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The Battersea Shield was not made for serious warfare. It is too short to provide sensible protection. The thin metal sheet and the complicated decoration would be easily destroyed if the shield was hit by a sword or spear.

Penny has read the plaque attesting to the shield's use a dozen times as she hovers in the archway leading to the exhibit on Early Europe. From here she has a clear line of sight below to the main entrance of the British Museum where she expects to see Benjamin Linus cross through in a few minutes. Although the plaque maintains the shield would be useless in battle, the longer Penny waits, it seems more and more reasonable to liberate the relic from its display case and use it as a buffer between her and this madman. It would be even more practical to find a nice sharp sword, bathed in the blood of ancient warriors, to go with it. Of course, if she was truly prudent, she would not be here at all.

Early to mid forties, slight figure, brown hair, glasses, neat and bookish.

Linus sounds flimsy enough not to be made for serious warfare either but his history proves appearances can be deceptive. Despite the vague description, when he enters, Penny knows him instantly. It's all in his walk. He strides across the marble floor with the purpose, patience and confidence of a man used to being right and used to being obeyed. It's an all too familiar guise, one she has frequently seen worn by her father but Penny believes it to be even more daunting coming from a man who appears equally at ease in the apex of civilization as he must do in what she imagines to be the wildest of places. Even without his flock, Linus carries himself with the haughty dignity of a man with followers. From this distance, his limp is barely discernable; the cane looks like the accessory of an eccentric scholar. She could easily mistake him for the headmaster of a posh school, walking stick raised to lead a class of boys through the museum.

Linus disappears into the Egyptian wing and Penny remains where she is for a few minutes, hoping to absorb some courage from the shield. As she does this three obvious thoughts flood her head at the same time, competing for her attention. Desmond is counting on her. Charles Widmore is her father. Benjamin Linus is a liar. The last statement would seem to make this meeting pointless but she needs to look this man in the eye to prove he's human and mortal and as fallible as all of them.

On the stairs leading to the lower gallery, she passes a group of nuns engrossed in the audio tour. Although she's not Catholic, Penny feels an instinct to make the sign of the cross and hopes their presence is a harbinger of good will.

It takes her a while to find Linus again. The meeting spot was imprecise, somewhere in the massive Assyrian collection. She finally comes across him studying the carvings on a large limestone obelisk. His lips move slightly as he reads the plaque and one hand wanders from his side, looking like it would like nothing more than to reach over the ropes separating the visitor from the monument and touch it. He satisfies himself with stepping back to take it in better and then, as if he senses someone is watching him, he spins around.

"Penelope." She's not who Ben is here to meet, and as far as she knows, he's never laid eyes on her before today but he seems to know her instantly and expresses no surprise at her appearance. It's as if he's been expecting her all along; for all she knows, he has. "To what do I owe this honour or are we both just spending a rainy Wednesday afternoon browsing through the spoils of war?"

"I've come to deliver a message."

"By all means, go ahead." His eager expression suggests he couldn't be more interested in what she has to say but underneath she knows he's nonplused. Although she had worked on her speech for days, his flippancy outmatches her seriousness and her tongue suddenly feels like it has tripled in size. Ben appears amused at her loss for words and begins to assist her. "Am I to understand that you being here instead of Sayid means I am down one employee?"

Penny swallows. "Mr. Jarrah is working with me now."

"Mr. Jarrah? Well, by the time he drops that gentlemanly façade and tells you exactly the sorry state in which he left your beloved behind, I'm sure you'll be on a first name basis."

"This is not about Sayid or Desmond. I'm here about my father." She pauses to take a breath. "I'm only going tell you once, back off."

Her threat sounds hollower than she thought possible but Ben actually looks shocked. Most likely it's only because he expected her to beg for information about Desmond. He's about to respond but is forced to wait while two giggling boys run between them followed by a harried mother calling after her sons to be careful.

When they're gone, he appraises her with mock wariness. "Or what? You're going to send Mr. Jarrah after me?" Penny raises her eyebrow and leaves the implication as it stands causing Ben to shake his head. "Sayid has been threatening to kill me ever since I've met him and as you can see, I'm still here."

Penny simply shrugs. "Every man reaches the point of no return."

Ben nods, almost agreeably. "True. Then you should know Desmond reached his point long ago." He takes a step closer to her and drops his voice. "Now I'm not sure what you're hoping to find but I can guarantee it won't be the man you remember. There's blood on his hands and after what's he's been through, I doubt he'll ever be fit for this world again. Now don't look at me like that, I've never even met him. If you want somewhere to lay your blame, it's on the grave of Kelvin Inman or on your father's shoulders."

There is a number of things Penny would like to say here but all of them would mean exposing her heart. If she did that, surely he would take it in his teeth and tear it apart. So she resists defending her quest or asking him to elaborate and pushes away the image he's created in her head of a Desmond broken into too many pieces to put back together. She knows she should just walk away now. She's delivered her message and seen immediately who this man is; a wolf that's grown so restless in his sheep's clothing that he's barely bothering to pretend anymore. Yet there is something intoxicating about being so close to someone who at least acknowledges Desmond's existence and that keeps her where she is.

As if sensing her continued presence is some sort of victory, Ben's tone changes from leering to kindly, dare she say, fatherly. "I've left you alone all this time, Penny—May I call you Penny?—because you intrigue me. You're a dreamer and I've always admired dreamers. Instead of being daddy's little girl you've turned your back on family and fortune for a shell of a man, who even before the island was not much of catch. But even if I can't fathom a man like Desmond warranting this devotion, I know only too well how the heart rarely chooses whom to love wisely." Again he steps closer and it takes all her willpower not to back up. "But what surprises and interests me is this, after everything your father's done to thwart you, I would have thought you would encourage me to do all I could to thwart him."

It's on the tip of her tongue to tell him that no matter how long she's been at odds with her father and how far she knows he's gone in this sick obsession of his, she doesn't want to see him murdered, especially by someone who is twelve times more culpable than he is of causing pain and misery. However, she knows that type of accusation would just roll off Linus so she remembers what Sayid told her and chooses her words carefully. "You don't know a thing about fathers and daughters."

Ben's face darkens and his eyes narrow until only blackness shows. For the first time Penny fears she's gone too far. She realizes absolutely nothing would prevent him from reaching over and snapping her neck. Then, as quickly as his face clouds over, it lightens again and he actually chuckles, which at first is as daunting as his glare. "You give me hope, Penelope. Perhaps my own daughter will be as forgiving one day."

He points passed her with his cane and gestures for her to follow him out of the Assyrian collection. She watches him limp out of the galley, still not quite sure what just happened but suddenly she feels on firmer, more equal, ground.

Penny accompanies Ben to a large glass display case holding a giant tablet, the museum's most popular piece in its collection. The two of them hang back from the crowd of school children and tourists milling around the Rosetta Stone, eyes wide with wonder.

"Alex, my daughter, would love to see this. Someone once gave her a book on the pyramids and she fell in love with the romance of Ancient Egypt. For months she was convinced she could decipher the hieroglyphics on her own."

Another life ago, Penny had stood in this very spot with her own father admiring the huge piece of rock. She had held his hand and listened carefully as he knelt down to explain the history of the stone and what it meant, translating a few of the Greek words for her. She recalls being more in awe of her father's knowledge than anything else. "It's remarkable."

"It's what you're looking for isn't it, the last piece of the puzzle that allows everything to come together."

Penny remarks glibly, "Or you could just tell me how to find the island."

"You know I wish I could." He says it so genuinely it causes Penny to wonder if he is as lost as she is, that perhaps his presence here in London, his use of the cane and his project with Sayid indicates he is somehow unable to return. She doesn't know if the idea of Benjamin Linus in forced exile should thrill or scare her.

Ben doesn't give her a chance to probe this idea further. "Penelope, it's been a pleasure. Please pass on my regards to Sayid and tell him he lasted longer than I expected." He holds out his hand to her but when she doesn't take it, he just lets it drop. "I suppose if we ever meet again it will be under less civil circumstances."

"I expect so."

"Well, if I had to put my money on one of the Widmores getting what they wanted, I'd pick you, but then I've always had a soft spot for underdogs."

With that comment, he nods a good bye and taps his cane on the ground. Penny almost expects this gesture to cause him to disappear in a puff of smoke but instead he simply turns from her and leaves the room, disappears into the throng of people gathered in the main hall. She lingers at the Rosetta Stone going over the meeting. She doubts he will heed her warning but at least she has confirmed that Benjamin Linus is indeed as vulnerable as she is when it comes to matters of the heart.

On her way out, she stops at the gift shop and purchases a small replicable of the Rosetta Stone. It fits snugly in her palm, the inscription unreadable without a magnifying glass. The polished stone feels surprisingly weighty as she slips it into her pocket. Penny hasn't gone home in years. If she were to return, she would look to see if a duplicate souvenir, almost thirty years old now, still lies wrapped in a handkerchief in the shoebox in her closet, buried with all her other childhood keepsakes and fond memories of her father.

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