Sorry this took so long, and thanks for the push Boo! I'm going to upload the rest of this before Lost comes back, so watch out for speedy updates.
November 14 2032
John Locke had always considered himself a lucky man. He'd stared his own mortality in the face more times than he cared to count. But he'd always escaped it, somehow. A slip in concentration or an unexpected intervention… or just blind luck. He wasn't a religious man, but he fully believed that there was a plan to his life, a destiny and destination. It might not be glorious, or the stuff of legends, but he was confident in his place. He knew where he fit in, and he had made the most of what was given to him.
But today he was uneasy. He couldn't sit still. He paced around the small room in the basement of his south-side hideout, muttering under his breath, casting dark looks at the clock on the wall. The ancient, rusted hands of the clock ticked loudly, a steady beat. It was as loud as an orchestra of drummers in his ears. It was half-seven. Kate, Sayid and Sawyer would be arriving in half an hour. Maybe then he would be able to relax.
Locke had kept his ear close to the ground this past week. Though he had been forced into hiding, he had plenty of sources in the slums, and a steady stream of news kept him informed. The entire slums were on fire with the news of Kate and Sawyer's return, and while that gave Locke hope that it would reinvigorate the hopeless masses, it also sent shivers of dread through him. It was only a matter of time before Ben Linus found out they were back.
He walked over to the desk and spread out his map of London, trying to distract himself until they arrived. As he reached for his cup of cold coffee, he heard a noise, a soft thud, from the floor above. He froze, ears and eyes sharpening, straining to hear another sound.
And then his heart began to race, because what followed were footsteps. Soft footsteps, casually padding across the floor.
He closed his eyes and breathed out heavily, trying to force his mind to think. He didn't have a gun, though he did have a small knife in the drawer of his desk. The basement had no windows to escape from. The only way out was up. He opened the drawer and took out the knife, testing its sharpness with the tip of his finger. He held it in his hand, out of sight, underneath the desk, and calmly waited for whatever was coming.
He heard the cellar door creak and lifted his head, plastering his face with his most serene expression. Whoever was about to come down the stairs would not get the satisfaction of fear, because he wasn't afraid. If it was part of a fated plan, then John Locke would play his part.
The door closed and Locke instantly felt the presence of another person in the room, though he still couldn't see them. And then a pair of black-clad legs appeared, descending the stairs, and a flash of blonde hair, and then she stood in front of him, a smile on her face that matched his perfectly.
'Hello John,' she said.
'Hello.' Locke replied simply.
'Do you know who I am?' she asked, raising a thin eyebrow.
'No,' John said. 'But I know why you've come.'
The woman walked across the room, stopping at a wicker chair that leant against the wall.
'May I?' she asked, gesturing towards the seat.
'Please,' John said, nodding at her.
He slid the knife under his leg and placed his hands on the desk, crossing them and leaning back slightly.
He'd never seen her face before, and John made it his business to know exactly who his enemies were. She was attractive, but her blue eyes were empty, as if all emotion had been ripped from her.
'What's your name?' he ventured, amiably.
'Does it matter?' She replied, her voice soft, but edged with steel.
'If you're here to kill me, the least you could do is tell me you're name.'
She laughed humourlessly and leaned forward in his chair, the soft light of the lamp in the corner of the room dancing golden in her hair. She narrowed her eyes and looked at Locke, but he remained a mask under her gaze. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.
'Penelope,' she offered with a disinterested shrug.
'Hello Penelope,' John said.
His smile widened against his will, he was almost enjoying this. She was new to him, a new challenge.
'You work for Ben,' he stated.
'I work for myself,' she snapped.
'But you're working for him now,' Locke said.
'He's the one paying me,' she replied.
Locke smiled and nodded, he'd known it from the moment she walked into his house. He heard the clock ticking, louder than ever, and he glanced up at it.
Seven-forty-five.
'You killed Hugo Reyes,' Locke said, frowning. 'He wasn't your enemy. He was no one's enemy.'
Penelope shrugged, her eyes cold. 'He was on my list.'
'There are more on your list,' Locke said. 'I've seen it. Who's next Penelope?'
'John,' she said, her eyes flashing. 'You won't be leaving this room. Not ever. You won't see this night turn to day, because in one minute, I'm going to kill you, and that will be that. It's irrelevant who's next.'
'Humour me,' John said. 'Dying man's wish.'
He glanced up at the clock again, and his assassin laughed, more genuine this time.
'Are you expecting someone, John Locke?' she said, enunciating his name as if it were a joke.
'Who's next?' John said, his voice stern now.
She stopped laughing, the smile disappearing from her face.
'The Blade,' she replied.
'Sawyer?' Locke said, affecting surprise. 'But he disappeared weeks ago.'
'But you and I both know he's back, don't we?' she said, the smile returning.
Locke's heart sank. If she knew, Ben knew, and if Ben knew, the slums were about to be torn into pieces. He thought of Kate, his Kate that he thought of as a daughter, brimming over with unlived life and restraint. He wouldn't get to say goodbye. He looked up at the clock.
Seven-fifty.
She wouldn't be early, she wouldn't be late, she'd be exactly on time. His only hope was Sayid.
'What will you do with Kate?' Locke asked quietly.
'Austin? I won't have to do anything. She'll come quietly. No need to worry. I'm sure Linus will take good care of her.'
Locke frowned, hating the feeling of being in the dark, of not knowing the plan.
Penelope stood up, and reached behind her, pulling out a shiny black revolver.
'It's time John,' she said.
'Wait,' he said, suddenly full of urgency. He thought when this moment came, he would be at peace, that he would be ready. But he wasn't ready, he didn't want to die. Not at the hands of this woman, in a damp cellar underneath the slums of London. He wasn't ready.
Seven-fifty-five.
'I can match it. Whatever he's paying you. I'll give you double.''Is this how you want it to end John?' she said, her voice almost curious. 'The life you've lived? Begging for what's left of it?'
She raised the gun and narrowed her eyes and squeezed her finger on the trigger.
'No…' John managed, before she fired, and he fell forward, the last sound he heard on earth the ripping thunder of a gunshot, the last sight he saw, a blood-red canvas.
Penelope Widmore looked at the body, as if contemplating it with her cold blue eyes. Nothing registered for her. Nothing changed. She turned on her heel and left the room, satisfied with her latest hit.
______________________________
'It's just around the next street,' Kate snapped impatiently. 'Quit your moaning.'
'We've been walking for hours,' Sawyer said, ignoring her tone. 'You could have told me. And it's freezing out here.'
Kate rolled her eyes, pulling her jacket closer around her body. Sawyer had been in a foul mood since the moment he'd woken up. At first she'd been patient, but it was wearing thin. She stopped herself from saying more, not wanting to start an argument before they arrived, and besides, she was excited, and she wasn't going to let Sawyer ruin her mood.
It was the first time she'd been outside in a week and the sense of freedom was exhilarating. They hadn't gone anywhere near the slums, circling round through the quiet wastelands to get south to John's hideout. But just to be near them again made her smile. She was glad to have a purpose. In a couple of hours, she would know exactly what the plan was, and exactly what she would be doing to help. She felt hopeful, and excited, and she quickened her steps.
They turned on to a quiet street of terraced brick houses. Some of the buildings in the rows had long crumbled, leaving unnatural gaping holes and tumbling piles of rock and debris on to the roads. Not one window in any of the houses were intact, not one shone any light. It was a ghost town. But Kate knew exactly where John's hideout was. She'd been there once before, years ago when she was a teenager.
Suddenly she saw a figure come into view and she froze. They were far out from the slums. No one should be here but them. The figure drew closer and Kate reached for her gun.
'Sawyer.' she warned, but he was already reaching for the shotgun from the strap on his back.
'I'm all over it Freckles,' he said, raising the gun.
'Wait,' Kate said, as the figure came into view. 'It's Sayid!' she said excitedly, breaking away from Sawyer and jogging towards the other man, ignoring Sawyer's grumbling.
Sayid grinned when he saw her and stopped in his tracks. When she reached him he pulled her into a hug, laughing softly. He pulled back and they looked at each other for a moment, as if confirming the other alive. Kate didn't realise how much she'd missed her old friend, but she was so glad to see him now.
'You're alive.' Sayid said, taking her hand. 'I was so sure you were gone.'
'Not yet,' Kate smiled, almost sadly.
'No. Not yet.'
Kate felt Sawyer come up beside her and she turned to him, half expecting him to throw an insult Sayid's way, but instead he offered his hand. Sayid took it without hesitation and shook it, smiling up at him.
'Sawyer,' he said. 'I am glad you are safe. You're men have been most helpful to our cause.'
'Glad to be of service,' Sawyer said. Kate smiled up at him, feeling a rush of irrational pride.
'Shall we?' Sawyer continued. 'It's not getting any warmer out here.'
Kate and Sayid nodded and they walked the last few steps towards the hideout.
As soon as they approached the gate, Kate felt a sudden dread wash over her, making her hairs stand on end, a creeping sensation slithering up her spine, she couldn't explain it.
'You see that?' Sawyer whispered. She turned to face him. 'The door,' he said, gesturing towards the front door of the hideout. 'It's open.'
Kate squinted in the darkness, her heart thudding loudly when she realised he was right. The scarred, dull green door was slightly open, revealing nothing but darkness behind it.
At the same moment, all three readied their weapons and jumped into action, Kate and Sayid leapt to either side of the door frame and Sawyer approached the centre of it. He kicked it open and ran inside, pressing himself against the inner wall. Kate and Sayid quickly followed, guns pointing rapidly around the dark room, searching blindly for a target.
Kate closed her eyes and listened intently. There was no sound, just deafening silence. Together, the three of them worked their way to the basement door.
'I'll go first,' Sawyer said. 'Wait here.'
'You're kidding right?' Kate said. 'I'm coming with you.'
Sawyer sighed, but Kate ignored him, pushing past him to open the door. It was dark in the basement, no light at all. Either John wasn't in, or worse. She tried to tell herself that she'd gotten the wrong time, the wrong night, that he had had to get out to another hide out. But her heart already knew.
She descended the stairs slowly, not daring to look anywhere but straight ahead. She felt Sawyer close behind her, but even his presence couldn't shake the fear that was taking hold of her.
When she reached the bottom she waited for Sawyer and Sayid to catch up. Sayid went to the corner and struck a match, lighting the oil lamp in the corner. Kate was momentarily blinded by the sudden light, and her eyes strained to adjust, her heart in her mouth at what she would see when her vision cleared.
But when she saw it, she didn't feel what she had expected to feel. No gasp of shock, no tears, no nothing. Just an emptiness.
She looked at the body of her friend, facedown in a pool of his own blood, a hideous red hole in the centre of his forehead.
It was like she was looking at a picture, or as if she was living in a dream, because it couldn't be happening. She shook her head. It couldn't be happening.
She felt Sawyers arms around her, but she shrugged him off and took a few steps closer to Locke's body.
'Kate.' Sawyer said. 'Don't'
But she couldn't hear him. She couldn't hear anything but her own thoughts, crashing on top of each other. She was too late. John Locke. He couldn't be gone. Her friend. Her oldest friend. He couldn't be gone.
'I was too late,' she whispered under her breath. She looked around the room, a feeling of panic spreading through her. Her eyes darted left and right, desperate to find some thing to hold on to, dry land.
'I was too late,' she said, before she ran in to the corner, and was sick to her stomach.