Author's Beginning Notes: Although the plot is of course the main focus, this fanfiction does contain hints of the pairings of Sayid/Shannon, Claire/Charlie, Sawyer/Kate, and even more subtly the unconventional couple of Claire/Sawyer. I hope you enjoy the story, and please leave a review; feedback is always greatly appreciated. Also, the story is in continuity with my other Lost fic, "Too Slow."
Summary: (A one-shot set during "For the Greater Good," before Sayid talked to Locke about the hatch.) Sayid spies on the "little island family"--Claire, Charlie, Sawyer, and Turniphead during reading hour.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or Watership Down.
The Island Bunch
Sayid felt like going on another "walkabout," but was concerned over coming across a bizarre and disturbing island revelation once more, as well as the simple fact that he did not possess the energy to deal with another sympathetic psycho. (The Iraqi qas aware that his critique of Danielle was harsher than usual, but he could realize it was just because he was on edge currently; thus, Sayid paid it little mind.) Instead, the man opted to hide behind a tree and do some snooping of his fellow castaways. Either way he chose to spend his time for the moment, Sayid felt foolish.
Only a few minutes ago the Iraqi had been walking aimlessly about, feeling rather numb over the recent ordeal, continuously playing the event over and over in his mind, turning it around frequently and looking at it from different angles: Shannon had tried to murder Locke, Sayid had stopped her; it was the most basic interpretation, devoid of all emotional entanglements, purely cold-hard logic, a frame of mind the Iraqi had spent years trying to escape. Sayid had learned long ago that cold-hard logic equals no limits, and no limits equals beyond morals, so torture was perfectly fine; it was logical after all, in its own way...
Interrupting his mental examination, Sayid had heard Sawyer speaking, although his tone was decidedly different from what it normally was--it sounded strained, almost dripping with anxiety--as well as the content--something about cars--and instantly drawing the Iraqi's curiosity. The man had immediately followed the Southerner's voice, already deciding that he would not engage Sawyer in an actual conversation or anything, but simply observe him from afar; Sayid was still not in the mood to use his own voice. Thus, the man had silently slipped behind a nearby, gnarled tree, his naturally dark colors blending in well with the shadows, and found that Sawyer was not alone. The Iraqi would've undersood Kate being in the company of the Southerner, or even Jack, but Charlie and Claire and her little Turniphead? (Charlie's nickname for the young babe had spread like wild fire, and although Syaid was loathed to admit it, the name had stuck with him as well.) And yet, there they all were, with Sawyer reading to them from a thin magazine. About cars. The scene was so surreal, Sayid felt it should be in some sort of abstract painting. Actually, with further consideration, Sayid decided that many scenes here on this godforsaken island deserved to be included in abstract artworks.
The corners of his dark face actually lifted into a small smile at the sight of Sawyer wearing the glasses he had crafted, and Sayid felt surprise; the Iraqi had been certain he wouldn't be smiling for a long time. Sayid wondered idly if Sawyer felt the glasses were a planned prank on him...actually, the lopsided appearance was simply a joyful bonus; after Jack went through all the available glasses on the island, the Iraqi had volunteered to make a pair himself, knowing that the only alternative was to mix and match the lenses of said glasses to find the right combination that would suit the Southerner; cold-hard logic had taken over then, despite Sayid's distrust of it, and he had allowed his mind to become one-track then as well, obsessively and single-mindedly determined. Only after had he completed the pair for Sawyer, did he get the joke, and Sayid still remembered how much he laughed that day in private.
The man couldn't help but be impressed at how thin Claire had gotten after the baby had finally arrived; he wondered if his amazement was ill-placed, if Claire's abrupt thinness was natural for pregnancy, which was highly possible, since he was still maddeningly naive about that particular subject. Sayid felt rather relieved to see the young Australian girl truly happy again; he hadn't seen her like that since the abduction... Her infant son, swaddled in blue blankets held in Charlie's protective arms, was truly a blessing and a miracle, that thought finally registering with Sayid. When Claire had gone missing, a whisper had always slithered in the back of the Iraqi's mind, always foretelling the sight of a limp, small form, with soft and deathly pale skin, a little still-born. It was such a triumph to have that whisper silenced, to see this child's chest move to a beating heart, as he remained huddled against the musician's body, apparently entranced, but by what?
It took a full minute for Sayid to realize that it was the Southerner's voice entrancing Turniphead, and he mentally beat himself up for being so slow to make that connection. He had finally reached that conclusion once he noticed that when Sawyer stumbled on the words into silence; Charlie's bundle would begin to move as Turniphead fussed, a soft and shrill cry drifting from his lips; then the musician would anxiously tell the Southerner "keep going," and once he did, the infant grew quiet again, his small eyes lazily gazing at the man whose voice was so soothing to him. For a few minutes this progressed, Sawyer's reading fo cars to young Turniphead, Charlie occasionally saying "keep going" whenever the need arose, Claire's hand placed gently on her son's head, a brilliant simle on her face, and all Sayid could do was mentally chuckle at the unexpected twist fo the Southerner's voice actually being soothing to someone, let alone a baby.
Then, Sawyer's reading abruptly broke off as he slammed the magazine shut, and Sayid was sure that the Southerner had grown impatient and would desert Turniphead; Charlie thought the same, as he once mores said "keep going," but this time louder and desperate-sounding. Sawyer surprised both men when he reached into a nearby bag, pulling out a worn and tattered paperback novel, and opening it with emphasis to make his point; all the while, a look had been in his cold blue eyes, clearly saying these unspoken words: "Relax, you VH1 Reject, I'm pulling out proper reading for hte kid." Sayid noted with little interest that he had never really known a man so well that he could predict his words without a single doubt.
Sawyer was extremely gentle with the book, and seemed almost melancholic and foreboding over it, and Sayid wondered why until he spotted the rabbit on the cover, and its title, Watership Down; Boone's book. The Iraqi had expected hot, irrational rage to boil in his chest, or at the very least typical annoyance, but all he felt was the same melancholy and foreboding that Sawyer did. He knew the Southerner would soon return the book to Shannon, and Sayid made up his mind to tell him later not to bother; a while ago, he and her had ended up talking about Watership Down, and Shannon had told Sayid that Sawyer was better off with the novel than Boone was anyway, since her brother had never taken nearly as much interest in the story as the Southerner did, and seemed almost wary of the book for some reason; Shannon had mentioned that Boone's wariness might have something to do with an old nanny of his, Teresa, who had given Watership Down to him in the first place.
Claire's voice broke both the Southerner and the Iraqi out of their melancholy.
"Oh yeah, Watership Down, I remember seeing you with that book all thte time earlier, before you finally finished it. It's a good read, eh?"
"You've read it," asked Sawyer while he tried to hide the excited interest in his voice, and failing miserably; Sayid could only guess that the Southerner had been craving to discuss the novel with someone. (Shannon had not been the only one to notice that Sawyer had been quite fond of the book. Actually, it was rather obvious to anyone with eyes.) Turniphead, who had started to fuss when the Southerner had been replacing the magazine with a novel, started to calm down once more at the man's words.
"Uh huh, it's one of my favorites," answered Claire eagerly, and the Iraqi wondered if she too had been craving to discuss the book with someone as well. "I didn't read it myself at first; when I was little, mom would read at least one chapter of the book to me as a bedtime story every night, right before dad would sing me a lullaby..." The Australian's voice drifted off then into a broken whisper, her blue eyes clouding over, and Sayid noted the reluctant understanding on Sawyer's face.
"I remember my brother read it once for some book report or other," Charlie commented as he valiantly tried himself to stop Turniphead's fussing, which had started up again. "Never read it myself though." The musician's attempts were of course futile.
"Oh, you'll love it Charlie," assured Claire, and that was apparently Sawyer's cue to start reading. "Part 1: The Journey," the Southerner began, his words making memories of hanging upside down in the night rise up in Sayid's mind.
"Chapter 1: The Notice Board. The primroses were over. Toward the edge of the wood, where the ground became open and sloped down to an old fence and a brambly ditch beyond, only a few fading patches of pale yellow still showed among the dog's mercury and oak-tree roots. On the other side..." It was obvious to the Iraqi how much more calm Sawyer's voice was, comfortable with reading something he himself so enjoyed. He was not the only one; Sayid saw Claire's eyes light up with fond recognition, and as the chapter continued he could see that Charlie was entralled, and little Turniphead--well, he was too young to really recognize the story, only to be soothed by the Southerner's voice, and he began to look rather sleepy. Even Sayid had to admit his interest was quirked; the Iraqi was fascinated by the further detail in the footnotes Sawyer read concerning rabbit culture, and Hazel rather reminded him of Jack, so there was a sense of familiarity, and Fiver was quite endearing, especially with his apparent gift of a sixth sense with so much mystery hanging about it, and the cliffhanger at the end was quite hooking.
"Hey, kid's asleep," Sawyer remarked once he had flipped to chapter 2.
"You're right," replied Claire and Charlie simultaneously, and Sayid had to choke back a laugh. he also had to resist spouting a cliched "awww" at observing Turniphad sleep, his small eyes softly closed, a look of complete peace over his face, and in that moment Sayid could see all too clearly he was his Mother's son.
"Well, c'mon, keep reading, can't leave us in suspense," Charlie said as he hugged Turniphead closer to him, and Sayid gave his support; he really wanted to know what was next for Fiver and Hazel.
"I will...tomorrow," Sawyer replied with a sly smirk on his face that infuriated Sayid to no end as the Southerner swiftly put Watership Down away.
"Tomorrow!" Charlie was pretty much being Sayid's voice at this point. "But--"
"Tomorrow." The musician was blushing an astonishing shade of red, and his eyes were so wide after Claire had spoken as her lithe finger was placed against his lips in the universal sign of silence. Sayid had to admit, Charlie's crush was rather cute to watch from time to time here on the island, and he had a creeping suspicion that the musician desperately wanted to slip out his tongue and lick Claire's finger right now at this point.
"Sawyer can read to us pieces of Watership Down every night until it's done, just like my mother did." The Australian's smile was more persuading than her words, and Charlie nodded in agreement, his eyes looking rather dazed with hypnotizing love. Sayid wondered if Claire noticed the musician's infatuation with her; Sawyer certainly did, who was currently rolling his eyes behind their backs.
Charlie's blush deepened as Claire gave him a quick kiss on the cheek with her eyes delicately closed; Sayid was surprised by something so forward, but his faw practically hit the sand as the Australian went to Sawyer and kissed him on the cheek before he could react, and his whole face turned a crimson that was much deeper than Charlie's, whose jaw had also hit the sand as well. However, in retrospect, it was worth it for Sayid to see Sawyer all flustered and embarrassed over a small peck on the cheek. Ladies' man indeed, thought the Iraqi with a mental snort; perhaps all of Sawyer's flirtatious taunts were just him being playful.
"Thank you gentlemen for taking such good care of my son," Claire replied in a mock-formal tone as she gently took Turniphead from Charlie's arms, which were still rather loose from shock. "G'night you guys," said Claire much more casually, and she was off, softly humming a tune Sayid could not recognize as she padded down the coast with Turniphead held close to her chest. The Southerner and the musician and Sayid himself just gawked at the Australian's retreating back until she faded into the distance amongst a crowd of miscellaneous castaways.
"...Thanks a lot Sawyer, couldn't have handled Turniphead without you," Charlie spoke up, finally breaking the awkward silence left in the Australian's wake. Sayid mentally patted Charlie on the back for the total lack of jealousy he detected in his voice, but his mental hand paused once he considered that perhaps the musician was still in shock, and hadn't really made the connection that Claire kissed the Southerner too. Inwardly, the Iraqi groaned at the thought of another love triangle on the island, and grew annoyed that Sawyer had entangled himself in more trouble. However, on further reflection, Sayid deemed he was reading way too much into that kiss.
Sawyer was quiet for a few seconds with a stern and thoughtful expression on his face, as if pondering his response. "You chased me." Charlie twitched uncomfortably in embarrassment, and the Iraqi's ears quirked, extremely interested.
"You actually made me break out into a run. Any idea how many spectators we gathered? Any idea how much material we gave them for tomorrow's 'island gossip?' I leapt over the freaking raft and you still came after me; even passing a naked Betty during her bathtime didn't distract you,' the Southerner finished his amusing recap wiht a light chuckle as the musician turned red, a much darker tone than recently, and Sayid blushed as well at the thought of Sun completely bare of garments and soaking wet...
"Yeah, sorry 'bout that," Charlie began unsteadily with his face still red as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Guess there was a better way to convince you--"
"You think," asked Sawyer sarcastically, but there was none of the usual malice; the musician rubbed his nekc more rapidly. "Still, compared to other methods of persuasion I've had the pleasure of going through, yours was downright civil." Charlie stopped rubbing his nekc in embarrassment and looked curiously at the Southerner, while the Iraqi remembered Sawyer's screams echoing about the jungle, the feel of his trembling fingers as he ruined them, the gall of the man to actually make his trademark quips during a brief reprieve... Sayid shut his eyes, and shuddered.
"Well, reading hour's over." That was the Southerner implying his desire for some solitude, the Iraqi dully noted while he repressed his shudder.
"Yeah, o.k. 'Til tomorrow then?" Charlie there, and Sayid still having trouble suppressing his shudder, and his stomach now feeling rather squeamish.
"Yeah, yeah," Sawyer replied while he waved his hand flippantly in the universal gesture of 'shoo,' already turning his back to the musician, who simply smiled. In a few minutes Charlie was gone as well, and it was just Sawyer and Sayid now, although the Southerner was completely unaware. When the Iraqi had finally regained his composure, he froze, for Sawyer had frozen as well when his eyes had paused on his figure, finally spottinghim, although it took a few seconds for recognition to light up in his blue eyes. For what seemed like an eternity, boht men just remained still while they gawked at each other, Sawyer finally breaking it up with a rather uncertain gesture of his arm that invited the Iraqi to join him.
Sayid truly began considering accepting the invitation, but the Southerner's screams began echoing in his mind again, and he quickly shook his head quite clearly in the universal symbol of 'no,' and immediately left without a single word, his sole focus on John Locke. The Iraqi had noticed earlier the man's lie, and had told himself to deal with it later, which he figured now was a good a time as any. As he headed for Locke, Sayid passed Claire, who was fast asleep with Turniphead nestled in her arms, but her own blanket was slipped partly on the sand; backtracking a bit, the Iraqi silently bent down and gently covered the Australian more efficiently. As he stood up, Sayid caught the eye of a nearby Shannon, and he was seized by the sudden urge to run up to her and cradle her and never let go. The man shoved the desired down into the soles of his feet, and he completely forgot about it once he was in front of Locke, but he hid the image of Claire, Charlie, Sawyer, and little Turniphead--the budding island family--behind lock and key in his heart, and forever it remained with him until his ending days.
Fin
Author's Ending Notes: Thank you so much for reading this stoyr, and I hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a review; feedback is always greatly appreciated. Also, Sawyer's dialogue regarding his reading of Watership Down are direct excerpts from the book, a book I highly recommend all to read; it's really good, the plot solid and the characters fascinating, and I am so thankful to Lost and Sawyer for introducing the novel to me. Also, I hope I was successful in subtly showing that Sayid and Sawyer are warming up more to each other, no longer holding animosity but a strained civility.