Tristan spent most of the next days hiding indoors, almost too afraid of the eventual return of Henry Gale. Try as she might to think of him as "Ben", as that was who he truly was, she couldn't shake the identity of Henry Gale from her mind. Would he be angry that she was here? That she had found their camp? Would he let her stay, as she had asked him in the woods that night, or would he throw her back out into the wilderness? Or would he take her quietly back home, as he had that night, sure that she wouldn't be able to follow? She still couldn't decide whether his actions were motivated by kindness, or cruelty, or pity? Speaking of, what would become of Richard? Had she misled him unintentionally by failing to tell him about her encounter with Henry upfront? He had said he didn't take orders from Ben… what did that mean? The whole situation was giving her a headache, and she was overwhelmingly anxious for his return, to hear her fate, one way or another.

Finally, desperately early in the morning, Tristan found herself peering out across the lawn, unable to sleep. There was a strange stillness in the retreating shadows as the sun weakly crested the horizon. At first, she thought her exhausted mind was playing tricks on her, but as island sunlight began blazing checkered patterns through the branches, she witnessed the veritable procession of Others, arriving in the camp, dispersing toward their respective cottages.


I could barely keep my eyes open moments before, but suddenly my mind was abuzz with activity. Had I seen any of these other people before? I didn't recognize anyone at first. I saw a group of Others carrying something… someone? Everything was white, and I saw them approaching Ben's house. It occurred to me suddenly that something might have happened out there in the Jungle, because god knows what's out there, and I was lucky to have made it here alive. What if he was dead? What would happen to me then?

And then, much to my surprise, a familiar face broke from the throng. Dr. Jack. He must have found out about Michael. He must have found out that the Others didn't kill Ana Lucia and Libby. That had to be it. Everything was fine, and we'd worked it all out, and all was forgiven. I'm sure I didn't believe that in the pit of my soul, but I wanted to badly enough.

Then, another thought. If Dr. Jack was here, something awful must have happened. Ethan had been the Others' doctor. Without him, they would have no choice but to find Jack. What if Ben really was dead?

Before logic could talk me off the ledge, I was pulling on shoes and out the door, trotting across the lawn, hopeful smile plastered on my face.


Jack Shephard was running a hand through his hair, nerves frayed, unsure whether to be relieved, overwhelmed, or suspicious that he was permitted out into the warm Island sunlight. He just needed a single moment when he wasn't thinking about Kate, or Juliet, or Ben, or home.

Tristan's emergence from the doorway of her bungalow blasted all of these thoughts clear out of his mind. What had happened in his absence? Did Kate and Sawyer even have a beach camp to return to? How did she get here?


"How is he?" I asked, tilting my head toward Ben's house, coming to a halt a few feet from Jack.

"How is he?" Jack spat the question back at me, incredulous. I stumbled backwards, surprised.

"How is he?" He was advancing on me now, eyes flashing. "Kate and Sawyer were locked in animal cages, who the hell even knows where Hurley is, but your first question is how is he?"

He lunged at me, gripping my forearm tightly enough to force a whimper from my lips.

"Jack, I had no idea. You're hurting me. Stop."

"What are you even doing here, Tris?" He asked, pulling me close enough to tower over me. "I see you're looking remarkably well."

"Jack, please."

"You want to know how he is?"

"Jack…"

"You want to know how he is?" He was dragging me across the lawn, stumbling, tears burning in my eyes.

"Jack!"

He thrust me roughly ahead of him, grabbing me by both arms now and shoving me along in tense silence.

"Jack, what are you doing here?" We had burst through the door of Ben's house, Jack still pushing me along down the hallway.

"Get me the handcuffs, Juliet."

"What?" I asked.

"Jack?"

"The handcuffs, Juliet. Now."

"Jack…" I murmured. The woman he called Juliet had fled.

"That's how he is." Jack had pinned me to the bedrail, and I found myself staring down at the man I had known only as Henry, paler and gaunt, drenched in sweat, and shivering, eyes squeezed shut in restless sleep.

"He's burning himself alive with fever."

Juliet had returned, stationing herself quietly in the doorway.

"What are you going to do?" She asked.

"She wants to know how he is. Since she's obviously more invested in whether he lives or dies than either you or I, she can watch him."

He stretched out one hand to Juliet, still pinning me against the bedrail.

"He needs a doctor, Jack."

"He needs to be watched. She's capable of that much."

Reluctantly, the woman placed a pair of handcuffs in his grasp. Almost instantaneously, he was ratcheting them painfully tightly to my wrists, wrapped around the bedrail.


It didn't take Tristan long to realize that Jack had positioned her in such a way that it was nearly impossible to either sit or stand comfortably. Whether this was intentional, or simply a side-effect of his haste and anger, she wasn't sure she wanted to know. She was forced to hunch over when standing, or kneel awkwardly, handcuffs biting into her wrists painfully every time she so much as shifted. In the silence, it became apparent that her lack of sleep the night before was going to come back to bite her now. Now and again, she would try to let her head loll against the metal tubing, but to no avail. Hours passed, Ben still muddling through fitful sleep, Tristan watching, still hoping to find a position that would alleviate the sting on her wrists and attain some level of comfort. The sun crossed the sky, blazing into the windows for a while, then setting, evening passed into night, and night very nearly passed into morning before he finally awoke, eyes taking a worryingly long time to focus on her face.

She had settled for practically dangling by her wrists, head bobbing and eyes glazing, unfixed, at a spot near her foot on the floor.

"It would be you, wouldn't it?" His voice was hoarse.

She looked up, uncomprehending.

"Patience was never one of my strong suits either." He continued. "Did Jack leave you here for me?"

Her eyes welled up with tears that she was far too exhausted to hold back. His gaze traveled to her wrists, raw, red, and bruised.

"No. Hey. Don't cry." He said, surprisingly consoling.

"I have a teenage daughter, I get enough crying. Please."

She would have been offended if she could have found the right combination of emotions.

"Come to bed." He continued.

"W…what?" she managed, head bobbing up momentarily, meeting his gaze.

"If Jack left you here to watch me, it's in my best interests for you to be well-rested and alert. I'm fairly certain he's not planning on checking in until you start screaming that I'm dead. Please come to bed."

She tried to arrange her face into something expressing that she was fine. She failed, miserably. Tears again began welling up in her eyes.

"Look. What am I going to do? I can't even wiggle my toes."

"I'm sorry." She mumbled. "You told me to stay on the beach, and I didn't listen."

He regarded her for a long moment, expression unreadable.

"I told you to stay on the beach because this is how they'll treat you, if you come with me."

"You won't send me back to my own camp?" She asked.

"Could you even find your own camp at this point?" He countered.

What was it with the Others and their (valid) assumptions that she couldn't navigate?

"…I'll hurt you." She murmured reluctantly, though she was already staggering to stand.

"Probably. Let's just get it over with."

A/N: Payoff.