Pilot

"I don't think now is the right time for that…"

Isabelle Greene had a laugh like the giggle of a little girl. It was charming, understated, and completely contagious. Ethan Rom thought it was one of her best qualities—of course, according to him, she had many. He, on the other hand, had a quiet laugh that revealed his more reserved nature. When he was with anyone else, he preferred not to laugh at all, but when he was with her he often couldn't help himself.

"Come on babe. Nobody's going to miss us! They're all at that stupid book club."

"That stupid book club?" Isabelle glanced at the short table beside her bed; the book of the week sat there with a folded-down corner indicating that she had nearly finished it. She would have finished it if hehadn't shown up last night and distracted her from her mission.

"Sorry," he murmured out of necessity. "I know you like it."

"I do," she confirmed. "But that doesn't mean that you have to. I'm a literature nerd and I'm not ashamed to admit it," she giggled again.

"I love that about you," he told her, smiling broadly as she continued to laugh.

"Yea?" Isabelle brought her giggles under control and rolled over onto her stomach, stretching her body to its full length beneath the gold Egyptian-cotton sheets and brown velvet duvet. "Do you love that, Rom?"

He grinned. "Yea. I also love that you call me that."

"What? Rom?" She repeated his last name.

To everyone else he was known as Ethan, which made sense, considering it was his actual name. Maybe one or two people actually called him by his last name as she did, but only Isabelle could make him squirm just by addressing him.

"So, how badly do you want to attend this book club meeting today?" Ethan asked her. His hand slipped beneath the sheets and snaked across her bare back, pulling her closer to himself.

"Hmm…" Isabelle only pretended to have to think about it. Of course she already knew exactly what her answer would be. Ethan was the one good thing about her life these days. He made her happy when nothing else could. He took her mind off of all the frustrations and complications. He was the perfect distraction. She answered him with a kiss.

"That's what I thought." He kissed her deeply.

"Juliet's going to miss me. I was supposed to bring muffins."

"She'll get over it."

They had just started making themselves more comfortably positioned, when an indescribable deafening sound coming from outside disturbed them. A moment later the bed, and everything else in the house, started to tremble. The vase of wild roses that sat on her dresser across from the foot of the bed wobbled and then dropped to the floor—the vase shattered.

"Come on, quick, get into the doorway!" Ethan jumped out of bed and rushed to stand in the doorway, wearing only his boxer shorts.

Isabelle climbed out of bed as well, reached for her silk robe that hung beside the bed, and hurried to join him beneath the arched door. "Have there ever been any earthquakes here?"

"Not that I know of," Ethan told her.

She pulled her robe on and secured it at the waist with the belt. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," he responded. "It's kind of exciting though, right?"

She shook her head. "I don't think exciting is how I would describe it."

It took a few minutes, but the trembles finally subsided, though the noise persisted.

"Let's go outside!" He decided suddenly, reaching for his jeans and slipping into them expertly as he ran toward the front door.

Isabelle hesitated only for a moment, considering how little she was wearing, before following him—her curiosity too strong to suppress. They emerged from her house in unison with others who were also curiously stepping out of their own homes. Everyone was looking up at the sky.

"Oh my god…" Isabelle gasped when she realized what had started the noise and the quakes.

An airplane was rapidly losing altitude. Its engines were in flames and pieces of the plane were tearing off and falling through the sky. A second later the plane snapped apart near the middle. The front of the plane continued plummeting forward, but the rear spiraled in the opposite direction. Isabelle didn't even have time to count a full second before the separate parts had crashed, sending shockwaves underfoot.

"Goodwin, did you see where the tale landed?"

Isabelle searched for the speaker, not at all surprised when she spotted him through the growing crowd. Ben Linus was their "leader" if he could be called that, if that was the appropriate term. He was the one in charge, be that what it may. He was the boss. He gave out orders and made people resent him. As far as Isabelle had been able to figure, the only reason anyone listened to him is because he had lived there longest. Nobody else had the credentials based on occupancy. Ben had been born on the island, or so he said. It helped his leadership position too that he knew exactly what made each of his subjects tick—he knew how to be very persuasive.

"Yea," Goodwin, a tall, strong man who used to be in the army, stepped forward and shrugged. "Probably in the water."

Ben nodded. "You run and you can make that shore line in an hour. Ethan," his eyes scanned the gathered group until he spotted Ethan, who was fastening the belt around his jeans, and still not wearing a shirt. Ben's bulging eyes looked critical, but he kept his comments to himself. "Ethan, get up there to that fuselage. There may actually be survivors; and you're one of them. A passenger—in shock—come up with an adequate story if they ask. Stay quiet if they don't. Listen, learn, don't get involved. I want a list."

Ethan and Goodwin both nodded, understanding all of Ben's instructions, and fully ready to comply. That's what people did when Ben gave a command—they obeyed.

Ben wasn't done though. He spotted Isabelle, clutching tightly to her robe, trying to cover herself more than she was. "Isabelle, I want you to go with Ethan. Since the two of you seem to get along so well…" he glanced at Ethan to make his point. "You'll go to the fuselage too. You're also a survivor—make up a convincing story. I want you to get involved. Focus on the male survivors. Make them interested in you—I know you're capable of it."

"Yes sir," Isabelle agreed. She hated herself for agreeing so easily, but she knew she had no other choice.

"We'll meet at the Pearl after midnight," Ben told them, "for updates. Goodwin, go now!"

Goodwin turned and sprinted off, chasing the smoke trail of the tale end of the plane towards the water.

"You two, put some clothes on and then go." Ben demanded of Isabelle and Ethan.

Ethan nodded and Isabelle blushed, but they both obeyed promptly. Going their separate ways, Isabelle dressed quickly. Not knowing what to expect when she reached the crash site, she dressed as she would if she had been a passenger on the plane—full undergarments, pantyhose, a dress, and high-heels. After she had dressed, she hurried back outside and found Ethan waiting for her on her doorstep.

"Ready?"

"Always," she smiled at him, but was unable to express anymore as Ben was still watching then, waiting to see them off.

"Can you run in those heels?"

"Probably not," Isabelle shrugged. "But it's what I would be wearing if I were a passenger."

"Okay," Ethan took her hand and the two started sprinting towards the border of trees and they were soon deep within the jungle. "Just tell me if you need to slow down!" He told her.

She was impressed with how well her shoes treated her during the run. She never needed to slow or rest, and she only tripped once when her right heel caught on a fallen tree branch, but Ethan helped her back up and they continued running. It took them forty minutes of intense running until they were within view of the beach where the front part of the plane crashed. Fire and screaming signaled that they were near and so they slowed to discuss their plan before joining the survivors.

"Why does he want me to get involved and not you?" Isabelle asked, as she tried to catch her breath.

"I'm not sure…not completely…"

"You do know something though," Isabelle noticed. "Rom, what is it? What did Ben tell you?"

"He wants you to get close to the men," Ethan told her.

"I know, he told me that, but did he tell you why?"

"Because any relationship you build with them could come in handy later. He didn't tell me much, but he wants you to get them interested."

"Interested?"

"Yea," Ethan looked very uncomfortable explaining it to her. "His exacts words were: make them fall for you."

"Fall for me?" She laughed. "He makes it sound so easy."

Ethan sighed. "He knows you, Belle. He knows that you'll have every single one of the men in this crash wanting you in less than twenty-four hours."

She rolled her eyes. "You're sweet, but it's not that simple. I haven't tried to make a guy fall for me in a long time."

"I fell for you," he reminded her.

"That was an accident on my part."

"Strangely, that's good to hear," he assured her. Then he smiled and kissed her quickly. "All right, what's your story going to be?"

"Actually, I think the truth will be the easiest."

Ethan looked at her blankly.

"I'm a journalist who graduated with an M.A. from Columbia," she told him. "They don't have to know what I do now."

"Yea, I think that would sort of ruin the whole blending in thing."

"You?"

"I'll come up with something if necessary, but I'm not supposed to get too involved remember?" He took a few steps forward, being careful to stay hidden in the trees, but so that he was able to take a quick survey of a few of the survivors scurrying around on the beach, picking their way around the debris of the crashed plane while carefully avoiding the flames from the explosive collision.

"I need to be wounded," Isabelle decided suddenly.

"What?" Ethan turned to her quickly, not at all accepting her declaration.

"It will make my story more believable and it will create sympathy."

"You do not need to be wounded!" He protested.

"Yes I do," she insisted. "Trust me Rom, I know what I'm doing." She looked around for something to inflict the needed injury and spotted a small piece of the metal from the plane; she pointed it out to Ethan. "I want you to cut me with that."

"No way!"

"Do it!"

"I'm not going to hurt you!"

"Ethan."

He frowned at her usage of his first name and begrudgingly consented to her request. Picking up the sheet of metal, he brought it towards her. "Where do you want it?"

Isabelle considered all possibilities before pointing to a spot just below the ribs on her left side. "It needs to cut through both layers of my dress and slip, so make it deep enough to bleed, but not so much that I die." She smiled a little, but he didn't think she was being funny. "Rom, I'll be fine. I promise. Someone out there has got to know how to clean up a little cut."

"What if they don't?"

"Then I'll find you and you can take care of me. You are a doctor, after all." She laid down in the foliage and dirt, so he could have better aim.

He nodded and positioned the sharpest corner of the metal at the place she had indicated. "This might hurt."

"I'm ready," she clenched her teeth so she wouldn't cry out.

Ethan took a deep breath, held the metal high, and then brought it down quick and hard distancing it just enough so that it sliced through her side, but didn't puncture deeply. Her eyes watered automatically, but it didn't hurt as much as she had anticipated it to and when he pulled her to her feet she only flinched a little.

"You okay?"

She nodded, but gripped his hand a little too tightly for him to be fully convinced. "I will be."

"Good," he kissed her once more. "We should probably get out there before our sudden appearance gets too suspicious."

"You go first," she instructed. "It would be weird if we were together. Plus, I need to strategize a little more."

"Okay," he hesitated. "Be safe."

"You too."

With one more smile for her, he squeezed through the trees, leaving the jungle, and joining the fray on the beach. She watched him as he easily maneuvered into the disorganized mass of people, mingling flawlessly. Isabelle took a few moments to plan her emergence. She had a mission to fulfill, one which she wasn't ready to pursue, but she knew that she had to do it and as successfully as possible, or Ben would not be pleased—displeasing Ben was never a wise decision.

Isabelle tiptoed along the border of the trees, staying inside their protection, until she spotted her first target. A man was sitting alone with his back to the trees, his arms resting casually on his knees, and his shaggy blonde hair ruffling slightly in the wind—he was perfect. His isolation from the rest of the people was what appealed to her the most. She thought it would be easiest to approach one person first before encountering the whole group.

Her side had started to burn at the spot where Ethan had cut her, and so she clutched at it as she staggered out of the trees. The man heard her approach and turned instantly. When he realized that she was in a sensitive condition, he stood quickly and moved toward her.

"You okay?" He asked.

Isabelle smiled at him to show her appreciation of his concern. "Just a little bit in shock, I think." His eyes drifted to where her hand covered her side. "Oh, and I think I landed on something…I don't really remember what happened…but I got cut somehow."

"I'd offer to look at it for you, but I don't know anything medical."

"It's fine," she told him. "I don't think it's serious."

"Are you sure? Maybe you should sit down…"

On closer inspection of the stranger, Isabelle decided he had probably never flown first class, never voluntarily visited Paris, and never been married. She smiled at her assumptions and accepted his suggestion to sit. She carefully lowered herself into the sandy hill near to the border of the jungle; they were far enough away from the chaos on the beach so as not to be distracted by the confusion and terror. He stood beside her, silently staring out at the scene of wreckage.

"It's insane, isn't it?" She spoke at last.

He looked at her when she spoke. "Hmm?"

"The crash," she said. "I mean there's always the possibility I guess…you hear stories of plane crashes, but you never really think it will be you."

"Yea, I know," he agreed easily. His expression was hard—his forehead creased deeply, his brows furrowed. After another moment he took a deep breath and let it out. Then he sat down beside her. "I'm Sawyer."

"Isabelle," she introduced.

"So, Isabelle, ever been in a plane crash before?" Sawyer asked. He laughed a little and then stopped when he noticed her expression. "Sorry, bad joke."

"It's fine," Isabelle told him. "What else are we suppose to say in situations like this?" She smiled, "were you flying alone?"

"Sure was," he answered. "You?"

She nodded. She realized this could become a dangerous conversation, since she didn't know any of the flight details and she wouldn't be able to answer too many specific questions; she didn't even know where the flight took off from or where it was heading. Instead of asking any follow-up questions, she decided to change the subject entirely.

"Tell me about yourself?"

"After you," Sawyer grinned, cocking his head towards her slightly.

"Not into to sharing secrets, I gather?"

"You gather correctly," he nodded. "You?"

She returned his casual smile. "Don't ask, don't tell, right?"

"Perfect."