The sky was a beautiful blue, reflecting on the ocean waves that crashed on the sandy shore of the island. The fronds of the palm trees were swaying in the breeze coming off the sea, providing a contrasting image to the rusting ruins strewn across the beach. It was an old scar on an otherwise beautiful island, but the beaches were deserted, the only sound the rustling of the greenery and the crashing of waves upon the shore.
Further inland, was the very picture of suburbia. Freshly-painted yellow bungalows, and a swing set that had not been played on in many years, creaking slightly as the wind rushed through the commons. Flowers were waving, hit with that same fresh sea breeze that carried with it the scent of a Sunday morning in paradise. Though there were few of them, most of the occupants had their windows open to experience the morning, and along with the salty tang of the air, there was another scent; someone was cooking breakfast.
It was a Sunday, and though very few people left on the island observed religion of any kind, it was still seen as a day of rest and reflection; a time for peaceful contemplation or to go visit the graves of loved ones. Such was the reality for one island resident, preparing a breakfast before he made his trek. Freshly picked flowers were sitting on his table, and he was whistling along to opera music playing on the stereo.
Until the stillness of the morning was shattered by a cacophony of noise. The man, though he hadn't heard such horrible noises in years, understood at once what was going on, and, forgetting his breakfast, ran outside to stare open-mouthed at the sky. The peace of morning had been wrenched apart by the screech of metal and the unearthly whine of a failing engine. He knew next to nothing about planes, but knew without a doubt that without a good pilot, this plane would be crashing. And then he watched as the plane righted itself.
He could only hope the pilot had spotted the runway on the adjacent island, and was making a landing. Visitors to the island were few and far between, and the runway had allegedly been built "for aliens" but judging by the panicky spiral of the plane, leaving a trail of smoke to stain the blue sky, these weren't willing visitors. He could only guess how terrified the passengers were.
As the plane disappeared from sight, he realized he'd been standing there for a few minutes, gaping at the sky. This was serious. "Dude, not again!" he groaned, before hurrying as fast as he could considering his significant girth, to hammer a fist against his next door neighbor's house. "Ben!" he yelled.
The door opened, to reveal a very cross, short man, with bulging eyes and whose hair standing on end made him resemble a pissed-off Tweety Bird. "Hugo, what are you bellowing about at such an ungodly hour?" he asked, irritably, arms crossed. "You know better than-."
"It's happening again."
"What is?"
"You didn't hear that crazy noise a minute ago?"
"The first noise I heard today was you banging on my door!" Ben shook his head. "What's going on?"
"A plane."
"A plane?" Ben asked, rapidly putting the pieces together. "You mean another…?"
"Yeah, dude, another one."
"Hugo, what have I told you about calling me dude?"
"Sorry, du- Ben. Sir."
He sighed. "You don't have to sir me. Did you see any markings on the plane? Like an airline name?"
"No, Ben, I was focusing on the fact that it was crashing!"
Ben stuck his head out of the door, and craned his neck to get a glimpse of the sky. His eyebrows went up, almost disappearing into his hairline when he saw the trail of smoke. He turned his eyes back to Hugo, and shook his head. "Marvellous. One more thing to deal with."
"Wanna come eat breakfast with me?"
"Hugo, I was hoping to go back to bed," he said, shooting him a pointed look, but under the puppy dog eyes of his boss, he simply rolled his eyes. "I suppose, but I would rather be dressed."
By now, the acrid scent of disaster was filling the air, and even the breeze fresh off the ocean wasn't dispelling it. And then the smell of burned food wafted out of the window next door, and Hugo cried out in alarm. "My breakfast!"
Watching him, Ben simply shook his head again. From his front window, he could see that people were starting to assemble in the commons, all staring at the smoke trail smudging the perfect sky like a wine-stained dress.
"Dudes," Hugo called, walking out into the commons. "I'm sending out scouts after breakfast to figure out what's goin' on. If anyone needs anything, I'll be in my house. And if anyone wants to join Ben and I for breakfast, I've got plenty of food!"
Ben smiled to himself, watching their man in charge, taking charge in the way he knew how; offering food and companionship. He was a better leader by far, and Ben was lucky, disgraced as he was, to get a position as second in command. He was puzzling over the matter of the plane, but withdrew from the window to dress himself. Speculation could wait until he had a plate of food in front of him and Hugo's undivided attention.
XNCISX
"What do you think caused it?"
"Could be the electromagnet thingy."
"Electromagnetic energy," Ben said patiently.
"Should I be calling Desmond or something?" Hugo asked, impatiently. "I don't understand the science behind it, dude, that wasn't my job."
"I know, but-,"
"Hurley! Hurley!"
Hugo – also known as Hurley – was on his feet with surprising speed, and Ben followed him to the front door, only to see one of their friends rushing across the commons, a woman in his arms.
"Has the whole world gone mad?" Ben muttered to himself, following Hurley as they ran to meet him.
"Hurley! There's a plane-,"
"Yes Walt, we know, but who is this?" Ben asked, impatiently.
"I don't know."
"Well, where did you find her?"
"The bamboo grove," Walt said, looking between Ben and Hurley. "I was fishing in the lagoon, to get something for lunch-,"
"Mmm a fish fry…" Hurley said thoughtfully.
"Hugo…" Ben warned, nodding towards Walt, who continued.
"And I saw the plane so I was running back to tell you guys, but I found her passed out in the bamboo grove, so I brought her here."
"Well, bring her inside," Ben urged. "Was there anything nearby?"
"No, nothing. The grove was completely empty except for her," Walt insisted.
"She must be heavy," Hurley commented.
Walt said nothing, but simply followed Ben through the open doorway, and laid the young woman on the couch.
"Do we know anything about her at all?" Ben asked.
"Well, I'm guessing she's not an Other. She's probably from the plane. I didn't exactly look for an ID, Ben."
"Okay." Hurley sighed, looking between the woman on the couch, and his two seconds-in-command. "Walt, can you go over to Hydra Island and see if the rest of the passengers survived?"
"Sure, Hurley."
"Take some supplies with you, food, water, and then see what can be done about bringing them back here, or putting them up in the Hydra building," Hurley instructed. "Ben, you're going to stay here with her, while I call a meeting."
"Are you sure that's a smart idea?" Walt asked. "Leaving him alone with her?"
"Oh for goodness' sake, Walt. I'm not going to do anything to her."
"She looks like she's really out of it too, dude. I'm sure she'll have woken up by the time the meeting is over."
Walt nodded, shooting a glance at Ben. It had been seven years, and he still wasn't entirely sure he trusted the man. "All right. Mind if I take a few helpers?"
"Nope. Do what you gotta do." Walt rushed off, and Hurley smiled at Ben. "Take care of her, okay?"
"You can count on it, Hugo."
Hugo rushed off too, following in Walt's footsteps. The door slammed behind him, leaving Ben alone to look after the young lady.
He looked her over. She had to be in her late twenties, at the oldest early thirties, with long, dark brown hair, and a cut on her forehead. Her clothing was casual, but he noticed with surprise that the bottoms of her shoes looked as though they'd never even touched the ground. He found it a puzzling discrepancy, but thought nothing more of it. A look at her hands confirmed she wore no rings, which meant she was unattached. He settled in, waiting for her to wake up.
XNCISX
The first thing she realized was that she ached all over. Her head hurt, her ribs felt bruised at least, and she felt as though she had been put through a washing machine. She sighed, grunting in pain as she shifted, her eyes still closed against the bright light. Even her legs hurt, and-
Her eyes flew open, and she blinked, her eyes wide with panic. The last thing she remembered was the plane going down, and a hand clutching hers. She was alone now.
Was she dead?
She looked around, wildly, only to find that she was in a house of some kind, with sunshine pouring through the windows and a fresh breeze fluttering the curtains. That wasn't what had caught her attention though. She looked down her body, raising her head so she could be sure she wasn't in pieces, or feeling the phantom pain of a removed limb. Her eyes widened with shock. She had to be dead. Or grievously injured; hallucinating even. Because as she watched, as she felt the aching in her legs, she found, as she watched, that she could wiggle her toes.
"Impossible," she said softly.
"Hello."
She sat up so suddenly, that she clutched her head, feeling giddy and sick. When the spots in her vision cleared, she found a man standing in the doorway to what looked like a kitchen. "Am I dead?" she asked.
He blinked, and then smiled to himself. "No, you aren't dead." He was short, his hair standing on end like he'd been electrocuted, and his bulging eyes were a vivid shade of blue behind circular glasses. He must've seen the panic in her eyes. "What's wrong?"
"I have to be dead," she told him, a wry smile on her face, as she wiggled a toe again. It wasn't possible.
"And why do you say that?"
"Because…" She found her brain to be rusty, most likely thanks to the crash. "What's your name?"
"My name is Benjamin Linus. You've caused quite a stir, young lady. My associate found you in the middle of the jungle, all alone."
She clutched at her head again, before staring at him. After a moment, she found the words. "Was there anything nearby, sir?"
"No, he said he found just you, brought you straight here. Have you lost something?" He noticed then that she kept looking at her legs. "Are you hurt?"
"No. At least I don't think so." She looked a trifle sick, so he held out a hand.
"Do you need help standing?"
"You don't understand. I can't walk."
"Really?" he asked, surprised. "Are your legs injured?"
"Yes," she said, biting her lip, before looking up at him with clear eyes that betrayed how truly frightened she was. "My name is Delilah Fielding. US Department of Defense. And my legs are injured… I was paralyzed from the waist down three years ago."
He blinked, and then sat down next to her on the sofa, looking her over. He removed his glasses with a sigh. "The damn island has done it again."
"Again?" she asked.
He looked down at her, and saw how pale she was. "Are you feeling quite all right, Miss Fielding?"
"Sure… I've got a whopper of a headache though."
"Who else was on the plane with you?"
Her eyes went wide. "My team!" She tried to stand, only for her to pitch forward. Ben barely caught her in time, as she fainted, overwhelmed.
And where was the rest of her team exactly?