fic, Lost: he said I was his friend (Desmond/Sayid), R
Title: he said I was his friend
Pairing: Desmond/Sayid (plus alt!Sayid/Shannon and Desmond/Penny)
Rating: R-ish
Word Count: 2500 ca
Spoilers: up until the finale, said ep. included.
Warnings: I don't think it deems warning.
Summary: what really happened at the well when Sayid didn't shoot Desmond.
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine. This would have definitely happened.
A/N: extremely late luau fic for zelda_zee, who wanted Sayid and/or friendships. Er, this didn't want not to be shippy but the aspect is definitely included. And I hope you like it, in spite of writing it a month after you requested it. *hides* Using also for lostpicksix, friends first. Title from either David Bowie or Nirvana, as you like it best.
This woman--when she asks you what you did to be with her again...what will you tell her?
He was about to shoot. It was question of a couple of seconds.
Then Desmond speaks, Sayid’s grip on the gun falters for a mere second and then he knows he won’t be able to do this in cold blood.
It’s weird; it’s been not even a week since he came back from what was certain death and he had thought he had forgotten how to doubt. Apparently he hasn’t, because then why would he have stopped when just thirty seconds ago he was ready to shoot?
He looks down in the well and Desmond is still looking up at him, keeping himself still; there’s a droplet of blood running down his temple and his shirt is wet and plastered to his chest, and it would be foolish to assume that he hasn’t understood that his words did have an effect.
And they did. They did and he doesn’t know what to do with them. When he had accepted that knife he had been so surethat it was the only way, and now he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. A part of him still thinks he should shoot because there isn’t much left to save anymore and he should at least manage to finish his job; but there’s another part, a small but loud one, that says that he can’t do this and that if he does do it, then he’s lost for good.
The other one argues, and it has a point, that by now being lost isn’t exactly an issue anymore. He already is.
Then Desmond speaks again. “Brother, you know you’re better than this,” he says, his voice perfectly calm, his eyes still focused on Sayid, and that’s what makes him lower the gun. Just a bit. But he does, and he doesn’t know if it’s his body or his head deciding what he’s doing.
“I’m afraid I am not,” he answers looking down into the well, his own voice perfectly calm and plain and objective, too, and Desmond shakes his head with such conviction that Sayid can’t help feeling slightly surprised, and that’s strange, too, because he had thought nothing could surprise him anymore.
“I’m afraid you are. You know, getting thrown into some kind of electromagnetic camp doesn’t help clearing your head, but don’t think I’ve forgotten that you and me spent a couple of very close days together on a boat. And don’t think I’ve forgotten much about those days. I don’t know what the bloody hell happened to you, but you were definitely better than this, and if you don’t shoot me right now, I have an idea that you won’t repent.”
There’s something in Desmond’s voice that is making Sayid reconsider everything he has been up to since he almost died, or since he actually died, and he doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or not. Not having a doubt has been easy. So easy. Almost like being in the army before he started torturing was. It’s easy to bring to completion someone else’s plan, and he never was one for command, anyway. Taking decisions is hard, and he has learned it the hard way, but now. Now. Now he just doesn’t know what Desmond is aiming at.
“What do you mean?”
Desmond’s lips curl up in a small smile and he doesn’t move his eyes from his staring into Sayid’s; and it’s becoming increasingly harder to keep on looking at him without faltering.
If he does decide to shoot him, it won’t be as easy as it’d have been five minutes ago.
“When I was in that… thing,” Desmond starts slowly, like he needs to find the words, “I saw us. Everyone of us on the island, I mean. It was another place. It was quite lovely. It was a lot better than this, if you bloody ask me. You were there, too. It’s… kind of complicated, and I can’t exactly put that into sodding words, but… I’m sure we were… all happy. Everyone was. You, too.”
Sayid doesn’t know if he should believe this. He isn’t sure he does. But Desmond is looking up at him in a way that suggests that he isn’t lying and that he doesn’t have any reasons to, and Sayid doesn’t even know if he wants to believe him. It seems too nice, too easy, too good, and not anything he deserves right now.
Surely not anything he’d deserve if he shot Desmond in the face now. At least if it was someone he didn’t know it’d have been easier, but Desmond is right. Even if his memories are dulled and everything is hazy and fuzzy, as it’s been for a while, he remembers that time on the freighter, too. And yes, he was better than this, then. It’s just that he isn’t anymore.
“And why should I believe you?”
“Why should you believe someone who tells you to tie up a friend of yours and then to shoot him while he’s unarmed?” Desmond answers back with a disarming calm, and Sayid doesn’t exactly realize that his hand has started to shake.
“What did you just say?” he whispers, almost inaudible, and this is too much. He feels so overwhelmed that he can barely talk.
“Brother, you saved my life a good bunch of times on that boat, not to mention my bloody mental sanity. I think that’s enough to make you my friend. I owe you more than one, if you ask me. And if I can do something for you now, then well, at least I can try, aye? Not to mention that… excuse me, but I’d trust anyone I shared a bunk with more than someone that looks like a dead person and throws me down into a well when I have my back at him.”
There’s a good minute of silence.
“Come down here,” Desmond says, and Sayid gasps, realizing that he had been in some kind of trance, and that he hadn’t totally realized it. He doesn’t even remember what he was thinking.
“I was about to shoot you ten minutes ago and you want me to come there?”
“Well, goes unsaid that I’d be happier if you left that gun outside, but yes, I want you to.”
Desmond is still smiling like this is a perfectly normal conversation and Sayid is kind of sure that it’s what pushes him over the edge.
He puts the gun’s secure on and he lets it fall to the ground before lowering himself inside the well.
It’s narrow and wet when he gets down, and there’s barely space for the both of them; Desmond looks particularly satisfied though, and why wouldn’t he? Sayid lost the upper hand a while ago, and he still doesn’t exactly get how it happened. He’s still wary, though; it’s not like a lot of people he has shared a lot more time on the island with than Desmond have done much to earn his trust, lately.
“Well, it’s much nicer to see you down here. It isn’t that comfortable but we do what we can, aye?”
“What do you want?”
Something soft appears in Desmond’s eyes then, just as he takes a small step closer, and it looks sincere. So sincere that for a second Sayid’s breath catches in his throat and he thinks he might be close to fainting. This is way, way too much after what seems like long while of nothing and he doesn’t know if he can do this.
He had totally forgotten that Desmond’s face isn’t the kind of face that is good at lying.
“From you? I don’t want a bloody thing from you, except for you not to kill me, but you’ll realize that everyone would want that in my position.”
Sayid nods slowly. About that, he can’t disagree.
“But if you ask me if I want to do something for you, then aye, I might.”
“I don’t think anyone can do something for me at this point,” Sayid answers, and it isn’t even much shocking to his own ears. He came to terms with it. He did.
Then he’s suddenly thrown back against a wall of stones and Desmond’s tongue is trying to push his way inside his mouth and there’s an arm pining his wrist so that he can’t move and another on the back of his head coaxing him forward. The first thing Sayid thinks is that Desmond concealed his strength well; but then he opens up his lips just because he can’t not, not when Desmond is being so insistent. And suddenly he’s being kissed slower, more carefully, with a kind of care that he usually reserved for women and that was never reserved for him as far as he can remember, and he can’t think anymore. Desmond’s hands are wet and chilly but they warm up against his skin, and he lets Desmond kiss him as much as he wants, answering back as much as he can, because it feels too good and the last time it happened, it was with someone he killed.
When it’s over he’s breathless and Desmond’s arms around his waist are the only reason he hasn’t tumbled down. He feels tired, he feels like he just wants to stop dealing with this all, but the way Desmond is holding him up feels nicer than anything has felt in a long while, even from before. Maybe since Nadia. He can barely remember how it was anymore.
“Why?” he mouths again, wondering if maybe he should have surged up and tried to steal another kiss instead.
“Brother, looks to me like you need it, and I doubt I’ll ever see Penny again in this life, if you ask for my sincere opinion. I can’t exactly start having quibbles, aye? And I’m not doing it just because I’d like to stay alive a while longer.”
“I don’t… you shouldn’t, I’m not…”
“I don’t know what you think you are, but I’m sure that you aren’t good only to do dirty work for everyone else.”
Sayid doesn’t really know how it is that Desmond is reading inside his head, but by this point he doesn’t even care anymore. All he cares about is that Desmond isn’t obviously lying, and that at least someone does think that. It’d be nice to believe it, too, but he’s pretty sure it won’t happen anytime soon, and then he just nods and leans forward. Desmond’s grip around his waist tightens and when they kiss again it’s faster and messier, but it still feels unbelievably good and suddenly Sayid wants more of that, so much more of that, and he wants so much and so strongly that it overwhelms him all over again.
It’s a good thing that Desmond seems inclined to give.
---
They’re waiting for Jack, as usual, but it’s not like Sayid minds. It’s nice, to have just a bit of time to catch up, and as soon as he sees Desmond getting inside the church his lips curl up in a small smile. Yes, he does have some catching up to do, here.
He waits for a short while, then while Shannon is hugging the hell out of Sawyer he gives her a last, fond look and then turns for the other side of the aisle. Desmond sees him coming that way as soon as he’s done shaking hands with Locke, and then he turns and goes Sayid’s way, too.
For a second, Sayid feels nervous. After all, the last time they saw each other, they were down in a well and Desmond had been on his knees in front of him while Sayid had been shaking and burying his hands in Desmond’s hair and thrusting his hips forward in an erratic rhythm, unable to hold back. Then Sayid left him there saying he’d send others that weren’t Locke to get him, and then he had died. He doesn’t really know what he should do or say, but then Desmond decides for him because he’s in front of him and Sayid is being hugged within an inch of his life (or death). He hugs back, and it feels so right; he doesn’t know how it lasts, but when it’s over Desmond keeps his hands on Sayid’s elbows and Sayid doesn’t do a thing to move.
“Hi there, brother. Wasn’t I right?” Desmond says then, winking just slightly, and Sayid can’t help nodding.
“I cannot say you weren’t. Even if I really hadn’t believed you, back then.”
“I’d have been surprised if anyone actually had,” Desmond answers shrugging, and they still haven’t let go of each other. “But I see that you didn’t do that bad for yourself.”
“No. No, I didn’t,” Sayid answers, glancing on his side at Shannon who is conveniently shaking hands with Penny. Then he decides it’s time to say what he really should have said first. “Thank you. For… what happened at the well, I mean. I’m not sure I could look at her in the eyes if I had shot you then.”
Desmond’s lips stay curled up and he shakes his head and squeezes Sayid’s shoulder.
“Brother, I’d have tried to snap you out of it even if it wasn’t about my survival. That’s what friends do, don’t they? And by the way, why don’t you introduce me to that very charming girl who’s currently chatting with my wife? She looks quite lovely.”
“I will be honored,” Sayid says, and it’s the plain truth, it really is. Also, Jack still hasn’t apparently understood it yet (but it’s no news that it can take Jack a lot of time to understand something, when he doesn’t want to), and they have time or so it seems. So he grabs Desmond’s arm and leads him across the aisle, and even if some part of him thinks that this is too good of a reward, he finds that he can ignore it without much of a problem. And then, just before they reach Shannon and Penny, he turns towards Desmond again.
“You don’t know where we’re going, do you?”
“Brother, I don’t have an idea. But I don’t think it’s important.”
“It is not, but if there’s the option, I would most definitely like to buy you a drink when we’re there. It’s… quite a pity that we never managed such a thing before, isn’t it?”
“Oh, aye, you’re absolutely right. I’ll be glad to accept it,” Desmond says, and then if Sayid isn’t wrong he winks before taking the last couple of steps and introducing himself to Shannon. Sayid thinks that he’s really looking forward to having that drink, and then he goes towards Penny and hopes that it’s not going to take too long to finally leave.
End.
Pairing: Desmond/Sayid (plus alt!Sayid/Shannon and Desmond/Penny)
Rating: R-ish
Word Count: 2500 ca
Spoilers: up until the finale, said ep. included.
Warnings: I don't think it deems warning.
Summary: what really happened at the well when Sayid didn't shoot Desmond.
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine. This would have definitely happened.
A/N: extremely late luau fic for zelda_zee, who wanted Sayid and/or friendships. Er, this didn't want not to be shippy but the aspect is definitely included. And I hope you like it, in spite of writing it a month after you requested it. *hides* Using also for lostpicksix, friends first. Title from either David Bowie or Nirvana, as you like it best.
This woman--when she asks you what you did to be with her again...what will you tell her?
He was about to shoot. It was question of a couple of seconds.
Then Desmond speaks, Sayid’s grip on the gun falters for a mere second and then he knows he won’t be able to do this in cold blood.
It’s weird; it’s been not even a week since he came back from what was certain death and he had thought he had forgotten how to doubt. Apparently he hasn’t, because then why would he have stopped when just thirty seconds ago he was ready to shoot?
He looks down in the well and Desmond is still looking up at him, keeping himself still; there’s a droplet of blood running down his temple and his shirt is wet and plastered to his chest, and it would be foolish to assume that he hasn’t understood that his words did have an effect.
And they did. They did and he doesn’t know what to do with them. When he had accepted that knife he had been so surethat it was the only way, and now he doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. A part of him still thinks he should shoot because there isn’t much left to save anymore and he should at least manage to finish his job; but there’s another part, a small but loud one, that says that he can’t do this and that if he does do it, then he’s lost for good.
The other one argues, and it has a point, that by now being lost isn’t exactly an issue anymore. He already is.
Then Desmond speaks again. “Brother, you know you’re better than this,” he says, his voice perfectly calm, his eyes still focused on Sayid, and that’s what makes him lower the gun. Just a bit. But he does, and he doesn’t know if it’s his body or his head deciding what he’s doing.
“I’m afraid I am not,” he answers looking down into the well, his own voice perfectly calm and plain and objective, too, and Desmond shakes his head with such conviction that Sayid can’t help feeling slightly surprised, and that’s strange, too, because he had thought nothing could surprise him anymore.
“I’m afraid you are. You know, getting thrown into some kind of electromagnetic camp doesn’t help clearing your head, but don’t think I’ve forgotten that you and me spent a couple of very close days together on a boat. And don’t think I’ve forgotten much about those days. I don’t know what the bloody hell happened to you, but you were definitely better than this, and if you don’t shoot me right now, I have an idea that you won’t repent.”
There’s something in Desmond’s voice that is making Sayid reconsider everything he has been up to since he almost died, or since he actually died, and he doesn’t know if it’s a good thing or not. Not having a doubt has been easy. So easy. Almost like being in the army before he started torturing was. It’s easy to bring to completion someone else’s plan, and he never was one for command, anyway. Taking decisions is hard, and he has learned it the hard way, but now. Now. Now he just doesn’t know what Desmond is aiming at.
“What do you mean?”
Desmond’s lips curl up in a small smile and he doesn’t move his eyes from his staring into Sayid’s; and it’s becoming increasingly harder to keep on looking at him without faltering.
If he does decide to shoot him, it won’t be as easy as it’d have been five minutes ago.
“When I was in that… thing,” Desmond starts slowly, like he needs to find the words, “I saw us. Everyone of us on the island, I mean. It was another place. It was quite lovely. It was a lot better than this, if you bloody ask me. You were there, too. It’s… kind of complicated, and I can’t exactly put that into sodding words, but… I’m sure we were… all happy. Everyone was. You, too.”
Sayid doesn’t know if he should believe this. He isn’t sure he does. But Desmond is looking up at him in a way that suggests that he isn’t lying and that he doesn’t have any reasons to, and Sayid doesn’t even know if he wants to believe him. It seems too nice, too easy, too good, and not anything he deserves right now.
Surely not anything he’d deserve if he shot Desmond in the face now. At least if it was someone he didn’t know it’d have been easier, but Desmond is right. Even if his memories are dulled and everything is hazy and fuzzy, as it’s been for a while, he remembers that time on the freighter, too. And yes, he was better than this, then. It’s just that he isn’t anymore.
“And why should I believe you?”
“Why should you believe someone who tells you to tie up a friend of yours and then to shoot him while he’s unarmed?” Desmond answers back with a disarming calm, and Sayid doesn’t exactly realize that his hand has started to shake.
“What did you just say?” he whispers, almost inaudible, and this is too much. He feels so overwhelmed that he can barely talk.
“Brother, you saved my life a good bunch of times on that boat, not to mention my bloody mental sanity. I think that’s enough to make you my friend. I owe you more than one, if you ask me. And if I can do something for you now, then well, at least I can try, aye? Not to mention that… excuse me, but I’d trust anyone I shared a bunk with more than someone that looks like a dead person and throws me down into a well when I have my back at him.”
There’s a good minute of silence.
“Come down here,” Desmond says, and Sayid gasps, realizing that he had been in some kind of trance, and that he hadn’t totally realized it. He doesn’t even remember what he was thinking.
“I was about to shoot you ten minutes ago and you want me to come there?”
“Well, goes unsaid that I’d be happier if you left that gun outside, but yes, I want you to.”
Desmond is still smiling like this is a perfectly normal conversation and Sayid is kind of sure that it’s what pushes him over the edge.
He puts the gun’s secure on and he lets it fall to the ground before lowering himself inside the well.
It’s narrow and wet when he gets down, and there’s barely space for the both of them; Desmond looks particularly satisfied though, and why wouldn’t he? Sayid lost the upper hand a while ago, and he still doesn’t exactly get how it happened. He’s still wary, though; it’s not like a lot of people he has shared a lot more time on the island with than Desmond have done much to earn his trust, lately.
“Well, it’s much nicer to see you down here. It isn’t that comfortable but we do what we can, aye?”
“What do you want?”
Something soft appears in Desmond’s eyes then, just as he takes a small step closer, and it looks sincere. So sincere that for a second Sayid’s breath catches in his throat and he thinks he might be close to fainting. This is way, way too much after what seems like long while of nothing and he doesn’t know if he can do this.
He had totally forgotten that Desmond’s face isn’t the kind of face that is good at lying.
“From you? I don’t want a bloody thing from you, except for you not to kill me, but you’ll realize that everyone would want that in my position.”
Sayid nods slowly. About that, he can’t disagree.
“But if you ask me if I want to do something for you, then aye, I might.”
“I don’t think anyone can do something for me at this point,” Sayid answers, and it isn’t even much shocking to his own ears. He came to terms with it. He did.
Then he’s suddenly thrown back against a wall of stones and Desmond’s tongue is trying to push his way inside his mouth and there’s an arm pining his wrist so that he can’t move and another on the back of his head coaxing him forward. The first thing Sayid thinks is that Desmond concealed his strength well; but then he opens up his lips just because he can’t not, not when Desmond is being so insistent. And suddenly he’s being kissed slower, more carefully, with a kind of care that he usually reserved for women and that was never reserved for him as far as he can remember, and he can’t think anymore. Desmond’s hands are wet and chilly but they warm up against his skin, and he lets Desmond kiss him as much as he wants, answering back as much as he can, because it feels too good and the last time it happened, it was with someone he killed.
When it’s over he’s breathless and Desmond’s arms around his waist are the only reason he hasn’t tumbled down. He feels tired, he feels like he just wants to stop dealing with this all, but the way Desmond is holding him up feels nicer than anything has felt in a long while, even from before. Maybe since Nadia. He can barely remember how it was anymore.
“Why?” he mouths again, wondering if maybe he should have surged up and tried to steal another kiss instead.
“Brother, looks to me like you need it, and I doubt I’ll ever see Penny again in this life, if you ask for my sincere opinion. I can’t exactly start having quibbles, aye? And I’m not doing it just because I’d like to stay alive a while longer.”
“I don’t… you shouldn’t, I’m not…”
“I don’t know what you think you are, but I’m sure that you aren’t good only to do dirty work for everyone else.”
Sayid doesn’t really know how it is that Desmond is reading inside his head, but by this point he doesn’t even care anymore. All he cares about is that Desmond isn’t obviously lying, and that at least someone does think that. It’d be nice to believe it, too, but he’s pretty sure it won’t happen anytime soon, and then he just nods and leans forward. Desmond’s grip around his waist tightens and when they kiss again it’s faster and messier, but it still feels unbelievably good and suddenly Sayid wants more of that, so much more of that, and he wants so much and so strongly that it overwhelms him all over again.
It’s a good thing that Desmond seems inclined to give.
---
They’re waiting for Jack, as usual, but it’s not like Sayid minds. It’s nice, to have just a bit of time to catch up, and as soon as he sees Desmond getting inside the church his lips curl up in a small smile. Yes, he does have some catching up to do, here.
He waits for a short while, then while Shannon is hugging the hell out of Sawyer he gives her a last, fond look and then turns for the other side of the aisle. Desmond sees him coming that way as soon as he’s done shaking hands with Locke, and then he turns and goes Sayid’s way, too.
For a second, Sayid feels nervous. After all, the last time they saw each other, they were down in a well and Desmond had been on his knees in front of him while Sayid had been shaking and burying his hands in Desmond’s hair and thrusting his hips forward in an erratic rhythm, unable to hold back. Then Sayid left him there saying he’d send others that weren’t Locke to get him, and then he had died. He doesn’t really know what he should do or say, but then Desmond decides for him because he’s in front of him and Sayid is being hugged within an inch of his life (or death). He hugs back, and it feels so right; he doesn’t know how it lasts, but when it’s over Desmond keeps his hands on Sayid’s elbows and Sayid doesn’t do a thing to move.
“Hi there, brother. Wasn’t I right?” Desmond says then, winking just slightly, and Sayid can’t help nodding.
“I cannot say you weren’t. Even if I really hadn’t believed you, back then.”
“I’d have been surprised if anyone actually had,” Desmond answers shrugging, and they still haven’t let go of each other. “But I see that you didn’t do that bad for yourself.”
“No. No, I didn’t,” Sayid answers, glancing on his side at Shannon who is conveniently shaking hands with Penny. Then he decides it’s time to say what he really should have said first. “Thank you. For… what happened at the well, I mean. I’m not sure I could look at her in the eyes if I had shot you then.”
Desmond’s lips stay curled up and he shakes his head and squeezes Sayid’s shoulder.
“Brother, I’d have tried to snap you out of it even if it wasn’t about my survival. That’s what friends do, don’t they? And by the way, why don’t you introduce me to that very charming girl who’s currently chatting with my wife? She looks quite lovely.”
“I will be honored,” Sayid says, and it’s the plain truth, it really is. Also, Jack still hasn’t apparently understood it yet (but it’s no news that it can take Jack a lot of time to understand something, when he doesn’t want to), and they have time or so it seems. So he grabs Desmond’s arm and leads him across the aisle, and even if some part of him thinks that this is too good of a reward, he finds that he can ignore it without much of a problem. And then, just before they reach Shannon and Penny, he turns towards Desmond again.
“You don’t know where we’re going, do you?”
“Brother, I don’t have an idea. But I don’t think it’s important.”
“It is not, but if there’s the option, I would most definitely like to buy you a drink when we’re there. It’s… quite a pity that we never managed such a thing before, isn’t it?”
“Oh, aye, you’re absolutely right. I’ll be glad to accept it,” Desmond says, and then if Sayid isn’t wrong he winks before taking the last couple of steps and introducing himself to Shannon. Sayid thinks that he’s really looking forward to having that drink, and then he goes towards Penny and hopes that it’s not going to take too long to finally leave.
End.