By Sinking815
August 22, 2006
A/N: Well this is semi-depressing. I'm going to try my hardest to update one more time tonight but if I don't make it, this is my last update before school starts which means summer is officially over. To reiterate my warning from last post (and I'll say it bluntly), do not expect a chapter a day… not with five AP classes and one study hall. LOL! As always, please read and review.
Chapter 22: Debate
The report of the gunshot rang like a distant echo in his ears, and Sawyer momentarily forgot he was still a prisoner, their prisoner, as he twisted and struggled to stand and run. Although, even if he had been free to move about at his own will, he wasn't sure whether he would have run towards the noise or away from it.
He knew that he was staring at the door and that if any of them happened to pass through, they might break down into hysterics seeing his bewildered disheveled look. But he was stuck there, in a trance, as if he looked hard enough, stared long enough, the wooden planks would simply fade away and reveal the scene on the other side.
The painful burn in chest reminded him that breathing was still necessary and he felt his body collapse, the air rushing out like a flood taking with it his anxiety, only to bring it back in full force when he inhaled again. His heart was pounding in his chest, the adrenaline still wreaking havoc on his system from the rude and sudden interruption.
Forcing himself to relax, he threw his head roughly back against the wooden pole at his back and cursed a string of obscenities under his breath. When had he learned to be afraid again? Because Sawyer knew, that all this emotion swirling inside him now, the confusion, the fear, the apprehension, the anger, was happening for that very reason. As a con artist in the real world, he would have permitted himself to only feel an indifferent need to understand, which was one of the reasons he credited himself for never having been behind bars for too long at a time. He suspected that's why she had been on the plane with an official; she'd let her heart get involved in business it didn't have any place being.
And he'd almost been asleep too, he thought. That was a pretense though and Sawyer dropped the lame distraction. Maybe now was a good time to start reacquainting himself with emotions he had damned as dangerous before.
With one final glance at the door, Sawyer closed his eyes and began his introduction.
His lifeless body was a like a deadweight despite the fact that Tom was supporting at least half of that burden. It hadn't taken long for the drug to work its magic all over again and she remembered the way his legs had collapsed from beneath, buckling first because of the sharp stab of the dart cutting between his shoulderblades and then because his muscles had convulsed into brief spasms. They had reached his side just in time to see his eyes roll back, the final sign of unconsciousness.
With a grunt, Tom kicked the door to the stockhut open, forcing himself and his load through the narrow frame. He nodded to her and she dropped his arm from around her shoulders and quickly began rearranging shelves and crates so they could secure and hide the incapacitated man before he awoke. She knew she was battling the clock, her hands deftly sliding heavy crates as if they weighed nothing, feeling the excitement of pressure coursing through veins, quickening her movements and muscles.
When adequate space had been cleared, Tom shuffled his feet and dropped the man unceremoniously to the ground. Then the work of binding began. As Tom twisted rope tightly about his legs and wrists, Bea slung the rifle over her shoulder and bent to gag and blindfold him. She knew they were being overly cautious, but theirs was a mission of the utmost importance. The boss had said to make sure he disappeared from camp. So that's what they were going to make him do.
They exited the hut, cutting clear across the yard and then doubling back on their footsteps. To any observers, she knew it would seem that they were approaching from the opposited side of camp, and suspicion as to why they both would emerge from the stockhut would be erased.
"Give me the gun," she heard Tom whisper gruffly. She looked up momentarily confused at his sudden command, but once she followed his eyes, she saw the reason for his distress. Alex had just stepped out of a hut and was surveying the area, a wild panic in her eyes.
Her hand was just leaving the still hot metal of the barrel when the teenager spotted them and came rushing over.
"What? Happened?" she panted, her blue eyes wide and concerned. "I was finishing up with Kate and we heard a gunshot…"
Bea studied her for a second, partly to buy time to think of a legitimate excuse and partly to control her reaction to Alex's comment. First name basis now? We heard a gunshot? Suddenly the job Henry had implied of her that night by the fire seemed crucial if there plans were to advance to the next phase. Alex had now become a liability.
"Damn it, Alex!" Tom started, before she opened her mouth. "How many times have I told you to not let this lie around?"
Alex's confusion doubled, her brow scrunching even more as she glanced back and forth between her superior's faces. "I…" she began.
"We found it lying just over there by the firepit, in the open sun," he continued, his eyes shifting from the girl to the weapon in his hands. "It's scorching out today, the heat set it off." He paused, his faux-angry gaze turning to the girl again. "Someone could have been shot!"
"I didn't mean… I thought I…" Alex stammered, looking warily at the gun in his outstretched hands. Realizing it was not worth her effort to defend herself, her body slumped, the tension dissipating visibly from her shoulders.
"This better not happen again, missy." His eyebrows were raised and Bea found herself nodding along.
"It won't," the girl mumbled, her eyes cast down ashamed at her error.
He handed it back to her, resisting her grab for it just to punctuate his warning and then looked to Bea and strode away. Alex kept her gaze down and Bea placed a hand on the girl's shoulder, striding off after Tom.
They had been arguing what to do in angry raised voices ever since the incident that afternoon and Sun found herself wishing, and not for the first time, that she had fought Sayid harder on getting Locke involved. Jin sat next to her, poking every so often at the fire, pretending that he didn't notice the animosity that had settled in their camp again. Even though he didn't understand the specifics of their argument, Sun knew he knew very well what the two were debating.
Sayid had always been one to side with Jack's practicality and it seemed that now he had stepped in to fill the doctor's role in his absence. He was of the mentality that leaving three of their companions in what now appeared to be a very dangerous and unstable predicament was not worth the few answers that Locke was sure they would receive if they kept a watchful eye and waited.
Of course, Sun thought, resting her cheek against her palm, who was to say that trying to extract Jack, Kate and Sawyer from the Others' camp wasn't just as dangerous? She didn't realize her impatience was that evident until she felt Jin's hand gently squeeze her knee, and looked up to see his empathetic smile.
"Because I saw it with my own eyes Locke!" Sayid was yelling. "They shot at him!"
"Not to kill though," Locke replied, his voice loud but calm.
"That shouldn't matter," Sayid said, tossing his hands up in exasperation. "We don't know their intentions."
"Exactly."
Sayid mumbled something in a language Sun couldn't understand and turned on his heel, stalking a few feet away and then spinning to face his adversary. She could see the aggravation all over his dark features, even though he was almost out of reach to the fire's light. He seemed to be radiating anger, but when he next spoke, his voice was back under some semblance of control and sounded disturbingly calm in the cool night air.
"So what do we do then? Wait?"
Locke stared at the Iraqi, his eyes squinted in that look of contemplation that Sun has seen on his face many times when he sat isolated from camp, staring off at the distant horizon. That look had made her uncertain of his sanity then and it did had the same effect on her now.
"You're a trained soldier, Sayid," Locke started, gesturing with the hand that held the knife he had been using to fillet a fish. "You tell me what sounds more practical. Rushing in blind to attempt a rescue in hostile conditions? Or scouting out their forces and then constructing a plan of attack?"
Even though she agreed with Sayid on this point, his logic was cold and simple, and she knew, just as Sayid knew, that there was no way to argue with it. It seemed that ever since Jack had left, Locke was the voice of reason and no one had the authority or the nerve to fight with him for long. She watched Sayid approach the fire and slump to the ground, defeated.
Sun wished he would look at her, to let him know there still was a way around that dead end. She had seen Locke himself use it against Jack's authority multiple times. That the easiest way to deal with that finality was to blatantly ignore it. She made a silent promise to herself to mention what she had in mind to Sayid later.
"So," Locke said. She didn't need to look up to know he was smiling. "We wait."