I want to give a very, very big thank you to all you sweet people who reviewed my fic. It meant a lot to me, and I've decided to add another chapter for you guys. Alas, I cannot promise more than this. It's possible that I'm going to have to claw myself back up from a very deep hole resulting from a Western Civ exam. Damn bluebooks...

Sunlight drips off the leaves of the jungle canopy and bursts upon the ground in swollen patches. There is a beautiful woman lying next to him and Sayid is slightly mystified that he isn't dead yet.

"I'm not supposed to be here," he thinks, aloud or silent he can't tell. It's possible that everyone has gone a little bit crazy since they crashed. It's probable.

Back home, he had been a good man. He knew it, and that was enough.

He had been raised in a proud home, by hardworking and dutiful parents. He was nineteen when he married a girl with sad eyes and a sweet smile. She died in '90 during a bombing that leveled their neighborhood and he enlisted not long after, as was proper. He was very careful to do everything properly, according to his father, to his community, to Allah. And he did that all very well.

Then one day, he was on a plane, and it crashed into a very small island somewhere in the Pacific.

He thought it was safe to say that propriety could go to Hell at that point.

"Sayid?" Kate said. How did he get here?

"Yes?" He really should not be here.

She is hesitant, her bottom lip caught between opposing forces of top and bottom teeth. He can imagine a million theoretical responses lying on the tip of her tongue. Regrets, proclamations of undying love, anger, fear, resentment, all of which are concepts he is experiencing right now, and sentiments he hopes she does not share. He can't help think that she is the ball bearing of his internal combustion engine. She is the only real thing that can make him work. It is hard to believe in anything when everything is mashed together unintelligibly. He watches as her brow furrows in concentration. He wonders if she has come to the same understanding.

"I think you're lying on my shirt."

Or maybe not.

"Ah. Sorry." It's late enough anyway. He watches as she gets dressed. This is as good a place to be as any.

Kate wasn't, he had learned rather early on, very much different than the women he had known in Iraq. She was strong, yes, but no stronger than many Muslim women and possessed the same, characteristic quietude of his mother and sisters. And of his wife.

"She is not that different," was the first, traitorous, insight concerning Kate that wormed it's way into his psyche the night he and she and that small group of theirs encountered the polar bear. "She is not that different from you."

His religion said she was. It was the very thing that had created him, sustained him.

"She is not that different."

Faith. He revolved around it. It was why he stayed behind on the beach. Someone would come for them. He could not love her because someone would come for him and he would have to go back home.

Back home, he had been a good man. He wasn't quite sure if that was also true for the island.

He is staring out onto the beach when she puts her chin on his shoulder.

"What are you looking for?" She asks.

Peace of mind.

"A plane," he says, "I want one to not be there."

She squints out onto the horizon, "It looks like you got your wish. It's not what I would have picked, but..." she trails off. It's a sentence that was never imagined to have an ending, much like their relationship. She doesn't understand, he thinks, the first time she doesn't guess his meaning before the thought is even fully formed. She is here and he is here because they both believe that someone is coming for them. He just doesn't want anyone to succeed.

He doesn't want this to end.

Back home, he had been a good man. Here, he has damned twenty-four people to crust up on a beach of sand and glass. Maybe a few of them will die of sunstroke, or dehydration, but it is his duty to stay and watch. An empty promise, a final salute to an ideology that he put away when he put her on. He is not a good man anymore, but as Kate slips her arms around his waist, he finds that such things are not so important here.