Old Faces, More Problems (tag: Sawyer)

[hibbs]

Pushing the front doors to the hotel open, a man stepped inside and paused. For a brief moment, his eyes took in the sight around him, taking in every inch of the hotel as he lifted his sunglasses up from his nose and tucked them comfortably in his suit pocket. Some people were apparently living the life it seemed, Hibbs thought with a slight sneer of his lips, mostly in distaste of how fate seemed to work. Though, it was also working out to his benefit, more then he had been expecting originally...

"Can I help you, sir?" a woman spoke out, dazing him out of his thoughts as he focused in on whom seemed to be the receptionist, standing behind the counter in the lobby.

Striding forward, he stopped right in front of her at the counter, nodding his head. "Yes, perhaps you can help me... Susan," he told her, putting on his most polite face, a small smile gracing his lips. "I'm looking for James Ford, one of the survivors that's staying here."

"Are you family?"

"No, unfortunately. I'm a friend."

"Well I'm sorry, sir, only family is permitted to see the survivors at this time unless otherwise indicated and he has no visitors listed."

That was no surprise to him, Ford never had any outside friends, only ones that were after his ass for reasons other then a friendly hug. "Well, that should be wrong because I just spoke with him yesterday. You see, he called me up and I flew all this way to see him. He's expecting me. Susan, would you be able to page him down here, please?" the lie spilled out of his mouth like nectar, sweet in tone, as he tried to momentary sway her efforts in stopping him from pursuing his way. As hoped, woman nodded picking up the receiver hitting a few buttons to dial up. "Good, can you tell him I'm waiting in the bar."

This time he didn't wait for reply as he straightened up, walking past the counter to where a visible sitting area was shown through glass doors, a simple bar with bottles lined up behind it on wall. James would probably need a drink, he figured, a lot of them if he hadn't had any already, he thought with a smirk.

"Sir, can I get your..."

"Just tell him it's Hibbs," he interrupted quickly as he pushed the door open and moving inside. This was.. going to be interesting to say the least, he thought taking a seat at one of tables.

[James "Sawyer" Ford]

After a week of bar hopping and hiding in his hotel room, Sawyer was beginning to look a little worse for wear. He hadn’t shaved and the only sleep he had managed to get was short lived as the hangover set in in the morning. Of course, the best way to avoid a hangover was to just keep drinking and this was about the point he had gotten to by now.

Taking another swig of beer, he closed his eyes and winced when the phone beside his bed suddenly rang, the sound piercing through his head like a thousand daggers. Grumbling under his breath he reached over, fumbling with the phone before managing to answer.

“What,” the southerner barked. As the feminine voice greeted him, telling him he had a guest, someone who he had apparently called to meet him there, he rolled his eyes. “I didn’t call nobody.”

But this wasn’t just anybody. This wasn’t some punk reporter trying to weasel his way in for a story. When the receptionist mentioned the name Sawyer saw red. “I’ll be right down.”

Hibbs. That bastard was here looking for him. If not for him, Sawyer would never have been on that plane. He never would have been in Australia and he never would have killed an innocent man.

Standing up, he took a moment to steady himself before pulling a shirt down over his head and leaving his room. He was going to kill that lying, backstabbing asshole.

The elevator seemed to take forever to reach the ground floor, but when it did Sawyer barely gave the doors time to open before pushing his way through. Storming toward the bar, he ignored everyone in his path, all the looks he was getting, and made a beeline toward Hibbs. Even when he reached the table he didn’t stop, as he reached out and grabbed the man’s collar, pulling him roughly to his feet.

“Gimme one good reason why I shouldn’t snap that lyin’ neck’a yers right here,” he growled, face contorted into pure rage.

[hibbs]

There was no surprise in Hibbs's face as he was roughing brought to his feet. He expected a similar reaction, and he'd been ready for whatever the man had coming whether it was being lifted up or punched in the face, though he more expected the latter. But even a punch would have been worth what he had came there to do.

Even so, Hibbs grimaced at the uncomfortable grip on him, painful yet he wasn't dwelling so much on that as he looked to him. A smug smirk creased his lips, slowly curling his mouth. "Is that how you great old friends?" Hibbs retorted though there was a slight darkness to his eyes as he narrowed them somewhat, the words mocking. "You don't have it in you, kid," he told him flat out.

At least with all the people around. Of course, Sawyer was pissed off and did indeed end up killing Ducket in the past, he hadn't expected him to really go through with it, but there was something in the kid that Hibbs knew he wasn't a stone cold killer. He'd only done the deed because he thought he was going after someone that fucked his childhood up. And if he wasn't then... he was sure that his ass wouldn't be fried. For now.

Shoving Sawyer off however, he managed to break his hold on his collar before he went to fix it. "Cause if you wanted to you would have done it already, and look here, I'm still standing," came the ever cocky retort, just trying to push his buttons, knowing his bounds with the man.

[James "Sawyer" Ford]

Sawyer’s eyes narrowed dangerously at Hibbs’ reply. That bastard had no idea what he had in him, and it was all thanks to him. His former friend and business partner was the one who had sent him down the path to murder, and since then it was like there was no stopping. James Ford, once so innocent, wasn’t even certain now how many people had died by his hand.

Taking a step back and releasing his grip on the other man’s collar when he received a rough shove to the chest, Sawyer lowered his head slightly and clenched his jaw as well as his fists. The entire room had gone silent and he thought he could almost hear his blood boiling. The only sound in the room was the smug sound of Hibbs’ voice. Still standing?

“Is that right...” the southerner drawled, before hauling off and driving his fist into the older man’s jaw, laying him out flat on his back.

[hibbs]

And there was that punch he had been counting on earlier, and he could taste the sting of copper before he felt himself almost in slow motion, fall back to the ground. The collision with the floor was a rather abrupt, and his back seethed in pain a moment before his vision cleared. He heard some commotion and one of the waiters made a move to walk over help him up. "I'm fine," he growled out, dismissing it as he went to get himself to his feet, swallowing what pirde he had left, which was still a considerable amount.

Sparing a look at the younger man, rolling his jaw, he glared at him. "You, however, won't be if you don't cool that head of yours." And it really wasn't an idle threat, he had a lot over the man before him, more then he probably realised. He probably better watch him better, though he could visibly see some changes in the man, he couldn't quite put his finger. However, that didn't stop him want to get on with it and move onto the exact matter with what he was doing there. The sooner he got to it, the sooner he could leave and be on his way again.

Trying to steadily make it back into his chair, he sat down trying to not piss him off further. "Now sit," he ordered, motioning to the chair in front of him. And if he didn't, and he wanted to throw another punch at him, he wouldn't take the high road again...

[James "Sawyer" Ford]

Feeling his fist connect hard, Sawyer felt a satisfying thrill run through him. He wanted to continue the beating, pummel the bastard into a bloody pulp; watch him struggle and choke until he drowned in his own blood; listen as he gasped for breath until his whole body went limp on the floor...

Taking a step back while Hibbs struggled to right himself, the conman furrowed his brow and ran a hand back through his hair, trying to get his anger under control. He could kill this man right now, kill him like he’d killed the real Sawyer, with his bare hands. Strangle the life out of him... and land himself in prison never to be released. He couldn’t think straight, the alcohol was clouding his brain. He had to get a grip and get his anger in check before he made a mistake that there was no moving on from.

If he hadn’t already done so.

The last thing he needed, though, was for the cops to show up and try to cart him off, so even though he shot daggers at Hibbs with his eyes, Sawyer obeyed and sat opposite him.

“What do you want?” he hissed in a low voice, leaning forward to keep their conversation from being overheard.

[hibbs]

Mostly anyone that had been paying attention to the display, visibly turned back to their conversations as Sawyer decided to take a seat at the table with him. Though he swore he could still see some people's ears growing, edging toward what they were talking about. Nonchalantly he reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. "You still smoke?" he asked curiously, pulling out one of the sticks before setting the pack down on the table. Probably not, probably had none back on the island or wherever he'd been. Though he still let the offer sit as he lit up.

Taking a puff, he shifted slightly, though not nearly as hunched over as James was, his one elbow resting on the table with the cigarette in his hand. "What three months on a deserted island and your mind no longer sharp?" he quiried, his voice low like his. He didn't think it was that heard to remember, at least on his end. When something was missing from his pocket, he didn't forget. "If my memory serves me right... you owe me."

[James "Sawyer" Ford]

It was funny, as much as Sawyer had craved a smoke the last month or so he had been without them, it had slipped his mind since he’d been back. His room was non-smoking, and there had been enough alcohol to numb his senses. But now, watching Hibbs set the package on the table, he didn’t hesitate in reaching out and picking it up, knocking a cigarette out into his hand. He was just sparking the end up with a lighter when his movements stilled, his eyes moving back up to meet those of the man across from him.

“I owe you?” he repeated incredulously. “Consider what I just gave ya a down payment with more ta come,” he continued. After the Tampa job, and then using him to kill Frank Duckett, Sawyer figured he owed him a much worse beating than a single punch.

[hibbs]

"And considering I'm still a few hundred grand behind, all thanks to you I might add, I don't think you have much room to talk," the older man interjected quickly, venom rolling off his tongue. Of course, he, himself, might have been partially to blame, but a debt was a debt, and as far as he knew he was in the pocket for that one. Yeah, it had been a while since the Tampa job and even sooner with Duckett, but he didn't see any money come out of those. And money was what he was aiming for.

Without it well, it wasn't all that simple as he made it out to be. Inhaling another lungful of the cigarette, he blew out the smoke to the side, before he looked back at the man before him and nodded in his direction. "You see my problem?" he then asked, his brow raising ever so slightly on his forehead.

[James "Sawyer" Ford]

He should have known. As soon as people started finding out about the Oceanic settlement, he should have known that every money grubbing slimebag from his past would start crawling out of the woodwork looking for a piece. And of course Hibbs would be first in line.

“Oh, I see a problem all right,” Sawyer replied, gritting his teeth, the cigarette a forgotten afterthought between his fingers. “You left me ta take tha fall in Tampa, and ya used me ta do yer dirty work. I don’t owe you shit.”

[hibbs]

This wasn't going as smoothly as Hibbs had hoped, he thought with a mental grimace, keeping the cool exterior in a poker face as to not show him what he was thinking. Though it wasn't that that he had expected it to be easy, either. It couldn't be smooth sailing with the Southerner... ever really, come to think of it. The kid was always stubborn, smart as anything, and stubborn as the night was long. Well, if he didn't want to play easy then well, that was his choice.

Flicking the tip of lit up end of his smoke, some of the embers falling into the dish before he looked back up to the man before him. With a slight shrug as he sat back into the chair, looking ever careless. "I'm sorry you feel that way," he told him, but the ever lingering tone mocking underlining his words, his mouth curling into something more menacing after a moment, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Though, it's a shame, really... I mean... there could be some 'repercussions' for this little refusal of yours." Slowly he figured the ball was drifting back into his side of the field with those words.

[James "Sawyer" Ford]

Glaring hard at the man across from him, Sawyer felt like ice water was being injected into the boiling blood in his veins. The next words from Hibbs were carefully constructed and slowly delivered, each word having the proper impact. Despite what that god damn little ghostbuster had to say, Hibb was the only person who truly knew what happened while the southerner was in Australia and could easily destroy whatever was left of his sorry excuse for a life.

“What they gonna do, take yer word for it? Ya ain’t got a stitch’a proof,” Sawyer replied, although his mask had slipped for a moment, clearly showing how the suggestion had shaken him. The gun was gone, though, and that was the only real piece of evidence to connect him to the crime.

[hibbs]

The fear was back in the man and Hibbs took great pleasure in the fact he was still able to do that, no matter how resistant the man was. The anger faded away on James's face and Hibbs continued to inwardly smirk, playing it out on the outside coolly. He was now right back under his thumb, right where he wanted him to be. "You think I'm that careless?" Hibbs returned incredulously, his one eyebrow hitching up on his forehead. The answer was automatically no in Hibb's mind, he had taken extra lengths to ensure that the ball would stay in his court, indefinitely.

"I have more on you then that last little stunt in Australia." However, dropping his gaze down a moment to cigarette in his fingers, he took one last drag before he brought it to the dish, buffing it out before leaving it in there. "Just think about it a bit, Kid, it's after all... your choice." Or rather's Hibbs's choice,, he had chosen to come on over and make the poor bastard's life hell, and he was enjoying every moment of it.

"We'll be in touch," Hibbs then told him, leaving his parting words, getting up from the table. Better to make his escape now before more of his plan would be spilled and then it wouldn't be very artful anymore. Plus better avoid anymore stunts of trying to knock his head off his shoulders, he was watching out for that now. He rather liked the placement of where his head was.

[James "Sawyer" Ford]

Sawyer had committed many more offences in his life than murder, but what he had done in Australia had obviously been the worst. The very fact that he had been in Australia at the time of Duckett’s murder was damning enough even without a murder weapon, and add on all his other crimes... who would believe that he was innocent?

Lowering his eyes, he clenched his jaw, letting Hibbs’ words wash over him. His former partner had him by the short and curlys and he knew it. Hibbs was no saint either, but he had done something that James had, regretfully, not managed: He had stayed under the radar, his crimes going unpunished and his face and name unknown.

The southerner felt the fight leaving him, and when the older man stood from the table and made to leave, he didn’t stop him. Anything he did at this point would only make the situation worse. He needed to think. He needed some time to figure a way out of this. And, damn it, he needed a drink.