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janie_tangerineClearly doing two banners for two apocalyptic fics in one month has done tricks to my brain. But since I can't do apocalyptic and I can't kill anyone, this is probably weird. But I slashed them, finally.
Title: You're Still Standing There
Pairing: Desmond/Sayid, Desmond/Penny
Rating: R
Disclaimer: surely not mine. And this never happened and I hope it never does.
Word count: 4100
Spoilers: S4 up to now, one for 4x09.
Summary: kind of mad use of the![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
philosophy_20 prompt #1, birth. Also for 5_loves #1, reason. He knows that it would take nothing for Desmond to go on the shore and take that swim. He knows that if he did, the earth would tremble and shake, that everything would probably set on fire, that he could see the ocean waves from the porch of that house, that those walls would crumble upon him in piles of dust as all the rest would.
A/N: half apocalyptic, though no one dies. It kind of came out from the mix of the song prompt for day 7 atlostsquee, 'If the world were ending, would you kiss me or just leave me?' and of the Steve Earle song up there in my header of which I've of course stolen the title. Don't ask me why that song suggested me this, I don't know myself. For ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
falafel_fiction because I said I'd write her Desmond/Sayid even if she didn't stump me on that meme and here it is. I sincerely hope it's halfway decent.
He understands it won’t let him go the second his feet leave the shore.
Something shifts inside him and he has a deja-vu. He can feel his nose starting to bleed.
They’re about a mile away from the shore and then it starts.
The island begins to tremble fiercely and their little ship gets almost turned over by a sudden high wave.
He holds on to Penny for a couple of seconds before realizing that his nose has started bleeding and that her white shirt now shows two small blood stains on it.
His head hurts. If he looks at her he’s able to concentrate, but the ship isn’t going very far and every inch gained is a rip through his head. He can feel a hammer in there and he isn’t able to distinguish what Penny is saying.
A loud noise comes from the island and they turn their heads, seeing some fire over in the jungle; the sea roars, he can see the waves washing on shore with a surprising strong force, swiping away everything that was left of the former beach camp. His body shakes violently and then he understands.
It won’t let him go.
The second he turned that key, he was doomed and if he tries to get away, it’s going to kill him and everyone on that ship.
There isn’t much room for reflection; he sees Sawyer holding fiercely unto Jack’s arm, unstable, his eyes hollow and just hopeless when he just seemed finally back to life two hours ago. He sees Claire hanging on to a rail, her hair flying wildly around; he sees Jin doing the same and Desmond knows that if he stays on this ship, they’re all going to die. Penny included.
He could jump off and swim back to the shore. Then it’d be over and they’d be safe. He just knows it.
That means leaving her behind. He knows she’d follow him there, but it’s not what they need. The idea of getting her stranded there with him forever scares him beyond everything else; she doesn’t deserve it and he knows how it is. He doesn’t want anything of that kind for her. He can’t bear the idea of putting her through what he was put through, even if they’d be together. He could never forget himself.
He should have understood that it really was fate working against him in the end.
He tells her, his voice breaking, waves crashing all over them; she cries and his hand wipes away some tears meddled with ocean water, then he kisses her one last time.
Her lips are cold and wet and she tastes just as she did before, fresh and familiar and just as sweet as he had imagined for the past eight years. If he could, he’d freeze this moment and happily relieve it for eternity.
But if he wants her to live, he needs to go. He nods at her slowly when they part, feeling his heart shatter into a million pieces when her arms leave his shoulders. He meets Jack’s eyes for a second, nodding again. Jack doesn’t do a thing to stop him; he has understood and Desmond is bloody glad for it.
“I’m sorry,” he says turning towards Penny, trying not to notice that his blood is on her cheek; then he turns and jumps off the ship, his head still hurting, swimming towards that damn beach.
As soon as he washes on shore, his clothes torn and all the blood washed off by the ocean, everything stills and the sea turns calm again. He stands up shakily and watches the ship leave. His nose doesn’t bleed anymore, his head doesn’t hurt anymore.
Then he crashes on his knees and doesn’t do anything to stop the first tears that come to his eyes.
His only consolation is that he saved her life by leaving her for good; but now his only reason of hanging on is gone for good and if he had ever thought he felt like a dead man when he was closed down in the hatch, he was wrong. This is feeling like a dead man, now he knows; and the idea of spending the rest of his life alone here just makes him think that maybe suicide is an option he should reconsider. Except that he knows he hasn’t got it in him to do such a thing.
--
“It wouldn’t let him go.”
Sayid can’t believe his ears when Penny speaks, her words choked, breaking down in tears just after the sentence is said; he and Hurley had waited on the deck because if no one came back they could have done something at least and he surely didn’t expect this.
He still remembers that phone call.
I promise. I love you.
He’d have bet an arm on Desmond not ever leaving Penny’s side if they were to meet again. Also on her not leaving his.
She doesn’t seem to be able to stop crying and he has to ask Sawyer what happened. He shivers when he said that his nose had started bleeding.
“Then... everythin’ was just shakin’, it looked like the waves were gonna wreck us. He said that he wasn’t ever meant to leave, he kissed her and... he just jumped off the ship swimmin’ back to shore. When... when he arrived there it just stopped. If... if he hadn’t gone... I think the ship wouldn’t have lasted much.”, he says, his voice low and his tone respectful. “I think he didn’t want her to be stranded all her life there. He ain’t ever gonna leave that place, if he wants to live.”
“So he’s alone?”
Sawyer shrugs.
“Locke disappeared six months ago or somethin’. Guess he is.”
Suddenly he feels sick.
He remembers a couple of nights locked in that sort of cabin on the freighter. They had talked, then.
You don’t know how happy I’m goin’ to be when I finally leave that rock, brother. You couldn’t begin to imagine it.
And what would be the first thing you do?
Tell her that I’m sorry and I was an idiot.
He closes his eyes, bringing a hand on his forehead.
He remembers when Ben had sent him after her and he couldn’t even raise the gun. Killing Desmond’s girlfriend was something he couldn’t bring himself to do, not for avenging Ben or whatever he was. Every time, he remembered that phone call.
He had saved Desmond’s life when reconnecting that phone; shooting Penny meant nothing short of killing him, too, and sure, he was doomed and his life had been over the day Nadia was dead, but he wasn’t ever going to reach that point. Even if not going through with that order meant consequences.
Ben had done a mistake, though.
He shouldn’t have let that bit of information slip.
What would she think of you, now? You’ve done all of this for her and what now? You want those two to have the happily ever after that you hadn’t? That’s so very romantic of you, Sayid. I should have imagined it when I thought it over. I probably could have found a less involving way.
That last sentence had been muttered and he hadn’t almost heard it, but he did hear it. Then everything was sort of clear.
Did you have her killed in order to recruit me?
He remembered Ben saying the island wasn’t ever going to let Desmond go before he shot him two times in the heart. But he had thought it was only the last of his lies.
Funny, that it had turned out being the only true thing he had ever said.
He thinks. He could go back to California. He could also go back to Iraq. There were a lot of options he could consider.
But he just couldn’t find a purpose. What good could he do, or what good would he do to anyone? He feels just useless.
Jin has just found Sun again, from what he sees Claire is probably going to move in with Kate or something since they seem to be absolutely alright with each other and Sawyer hasn’t left Jack’s side since the ship docked; Sayid can’t sure help Penny now.
No one is waiting for him anywhere and Nadia is gone.
He thinks about Desmond and he feels sicker. Stranded there, alone, knowing that every hope of seeing Penny again is crushed; probably worse than it was before they crashed.
Maybe it’s stupid; maybe he’s taking a swim right now after deciding he couldn’t go on and if he looked over, on the horizon line, he’d see distant fireworks.
But then again, he doesn’t really have business in the real world anymore.
He leaves the wall and goes to Jack.
“Jack, is that boat still good enough for sailing?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Why?”
“I am going there.”
“What for? Sayid, he can’t leave.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Is there anything for me here?”
Jack opens his mouth as if he was about to answer, but then he lowers his head and nods briefly. Thankfully he understood.
Going back right now is the only thing he can do to give his life a sense, if it can be called life. And if it doesn’t work out and Desmond decides it’s better to take a swim, Sayid will stand on shore and wait with all the calm in the world.
--
He was never good at sailing; when he crashes on the shore, he really crashes.
The boat is useless, now. Good. He isn’t planning on ever leaving this place alive anyway.
He stands in what remains of the beach camp, a few torn tents, the kitchen table turned upside down on the ground; he ties his hair back, feeling their unnatural smoothness under his fingers, then takes the backpack he brought with him and heads towards the Barracks. It’s the only place he knows other than the beach and Desmond isn’t obviously there.
--
When he arrives, it looks like a bombed village. Half of the Barracks are debris right now; the other half is more or less standing, though a couple of houses are threatening to fall down soon. Everything looks abandoned and the empty swings look slightly creepy in that dim light the setting sun offers. A wind blow moves them; it produces a creepy strident sound and Sayid shivers.
There is only one house in decent conditions and where the light is on; he must be there. If he isn’t, Sayid is going to spend the night there and then search for him the next day. He has time, anyway.
He knocks. No answer. But he had expected it, in Desmond’s place he’d probably take it as an hallucination and well, Sayid is probably less prone to hallucinations than Desmond is.
He knocks again, louder.
This time the door opens and they stare at each other in silence for a good while, Desmond because he can’t probably believe that it’s actually Sayid and Sayid because he’s trying to notice all the changes. It’s been two years since he saw Desmond, more or less. Sure he’s changed.
He’s thinner. He isn’t wearing that blue shirt, well, he’s wearing just a pair of old faded jeans which are a bit too long for him since they cover up half of his bare feet; they’re actually more Sawyer’s style than Desmond’s, Sayid thinks, but it just doesn’t matter.
His hair is worse kept than he remembered, though his beard isn’t; on the contrary, it looks trimmed carefully. His eyes are wide with disbelief, staring into his. Sayid doesn’t say anything; he suddenly doesn’t know what he should say.
“Is this really you, brother?” Desmond says, his voice low, barely more than a whisper. They’re close. Sayid can smell faintly whiskey in his breath. He doesn’t blame him.
“Yes, it is.”
“I can’t go back.”
“I know,” he answers calmly. “And neither can I. I fear my boat is rather useless, right now.”
“Why? What’s for you here?”
Sayid can’t keep on looking him straight in the eyes. It’s too much, really too much, too bright and intense for him to keep his head up.
“What’s for me there?” he answers shrugging. “Didn’t they tell you?”
“Jack did,” Desmond answers, nodding. “But I still..”
“There’s nothing for me back there.”
“Brother, I think my life ended when I swam back up here. You aren’t really up for nothin’ good. I’d try to leave, if I were you.”
“I think we are more or less on the same page.”
Desmond looks at him for another second, then opens the door and steps aside. Sayid gets in.
--
They rarely talk.
They just exchange the basic information and ask only the necessary questions. Sayid doesn’t mind it at all.
It’s a two-story house; Desmond sleeps on the upper floor, Sayid in the lower. He doesn’t know whose bed it is; but the house isn’t Ben’s and it’s all he needs.
There’s plenty of food and Desmond says that there still were Dharma drops once per month; at least they don’t have to worry about that.
The first week, Desmond was either reading or getting wasted; Sayid had done nothing to interfere with it. He figured that Desmond was allowed it; the air is thick around him, he notices.
There’s a strange feeling he experiences, when he’s around Desmond; it’s a feeling that makes him uneasy and somewhat scared.
He knows that it would take nothing for Desmond to go on the shore and take that swim. He knows that if he did, the earth would tremble and shake, that everything would probably set on fire, that he could see the ocean waves from the porch of that house, that those walls would crumble upon him in piles of dust as all the rest would. Maybe the island itself would disappear, sort of swallowed by the water.
He had thought it wasn’t going to matter if it happened, when he decided to go back; now he can’t help shivering when he thinks about it. He thinks about how Desmond must feel about this; knowing that you’re the key to some twisted kind of apocalypse surely doesn’t help you feel good and Sayid doubts there’s anything else for him to think about.
--
One night there’s a knock on his door and he opens it. Desmond stumbles into the room, now visibly drunk. He brings himself sitting on his bed, clutching the empty bottle in his hand.
“Y’know what, brother? I was almost doin’ it.”
“What?” he asks even if he already knows.
“Goin’ on the shore and takin’ that bloody swim. Before you came. Figured there wasn’t much for me.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Aye, I didn’t. I couldn’t. Guess once one’s a coward, stays one.”
“You aren’t.”
“I am.”
“If you were, you would have never come back here in the first place,” he answers earnestly.
“I’d have killed her if I didn’t,” Desmond spits back. Sayid can see it all. He doubts that Penny will ever move on, but maybe there’s a chance for her; while there probably isn’t for him, Sayid thinks. Of course not; he realizes that without the chance of ever seeing her again, Desmond doesn’t really have that many reasons to go on.
“Why does it hate me so much?” he chokes then, throwing the bottle against the floor. It smashes into a good deal of pieces; Sayid doesn’t really care. He still sits on the other side of the bed. He doesn’t move. Not yet.
There isn’t a question of what Desmond means with it.
“First the bloody flashes, now this? Why does it hate me so damn much?”
Sayid doesn’t really have an answer for it. It’s right, it seems like that island had fun on targeting Desmond with all the possible disgraces it could; from the hatch to the flashes to the almost-apocalypse, it sure isn’t the best ride someone can be up to. He seriously wonders how could Desmond manage to stay sane up to this point.
He doesn’t exactly know why he reaches an arm around Desmond’s shoulder; but then Desmond leans into him seemingly without thinking much about it, his frame shaking, his head buried in the crook of Sayid’s neck and well, maybe he did it because this time he really is too drunk to care but Sayid decides that it really isn’t the point.
His arm tightens around Desmond’s neck while his other hand runs down his spine, trying to see if it can give at least some kind of relief; it seemingly does and then Desmond mutters something against his neck, maybe a thank you but Sayid can’t really say it since the words were already slurred to begin with. Then he passes out and Sayid doesn’t move. He had never tried to think about it, but right now he reckons that by coming back he has done the first good thing since he left the island for the first time.
--
Desmond quits the scotch sort of cold turkey after that.
To Sayid it seems like they’re getting more talkative. Well, it’s not like they have long philosophical conversations over the meaning of life because that would actually kill them both, but they do have conversations which don’t concern the basic informations that two people living under the same roof have to share.
It’s not that he didn’t like the silence, all the contrary, but he admits that he feels less like a ghost and probably Desmond does, too.
At least Desmond has started wearing shirts again instead of going around only in Sawyer’s jeans (because Sayid now is positive that they were Sawyer’s jeans, once); he only wears the blue one rarely because it’s got its fair share of holes and lost all the buttons, but it seems like it’s still the one he’s most comfortable in.
Sometimes they take walks together to the beach or someplace else; sometimes he goes alone; sometimes Desmond goes alone. When he does, Sayid can’t never shake off that disturbing sensation that tells him that Desmond is going to take that swim.
But he never does.
--
Sayid cooks and Desmond does the dishes. It has been a sort of unspoken agreement and they never changed it. Sayid cleans the lower floor and Desmond the upper one and the stairs; Sayid can’t help feeling ridiculous sometimes, thinking about the both of them playing college students without studying in the middle of nowhere and in the only standing house in a sort of ghost town.
But then again, Desmond had told him that his life was over the day he swam back there and his own was over the day they shot Nadia. A ghost town is exactly the place for the both of them.
--
Sometimes they watch a movie on the couch and it’s even more ridiculous. But Sayid never thinks about the actual implications when they do.
One evening they take the first tape on hand, there wasn’t anything written on it; it ends up being Great Expectations, the latest modernized version. Sayid notices from the first five minutes that it is rubbish even if he didn’t read the book.
Desmond did, though, and he spends the whole movie complaining about everything; the new setting sucked, the actors didn’t get a thing of the spirit of the book, the director didn’t get a thing of the spirit of the book, poor Dickens was probably turning in his bloody grave and Sayid gets the impression that he has talked more during that movie than during the three or four months he has been there.
When it’s over, Desmond looks genuinely disgusted.
“Brother, that was bloody horrible.”
“I have to agree with you.”
They look at each other and then Desmond laughs for a couple of seconds; Sayid thought he had forgotten how to form a proper smile but he guessed he hadn’t, after all, since he feels his lips turn upward without any proper authorization from his brain.
He doesn’t know when exactly they go from the first sort of happy moment they had in a too long time to kissing; he only knows that at one point Desmond’s hands are on his shoulders and his mouth hovers near his. Sayid doesn’t really think about it; he just closes the gap and then it becomes frantic, rushed. Desmond’s lips part under his and he tastes like that Dharma lemon water-ice they had for dinner and not like the whiskey one would have expected.
Sayid doesn’t think. He know that if he thinks he’s going to ruin it and he has another sensation that tells him they both can use this. His hand goes to Desmond’s neck, grasping lightly a couple of strands of clean hair, feeling it soft under his fingertips; Desmond does the same and his hands meet quite unkempt curls.
His hands slowly unbutton Desmond’s white shirt, Desmond gets him rid of his tank top; then everything happens on the couch and Sayid can’t really remember much of it except that everything happens in a rush, that Desmond’s skin was warm and soft under his lips and his hands, that feeling Desmond’s teeth biting in his shoulder had sent his body into a wave of spams. They come a minute apart or so; Sayid doesn’t say anything and Desmond says Penny but it’s fine like this. He knew it and he wasn’t surely going to be angry at Desmond for it.
--
It isn’t a one time thing.
Sometimes Sayid asks himself why they crossed that bridge, if there is some explainable reason.
He realizes that there is more than one but while he thinks he knows them, he can’t actually translate them into words.
Words seem useless right now, anyway.
At the beginning, he just doesn’t think about it. He takes it as a distraction they both need to avoid reasoning further about everything else.
Then he starts to pay attention to what they do. He realizes that Desmond has a sensitive spot along the imaginary line connecting his hips; that he prefers taking it slow than rushing it like they did the first time; that he loves it when Sayid’s lips brush over his neck; that he doesn’t like to talk while having sex.
Once it happened on the couch while the record player that Sayid had just repaired was playing and Sayid had found out that if there was some background music, in that case classical music, Desmond got definitely turned on.
So when he can he puts Mozart’s piano concert n.22 in E flat major K482 at a low volume; it’s the only one there but it suffices. He spends time leaving trails of butterfly kisses on that line connecting the hips, taking all the time he needs (it’s not like they’re in a hurry); whatever they’re doing, if his mouth isn’t busy elsewhere, it always lingers on Desmond’s neck and he rarely speaks.
He realizes that at one point he can distinguish every shade of golden of Desmond’s tan.
Whenever it happens, he forgets why he’s here in the first place and that it’s only the two of them out there and that if Desmond went to the beach and swam away from there everything would explode in a cloud of smoke, fire, sparkles and waves crashing everything. He only hopes that for Desmond is the same.
--
It doesn’t stop and they don’t talk about it even if they talk about what happened in the real world before Desmond left it and before Sayid left it both times; it’s winter on the island and it’s snowing (Sayid can’t really wrap his head around the concept of snow on that place, but hey, they’re not on the Equator line after all) when they’re on Sayid’s bed and Desmond is coming against his hand, his breath hot on Sayid’s shoulder, the house warm, the rest of that ghost village covered in a thin white layer.
Before it’s over, he says Sayid for the first time since this thing between them started (it was summer, then) and suddenly the island outside that room feels quiet and dead as they were when Sayid came back.
But he senses that something is different and he has this crazy impression that Desmond does, too; either way, his hands shake and his whole body does and Desmond’s does too while they kiss lightly, barely more than a peck but less than what would be a proper kiss.
“How do you feel?” he asks after, when the sheet is cool under his back and Desmond’s skin is warm under his fingers.
“Alive,” Desmond answers before closing his eyes.
It’s all the answer he needs.
End.
Title: You're Still Standing There
Pairing: Desmond/Sayid, Desmond/Penny
Rating: R
Disclaimer: surely not mine. And this never happened and I hope it never does.
Word count: 4100
Spoilers: S4 up to now, one for 4x09.
Summary: kind of mad use of the
philosophy_20 prompt #1, birth. Also for 5_loves #1, reason. He knows that it would take nothing for Desmond to go on the shore and take that swim. He knows that if he did, the earth would tremble and shake, that everything would probably set on fire, that he could see the ocean waves from the porch of that house, that those walls would crumble upon him in piles of dust as all the rest would.A/N: half apocalyptic, though no one dies. It kind of came out from the mix of the song prompt for day 7 at
lostsquee, 'If the world were ending, would you kiss me or just leave me?' and of the Steve Earle song up there in my header of which I've of course stolen the title. Don't ask me why that song suggested me this, I don't know myself. For falafel_fiction because I said I'd write her Desmond/Sayid even if she didn't stump me on that meme and here it is. I sincerely hope it's halfway decent.He understands it won’t let him go the second his feet leave the shore.
Something shifts inside him and he has a deja-vu. He can feel his nose starting to bleed.
They’re about a mile away from the shore and then it starts.
The island begins to tremble fiercely and their little ship gets almost turned over by a sudden high wave.
He holds on to Penny for a couple of seconds before realizing that his nose has started bleeding and that her white shirt now shows two small blood stains on it.
His head hurts. If he looks at her he’s able to concentrate, but the ship isn’t going very far and every inch gained is a rip through his head. He can feel a hammer in there and he isn’t able to distinguish what Penny is saying.
A loud noise comes from the island and they turn their heads, seeing some fire over in the jungle; the sea roars, he can see the waves washing on shore with a surprising strong force, swiping away everything that was left of the former beach camp. His body shakes violently and then he understands.
It won’t let him go.
The second he turned that key, he was doomed and if he tries to get away, it’s going to kill him and everyone on that ship.
There isn’t much room for reflection; he sees Sawyer holding fiercely unto Jack’s arm, unstable, his eyes hollow and just hopeless when he just seemed finally back to life two hours ago. He sees Claire hanging on to a rail, her hair flying wildly around; he sees Jin doing the same and Desmond knows that if he stays on this ship, they’re all going to die. Penny included.
He could jump off and swim back to the shore. Then it’d be over and they’d be safe. He just knows it.
That means leaving her behind. He knows she’d follow him there, but it’s not what they need. The idea of getting her stranded there with him forever scares him beyond everything else; she doesn’t deserve it and he knows how it is. He doesn’t want anything of that kind for her. He can’t bear the idea of putting her through what he was put through, even if they’d be together. He could never forget himself.
He should have understood that it really was fate working against him in the end.
He tells her, his voice breaking, waves crashing all over them; she cries and his hand wipes away some tears meddled with ocean water, then he kisses her one last time.
Her lips are cold and wet and she tastes just as she did before, fresh and familiar and just as sweet as he had imagined for the past eight years. If he could, he’d freeze this moment and happily relieve it for eternity.
But if he wants her to live, he needs to go. He nods at her slowly when they part, feeling his heart shatter into a million pieces when her arms leave his shoulders. He meets Jack’s eyes for a second, nodding again. Jack doesn’t do a thing to stop him; he has understood and Desmond is bloody glad for it.
“I’m sorry,” he says turning towards Penny, trying not to notice that his blood is on her cheek; then he turns and jumps off the ship, his head still hurting, swimming towards that damn beach.
As soon as he washes on shore, his clothes torn and all the blood washed off by the ocean, everything stills and the sea turns calm again. He stands up shakily and watches the ship leave. His nose doesn’t bleed anymore, his head doesn’t hurt anymore.
Then he crashes on his knees and doesn’t do anything to stop the first tears that come to his eyes.
His only consolation is that he saved her life by leaving her for good; but now his only reason of hanging on is gone for good and if he had ever thought he felt like a dead man when he was closed down in the hatch, he was wrong. This is feeling like a dead man, now he knows; and the idea of spending the rest of his life alone here just makes him think that maybe suicide is an option he should reconsider. Except that he knows he hasn’t got it in him to do such a thing.
--
“It wouldn’t let him go.”
Sayid can’t believe his ears when Penny speaks, her words choked, breaking down in tears just after the sentence is said; he and Hurley had waited on the deck because if no one came back they could have done something at least and he surely didn’t expect this.
He still remembers that phone call.
I promise. I love you.
He’d have bet an arm on Desmond not ever leaving Penny’s side if they were to meet again. Also on her not leaving his.
She doesn’t seem to be able to stop crying and he has to ask Sawyer what happened. He shivers when he said that his nose had started bleeding.
“Then... everythin’ was just shakin’, it looked like the waves were gonna wreck us. He said that he wasn’t ever meant to leave, he kissed her and... he just jumped off the ship swimmin’ back to shore. When... when he arrived there it just stopped. If... if he hadn’t gone... I think the ship wouldn’t have lasted much.”, he says, his voice low and his tone respectful. “I think he didn’t want her to be stranded all her life there. He ain’t ever gonna leave that place, if he wants to live.”
“So he’s alone?”
Sawyer shrugs.
“Locke disappeared six months ago or somethin’. Guess he is.”
Suddenly he feels sick.
He remembers a couple of nights locked in that sort of cabin on the freighter. They had talked, then.
You don’t know how happy I’m goin’ to be when I finally leave that rock, brother. You couldn’t begin to imagine it.
And what would be the first thing you do?
Tell her that I’m sorry and I was an idiot.
He closes his eyes, bringing a hand on his forehead.
He remembers when Ben had sent him after her and he couldn’t even raise the gun. Killing Desmond’s girlfriend was something he couldn’t bring himself to do, not for avenging Ben or whatever he was. Every time, he remembered that phone call.
He had saved Desmond’s life when reconnecting that phone; shooting Penny meant nothing short of killing him, too, and sure, he was doomed and his life had been over the day Nadia was dead, but he wasn’t ever going to reach that point. Even if not going through with that order meant consequences.
Ben had done a mistake, though.
He shouldn’t have let that bit of information slip.
What would she think of you, now? You’ve done all of this for her and what now? You want those two to have the happily ever after that you hadn’t? That’s so very romantic of you, Sayid. I should have imagined it when I thought it over. I probably could have found a less involving way.
That last sentence had been muttered and he hadn’t almost heard it, but he did hear it. Then everything was sort of clear.
Did you have her killed in order to recruit me?
He remembered Ben saying the island wasn’t ever going to let Desmond go before he shot him two times in the heart. But he had thought it was only the last of his lies.
Funny, that it had turned out being the only true thing he had ever said.
He thinks. He could go back to California. He could also go back to Iraq. There were a lot of options he could consider.
But he just couldn’t find a purpose. What good could he do, or what good would he do to anyone? He feels just useless.
Jin has just found Sun again, from what he sees Claire is probably going to move in with Kate or something since they seem to be absolutely alright with each other and Sawyer hasn’t left Jack’s side since the ship docked; Sayid can’t sure help Penny now.
No one is waiting for him anywhere and Nadia is gone.
He thinks about Desmond and he feels sicker. Stranded there, alone, knowing that every hope of seeing Penny again is crushed; probably worse than it was before they crashed.
Maybe it’s stupid; maybe he’s taking a swim right now after deciding he couldn’t go on and if he looked over, on the horizon line, he’d see distant fireworks.
But then again, he doesn’t really have business in the real world anymore.
He leaves the wall and goes to Jack.
“Jack, is that boat still good enough for sailing?”
“Yeah, I guess so. Why?”
“I am going there.”
“What for? Sayid, he can’t leave.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Is there anything for me here?”
Jack opens his mouth as if he was about to answer, but then he lowers his head and nods briefly. Thankfully he understood.
Going back right now is the only thing he can do to give his life a sense, if it can be called life. And if it doesn’t work out and Desmond decides it’s better to take a swim, Sayid will stand on shore and wait with all the calm in the world.
--
He was never good at sailing; when he crashes on the shore, he really crashes.
The boat is useless, now. Good. He isn’t planning on ever leaving this place alive anyway.
He stands in what remains of the beach camp, a few torn tents, the kitchen table turned upside down on the ground; he ties his hair back, feeling their unnatural smoothness under his fingers, then takes the backpack he brought with him and heads towards the Barracks. It’s the only place he knows other than the beach and Desmond isn’t obviously there.
--
When he arrives, it looks like a bombed village. Half of the Barracks are debris right now; the other half is more or less standing, though a couple of houses are threatening to fall down soon. Everything looks abandoned and the empty swings look slightly creepy in that dim light the setting sun offers. A wind blow moves them; it produces a creepy strident sound and Sayid shivers.
There is only one house in decent conditions and where the light is on; he must be there. If he isn’t, Sayid is going to spend the night there and then search for him the next day. He has time, anyway.
He knocks. No answer. But he had expected it, in Desmond’s place he’d probably take it as an hallucination and well, Sayid is probably less prone to hallucinations than Desmond is.
He knocks again, louder.
This time the door opens and they stare at each other in silence for a good while, Desmond because he can’t probably believe that it’s actually Sayid and Sayid because he’s trying to notice all the changes. It’s been two years since he saw Desmond, more or less. Sure he’s changed.
He’s thinner. He isn’t wearing that blue shirt, well, he’s wearing just a pair of old faded jeans which are a bit too long for him since they cover up half of his bare feet; they’re actually more Sawyer’s style than Desmond’s, Sayid thinks, but it just doesn’t matter.
His hair is worse kept than he remembered, though his beard isn’t; on the contrary, it looks trimmed carefully. His eyes are wide with disbelief, staring into his. Sayid doesn’t say anything; he suddenly doesn’t know what he should say.
“Is this really you, brother?” Desmond says, his voice low, barely more than a whisper. They’re close. Sayid can smell faintly whiskey in his breath. He doesn’t blame him.
“Yes, it is.”
“I can’t go back.”
“I know,” he answers calmly. “And neither can I. I fear my boat is rather useless, right now.”
“Why? What’s for you here?”
Sayid can’t keep on looking him straight in the eyes. It’s too much, really too much, too bright and intense for him to keep his head up.
“What’s for me there?” he answers shrugging. “Didn’t they tell you?”
“Jack did,” Desmond answers, nodding. “But I still..”
“There’s nothing for me back there.”
“Brother, I think my life ended when I swam back up here. You aren’t really up for nothin’ good. I’d try to leave, if I were you.”
“I think we are more or less on the same page.”
Desmond looks at him for another second, then opens the door and steps aside. Sayid gets in.
--
They rarely talk.
They just exchange the basic information and ask only the necessary questions. Sayid doesn’t mind it at all.
It’s a two-story house; Desmond sleeps on the upper floor, Sayid in the lower. He doesn’t know whose bed it is; but the house isn’t Ben’s and it’s all he needs.
There’s plenty of food and Desmond says that there still were Dharma drops once per month; at least they don’t have to worry about that.
The first week, Desmond was either reading or getting wasted; Sayid had done nothing to interfere with it. He figured that Desmond was allowed it; the air is thick around him, he notices.
There’s a strange feeling he experiences, when he’s around Desmond; it’s a feeling that makes him uneasy and somewhat scared.
He knows that it would take nothing for Desmond to go on the shore and take that swim. He knows that if he did, the earth would tremble and shake, that everything would probably set on fire, that he could see the ocean waves from the porch of that house, that those walls would crumble upon him in piles of dust as all the rest would. Maybe the island itself would disappear, sort of swallowed by the water.
He had thought it wasn’t going to matter if it happened, when he decided to go back; now he can’t help shivering when he thinks about it. He thinks about how Desmond must feel about this; knowing that you’re the key to some twisted kind of apocalypse surely doesn’t help you feel good and Sayid doubts there’s anything else for him to think about.
--
One night there’s a knock on his door and he opens it. Desmond stumbles into the room, now visibly drunk. He brings himself sitting on his bed, clutching the empty bottle in his hand.
“Y’know what, brother? I was almost doin’ it.”
“What?” he asks even if he already knows.
“Goin’ on the shore and takin’ that bloody swim. Before you came. Figured there wasn’t much for me.”
“But you didn’t.”
“Aye, I didn’t. I couldn’t. Guess once one’s a coward, stays one.”
“You aren’t.”
“I am.”
“If you were, you would have never come back here in the first place,” he answers earnestly.
“I’d have killed her if I didn’t,” Desmond spits back. Sayid can see it all. He doubts that Penny will ever move on, but maybe there’s a chance for her; while there probably isn’t for him, Sayid thinks. Of course not; he realizes that without the chance of ever seeing her again, Desmond doesn’t really have that many reasons to go on.
“Why does it hate me so much?” he chokes then, throwing the bottle against the floor. It smashes into a good deal of pieces; Sayid doesn’t really care. He still sits on the other side of the bed. He doesn’t move. Not yet.
There isn’t a question of what Desmond means with it.
“First the bloody flashes, now this? Why does it hate me so damn much?”
Sayid doesn’t really have an answer for it. It’s right, it seems like that island had fun on targeting Desmond with all the possible disgraces it could; from the hatch to the flashes to the almost-apocalypse, it sure isn’t the best ride someone can be up to. He seriously wonders how could Desmond manage to stay sane up to this point.
He doesn’t exactly know why he reaches an arm around Desmond’s shoulder; but then Desmond leans into him seemingly without thinking much about it, his frame shaking, his head buried in the crook of Sayid’s neck and well, maybe he did it because this time he really is too drunk to care but Sayid decides that it really isn’t the point.
His arm tightens around Desmond’s neck while his other hand runs down his spine, trying to see if it can give at least some kind of relief; it seemingly does and then Desmond mutters something against his neck, maybe a thank you but Sayid can’t really say it since the words were already slurred to begin with. Then he passes out and Sayid doesn’t move. He had never tried to think about it, but right now he reckons that by coming back he has done the first good thing since he left the island for the first time.
--
Desmond quits the scotch sort of cold turkey after that.
To Sayid it seems like they’re getting more talkative. Well, it’s not like they have long philosophical conversations over the meaning of life because that would actually kill them both, but they do have conversations which don’t concern the basic informations that two people living under the same roof have to share.
It’s not that he didn’t like the silence, all the contrary, but he admits that he feels less like a ghost and probably Desmond does, too.
At least Desmond has started wearing shirts again instead of going around only in Sawyer’s jeans (because Sayid now is positive that they were Sawyer’s jeans, once); he only wears the blue one rarely because it’s got its fair share of holes and lost all the buttons, but it seems like it’s still the one he’s most comfortable in.
Sometimes they take walks together to the beach or someplace else; sometimes he goes alone; sometimes Desmond goes alone. When he does, Sayid can’t never shake off that disturbing sensation that tells him that Desmond is going to take that swim.
But he never does.
--
Sayid cooks and Desmond does the dishes. It has been a sort of unspoken agreement and they never changed it. Sayid cleans the lower floor and Desmond the upper one and the stairs; Sayid can’t help feeling ridiculous sometimes, thinking about the both of them playing college students without studying in the middle of nowhere and in the only standing house in a sort of ghost town.
But then again, Desmond had told him that his life was over the day he swam back there and his own was over the day they shot Nadia. A ghost town is exactly the place for the both of them.
--
Sometimes they watch a movie on the couch and it’s even more ridiculous. But Sayid never thinks about the actual implications when they do.
One evening they take the first tape on hand, there wasn’t anything written on it; it ends up being Great Expectations, the latest modernized version. Sayid notices from the first five minutes that it is rubbish even if he didn’t read the book.
Desmond did, though, and he spends the whole movie complaining about everything; the new setting sucked, the actors didn’t get a thing of the spirit of the book, the director didn’t get a thing of the spirit of the book, poor Dickens was probably turning in his bloody grave and Sayid gets the impression that he has talked more during that movie than during the three or four months he has been there.
When it’s over, Desmond looks genuinely disgusted.
“Brother, that was bloody horrible.”
“I have to agree with you.”
They look at each other and then Desmond laughs for a couple of seconds; Sayid thought he had forgotten how to form a proper smile but he guessed he hadn’t, after all, since he feels his lips turn upward without any proper authorization from his brain.
He doesn’t know when exactly they go from the first sort of happy moment they had in a too long time to kissing; he only knows that at one point Desmond’s hands are on his shoulders and his mouth hovers near his. Sayid doesn’t really think about it; he just closes the gap and then it becomes frantic, rushed. Desmond’s lips part under his and he tastes like that Dharma lemon water-ice they had for dinner and not like the whiskey one would have expected.
Sayid doesn’t think. He know that if he thinks he’s going to ruin it and he has another sensation that tells him they both can use this. His hand goes to Desmond’s neck, grasping lightly a couple of strands of clean hair, feeling it soft under his fingertips; Desmond does the same and his hands meet quite unkempt curls.
His hands slowly unbutton Desmond’s white shirt, Desmond gets him rid of his tank top; then everything happens on the couch and Sayid can’t really remember much of it except that everything happens in a rush, that Desmond’s skin was warm and soft under his lips and his hands, that feeling Desmond’s teeth biting in his shoulder had sent his body into a wave of spams. They come a minute apart or so; Sayid doesn’t say anything and Desmond says Penny but it’s fine like this. He knew it and he wasn’t surely going to be angry at Desmond for it.
--
It isn’t a one time thing.
Sometimes Sayid asks himself why they crossed that bridge, if there is some explainable reason.
He realizes that there is more than one but while he thinks he knows them, he can’t actually translate them into words.
Words seem useless right now, anyway.
At the beginning, he just doesn’t think about it. He takes it as a distraction they both need to avoid reasoning further about everything else.
Then he starts to pay attention to what they do. He realizes that Desmond has a sensitive spot along the imaginary line connecting his hips; that he prefers taking it slow than rushing it like they did the first time; that he loves it when Sayid’s lips brush over his neck; that he doesn’t like to talk while having sex.
Once it happened on the couch while the record player that Sayid had just repaired was playing and Sayid had found out that if there was some background music, in that case classical music, Desmond got definitely turned on.
So when he can he puts Mozart’s piano concert n.22 in E flat major K482 at a low volume; it’s the only one there but it suffices. He spends time leaving trails of butterfly kisses on that line connecting the hips, taking all the time he needs (it’s not like they’re in a hurry); whatever they’re doing, if his mouth isn’t busy elsewhere, it always lingers on Desmond’s neck and he rarely speaks.
He realizes that at one point he can distinguish every shade of golden of Desmond’s tan.
Whenever it happens, he forgets why he’s here in the first place and that it’s only the two of them out there and that if Desmond went to the beach and swam away from there everything would explode in a cloud of smoke, fire, sparkles and waves crashing everything. He only hopes that for Desmond is the same.
--
It doesn’t stop and they don’t talk about it even if they talk about what happened in the real world before Desmond left it and before Sayid left it both times; it’s winter on the island and it’s snowing (Sayid can’t really wrap his head around the concept of snow on that place, but hey, they’re not on the Equator line after all) when they’re on Sayid’s bed and Desmond is coming against his hand, his breath hot on Sayid’s shoulder, the house warm, the rest of that ghost village covered in a thin white layer.
Before it’s over, he says Sayid for the first time since this thing between them started (it was summer, then) and suddenly the island outside that room feels quiet and dead as they were when Sayid came back.
But he senses that something is different and he has this crazy impression that Desmond does, too; either way, his hands shake and his whole body does and Desmond’s does too while they kiss lightly, barely more than a peck but less than what would be a proper kiss.
“How do you feel?” he asks after, when the sheet is cool under his back and Desmond’s skin is warm under his fingers.
“Alive,” Desmond answers before closing his eyes.
It’s all the answer he needs.
End.
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no subject
Date: 2008-04-25 07:25 pm (UTC)But I persevered and I don't hold any grudges. I think it is a brilliant idea that Desmond is now the "key". I almost imagine his mind/body resetting every 108 minutes. After last night I'm with you on Sayid's fatalism and having nothing to go back for. Then you have a reunion of a different sort that almost got me started again on the tragedy angle. But then you had the ghosts become college students and the roomies become lovers and Desmond calling out for Penny only to have him say Sayid's name at the end. And snow. At least the bears will be happy now.
Blue shirt, Sawyer's jeans and barefoot? That was a nice band aid for my heart. Also, nice to have Des snark through a movie, a modern movie at that!
no subject
Date: 2008-04-25 07:33 pm (UTC)That idea just came and I though it was good for apocalyptic, though if something even close to this happens I'm killing Darlton. The Sayid fatalism of last night was kind of the trigger that sent the whole thing moving because at least I had a reason for him to go back definitely.
And snow. At least the bears will be happy now.
I was almost going to mention the polar bears. But then again I was at the pivotal point and it looked waaay out of place, so I cut it. But good that someone else thought about them ;) and yeah, modern movies for a change!
Blue shirt, Sawyer's jeans and barefoot? That was a nice band aid for my heart.
I kind of needed those, too. One needs that kind of things to go on amidst such a plot. Thanks so much for reading, glad that I didn't completely kill your poor heart! ♥
no subject
Date: 2008-04-25 07:41 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-25 07:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-25 08:30 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-25 08:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-04-26 12:40 am (UTC)First thing, I love the concept bethind this -- the idea of Desmond unable to leave the island and having to make that heartbreaking decision to let Penny go, to save her. And then Sayid, after everything he has lost making the decision to go back to the island, to go back to Desmond.
Already there's this "connection" of understanding between them, but what I truly admire in your story is the time you take to move them along that line from a more general understanding to genuine friendship and then to lovers. It doesn't feel rushed or put upon. It feels like a very natural progression who they are and what they come to mean to each other, with each other.
The details you sprinkle throughout give this an emotional realism, such as Sayid's continual reference to imagining Desmond taking that final swim, Desmond's whisky breath, doing dishes and cooking dinner, watching movies, discussions that become more layered, Sawyer's clothes, ghosts living in a ghost town. And then once they've crossed that line (and I enjoy the sense of two people who truly find a connection with each other) those mentions of classical music and kisses along the back of the neck, the sensitive spt on the hips. It feels like I'm right inside Sayid's mind and looking through his eyes at it all unfold...as he tries to make sense of what exactly it is between them that he can't put into words but it is so real and undeniable...and unavoidable.
One of the most touching moments is towards the end when Desmond finally says Sayid's name and for both it's like that final piece has fit into place. It's not about denying Penny or Nadia. It's something else altogether and it's as true as anything else they've experienced and loved.
Sorry for the long ramble, I just found this story to be incredibly touching and well written.
no subject
Date: 2008-04-26 08:08 am (UTC)I'm really so glad that you liked it this much and I was kind of squealing because you mentioned exactly everything I was trying to do with this. That concept hit me quite at random and at the beginning I was tempted to go all the way with apocalyptic but turns out that 1 I can't do it well 2 I couldn't kill them. And I'm much happier that I took the other route.
It's awesome to hear that it didn't feel rushed or anything because I reasoned that making them jump in bed straightly wasn't ever gonna do and even if they're as close as my lost OTP right now I realize that I can't just making them jump at each other without some kind of background/realism. That paragraph with the classical music and the hips is actually the one I like best so awesome to hear it worked! That concert is there because I was kind of listening to it while writing this but since Desmond listened to Mozart on the boat.. I'll admit I have a classical music kink ;)
It's something else altogether and it's as true as anything else they've experienced and loved.
That was exactly what I was trying to say. Wow, thank you so much again. I'm so flattered really. Glad you enjoyed it! ♥
no subject
Date: 2008-04-26 12:55 am (UTC)...I mean men.
That was fantastic.
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Date: 2008-04-26 07:55 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-01 09:59 pm (UTC)Hahaha, year-late comment is a year late, but you did the meme so it shouldn't be unexpected. :P
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Date: 2009-06-01 10:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-25 10:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-06-25 10:22 am (UTC)