If you haven't read The Journey Begins, you may want to read that first. The events in this story follow.

The people who've helped me know who they are and they have my thanks. I do not own Lost or any of these characters. If I did, I would live in a much nicer neighborhood, somewhere in Hawaii.

He lay awake, restless. Careful not to disturb the woman sleeping beside him, he slipped out of bed and walked to the window. The lights of Los Angeles flickered below. This was where he had wanted to be a year ago. This was where they told him he would find Nadia. He reached into the pocket of the worn backpack hanging on the arm of the chair. The pictures were gone, but the card he held in his hand might bring him the answers he needed.

He glanced at the bedside clock. Noting the time, he did the math in his head as he walked into the living room of the suite, closing the door softly behind him. It was 5:30 a.m. here, four hours difference meant that it was 9:30 in Washington, D.C. Surely Agent Cole, or someone who knew how to contact her, would be in at this hour.

He picked up the phone, then put it down. He sat heavily on the couch, leaning his head back against the wall. What he was about to do would hurt the woman in the next room. No matter how he explained it, no matter what the result, it would still hurt her. That was the last thing he wanted. And yet, if he didn't do this, if he didn't make this last effort, he wasn't sure he could ever be happy, or feel like his life was under his control. He needed to do this. All of his searching had to come to an end, somehow. He realized that it could mean making a choice. Ironically, if he was lucky, it might mean making the most difficult choice of his life.

He had argued that the room was too big, and too expensive for the two of them, but now he was glad for the privacy it provided. He picked up the phone again and dialed the number. Voice mail. Push this button or that button. Confused as to what to do, he hung up. Reading the card again, he saw the second number. A cell phone. She answered on the first ring.

"This is Melissa Cole."

He hesitated. "Yes, I...I am not sure you would remember me, My name is Sayid Jarrah. It was in Sydney..."

"A year ago. Of course. I read about the plane crash, you and the others, saw the news. What can I do for you?"

"I was hoping you could help me. I am trying to find...Nadia, Noor Abed-Jazeem, do you...do you still know how to get in touch with her?"

"You are a determined man, aren't you Mr. Jarrah. I think I can get that information for you but I'm out of the office right now. Is there a number where I could reach you later?"

"Yes. I am at the ..." He read from the notepad on the desk "Los Angeles Crowne Plaza Hotel, room...just a moment." He opened the door and stepped into the hall to check. "Room 1118."

"I'll get back with you later today."

He hung up the phone and sat back down on the couch. Suddenly he was exhausted. The past two weeks since they had been rescued were a blur of hospitals, press conferences, lawyers and travel. There wasn't any time to think. He needed to think.

He looked at the door to the bedroom. Perhaps it had been a mistake coming here with her. On the island he had thought his searching was in the past. He began to accept the idea that they weren't going to be rescued. He cared for her, loved her even, and their differences had not seemed insurmountable. Here in the real world he wondered if those differences would drive them apart, whether he found Nadia or not.

Shannon lay in bed staring at the door to the other room. He didn't realize how thin hotel room walls were, but she knew. She had listened through enough of them. She had expected this, if she let herself think about it. She knew that he would need to finish things before moving on. Of course, on the island, there had been no way to do anything about it. She had always sensed something that he held in reserve. Even as they grew closer, and she became more confident that this relationship was different, that he saw her for who she really was, there was a part of him she couldn't touch. It was a habit from way back not to ask questions she didn't really want answered.

It was a struggle to stay calm. A lot depended on her reaction to this. She knew how she would have reacted, not so long ago. The old Shannon would have been throwing things and telling him that if he wanted his old girlfriend it was fine with her but he wasn't going to do it on her dime. Actually, though, this suite wasn't on her dime. The airline was paying for everything until they all got "settled" again. So there was time. She took a deep breath and decided the best course of action was none. He didn't know she had heard his phone call. She would wait, and deal with it if he mentioned it. She had things to do today anyway. Things that he couldn't help her with.

Sabrina. Shannon had worried and fretted about the meeting until he had thrown up his hands in disgust. All of the worry had been for nothing. When they had met briefly the night before, Sabrina had seemed diminished somehow. She wanted details about Boone's death, which had been hard. But then, surprisingly, she had apologized. She had even suggested that Shannon might want to ease into the company, and eventually, perhaps, take over Boone's position. More surprisingly, Shannon found herself considering it. Seeing Sabrina everyday would not have been on the top of her list even a week ago. But without Boone's attention to fight over, it was almost as if they had formed a bond. She was actually looking forward to lunch with her later today.

Nadia shaded her eyes to see the little girl on the bike ahead of her. "Yasmin! Don't go too far!" Was it her imagination, or had she just sped up a bit? Her mother had cursed her. Now she had a daughter with a mind of her own. She broke into a jog and caught up with her.

"Hey, I thought this was our together time."

The little girl smiled and looked at her mother. "I like to go fast."

"I know. We'd better head home. Bath and a story, then bed. Someone has school tomorrow."

"I'll race you!" Yasmin grinned and took off, long braids flying out from under her bike helmet.

She watched her go. It was only a block from the bike path to the house she had rented. Living here made the commute to work longer, but she felt better about raising her daughter outside of the city. Ventura was primarily a vacation and beach town and the people were friendly and used to new faces. She already felt more at home here than she had in seven years in L.A. She felt safe from the past here, too.

She walked up to the porch where Yasmin was waiting for her. "You beat me again." She flopped down beside her.

"I always beat you, Mama." She said.

"Yes, you do." She hugged her close. "Bath, then I'll read to you, okay?"

"Okay." She hopped up, ran inside, and a few minutes later Nadia could hear the water running. No battle tonight. Good.

Nadia was sitting on the bed when Yasmin came out of the bathroom in her pajamas and climbed onto her lap. This was her favorite time of day with her daughter. She undid the braids in her damp hair and ran her fingers through to untangle it.

"What story do you want to read?"

"Tell me a story. Not from a book."

"What kind of story?"

Yasmin looked up at her. "Tell me a story about my daddy."

She took a deep breath. "Your daddy saved my life." She began the familiar story she had fashioned to appease her daughter's growing hunger for any information about her father. She left out details impossible for an eight-year-old to understand, but stuck as close to the truth as possible. When she finished, Yasmin looked at her and yawned.

"Where is he?" She asked.

"I don't know."

"How did he get lost?"

"Do you remember the time you wandered away from me at the mall?"

"I was scared."

"I know. But I found you because the mall isn't that big, even though it seemed big to you, and there were lots of people to help us. But the world is a very big place. When people get separated it's hard to find someone when you don't know where to look." Yasmin was sleepy, and seemed to accept the explanation.

Yasmins's request for that story saddened Nadia even now. Perhaps she had made a mistake, trying to raise the child on her own. Perhaps she had made the wrong choice by coming here. But after she closed the door to her only other choice, her options seemed to close with it. When she changed her mind about signing the adoption papers, the disappointed and angry couple in London had contacted the British Immigration Department, who had sent an agent to the hospital. With her daughter in her arms, the agent's promise of freedom and a safe life in America did what torture could not: Nadia had told the British authorities everything she knew about covert activities in Britain, and in Iraq.

Three days later she had a new passport, a somewhat new identity, and a job waiting for her in L.A. She wasn't proud of what she had done, and for that reason, despite still loving him, she wasn't anxious for Sayid to find her. Not at first. Now, after so long a time, she told herself that surely he was either dead, or had gone on with his life.

She had a good life. She liked her job, she had good friends, and she dated, but not often. It was hard with a child. You sized everybody up not just for yourself, but for his potential as a parent. Yasmin was her first priority and she was careful not to do anything to upset the rhythm of their life together. If that meant she was alone, it seemed a small price to pay.