Warning! Parts of this story will be SPOILERY! I'm a spoiler-whore and I read as many of them as I possibly can. If I know something is going to happen in advance, it may very well work it's way into this story. Label yourselves warned. passes out stickers
Disclaimer: I don't own LOST, ABC, or Disney. This story is mine, however.
Threading
By: Elurandir
How do you pick up the threads of an old life? How do you go on... when in your heart... you begin to understand... there is no going back?
-Frodo (Return of the King)
This Life
He'd been skeptical at first. A boat? After this long? Steve had never been very reliable, even. But, when Jack and Kate immediately took off after the other man, Charlie not far behind, he went as well.
He'd jogged after them, his mind already setting himself up for whatever Steve had seen to be gone. He distracted himself by being amused by how Charlie never seemed to be able to run without flailing and nearly falling several times.
They'd reached the shore and he vaguely thought of Shannon. The ocean always made him think of her. Still did, if he admitted it. By the time they'd arrived, Jin and Hurley were already distracted from their previous task, watching the horizon line. Hurley shouted radically every so often, waving his arms, as if he might be seen.
A ship.
An actual ship could be spotted on the horizon.
"Move." Sayid heard his voice before he thought of what he was saying. He headed back towards the jungle. "We need wood, lots of it. The only way we're going to be spotted is if we start a fire immediately." he sounded so sure and confident that a fire would help save them.
He, Jack, Kate, and Charlie had never worked so hard in their lives. Charlie left before it was over though, flailing back to the caves for Claire and the rest of the survivors. In record time, the fire was blazing and they were stoking it continuously. Hurley had appointed himself the annoying man that stood at the shoreline, screaming and waving like a lunatic. No one said anything to him, though. Despite the fact they all knew it didn't help at all, they were all wanting to do the same thing.
By all accounts, the ship probably never should have spotted the mediocre fire, never should have sailed closer to investigate. The flames weren't nearly as high as Sayid would have liked them, the smoke no where near black enough to make a very lasting impression in the clear blue sky.
But still they came. And salvation was delivered in the form of 15 Korean fishermen.
Sayid had stood alongside Shannon, the one person that had become his closest companion. The one who had slowly become something so much more than a companion. She was first in line to climb onto the small boat the Koreans had come ashore on. She turned back to him, waiting for him to join her.
"Danielle," was all he had said, and Shannon's face went blank and with a curt nod she'd climbed onto the boat with Boone, Walt, Claire and her baby. Shannon never really understood why Sayid searched so hard for the older French woman, when it was so obvious she hadn't wanted to be found.
Sayid didn't know why either. But he felt such a strong sense of pity for the woman, such a strong sense of wanting to save her from this dreadful life she'd been living for so long. Sometimes, when he'd been scouring the jungle and night would start falling, he would imagine that he could hear that music box playing. It would drown out the whispers and the rustling, and Sayid would feel as though he were being watched. He still never found her.
He'd been on the last boat to leave the island. Danielle never showed up, not that she would have known, or anything of that sort. But he still found himself hoping that she would, by chance, stumble upon the rescue and join them. Such luck did not befall him, and he stepped into the boat, and they were rowed away.
Sayid watched the island until it had faded out of sight. Despite his relief, he couldn't help but feel a bit of him fading as well. Shannon was by his side, head on his shoulder.
"I won't miss that place," she had said smugly. Sayid didn't respond. He had a feeling she was quite wrong.
-
The interviews had been horrid. Flashing cameras and shouted questions. More than once, Sayid has wished in vain he was back in those dark caves, wished he was underneath the jungle's canopy.
His interviews spanned past his island experience and into his experience as part of the Republican Guard. What did it matter? Sayid had thought. That was ages ago and he wasn't the same anymore. That life was gone, lost somewhere. Rehashing his days as a soldier made him rehash his days with Nadia, and the pain that had dissipated, the wounds on his heart that had healed, they were reopened and Sayid head began to pound after the first three interviews.
This life or the next….
Sayid felt as if he were between lives. Nadia was gone, dead or lost. The old Sayid was gone, dead and lost. The photograph of Nadia…he hadn't seen it, or really even thought about it in months. Shannon had been his breath of fresh air, and he had needed it.
Shannon.
She was, unsurprisingly, eating up the press and had become their darling almost immediately. Boone always in the background, though he clung more to Locke than he did to Shannon. Always the brother though, he made certain she didn't make any stupid moves, or wasn't harassed.
Shannon, who had changed so drastically in the last months, was reverting back to the beginning, back to those first few days. Sayid found himself resenting her more than he was missing her. But he did miss her. It was sort of a silly notion to miss someone when they were never more than a few rooms apart. But a few rooms could seem like miles when you hadn't had to deal with walls in months.
Building, Sayid was coming to believe, were a bad idea. Being up five stories was quite different than being on the ground, and he had never noticed that before.
When the interviews were finally over, Sayid wanted nothing more than to retreat to his hotel room and not leave for weeks. The moment he went into the room, he had kept all the lights off, and turned the air off as well. The room was less offensive when it wasn't cold or brightly lit. He couldn't resist turning the tv on, though he muted it, not bothering with subtitles.
Nearing midnight, a knock sounded on his door. Sayid merely glanced at the door, before moving his dark gaze back to the flashing images on the television.
"Sayid! It's me," Shannon's light voice floated through the door, but Sayid didn't budge. "Sayid!" she knocked again. "Michael said he saw you come in here," she called, letting him know she knew he was in there. They were all in the same hotel, all on the same floor, which had been shut off to paparazzi and everyone else as well.
Sayid couldn't bring himself to answer the door, and instead, he moved and laid down on the bed, the softness foreign, but welcome. He stared blankly at the wall, the television flashing shadows on the walls. If he thought hard, he could hear Danielle's music box. He wished he knew what song it played.
Nadia had promised this life or the next. But he had been through two and she was still lost. Things were changing. This was his new life. His third lifetime in one. How did that happen to a person, and what did that do to you?
He thought back to Shannon. It was simple on the island. He helped prove to her that she wasn't useless, and she helped him figure out Danielle's maps. They had learnt to rely on one another, and her company was something that Sayid had craved daily. She had changed, after the split between herself and her brother, and after Claire's return from Ethan. She was softer, and she didn't bother so much with her shallow façade.
Some nights, when they would lie near the fire, she would sing to him. In French, usually, and it was always "the fish song". It never got old though. Not to Sayid. He had found a home on that island, he had found a way to be at ease and at peace with himself and the world. Shannon had helped him.
But now, now things had been jolted, and he felt as though he had awakened from a dream, or a coma. He felt as though his life had been put on hold, then on fast forward. He had no time to catch up, and no way to do so. The only thing he could do was start over.
A brand-new everything.
"Sayid," Shannon's voice had become softer, though her knocking persisted. "Please…?"
Sayid didn't respond.
OOoOoOoOoOoOoOo
Third chapter. Wootwoot. I have a sneaking suspicion that this might end up being more than I had originally planned. Which, is both exciting and a bit foreboding. Mehh.
I've no idea who's next. So…it'll be a surprise.
Fair-Ithil: I know, I feel bad for all of them. Having to be thrust back into society and all. It has to be rough. This would be a bit tougher than learning to survive on the island, because there, the sole purpose of everyone for awhile was just to survive. But when you get back, there's no struggle just to live, when everything is handed to you, so all that's left to cope with is the mental aspects of it all.
Evermore: Thanks very much! Frodo's line always jumps into my head every time one of the survivor's mention being rescued. I had to jump on it for a fic.
Vainfinde: If you came back and read this story, I hope you enjoyed it! I know some people don't much care for spoilers, so I try to keep the ones I drop in this one very vague, unless it's already happened.
Review please? I would greatly appreciate it.