Sawyer's eyes snapped open to a dusky room full of shadows and nightmares. His mouth felt dry, as if he hadn't drank anything in days.

The pain in his leg was gone. He sighed, content. What kind of maniac was he, anyway? Who stabbed their own leg just because someone told them to?

He was in hospital, he'd guess. The bed he was lying on was awkwardly uncomfortable and there was an IV tube snaking out of his arm, along with various other wires. He didn't know what those wires were for, but he'd imagine it was something medical.

He grunted, confused and in pain, when someone started to briskly remove all of those excess wires. They were plucked steadily from his scalp, which was when Sawyer realised that his hair was no longer brushing his shoulders, like he usually did. It was gone.

This was serious, now. What kind of insane hospital was this, shaving off a patient's hair without getting their written, legal permission first? Bastards.

He struggled to sit up, but just that movement made him feel like he was trying to climb Everest. "What is going on?" he snapped, as his eyes opened and he saw an Iraqi man standing over him, getting rid of the wires.

"Unless you want us to be found, I'd suggest your keep your voice down," the man said in an accented whisper. Aw, great, Sawyer though, I'm not only in a hospital, I'm in a damnArab hospital. They'll probably cut my head open to let the 'demons' out any second now.

He yanked his arm away from the man, but the grip on it tightened. "Don't panic. I'm Sayid, a colleague of Charlie's. I am going to get you out of this place, but I need you to try to cooperate with me."

Sawyer glared but relaxed his arm and stopped struggling. Charlie's 'colleague'… So this was real? He was out of The Program and right into the year 2108? Bullshit. No way. Not possible.

He sat up and yanked the IV out of him arm, with a tight-lipped response to the pain and the small dot of blood it produced. He looked sceptically back at Sayid. "Where's Charlie?" he asked, keeping his voice quiet but not bothering to whisper.

He tried to sit up and get to his feet, but everything hurt, badly. It hurt in the same way he felt when waking up the morning after screwing up a con and running like mad. His muscles were just strained and fed up with him -- they were going on strike.

"Charlie's back at our base. Here, let me help you. Your body is weak right now." Sayid received a glare after speaking, because Sawyer refused to let anyone say he was weak. He refused to be weak.

He accepted the help anyway. Not because he needed it, he told himself, but because… um. Because otherwise Sayid might call for the guards. Yeah. That excuse worked. Sort of.

He put his arm over Sayid's shoulders, and together they managed to get him out of the bed. Sawyer ignored the way his legs trembled under the stress of having to hold his body up.

There were other beds in the ward. Six beds in total, but his was empty now. The five other people lying on those beds liked like they were dead. They were corpses; dead to the world even if their minds still ticked along and worked inside its own version of the Program. Each body had its own collection of knotted wires.

Sayid and Sawyer made their slow way through the ward and into the corridor outside. It sprawled along in either direction, with blank white tiles on the wall. The pea green linoleum on the floor was old and curling at the sides; an ancient relic of world long gone. There were no windows at all.

No doors, either, but Sayid turned to the left and started walking confidently in that direction. Sawyer tried to carry as much of his own weight as he could, but with his legs hurting more and more with every step, he wasn't nearly as useful as he should have been.

They reached a corner and turned -- a light hit them out of nowhere. Bright and blinding, the torch beam hit their faces. Sawyer groaned and cringed backwards, like a nocturnal creature.

The light was eventually lowered; the ferocity of the beam was directed at their chests instead. Sawyer reluctantly looked back in front of him. There was a security guard there, young and uniformed with pimples decorating his face. His hair was a fierce ginger colour; if they'd gone to school together, this kid would have been one of Sawyer's targets to bully.

His voice was gruff when he spoke, with a London accent making the words almost impossible to understand. "What's this here then?" he asked, waving his torch light vaguely over them. "What's going on? Who are you lot?" This time he brandished the torch menacingly at Sayid, like it was a sword.

Sayid didn't appear to be at all scared by this. He looked utterly calm, which was pretty nice of him considering that they'd just been caught. "Don't be alarmed," he warned, before the security guard let out a grunt then collapsed to the floor, his face slack.

Behind him was a woman with a gun in her hand -- she'd apparently hit the guard with the butt of the gun. Short, Hispanic, hot as hell despite the shaved head. Sawyer grinned at her, but he clearly wasn't at his best right now because she looked him over sceptically, before her attention shifted to Sayid. "This is him?" she asked. She didn't sound impressed.

Bitch.

Sayid nodded. "This is him. However, he doesn't appear to have regained his memories, so I'm not sure how useful he will be to us."

The woman looked unhappy; pissed off, she stalked forwards, over the security guard, to support the other side of Sawyer's body. "So all this has been for nothing?" she asked, as they all started to walk forwards. Sawyer's legs wouldn't let him step neatly over the guard, so he just stepped on his back instead.

"Perhaps," Sayid said, but his tone implied that this wasn't something that he was comfortable with discussing in front of Sawyer. Sawyer scowled -- he already hated this world. Moving them towards a staircase, Sayid indicated to the woman. "Sawyer, this is Ana. She's been working with us for nearly six months now."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, GI Jane."

"Wish I could say the same."

Sawyer really hated the place.

It wasn't a nice looking place, either. Tall grey buildings, several stories high, crowded in around the streets. There was no personality to it -- just a cold and uniformed sameness, like a bunch of Lego blocks. Identical streets, identical buildings, identical people, identical lives.

Sawyer leaned against the car door as they drove over broken tarmac. At Sayid's insistence, he had to put his seatbelt on. He'd objected, but now with the car jolting over the cracked roads, he could see why. You'd end up smashing through the front of the car in no time without a belt to hold you down.

"Crummy neighbourhood," he said, the first time any of them had spoken in the time minutes since they'd left the building he'd woken up in. He'd thought that it was a hospital; the sign outside had told him it was a prison.

Ana shrugged and didn't look back at him from where she was riding in the front with Sayid. "This place is classy, compared to most. The government's screwed us all over."

Silence fell again. Sawyer stared out of the window at the 'classy' neighbourhood; graffiti on the walls and broken bricks scattered over the pavement.

Sayid was a careful driver - but a slow one. They seemed to crawl through the depressing streets. The car had no air conditioning and quickly became stuffy, despite the night around them.

A sharp turn and they'd suddenly climbed into the depths of a black garage. The building was cool; the drop in temperature was welcome after sharing a car with these two. After Sayid pulled to a stop, Sawyer couldn't open the door fast enough. "Took you long enough to get here," he grumbled before getting out of the car.

He had to lean against the vehicle for support, his back against the bashed and faded yellow metal, but his legs were slowly coming to life again. Their awakening was certainly slow, however, so he was left to hobble towards the door in the corner of the garage. He shook Sayid away when the man once more tried to help him walk. He could do this alone.

He was still unspeakably glad when they entered a lift. Ana pressed the number '4' button and the lift groaned to life as it started to lurch upwards. With a joyful ping, they landed at the fourth floor and the doors slid open. They walked across the dingy corridor and into one of the flats.

It was dark in the living room, which they entered straight into. He could see a light spilling out of a small room, along with some nervous laughter. Other than that, the flat was dark.

The laughter stopped when Sayid flicked a switch by the door. Dim lighting turned on in the living room, revealing the sparse and bland furniture and bland decorating. Sawyer looked around at the room and just hoped that he wasn't expected to live in this place from now on. It was a run down dump -- a rat hole in a maze full of them.

Charlie appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, but he looked odd too. His untidy blonde hair was gone, replaced by a harsh buzz-cut, and he seemed thinner than Sawyer remembered -- his hip bones stuck out above the waistband of his too-large jeans.

But a recognisable smile broke out on his face when he saw Sawyer in the doorway -- he ran forwards and Sawyer suddenly found his arms unexpectedly full of an excitable Charlie. He was being hugged.

Frowning, he awkwardly returned it and patted Charlie's shoulder in an attempt to make this hug a little manlier. It made his arms hurt, but it was sort of nice to have some display of affection within this bleak environment.

Sayid stepped forwards and placed a hand on Charlie's elbow, guiding him back from Sawyer. Charlie glanced between Sayid and Sawyer in a way that reminded Sawyer of a hyper puppy.

Sayid moved his hands to Charlie's shoulders to hold his wide-eyed attention. "Sawyer's had a very stressful day, Charlie. He's yet to recall his past life here, and the time in prison has taken its toll on his body." He spoke slowly, in what was almost a hypnotist's voice. "He needs to sleep. Can you arrange somewhere for him to rest? I'm putting you in charge of his well-being."

Sawyer snorted, and wondered why he couldn't be in charge of his own well-being.

Charlie was still smiling, but that hyper energy had been sapped right out of him by Sayid's voice. Sawyer missed it, actually -- while jumping around like an acrobat had been a little over the top, it had been better than Ana and Sayid's muted behaviour. It proved he was still alive.

"Alright then. I'd give you a grand tour, but this is pretty much it." Charlie shrugged apologetically. "The bedroom's this way."

Charlie looked down as he entered the apartment's only bedroom and switched the light on. For once, he was painfully aware of how stark and Spartan the room was, with the mattresses on the floor and not a lot else. Their clothes were placed in neatly ironed piles at the end of the mattresses; the only other furniture in the room was an uncomfortable wicker chair that had long since been robbed of its cushion, sitting unloved in the corner.

"I know it's not much," he said as he held the door open for Sawyer. He already had a dozen excuses in mind to explain the featureless room, but he quickly dismissed each and every one.

Sawyer looked around, eyebrows raising. "You don't say? There's dog kennels that've got more stuff that this." He looked towards Charlie, and Charlie couldn't read the emotions on his face. The idea that he could read Sawyer any more scared him. "You people seriously live like this?"

"Yeah. It's all we need. I mean, we have money. A little. Enough. We're not poor. It's just that there's more important stuff, Y'know?" The parts for Sayid's technology and Michael's computers and the bribes for informants.

"If you say so, kid." Sawyer shook his head and rolled his eyes and Charlie so badly wanted to stand up for this little bedroom, for this way of life that Sawyer himself had been happy with years ago. "Where did I sleep?"

Charlie automatically pointed to his own mattress with its too thin sheet - no blanket. He could remember nights spent there with Sawyer; how Sawyer would hold him close and murmur into his ear - he'd say the filthiest things he could think of, just to make Charlie blush. Then his hands would slip under Charlie's clothes, up his shirt and into his pants and Charlie had never known how they could seem to be everywhere, and he'd whisper, trying so hard not to laugh, that he knew a couple of ways to keep warm on nights like this.

But that was a different Sawyer, someone else entirely. This person that Sayid and Ana had brought back was a stranger.

Charlie still found himself blushing as he looked at the old bed and remembered some of the nights spent there. Judging from the curious look Sawyer gave him, he obviously wanted to know the cause of that blush. Charlie wasn't going to explain.

"Uh, there. There's fine. And are you hungry? Thirsty? Somethingy? Sayid's appointed me as your own personal butler, so I guess I have to do whatever you tell me to."

Once upon a time, that would've gotten a smirk from Sawyer, and the command to get on his knees or get on the bed or get in these handcuffs or get himself off while Sawyer watched. Now there was: "Yeah. I need a drink."

Charlie smiled and nodded eagerly and headed for the door. By the time he dutifully returned with a glass of water, Sawyer was asleep.

"I think we made a mistake. That's all I'm saying."

"It's not, though. At all, man. You just keep mouthing off when you don't know anything."

"Oh, and you know everything, Michael? You haven't even left this damn apartment since I got here."

"Shut up, Ana. You don't know anything. Anything about anything. I mean… damn it."

"I don't know anything? I know enough. I know you claim to be the perfect father, when you haven't even visited your own son since he left, not once. What sort of parent does that make you?"

"Keep your mouth shut. Don't you dare talk about Walt to me. Don't you dare."

Sayid's voice suddenly broke into the bickering that had been carrying on for several minutes. "I think we should focus on the task at hand."

Charlie leaned his head back. He was sitting in the chair in their bedroom, with the dark surrounding him as Sawyer slept peacefully. The door was open just a crack, enough to allow him to listen in on Michael, Ana and Sayid. They'd been arguing on and off for the past two hours, ever since Charlie and Sawyer had disappeared through here.

"At present, Sawyer is a liability. He has no ties to us or our cause, and yet he has been brought back here to our base. He could easily turn on us. As well as this, one of our own will not be able to think clearly in his presence -- we must assume from now on that Charlie is compromised. His interests lie with Sawyer's safety at the expense of the group's." As Sayid paused, Charlie waited for someone to step in and defend him. No one did.

"So…" Michael said. "We've lost Charlie, Sawyer's a lost cause, and Rose still isn't back. Where's that leave us?"

"God knows. Somewhere bad. I told you guys this idea sucked. We should've left him there to rot," Ana said. Charlie's eyes narrowed in the dark, and his hands tightened on the arms of the chair. He heard shuffling movement in the living room. "Anyone else want coffee?"

There were mumbles from the other two - a yes from Michael, a no from Sayid. Ana left the room.

"What're you thinking, Sayid?" Michael asked. His voice had lowered, so Charlie had to strain to hear it. "Do you agree with her? Should we've just left him there?"

Sayid didn't answer at first. Silence filled the room, stretching and twisting to fit into every single corner. Charlie nearly choked on it - he had to stifle a cough that tickled the back of his throat.

Eventually, Sayid spoke again, with his words measured carefully. "What I think we should or should not have done is of no significance. Now, all we can do is focus on what to do next."

"Look to the future? Right. I got that. What's the plan?"

"I'm not sure. I'm reluctant to organise anything in Rose's absence."

"Where is she anyway? She was distracting security, right? She should have been back by now."

"Yes. She should have." Sayid didn't elaborate on from that, but nothing more really needed to be said.

Charlie couldn't accept that, though. Rose was Rose. She'd come back and tell them all off for worrying. Any second now. Really.

He heard the kitchen door opening again. "Black coffee, right Michael? Couldn't remember if you took sugar or not." There was a soft clunk as two mugs were placed on the coffee table that Michael and Walt had built together, years ago. "So I didn't put any in. You want it, go get it yourself." There was a faint sound as Ana plopped herself back into her chair.

Michael muttered that it was fine like this, and none of them talked for a few moments.

"Sayid, with the Rose thing," Michael said, eventually. Ana made a small confused sound - somewhere between a grunt and a whine. "Are you serious? You really think… I mean, come on. This is Rose."

"And Sawyer was once Sawyer," Sayid answered calmly. "She's not infallible, Michael, regardless of how she presents herself." There was just the faintest slither of resentment there. Would Sayid even feel guilty or sorry if Rose disappeared, or would he view it as a career advancement? Charlie buried that thought before it could take root.

"What's going on?" Ana asked quickly, in alarm. "What's happened to Rose?"

"Nothing."

Charlie heard a chuckle from Sayid at the speed of Michael's answer. "We don't know yet, Ana. Perhaps nothing. Perhaps not. All we can do is wait."

"I'm not good with the 'wait and see' thing. I'd rather be out doing something."

"Ana, I think--"

They never did find out what Sayid thought, because the front door was roughly pushed open. The crinkling sound of plastic shopping bags filled the silence.

"Well," Rose said loudly, as she closed the door behind her. Charlie smiled; after hearing the suspicions that she was gone - dead or captured - he didn't think that her voice had ever been sweeter. "I stopped in at the Co-Op in town to get those biscuits Sawyer used to like." There was the sound of confused movement in the living room as she shed her coat and pulled up a chair. "I hope our boy's here?"

Disregarding that it would make Sawyer explode to hear himself referred to as anyone's 'boy', Charlie looked over at Sawyer, who was sleeping peacefully on the mattress closest to him.

"He's here," Sayid confirmed.

"And it all went fine?"

"As well as could be expected, yes. We hit one hitch with a security guard, but Ana dealt with him." Rose made a sound of approval when Sayid paused. "I sent him to get some rest. He's through in the bedroom now."

"That sounds perfect. Michael, would you get me some of that coffee, please?" Scuffling as Michael stood up and walked away. "And Charlie's with him?"

"Yes. From what I understand, he was lucky that both he and Sawyer managed to escape in fact from the Program. The Cleaners were there."

"But they're both okay?"

"Largely, yes. However… Sawyer has kept the imposed memories that were programmed into him. He doesn't seem to remember his life here."

"Not even our Charlie?" Rose asked, and she sounded so worried.

"No, not even him."

Rose muttered something to herself. A scrape was dragged along the floor as she pushed her chair back. Footsteps brought her closer to the bedroom, but it took Charlie a couple of seconds to register that she was planning on checking in on him. Fuck. He could let her catch him eaves-dropping.

He dove onto his mattress, beside Sawyer, slipping under the cover and closing his eyes just as she opened the door. He kept his breathing deep and steady, matching the rhythm of Sawyer's breaths. Sawyer's breath ghosted over his face, heavy and swamping. There was a part of him that wanted to lean in closer and inhale Sawyer's scent again.

He'd needed this for a long time, even if it wasn't real - without Sawyer there, it had felt like someone had snatched away a vital part of him, like his leg. Without Sawyer, he'd just been limping around for years. But now he had this non-Sawyer back; identical on the outside but a completely different person inside. It was as if he'd been given a hollow leg to replace his lost one.

Rose stood in the doorway for a while and watched them. When she was speaking, there was a warm smile in her voice. "They're going to be fine. I can tell these things."

Then she closed the door fully and the room was once again plunged into darkness. Charlie stayed where he was for a few seconds, watching Sawyer's face and wishing, wishing so hard, that he could travel back in time and get his Sawyer back.

This wasn't him, though, so he needed to stop pooling himself and pull away. He awkwardly sat upon the mattress, and then felt the warmth of Sawyer's arm around his waist.

He glanced down at where it was holding him, loose enough that he could easily break away if he wanted to. That was a very big 'if'. When he didn't immediately lie back down, Sawyer grumbled a complaint then tugged at him. He lost his balance and fell heavily back against the mattress - it was impossible to tell if Sawyer was awake or asleep or dreaming or what.

But as he lay on his back, Sawyer shifted closer and cuddled up next to him. Despite knowing that this was fakefakefake, Charlie smiled and closed his eyes, curling back in towards Sawyer.