The smokey voice of Elvis singing about a blue Christmas filtered through the low conversations in the dimly lit bar in Los Angeles as Sawyer tipped back his head and drained his third glass of bourbon. It was a futile attempt to drown out the ghosts of Christmases past.
Pressing the cool glass to his throbbing temple, he closed his eyes for a moment, silently wishing away the pain and trying to ignore the King.
His Christmases were always blue.
The memory of a gunshot intruded and he winced at the image of his mom laying on the floor, blood pooling around her that filled his head.
She'd been killed a few weeks before Christmas.
He'd always dreaded and hated the holiday since.
The foster parents he'd been shuffled to over the years had tried to make the holiday joyous for their wards but Sawyer'd been bitter and depressed and refused to enjoy himself. By the time he was an angry young teenager, the system had given up on him and he'd learned to lash out in ways more profitable than willful destruction.
At fourteen he'd seduced his first older woman on Christmas Eve and discovered a whole new way of getting through the holidays.
A glance around the bar showed him that the prospects of forgetting in the soft body of a woman were highly unlikely. The few women were definitely not his type.
And, to tell the truth, he really wasn't in the mood. Better just to drink himself into temporary oblivion.
Beckoning to the bartender, he ordered another shot, and while it was being poured, lit a cigarette. Through the haze of smoke he watched the door open and a woman walk in. Dark hair, dark complexion, very dark look on her face.
Briefly he thought about making a move on her, but the image of his latest mark--delicate, pale and blonde--flashed through his head and he slumped down further on his stool and drained another drink.
Lousy time for his conscience to kick in.
As the woman passed him, their eyes met and an almost electrical connection went between them. Almost like...recognition. Sawyer shook his head and put it down to too much bourbon and not enough sleep, and promptly forgot the woman as Elvis merged into an NBA game on the television above the bar. He had a thousand on the game and maybe it would be a slightly happier Christmas after all if his team managed to win.
Leaning on Kate, Sawyer made his way slowly down to the beach, listening to her as she spoke of how the tailies, as they were being called, were fitting in, and how they'd just buried Shannon. He wasn't surprised to hear that Ana Lucia had killed someone. There was something about that woman.
As he spied her on the beach, he felt that connection again, the one he'd felt when she'd been dumped into the pit with them and every other time he'd caught her looking at him.
And in his head Elvis sang "Blue Christmas".
A/N: Based on the theory that all the survivors have been connected at some time (supported by an article in tv guide).
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