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"I can't get used to it," Sayid says, stoking the fire with a piece of driftwood. An errant flake of ash strays from the embers and floats on the cool nighttime breeze towards his sole companion.
"What's that, brother?"
"The constant noise. It's much quieter where I come from."
The desert is empty and no sound travels on its wind. Here, there are the constant sounds of waves lapping at the shore or crashing against the beachrock, leaves rustling as the jungle breathes, and the incessant chirping of insects. Not to mention the Whispers.
"I know what you mean. Never thought I'd miss Scotland's shite weather," Desmond says with a joyless grin. Sayid watches the reflection of the dancing flames flicker in Desmond's eyes as he speaks, his voice adopting a more sombre tone now. "It's worse when it rains. Here, when it pours... it's just not the same."
"It makes you long for home."
"Aye," Desmond nods. There's an ominous rumble of thunder in the distance and Desmond raises his face to the cloudless night sky, his expression that same mournful bearing of teeth. "Speak of the devil..."
Sayid briefly returns the smile then turns to look out at the stars. He wishes he could identify the constellations – perhaps knowledge of astronomy might quell his homesickness, if only for a moment. He shakes the thought from his head. The knowledge that the moon reflected in the black water before him is the same back home brings Sayid no comfort or solace – why should the stars be any different?
Turning towards Desmond again and seeing a despondent expression that mirrors his own, Sayid decides they could both benefit from a change of subject.
"You're remarkably sane."
He says it with a smile and Desmond frowns a bewildered laugh in response.
"Er, thanks? So are you?" comes his uncertain reply.
Sayid smiles at Desmond's confusion a moment longer before he elaborates. "You're a stronger man than I. It would take me far less than three years of isolation before I was driven to madness."
Understanding relaxes the crease in Desmond's brow and he huffs a laugh through his nose. "You didnae see the state of me when I left the hatch, brother."
"No, but I heard about it." Sayid leans closer to Desmond and, thought everyone else is fast asleep, lowers his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "If madness is defined as holding a gun to Locke's head, then we're both insane."
Desmond laughs – more genuinely this time, the corners of his eyes crinkling. As much as he had been joking, Sayid is surprised by Desmond's untroubled reaction to his admission of violence and it sparks a curiosity in him – one which he presently has no desire to satisfy for fear of souring their conversation.
"Aye, he seems to have that effect on people, doesn't he?"
Sayid hums in agreement. He looks back to the sky while he tries to think of more to say – it's been too long since he's had a friendly exchange such as this and it would seem he's out of practice. It occurs to him that Desmond must feel the same way.
At the sight of the storm clouds rolling in, Sayid's shoulders sink under the weight of disappointment. Any minute now, the rain will come, extinguishing both the fire and their conversation. Another crack of thunder, much louder than the last, adds salt to the wound.
"The storm's gonnae reach us soon," Desmond sighs, appearing similarly disappointed.
"Yes, we should go to our tents."
"Haven't had a chance to build one."
"Well you can't very well stay out here!"
"I'll be fine, brother," Desmond says, interlacing his fingers before stretching his arms above his head. "After all," he smirks, "I'm Scottish."
Sayid breathes a laugh and shakes his head. "I can't in good conscience leave you out here. You'll stay in my tent tonight," he says in a tone which invites no argument.
"You sure?" Desmond asks hesitantly. "I wouldn't want tae impose."
Sayid rises to his feet and extends a hand to Desmond.
"I trust you," he says and knows from the gentle smile Desmond offers as he takes Sayid's hand that he understands Sayid is not a man whose trust is easily gained.
"Well, if you insist," Desmond says as he stands. His warm hand remains clutched in Sayid's a few seconds longer than necessary. "Lead the way."