Sayid woke up similarly to Jack. Head pounding out of his skull, heart beating faster than a drum, and throat dry as hell. He had walked up the stairs out of the basement and then there was darkness. As consciousness overtook him, he tried to right himself, remembering where he was. He couldn't see anything, his head had a bag over it, he could tell from the tiny dots of light that showed through its weave. Sayid struggled to sit up, but his hands were bound around his back. He was shoved into a sitting position and suddenly the bag was gone and Sayid blinked at the two people in front of him.

One was Mikhail, face bloody around his eyepatch, and the other was a dark skinned, slender woman he hadn't seen before. She had a dangerous look in her eye, one Sayid had seen in his own reflection at times. She stepped forward and crouched down next to Sayid.

"How did you find this place?"

"Where is the baby?" Sayid retorted.

The woman smiled and looked at Mikhail who didn't return the smile, but continued to glare at Sayid.

"We should just kill him," he said, his hand snaking around his back to his gun.

The woman eyed him again before turning her gaze back to Sayid. Thunder clapped outside, lightning illuminating the night sky. Rain was pattering loudly against the tin roof. Sayid didn't break eye contact with the woman, both fighting for control, and neither yielding. Finally, she turned and began speaking a foreign language to Mikhail. Sayid struggled to understand, but he was entirely unaware that the two were speaking latin. When they stopped, the woman shoved the bag over his head again and Mikhail stepped forward and pushed him back down. Sayid waited as he heard their retreating footsteps. When they were gone, Sayid pushed himself back up. When he was finally upright, he leaned forward, hanging his head and shaking it, trying to get the bag off. When he shook hard enough, the bag flew across the floor. Peering around, Sayid realized he was in a laundry room of sorts. There were all kinds of contraptions off to one side, but the room was clearly meant for the laundry. Sayid checked his restraints: rope. The dark room showed no obvious mechanism for cutting the rope, but Sayid was creative and carefully took the time to find the raw edge of a metal shelf that would do the job properly. The only issue was the cans on the shelf rattled with every push of his hands. After one push, Sayid stopped and listened. The rain continued to pound on the tin roof, but there were no footsteps, and the two continued speaking latin several yards outside the door of the laundry room. Sayid slowly worked the rope against the metal shelf, and eventually freed himself. He couldn't walk out the door, they were armed and he was not. Above the washing machine was a tiny window, but though Sayid was skeptical he could fit through it, there was no time and no other way out. As silently as he could, he wormed his way through the window, and fell right into a cow pen. Now covered in mud and worse, Sayid was just grateful he was no longer a captive. Now he had two choices, one he could get away, go back to camp empty handed, or he could stay, fight, get his gun back and continue on after Lauren. And possibly even help them get rescued in the process. But he was outnumbered and unarmed…

*Flashback*

Sayid rarely slept before 4:00 AM, and usually he would awake at 8:00 AM, but nightmares filled his slumber. To others, it wouldn't seem that horrible, just a montage of scared faces, but Sayid knew why they were so frightened, why their eyes were wide with panic or seething with hatred. Every night was the same, he would lie down at midnight and try to fall asleep, but when his eyelids drooped closed, those eyes would be there to remind him to stay awake. A year after he left Iraq, Sayid was walking past a music store in London, when he realized he hadn't listened to music in a long time. Sure he'd heard the occasional pop song playing over an intercom in a shop of some variety, but he couldn't remember the last time he actually took the time to listen to a song he enjoyed. He walked into the music shop.

"Hi there, can I help you find anything?" The kid behind the register asked.

"Yes, do you sell portable music players here?"

"Cassette or cd?"

"CD would probably be better, I assume?" Sayid asked, trying to let the young man do his job.

"Well, that depends on your needs. Cassettes are cheaper, but don't sound as good as CDs."

"I'll take the CD player, thank you." Sayid responded politely.

"You will need to buy headphones separately," he said, gesturing to a display of headphones, "and we have all kinds of CDs. They're sorted by genre, and then by artist alphabetically, if you need help with any of that."

"Thank you," Sayid said, turning to the huge array of CDs that surrounded him. He first stepped towards the international section, but then caught a glimpse of the classical music section. Sayid was familiar with the greats, Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin, Bach, Handel, Tchaikovsky, but he couldn't name a piece by any of them, just their names. He picked out compilations of all the names he recognized, and then picked out some headphones and checked out.

"Oh, I almost forgot, you'll need batteries, and we don't sell those. But there's a pharmacy down the block that does."

Sayid nodded and went in the direction the young man had pointed, and found the batteries he needed. As he turned to walk to the register of the pharmacy he bumped into someone and his paper bag full of CDs burst open, dropping the cases all over the floor.

"Blimey! I'm sorry!" a woman with black curly hair exclaimed as she began picking up CDs.

"It's alright. Thank you," Sayid said, taking the CDs.

"That's quite the selection ya' have there! Not a lot of Chopin, but I see a bit," she smiled at him, handing the last CD, "If ya' can, try n' get ya hands on Nocturne in C, that's my favorite to play."

"You play? Piano?" Sayid asked.

"Cello," she said, standing upright. Her smile was bright, dazzling almost. She was pale with bright green eyes, and wild hair. She wore low rise jeans that showed off her midriff despite the chilly weather outside, but Sayid knew that was the fashion these days, practicality be damned.

"Nocturne in C, Chopin, I'll look into it, thank you."

She turned and walked a few paces down the aisle before stopping, "I could play it for ya, if ya'd like? My practice hall is nearby."

Internally, Sayid was shocked at her forwardness. He was a stranger in a pharmacy and she was inviting him to a private, personal location. He could be dangerous. He was dangerous.

"That would be lovely, thank you," her charm won him over, if not his need to warn her against doing this again.

They arrived at the practice hall, and Mel, Sayid had learned her name was, set up her instrument on the stage after directing him to the best spot in the house. She was nervous, Sayid could observe. She shuffled through her sheet music almost frantically, dropping several, but once she was in tune and ready to go, Sayid was blown away by her once more. The melody that she performed was exquisite. Closing his eyes and allowing the notes to flow through his body, Sayid had never experienced music like this. She didn't miss a note, as far as he could tell, and when it came time to turn the sheet music she didn't stumble. When it was over, Sayid felt like a warm blanket had been ripped off him. He didn't want it to end.

When she met him in front of the stage, Sayid was lost for words. He didn't know how to explain to her how the music she had played for him had entirely shifted his perspective. There was so much beauty in music, so much emotion. He would give it its appreciation from now on, thanks to her.

"That was beautiful," Sayid finally managed.

"Thank ya,'" Mel blushed.

The two chatted about her favorite pieces to play, and what she was working on now for school, and eventually Sayid got an entire concert performed just for him. The warm feeling of pure, raw emotion, be it sadness or joy, or anger or pain, all of it was cocooning him through the sound of her strings. When he knew she was on her last piece, Sayid braced himself for the feeling to leave him, but as she played the final melody, it showed him that music is everywhere. As Mel tapped her foot to the beat, and used the echo of the previous note to harmonize with the current note, Sayid recognized the tune from everyday life, and as she stopped playing the cello, Sayid felt the blanket stay on, past the echo, past the reverberations, and past the time they had finished dinner and he walked her home.

Sayid never saw her after their one date, but anytime he heard a classical tune, he thought of her, and his gratitude for her waking him up to the beauty of music.

*Flashback Ends*

Sayid felt the rain washing away some of the nastiness that clung to him. He walked silently over to where the horse was tied up and he scanned the pockets of the saddle for something he could use. An army knife, probably from the 50s, was inside, and Sayid felt that was enough. The area next to the horse was covered in shadows, and Sayid ducked into them just as he smacked the horse's rear as hard as he needed to to get the horse to whinney loudly. Mikhail peeked his head out, as the woman no doubt checked on Sayid. It wasn't until Mikhail took a step out that Sayid began whistling a tune Mel had played for him. Mikhail walked over quickly but couldn't see Sayid.

Sayid snaked out a leg, forcing Mikhail to his back, and Sayid put the knife to his throat immediately, before reaching down to grab the pistol from his belt. He got Mikhail to his feet and forced him into view of the front door, just as the woman rushed out, rifle drawn. Sayid held the gun to Mikhail's head, but that didn't cause the woman to lower her weapon.

"Where's the child?"

Neither spoke, so Sayid barely moved the gun away from his head and fired a shot.

"I'm not going to repeat myself. Tell me now, or he's dead."

"You will never get the child back. He's special. He must be protected. At all costs," the woman calmly explained, emphasizing the last words.

Sayid pulled the trigger.