title: Redemption
rating: mild PG
pairing: Ben Linus/Juliet Burke
other characters: Goodwin is mentioned
summary: The night after Ben shows her Goodwin's body, Juliet accepts her fate.
word count: 999
setting: Around October 18th, after the events of "The Other Woman"
warning: Character death, but you knew that already. ;)
She went to him, that very night. Not sure why, even as she raised her fist, suspended in mid-air a moment, then knocked sharply against the closed door, demanding entry. Not even when she saw his face, just a sliver as he opened the door wide enough to seek who was on the other side.
Moonlit streamed down, highlighting her hair. Shadows fell, making her look paler than she was, accentuating the frailness -- the damn near brokenness -- of her body and soul. She nearly collapsed in the doorway, but managed to hold her head up high and her shoulders back as she walked across the threshold, her bare feet bloody and sore from wandering the beach and jungle for the past few hours, as though she might find her way back home to sanity if she just searched long enough.
"Juliet?" he inquired. Plainly, he had not been expecting her.
Shoulders sagging, she dropped any pretence of control as she met his eyes, the eyes of the man who had sent Goodwin to his untimely death. "Hello, Ben," she spoke wearily, then fell against him, her legs finally giving out.
There was fear in Ben's eyes as he looked her over. Concern, certainly, for her well-being; she looked a mess. Eyeliner running black rivulets down her face, mourning tattoos. Hair in tangles, wind-whipped. Genuine fear too, Juliet saw, over what she might do. Benjamin Linus did not fear pain and took beatings in stride, as though they were just another part of the routine, but he was particularly vulnerable to heartache, once he gave himself over -- which, Juliet knew, he had.
Ever the gracious host, he helped her to the couch. His hands hovered in the space between them, lighting off of her like birds, unwilling to settle against her body. That was all right. She hadn't come for comfort. Raking her fingers through her hair, Juliet met Ben's gaze.
"I want something to drink. Something strong."
"I've got scotch," he offered, and she nodded, sending him scuttling away to the kitchen, where he poured the drinks -- a single for himself, a triple for Juliet. "Here," he spoke, but before the word was even finished, she had drained half of the glass.
Alcohol broke the fragile hold she had managed to keep over her emotions, and she dropped the glass, not caring about the crash of the sharp shards against the carpet, the alcohol dripping down the couch and dampening her skirt. Red-cheeked, blonde curls hanging low to obscure her view, palms pressed against her eyes, she cried open mouthed. It wasn't all for Goodwin; the tears were selfish too. She thought of Rachel, and her young nephew Julian whom she had never met, and cried, just cried. It wasn't until several minutes had passed that she noticed Ben had pulled her against him, one hand rubbing her back as she sobbed, the other stroking her hair.
"Why did you ---" she started, but she already knew the answer. "How could you?" seemed a better question, so she posed it, even as she hid her face in the crisp, starchy folds of his striped shirt, dampening it with saltwater tears. "How could you send him away, knowing what would happen?"
There were no answers. Ben didn't even try, and Juliet did not ask again, as though there was a pact between them. Keeping to silence, she raised her head, studying him. Her body ached; the scotch burned. Drinking down the rest, she let it hurt her, grateful for the warmth, which extinguished some of the awful empty coldness that had suffused her since she had seen Goodwin lying there, dead on the sand. Ben's hand on her back steadied her, and after a few difficult minutes, her breathing returned to something like normal. Stinging tears blurred her eyesight as she lifted her chin, pressing against Ben full force, savouring the heat of his body. Having someone there beside her made her feel just a little less dead.
The first kiss was accidental. She'd gone too far, closed her eyes and just done it, wanting something to chase the pain away. Ben's lips had trembled under the subtle pressure of her own, but within a few seconds he responded, kissing her back more forcefully, his lips yielding to her insistent tongue; for once allowing someone else to take the lead. His fingers were reverent against her skin, so different from Goodwin, who had grown comfortable with her body almost at once. Ben, Juliet already knew, was a man who would never take affection for granted. She could see it in the disbelieving shine of his eyes, the way his lips parted as he looked her way; she had always known it.
"I want to go home," she spoke, more to herself than to him. Ben's lips trailed kisses across the nape of her neck as she turned from him, shivering sensitively under his touch. "I want to go home," she said again, folding her legs under her, ignoring her bruised feet as she sprawled in Ben's lap. "I just want to go home."
"You are home," came his answer; she'd known that too.
She looked at him. Endearingly, he waited, wanting to be liked. Calculating, desecrating, murderer --- none of the words she knew for him rang true; or, rather, they all did, but here was another side, left undiscovered but nonetheless existent, much like the island itself. He slid his hand closer to hers, not actually touching her, and Juliet sighed, covering it with her own. Electric, the spark went through them both and he eyed her, uncertain about the woman curled up against him seeking some sort of redemption, and from him no less.
"Sometimes I wish things had been different, too," Ben spoke softly. His eyes looked to someplace faraway, lost in contemplation. He brushed a stray hair from her face, smiling cautiously, and somehow Juliet found the strength within herself to smile back.
