Auld Lang Syne

And there's a hand my trusty friend !
And give us a hand o' thine !
And we'll take a right good-will draught,
for auld lang syne.

- Robert Burns

Chapter Three

Sayid passed by Sawyer's hut. Just as he had done the last three days, he kept his head bent and walked rapidly, but the defensive posture did not spare him now. Sawyer stepped directly in his path. Sayid came to a halt and raised his head deliberately. His eyes spoke only a casual annoyance, but the darkening edges suggested there was opportunity for grander aggravation.

Sawyer did not let the occasion pass unexploited. "Sooooo, you've been avoiding me. But I see you've moved in with Claire." He tapped his forehead. "I'm perceptive that way." Then he ran his tongue over his lips in amusement. "So, when you gonna pop the question?"

Pop. Verb. To make a short, sharp, explosive sound. Clearly that was not Sawyer's meaning. Pop. Verb. To move quickly or unexpectedly. "Pop the question," then, must mean to issue an unexpected question. No, not a question, the question. The was the operative word here. Pop the question –

"And why," Sawyer said with forced gravity, attempting to mimic Sayid's accent but failing to suppress his own, "have you failed to make matters official?"

"I moved into Claire's hut this week," he answered tightly. "I did not impregnate her a year ago." Had he just said that? Why was he attempting to enter into any such conversation with Sawyer?

The truth was that Sayid had already begun to plan for his proposal. However, he wasn't about to reveal that to Sawyer, who probably would have been quite surprised to learn of his intentions. Feint left. Walk on.

Sawyer repaid Sayid's accusation with a snicker. "Well, it's only a matter of time before you do, don't you think? I mean, we ain't got anymore pro-phy-lac-tics." He seemed to like annunciating that word, as if he were a child impressed by his own vocabulary. "I mean, if your boys can swim."

Boys. Swim. Simple words, but even an encyclopedic brain could only piece together so much in the midst of a moment of irritation.

Sawyer's next line made his meaning clear enough: "We already know she can breed."

Sayid wasn't sure when he clenched his fist, or when he raised it, but he was conscious by the time Sawyer's head was snapping back, and he certainly saw the man rubbing the welt that was growing on his cheek and feeling his nose to make sure it hadn't been broken. "What was that for?" the southerner complained.

"What do you mean what was that for? You insulted --" Syid gritted his teeth and walked on, which is what, he rebuked himself, he should have done in the first place.

"Hey!" Sawyer called after him. "Can't we all just get along?"

Sayid expected those to be the last words he allowed himself to hear from Sawyer today, but to his surprise the man joined him at his wood chopping task later that afternoon. The southerner was silent for quite awhile; Sayid thought that perhaps his glower was successfully keeping the provocateur at bay. So when Sawyer eventually approached, he could feel his frame tensing, readying itself for any necessary response.

"Look…uh…Sayid…" Sawyer said, swinging his axe just above the ground and looking anywhere and everywhere but at the Iraqi. "Earlier today. I was just joking around." When Sayid did not accept the pseudo-apology, Sawyer said, simply, "I was out of line. I would of hit you too. Truce?"

Sayid regarded him wearily but nodded nonetheless. Sawyer returned to chopping. Sayid glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. The man didn't seem to have an ulterior motive. If he had been anything other than sincere, Sayid could not perceive it. Perhaps Kate was having a gradual but permanent positive influence on her husband. Sayid shook his head reflexively. Positive, yes. Permanent, unlikely.

After a time of silent laboring, Sawyer tested the waters. "Hurley give you any tasks for the New Year's party?" He couldn't quite stop himself from at least one innocent jibe, however. "I mean, aside from persuading Claire to make her scrumptious berry sauce."

"No."

"I'm supplying the products for adult consumption. I've been fermenting my barrels for awhile now. They should be just about perfect."

"I have always said your talents were indispensable to society. I do not know why the populace continues to pass you over every time you make a bid for council." The council of six was elected every six months. Sayid had thought the frequency of elections to be unwise and disruptive, but a people accustomed to tumultuous times and rapid change had preferred possessing the power to alter quickly over maintaining stability through more lasting fixtures. In practice, the slate had not changed after the second election. Sayid, Kate, Locke, Hurley, Rose, and Eko had continued to serve since the council's inception.

"I've never tried to get on the council!" Sawyer insisted, brushing away his unruly bangs. "Not the first time we had elections and not the second."

Sayid shrugged. "Your wife nominated you last time."

"That was her doing. It had nothing to do with me. Nothing. I wouldn't have served even if I'd a been elected."

"Indeed," murmured Sayid, not quite suppressing his smile. "Indeed."