned to the table, sliding one toward Sawyer. "Go around the island and visit girls in the dance studio?" she asked, smiling back at him. There was more to it than that, she was sure, more work, more responsibility, but at long as he seemed to like it, that was good enough for her. It wasn't the sort of thing Lily could imagine herself doing. Being involved in the arts, sometimes, was a completely selfish career. It was something she could share with people, but in the end, she was a dancer solely because she wanted to be a dancer. It wasn't to help anyone or to share with the people who came to see her.

That was always an afterthought.

"I've seen the Task Force," she added, nodding thoughtfully. "I don't think I'd have enough discipline for something like that." Forcing herself out of bed to dance every day was something else entirely, something she loved to do, but she wouldn't have been able to do it for much else.

He caught the glass easily, taking a shallow drink. While he didn't have a reply in mind for her quip, he offered in its stead a smile, slightly suggestive before he shook it off, taking another bite of the sandwich. It wasn't often that he went around and visited people during the day, certainly not girls in dance studios, engaging in a hobby that he'd never really known much about at all, nor showed particular interest in. But he liked to think that with Lily, it was just a result of their friendship being easy, the type where they could exchange niceties in such a way.

"I ain't got that level of dedication either," he admitted, turning back to talk of the Task Force. "'Least, not when leaving all well alone seems to get us by well enough on the island. Sure, shit happens, but sometimes I can't help noticin' that the worst always takes place when we all meddle too much. There was that space station, started tryin' to kill everyone once inside. Or that city, Rapture, probably would've turned on itself if we let well enough alone. Police department's good enough for me. Protect people from themselves. Not the island. I ain't got a clue how to fight an island."

"No, I guess fighting something like that isn't exactly easy," she agreed thoughtfully, her finger tracing the rim of her glass as she considered what she thought about the island. Fighting it was never something she'd considered, still unsure of where she stood on whether or not it was the island doing these things to its residents or something else. Something bigger. What that something might be, Lily wasn't sure, but she also didn't feel comfortable blaming a land mass for turning toys into killers or an underground city appearing without warning.

This was all partly due to the fact that she didn't give much thought to it at all. So far, she'd escaped most of the island's worst games and it was easy for Lily to brush it all aside because of that.

"Do you think it is the island?" she asked curiously. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm not exactly bursting with theories myself, but I'm just... I'm always curious to see what people think."

"I don't think it's the hunk of land makin' all the choices on what to do to us, if that's what you're askin' me," Sawyer replied with a soft huff of air. His eyes grew distant, thinking of the Others, thinking of that computer counting down every one-hundred and eight minutes, thinking of all of the pieces that didn't have any right fitting on the island. Pieces that humans had brought there and manipulated at will. There was still a whole lot that Sawyer didn't understand about that island that he'd left, black smoke unfurling through the air like something thick, languid, and poisonous, but what he did know was that the island had something magical to it.

But that people were just as responsible for what happened there.

"The island's got a lotta power. Whether that comes from people or is part of the island itself, I don't know. But what I know 'bout people's that no matter where that power comes from, there's always someone who wants to figure out how to manipulate it just right."

He wasn't wrong about that, Lily knew. Even though it was never been on so grand a scale, she wasn't above manipulation, turning situations to suit her needs, though she didn't do it often and she didn't think she did it at the expense of others.

"That's pretty much where I'm at," she agreed, though she hadn't given it a lot of thought beyond the idea that it couldn't possibly be the island behind what went on. "I guess it's just easier to refer to whatever happens as being part of the island. I talked about it with Thomas once or twice, not in any depth, but enough to establish that I don't think you can blame an island for whatever happens here."

She laughed and gave a shrug. "But I don't have anything better to blame either. And I'm not even sure why I'm so interested in it."

"Well, thing is, it ain't like we've got any proof that it's somethin' other than the island," Sawyer pointed out with a tilt of his head. "If God's real, seems to me like He could very well decide to give an island a mind of its own for whatever the hell reason He wants. So... I dunno, guess I just try not to think about it that way, 'cause it's easier to think of this all having a face behind it."

He reached out for his water again, taking a deeper gulp to buy himself time. There were things he could mention to her. Whispers in a jungle, smoke that lived and breathed. But there didn't seem to be much of a point. None of that had quite made its way to this one yet. Maybe none of his prior experiences were applicable at all.

"I'll tell you guy you're interested, though. 'Cause we're prisoners. And if we're prisoners, you can damn well bet that all of us would at least rather know who's keeping us all here."

"I don't know if that's entirely true," Lily countered thoughtfully. "There seems to be a lot of people who are content to live here and not think about it very often." She didn't fault them for that; people were curious in general, but after being here for four or five years without getting any answers, she could understand losing interest in trying to discover the purpose behind all of it.

But he was right about being prisoners, even if she didn't think of it in quite those terms. The reason she chose not to was simply to avoid acknowledging that they were all stuck here against their will. They were prisoners, exactly as he'd said. Well fed, well kept prisoners, but they were still kept here against their will, brought here without a choice.

He shook his head, the motion easy as his thumbnail ran over the lines of his forehead, smoothing them out as best he can as he worked on swallowing the bite he had first, not wanting to be rude. "Ain't it, Pavlova. You can be happy as hell that you're on this island. You can think of it as home and be... Neil McCormick, have kids, the whole deal. But you get a chance to figure out what's here and work around it? You take it. 'Cause for the people who wanna stay here, people leavin' is about the most terrifyin' thing there is."

The look he gave her, silent and gently challenging, quickly shifted to his sandwich again as he took another bite, even as he felt his hunger waning.

"I guess they're just better at being subtle about it than the people who want to get out of here," Lily allowed with a laugh, because she couldn't argue with him on that. Of the people she knew on the island, Sawyer was the only one she'd ever spoken to about something like this and the only one whose opinions about it she could say she knew. She wondered if Eden, who had been on the island longer than anyone else Lily knew, would agree with his assessment. If she was always looking for a way not to leave.

"I don't know that I know too many people who want to stay here," she said, considering. She imagined Jeff and Eames both would want to leave in a heartbeat. Faye had someone here now, something to stay for, but she didn't know if she'd stay given the chance or leave and take Dean with her. "Would you?" she asked. "If you were given the choice?"