Disclaimer: Lost is the property of ABC. This was written per request at my livejournal.


They're shooting again -- Keamy and Omar and the rest of them. It pretty well confines Dan below decks in the mess. Charlotte's absently stirring cold tea across the table from him, pretending not to notice that he flinches every time another round's fired. Frank's picking over what's left of breakfast and Miles is sitting by himself a few tables away, though he's clearly watching them. His smirk gets a little bigger every time Dan's shoulders twitch.

"They call this food?" Frank asks.

"The selection's a bit better if you're here before eleven," Charlotte remarks, one eyebrow arched.

Frank just grunts and takes a seat at the table next to them. "You look like you're about to jump out of your skin, Dan." It won't do any good to inform him that yeah, half the time he feels like a coiled mass of energy. "Loosen up."

He smiles a little weakly as another burst of gunfire thrums through the ship. "Yeah. Right. I mean, thanks."

With a look that's a mixture of amusement and bemusement, Frank lifts his coffee to his mouth.

"We're almost there, you know," Miles says suddenly, in that voice he uses when it seems like he only half-wants people to hear him; when he's just been...talking to ghosts, or whatever it is that he does.

The rest of them just look at him, waiting for elaboration that they all know won't come. Miles just stands up, still smirking a little. "Better pack your bags."