She waits, kneeling on the damp ground. From somewhere above her, she can hear the bark of the soldier's voice as he bargains with Ben, playing a high stakes game with her life on the line. Alex shivers, despite the heat. There are too many salty tears in her eyes for her to see properly. They roll down her cheeks, clearing clean lines as they wash away the dirt in rivulets. She turns her bleary sight towards the house, though all she can see is a blur of yellow. Somewhere, from safe inside, she knows Ben is watching; the word 'window' has been bartered, and Keamy stands in the open, overly confident and unafraid.
Please, she thinks, struggling against the wires that bind her hands. She can feel the cold bite of metal against her skin as Keamy presses the gun to her head. Please, she tries again, hoping to attract the attention of any benevolent deity, though she knows there is no use. This is how it plays out: Ben makes a mistake, and someone calls his bluff. She can already imagine the broken rules, the retaliation she will not live to see. It makes her cry harder, her breath emerging in gasps and hitches, her throat burning.
When she hears the burst of gunfire, Alex knows she is dead. Ben has failed her, risked her life for the last time. She keeps her eyes closed, relishing the sting of salt in her eyes because she knows that too soon the pain will be over and that will be the end of her. Premonitions have never been her strong point, but she has seen this scene before. She holds her breath, savoring it as her last as she waits to pitch forward into nothingness. She wonders how it will feel, but when the answer comes, it startles her. Death feels like a warm embrace, holding her close. It smells like smoke and frangipani and a rare cologne popular with American GI's in the 1950's. It sounds like a familiar voice, sweet as honey and more dangerous than her father. Alex feels herself ascend, but it isn't to Heaven, only onto her feet. When she opens her eyes, she sees Richard.
Keamy lies dead a few feet behind her, and Alex can hear the sounds of fighting in the brush as his men try to outsmart her people. It is hopeless; this is their home turf. She listens to their shouts and the spatter of bullets and she watches as someone slams open the front door to her house so roughly the door nearly breaks off its hinges. Ben hurtles out, then falls short, his eyes staring at her and then at the dead man.
Disbelieving, Alex turns to Richard, staring at him open-mouthed, her eyes wide with shock.
"Are you hurt?" he asks, looking her over.
Alex bites her lip and shakes her head slowly, unable to stop the tears. They continue pouring of their own volition, hot and damp down her cheeks. "I don't think so," she says after a moment. She cannot seem to take her eyes off the dead soldier and peers down at his face, remembering his smirk. Unconsciously, she touches her temple, still not completely accepting that she is standing and walking and talking. She eyes Ben, who stands a little ways off, watching warily, and after a moment he goes back inside to collect whatever weapons he has stored there.
Richard watches Ben goes, then concentrates on Alex. "Are you sure you're okay?" he demands, holding her at arm's length so he can survey her body for wounds.
Alex nods fervently. "I'm sure," she agrees. She reaches forward cautiously, one hand on Richard's chest, the other on his shoulder. "You made it," she says, managing the tiniest smiles. The relief is overwhelming.
He looks back at her, somehow ferocious. "I told you I would come for you," Richard replies, his dark eyes flashing. Somehow, he finds it within himself to breathe, finally acknowledging the need for oxygen that has made his chest burn. His jaw works, tense, and he looks at Alex so meaningfully that she blushes, staring down into the depths of her soul.
She looks back at him, cheeks aflame. Maybe it is the near brush with death that seems to have painted everything in such beautiful shades, or perhaps the hormones that have been playing her like a violin, but Alex has never required much in the way of explanation, anyway. When she wants something, she goes after it, and so she does not think about the reasons why as she rises up on tiptoe, closing her eyes to savor the feel of Richard's touch as he strokes her cheek. Her arms find their way around Richard's neck as he kisses her, and his kiss is just as forceful as she expected.
It is Sawyer's wolf whistle that breaks them apart. Alex feels her face burn crimson as she slides away from Richard. She can feel Ben staring at her in disbelief, and turns around in time to watch as Ben turns to Sawyer, open-mouthed and outraged. "Don't blame me, Daddy O," Sawyer croons, not forgetting to step back out of range of Ben's ever-present telescopic baton. His grin is irrepressible. "That's nature for you."
Ben's gaze falls on her, icy blue and uncompromising, and Alex stares back, just as unwilling to back down. After a moment, he sighs, concentrating on the gear. She can almost hear his thoughts as he grudgingly allows it; at least it's not Karl, he seems to be thinking. He spends more time shouldering the pack than strictly necessary, examining the damage the house has sustained. Finally, he looks back at Alex, eyes slit. "We have a ground to cover," he explains, jaw working to hold back the words he wants to say to Richard. "It's almost nightfall."
Alex shakes her head slowly, staring at him incredulously. She can still feel her future in his hands, tossed to the wind, and shivers at the thought of the fragile hold life still has on her. Before she can reply, however, Richard smooths her hair back from her face and kisses her forehead. The touch is brief, but promises more to come. Then he leaves her, going at once to Ben's side as he stomps into the jungle.
She can feel Hurley's eyes on her, and Claire's, but it is Sawyer who speaks, grinning. "Come on, Sheena, we don't got all night," he calls back over his shoulder, his expression mischievous and his eyes bright. He waits for her to catch up, letting the others pass, and together they step into the jungle, letting the trees blot out the light and hide them in their depths.