Chapter One

During his university days, Sayid had occasionally borrowed books from his roommate Essam. These volumes he had always treated with respect. Essam had possessed a certain reverence for his books, but this was not what inspired Sayid's caution. It was a matter of honor with him to return borrowed items in the precise condition in which they had been received. Sayid would not be able to do this with Desmond's sailboat.

Of course, Desmond had not appeared to care about his sailboat when Sayid had taken it; indeed, the man did not appear to care about much of anything. Nevertheless, Sayid regarded the task before him as an unpleasant one. He eyed the Scotsman where he sat just on the edge of the tide, his pants rolled up to his knees, his feet planted firmly on the hard, wet sand. The inexorable surf rolled in and drew back, covering Desmond's flesh and then deserting it again with equal indifference. Sayid sat down in the sand beside him.

The Iraqi wasn't quite sure how to word the matter. I regret that your sailboat was stolen. Too casual? Yet the sailboat was, after all, a very small thing in comparison to the lives he had placed in jeopardy. Sayid decided that, before making his apologies for losing the man's property, he would offer him the book he had found. "I discovered this discarded in the jungle. Did you drop it? There is a letter inside that bears your name."

Desmond snatched Our Mutual Friend from his hands and looked at Sayid with suspicion. "Have you read it?"

"The book? No."

"The letter," Desmond clarified.

"Why would I?"

Desmond hastily flipped through the pages to verify the position of the letter and then slammed the book shut. He held it in one hand, which he let dangle between his legs. "Thanks, brother." He stared out at the ocean. "Have you ever read Homer? The Odyssey?"

"I was compelled to once."

"You remember Penelope?" Desmond asked. "Now there was a woman. Sitting faithfully at home, waiting year after year for her one true love to return, and in the meantime coming up with all sorts of clever ways to put off her suitors. Now there was the right thing to do."

"She had no moral obligation to wait that long, no reason to assume he was not dead."

Desmond's face broke into an indulgent, lopsided grin as he turned to look at Sayid. "Well, brother, you can only say that because you've never had a woman you wanted to wait for you. Or one you've waited for."

"You know nothing about me." Sayid hadn't meant to sound quite so acrid.

Desmond released a short, nervous laugh. "Well, then, I stand corrected. And do you hope she is somewhere sitting like regal Penelope, devising impossible feats in order to thwart her suitors?"

"I hope she is somewhere alive and happy."

Desmond ran his tongue across his teeth and snorted. "How very noble of you."

"I…I let go. I moved on."

Desmond was glancing off down the shore, in the direction of Claire, who was wading into the ocean while cradling and swaying Aaron. "Did you now?" he asked almost absently. "And how did you manage that?"

Sayid watched Desmond watching Claire. "I simply made the decision."

"Simply, brother?"

"I did not mean…No. It was not a simple decision. But it was necessary."

Claire now seemed to laugh and race back out of the water. A piece of seaweed, perhaps, had tickled her feet. Desmond was smiling at her squeamishness, and his eyes followed her as she made her way up the sand to her tent. When she was out of sight, he returned his attention to Sayid. "So you took the path of Odysseus, then? Found yourself a beautiful nymph?"

This time, Sayid forcefully controlled the edge in his voice. "It is not the same. I was not married."

"That jammy bastard got Penelope in the end," Desmond mumbled. "Even without staying faithful." Now his voice rose. "But imagine if Odysseus were out sailing the ocean, guarding his heart religiously the entire time, and she was at home picking out wedding invitations! What the hell kind of story would that be?"

"A sad one." And it might have been my own, Sayid thought, if I had chosen differently.

"Yeah," Desmond muttered, quietly now, seeming to recover himself. "Yeah, a sad one all right." He flung his hand dismissively in Sayid's direction. "Don't you have some kind of army to raise?"

"There are things I could be doing."

"Then go off and do them now, why don't you?"

Sayid rose wordlessly. He left the Scotsman sitting in the sand, looking out at the ocean, ignoring the water that was ignoring him. Sayid didn't even realize he had forgotten to mention the sailboat.