Preface (a.k.a.: Disclaimer): The following was conceived and begun at a time before the LOST series finale. I just couldn't wait. Obviously, at the time I had no idea how everything is going to turn out, and I'm presently in the process of going back and altering a few elements that I fell are better kept in agreement with the canon.

However, there are some directions I had taken the plot of this story that could not be altered, and some decisions I could not un-make. Therefore, this story is somewhat AU. For new readers, and old ones who have gone back for any reason, here are a few introductory points I feel I should make in order for the AU details to be more clear. The best way to explain is to go character-by-character...

Jacob: Dead.

Richard Alpert: Our protagonist. With Jacob dead, Richard lingers at the crossroads between faith and despair, and possibly at the edge of his mental-emotional capacity to deal with it all.

Jack Shepard: Jack is, for lack of a better way to describe him, the new Jacob. In addition to dealing with new, demi-godlike abilities, Jack is still the corporal leader of the "tribe." But without a clear understanding of Jacob's world, he feels compelled to prove his authority.

The Man in Black: Jacob is dead, but the MIB remains on the Island, plotting his next move.

Ben Linus: Ben has struck it alone, dealing with his own existential crisis. He is unaligned, but also unredeemed, and, as usual, not to be trusted.

Brought to the Island

Chapter One

The Hot Air Balloon

When the hot air balloon first appeared on the dawning horizon, there was hardly one awake to see it. For all intents and purposes purposes, the Island itself was very soundly asleep. The crash of waves on the sand was like a rhythmic snoring. Perhaps the hot air balloon itself was only a dream.

Of course, it was still very dark. Had anyone been awake when the balloon twinkled into existence, he or she would have likely mistaken the pinpoint of light from the propane tank for a star. But even then it was barely visible and in all probability it would have remained unnoticed altogether.

Still, there exists an ancient question regarding one's relative presence to unseen and sometimes unfathomable events: If a tree falls in the forest, and one does not witness it, does it make any sound? Does the tree, in fact, exist? A certain well-respected and perspicacious French philosopher once argued, "Well, shucks, I suppose it depends on whether the tree grew on an particular island in the South Pacific. Golly."

The balloon floated closer to the Island. And soon no one living there would be able to argue the existential semantics of its existence. It was indeed very real.

Jack Shepard was the first to be roused from his sleep. His eyes opened and adjusted slowly to the dawn creeping through the seams of his tent. He was not yet aware of the balloon. At least, not consciously. Despite his ignorance, he did awake with a faint sense that something was about to happen, as if on the tip of his tongue. Minutes passed, the light intensified, and bird calls grew shrill.

In one motion, he sat upright, bursting through the tent flaps with wild eyes. By now, the balloon and its basket were distinct from one another above the rolling ocean.

Jack began to sound the alarm...

...L O S T...

The first to hear Jack was Richard, who had been going in and out of a fitful sleep, full of fragmented dreams like shards of glass that would fade and blend into their surroundings the moment he woke, as glass is wont to do. The moments he retained lasted less than seconds, condensing as drops of sweat on his brow: a woman's hand, a man dressed in black... It was much darker in his own tent of high quality, military grade canvas, and when he awoke, he was unconvinced that morning had at last come. Stepping outside was necessary to prove it, and he winced as the morning sun stung his eyes.

"Jack?"

Jack responded by pointing to the sky, his arm so taught that Richard could literally read the line of thought connecting his brain to the tip of his finger, and the message was that all hell was ready to break loose. That something that should not have been happening was happening. Richard's eyes followed the line to the balloon itself, which by now was only half as pregnant with air as it ought to have been. He could make out two figures flailing desperately in the basket, and the faintest notes of their cry for help.

"Oh my God," Richard gasped as he ducked back into his tent to throw on some more clothing than what he had worn to sleep.

By now, others were appearing on the beach. He caught a glimpse of Hurley running to Jack's side, with Sawyer immediately behind. Richard stumbled out onto the sand, still barefoot and his shirt half unbuttoned. Sun and Jin, who were joining at only a marginally less frantic pace, and even then only marginally so, paused in front of him and asked if he knew what was happening. He used his nose to point overhead, hands failing to grasp a button in the middle of his shirt.

The balloon was directly over them. The three stood perfectly still, forming a neat triangle, as it eclipsed the sun, covering them with a wide black spotlight. Richard watched with round eyes, utterly stupefied.

"How is this possible? Are there people in there?" Sun asked, though it was rhetorical question.

"I saw two," Richard replied. His mouth was already dry.

The balloon continued to sink, though not meeting the pace of its drift across the beach, and so began to race to catch it. Jack easily took the lead, due as much to his natural speed as to it being his proper role. Sand began to spray in every direction as a battalion of feet pounded the beach. Shaking the last of the sleep from his mind like a cobweb, Richard fell into rank. He could now make out that two figures in the basket were a young man and woman, with similar tan skin and dark hair. But their voices were not so easy to discern. "Land! ...Land!" was the only word he could understand, even though they were screaming, their faces red with desperation. Above them, the propane flame wagged from side-to-side, as the riders called for help from all directions.

"What are they saying?" This question came from several directions, from as many lips, and through as many gasps for breath; but it was Hurley, who had fallen behind, who was hardly running at all, who rung above them all at the top of his voice, "They don't know how to land!"

Though it took a few false starts, Richard peeled his gaze away from the bottom of the basket. The circle of shade continued onward, once again revealing a morning sky so bright that his eyes watered. He looked over his shoulder and stopped running, pacing a wide circle, and waited for Hurley to catch up.

"What do you mean, they can't land?" he asked.

Hurley hesitated for a moment, his eyes darting from side to side, which usually prefaced something he was uncomfortable saying aloud. When he did speak, his words were slow and heavy with uncharacteristic gravity. "Their pilot's dead, man. I think he's still in the basket."

"What?" Richard gasped, though he might not have been so surprised. He was, after all, in the know regarding Hurley's gift. They shared a personal connection. A secret, in actuality.

All Hurley seemed able to do was nod. Taking in a deep preparatory breath, he started off again, jogging in the sand while the others ran. "Does anyone know how to land a hot air balloon?"

Richard looked around, his skin crawling a little at the thought of a nearby ghost. By now, he had fallen too far behind Jack to match him, but he ran after the group nevertheless, quickly passing Hurley with a somewhat apologetic glance over his shoulder.

The balloon, despite its inept passengers, was sinking of its own accord. Slowly, yes, and almost undetectably, but still sinking. This he could tell by the fact that the features of the two aboard were slowly coming into focus, red-faced and disheveled with panic. He could even see something fall from the basket, though he could not tell what right away. It was something small and thin, and reflective. It glittered as it fell and made a little explosion in the sand when it landed on the beach.

Richard stopped to pick it up. It was a pair of glasses, thick lenses, with sand clinging to the frame like jimmies on an ice cream cone where it was still wet with sweat.

He dropped them into his breast pocket.

Taking up again, and realizing he was at last fully awake, Richard fought his way to the middle of the group, out of the sand and into the flora. He shortly found himself beside Jack, which was startling, considering how far back he had fallen. But everyone was slowing down. They were coming to a full halt. All eyes were pointed heavenward as the balloon reached the perimeter of the jungle, arcing above them as each head turned in unison. It struck a tree. There was a terrifying snap, and the woman aboard screamed.

Silence followed. The utter lack of sound rang in Richard's ears as the balloon clung to the jungle wall like a bubble that ought to have popped. Eyes moved back and forth among each other, wordlessly communicating the same questions. A few birds darted out of the trees and flew to faraway safety. The flap of their wings was the first to break the silence. Slowly, Richard's shoulders dropped, accompanied by a twinge in his neck. He had not realized he had been holding them so tensely.

Hurley, at considerable length, spoke. "So... um... maybe they should turn the flame off... or something?"

There was a low murmur of agreement, but no voice rose above the crowd. All eyes had turned to Jack. All but Richard, who had begun to cross to the other side the gathering, out of the shadow the basket, craning his neck and squinting his eyes as he stepped into the sun. From here, there was a clearer view of the riders, and he noted more traits that they shared: a sinewy build, a strong chin and nose, although the man more so on both counts. Richard watched them react as Jack called up about the propane tank, the man turning immediately and beginning the work on the valve, while the woman assisted with pointing and similar gestures. A few seconds passed and the fire began to shrink. The balloon followed in turn, the top caving in upon itself. But it did not fall. It was tangled in the tree branches, soon hanging from them like a lifeless marionette. Another patch of silence followed.

"Now what?" someone asked, and several voices echoed.

"They're stuck," said Sun, followed by another chain of similar statements. Richard also noticed some quick, undecipherable Korean.

"How do we get them down?"

By now, Richard had become aware of a heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. His pulse seemed more prominent within his chest, as though his heart had pressed itself against the shelter of his sternum. He rolled his shoulders back. When Jin appeared beside him, it gave him a start.

"I am not the only one who has a bad feeling about this, am I?" asked Jin, his jaw tense.

"No," Richard replied. "You're not." His eyes drifted in Jack's direction, who was instructing the two aboard to throw down their landing ropes. Hurley stood beside him, transmitting directions from an unseen force. A chill ran up Richard's spine.

Miles, who had been standing nearby, eavesdropping, took a few steps to close the gap. "This doesn't make any sense, right? This shouldn't be happening." He leaned in and lowered his voice, "I mean, and correct me if I'm wrong, but there's not exactly a history of people just stumbling upon the Island."

"You'd be surprised, actually," Richard replied dryly.

"How did they get out this far?" asked Jin. "They don't even know how to land."

"Hurley said their pilot was dead," answered Richard.

Miles's eyes flew back to the balloon with peaked interest. "Dead?" Then his gaze dropped to Hurley and he shrugged. "Well, he would know, wouldn't he."

"I guess so..." Richard took a step forward, his eyes widening in turn as he watched the man begin to climb out of the basket, wrapping his arms and legs around the rope he had thrown down seconds before. The area beneath the balloon began to clear as everyone stepped out of the way.

Jin's hands flew upward. "What are we doing?" There was growing frustration in his voice as he demanded attention. A few turned around, startled. He returned to his wife's side and began to speak in Korean.

When the man was half-way down, the woman began her descent, gripping the rope so tightly that her hands turned the color of bone. At the top, she lingered, waiting for the man to safely reach the sand, her eyes locked on the ground below, pulling sharp breaths through clenched teeth. As she shivered in fear, the rope gyrated haphazardly, anchored only by the weight of the man below. She squeezed her eyes shut and held the rope somehow even more desperately

The man let go and landed in a crouch, taking a moment to balance before rising. At his full height, he was taller than he had seemed overhead, well over six feet, subjectively handsome, with a muddled ethnicity about his features: not just tanned, but olive-skinned, with large dark eyes and a thick neck; and yet, there seemed to be nothing very remarkable about him. That was the best way Richard felt he could describe it. The man's stare was hollow and his stance somewhat hunched, but perhaps it was the his hands that bespoke more. They were thick, over-sized, and the way they hung low, close to his knees, reminded Richard of a Neanderthal.

Looped over his broad shoulders was a school bag, or backpack: not just dirty, but encrusted with patches of ancient mud. When the man reached for it, strained for it, a cloud of dust arose. He pulled through one lunkish arm, then the other, moving with haste, his eyes suddenly wild, glancing only momentarily at the woman above him.

And what followed happened so quickly, it left Richard with the distinct impression that he was somehow still dreaming.

It began with Jin yelling for everything to stop, half in English, half in Korean. It was possible that he was shouting at Jack, specifically. Miles dove out of the way as Jin blasted through the crowd, catching Richard's shoulder and sending them both, Miles and Richard, sprawling into the brush. As he peeled his face from the dew-covered leaves, someone in the group began to scream. A woman. It wasn't until Richard was up on his knees that he realized it was Sun begging her husband to stop. Her bare feet passed as she chased after him.

With visible terror collecting in pale patches across his face, the man from the balloon threw the backpack into the air as Jin sent him to the ground. They fell together as a tangled mess of arms and legs, Jack struggling to pull them apart, but with Sun between them it was impossible to get a hold on anyone. Jin's shill cry of "Gun... gun..." rang above it all.

It was Sawyer Richard saw enter next, an iron-clad look of grudging determination on his face, as he tackled Jin at ramming speed, throwing Sun into Jack's protective arms. He pinned Jin to the ground, the air expelling from his lungs with a painful sounding burst. The earth itself seemed to shudder. The atmospheric shock that followed was broken as the woman overhead, still dangling from the rope, began to scream.

The man from the balloon did not rise. He did not move. Richard realized he was holding his breath, as the words, "Oh shit..." got caught along the dry wall of his throat.

His mind lagged as he found himself running to the man's limp body. Jack passed Sun to Hurley, who brought her to Jin's side. Sawyer offered them all a cold stare, "Some welcome wagon..."

"He has a gun," Jin panted.

The man's eyes were closed, his mouth hanging open. A red welt had appeared on his forehead and began to trickle blood. Jack was already upon him, pressing his fingers against the man's neck. He dropped an ear to his chest.

"Is he dead?" Richard asked.

"No. No, he's not dead."

Richard picked up the backpack, turning it over and over as he struggled to locate the zipper beneath the muddy crust. Once open, he began to dig, dropping items on the ground as they passed inspection: an empty water bottle, an off-brand MP3 player, a wallet, in which Richard found an Idaho state driver's license with a picture of the man and the name Adam Joseph Riddle. This, he passed to Jack.

"No gun?" Jack asked, the answer to which he already seemed to know.

"No gun."

"What do you think he was reaching for?"

Richard shrugged. "You should ask him when he comes to." He turned from Jack to Jin, he met Sawyer's steely eye, and spotted Miles has he brushed scraped hands against his pants. He looked down at his own palms are saw they were speckled with blood, as well. Immediately, they began to sting.

Above them, the woman continued to scream. "Please don't hurt him! Please!"

Her entire body was wrapped around the rope, clutching every fiber that might support her, as she dangled thirty feet over everyone's heads. Richard motioned for the gathering spectators to move aside, though it was more of a glare than a gesture. "Can you climb down?" he asked, taking a position where he could better see her face. The woman's eyes were so tightly shut that her browline seemed to be grazing her cheek bones. A drop of water fell on to Richard's face as he craned his neck, a drop that may have been a tear or bead of sweat, or both combined.

"Please don't hurt him!" she repeated.

Out of the corner of his eye, Richard watched Sawyer shift his weight and Jin lift his head. Over his shoulder, Jack continued his attempts to revive Adam Riddle. "He's going to be fine. Are you able to climb down?"

"I think-" Though still cringing, her face completely contorted, the woman attempted to nod. Her legs loosened as she steeled her shoulders, lowering one hand, then the other. "I think so-"

And then she slipped.

Suddenly, she was a foot closer to the ground, through no effort of her own. The basket above them shuddered, the rope swayed in every direction, like an animal attempting to shake her free. A collective gasp and scream echoed off the trees. Blood began to seep through her clenched fingers. It trickled down and wrapped around her wrist like a bracelet.

"Shit!" Richard gasped, though he was unsure if the word escaped his lips or was merely an explosion of terror in his own brain. "Okay, you need to let go!"

His arms were already outstretched. The woman sucked in a shallow breath, her bare arms tensing as she dug her nails into the rope.

"I'm going to catch you! Just let go!"

She turned her face back to the balloon. For a moment, it seemed as if she was seriously considering climbing back into the basket.

"I promise I will catch you!"

His words shot upward like from the barrel a gun, a bullet to sever her attachment to the rope, to the safety net above her. The woman squeezed her eyes shut. Her lips mouthed a short prayer. And then she let go.

Dropping down to one knee, and taking less than a second to wipe the collecting blood and sweet from his palm, Richard held out his arms as far as they could stretch. She fell into them neatly. A rushed study of her red, tear-streaked face revealed a purple-ish depression on either side of her nose where a pair of glasses had recently sat. She stared back at him with dilated pupils, floating in a wide sea of red-threaded white. A second later, those same eyes rolled backward. She began to shiver

Instead of standing her on her feet, he gently lowered her onto the sand. And no sooner had the beach accepted her quivering form, than she passed out entirely. To Richard, it seemed as if she had fallen asleep.

"I think she's in shock," he said out loud to no one in particular.

But Jack happened to be listening. While his back was turned, Richard had missed the entirety of Adam Riddle's fate. They had dragged his body, still unconscious, to a tree, propping him up with his hands pulled to the other side. Producing a pocket knife, assumedly from the muddy backpack, Jack sliced off a portion of the dangling rope and began to unravel the cords.

"What are you doing?" asked Richard.

"She's not in shock. But Jin is right... we don't know who they are." Reaching down, Jack attempted to pull the woman up by her shoulder. Richard stayed his hand.

"But they're already unconscious."

"They won't stay that way."

"What?" Richard rose to his feet, their eyes meeting as Jack wrapped a portion of rope around his forearm. Jack cast a directional glance towards Jin. At attempt at something apologetic, Richard wondered, but he found himself stepping aside and making a path for Jack to return to Adam's limp body.

A moment later, Richard realized he had begun carrying to woman to a separate tree. He lifted her by the armpits so that her back was aligned with the truck. Her head rolled down to her chest. Using his fingertips, he guided it to a more comfortable position against her shoulder.

Jack separated the cords of the rope and handed off half to the others. They set to the task of binding the man's hands. He walked back to Richard and the woman, and knelt down behind the tree. With a brief nod, he stretched out the rope. "Alright..."

Assuming this was his signal, Richard took her hands by the wrists and folded them around the tree until they met on the opposite side. He leaned in close so that he could continue to hold them as Jack worked. Nose-to-nose with her, he could smell with seemed like a generous portion of sunblock, mixed with salt from the ocean air and sweat from a arduous journey. Over her shoulder, Jack pulled the rope tight, so tight that her body jerked, and Richard turned his gaze aside.

Jack finished and stepped away, brushing the dirt from his palms with a sigh of what could only be described as defeat. Richard rocked back on his heels and lingered a moment longer. Reaching into his breast pocket, he pulled out the fallen glasses. He brushed off the little sand that was willing to release its hold, unfolded them, and slipped them back onto the woman's face.