to worry[verb] 1. To feel uneasy or concerned about something or someone; 2. to attempt to deal with something in a persistent or dogged manner.
It hadn't been the first time he had to wake Ben in the middle of the night. John began to worry, wondered if there was anything he could do but Ben would never talk to him about the nightmares. He'd just lie in his arms and cry until he fell asleep from exhaustion. They had been living on the beach for the past month, built a little shed out of materials scavenged from the old camp and for the first three weeks everything was perfect in their idyllic little home. Then the nightmares started and Ben was constantly on edge.
"Maybe you should see Jack," John said while cutting mangoes for breakfast.
"Pardon?" Ben said as if he had been ripped out of a daydream, causing John to wonder if one could also have day-nightmares.
"Maybe he can give you some sleeping pills so you can sleep through for a night or two. Plus paying Dharmaville a visit might actually be a good idea anyway. We could use some pots and plates and stuff and you could-" John stopped himself there. He was sure Ben's dreams had to do with Alex and he thought that going back to their house, her old room, might help Ben find some sort of closure, to say goodbye. But the last time he had made a suggestion like this they had a fight that ended with Ben running off into the jungle and not coming back until long after sunset. John didn't go after him – he knew even if he had been able to catch up with him it would've only made things worse.
"That's not necessary," Ben said and looked back at the ocean, drifting off into whichever thoughts he kept himself busy with.
"It might just be a good idea to, you know, give your body some rest."
"I don't want to rest!" Ben said louder than intended and immediately apologised. "I'm sorry. I…"
John put the knife and mango aside and sat down next to Ben. "I'm just worried about you, that's all. It breaks my heart to see you like this."
"I know." Ben rested his head on John's shoulder and closed his eyes. "But neither Jack nor his pills can help me with this."
"Then let me help you." John let his fingers run through Ben's tousled hair and placed a soft kiss on his forehead. "Please."
Ben sighed and gave him one of those empty looks that he was never fully able to read. John could only ever guess and most of the time his guess was wrong. Benjamin Linus was not just a closed book of emotions – if one was patient enough to learn how to open it, they'd find that it was written in a language no one had ever seen before. John had been studying it for months, the vocabulary, the structure and melody but whenever he thought he had finally deciphered it, Ben changed the grammar.
"I have to be judged," Ben said and looked at John as if he was supposed to know what that meant.
"Judged? By whom?"
"I think you once referred to it as the smoke monster."