“Is there anythin’ you’re gonna miss when you leave, brother?”

Sayid turns his head towards Desmond, looking at him questioningly.

They’re both standing on the deck of the freighter. Micheal is dealing with the captain and Sayid doesn’t even want to hear what they’re saying. He doesn’t even want to think about it; he may start reconsidering his decision and he can’t. He won’t.

So when Desmond suggested him to go get some fresh air instead of waiting in the hallway, he had been even too eager to say yes.

Desmond isn’t looking at him; his eyes are directed at the sky above them and Sayid follows his gaze, tilting his head up.

It still isn’t night, not yet; the sky is of a clear blue in lontanance, while it’s already dark, like soft blue velvet, over their heads. An endless chain of stars covers it like diamonds, some more visible than others. Some are way big; Sayid doesn’t think he’s imagining the light pastel-colored hues around at least three or four of them.

“What do you mean?”

“What I just said. For me, probably only them.”

“The stars, you mean?”

“Aye. Never seen any as bonnie as these. If only everythin’ else was.”

Sayid has to smile a little at that. If only everything else was as beautiful as them, indeed.

“Perhaps I agree with you.”

“Yeah, you do?”

Sayid nods and thinks that maybe he had seen something similar a few times, in the desert, in a country on the other side of the world, during a life which was ages away from this one. He doesn’t say it, though; he follows Desmond’s example and lets his eyes roam across the sky above him.

He doesn’t know why he asks it.

“Did I do the right thing?”

“Turnin’ him in? Brother, that’s a question. In your place, I’d have done exactly the same. And anyway, it was a question of time. He wasn’t ever gonna last.”

“How do you know it?”

“I know a thing or two about pressin’ buttons that say execute.”

“True enough.”

Desmond comes closer and his hand is on Sayid’s shoulder. Nothing more than that and he doesn’t say a thing, but Sayid doesn’t really need anything to be said right now; warmth floods through him and he closes his eyes, nodding, silently thankful. The only noise he can hear is the crashing of the waves against the freighter; he doesn’t know that he’s going to remember it as his last peaceful moment before everything came crashing down.

--

On the island, circa November 2005

“How the hell can you be so fuckin’ optimist?”

Desmond smiles, turning towards Sawyer. He doesn’t answer and turns his head back to the sky, grabbing a handful of sand and letting it slip through his fingers.

“Well?”

“They’ll come.”

“They won’t.”

“They will, brother.”

“And how do you know that?”

“I just do. It’s a matter of time.”

“It’s been almost a year, William Wallace. We’re stuck.”

“Brother, a year isn’t really that long.”

“Your concept of time ain’t exactly mine, then.”

“Nay, it isn’t. But I’ll tell you, spend three years underground, one outside isn’t really much. And it’s not like they’re not here.”

“That’s fucked up. The ain’t here.”

“Look up, brother.”

Sawyer raises his head for a second, then turns to him again, sitting more or less at his side.

“They’re fuckin’ stars. What’s with that?”

“Maybe one of them is doin’ exactly the same thing you’re doin’ right now.”

“And since when fuckin’ stargazing brings people closer?”

“Just try that.”

“It ain’t logical.”

“No need for it to be, brother.”

Sawyer doesn’t look too convinced, but Desmond ignores whatever he says next and smiles in delight when he sees with the corner of an eye that Sawyer is laying on his back and looking right up.

His gaze goes to the sky again, thinking about that conversation he had almost one year ago on that freighter. They sure didn’t even imagine what was going to happen next, he thinks bitterly. But it doesn’t change anything. He knows they’re going to come back just like he knows that Penny is going to be with them. He has waited for so long, he learned his lesson.

He thinks he could stay here until dawn comes. It doesn’t look like a bad idea.

--

Sydney, May 2006

Sayid drops his small hand baggage on the bed of the hotel room; it’s a five star one, last floor, view on the Opera. He carefully takes off his shoes, black and shiny, bought just a month ago in a pretty expensive shop in the center of Milan; he takes out his black coat, then searches for something in the inner pocket.

He takes a small notebook and a pencil out; he opens it with shaky hands and goes to one of the first pages, where he wrote a list of cities almost a year ago, already.

Paris, London, Berlin, New York, Los Angeles, Istanbul, Naples, Madrid, Moscow, St. Petersburg, Casablanca, Baghdad, Tokyo, Milan, Chicago, Buenos Aires, Toronto, Melbourne.

He adds Sydney near the last one, then takes a small folded piece of paper out of the notebook and rips it, throwing the pieces in the nearest bin.

He stands up, barefoot, and goes out on the balcony.

He doesn’t look at the city under him. He looks up above.

He feels small and insignificant, when his eyes raise up to the sky; and it’s a feeling he needs like he needs to breathe, eat or drink, because with what he’s doing, it would be easy to lose control for good. He has been tempted many times to jump out of the window of all the five star hotels Ben sends him to, but he has never done it.

Is there anythin’ you’re gonna miss when you leave here, brother?

If he only could answer this now, he’d say all, not only the stars.

He misses his worn out clothes, he misses his tent, he misses the sound of the waves crashing against the beach, he misses being out in the jungle and getting wet because of one of those damn tropical rains, he misses having breakfast with Dharma Initiative Chocolate Homemade Cookies or Dharma Initiative Red Fruits Cereal, he misses Sawyer calling him Al Jazeera or Captain Falafel or whatever idiocy he came up with, he misses every one of them there, he misses that filthy cabin he shared with Desmond on the freighter.

The stars here are less visible and look much more far, but he can see that they are the same. They weren’t the same in most of all the other places he’s gone to, but they are now. He wonders what Desmond is doing.

A tear falls slowly on his cheek and his hand shakes when he takes his cellphone out of the pocket of his trousers. His real cellphone, not one of the ones that Ben gives him to throw away after a job.

He’s going to be here tomorrow with another name.

Sayid turns it on, waiting for it to catch a line.

He shouldn’t really do this.

He knows that what he’s doing is the only way, but sometimes, sometimes he thinks that there is something that isn’t true in what Ben says and he should know better than everyone.

He has only got a day. He can wait or he can run, but Ben is going to know it if he makes this call.

He thinks about the LA newspaper he read on the plane.

He clicks the phone index button and slowly searches for the number he needs.

He hits Jack Shephard and brings the phone to his ear, raising his eyes up again.

It’s a while before the phone is picked up and Jack’s voice is the voice of someone who has had way too much to drink, but Sayid doesn’t have time to lose right now.

“I know. I know. Yes. Yes, I will. Use that golden pass of yours and meet me tomorrow evening.”

He pauses for a second, searching for a destination which isn’t in the United States or in Australia and that they both can reach without too much trouble.

“Mexico City. Nine, their time. I will call you. Yes. Yes, I know. His girlfriend’s name? Penny Widmore, I think. Yes, we will. Jack, you know I agree. If I didn’t... alright. Alright. Yes. We have to go back. Tomorrow.”

He shuts the phone close, leaves the balcony and puts his shoes on, then rushes out of the room.

--

On the island, November 2006

An helicopter is stationed on the beach, but no one seems to be in a hurry to get back on it.

It’s late evening, the sun is setting down and the sky looks like soft silk, going from light yellow to deep orange to warm pink, then light violet, then clear blue; a few big stars are already showing up.

Sayid wears a pair of fairly new jeans and a grey tank top; he’s barefoot and he stands up on the shore, looking at the horizon line. Everyone else is gathered around a fire near the kitchen, but he had excused himself way earlier. He’s alright like this. He doesn’t need company. Not right now.

“Long time, no see, brother.”

He turns, meeting Desmond’s eyes. He’s still wearing that damn blue shirt of his, which at least has had the decency to lose those two remaining rather useless buttons. He’s barefoot too, he has shaved some even if there’s still some stubble on his chin and his hair is a bit shorter. He has a plate in his hand, with some meat, probably boar, and Dharma Initiative Tasty Lima Beans.

Sayid looks at Desmond again; he’s smiling just slightly and Sayid shakes his head.

“Poor joke.”

“I thought it was fairly good, myself. You don’t wanna eat?”

“In the name of lima beans I guess I will.”

He takes the plate and a spoon from Desmond and sits on the ground, keeping it on his knees; he’s surprised when Desmond sits, too.

“Shouldn’t you be with your Penny?”

“Aye, but we agreed that since we have a whole night in front of us and since she’s bein’ questioned quite a lot right now and you seemed like lacking some company, I could provide it.”

“And why do you think I need some?”

Desmond just looks straight at him, warm brown eyes burning into his, and Sayid knows that it was a stupid question. He eats a spoonful from his plate and when he realizes he’s thinking that those lima beans are the best thing he ever tasted in his life, he decides not to wonder what it means. Better not to know. Then a thought flashes through his head and doesn’t want to leave it.

“You know... I’m sorry. We should have come before. I should...”

Desmond’s hand is on his shoulder again and he shakes his head; this is so similar and yet so different, Sayid thinks.

“It isn’t important.”

“It’s been more than a year.”

“Time doesn’t really matter here, brother. You came, yeah? Don’t worry about it.”

Sayid nods; he isn’t much convinced, but Desmond is right. They came. It doesn’t mean it’s alright, but it’s better. Definitely better.

“So, did you miss them?”, Desmond asks motioning up with his head.

Sayid glances at the sky, then looks at Desmond again, feeling just a bit lighter; for the first time in a while, he isn’t seeing one of the faces of his list as soon as he looks into someone’s eyes and while he’s aware that this is just a moment of truce, he allows himself to smile meaning it.

“All the time.”, he answers earnestly. “I always watched them back there, but they weren’t the same. They were the same just once.”

“But nothin’ like these ones, aye?”

“No. Not even close.”

Desmond doesn’t leave his side as Sayid gets his attention back to his dinner and his hand doesn’t leave Sayid's shoulder. Sayid wishes for him to stay.

End.