Chapter Seven

The meal was surprisingly good. Kate couldn't remember Sayid cooking on the island. She remembered him occasionally hunting, sometimes skinning, and mostly tinkering and building—but not cooking. It was usually Rose who prepared the communal meals. Perhaps Sayid had thought his talents were more needed elsewhere, and, unfortunately, they were. When it came to confronting the enemy, he had shown an assertiveness Jack had initially lacked and a concern for the community that had never been a priority for Locke. It was ironic how things had turned out. Jack, urged by Sayid to begin acting like a true leader, had done so. He had grown a considerable backbone, and he had defied the persuasions of Ben and Locke to do what he believed to be best for his people. Yet, in the end, his decision had condemned them all. Or at least that was how Jack saw it. Kate suspected that was why he popped those little blue pills, why he tried to drink away the pain. He was wrong, though. Jack's decision hadn't condemned them. They had been condemned long ago. Perhaps if they had remained on the island they could have done something to alter the future, if they had learned the truth, if they had survived the opposition, if they had found the switch, if they could disable it. That was a long list of ifs. Yet Jack, Kate thought, didn't see in hypotheticals, not when looking at himself; he saw everything in black and white: leader or servant, winner or loser, guilty or innocent. He held himself to an inflexible standard he would never use to measure others.

Most of the meal was passed in silence, but then Sayid unpredictably asked, "Have you told Sawyer yet?"

It was a breech of their silent understanding. They weren't supposed to discuss these sorts of things. Of course, she had already violated that code by asking about Nadia. "What?" she asked him. "You think I'm going to write Sawyer a letter in prison, where every word is read by the guards? He helped me escape before I could be arrested. I'm sure they've already questioned him about me a hundred times."

"You could tell Claire. I still have her number, if you desire it. I know she used to visit him. Perhaps she still does. She could say it in some…subtle way the guards would not understand."

Kate picked at her food. "Why? What good is it going to do him?"

"He deserves to know he is a father."

"Knowing would make things worse." Kate stabbed her fork into her salad and crunched the crisp lettuce in silence.

Sayid didn't speak again until Kate began to clear away the dishes, and then he took them from her and insisted that he would wash them. "Sit down, rest," he said.

She sat alone on the living room couch, with the television on but the volume off. She thought about where she would move to next, when the time came. Los Angeles was growing tiresome. She thought New York would suit her tastes better. She assured herself the thought had nothing to do with the fact that Jack was living there.

When Sayid was done, he joined her in the living room. They sat on either end of the couch, watching the TV, the volume turned low so as not to disturb the sleeping baby in its pack n' play on the other side of the room. Sayid was a typical man, Kate thought, as he paged through the channels, never stopping for more than two minutes, always changing the station at the precise moment something began to catch her attention. Now he had landed on a repeat of Gilligan's Island. Gilligan, in his bright red shirt, was engaged in some antic that amused the Skipper. "Have you heard anything about Hurley?" Kate asked.

Sayid shook his head. "I went to one of his parties, before I was with Nadia."

Kate raised an eyebrow. "They're legendary."

"Not to my taste," Sayid replied and switched the channel. Next up was an X-files rerun. This Sayid paused on much longer than usual. Mulder was bent over some piece of evidence, and Scully was hovering dramatically close. The sexual tension was palpable. In a voice that was level, formal, and precise, Sayid said, "He should just nail her and be done with it."

Kate, who had been drinking more wine, sputtered it out of her mouth. "Did you just say he should nail her?" Despite herself, she was laughing—laughing in disbelief but still laughing.

The corner of Sayid's mouth twitched, ever so slightly, and she knew he had done it on purpose, that he had known the incongruity was the only thing that could lighten the load, if only for a moment. He glanced at her. "You see, you are still capable of smiling." Then he changed the channel.

"Hey, I was just getting interested."

"I have seen that episode four times."

"Four times?" she asked. "You watch a lot of TV, do you?"

"Nadia is rarely home in the evenings. I must do something to fill the time. She always has to meet a publisher, or a cleric, or an editor, or an activist, or a Congressman…And she is forever giving speeches."

"Don't you go to her speeches?"

"I used to. In the beginning. Security insisted I merely got in the way. And…I found myself engaged in a fight once."

"A fight? You mean a fistfight?" This was getting interesting. This was a distraction. Distractions were rare, but they were the lifeline that kept the body moving from day to day.

Sayid nodded. "With an audience member."

"Did he threaten her?"

"No," Sayid answered. "But he said insulting things. He called her names." He switched away from the nightly news, and, having landed on PBS, he put the remote down. "Nadia was displeased."

"I supposed it's hard to look like a respectable feminist when your husband's beating up your audience members."

"Precisely."

They fell silent again, and they watched an hour-long archeology documentary without comment and largely without interest. Towards the end, Kate asked, "Do you think these history fanatics would still be digging up relics if they knew the world was about to end?"

"Why not?" Sayid asked dryly. "We are watching TV."

Kate picked up the remote, extended it toward the mind-drug, and clicked the power off. "Should we be building an ark instead?" Without the glow of the television, the room was dark, and she could barely see Sayid.

"If we could," he said. "If we could do anything…I'm sure we all would."

"But we can't. We can't do a damn thing that will make a difference."

There was nothing but silence for a long time, and Kate wondered if Sayid had fallen asleep, sitting up, the way he once had on the island, leaned against a tree. Then he spoke. "In Iraq," he said slowly, "so many people lived never knowing if they might die the next day. If they might be taken by the government, or blown up by a stray bomb, or even just succumb to some ordinary disease. Still they went on living. On the island, we knew the Others might attack at any moment. Even so, we built. We loved. We played. We stored. We lived. Yet this...this is different."

Of course it was. Maybe it shouldn't be, but it was. Kate untucked her legs, which were curled on the couch, and placed her feet on the floor. She rose. "I'll get you a pillow and a blanket."

Later that night, before he had quite drifted off, she came and stood near the end of the couch. "The bed's big enough, if you want," she said.

"I am still married, Kate. For now. And there is no peace in that either."

She looked off into a corner. "That wasn't the offer I was making."

"Oh." He rolled onto his other side, his face hidden against the cushions of the couch. "Nevertheless," came his muffled response, "I do not think it would be appropriate."

She left without a word and crawled into her empty double bed. After awhile, she got up and went to the pack n' play. She picked up the sleeping baby and brought it to bed with her. She kissed Huck's fine, blonde hair and curled on her side against his warm, little body. At length, she slept.