The Path of El-ahrairah
By Jillian
(Disclaimer: I wrote this on a fancy. The characters are not mine and, even as many times as I've read it, I can't claim Richard Adams' Watership Down either. You don't need to read the book to understand the gist of the fanfic… although, you won't understand the title unless you have. Fair trade? Essentially, this is a speculative future fic, which promises to be completely unraveled upon seeing the next new episode of LOST. Which didn't really concern me. Fanfiction is a playground, yes? Sayid POV. Post-Whatever the Case May Be.)
Jack had asked him to come up with a plan.
During their sixteen months on the island, they had learned which skills from their previous lives were still useful and which didn't mean anything. Practically, in the beginning, Sayid knew his skills with electronics were to be categorized as 'survival necessity.' He thought back fondly on his first trek into the jungle and the lush green valley beyond the incline at the narrow end from what had once been a full beach. He knew that valley well. In the end it was the map in his head that was of greater value, not the electronics that were easily broken and failed without a power source.
"Would you like more?"
Sayid looked up from where he was sitting on a tattered plane seat at the front of the cave that stored their tools and other equipment. He had been keeping his hands busy sharpening Locke's knives. They could never keep them sharp enough.
Boone had spoken. The boy had been hovering just outside the glow of the fire. He would pace for a few steps making the most noise of any of them before pulling up short and staring at Sawyer again.
On a sideways log, Sawyer sat closer to the fire, a dish of meat balanced on one knee and cup in his hand. His words were low and not unlike the first growl that Vincent would make when upset, "I'm not exactly hungry tonight to stomach what you call cooking, Bright Eyes."
"Thanks, no." Sitting next to Sawyer, Jack lifted a hand to send Boone away. The boy took a deep breath, and in proper daylight Sayid knew the deepness of red that could cross Boone's cheeks when he lost his temper. At the same time, Boone would never resist Jack's authority. His debt to Jack was too great and too obvious to forget. The snapping twigs under Boone's feet were the only protest they would hear that night. Even Boone had learned the necessity of walking quietly on the island.
"Perhaps our resident rock star," Sawyer slurred the last words and looked around, "Could strum off a tune for us tonight?" Sawyer's voice carried an edge of his old spirit. He put the untouched dinner on the ground and tilted his head to find Charlie sitting with his back against a tree.
Jack started to speak, sitting up straighter and using both of his hands to shift the leg he had so carefully set out before him. Sayid knew that, as much as he was capable, Jack had been hiding how the old injury bothered him, "I don't know if that's such a good…"
"Aw hell, Doc," Sawyer protested turning his head toward Jack wildly enough that his hair started to spin free from the broken shoelace he used to tie it back, "I think if I want to hear a song tonight, then I should be able to hear a song."
"Maybe something cheerful," Jack suggested while Charlie hovered waiting for direction.
"Something dark," Sawyer said, "Something suited for an evening like this."
Charlie crawled up, "Something dark. I think I can manage that." He walked past them to retrieve his guitar giving them an imitation of his smile and a curt nod on the way.
"Sawyer," Jack spoke, and Sayid resumed running the blade against the sharpening stone. He didn't have to hear the words to know the tone and inflections of Jack's communication. More than once Sayid would catch Jack and Sawyer walking together with only one topic of conversation. Jack using a walking stick to assist his rolling gate looking more and more like his namesake. Sawyer subtly matched pace and listening with a determined expression replacing his characteristic and sarcastic stubbornness.
Everyone had become desperate after Kate disappeared.
Jack had asked him to come up with a plan.
Sawyer had seen the irony right away, "I should never have let anyone else read that book." His chin had dropped, and, with some seriousness, he had wiped his hands across his chest and stomach leaving unnerving stains of boar's blood and entrails, "So, Blackberry, how far are we going to take this plan of yours?"
Sayid did not know the song that Charlie played. He had seldom allowed himself to enjoy listening to music before so that he wasn't certain if he did enjoy music at all. Except that some spirit of peace did descend upon them when Charlie played. Or when Shannon sang.
Shannon had proved to be quite fond of singing and, once she'd disregarded a few of her presuppositions as to what she should and shouldn't do, had led a few of them in rousing choruses as they maintained their daily needs around camp. Boone couldn't sing, but often whistled along while wringing out the laundry and tossing it over for Shannon to put on the line. He had been whistling the day that they lost Shannon. Carefree and careless for one unguarded moment when making a short distance patrol. Ethan had left the boy to die on the trail with the unused gun in his hands. Except that Jack had determined to have regular and accounted for patrols.
He had to admit feeling Shannon's disappearance had wounded whatever sentimental daydreams that Sayid had about life on the island.
"I am sorry about your loss." He had offered, putting a hand on Boone's shoulder. He had tortured Sawyer for Shannon's inhalers. His motivations had been interwoven with disgust at his failings with the transceiver and recklessly cast blame as far as his own attacker. Nonetheless, from all the confusion, he remembered how seeing that through Shannon's struggle to breathe and Boone's helplessness how they stayed together and that had abstractly initiated an endearment to them.
"Yeah, what do you know about loss?" Boone had reacted badly, unable to hide the lightning bolt sparkle of the tear that escaped down his cheek.
"More than you know," Sayid had sat down as Boone's façade began to peel away like an old sunburn leaving them both feeling a little raw underneath. Sayid had recalled an old story of a time he pulled himself up from the mud, his shirtsleeves still trailing in the puddle. His ears had been full of the other children in the neighborhood shouting and encouraging his mistreatment until he felt the splash of additional mud striking upwards to his face. Then he'd heard a voice breaking through the shouting. Nadia's brother, Harun, sprawled on his back and arms spread wide saying, "You see? How she treats even her own brother!" How often does humankind misrepresent love?
At that time, Jack had sent Locke to learn what he could. The hunter was only too happy to investigate and Boone did not volunteer to go with him. Sayid knew some tension sat between them that had never been spoken. Locke, for his part, had always been too good at discerning and taking advantage of opportunities and weaknesses.
The minor victories they felt at fighting off an infiltration attempt one night had diminished the subsequent evening when Locke returned with an ear missing, several teeth gone, and broken wrists where he'd broken free.
Jack had learned some wisdom when to dismiss the futility of holding all leadership responsibilities and when to simply be a doctor with a vision. Which was why he sent Locke first. And why he had shared Locke's information with Sayid.
Jack had asked him to come up with a plan.
A few months before, Sayid had to wave Sawyer away several times after Sayid made the mistake of asking if he could read Sawyer's book. They all struggled with balancing the overwhelming terror that demanded they be doing something and the resignation that when life was short one should enjoy some part of it. Sawyer obviously wanted to share the experience by talking about the book so much that Sayid took to hiding in order to read in peace. Although, he couldn't resist baiting the blonde man who seemed to somehow enjoy the rugged outlook on life, "Americans and their insecurities so that they have to use cute little bunnies to defend their politics."
"It's not just about politics! And the bunnies aren't cute," Sawyer had stood up, posturing and glowering. Jack, who'd been chewing his food slowly to make it last pulled Sawyer by his shirttails back into his seat.
They had become an interesting inner circle. Sawyer worn down so that he listened when Jack gave advice. Sayid himself brought his findings of the geography of the island to Jack and the plan to arrange regular surveillance to guard the camp. The decision was still painfully ironic, as at that early point, Sayid still could recall the momentary expression of despair on Shannon's face before she declared, "Whatever!" and flung her hands up in exacerbation. Danielle had managed to steal back her maps.
No one was ever to be allowed to break into the camp again. Sayid heard the story second hand when Sawyer and Kate returned from the first wide patrol.
Kate had simply returned her gun saying, "He had nothing on him that was useful. And, Sawyer only used one shot."
"Got it right the first time," Sawyer boasted, thinly seeking Jack's approval. Time was wearing down the animosity of those with a common enemy.
Jack had nodded, accepting Sawyer's gun as well placing it back in the case for the next patrol, "Thank you."
"Oh, did you hear that?" Sawyer had pushed his arms out in a stretch, not unlike a cat with the pleased smile on his face.
Sayid shook his head. He had been slipped too far back in his memories. Kate was gone. Shannon. Others who's names he never knew. Jack had asked Hurley for the census list. In conversation, Jack demonstrated that he knew everyone's name.
Which was why Jack was the leader. And Sayid was the go-to man for ideas.
And he had one. A desperate plan formulated from a book Sawyer knew all too well. Which only made Sawyer more suited for the task.
The next day dawn came without rain. Jack was already awake when Sayid made his way over to the remains of the fire and the airplane serving cart they used as a table. Boone already was hefting the gun Jack gave him, "I wanted the power to hold on to the Marshal's gun so badly back then. But now?" He didn't offer the gun back.
Sayid knew how to shoot, he didn't protest the weapon when it was offered; although, he swallowed a sour taste from the back of his throat. Michael appeared from where Jack was leaving the resigned Locke to recover from his injuries. No will power alone would have been enough to enable Locke to move.
"I-I wanted him to look after my kid. Walt likes him and all," Michael said to no one in particular. At his side, Jin had already put his gun under the edge of his pants. Sun had no trouble persuading them that Jin would be an asset. When they realized that only women were being taken, Sun had confessed her ability to speak English, which in turn revealed how to best use Jin's skills for the back up plan. Sayid hoped it didn't come to a back-up plan.
He then studied Sawyer, who would go alone with no weapon. Sayid found himself sentimental and a near ridiculous grin threatened to cross his features.
"I was just waiting for an opportunity to put you into a dangerous situation, Bigwig," Sayid said anticipating a response, "And here it is."
"Yeah, just don't let me down, Blackberry. Because I've got my part down pat," Sawyer pulled his facial muscles as if he'd smelled something unexpected. Then he let himself relax and his eyes sparkled boyishly, "It's all a game of who plays best in the end."
"I think you might be right," Jack lifted his eyebrows at the comment and with the confidence of actually doing something pro-active started away from camp, Sawyer in step at his side. Rolling pace and matched pace.
Sayid watched, and pondered how tragically useless were most of the skills of their previous lives for their current circumstances. And which were unexpectedly cultivated and grown.