Walking back to the motel Sayid turned the events of the day over in his mind. Nadia had done an amazing job with Yasmin. He couldn't imagine how difficult it must have been being the only parent, the only one to be responsible and make decisions. Nadia didn't seem at all resentful, but he still felt the guilt of not being there for them. He thought of how different things would have been if he had been able to find her in London. They would have been a family, and he could have shared the burden. At least Nadia was willing to let him share it now. She said she was glad he was here. For her, for Yasmin, or for both of them he wasn't sure.

Sayid spent Friday morning in the motel looking through the photo album Nadia had given him. Seeing the pictures, watching as Yasmin grew on each page, made him more aware of all he had missed, birthdays and first days of school, a broken arm. How had that happened? All of the events of eight years. There were only a few shots of Yasmin with Nadia. He wondered who had taken those. In those photos, except for the curly hair, Yasmin looked a lot like her mother, but the serious eyes staring out at him from even the happiest pictures were not Nadia's eyes, but his own. It was unsettling.

The motel room seemed empty and he found himself watching the time as the afternoon wore on. He wondered what Yasmin was doing in school. He was anxious to see her again. To see Nadia, too, truthfully. He was glad when six o'clock came and he could get ready to go. He rarely cared about what he wore, but tonight he even ironed his shirt. He wasn't sure who he was trying to impress.

They ordered Chinese food when he arrived, Yasmin's favorite, and ate on the floor in the living room. During dinner he watched the two of them interact. Yasmin told her mother about school and Nadia knew what questions to ask to keep her talking. Being a mother was obviously a natural role for Nadia, while he had no idea how to act, or what to say. He felt like an outsider, even though he knew Nadia's questioning was for his benefit. If he could focus, and listen, he would learn a lot about his daughter. But his thoughts kept drifting to Nadia.

After supper, Yasmin wanted to play checkers. Nadia claimed exhaustion so sat and watched. Sayid stole a glance at her every so often and when their eyes met, she smiled. He won the first game easily, and realized that playing with Walt had not prepared him for games with his own child. He gave Nadia a sheepish grin, backed off his competitive side and led his daughter to win the second and third games. Nadia allowed Yasmin a late night as tomorrow was Saturday, but by the end of the third game she was yawning.

"I think a busy few days is catching up with someone," Nadia said.

"I'm not tired," Yasmin protested.

"Let's get ready for bed anyway, then you can stay up a little while longer if you want."

Yasmin turned to Sayid, "Will you tuck me in?"

Sayid was taken off guard. Just what was involved here? This routine had not been a part of his childhood. His parents had usually been too busy or tired to offer more than a kiss goodnight. He remembered his grandfather telling stories before bed when he was very young, but beyond that, nothing. Yet Yasmin was offering him something, and he knew he needed to take it, no matter how much it terrified him.

"Okay."

Nadia left to help Yasmin get ready for bed. Sayid sat and wondered how he was going to get through this without making a fool of himself. A picture of Sawyer reading the car magazine to Aaron came to mind and he chuckled. He hoped he wouldn't look as out of place as Sawyer had. He didn't think a car magazine would work with his daughter, though. Long before he was ready, Nadia came back into the living room.

"She's waiting for you," she raised her eyebrows as if to say she knew he was nervous, but it was best to get on with it. "You survived a plane crash, I think you'll live through this, " she smiled encouragingly.

When he entered the bedroom, Yasmin was sitting on the edge of the bed swinging her bare feet and staring at the floor. Her braids were gone and her long hair hid her face from him. She looked as uncomfortable as he felt. He sat down on the bed beside her. Maybe it was best to be honest, it had worked yesterday.

"I'm not really sure what to do. How does this work?"

Yasmin looked at him in surprise, then she smiled, "Do you want me to read to you?"

"That would be good," he started to relax a little.

Yasmin hopped off the bed and pulled her bookbag off the hook on the wall. She reached inside and pulled out a book, put it back, and pulled out another. Finally she found what she was looking for. She came back over and jumped back up beside him.

"This one is funny," she told him, "it's about a worm."

She read the first few pages, then looked at him questioningly, "You aren't laughing. Look at the pictures, it's funny...see, he's a worm...'hopscotch is a dan..a dan'...," she stopped.

"Dangerous," he supplied the word, smiling.

"Yeah, dangerous game...see, it's dangerous because he's a worm...he could get squished!" she giggled.

Evidently he didn't understand eight-year-old humor. He listened to the rest of the story and tried to smile at the appropriate times. His timing was off, reacting to her, so he didn't think Yasmin was fooled for a minute, but she didn't act disappointed.

"You read very well," he told her when she had finished.

"I know. That's what Mrs. Crawford says, " she yawned, "Now you should tell me a story." She looked up at him expectantly. This was a challenge.

"What kind of stories do you like?"

"Mama tells me stories about you. Do you know any stories about her?" She yawned again and leaned against him sleepily. This was the closest he had ever been to his daughter. What should he do? Tentatively he put his arm around her. She snuggled in closer. A fierce protectiveness came over him. There was really only one story about Nadia that he could share with a child, withtheir child.

"I know a story," he said, "Do you want to know what she was like when she was a little girl?"

Yasmin looked up and nodded. "Turn the light out first."

Sayid reached over and turned off the light.

Yasmin wiggled under the covers. "What did she do?"

"Well, whenever we played in the neighborhood she used to chase me, and push me down," his daughter's eyes widened in surprise, "she did it almost every day. Once she pushed me in the mud."

"Why?"

"She says it was because I didn't pay any attention to her," he smiled.

"Why not?"

"Why didn't I pay attention to her? I don't know. I was shy, I guess, and she was a girl."

He made a disgusted face and Yasmin giggled. He liked making her laugh.

"Was she pretty?"

'Yes, she was very pretty. Like you."

"But she liked you."

"Yes, I guess she did."

"Did you like her?"

This wasn't what Sayid had planned when he began this story. He thought Yasmin would be asleep by now. Instead she was obviously very interested in this first encounter between her mother and father.

"Yes, but I didn't like being pushed down."

"I wouldn't like that either." Yasmin closed her eyes. "Do you like her now?"

"Yes, I like her now."

"Good."

"You need to go to sleep," he kissed her forehead, "I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"Will you tell me another story?"

At least he would have some time to think of something. "Yes, I'll tell you another story. Goodnight Yasmin."

"Goodnight Daddy."

Sayid froze in the doorway. How could one simple word make his heart beat so fast? He stood for a long time watching her sleep, wondering at all of the emotions that swept over him. He loved her more than he had known was possible. He would do anything to protect this child.