He dozed off and on throughout the night. He realized that his eyes were open when the wall was in front of him, Ana Lucia and John Locke were murmuring behind him, and he could hear Jack lightly snoring. But he could recall periods of none of that and concluded that was sleep. Sleep was heavy, dreamless, and draining.
He was awake when Jack tapped him on the arm. He rolled carefully - the shoulder wound was throbbing again - and allowed Jack to help him to sit. He looked to the wall of sentries as Jack began to examine his hands. John Locke called a greeting and smiled. Ana Lucia was not there.
He was surprised that despite the poor rest, his head felt clearer, his body more sound. He attempted to touch a memory, and was not surprised when he found none. Perhaps he should ask Libby if she knew a solution for amnesia. Perhaps he should drink more water. Eat more soup.
"I want to put a clean dressing on these," said Jack, glancing up from the hands to Sayid's face. "Once we get to the hatch, I'll take at least one of them off so you can be more independent. Well, as much as you can be." He smiled ruefully. "Libby reamed me on that last night. Sorry."
Sayid, disregarding the dread that was building in his chest, lowered his gaze to his hands. He held them out, turning them slowly at the wrists. The sense of soundness, clarity vanished. He could not be sound with these attached to him.
The fingers varied in their swelling but none were unscathed. There were also different degrees of bruising around both sets of knuckles. Cuts, a few deep and oozing from under scabs, and scratches were scattered randomly across the backs and palms, the scratches trailing past his wrist to disappear on his forearms.
They sickened him.
"Sayid."
He blinked and met Jack's concerned eyes. "The swelling is down since yesterday. There's refrigeration at the hatch. We'll get some ice on them there. That'll be a big help. You let me examine them pretty well. Nothing felt broken."
Jack was wrong. There was much that was broken. No sound person could have hands in this condition. No accident could produce such wounds. His throat was closing. He wanted them off. He wanted away from these hands, proof of his soullessness. Claire's words about Shannon experiencing great fright as she died rang in his ears. Bile rose, choking him. He jumped to his feet, his ears roaring, his balance shaky, looking about desperately.
John Locke was at his side, holding a rough hewn bowl.
Sayid emptied his stomach.
It did not take long. He had little to bring up.
"Jack, water." The bald man's voice was very close to his ear.
He realized that his eyes were closed and that the older man was supporting him. Sayid took several deep breaths and pushed away.
"Thank you," he said quietly, lifting his hand to wipe his lips. He stopped, then used his wrist.
"I had a foster mother who insisted on rubbing your back when you were sick like that," replied John Locke. "I couldn't get her to stop it. It never helped me any. I think it made her feel better."
Jack's features were tight with worry. He awkwardly attempted to hand over the bottle of water, then with an exasperated huff put it to Sayid's lips. "Drink," he ordered.
Sayid took a mouthful and pulled away. He spat into the bowl, now at John Locke's feet. He tried using both hands to palm the jug from Jack but the wound in his shoulder made it too painful to lift beyond his waist. He frowned and weakly appealed to Jack for aid. He sipped slowly, eyes closed, ignoring the discomfort the flooded the room.
"I'm beginning to doubt he did kill Shannon. He seems incapable of doing anything alone."
He opened his eyes at Ana Lucia's sarcasm.
Dark circles under her eyes dominated her face. She put a hand to her hip, her gaze sweeping from his feet to his face. "You look like shit."
"Good morning, everyone." Claire poked her head into the room.
Sayid's heart skipped a beat. Ana Lucia glanced over her shoulder at the blonde-haired woman and moved to allow her entry.
"Jack, can I talk to you a minute?" Claire's smile was forced and slipped from her face as she looked around to before settling her gaze on the surgeon. She was not the serene, cheerful person who helped him with water the day before.
"Not a good time, Claire. Is it important?" asked Jack.
"Um, it's Charlie," she twisted her mouth, approached Jack, a slight bid for privacy. "He's acting ...different." Her words sped up. "Oh, it's probably nothing. It's just you said if people started ...not crazy." She slowed down again and abandoned all pretenses that she was talking to Jack alone. "He's not acting crazy," She backed away uncertainly. "I'll come back later."
"Claire?" Sayid had no idea why he detained her. Ana Lucia took a step towards him, her face menacing. He held his ground, wondering if the perpetually angry woman had ready access to the threatened gun and what would prompt her to use it.
"It's nothing, Sayid," Claire turned her attention to him. "Really. Just ...remember when you two went - " She seemed to realize the inanity of her words and flushed a deep red. "It's me... Charlie's allowed to lose his temper. I'm just jumpy, that's all."
Her words meant something to John Locke. "Lose his temper how, Claire?" He glanced at Sayid. "He didn't strike you?"
Sayid tried to ignore the sting as everyone in the infirmary followed suit. A locked room and its privacy were starting to appeal more and more.
"No! No! Nothing like that!" she denied hotly, the flush creeping down her neck. "I bumped his pack when I was hanging nappies and broke something, that statute," she rolled her eyes at her clumsiness. "He brought back from Rousseau's, you know, when Charlie and Sayid got Aaron back. He wouldn't hit me! He just yelled."
"I'll look into this, Jack," said John Locke, purposefully crossing to Claire. He took her elbow and led her from view. "Who has Aaron now?"
Ana Lucia impatiently slouched against the wall, watching Jack salve and bandage Sayid's injuries. She remained surprisingly quiet, leaving at one point to return with a green button down shirt from clothing storage that she tossed to Jack when he finished. She remarked keeping "the prisoner" shirtless was not a good idea on a trek on a tropical island. She pulled a wry face, well, unless you're Mistereko, she added and pointed out the obvious: Sayid was not.
The prisoner slipped the shirt on, taking care with his wounded shoulder. The garment was an odd shade of green and was slightly too large for his frame. Jack grinned as Sayid regarded the buttons. He met Jack's eye and shrugged, a small smile ghosting his lips. Was the woman intentionally torturing him?
Ana Lucia snorted and addressed Sayid. She started fastening from the bottom of the shirt, commenting that the inability to lift the arms ruled out all types of shirts, ask Sawyer. She left the top button and sleeves free and stepped back. She inspected her handiwork with a toss of her head, her lips almost upturned. It was dark in the caves, she said.
Sayid looked questioningly to Jack.
"Well," laughed Jack. "Shannon wouldn't let you out of your tent in it." His laughter ceased, his features creased with sadness. "Sorry, Sayid."
"Let's go," Ana-Lucia said briskly, seeming to cover the moment. She stooped and retrieved a small pile of vine near the door. "C'mere Sayid."
Fear sliced through him. This had not occurred to him. It made sense to Ana Lucia to restrain him, he realized, but he did not like the concept. That he did not made sense as well. As a murderer, easily relinquishing his liberty chilled him to the bone.
He could not move.
"What's that for?" demanded Jack, moving closer to Sayid.
She appeared at a loss. "This? Exactly what it looks like. I braided it this morning so it's not stiff at all. C'mon, let's do this and get moving."
"Ana, he's going to the hatch," Jack said coldly, lowly. "We're locking him up, all to satisfy you and your crew. That'll have to be enough."
"Because he's a good guy when he's out of the caves and the hatch?" she scoffed. "Look, it's not five people out there saying he scares them. Have you talked to anyone lately? You have a lot of scared people - the women, in particular. You need a reminder why I'm being like this? Go take a hike to your expanding graveyard. This guy killed his girlfriend. And not in a nice way."
"You're not going to parade him around like some sheriff out of the old west. I don't care if he did it or not."
"You don't know and you're just playing this game that IF his memory returns, you'll do something about it. Maybe."
"Ana - " Jack's tone was angry.
Sayid stepped to the woman and presented his wrists.
"Turn around." She met his gaze levelly as Jack exclaimed with disgust.
Sayid presented his back, biting his lip as the wound on his shoulder pulled; a small gasp of pain escaped his lips.
"Ana!" protested Jack. "Use your head!"
"Okay," she sounded almost contrite. "Front."
Sayid turned again. She studied his face as she twined the soft, green chord around his wrists. "Same drill as last night." She finished and pulled at each arm to ensure the bind.
He did not allow himself to flinch.
"Let's go," Ana-Lucia decreed. "Mistereko is at the beach."
"It's shorter from here," stated Jack, sliding his backpack over his shoulder.
"I didn't know that," replied Ana Lucia. "I was counting on Locke, so Mistereko is definitely going. We go to the beach first."
"It is not necessary," said Sayid softly.
"As if I'd believe you," she said without irony. "You don't know what you do, remember?"
The color of the shirt was not improved with the walk to the beach. Ana Lucia started at a pace that left Sayid breaking into a cold sweat and gasping five minutes after they started. Jack demanded a rest. Sayid slumped against a tree, drinking water with Jack's assistance when he was able. Ana Lucia paced like a restless cat around them, her eyes never leaving Sayid. They set out on a more sedate gait when Jack agreed Sayid was ready.
It had been a cave located in a jungle. This jungle was near an ocean. The surf was heard before they broke the tree line. As their feet touched sand, the proof of the plane crash was spread before them with the tattered collection of tarp and plane salvage shelters clustered haphazardly.
The beach was a busy place, people milling about at the shore line, moving around fires, hanging laundry.
The delicious aroma of roasting flesh mingled with the brine of the waves.
This was much better than the caves, Sayid decided, looking up and down the shore. He tilted his head back and filled his lungs.
"Where's Mistereko?" asked Jack of Ana Lucia while scanning Sayid's features.
"I don't know," she answered. "He wasn't aware of the plan. It might take a couple of minutes."
Sayid smiled at Jack's scrutiny, reading into it concern. Or was it Jack's job? At this moment, it did not matter. The sunlight on his bearded face helped him disregard the thrumming ache of his injuries, the breeze chilling him through the damp shirt. Was this where he stayed during his old life? He hoped so.
As if reading his mind, Jack pointed to a structure that appeared 'closed' when the others had either inhabitants near by or tarp pulled back. "That's yours. Wanna see it?"
Ana-Lucia frowned. "This isn't a field trip, Jack."
"It might kick off a memory. You find Mistereko. We'll be over there," replied Jack. "You know which one is his." He indicated with a jerk of his head for Sayid to accompany while he tossed over his shoulder. "And Ana, we know you'll shoot."
Her expression murderous, it was possible to watch Ana Lucia's thought processes. She wavered between following them and her own mission. With what could be described as a growl, she stormed after them.
Jack chuckled and grinned at Sayid, "If you were in better shape, I'd say let's run for it."
"Jack," Sayid's mood did not match that of the doctor's. "Did Shannon… did Shannon live here?"
The lighthearted smile dimmed as Jack stopped walking. He studied Sayid's face for a moment. "I can forget this is serious for you. And the rest of us." He sighed as Ana Lucia grabbed his elbow,
"That wasn't funny," she hissed.
"He can't run. Unless you think I'm in on this - "
"I don't know, Jack," she cut him off. "You're fighting me every step of the way. Even Charlie, your village idiot, is convinced he did it and you decide to take a stroll down the beach."
Sayid allowed his attention to wander. His opinion did not matter. Some of the activity seemed to drop off. There were more clumps of people near the tents than earlier. Perhaps it was mealtime. He was impressed with the organizational implementation required to accomplish this.
"And it's supposed to make me feel better that the guy who beats women to death wasn't leading the escape?" Ana Lucia's voice was growing louder.
In the full sun, the circles under her eyes were deeper and darker. Leading this fight was taking a toll on her, Sayid realized.
"I would like to see Shannon's shelter," Sayid stepped between Ana Lucia and Jack, appealing to the woman. "Please."
He had not thought of it ten seconds ago, and now the need was so strong he thought he would choke on it.
Rolling her eyes, Ana Lucia frowned. She glared at him, then turned her head and stared at the ocean, lips pressed tightly together. She heaved a sigh, and locked eyes with her prisoner. "You need to start acting blood thirsty, okay? Like him," she jerked her chin in Jack's direction. "It's that one, isn't it, Jack?" She gestured to another oddly abandoned feeling but sturdy looking edifice. "C'mon. I'll find Mistereko when we're done."
He trailed after her, concentrating on her petite form and weary step instead of the ball that was growing in his stomach.
If there was a photograph. If he saw her face. Would it come back to him? The reason that he would strike a woman, then break her neck? Could he withstand the onslaught of what had to be, please Allah, had to be memories of rage? The feel of her warm blood on his hands? Her cries of fear? It had to be rage. Please Allah, please, it could not be cold, calculated. He would beg for death if it was cold.
His heart was thudding in his chest as Ana Lucia pushed open the tarp. She turned and grasped his forearm for balance up the largish step.
He was immobile.
"Sayid?" Jack's voice was in his ear. He saw nothing beyond the shelter opening.
"We don't have to do this, Sayid."
He put a foot forward. Then the other. Ana Lucia pulled and he pushed up and he was in. Jack scrambled behind him and remained on the step.
He was standing in a dim room. It was small. The walls were stiff plastic, the bed, its dominant feature, was neatly made with an ugly blanket stamped with a logo, yet there was a femininity pervading its essence. Dead flowers drooped atop a rough-hewn shelf; suitcases were against a wall, stacked, the top one with a soft appearing bit of pink lingerie trailing out of it.
He did not need to take a deep breath to catch the spicy, floral scent that permeated the space. "A photograph," he whispered, then repeated louder. "A photograph?"
Ana Lucia scanned the area and gestured to the corner. "There's a purse on the floor over there."
He covered the short distance, snagged the fragile looking bag with his bandage mittened hands, and moved to the shelf next to the dead stalks. He fumbled with the clasp, hearing the fast tattoo of his heart in his ears. He pled mutely to Ana Lucia.
She sighed heavily and joined him, her elbow touching his by necessity. She twisted the gold top and dumped the contents. Another sigh, not so large, as she spread the few articles flat. Picking up the shiny wallet, she unsnapped the flap. She inventoried the contents quickly, pulled the drivers license from the plastic sheath, and thrust it in his hands. "Here." She turned, granting him privacy.
The woman in the photograph was pretty. No, she was beautiful. And young. So very young. Her eyes were blue and lively. Her smile was winning, even with the government produced document. She was too young to die so horribly.
But he did not know her.
His knees gave and he collided with the floor, the slip of laminated paper flying..
Ana Lucia whirled and Jack burst in. Both raced at him, clamoring rapidly, seeming to flap their arms, all from a great distance. Sayid sat, waiting for the rushing sound of blood in his ears to fade.
"I do not know her," he finally said. He needed water. His mouth was sticky. It would be good to have it delivered by Libby. He briefly pondered the probability and resigned himself to Jack. "I would like some water, please."
The two voices returned to the room and their arms resumed normal functions.
"Lemme get this straight," Ana Lucia sputtered. "You faint because you didn't recognize her? I'm not buyin' it, Romeo. C'mon Jack, you saw it. He saw the license and fainted. How much more do you need?"
"Sayid," Jack's face came to eye level.
Sayid wondered how many times in this life he had this vantage of Jack. "Water, please, Jack."
"Get up." Ana Lucia dove under Jack's arm and clinched Sayid's bicep. "NOW, you son-of-a-dog-eating-bitch!" She yanked mightily, sending Jack off balance and backwards onto the floor, striking the tower of luggage with one of his legs, as Sayid stood.
The tower swayed for moments, then collapsed with a loud clatter.
Almost instantly, voices surrounded the shelter. Through the plastic walls, he made out shadows, felt the anger in the shouts, demands.
Jack climbed to his feet, glaring at Ana Lucia, then stepped out of the shelter, rubbing his thigh. "It's okay," Sayid heard him say, then felt his interest in the doctor's actions dissolve. Ana Lucia's hand gripped him tightly.
"When he calms them down, we're going out that door and to the hatch, you got me? No more side bars, no more field trips. March your ass straight to the hatch." Her eyes burned into his. "Do. You. Understand?" Her rough skin on her fingers dug into the skin as she tried to shake him.
It was working. His head was clearing. He had to appear as an idiot. "Yes," he said. He did not look away. "I am sorry that you do not believe me."
"It doesn't matter what I believe, what Jack believes, what Libby believes," spat the woman. "What matters is you killed that woman, you know it, and the day will come you'll answer for it."
The voices were growing louder, the tone uglier. He needed to be clear. He resisted the desperation that was climbing his spine. "Please, I need water."
"Do you see any water on me? Your buddy Jack is the guy with -"
The shelter shifted suddenly as bodies slammed into wall closest to Ana Lucia, toppling her onto the bed. Sayid stumbled stepped and dropped into a sit. Using his legs, he attempted to wedge them and his back between the bed and the wall behind him but realized it was not a tenable position.
The voices rose into a howl around them. The rush was repeated, the frame of tree branches yielding, the plastic flapping as it fell to the ground. Ana Lucia clung to the bed frame with the tremor, then clawed to the bed edge.
He could distinguish a basso profundo voice shouting Ana Lucia's name as the third wave hit.
He flew into the far wall, and slid down, a leg trapped between it and bottom of the platform. Ana Lucia jumped to her feet as bodies swarmed the platform. She looked about wildly and dashed to him and began to kick at the plastic. "Work with me!" she screamed.
He struggled desperately to free himself with his legs, elbows, to breach the seam when the tarp met the platform but it was secured too tightly.
As hands hauled her away, Ana Lucia kicked and snapped as her arms were pulled behind her. She was outnumbered and easily pushed off the platform into waiting arms. Sayid could make out her voice screaming profanities as she was removed.
Someone buried their hand into his hair and yanked. It was impossible not to scream. He was pulled up by many sets of rough hands, and noted vaguely minutes later that the hits, kicks were losing intensity as they rained in on him. He recognized Charlie's grinning face as Sayid was lifted from the shelter remains, dropped onto the sand and dragged away from the beach.
He was flung to the ground face down just inside the jungle. The voices receded, then were gone.
He hurt. He should be sick, there was so much hurt. Later, when this was finished, he would weep from the pain. Did Shannon hurt like this? Did she weep? Did he watch her weep and continue to add to her pain? If he did, he hoped this would not stop, that he died as he killed.
He had rested enough. It was time to go. He needed to find Jack and Ana Lucia. He gritted his teeth, tried to first to lift his shoulders. He collapsed as white light of pain shot behind his eyes. He concentrated on his breathing, and prepared to try again.
"Hey, Sayid, a taste of justice, yeah?" said Charlie cheerfully, ambling from an unseen direction. He watched, circling the downed man. "Bet you weren't expecting' that, were you? We didn't so."
Sayid rolled slowly onto his left side, pushed up with his elbow. He paused, steeled himself, and pressed his hands to the ground and thrust. He stood. He tottered like Shannon's luggage but remained standing.
"You better scamper off now." Charlie rubbed his nose with his sleeve. "All those bloody Americans. You know how they are - planning a proper lynching. Got a nice favor just for you."
Sayid took a step. He prepared for another.
Charlie stopped pacing, his grin spreading. "Ah Sayid, don't ya know lead us not into temptation?" He cocked his head, moving closer, hands up to push, "Like ya did with that plane. You're gonna hang - once those pillocks pick a tree."
"Charlie, I can't tell you how disappointed I am in you."
Charlie froze at the words. He mouthed a curse, buried his hands in his pockets, and turned. "Locke! What have you done with Claire?"
Sayid concentrated on his feet. His knees were feeling rubbery. He set his chin. He would not fall. He took another step.
The calm man moved smoothly and slowly, a young Asian man trailing, towards them. "You made the right choice once. You should have followed it up with another one. You know you don't want the drugs. You know what the drugs cost you."
"Ah but this time they're free!" Charlie's boyish face beamed. He began to back up with every step John Locke took. "John, John, listen to me. I can handle it this time. I'm in control."
The Asian man stopped shadowing John Locke and waited for the bald man to back Charlie a few more feet, then slipped to Sayid.
Sayid nodded his thanks to the fellow as strong hands slipped under his left arm. Brown eyes, he noted.
"Jack? Ana Lucia?" gasped Sayid.
The man nodded once sharply.
Charlie shook off his mentor's hand. "Where's Claire?" he demanded angrily. "What did you do with her? Where is she?" He turned and began to run towards the beach. "You can't keep her from me!" he shouted over his shoulder and darted past the tree line.
John Locke joined the two men. With one even motion, he unholstered a large knife, cut the vines around Sayid's hands, and slipped the weapon back to its holster. "How are you, Sayid?"
"We must leave," said Sayid slowly. He was losing the ability to focus once more.
John Locke carefully placed Sayid's right arm around his neck and smiled easily. "It's all right, Sayid. Everything's under control. You have more friends than enemies here." He leaned slightly and spoke around him. "Let's go, Jin."
The Asian Jin did not respond. Sayid wondered what his accent would be.
John Locke and the silent Asian Jin dragged him through the jungle. Sayid concentrated on staying conscious and disregarding his body and its protests.
They stopped, seemingly without reason. John Locke shifted his support of Sayid to Jin and appeared to walk into the hillside. Sayid focused on not falling, making a vain attempt to not completely lean on the wiry man.
Two people, a young heavy set brown eyed man and a young blue eyed woman, emerged from nowhere to join John Locke. The young man uttered 'dude' as the three regarded him. He could hear John Locke's voice but not his words. The three swarmed him and along with silent Jin, carried him underground.
The hatch was a bunker, he realized as they moved through a concrete tunnel, dank and dim despite all the candlepower blazing from the lights mounted on the sides of the walls. The four took him to a small room, empty but for a cot.
They lowered him gently onto it. He closed his eyes, whispering thanks, and let go to sink into oblivion.
Only one eye would open. He directed it to the source of the dim light in the room. A small desk lamp sat on the floor, its bulb dim, casting a small halo of light on the painted concrete floor, his shoes, and a bottle of water. He had to call to mind his location, which was followed by a rush of the day's events.
He was not too certain the value of memory, but the cot was good.
He sat up slowly, and ignored his pounding head to stand. He was tired of helplessness. He was done with it. He waited until he was certain that he would not topple and walked slowly, his gait that of an ancient relative, to the door.
The knob was cool and round and he was able to enclose it with both palms and turn.
It was locked.
He sighed and rested his forehead on the smooth surface.
Sayid pushed away from the door and hobbled to the water, then returned to the cot. He pushed its light frame close to the wall with his legs and sat, his back to the wall. After significant fumbling, he was able to open the bottle, complete with fanfare in his head. He drank, ignoring the shoulder. He had motivation now, thanks to Libby.
That adventure over, he examined the plain room over and over, his gaze always coming back to the locked door, sipping occasionally until the bottle was dry.
He was alerted by the sound of fumbling at the door to another's presence. It stopped without opening.
He was about to admit his disappointment when it resumed, voices accompanying this time. Jack, looking worse for wear, stepped into the room. The blue-eyed woman was holding a key with a large loop of string, watching Sayid intently with an expression of hostility and hurt.
"Geeze Kate," said Jack, over his shoulder as she hung back in the doorway. "Could you find a dimmer light?"
Kate back stiffened and she crossed her arms across her chest. "Just about everything here is built in, Jack. It was that or a flashlight." Another American accent.
She and Jack exchanged looks.
Sayid pushed away from the wall to the edge of the cot. Jack sat gingerly at the foot; Kate held her post at the door.
"How are you feeling?" Jack asked.
Jack was fuzzy but Sayid was not certain whether that was the dim light or his swollen eye. The doctor also sported a bruised eye and scrapes along one cheek.
"Are you all right? And Ana Lucia?" Sayid asked.
Jack nodded, "Pretty much. It was ……interesting for a few minutes. I learned that ten people can make a mob, but we got things under control pretty quickly. Ana was annoyed -"
"Name a time when she's not," muttered Kate lowly.
"With us," Jack continued. "She blamed the whole thing on the stop at Shannon's place. No one was seriously hurt, and that's counting you, although Sun and I had a one hell of a run on astringent and aloe." His eyes focused on the floor then to Sayid. "I'm sorry, Sayid. I wasn't reading people right with this." He paused, shaking his head. "At any rate, things seem to be ironed out."
"For now," shot Kate.
"For now," repeated Jack.
"Ana Lucia - was she hurt?" Kate's look of betrayal at his question confused him. Sayid pushed it away. Kate did not like Ana Lucia. That was not his concern.
"She looks good with a shiner," chuckled Jack, disregarding the glare from Kate. "We're trying to draw up a plan on how to proceed with this. Like Michael said, we don't have a forensic lab to pull rabbits out of a hat, let alone a police force to investigate." He rubbed the back of his neck. "We never had a ….situation like this. I didn't plan…… I still think things will come back to you in a couple more days."
He did not look at all certain of that.
"So I stay here," stated Sayid flatly.
Jack looked around at the bleak room. "Unfortunately, yes." He glanced at Kate. "Isn't the store room bigger than this? It has its own lighting, too."
"It also has an access hatch to the air ducts and shelving to reach it," Kate pointed out.
Jack sighed. "He's not going anywhere, Kate."
"Appearances are deceiving. Don't you think he proved that already? I didn't expect this." She tapped her forearm with her fingers, taking fast, angry peeks at Sayid. "Ana agreed this is the best room. She and Locke switched the lock around."
Sayid watched the couple. There was more here than him escaping. Kate's reactions to him caused him to speculate that she, too, was a friend of Shannon. Or perhaps, a friend of his?
"It is fine, Jack," Sayid said neutrally. "I would like some more water. And something to eat?"
Jack stood and glared at Kate. "We'll take care of it, Sayid. Anything else? There're some books to read. A clock? There's a bathroom here. C'mon, you can take a shower while Kate gets your dinner."
The pretty woman balefully stared as Jack slowly led Sayid the way through the labyrinth of the bunker, then trotted in a different direction.
The brown eyed man stepped back after palming the light switch in a small, odd smelling bathroom. "There's soap there, towels there." He considered Sayid's hair. "And shampoo there. That doesn't look like a bar soap job."
Sayid closed the door behind him. Although it was brighter than his holding cell, the illumination was poor. What kind of place was it that tried to blind its denizens with poor lighting?
A movement caught his eye and he turned to a find mirror over the stainless steel sink. His eyes were brown - his first impression. He looked longer. His reflection was not pleasing: he was correct that one eye was swollen, and his nose was bruised and his face scratched. Worse was the shirt - its bilious color was not enhanced with the dried blood around the collar. He did not inspect the reflection for guilt. He preferred the idea of a shower at this moment.
He contemplated calling Jack to remove the bandages swaddling his hands but rejected the idea. He quickly determined that teeth were his best tool and went to work. The second hand was done the same after attempting to untie the knot with his swollen fingers.
It took three attempts to manipulate the buttons on the shirt before he became frustrated enough to pull until four buttons popped away. Getting the shirt over his head was not as painful as he suspected, had the added advantage of carrying the bandage from his shoulder with it, but he hoped he would not have to repeat the act again soon. He left the pants pooled on the floor as he groped at the valves in the shower stall.
He waited for the water sputtering in the stall to heat.
He hoped he would not have to choose between the shower and cot. He did not know if he was capable. Hot water against his tired, sore muscles, his abrasions, his scalp, the feel of grime that he was not conscious of before sliding down the drain was nirvana. He leaned against the wall and allowed the water to rain on him.
Jack - he was hoping it was Jack - had traded his soiled clothes with a pair of unstructured trousers. They had a strange symbol on the hip but he acknowledged all symbols were probably strange to him. He pulled them on and stepped cautiously outside the door. The concrete floor felt gritty under his clean feet.
He looked up and down the hall. He was alone. Ana Lucia would not be pleased. Neither would Kate.
He sank to the floor, resting his wrists on his bent knees, and watched up and down the long hall.
The heavyset young man turned a corner and froze as he spotted Sayid. "Dude, are you supposed to be, you know, out?"
He was not 'out' and at this moment he did not feel dangerous as he sat on a concrete floor, his feet bare, his hair wet and dripping down his bare back, hands and one eye swollen, donned only in running pants. Indeed the man's fearful expression amused him. Sayid would be hard pressed to say which had revived him more: the shower or Libby's water the other day. "I have escaped," he said drily.
"No way," hissed the hatch resident. "Does Kate know?"
"It is why I'm hiding here."
"Sayid!" Kate's sharp tone reverberated as she appeared in the passage. "Hurley! What's he doing there?"
"Will you hold her as I run?" Sayid climbed to his feet.
"Dude, no way," Hurley shook his curly head.
"As tough as Ana Lucia?"
"Twins separated at birth." Hurley grinned, then smothered it as Kate drew near. This amused Sayid and his smile reopened a split on his bottom lip.
"Where did you come from?" demanded Kate. "Hurley, did you - "
"No way, Kate," Hurley shook his head. "I found him though."
"Yes, Hurley has successfully captured me," said Sayid, his face neutral. He suspected his lighter mood would not be appreciated.
She looked between them, seeming to fight a smile. Her gaze ended at Sayid, and her expression hardened as her view fell to his hands. "C'mon. Back to your room." She started down the corridor, Sayid trailing.
The shower, the water, the rest had limbered him, and he walked with more ease.
He noticed a small stack of books, a blanket, and a tray of food on the cot as he stepped into the room, Kate standing in the entry.
"Need anything, bang on the door. Locke's coming on shift and he'll hear you." Her countenance, wavering between confusion and anger, scanned his face once more as she shut the door.
His lighten mood faded as he stared at the door. He turned and viewed the new additions.
He ate slowly. He had time to fill. Perhaps enforced idleness would speed his memory's return. He disregarded the wave of dread at the thought. He had to know the truth.
He glanced at the book titles, and decided that the day had been full enough. He moved the tray of dishes - real dishes - to the floor and curled up on the cot, spreading the blanket about his legs.
He left the light burning.