Chapter 8
He couldn't remember the guy's name, or how he knew him, but Sawyer remembered – somewhere along the line – knowing an addict, a heroine junkie. He'd been a nice enough guy; a friend, even, when he'd had a fix, when he was feeling good. But, sooner or later, this guy always started to get edgy – checking his watch, shifting his weight, tapping a compulsive percussive rhythm onto the table as he longed to trip the light. And then you'd have to watch how you acted, what you said, because one wrong word or move and the guy was off to find a fix and he'd just leave you sitting there without even saying goodbye.
Sawyer had always been mildly disgusted, that kind of eagerness, hadn't understood how anything, any substance, could make you blow your top like that. But just then – looking up, and seeing Sayid with the backpack, and knowing what had to be inside – he suddenly got it, the desperation, the need. The desperate drive to make the buzzing go away.
The enemies inside your own head. Am I going crazy?
He made some rushed and bullshit excuse to Claire and scrambled to Sayid, nearly tripping over his own feet in the process. Am I going crazy? He hoped that he was joking.
"I have your medications," Sayid said, when Sawyer was close.
"Yeah," Sawyer panted. "Yeah. That's what I figured." He glanced back over his shoulder at Clare, suddenly ashamed. "Look – uh – could we? –"
"Of course," Sayid said. They distanced themselves, Sawyer making sure that Claire – and any other survivors – were well out of sight before he and Sayid stopped some way into the woods. Then Sayid crouched and began rifling through the bag. Sawyer clenched and unclenched his sweaty hands. Finally the Arab straightened with a vial of the fluid and the hydrosyringe. "This is it?"
"Yeah," Sawyer breathed, and snatched them from Sayid's hands. Almost feverishly, he shoved the canister of medication into the hydrosyringe's barrel, shoved the gun against his arm, and pulled the trigger.
Closed his eyes. Blessed slow cold pain spread from his bicep and he exhaled slowly, letting his hand drop, limp with the relief of a new chance. After a second, he opened his eyes and found that Sayid was looking intently at him with an expression Sawyer didn't quite like. "What?" he growled, feeling remarkably ungrateful.
"Nothing," said Sayid. He paused. "That drug. Is it addictive?"
"Nah."
"You seemed extremely eager for a new dose."
"Well, sorry if I'm a little too jumpy for your liking. There's the whole fact that it's gonna bring my memories back, you know?" Dripping sarcasm.
"Sawyer – "
"Look, Ali," Sawyer snapped. "You brought my stuff back, and I'm grateful for that. But I ain't in the mood to play twenty questions. Got it?"
Sayid quiet – the silence tightwound, tense. Then –
"Got it," he replied, though it clearly cost him something.
"Well… good," Sawyer said a little lamely, feeling his fraying nerves stitch up as the drug coursed through his veins. He closed his eyes, exhaled slowly. Vindicated.
"Would you like to come with me for a walk," Sayid said. Maybe it was a National Guard thing, but it didn't really sound like a question.
"Excuse me?"
"Would you like to go for a walk," Sayid said again, clearly. "Perhaps it would clear your head."
"Why, Sayid Sahib," Sawyer said, rising to his feet and grinning a winner grin, "Are you trying to seduce me?"
"What?"
"'Cause before you strain yourself any further, I must inform you that I am straight."
Nothing but a blank stare for a second. Then suddenly Sayid understood and launched into a stream of angry and horrified Iraqi.
"Guess not," Sawyer shrugged. "Hey, I was just askin'. Shall we go?"
Sayid, still looking visited by murderous intent, set off down the path, Sawyer behind him. "So," Sawyer said casually. "What did you grab from the hatch?"
Sayid took a deep breath, let it out hard, and said evenly – appearing to have quelled the rest of his anger – "Food. Toiletries. Not things of much consequence, I hope." He glanced over his shoulder. "I didn't want to rob you."
"Hell, I said you could take it," Sawyer replied. "You people need this stuff hell of a lot more than I do. How you gonna divide it up?" He suddenly recognized the path they were on; the route from the caves to the beach.
"I haven't decided yet. I suppose I'll just give something to everybody." Sayid paused. "What is the timer for?"
Sawyer tensed, which was a little strange, for he hadn't meant to keep it a secret. "Say that again?"
"There is a timer down there, on the wall. Counting down, hour by hour, to zero. What is it for?"
"It's just to keep me on schedule with my meds," Sawyer said defensively – not knowing why he was defensive. He hadn't meant to make it a secret. "I gotta take 'em a minimum of every hundred and eight hours. It counts down for me."
"Every hundred and eight hours? Strange schedule for medication, isn't it?"
"I guess," Sawyer said doubtfully. "I take 'em more often than that – like, every four or eight hours. Around fifteen or sixteen, I start feelin'… I get sick."
"I see. Tell me, what happens if the time on the timer elapses without being reset?"
"I'm not exactly trying to find out," Sawyer snapped.
"So you don't know?"
"I have an idea," he replied. "The memories I've managed to get back –" well, would be getting back – "Probably start to deteriorate again. Disappear."
"So you don't know."
"No," he admitted finally, "I don't."
Long silence as Sawyer looked at the ground. Then Sayid – "Hello, Jack."
What the f—snapped his head up and realized just where Sayid's little 'walk' had taken them. "Dammit," he muttered sullenly, as Jack, emerging from his cave, observed them both with some surprise.
"You're back already?"
"Indeed," replied Sayid. "I've brought back a number of things from the hatch which I believe may prove quite beneficial to us. Now, I recall that you wanted to talk to Sawyer, so I thought I'd just sort through it in the meantime and give some things out…."
"Uh, yeah," said Jack. "Sounds fine."
"Sayid –" Sawyer blurted, as the Iraqi began to walk away.
"Hm?"
"Did you – was there any peanut butter down there? That you brought with you?"
"I took a jar from the storeroom. Why?"
"Could you give that to Kanga?" Sayid raised an eyebrow. "I mean – Claire?"
"Claire?" a surprised pause. "Well… yes, of course. But if you don't mind my asking, why would you…"
"If you don't mind ME asking, would you just DO it?"
Sayid's usual cold politeness set in. "Of course." He walked away; Jack and Sawyer watched him until he disappeared.
Sawyer was the first to break the silence. "If you wanted to talk to me that badly, you could have come an' found me yourself, doc. Didn't have to have me dragged back here by Baghdad Bob the Builder."
"I didn't tell Sawyer to go get you," Jack replied shortly. "You went staggering off holding your head into a bush. I sent him to make sure you were all right."
Sure he did. "While I appreciate the house call, doc, I do believe I heard Abdul saying 'Sawyer as ordered'," Sawyer drawled. "'Fearless Leader'… or whatever they call you around here."
"Well, I said I wanted to talk to you eventually," Jack said. "Actually, now that you're here, maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea for you to just – check in."
"And if I don't feel like it?"
"Look, it's your choice. But I strongly advise that you do."
Sawyer sighed. Might as well get used to it. Sounded like he was going to be here for a while. "Fine. You got ten minutes." Checkup time.