The Human Card Catalogue
Jun. 9th, 2005 11:52 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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ficinabottleTitle: The Human Card Catalogue
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
corellianjedi
Disclaimer: Not mine, I wish.
Words: 1,115
Summary: Aaron shows off what he’s learned
Rating: G
Characters: Charlie, Claire, Aaron, Sawyer
Author’s Notes: Future!fic featuring a six-year-old Aaron. Sawyer’s in it, so he either 1) never got on the raft or 2) made it back to the island. Pick the scenario you like better; it really doesn’t matter to the story.
“Momma! C’mon! Uncle Sawyer an’ I wanna show you somethin’!”
Aaron tugs on his mother’s hand, pulling her from the sand and dragging her towards Sawyer’s tent. Six years later and he still lives on the outskirts of their little island settlement. Claire imagines that he has gotten used to his privacy by now and that’s why he won’t move any closer. Aaron would certainly like it if Sawyer lived closer. Charlie wouldn’t mind it either; it would mean a shorter walk at dawn when Aaron drags him out of bed for a swim before his lessons.
No one would have guessed that Sawyer would end up being Aaron’s teacher. Jack taught him basic first aid, Sun and Kate taught him about gardening and plants, and Locke was teaching him how to properly use a knife and climb trees, but the readin’ writin’ and ’rithmetic were all Sawyer. Two years ago, Sawyer had shuffled up to Claire and declared that, since “Gilligan” was at his tent everyday to listen to “Uncle Sawyer” read him stories, he might as well teach the kid to read himself. Claire had smiled and said it sounded like a great idea, partly because she knew that Aaron was one of the only people that Sawyer actually liked and partly because that meant Aaron would stop asking her to teach him to read.
At four-and-a-quarter (he’d want you to know that), Aaron could read. Then he could write. Then he learned science and history, and the little math that Sawyer remembered from high school. At six, Aaron was as book-smart as most of the adults of the island. Charlie said his son was a genius. Claire was proud of Aaron but thought more practically: there was nothing else for a six-year-old to do on an island but learn.
When they get to Sawyer’s tent, Aaron motions for Claire to sit next to Sawyer in the sand and he stands in front of them. His blond hair hangs over his eyes, his back ramrod straight, his barefeet together, and he closes his eyes in concentration. Sawyer smiles approvingly and Claire wonders if he was anything like her son when he was little.
“Alright, Gilligan: first letter.”
“A is for Adams, Douglas. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, the first book in the increasingly inaccurately named Hitchhiker’s Trilogy.”
“Next letter?”
“B is for Bradbury, Ray. He wrote Fahrenheit 451,” Aaron turns to Claire. “That’s a book about burning books and burning books is bad ‘cause then you don’t get to read them. So don’t ever burn books, Momma.”
“I won’t, Sweetheart.”
“Daddy shouldn’t, neither.”
“Don’t use double negatives, Gilligan,” Sawyer warns.
“Yessir.”
Sawyer catches Claire’s eye and smiles at her before looking back at the eager little boy.
“After B comes…”
“C is for Christie, Agatha. She wrote And Then There Were None, which is about people on an island. Just like us.” He adds, in case Claire had forgotten they were stranded on a rock in the Pacific Ocean.
“Are you turning my son into a card catalogue, Sawyer?”
“Momma! Shh!”
“My apologies, Turniphead,” and she holds up her hands in contrition. Aaron’s mouth slides into an easy grin at his old nickname.
“D,” Aaron begins without prompting, “is for Dumas, Alexander, who wrote Uncle Sawyer’s favorite book, The Count of Monte Cristo. It’s about revenge and prison and God and Uncle Sawyer promised that he’ll read it to me one day.” Sawyer reaches out to mess up Aaron’s white-blond hair and sneaks a look at Claire. She recognizes what Sawyer really meant: if they ever get rescued, he’ll read the book to Aaron. Claire can just imagine the mountains of books Sawyer would buy her son if they were ever rescued.
Sawyer smiles and feels almost proud of what he has taught Aaron. If anyone had told him six years ago he would be teaching some little kid how to read and write he probably would have decked them. Surprisingly, Aaron was one of the few people Sawyer liked. It was nice having someone who didn’t hate you from day one because they thought you were a jerk. Sawyer knew he was a jerk – a complete jackass at times – but Aaron was his ticket to those “new lives” that Locke kept telling everyone about. There was something about the little bookworm Aaron was becoming that reminded Sawyer of James; James had been a serious bibliophile in grade school.
“Pick a letter, Momma, any letter.”
“I don’t know…”
“How ‘bout ‘G’ for Gilligan?” Sawyer suggests.
“Golding, William, wrote Lord of the Flies.” Aaron throws Claire a grin that reminds her of Charlie right before he is going to do something he ought not to. “Sucks to her ass-mar!” Aaron shouts, and Sawyer laughs.
“Alright then, how about,” Claire closes her eyes in thought. “How about ‘R’?”
“R is for Rowling, J. K. An’ she wrote the Harry Potter books and those are about a kid Walt’s age, but he’s magic and he’s got a scar on his head just like Daddy.”
“Just like me what?” Charlie appears at the entrance of Sawyer’s tent. Aaron throws his little body at his father’s legs, and then proceeds to climb up Charlie, using his pockets and beltloops for footholds. Aaron sits on his father’s shoulders, holding tight to his ears so he doesn’t fall off.
“You’ve got a scar on your head jus’ like Harry Potter, Daddy!”
“Harry Potter, eh?” Charlie smirks at Sawyer.
“Don’t you dare, ya little limey runt.” Sawyer growls, unconsciously fingering his shirt pocket where the lopsided glasses reside.
“What’d Uncle Sawyer call you?” Aaron tugs at Charlie’s hair and he grimaces.
“Nothing. Just my nickname, like he calls you ‘Gilligan’. Aaron lemme go, I’d like to keep my hair, thanks.”
“You gotta pick a letter, Dad.”
“Actually, Sweetheart, it’s about time for you to go to bed,” Claire says, and Sawyer reaches up to lift Aaron off of Charlie’s shoulders.
“But the fires aren’t lit yet!” Aaron whines and as he does so, the first campfire bursts to life about fifty yards away.
“They are now, little man,” Sawyer leans down so that he’s eye-to-eye with Aaron. “Edmond and Ralph and Ford all slept at some point. Even Harry Potter sleeps.” Aaron nods and slips his hands into his parents’ hands, one on either side. They walk back towards the fires and Sawyer can hear Aaron talk excitedly about the books he’s learned about but never read. Something about the irony – a bookworm without books – makes Sawyer wish harder than ever for rescue.
“Ten little Indian boys went out to dine, one choked his little self and then there were nine…”
Author:
corellianjediDisclaimer: Not mine, I wish.
Words: 1,115
Summary: Aaron shows off what he’s learned
Rating: G
Characters: Charlie, Claire, Aaron, Sawyer
Author’s Notes: Future!fic featuring a six-year-old Aaron. Sawyer’s in it, so he either 1) never got on the raft or 2) made it back to the island. Pick the scenario you like better; it really doesn’t matter to the story.
“Momma! C’mon! Uncle Sawyer an’ I wanna show you somethin’!”
Aaron tugs on his mother’s hand, pulling her from the sand and dragging her towards Sawyer’s tent. Six years later and he still lives on the outskirts of their little island settlement. Claire imagines that he has gotten used to his privacy by now and that’s why he won’t move any closer. Aaron would certainly like it if Sawyer lived closer. Charlie wouldn’t mind it either; it would mean a shorter walk at dawn when Aaron drags him out of bed for a swim before his lessons.
No one would have guessed that Sawyer would end up being Aaron’s teacher. Jack taught him basic first aid, Sun and Kate taught him about gardening and plants, and Locke was teaching him how to properly use a knife and climb trees, but the readin’ writin’ and ’rithmetic were all Sawyer. Two years ago, Sawyer had shuffled up to Claire and declared that, since “Gilligan” was at his tent everyday to listen to “Uncle Sawyer” read him stories, he might as well teach the kid to read himself. Claire had smiled and said it sounded like a great idea, partly because she knew that Aaron was one of the only people that Sawyer actually liked and partly because that meant Aaron would stop asking her to teach him to read.
At four-and-a-quarter (he’d want you to know that), Aaron could read. Then he could write. Then he learned science and history, and the little math that Sawyer remembered from high school. At six, Aaron was as book-smart as most of the adults of the island. Charlie said his son was a genius. Claire was proud of Aaron but thought more practically: there was nothing else for a six-year-old to do on an island but learn.
When they get to Sawyer’s tent, Aaron motions for Claire to sit next to Sawyer in the sand and he stands in front of them. His blond hair hangs over his eyes, his back ramrod straight, his barefeet together, and he closes his eyes in concentration. Sawyer smiles approvingly and Claire wonders if he was anything like her son when he was little.
“Alright, Gilligan: first letter.”
“A is for Adams, Douglas. The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, the first book in the increasingly inaccurately named Hitchhiker’s Trilogy.”
“Next letter?”
“B is for Bradbury, Ray. He wrote Fahrenheit 451,” Aaron turns to Claire. “That’s a book about burning books and burning books is bad ‘cause then you don’t get to read them. So don’t ever burn books, Momma.”
“I won’t, Sweetheart.”
“Daddy shouldn’t, neither.”
“Don’t use double negatives, Gilligan,” Sawyer warns.
“Yessir.”
Sawyer catches Claire’s eye and smiles at her before looking back at the eager little boy.
“After B comes…”
“C is for Christie, Agatha. She wrote And Then There Were None, which is about people on an island. Just like us.” He adds, in case Claire had forgotten they were stranded on a rock in the Pacific Ocean.
“Are you turning my son into a card catalogue, Sawyer?”
“Momma! Shh!”
“My apologies, Turniphead,” and she holds up her hands in contrition. Aaron’s mouth slides into an easy grin at his old nickname.
“D,” Aaron begins without prompting, “is for Dumas, Alexander, who wrote Uncle Sawyer’s favorite book, The Count of Monte Cristo. It’s about revenge and prison and God and Uncle Sawyer promised that he’ll read it to me one day.” Sawyer reaches out to mess up Aaron’s white-blond hair and sneaks a look at Claire. She recognizes what Sawyer really meant: if they ever get rescued, he’ll read the book to Aaron. Claire can just imagine the mountains of books Sawyer would buy her son if they were ever rescued.
Sawyer smiles and feels almost proud of what he has taught Aaron. If anyone had told him six years ago he would be teaching some little kid how to read and write he probably would have decked them. Surprisingly, Aaron was one of the few people Sawyer liked. It was nice having someone who didn’t hate you from day one because they thought you were a jerk. Sawyer knew he was a jerk – a complete jackass at times – but Aaron was his ticket to those “new lives” that Locke kept telling everyone about. There was something about the little bookworm Aaron was becoming that reminded Sawyer of James; James had been a serious bibliophile in grade school.
“Pick a letter, Momma, any letter.”
“I don’t know…”
“How ‘bout ‘G’ for Gilligan?” Sawyer suggests.
“Golding, William, wrote Lord of the Flies.” Aaron throws Claire a grin that reminds her of Charlie right before he is going to do something he ought not to. “Sucks to her ass-mar!” Aaron shouts, and Sawyer laughs.
“Alright then, how about,” Claire closes her eyes in thought. “How about ‘R’?”
“R is for Rowling, J. K. An’ she wrote the Harry Potter books and those are about a kid Walt’s age, but he’s magic and he’s got a scar on his head just like Daddy.”
“Just like me what?” Charlie appears at the entrance of Sawyer’s tent. Aaron throws his little body at his father’s legs, and then proceeds to climb up Charlie, using his pockets and beltloops for footholds. Aaron sits on his father’s shoulders, holding tight to his ears so he doesn’t fall off.
“You’ve got a scar on your head jus’ like Harry Potter, Daddy!”
“Harry Potter, eh?” Charlie smirks at Sawyer.
“Don’t you dare, ya little limey runt.” Sawyer growls, unconsciously fingering his shirt pocket where the lopsided glasses reside.
“What’d Uncle Sawyer call you?” Aaron tugs at Charlie’s hair and he grimaces.
“Nothing. Just my nickname, like he calls you ‘Gilligan’. Aaron lemme go, I’d like to keep my hair, thanks.”
“You gotta pick a letter, Dad.”
“Actually, Sweetheart, it’s about time for you to go to bed,” Claire says, and Sawyer reaches up to lift Aaron off of Charlie’s shoulders.
“But the fires aren’t lit yet!” Aaron whines and as he does so, the first campfire bursts to life about fifty yards away.
“They are now, little man,” Sawyer leans down so that he’s eye-to-eye with Aaron. “Edmond and Ralph and Ford all slept at some point. Even Harry Potter sleeps.” Aaron nods and slips his hands into his parents’ hands, one on either side. They walk back towards the fires and Sawyer can hear Aaron talk excitedly about the books he’s learned about but never read. Something about the irony – a bookworm without books – makes Sawyer wish harder than ever for rescue.
“Ten little Indian boys went out to dine, one choked his little self and then there were nine…”
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no subject
Date: 2005-06-10 05:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-06-10 12:34 pm (UTC)<3333333333333333333333
I love it. Love it love it love it. I love it when people make Sawyer stories that aren't just about him being a jackass. =D
Uncle Sawyer = <3. =)
no subject
Date: 2005-11-18 02:34 am (UTC)But I feel really ignorant here: “Sucks to her ass-mar!” I LOVE Lord of the Flies and am ashamed that I don't get it. Help? :)
no subject
Date: 2005-11-18 02:38 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-11-18 03:43 am (UTC)