Author's Notes: This is a one-shot about Libby that I wrote awhile ago. There aren't a lot of fics about Libby, and she's really quite interesting. Kind of what-iffy. Hope you enjoy it. :)
My Name's Elizabeth
A group of people were laughing together down the beach.
Sitting cross-legged on a thatch mat, Elizabeth decided that this was quite the different type of asylum. No one was strait-jacketed and fed blue pills here. The beach was the confine and false sense of security kept the patients sedate.
Who's watching? She wondered, her eyes drifting across the tree-line. That's where Goodwin had emerged that terrifying day on the other beach, pointing frantically and playing his part.
What do they really know? Elizabeth thought suddenly. What do they really know at all? Not much of anything, really.
Her eyes twinkled.
"You have the potential to become quite an asset to this project."
Looking appropriately humble, Elizabeth had smiled and confidently set her eyes on Mr. Ethan Rom, who sat looking important and pleasant at his oak wood desk. He adjusted the position of several forms laid before him.
"I understand you have a husband. Will you be requiring that he can contact you?"
"Me and my husband are estranged."
"Any children?"
"No."
Mr. Ethan Rom had checked a little box on one of his forms.
Elizabeth was a good actress. That was why she had been chosen. Her credentials from Juilliard and impressive demo tape had caught the interest of the Widmore Foundations Drama Division. Elizabeth was the kind they had been searching long and hard for, someone with natural talent who desperately needed a job and was hoping to break into the business. She had form and poise and nearly everyone who met her liked her. She was non-descript and forgettable—that was why her employers had assigned her to this particular job. They needed a person who could be just another face in the crowd. Someone who could listen in on conversations and observe without being noticed. Someone with a talent for being someone else.
"Report for psychoanalysis tomorrow!"
The director's voice boomed in her ears. She never did like the director of the Studies and Observation Group. He was an awful type of personality – seemed more like a lawyer or accountant. Someone who yells at people or lives in the abstract world of numbers for a living. He didn't seem to have much intelligence about people at all, sad considering his status as a medical practitioner.
She remembered the cruel nurses she had encountered during her job at the Santa Rosa Mental Health Institute, those conceited persons who pushed around carts of meds and pretended to care, and who always retired back to their warm homes and apartments, filled with the sane.
Elizabeth tore back the folds of a colorful Apollo bar wrapper and bit into the confection.
She loathed them. And the Director.
Now had come the crux of her—according to her enigmatic agent, Mr. Rom— "Very important work": Island Scenario - Observation of a group of voluntary participants involved in Widmore's Project Dharma.
Elizabeth remembered how excited she had been.
Tired of the sun, she pulled everything back into the shade and settled again onto the mat, pulling her bare, tanned legs up to her chest.
People passing by didn't notice her.
"You won't need to pack much—everything will be provided for at the island."
Mr. Rom was saying as he took a slip of paper from a drawer in his desk and handed it to her. It was a one-way plane ticket from Sydney to LA.
"Not afraid of flying, I hope?" Mr. Rom grinned. Elizabeth had chuckled good-naturedly.
"Have you ever played a psychiatrist...?"
Elizabeth grinned. "Sure, I convince people I know what I'm talking about all the time."
"Excellent. I'm sure you'll meet some real head-cases...'Doctor'." Mr. Rom said in good humor.
She had played a mental patient. Now she was playing a head shrinker. Neither was very far from the other, Elizabeth mused silently.
"Now I need to tell you something Elizabeth," Ethan Rom began, "you've been employed with us for quite some time—a year and a half, as I recall. I know you may be wondering a few things, such as why we have given you medical training and vocational education in certain areas, such as the work you're currently undertaking in the Studies and Observation Group. These are important prerequisites for jobs you will be doing in the future—this one especially. What will be asked of you is to keep an open mind, interact, explore and observe like you've been taught. Under no circumstances can you tell the other participants who you really are. Come at every situation thoughtfully and—I cannot stress this enough—never panic. No matter what happens, you and your fellow participants will be working in a controlled environment, from the plane to the island. You're not being graded; this is strictly for project development and documentary purposes. I want you to remember, Liz, the actor, on some level, is his or her character. We lay the foundation for you to build emotion and personality. The rest of it is up to you. Who do you perceive 'Libby' to be?"
So, like any actor happy to have a job, Elizabeth took the assignment. The money was good, and the travel seemed to be worth it. Her agent was a little strange, but then again, perhaps that was just the type.
Frowning cynically, Elizabeth wondered what day of the week it was. Efficiently, she observed the people on the beach. Several times, the Doctor crunched past in the sand, looking very busy and pressed for time. Another time Charlie meandered northwards towards the beach, that typical spring in his step. They were all an interesting crowd, full of psychological intrigue and personality. They had adapted well to the situation, Elizabeth thought, her training with the Observation Group kicking in.
Whatever that situation was...
A large, familiar shadow fell upon her. Elizabeth looked up.
"Hey Libby, how's it going?"
Elizabeth smiled at Hurley.
"Oh, it's going. Sit down." She handed him an Apollo bar.
"Hurley, can I tell you something?"
"Shoot."
"My name's Elizabeth."
Hurley looked at her. She looked at him with smiling eyes and grinned.
"People call me Liz...or sometimes Libby. But Elizabeth, that's my name."
Hurley nodded slowly.
"Elizabeth...ok." He added after a moment. "That's a pretty name." He added quickly, "—Not that Libby isn't a pretty name too...they're both—pretty."
Elizabeth laughed.
"Hurley?"
"Yeah, Elizabeth?"
They both chuckled quietly.
"Don't tell anybody."
"Secret's safe with me."
The End