His mother's eyes. The first eyes he remembered. Brown eyes watching him with a steady gaze, ensuring his safety. A glance from the window while he played. Darkening with disapproval when he teased his sisters. Filled with pride as he showed her his schoolwork, or told about the goal he had scored in the playground soccer game. Her eyes sorrowful, filled with tears she would not allow herself to shed as he left for war. He would not see his mother's eyes again.
Nadia's eyes. A spark of recognition, a glimmer of hope. Eyes that seemed to bore into his very soul each time he unlocked the door, stepped into the cell. Eyes that met his unflinchingly. Eyes that saw him, she said, not as a monster, but for who she knew he was. The need to see forgiveness in Nadia's eyes had taken him around the world. And brought him to this place.
Shannon's eyes. His first impression; steely, glinting as she spat insults at Boone. Set with concentration as she listened to the French transmission. Dancing with amusement when she teased him with talk of rope and knots, and time alone together. Those eyes that seemed to see in him the man he wished he was.
He remembered those eyes red, swollen from crying, yet hard, bitter, staring at him as he pried the gun from her hands. He'd thought he would never again see trust or affection in her eyes. He was wrong. Her eyes had shone with happiness and desire that night in the shelter; before she saw Walt, before his disbelief and her own need sent her running into the jungle. And he watched a brief second as confusion clouded Shannon's eyes before they closed for the last time.
He looked up into another set of eyes. Black. Cold. Determination fading, pupils widening with the realization of what she had done. Her eyes no longer mattered as adrenaline flooded through him and he leaped to attack ,to defend what was already gone.
His eyes met those again as consciousness returned. Her eyes showed fear then. She would not release him for that fear, though he screamed and struggled. After her knife freed him from his bonds, after she threw the gun at his feet and his hand trembled with the desire to take it, do as she asked, end this life that had taken Shannon's eyes from him forever. After all of that his eyes met this stranger's and he recognized a familiar deadness. He held Ana's gaze and spoke bitter words.
Now he feels another woman's eyes upon him. Intelligent eyes. Sympathetic eyes. Sizing him up. Wondering.Will he break down? Is he a danger to himself? He can almost read her thoughts. She watches him. Anytime he is near, her eyes seek his. He avoids Libby's eyes. He has no desire to look into them. Whatever he might find there is of no use to him.
Sayid's eyes once saw the island. The endless green of the jungle, the infinite blue of the ocean, the stark brightness of the sun. Now the colors fade blending into a haze of gray. His eyes look at people but no longer see them, searching always, for the one face missing, searching for the faces he will not see again in this life or perhaps, ever.
Brown eyes face the fire. They watch the dancing flames and consider eternity in jahannam. Sayid knows if he looks away he will have to face other eyes. Eyes that question. Eyes that sympathize. Eyes that would share grief that should be his alone. He will not meet the gaze of any of these people, his friends. Surely his despair would swamp any hope still shining in their eyes.
He closes his eyes. Faces swim before him. Allah, he prays, tell me what to do. A hand on his shoulder startles him. A voice, not the voice he expects. English, lacking it's usual cockiness. "You're not alone, Sayid. Don't pretend to be." His own words thrown back at him. His eyes open. There they are. His friends and those who would be his friends. The hope in their eyes does not dim at the sight of him. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps hope will always triumph over despair.
