He recognised her voice, even through a closed door; muffled, but unmistakable.
"I need to see Ben."
Next came Locke's; friendly enough, but suspicious. "Why would I let you do that?"
Hers again; "It's important. Please."
Ben closed the book he had been reading and laid it on the table beside him. Another reply, this time too quiet for him make out the words. They continued like this for another minute or so, both their voices reduced to hushed, wordless noise, then Ben heard footsteps heading towards his room; footsteps too soft and light to be Locke's.
When she opened the door, he almost laughed at her appearance. She looked even more bedraggled than the last time he had seen her several days ago. Her hair, usually a silky mass of gentle waves, was frizzy and unwashed; her clothes stained with dirt and sweat. Some women – Kate Austen, for instance – seemed to suit this feral, dishevelled look. She did not. But she was still beautiful.
"Juliet," he said softly, because she had said nothing. She stared at him hard for a few moments, framed in the doorway, before her jaw set in determination and she strode into the room, closing the door firmly behind her. Without a word, she moved over to the window and drew the curtains.
"What are you doing?", he asked, his eyes following her every move with some bemusement.
She spun round to face him, her lips pressed together, her gaze cold. "I need you to listen to me," she said.
"In the dark?"
"Just listen."
He smiled a little, more as an attempt to unnerve and annoy her than anything else, and leaned back into the chair. "All right."
"I know you don't want any of us to leave this island, Ben, and I know it's still within your power to make sure we don't. But I need you to let us go. To let me go. I need you to let everyone leave this place without trying to stop us. I need your word."
The look on her face made it clear she knew how ridiculous this sounded. He stared at her, delighting in her discomfort. "You really are desperate, aren't you?", he smirked, not moving from the chair. "And when you say 'everyone', you don't really expect me to believe you actually care about those people, do you? Be honest, Juliet. When you say 'us', we both know you really mean you and Shephard. He doesn't know you're here, does he?"
She chose to ignore this last question. "I need your word, Ben," she repeated, more insistent this time.
"And what makes you think I'm going to give you my word?"
"I never expected to get it for nothing."
"Then what exactly are you offering?"
She took a deep breath before she told him. "What you want, Ben."
"I'm a man of many desires, Juliet. You're going to have to be a little more specific."
She ran a hand through her hair, irritated and more than a little nervous. "You want me to spell it out?," she asked tetchily. "After everything you did, everything you said..."
She exhaled - half-sighing, half-snarling - then steadied herself, took a few steps towards him and began to unbutton her shirt. Ben raised one eyebrow, watching her intently. She shrugged the shirt from her shoulders and let it fall in a heap on the floor. Her bra quickly followed. She was not meeting his gaze as she undressed.
It took all of Ben's efforts not to let the surprise register on his face. He had often pictured Juliet naked, of course; late at night, when he was alone and frustrated, imagining undressing her himself, slowly, exploring each newly-exposed inch of skin with his mouth and hands. This particular scenario was a little unceremonious for his taste, but it would have to do for now. There was a brief moment of stillness; she standing naked and self-conscious, staring straight ahead, her back tense and poker-straight, while he simply drank in the sight of her, his face expressionless but his heart beginning to pound. Then she moved.
She stepped closer and straddled him on the chair, brushing the hair from her face. "We don't have long," she said. After only a moment's hesitation, he began to run his hands slowly along her thighs. She shivered, just a little, but she did not tell him to stop. She leaned in to kiss and nip at his neck, not particularly gently, then unfastened the first three buttons of his shirt, her kisses travelling downwards onto his chest. His right hand caressed her bare back as he drew her closer to him, fingertips dancing along her spine. He could smell the scent of the jungle on her skin and her hair.
"Is this really your idea of bargaining, Juliet?", he asked, his voice a low purr. "Or have you just found a convenient excuse?"
She lifted her head. "For what?"
He smirked again, not loosening his hold on her. "Be honest," he said. "You must be a little curious. You must have wondered. All that power, all that control, but is he any good in bed? Is he better than Goodwin? What would his hands feel like, his lips? What would he feel like inside me?"
He felt her shaking slightly in his arms, the hint of a blush blossoming on her cheeks, revealing more than she ever would willingly. Ben had seen her angry and upset; he had seen her break down and cry, but he had never seen her blush. She paused for a moment, trying to steady her breathing, then brought her face level with his and stopped his mouth with a kiss; intense and deep. She thrust her tongue into his mouth and he responded with equal passion, pulling her body hard against his, eliciting a soft moan from her and exulting in the sound. His hand pushed down between their bodies, searching for her opening. She broke away, gasping for air and squirming at his touch. To his great satisfaction, he found she was already wet.
He almost laughed, again. "Now, Juliet," he said, "that's honest."
She pressed her lips onto his again, hard and aggressive; she had never responded well to being mocked. He felt her hands move down his chest and to his belt, fumbling with the buckle as she deepend the kiss. Before his own body betrayed him, he quickly stopped her, holding both her wrists firmly in one hand.
He broke from the kiss, noticing that she was still blushing; her eyes now meeting his intensely, her breathing heavy. He leaned in close, his other hand tangling in her hair, and whispered into her ear, his lips grazing her cheek: "No deal."
She pulled away from him sharply. "What?"
"You think this is what I want?", he snapped, his grip on her hair now forceful enough to hurt her. "Do you really imagine that fifteen resentful minutes with you is what I long for most in the world? That it's anywhere near enough to make me let you and Shephard go? You always were a good deal more arrogant than you'd like people to think."
She flinched slightly at his words. "But I thought you-"
"If this was all I wanted, Juliet, why would I go to all that trouble for you? There are other, easier ways, after all."
"I know you're not that kind of man," she said, trying to placate him; a frightened edge creeping into her usually serene voice. She struggled to free her wrists, but his hold was too strong.
"You have no idea what kind of man I am," he told her with some bitterness. "That's become perfectly obvious."
She swallowed hard. "Then what do you want?", she asked him.
His expression softened, just a little, to something closer to sadness, to regret. "You have to ask," he said, shaking his head, his voice low. "You actually have to ask me that. You never understood, did you?" His hand moved from her hair to stroke her face gently. "For a supposedly intelligent woman, you never once understood."
He released her from his grip, lowering his hands to rest on the arms of the chair and turning his head away. She scrambled to her feet, attempting to cover her modesty with her hands.
"Go back to your camp, Juliet," he said without looking at her. "Try to hold onto what little dignity you have left."
She looked furious and embarrassed; clearly trying to hold back tears of humiliation as she grabbed her clothing from the floor and dressed as quickly as she could. He said nothing, only glaring at her from the chair as she made her way back to the door.
"You're never going to let me go, are you?", she said, not turning round, refusing to face him.
He sighed under his breath, too quietly for her to hear. "Well done, Juliet," he said. "You understand that much at least."