So, my lovely beta worked and I demand to take a pause from Aristotle's logic to post the thing.

Title: Good Readings
Characters: Desmond, Sawyer
Rating: PG13 mostly because Sawyer has some language.
Disclaimer: If Lost was mine, this would have happened on show.
Word count: around 3200
Summary: Desmond really feels sorry for drinking Sawyer's scotch and wants to make up for it someway. Set right after Enter 77, probably spoilers up to that point. For philosophy_20 prompt #14, parallel.
A/N: I planned on making Des interact with almost everyone on camp for these prompts and well, yeah, I started with Sawyer again. It probably is because they're becoming my safe zone or something. I swear I'm breaking out of it next time, really. Anyway, this is mostly about me having a literature fixation, Sawyer and Desmond having a literature fixation, the show not taking advantage of it and me wanting to do something about it. And maybe something will sound obscure if you didn't read/have an idea of what the Brothers Karamazov and Wuthering Heights are about but I didn't spoil any book plot. And I'll stop rambling.

Desmond hadn’t told anyone and didn’t plan to anytime soon, but, matter is, he was feeling a bit guilty. Well, to be honest not just a bit. Alright, he felt bloody guilty.

Alright, he didn’t know that the scotch was Sawyer’s. He didn’t even remember how Sawyer’s face looked like, having seen him just once. And well, that once, he had been too wasted to really care.

Alright, someone had sure told him how he was (Desmond didn’t need further information about Jack or Kate, really) and that this Sawyer had this stash and everything, but how could he imagine that the alcohol was his too? It had been Charlie and Hurley’s fault more than his, of course, but since that conversation he couldn’t shake off that I should be sorry for it feeling.

Desmond knew it was plain ridicolous. Charlie had told him the whole story of everything that happened since the rescue and he guessed he knew everything that was to know about Sawyer’s stash. This didn’t stop him from feeling sorry also when Sawyer started sulking after he lost the ping pong game and, consequentially, his stash.

It was driving him mad, or something. Why should he feel sorry for someone he hadn’t even spoken to more than two times and who seemingly deserved it anyway?

Thing is, when the flashes didn’t come, Desmond just liked to observe. Everything, he didn’t care what; it may be just the ocean crashing against the sand, or Jin fishing, or Claire with her baby. It really didn’t matter, since sometimes it felt like a huge dream and there were moments in which he felt sure that he was going to wake up to an alarm and to a computer who beeped every 108 minutes.

So of course he watched Sawyer too. Maybe he was interested because he didn’t really know him, maybe because he wanted to figure out how true were Charlie’s stories, maybe because it was always better than thinking about his flashes.

And after two years in that hole, Desmond thought he had become good at observing things, in every particular. And after actually being with people again, he started trying to read them. People sometimes seems a foreign concept.

So he watched Sawyer. He didn’t miss how he was searching for the Kate girl before, and he didn’t miss the way he was sulking. Because it wasn’t the sulking about something stupid or material (which could have been the stash; Desmond figured that after anything that could have happened, from what he heard, Sawyer was probably keeping up appareances but really was just glad to be back), it was another kind of sulking. Desmond guessed it was because of Kate.

Thing was, every time Desmond crossed paths with Sawyer, the latter was always in the worst possible mood. His tent was not too far from Sawyer’s and when half the day you hear him saying only variations of Leave me alone, Screw you and Sod off, well, something had to be off and after a whole good day of it, it also became kind of boring.

And anyway, he still felt sorry for drinking that scotch. There wasn’t any alcohol left except the crap Dharma beer and Desmond knew how bad Dharma beer tasted. Nothing to drink your sorrow in, he guessed. And nothing to read your sorrow in, he guessed, since he saw him only with magazines, except Hurley told him the guy was a bookworm.

When he found out from Charlie they actually also spread the books around for common reading, Desmond thought he understood at least half of the whole matter. Oh, he knew what a book could do, most times. For a moment he wished he didn’t blow up the hatch so that the small library would have been safe, but he decided against it just soon after and for that day he tried not to think about it, because he still didn’t find any sense in him messing around with the affairs of the survivors, and Sawyer’s as well.

The next day he woke up late enough and there was no sign of Locke, Kate, Sayid and Jack, for that matter. Sawyer was still sulking on his seat reading the same magazine and drinking the same beer.

Desmond decided screw it, if someone was at the point of drinking Dharma beer at eleven AM it meant that he felt more than miserable.

Oh, he still was feeling sorry for drinking his scotch, damn it.

Desmond tried to think about something he could do. Well, probably gathering some books would have been the best option, except that it may seem weird for him to go and do such a thing, and caring for it in the first place.

Then he thought that maybe he could just try with some conversation. Yeah, but about what? And with which pretest anyway?

Then he decided to screw his pride or whatever and do the thing that was obsessing him first.

“Brother?”, he asked going near Sawyer’s tent.

Sawyer raised his head from the magazine. He obviously wasn’t reading, at least from what Desmond could see of the picture.

“The hell do you want now? Make fun?”

Desmond shook his head and half smiled. He expected it.

“No, I don’t. I really wanted to.. well.. brother, I’m really sorry for that scotch. I didn’t know it was yours, or...”

Sawyer half laughed and Desmond stopped. He knew it wasn’t a good idea.

“Well, you’ve got some sense of honor, huh? Well, appreciatin’ it, since you were the only one apologizin’, but hell, it’s done.”

“Brother, I meant, there was a plenty of it.”

“Well, I don’t care. Not now. And could ya just leave me alone?”

“’Course. Sorry to bother.”

Sawyer didn’t say anything and Desmond decided that it wasn’t over. Not by far. He thought he had found something to set his attention until the next flash and he really needed it. If anything, Charlie would spend his time with Claire and he was not going to think about how soon this was going to fall apart. And well, he had a vague idea of something he could do, if Hurley was so kind to give him a hand.

It wasn’t so hard to locate the last bottle of whiskey, because Desmond may have been wasted, but he sure remembered if something was left. It was three quarters full; good enough, Desmond figured. The next thing was going to be much more difficult, though, but since he hadn’t seen much people reading an actual book, he figured that taking more than one item from the ‘common library’ wasn’t going to be much difficult.

Which wasn’t, and so with a few trips he got fifteen books in a four hour span. Decent enough, he guessed while looking at his copy of Our Mutual Friend, which Hurley had actually found in the jungle while taking a walk near where the hatch used to be. He sighed and wrapped it up in one of the three shirts someone gave him, the short sleeved one which he never used. Then had a look at the books the got.

Evil Under the Sun. The Fountainhead. Of Mice and Men. The Brothers Karamazov (wasn’t it the hatch copy?, he thought. Then he saw the missing front page and realized it was). Watership Down. Oliver Twist. Lancelot. A Wrinkle in Time. The Turn of Screw (always made in Hatchland). Moby Dick. I Am Legend. Edgar Allan Poe’s Most Terrifying short stories. 1984. Wuthering Heights. The Name of the Rose.

He chuckled at the last one. How fitting, he thought. He considered keeping it to himself, then decided against it and started to think about the best way of handling that whole mess because, well, he barely had the idea of what he was actually doing. Desmond knew he couldn’t just go and say Well brother, since you’re seemin’ kinda miserable to me and I’m feelin’ sorry for having drunk all of your good scotch, I thought to give you some books back, aye? , first of all it was plain ridiculous and second Sawyer would have most deservingly laughed in his face. No, he needed another way.

That evening he took a worn out backpack he got from somewhere and filled it with seven books and the scotch, then threw a look over at Sawyer’s tent. It seemed he gave up even on the porn and settled for sulking and warm Dharma beer.

Just perfect, then.

He took his backpack and headed as casually as possible in Sawyer’s direction. Charlie threw him a surprised look but Desmond just winked and went on. He caught a What’s he bloody doing and a Chill out dude and then crouced in front of Sawyer, putting the backpack on the ground.

“You still here? What the hell do you want?”

Desmond tried to look casual.

“Well, ‘tis all about the scotch, really.”

“Again? Listen, I dunno if you wanna be my personal Jesus or somethin’, but I’ve already told ya..”

“Well, brother, I had found myself an almost full bottle, and I was thinkin’, since you’re stuck with Dharma beer, that you might enjoy some yourself, but if you don’t care for it..”

Desmond really felt the urge to laugh seeing the completely confused expression on Sawyer’s face, but he settled to keep on.

“So, well, maybe I’ll be just headin’ back to my tent and drink it myself, aye? Sorry to disturb, brother.”

“Hey, personal Jesus, wait a moment! You ain’t bein’ funny, right?”

“Me? Brother, I’m uttermost serious.”

“Then just share the damn thing already.”

Desmond nodded and took the bottle out of the backpack, careful to leave it open for Sawyer to see what was inside, then opened it and passed it to him before sitting. Sawyer had a moment of kindness or something and left the airplane seat going next to him, not towering over Desmond anymore. Which was definitely good.

Sawyer was about to drink when he looked at the backpack.

“Have you actually got books there?”

“Yeah. Figured no one reads them, I could.”

“Yeah, right. Tell you what, I’m thinkin’ about something.”

“So?”

“We could at least have fun, drinkin’ this.”

“And just how you wanna have fun, brother?”

“Playing I never.”

“Brother, last time I saw someone playin’ it, it was in a movie. And it’s a dumb game.”

“We could do it book related. You take out that stuff there and the questions could be all about that. What ‘bout it?”

Desmond shrugged. He could go with it.

“Well, aye, if suits you.”

Desmond took all the books from the backpack. He had randomly chosen Evil Under the Sun,The Fountainhead, Watership Down, Oliver Twist, Of Mice and Men, The Brothers Karamazov and Wuthering Heights.Then he put them on the backpack and sat in front of Sawyer, which handed him the bottle back.

“You start.”

“Alright. I never read Oliver Twist.”, said Desmond taking a full drink. Then handed the bottle to Sawyer, which shook his head. And well, now he was kinda shocked.

“You didn’t?”

“No. Seen a movie once. Didn’t like that a bit.”

“Well, brother, you’re losin’ somethin’. You know, Dickens’s my favorite writer.”

“I just could have imagined it. You read everythin’ he wrote?”

“I’m savin’ his last one. I want it to be the last I read before I go.”

“Fair enough.”, said Sawyer, who seemed to think it was kind of a crazy idea. “Gimme that bottle, will ya?”

“Sure.”

“So, I haven't never understood why the fuck Heathcliff was so crazy about that Catherine bitch.”, he said taking a full drink too and eyeing Wuthering Heights. Desmond has to laugh, but doesn’t take a drink when Sawyer hands him the bottle.

“What? You did?”

“Brother, that’s supposed to be true love even when that has dark sides, aye?”

“Hell, she was a damn bitch! And also half crazy, and totally ruined him anyway!”

“I think you should see past that, brother. Though I think you understood more of it than you let on.”

“Oh, really?”

Desmond smirked and looked him straight in the eyes.

“I never felt at least a bit touched when readin’ the last twenty pages.”, he said taking a small sip and handing Sawyer the bottle back. Sawyer looked at him grimacing, but then took the bottle and took a long drink.

“I just knew it.”

“You just shut up. And anyway, I never thought that Of Mice and Men is the greatest fuckin’ book ever written.”

Sawyer took another drink and Desmond just handled the bottle, which was now half full.

“What?”

“I think the greatest book ever written is Great Expectations, brother, but y’know, you just look like one who’d be appreciatin’ Steinbeck.”

“Can’t one?”

“’Course he can. And anyway, you really should read Oliver Twist.”, said Desmond taking it and handing it to Sawyer, who just shrug and took it, putting it at his side.

“So, Mrs Christie really knows how to twist with a lad’s mind.”

Then he drank and Sawyer looked a bit skeptical, like he didn’t know whether he should drink it or not.

“Well?”

“I was readin’ it ‘fore we left. Never finished. Got no idea what happens in the last part.”

Desmond thought that maybe that hadn’t been such a bad idea, playing that game. He could totally take advantage of it.

“Well, that’s bad. You could finish it, though.”

“And you?”

“I read it, won’t be needin’ it anytime soon.”

Sawyer took that too and put it next to Oliver Twist. Then had a look at what was remaining.

“Well, I never had an idea of what this Fountainhead’s about.”, he said without drinking. Desmond had to admit he didn’t too, and didn’t drink either. But since he had the occasion...

“Well, why don’t you keep it?”

“What?”

”Read it. I’m really not interested, but if you give it a look, maybe you could tell me how it is, aye?”

“Well, why not. Let’s have it.”

Oh, that’s becomin’ bloody funny.

“I never thought Alyosha Karamazov was a good character.”

Then he drank and passed the bottle to Sawyer, who now look pretty surprised even as he drank too.

“What’s that, young Zosima, now you’re the only other person I ever met who actually read it all?”

“That’s a lame nickname to give, brother. And yeah, I read it all and y’know, I was in a monastery once. I think I could get him. Alyosha, I was meanin’. ‘Tis an interestin’ thing, when you identify, aye?”

“Damn fine is.”

“Though you are not an Alyosha identifying lad.”

“Hell no.”

“Then who?”

“Guess me.”

Desmond can see that he’s actually having much fun. All the better.

“Well, since you’re askin’ me... brother, you’re so Dmitri.”

Desmond laughed when Sawyer’s face morphed into the one he came to recognize as the And how the hell do you know it face before turning his head and taking the book in his hands.

“You mind if I keep this too?”

“Sure, I’m not so eager ‘bout readin’ it again.”

Sawyer nodded and looked at the only one left, a worn out paperback with a brown (thankfully not white) bunny on the cover, which looked almost alone in that position.

He shivered. He never could finish it because whenever he opened it he would be thinking about Boone and he didn’t even know why, except maybe he knew but had never been to inclined to rationalize it.

“I’ve never finished readin’ that one.”, he said passing the bottle to Desmond.

Who didn’t drink.

“I never read it, brother. Guess you’re ahead of me.”

Sawyer took it, turning it a few times, looking at the cover.

“Could I ask why?”

“It just.. it belonged to someone who’s dead and, y’know, all that jazz.”

Desmond nodded, thinking it was enough of an explanation, but he had gone with a mission, which comprehended finishing that bottle and leave all the books there.

“Brother, maybe whoever this someone was, he.. or she?”

“He.”

“Maybe he’d like you to read it.”

“You don’t even know who I’m talkin’ ‘bout.”

“Fair enough, aye. Was it good?”

“Yeah, kinda was.”

“’Tis’d be a pity, if you left it where it is.”

“Maybe it’d be.”, Sawyer said taking it too. The bottle was full enough to grant each of them another drink, though. Desmond had a look at it.

“So, now we finish it, one me and one you?”

“Yeah. Sounds fine.”

“Aye, it does. Wanna drink to somethin’, brother?”

“Could be. What ‘bout you?”

“Well, to my girl.”

“You have a girl back there?”

“Aye. Most beautiful girl ever seen. She was the love of my life, uhm, well, she’s the reason I’m here first place.”

“Well, if she’s waitin’ for you, you’re a lucky personal Jesus.”

Desmond just smiled throwing a look at the dark sea, then looked at the bottle again.

“To Penny.”, he muttered taking his drink and handing it back to Sawyer.

Sawyer took it and seemed to be deep in thought.

“Brother, you thinkin’ about somethin’?”

“Well, I should be toastin’ too. Just tryin’ to figure out what to.”

“You ain’t got a girl?”

“Damn sure not now, Sam Weller. If she’s ever been my girl, ‘twas for a day, not more.”

“Sorry to hear that.”

“Nothin’ you could do ‘bout it. Guess I’ll just make things simple. To fuckin’ literature.”, he said drinking the last of the scotch and throwing the bottle in the direction of the jungle.

“Seems a nice choice to me.”

“Yeah. Best one, I’ll tell ya.”

Desmond stood up without even flinching, after all the alcohol that he had put in this body during his last period in the hatch he wasn’t sure going to be drunk after less than a half of a scotch bottle; then took back his backpack.

“Brother, it’s been a nice jolly evenin’, if you agree.”

“Sure better than last week’s. Hey, you can sneak some others?”

“Books? Sure.”

“’Cause I thought, I always have the beer.”

Desmond half smiled, hiding it behing a few flying strands.

“I’d be glad to. What about tomorrow evenin’?”

“Tomorrow is, then. Bring some exciting stuff, though. No philosophy next time.”

“Nay, plain fun I guess.”

“Damn straight.”

Desmond turned his back and went back to his tent, trying not to show on his face how satisfied he was of the way things turned out. Strange thing, when you find out how many things you can have in common with people.

People, Desmond thought again, caressing the concept in his mind. It really didn’t sound so strange anymore. And he couldn’t wait to see which book he was going to find Sawyer reading the morning after.

Fin