Chapter 14

Broken Bottles

The waves splashed and splattered onto the gray stones, pushing their way forward before being sucked back with a silvery sigh. On and on they came, never giving up, imperceptibly wearing away the rough rocks to make them rounded and smooth. However ineffectual each rush of waves was, it still made a difference, a huge difference over time. The whole landscape was shaped by these little waves rushing in and then retreating.

Rush in.

Retreat.

Rush in.

Retreat.

They never gave up.

Sayid sat watching them, mesmerized. Like him, the waves didn't have a choice. Some unseen force dragged them around, forwards and backwards, with an irresistible pull. In the same way something in him kept him going, tugging him back to the world of the living in spite of all he was, of all he'd done, all the memories and the nightmares he carried around with him every waking moment. He had been a good man once, and for a while he had hoped that he could be again. But now? Now he realized the change in him was too fixed. He could never go back to innocence now.

What was it inside him? A bare, raw, will to survive? No, it was more like some demon that just kept him going despite the fact that he knew he didn't deserve to live. Or maybe it was a demon sent to punish him, to tempt him with life and joy and then watch him writhe when it was snatched away from him again and again and again.

'Hey Dude.' He looked up, squinting a little as the sun caught his eyes. Hurley sat down heavily next to him. 'There's food and stuff if you want some. Bernard killed a boar.'

Sayid shook his head, 'Thank you Hurley, but I'm not hungry.'

So Bernard was killing the boar now? With Jack, Kate and Sawyer gone, and Desmond, Locke and Mr Eko dead, who was left with any sort of survival skills? Though looking around at the camp, this group seemed to be doing alright.

'Look, it wasn't your fault, Sayid. They knew we were coming and they were just ready, that's all.'

He squinted out to the horizon, barely acknowledging Hurley's words. He had thought he could offer this group of strangers something useful. But all he'd done was put them in danger. He'd messed up. They'd all been relying on him. It'd been his plan, his idea to take the boat, his idea to walk them knowingly into that trap. Why had he been such a fool to think that he had the military edge, that he had such a good plan when in reality he'd completely misjudged what they were up against? Not only had he failed to rescue any of them, he'd gone and lost Desmond's boat as well and nearly allowed Sun to get killed in the process.

'I should have realized.' He said under his breath, 'Never underestimate the enemy, Hurley, especially people fighting on their own soil. Of all people, I should know that. The Others have lived here all their lives. I should have known better.'

Hurley shrugged, 'It was all a mess, Sayid. And, well, they let Michael and Walt go. And me. Maybe they'll let Jack, Kate and Sawyer go as well.'

Sayid let out a breathy laugh. 'Yes Hurley, and maybe pigs will fly.'

Hurley was quiet for a moment, but Sayid could almost hear his thoughts scrabbling around, trying to find something to say that would make him feel better. He appreciated it, he truly did, but nothing that Hurley could say or do was going to make any difference. He was beyond that.

'It's not your fault, I mean, you can't blame yourself. You did your best and everyone gets that, it's just-'

'I don't think Jin is going to forgive me for putting Sun's life at risk.'

Hurley wriggled uncomfortably, 'Yeah, OK, so maybe not Jin, but the rest of us? Dude, we're right behind you. Look, you sure you don't want something to eat? The boar's really good.'

Sayid smiled. He felt like a child being persuaded to come back to the party after throwing a tantrum. He tried to remember his own mother and the hopes and dreams she'd had for him. It didn't really matter now.

'Thank you Hurley, but I'm really not hungry.'

Hurley nodded, 'Well, if you change your mind…' he smiled over at him then at the sea stretching away in front of them. They sat for a couple of uncomfortable minutes. It was a shame for Hurley that he really didn't do companionable silences.

'Well, I guess I'll get back to the camp then.' Hurley rubbed the sand off his knees, 'I…. do you see that? What is that? That a plane?' Hurley pushed himself awkwardly to his feet and squinted into the horizon. Sayid followed his gaze. The sun was heading to the west and the growing speck was moving towards them from the South, light glinting off it. It was low down on the horizon and seemed to be heading straight towards them. He scrambled up quickly and watched as the black speck grew larger.

'Hey, it's a plane! It's a plane!' Hurley started waving his arms wildly in the air, jumping up and down on the sand and shouting, 'Hey! Hey!' Sayid could hear the rest of the camp stirring behind them. He kept his eyes on the plane, willing it to be the one to rescue them, to take them off this nightmare place.

The black speck came quickly into focus, and immediately Sayid could see that it was in trouble. It was flying fast and diving towards them at an angle that would crash it straight into the Island. He saw Hurley grow still as he too realized what was happening, and they both watched silently, arms by their sides, as the plane came sharply into view.

It was a type of plane Sayid had never seen before, with two wide arms curving inwards and a cylinder-shaped cockpit that didn't look particularly aerodynamic. It was going to crash, making a low screeching sound that grew steadily louder as it hurtled towards the beach. Sayid quickly calculated the distance. At this rate it would only miss their camp by about fifty yards, but at least they didn't have to worry about it killing them all. He was wondering if the pilot was even alive inside there when suddenly the plane changed course, dipping slightly to the side and then taking a sharp nose dive straight into the sea. He heard a gasp from Hurley and the others as they all watched it plunge into the water.

There was silence.

'Man, that sucks.' Hurley shook his head. Sayid could feel the numb shock of the rest of the survivors as they looked at the spot where the plane had gone down. The sea was too deep so there was no chance of swimming out there and taking a look. Even if they'd had Desmond's boat… suddenly a roaring sound filled his ears, and in front of them the sea turned into a seething mass as a huge gray monster reared up out of surf in front of them. They scattered as it tore its way through water and sand, its huge bulk cutting into the beach. Sayid flung himself to the side, watching as the beast's momentum carried it up towards the tree line, grinding itself into the sand until it finally came to a halt at the edge of the jungle.

It didn't take long for Sayid to realize that it was the plane, the same one they'd just seen. It must have flown under the water and then scraped up the beach. He ran up the sand and into his tent, grabbing the gun from where he had hidden it and racing back towards the plane. Hurley and Charlie were already there. It was almost completely buried, with only the rear section showing gray above the yellow of the sand. The back of the plane was just a curve. The whole thing looked strange and slightly sinister. Something about it made Sayid wary. He'd been caught out one time too many. This time he was going to be more careful.

'Should we try and dig it out?' Charlie began to climb up onto the top of the cockpit.

'Wait!' Sayid held him back, 'We don't know what it is or who sent it. For all we know it might be rigged.'

'Oh c'mon, Sayid, there must be a pilot in there, we need to get him out!' Charlie pulled away and started pushing the sand away from the top. Hurley scrambled up to join him. Sayid took a deep breath. Charlie was right. He was getting too jumpy. They had to get the pilot out.

They took turns digging. The drama of the stricken plane had attracted people from the beach camp that Sayid had barely seen before and had certainly never bothered speaking to. They were keen at first, eager to find the pilot and see if there was any hope of rescue. But after an hour of fruitless digging most of them got tired and gave up, drifting back to the camp to eat and wait and watch for the faithful few to complete the task and save the pilot.

They had all become too reliant on too few, Sayid thought bitterly.

The light was beginning to fade by the time they had uncovered the top section of the cockpit. It was made of some sort of molded metal or plastic combination that seemed immensely strong, like a resin of some sort. After a while there was just Sayid, Charlie, Hurley, Jin and some guy they all called Frogurt. They worked hard piling the sand away, lighting torches and sticking them into the ground when the light faded. It wasn't long before the clouds building on the horizon shut out the last of the light from the evening sun and it became so dark that even with the torches they could barely see what they were doing. As the first drops began to fall, they were still searching for some sort of door, but they couldn't see any way in or out of the cylindrical cockpit. They had dug down to a thin strip that seemed to serve as a windshield, but it was only a few inches high and no one was getting in or out of there. They tried shining the light from one of the torches, but all that met them was an inky blackness. It was either too dark or there was some sort of seal on it. When the rain started to pelt down on them the diggers called it a night and left Sayid keeping watch, nursing his pistol in front of him.

00000

'Give me those coordinates.'

Gaeta handed the paper to Adama.

'Where did he get them?'

'He didn't say, sir.'

Adama grunted. He guessed this was Faraday's doing. And he guessed it was a trap. Apollo must have had the same thought, or why else would he have left his ECO behind? His son knew fine well it was a suicide mission, but typical of Lee, he still had to try. And typical of Lee, he hadn't told him what he was planning. Instead Apollo had left him waiting eight hours until the end of his shift to figure out why he hadn't shown. Adama controlled the expression on his face while he crumpled the paper tightly in his fist.

'How long has he been gone?'

'The Chief said he took the Raptor out about eight hours ago. What you want to do, send someone out after him?'

'Dee, send a Raptor out to each of those coordinates.'

'What if it's a trap?' Tigh squinted up at the Dradus monitor.

'Then they'll have to jump the hell out of there. Fast.' Tigh grunted and nervously pulled at the collar of his uniform.

Of course it was a trap. And of course it was just a matter of time…

For the next two hours they barely spoke. Adama brushed off the increasingly anxious comments from Colonel Tigh while keeping his own nerves in check. He felt blinded – blinded by concern for his son to the point where nothing else seemed to matter. Apollo had been right of course, nothing was served by risking any more. But he couldn't just do nothing and leave him behind. Faraday's plan must have been to lure Galactica to those coordinates and, by going himself, Apollo had made sure that the risk to Galactica was minimal. They had to find him. Bring him back.

Adama stood silently in the CIC waiting for the Raptors to come back in one by one.

'That's the last of the Raptors returned, Sir. None of them report seeing anything. No sign of debris, and no sign of Apollo.'

'You think he's been captured?' Tigh voiced the question in Adama's own mind.

Adama didn't say anything.

'If Apollo's been captured then they'll have our position. I recommend we jump to a different sector.'

'No. We stay right here.'

'But Bill…'

'You heard me, Colonel.'

'Yes Sir.'

After another six hours the slither of hope Adama had been nursing somehow found its way into his heart. He had never liked the waiting. It made him feel impotent. It was the one aspect of being a commander that he had found hardest to adjust to. But he had gotten used to it in time. And now, now he couldn't bear it, couldn't stand it, couldn't make himself look at one more blip on the Dradus screen knowing that each slow hour strangled the life out of his chances of ever seeing his son again. Even after the Raptors had returned, he still imagined that perhaps Lee had chosen to carry on with the rest of that day's flight schedule. That would be like him. But now Apollo's shift was long over and now there was no reason for him to be out there.

It had been sixteen hours.

And now Adama was waiting like some foolish old man who refused to go to bed because his son had just died and he couldn't bear the thought of waking up the next morning and knowing it would still be true.

Apollo had gone and he had better get used to it.

When he finally dragged himself to his quarters he grabbed a bottle from his liquor cabinet, poured himself a glass and downed it in one. The second and third did nothing to numb the pain, but by the time he'd made his way through half the bottle the rawness of it was beginning to blur a little. Apollo wasn't coming back. Adama sat in his chair, bottle in hand, looking at the picture of Zak and Lee on his desk. Both gone now. Both gone and there wasn't a godsdamn thing could do about it.

The marines outside the Brig snapped to attention the moment they saw him, pushing open the hatch door for him as he blundered inside.

'Give me your sidearm.' The guard hesitated, then snapped to attention and handed him the gun.

'Now get out.' The guard shot a quick, frightened glance toward the prisoners before he left, closing the heavy hatch door behind him.

The Brig was dark after the brightness of the corridor. Adama held the gun gently in both hands, turning it over, feeling the metal hard and cold, savoring the familiar weight of it. The cells were dark and both prisoners appeared to be asleep. He automatically checked the chamber, gently clicking off the safety catch. He didn't look up, but gave all his attention to the solid lump in his hands. The combination of liquor and tiredness had left his thinking woolly and his emotions raw.

He could end this now.

With one sharp ragged breath he stepped forward towards Faraday's cell, arms by his side, the gun pointing at the floor. He stood swaying, staring daggers at the sleeping form of the prisoner in front of him. Then he pulled the gun up to shoulder height, aiming it square at Faraday's head.

He stood there a long time, his uneven breathing rasping around the cells. He didn't move. Apart from the sounds of his own breathing and the frantic thumping of his heart, the room was perfectly quiet and still. Almost peaceful. He imagined how loud the gun would sound when it went off. It would shatter everything, it would probably shatter him too. And he couldn't afford to be shattered, not right now. Not when his crew still needed him.

With an effort he let his arm drop back to his sides, his eyes never leaving the prisoner, his hands clenched tight on the gun's handle. He felt his whole body shaking with the urge to just point the damn thing right at that frakking head and pull the trigger. It would all be so quick and so easily.

But he knew about quick and easy deaths that happened so fast but then couldn't be undone later. This wasn't the time for this. He let out the breath he'd been holding and clicked the safety back on, turning awkwardly as he took two steps back to lay the gun carefully on the guard's table. Then he hammered loudly on the door, barely waiting for it to be opened before pushing blindly past the surprised marine like a drowning man gasping for air.

Laura Roslin was sleeping when he found himself in sickbay. He hadn't chosen to come here, he'd just wandered the corridors and suddenly here he was. He took a chair and sat quietly by her bed. He was trying not to wake her, but he sat down awkwardly and knocked his knee into the edge of her mattress. She stirred and opened her eyes.

'Commander Adama?' She squinted in the light, looking surprised and curious. She looked beautiful. Her hair was cascading over the pillow and it made him want to reach out and touch it. He wanted to bury his face in it, lose himself in it, breath in her scent and her softness, feel himself enfolded inside her.

"Bill?" her tone pulled his eyes up to hers.

'Laura.' His voice was rasping but he'd said it. He'd said her name.

'You're drunk,' she commented. 'Are you here to take me back to the Brig?' she gazed at him quizzically, her eyes still full of sleep.

'No.' His heart lurched when he remembered the darkness and the prisoner lying there and the gun that almost went off. He wouldn't let her go back there. That place was tainted.

Her eyes were searching his face now, 'Is anything wrong?' she touched his hand briefly and he felt a jolt as her fingers brushed the back of his hand. It was almost his undoing. The tears welled up inside him, threatening to spill out like a tidal surge.

'Bill, what is it?'

He shook his head, his defenses were blurring and his mind scattering in a chaos of tiredness and alcohol. Suddenly the hard knot in his belly turned into a racking sob. He caught the sound and tried to stifle it, the grief pounding his chest so hard that he couldn't breathe.

She sat up.

'It's Apollo, isn't it?' The words cut right through him, searing him in half. With an effort he nodded. He was broken. Shattered. He finally let his head fall onto her lap, the sobs wringing out of him.

'Oh, Bill. I'm so, so sorry.' She whispered the words over and over, holding onto him like a small child and gently stroking his head as she cradled his face in her hands. She kept him together as the grief tore him apart, ripping its way through his body and out into her lap.

Eventually he fell asleep, his arms clutched frantically around her waist and his head still leaning into her.

Hours later he woke up, still bent over the bed with his head in her lap and her arms surrounding him. She was asleep, propped up against the back of the bed. She looked so peaceful. He tried not to waken her as he gently disentangled himself from her embrace and stood up, ignoring the looks of the medical staff as he lumbered out of sickbay and back to his own quarters.