Okay, and two thirds of the plot bunnies that episode gave me are done. Now I should do the Des/Dan one, but maybe I'll get over some other thing before since I still have to figure a couple of things out. Damn physics. And this one, duh, well, it begged to be done, methinks. And most of all, now I completed my third row of prompts. Should I be excited? And me, thinking that it was the last prompt I'd do because I didn't have an idea for it.

Title: A Sort of Intuition
Characters/Pairing: Desmond, Sayid, very light Sayid/Des if you squint hard
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: yeah, sure, they're mine. Do you think I'd be in here or off to have fun? Darlton owns them, surely not me.
Word count: 1399
Summary: For philosophy_20 prompt #12, sixth sense. Desmond has always had a sort of gift for reading people; he knows that it really doesn’t show in this circumstance, but there’s a sort of intuition, a sixth sense maybe, telling him that the man in front of him is someone he can trust.
Spoilers: If you didn't see 4x05, I'm spoiling you the middle.
A/N: very little AU. In the sense that when Des goes back from Dan's lab, Minkowski is still out and assumes that the flash he has when he meets Widmore is split in two. All this because I needed to have poor Minkowski out, duh. Somewhat h/c, I guess.

The lock clicks and Sayid doesn’t even try to do a single thing about it; it wouldn’t be of any use and if there’s something helpful he can do right now, it isn’t trying to open the door.

Sayid isn’t the kind of person that panics easily; experience has taught him that panicking is never a good option and that when difficulties happen it’s always useful to have around someone that keeps his head cool. He doesn’t really know exactly when he became that someone, but matter is, Sayid never, ever panics if he can help it (alright, it has happened two times or so on the island, but he really had his reasons, didn’t he?) and he’s not going to cave in to the urgency he has to go and break his head against a wall in this very moment.

He tries to make a quick recap of the situation and there’s really nothing good about it. The only person that could give him some answers is drugged and tied up to a bed, they’re stuck in that room and Desmond, well, he guesses that the state Desmond’s in won’t help them a bit.

Sayid turns and sees Desmond fidgeting with the doctor’s flashlight, his hands trembling, then he loses his grip and the flashlight falls to the floor; for a second he stays completely still, his eyes snapping open, looking at something and at nothing at the same time. Sayid doesn’t like it, not a bit, he doesn’t know what it’s happening, but he guesses that it’s really nothing good. Nothing good at all.

Then Desmond is leaning against the table and Sayid can see his whole frame shaking, his hands tentatively gripping the surface but slipping and he’s having trouble standing.

Sayid takes those two steps and closes his hands around Desmond’s arms, steadying him, trying to be firm but gentle at the same time.

“Are you okay?”, he asks. Seeing the way Desmond is looking around like he’s not really seeing a thing and his absolutely lost expression, Sayid can get a pretty good idea of the answer.

“I need to call Penny.”

Well, that wasn’t the idea he actually had. Sayid can guess fairly that when talking about Desmond you can’t leave Penny out of it for more than a small amount of time, but well, it’s not like they have a charged cellphone with her number in memory.

“Calling your girlfriend is not our priority.”, he says, trying to keep his tone as gentle as possible, though. He doesn’t want that reply to come off as harsh, not when it seems that at least Desmond has had the good sense of understanding that they’re on the same side.

Except that maybe it is, he thinks when Desmond’s eyes meet his again. There’s such despair in there that Sayid can’t help feeling guilty of having said it.

“Listen, brother.. I don’t know you, but you seem to know me so.. so if you and me are friends, then I need your help.”, he says, and even if the tone has some determination in it, Sayid can see how desperate he is.

Then suddenly he leans back against the table and starts shivering again, harder this time, seemingly unable to help it.

There’s really nothing they can do until that man in the bed wakes up and nowhere they can go unless someone opens the door; Sayid can’t think of any way to help except for one and so he slowly lowers both himself and Desmond to the ground, closing his arms lightly around Desmond’s still shaking frame, hoping that it doesn’t cause the opposite effect.

There are no more than five seconds in which Desmond goes completely still and rigid and in which Sayid expects a punch or something like that and gets ready for it.

It doesn’t happen because Desmond then leans into it completely, burying his head on Sayid’s shoulder and holding back, even if he isn’t too forceful. Sayid can see the desperation behind that gesture.

He thinks about what he knows about Desmond. Not really much, except that he has that girlfriend, that he has been closed down in that hole for three years, that as soon as he got out he started having flashes about Charlie dying (and he wishes that Hurley hadn’t told him that on their way back from the beach but before, much before) and that he had to see Charlie dying in front of his eyes after saving his life multiple times.

And now this.

Sayid guesses that it isn’t everything there is to know, but it’s enough to make him feel deeply sorry.

He knows that there is a kind of memory loss in which only traumatic or undesired memories are blocked out from someone’s mind. He thinks it’s what happened to Claire, too.

If what is happening to Desmond wasn’t something related to the island, as it seems, but if it was just a memory loss of that kind, he couldn’t really blame Desmond one bit.

He really doesn’t know why he does it but one of his hands sneaks over Desmond’s neck and his fingers thread through a couple of strands of hair; it’s not soft, it’s not clean by any means, it’s mostly dry and there is more than a knot. It seems to work, though, because the little tension that still was lingering between them disappears and it feels like the right thing to do. It’s the same when Sayid’s lips accidentally brush Desmond’s temple, but if there was anything awkward in it, it doesn’t show.

--

Desmond can’t figure a sodding thing out. Not one.

Not where he is, not what he’s doing, not what he’s wearing, not how he looks, not who he’s with, not when he is. He is in two places and two times while he really isn’t nowhere at all and it’s making him go crazy, his head seems split and knowing he has to call Penny isn’t much help. Even if he’s completely confused in this moment he knows that there can’t be a phone to use in this place, thanks so much for the information.

He doesn’t know why he’s suddenly being a bit easier around this man he thinks he should know the name of, even if he can’t even begin to try to remember a name. He doesn’t know how he decided that he wasn’t the threat in that situation.

He shouldn’t be trusting what is a complete stranger to him.

But Desmond has always had a sort of gift for reading people; he knows that it really doesn’t show in this circumstance, but there’s a sort of intuition, a sixth sense maybe, telling him that the man in front of him is someone he can trust.

The realization comes and he’s suddenly shaking beyond control, he doesn’t even know what for; then two arms are lowering him on the ground and holding him lightly and it’s really not what is supposed to happen.

For five seconds, he doesn’t move. Then that voice tells him that it’s alright and that it’s alright to need it; Desmond doesn’t think about it anymore and leans in, breathing in relief when those arms tighten a bit around his shoulders.

There’s a relief in this he really can’t place. He knows he needs it but he doesn’t know why he does. There has to be a reason buried in the back of his mind, he knows that there has to be, something that happened between where he is and where he should be. Desmond doesn’t have an idea and he knows this won’t last.

When fingers start going through his hair, getting tangled in the knots, he feels the last bit of tension leaving his body altogether; it’s almost soothing and he doesn’t flinch for a second. Lips brushing on his temple should be wrong, but they feel just right as well; Desmond only knows that he has to call Penny and that this is alright, nothing more, really.

Then it comes again and everything blacks out until he opens his eyes, he finds himself on a staircase in Oxford and he stands up swaying, knowing he needs her number and that there’s a strange sensation of calm spreading all over him. He doesn’t know why. Sixth sense tells him it isn’t half bad.

End.