It was one of those days again; Ben left without an explanation. He just said goodbye and left John behind like he did so often those past few weeks. They finally managed to convince everyone to come back to the island with them, there shouldn't be anything left to do for Ben. Why would he leave like this again? John needed answers. He would have followed Ben earlier but as long as his leg was still in a cast that wasn't an option. But he's been out of it for a week now, so a minute after Ben left the hotel room, John left as well.

In a cab he followed Ben to the marina. John didn't know what to expect, what business Ben would have to attend to. Hadn't everything been dealt with? Why wasn't he done with this place yet? What could he possibly need to do here before he can go back home?

Suddenly John heard a gunshot. He was still too far away to see exactly what was going on, so he ran towards where the sound came from and saw Desmond lying on the ground. It made him feel dizzy when he saw Ben pointing a gun at Penny. And then there was this little boy, not more than 2 years old.

John was paralysed, he wanted to stop Ben but he couldn't move. For a second he regretted following him for now he had proof that there was no new Ben, that he was still the man he used to be – ruthless, coldblooded, cruel.

Then Ben lowered the gun and seconds later Desmond pulled him to the ground and started lashing out at him. John let it happen. The liar deserved it.

John didn't confront Ben, he didn't even stay to see if he made it out of the water after Desmond threw him in. He just left, unseen, and went back to the hotel to pack his bags and tried not to let the feeling of having been used destroy him. Ben saved his life yet he was willing to shoot an innocent person. It made John feel worthless for even considering he meant something to Ben.

The phone rang, he didn't answer. It rang again, he pulled the plug.

When Ben came back he was soaking wet, blood covered his face and his lips were swollen. He didn't know that John had witnessed everything, but when he looked into John's eyes it was agonisingly obvious that there was no need to lie about what happened to him, because John already knew.

"Did Desmond tell you?" Ben asked with a voice so empty of emotion it was almost as if he didn't say it at all.

"No, Ben. Desmond is very likely in surgery to close the hole your bullet ripped through his body."

Ben was quiet. Every noise seemed muffled, his vision was blurry. He was shivering but he didn't sense the cold wetness of his clothes sticking to his bruised body. All Ben felt was every pain he ever had to endure: The pain he felt when he had to say goodbye to his only childhood friend; the pain of never having known his mother; the pain of killing his father without remorse; pain that feels like pins and needles piercing through every square inch of his body; the pain of never holding his daughter again; the pain of being Benjamin Linus; the pain which was always there and would never leave.

"I was wrong about you, Ben." John said and bit his lips to suppress tears, to not give Ben the acknowledgement of crying over him. "I was wrong. You're not a better man. You'll never be. And I can't even blame you. That's who you are. You're…. you're a killer and a liar and I feel so stupid for even allowing myself to think you could be someone else."

Ben swallowed, closed his eyes hoping it would make everything undone, but there it was, another kind of pain to add to his collection: The stinging, suffocating feeling in his chest of being a disappointment to the only one who ever believed in him.

"John, I… Look, yes. Yes, I wanted to-" Ben swallowed at how difficult it was to say it to John's face. It had been so easy to walk into Charles Widmore's bedroom, to threaten him, to say it, to have the upper hand. That was nothing compared to how he felt now. "I wanted to kill Penelope. I wanted Widmore to feel like I do, but…"

John tried to ignore him, he kept stuffing things inside his suitcase, fully aware that he won't even need them where he was going.

"John!" Ben's voice was begging for attention, not for forgiveness but for some sign of understanding. "I couldn't do it, John. When I saw her little boy… I couldn't let that child grow up without his mother. Do you hear me? John?"

"Yes! I hear you! You want me to forgive you because you didn't do the bad thing you've apparently been planning to do all this time since you've been here. Have you already forgotten you shot Desmond without even thinking about it twice? I'm sick of it, Ben! Do yourself a favour and stop pretending you'd be able to change!"

John grabbed his suitcase and walked to the door. "See you at the airport."

Ben whispered John's name when hot tears ran down his face. But John didn't turn around, he didn't dare to look back at the man whom he trusted with his darkest fears, secrets, his life – and who so carelessly threw away that trust. He closed the door behind him and shed silent tears in the hallway.

On the other side of the door Ben didn't cry anymore. He bit his lower lip causing it to burst open again and fill his mouth with blood and under his breath he mumbled something that would've almost sounded like love if only someone had been there to hear it.