Two years out and I’d never have guessed that we’d be the ones to meet up. It wasn’t intentional, at least not on my part, but it must have been on his, because otherwise it’s just too damn big a coincidence, and I don’t believe in coincidences, not anymore.

It was in an airport, and no, I’m not afraid to fly, not afraid of anything but myself, really. I was at the bar, lookin’ slick and dandified with a suit and a new haircut and a load of stolen money in my bag. He comes striding up, like he always did, raggedy and grim, but certain, like nothing in the world can stop him, like he doesn’t care what shit people think about him. I recognized him right away, of course. I’d recognize any of them, even the ones that I’d never talked too. It’s like we were all painted with the same bloody brush, and it’s left streaks of recognition, no matter how hard we’ve scrubbed, no matter how few tracks we’ve left.

And it’s funny, because I should have been nervous, because if anyone could take one look at me and know that I’m up to something then It’d be him, because I’ve always been up to something around him. But I wasn’t. We were two years out and I didn’t give a shit what he thought, at least that’s what I told myself.

He sat down next to me, pretty as you please, like we were old friends, comrades.

We hadn’t been comrades for a long time, and even then, there was always an edge to our respect, always violence under our skin. I could feel it under my skin now, the itch to fight, to be skin to skin, but we weren’t on the island anymore, and I didn’t want my stolen money discovered by some grabby security guard, so I played it cool.

"The world too small for you, Muhammed?"

"The world is only as small as we make it."

Right, we could still fight with words, I’d always been good at that.

"Pretty fuckin’ small, meetin’ you here."

"If you persist on using vulgarities, I could always call security to investigate your luggage."

"Now that’s playing dirty, Muhammed."

"I also dislike the religious nicknames, or any nicknames at all. Why don’t you try calling me Sayid for once."

"Saaaayiiid." I rolled the word around on my tongue insultingly, small pleasures. In truth, he’d always been Sayid in my head, but I’m rarely on speaking terms with truth, the bitch.

"Better." He had a faint smile on his face, like my insults were actually making him happy, and I thought, appalled, that maybe he had looked for me and found me because he was just missin’ the group that much. But no, I was a hard man to track down, certainly harder than Jack, or Locke, or Claire, or Kate. That last was….more painful than it should have been.

I understood the urge, because I had been missin’ them too. Not each of them, not Jack with his arrogant, jackassed ways, not Locke, the fanatic, not even sweet little Sun, and certainly not Kate, but I missed being seen, being recognized even if I didn’t really belong. Forty people, and they all noticed me, all knew me, even if it wasn’t the real me that they knew. Hundreds of people had passed me while I sat here today, and not a one of them gave me a second glance. Good thing that they hadn’t, of course. A con man doesn’t want to get noticed, except when he does.

So Sayid was happy to see me, and my mind could go all sorts of places with that, run all sorts of cons, even if most of them wouldn’t work, not on this man.

"So, Saaayid, what were you lookin’ for little ol’ me for?" No need to lay the southern charm on this one, he knew what I was, but habit, as always, prevailed.

"I come to you with a proposition."

"And here I thought you weren’t the type to proposition people."

He gave me a narrow-eyed look. "My employers are looking for people with experience in subterfuge, I said that I might know someone who could do the job."

"I work alone."

"I know, and that is what makes you ideal for this job. Your main purpose would be to serve as a distraction. You would not have to report to anyone."

"Except you."

"Only insofar as I could tell you who needed distracting, and from what."

It was surprisingly tempting (yeah, I know, I’m disgusted at my wholy senseless trust as well, but Sayid, foolishly, was an honest man, and I mostly trusted him. Don’t tell anyone). It wasn’t because it fit my MO, and god, certainly not because of the company, but because it would be a sure thing, and though I love a good con, you can’t con yourself into a steady paycheck without a whole lot of stress.

But I wasn’t going to give in that easily.

Tell me more about this ‘job.’

Alright, so I’m easy.

"Why don’t I tell you on the plane."

I raised my eyebrows. "You’re flying with me? Don’t you think that’s asking for trouble, Muhammed?"

"I told you not to call me Muhammed."

"Yeah, but that was before I knew that you can’t possibly call the guards over, being involved in something illicit yourself."

He rolled his eyes. "You’re going to continue to insult me all the way there, aren’t you?"

"Well….yeah."

"Would you cease if I offered you an incentive to do so?"

"What kind of incentive are we talking here?"