Everything is moving along quite gracefully in my head, or so I tell myself. If it doesn't reflect in the story, please let me know!
Locke stared the man down over the flaming pit of the central fire. He couldn't see past the blaze as far as he'd liked, but he made out the general sketch of his face, and it dawned on him why he was so familiar. He was the man he saw in the jungle, right before the Monster attacked him; he was the man in the hallway, the one who led him into this hidden, concealed chamber, and maybe even to these ancient ruins altogether.
Locke steadied his grip on the torch. "You know my name?"
"I know a lot of things about you." Christian nodded, stoic in stature. "I know what you've done, where you've been, what you've seen and why you're here."
Locke continued to study him, fascinated and enthralled, unable to cap his inquiry. "What are you?" He asked, the light sway of his torch's flame brought a cascading gleam of light over Christian's face. He looked normal, real, but Locke had seen plenty of things on this Island that made him question the very definition of real, so he couldn't be sure. "Who are you?"
Christian scoffed, sourly disapproving of Locke's first concern. "Are you sure those are the questions that you want to ask me right now, John? How about you ask the important ones like, 'Why did the Island bring me here?'" Christian didn't give him any time to ponder, asking pointedly, "Why are you here, John?"
"I'm here," Locke took a deliberating pause, his mind made up for good, "because I'm supposed to be."
Christian smiled, satisfied, pleased. "That's exactly right."
It was the first time someone had believed him or at least confirmed his thinking, so it took Locke a second to register what he'd just heard him say. He began to let his suspicions run through him, conquering and accusing. "I saw you in the jungle, right before the Monster attacked me."
Christian sighed as if he'd just been caught in some devious plot. "I'm sorry that I couldn't intervene on your behalf."
Locke shrugged. "So, you just appear and disappear whenever you feel like it?" The question held an accusatory air that Christian caught onto quickly. The torch in Locke's hand swayed once more, catching the folds of Christian's face once more, the gray hue of his mane, the thin line of his mouth. Locke estimated that he was probably as old as he was, but he definitely beat him by a few years, a decade even. Was this another trap? Locke thought. Another bait and catch tactic orchestrated by Ben? He couldn't be sure.
Amused by the question, Christian let go of what could only be considered laughter. "It's more of a pattern than it is a random occurrence. I did lead you here, didn't I? You've been camping out in the jungle for a few days now, thinking and pondering about where to go next. I thought that you needed a little…push. Do you not like what you see?"
All Locke saw were ancient carvings of the Smoke Monster scattered everywhere and a mysterious lever that had been tampered with, days, maybe even hours before. He didn't know what to make of anything anymore. Everything was turning against him.
"What is this place?" Locke asked
Christian raised his hands to his sides, gesturing towards the crumbling walls. "This is the Temple, the safest and most sacred place on the Island. It's protected by powers stronger than you can ever imagine." He noticed Locke's captivation with the carvings. His lack of hesitance at this discovery proved positive. "The Monster is what you called it, right? It has terrorized the people of this Island for years, dating back to its first inhabitants. The chamber below is where it's kept, where it resides when it's not out there, doing what it does best, evoking fear. This chamber here is where people come to learn of its history, so the past doesn't repeat itself." Christian looked over to the far wall and back. "Sadly, it always does."
Locke could tell that this chamber was utilized by different groups from different times from the engravings, all varying in age and penmanship. He was pretty sure that Christian hadn't led him here to lecture him on what the carvings were pretty pointed about depicting, that the Smoke Monster was both inconceivably powerful and incredibly dangerous. This meeting was about something else entirely, and if not, the effort to bring him here, the fact that he should probably be dead but wasn't, was enough to convince Locke that there was far more to be afraid of than the Smoke Monster.
"What do you want from me?"
Ah, there it was, Christian thought with a cocky smile. Locke wasn't a man that beat around the bush. He liked him already. "Your help." Locke narrowed his eyes warily. "It's the Island, John. The Island is in trouble."
Christian saw the graveness reach John's eyes, taking hold instantaneously. Everything about his posture tightened, his breathing now shallow. He could see that he cared more about the Island than anything else, because as Christian knew, the man had nothing else. "Trouble? What kind of trouble?"
"Something was happening, or, in more accurate terms, in the process of happening. Then it just…stopped. That's never happened before." Christian said. "I need you to help me fix this. You're the only one who can."
What process? What has never stopped happening, but suddenly has? Why was Christian speaking so vaguely? How could he help if he had no idea what was going on, or what wasn't going on? These questions rammed into each other in Locke's head. He was confused, scared, not for himself, but for the Island. He was all ears now.
"What do you want me to do?"
Christian brought his hands together, his fingers intertwining. "It's what Jacob needs you to do."
"Who is Jacob?" Locke asked, the obvious next question.
Christian took a steely pause. "He protects the Island. He has for a very, very long time. He brings people here, to test them, to see if they're able to perform what he requires." He angled his gaze, watching for Locke's reaction at what he would admit next. "He brought your plane to this Island, John. This was no coincidence, and he did so in hopes of finding what he has so desperately searched for." Locke's face was nothing short of hopeful and excited, but still unrelentingly confused. "But something, or someone rather, doesn't want that to happen at all."
Who could possibly hold such a seething vengeance towards the Island? Locke thought to himself. What terribly evil and demented soul could possibly do this with nothing more than a smile on his face? The answer was clearer than the sky blue.
"Ben." Locke thought, answering his wandering questions, but soon realized that he not only thought this suspicion, but vocalized it as well.
"Yes." Christian shook his head in the affirmative. "He's crossed a line that he can never uncross. He's made a decision that ties Jacob's hands, which puts the Island at great risk."
That slimy little bastard, Locke thought. He lied straight to his face, told him that it was all in his head, and actually had the nerve to ask him to join his side. Now it all made sense why he would, to control and manipulate the situation in his favor, to stop him from finding out the real truth. Locke, more eager than ever to snap Ben's neck in half, spoke. "What did he do?"
"Jacob trusted Ben with a very important task, a task that he's performed for many years, but he's recently stopped, with no warning or justification. He is no longer someone that Jacob can rely on, that he can trust." Christian sighed, as if suddenly fatigued by the conversation. "Ben knows too much about the inner workings of the Island, which unnerves Jacob immensely, because he can use them to his advantage. We don't know what he plans to do next, but we do believe that he knows exactly what his decision has done and will do."
The wandering devastation on Locke's face set into his still and violent perplexity. Christian thought it wise to make Ben's deceit more obvious to the naked eye. "He's out to destroy everything that Jacob holds dear, John, and at the top of that list is the Island."
Locke's heart dropped to the pit of his stomach and the room was suddenly spinning. "What does Jacob need me to do?" He asked eagerly, with wide and gazing eyes. "How do I save the Island?"
"He needs you to protect my son." Christian explained. "No matter how hard he fights you, no matter how hard he resists, and he will, you have to be the one to help him see it, when the time comes. He's gonna need you, John."
He? Help him see it? There were more questions than answers, Locke thought as he spoke. "Wait. What? Your son? I don't…" His voice trailed away as he stared at the man closely. The features of his face, especially the ridged bend of his brows, the pointedness of his nose and the outline of his mouth were of shapes and contours he'd seen before, but couldn't place, until it finally caught up with him.
Locke's eyes rounded. "Jack?" He asked in complete astonishment. "Jack is your son?"
Christian nodded, a surreptitious sparkle caught flame in his eyes. "Yes, he is. The Island has finally made a choice and you have to make sure that Jack makes the right one as well."
What choice? Locke asked himself. He knew that the Island had brought him here for a reason, Jack as well, but this information was beyond alarming. More pressingly, Jack was gone. He wasn't on the Island anymore, and the last time Locke checked, he didn't want to be. How could he protect someone that wasn't here to protect?
Locke began to panic, bile rising to his throat. "Jack isn't even here. He left days ago. How do I get him to come back?"
Christian's voice grew louder, his impatience with Locke's never-ending sea of questions was obvious. "Getting Jack back to the Island is not your focus, John. He's exactly where he needs to be right now and he'll come back when he's ready."
He cleared his throat, his voice now a respectable volume, cool and calm. "As of right now, your focus is Benjamin, in what his next move will be, what he's planning, because Jacob knows that he has a plan. He always has a plan." He knew it. Ben orchestrated this entire production and had gotten rid of Jack for his own advances, for his own gain, but what did the gain entitle him to? What was he trying to do? What goal was he vying to achieve?
Locke felt more helpless than ever. He couldn't possibly go back to the barracks and spy on Ben. If he knew him like he thought he did, he probably had every single inch of the community guarded, or under strict and heavily-monitored surveillance, especially after how relatively open their borders were, inviting three outsiders in to disturb the peace. If he came within twenty feet of that compound, he'd be killed, and it would delight Ben more than what he believed he'd gotten away with. What good would he be to Jacob's cause if he was dead?
Locke had to be careful, inventive; he had to come up with a way to keep his distance, but get in Ben's head at the same time, and beat him at his own perfected game. He didn't have one single clue what to do about Jack. Their last conversation suddenly came back to haunt him. It hadn't begun well and it hadn't ended well either, Jack's head seconds from popping in his fit of rage. It was a blasted failure, if he was being completely honest. He couldn't bear a repeat if saving the Island depended on it. It was a risk he wasn't willing to take.
"I can't do this." Locke admitted nervously. "I couldn't convince Jack to stay. I tried, I told him that he was brought here for a reason, but he left anyways." Locke shook his head, both in denial and as an attempt to clear it. "He won't listen to me. Whatever Jacob needs from him, he won't believe it coming from me. I can't get through to him. He doesn't trust me."
Christian almost felt sorry for John, his sympathy was rising, but it fell short of showing. "My son is a very stubborn man, John, this I know, but he's not without perspective." He defended. "One of the reasons why Jack decided to leave is because you told him he had to stay. It's incredibly hard for him to sit around and listen to people tell him what he should do, which is why you have to wait for him to come to this conclusion himself. It's the only way it'll work."
What if Jack never came to the conclusion that he needed to come to in time? What if he was settling back into his old life, ready and prepared to leave the Island behind for good? "What makes you think that I'm the person that can help Jack at all?" Locke asked.
"Because you already have." Christian assured him. "You were the one who saved his life on that cliff, you were the one who helped him step up and realize that he's a natural-born leader, you helped him see what the people needed him to do and he did it. You've helped my son far more than you give yourself credit for, John. You can do it again."
Locke still wasn't convinced. "Why can't you do this? You're his father. He'll listen to you."
"You're the only person who can see me and that's the way it has to stay. That's the way Jacob wants it." Christian confessed. "Besides, even if I could talk to my son one last time, he wouldn't want to hear anything I had to say."
Locke noticed the chronic sadness in his voice, the pain in his eyes, and it made him wonder about the details of their last moments together. Locke finally saw Christian not only as this mysterious visage that led him here, that told him things he thought he'd never know, but also as a protective father who loved his son with everything imaginable. He didn't know what Jack would want to hear, Locke thought sadly. He was just making a passable excuse so as not to at the very least try. Locke finally saw where Jack inherited his patented stubbornness.
"What'll happen if Ben finds out that Jack is back on the Island?" Locke asked.
"He'll try to kill him, but you can't allow that to happen, John. Under no circumstances can my son die, because if he does, the Island dies with him." Christian stepped closer to the pit of fire at the center of the room. His figure was now awash with firelight and Locke ceased at straining to see him.
"There is a great caveat to this information, John. You can't tell anyone that I told you any of this and you can't tell anyone that you saw me. Not Jack, not anyone. Not that they'd believe you, but still, this stays between you and me, all of it. The Island's salvation depends on it. And don't forget, no matter the reason my son decides to embrace his destiny, you have to be there for him when he does." Christian was adamant about this; he knew that Jack would never conceive it or concede to it if it wasn't his decision to do so. "He can't do this alone. He'll want to, but he can't."
Christian extended a curt nod and motioned towards the chamber's opening, intent to leave. Desperate to stop him, Locke spoke up.
"Wait." Christian stopped, his body turned back to the firelight, staring back at Locke, who seemed more settled with the information, the mission he'd been burdened with, chosen for.
"Out of everyone that Jacob has brought to this Island, why Jack?"
Christian looked to the ground, his head hung, a smile ghosting across his face. Before Locke could fully grasp it, it was gone. He met Locke's gaze one last time.
"Because he has what it takes," he declared, his tone ringing with pride, "he just doesn't know it yet."
The entrance was tougher to get to than Locke had anticipated, but he finally found a cobble-stoned door that led to the outside of the Temple, into the courtyard. He walked the full mile until he reached the tall barrier wall that enclosed the Temple from outside intrusion. He found the door, which had been locked and chained from the inside, hence his inability to open it when he was on the other side of the wall. Using the blade of his knife, Locke cracked the old, rusty lock's link in half, sending it crumbling to the ground. The chains followed suit, unraveling themselves from the door's knob and hinges. He finally pried the door open, grunting with the effort it took to get it to move in his favor. It was obvious that it had been locked and sealed for many years, the sandstone material crumbling, even at the slightest movement.
The door was cracked just enough for Locke to slide out, meeting the bright, almost blinding glow of the jungle. He tried to find some kind of trail, maybe even the path left behind from the Smoke Monster's attack on him, but everything looked just as it was supposed to, undisturbed. The last thing he remembered was being dragged through the grass, his ankles locked by the Monster's strong grab, so there had to have been a trail that would lead him back to where he was taken. There had to be.
Someone was following him and they weren't doing a good job of it, he noticed. He realized the signs from the moment he parted from the Temple, but he just kept walking, not willing to make the first move. He heard shuffling behind him, deep in the trees. He turned; nothing was there, nothing but open space and wide leaves, dangling from loose branches. He kept his feet moving, and finally came to a stop, bending to his knee to inspect a worn path in the grass with the blade of his hunting knife. He decided to follow it. It was his best lead to get back to his abandoned camp, back to his food and water, and his pack.
"I know you're there!" He shouted, placing his knife back into its appropriate casing at his waist, straightening to stand. "You might as well show yourself."
He eventually heard footsteps approaching him from behind, and judging from the slight sound they made, this person wasn't particularly threatening or menacing. He turned to watch as she stepped out from behind a bed of bushels with her hands up in the air, scared and completely out of her element, all five-foot two inches of her. Her hair was a ratty mess, loose dark curls frizzed, in desperate need of combing. Her clothes looked relatively clean, but soiled slightly, the strap of her bag dug into her left shoulder. She hadn't been out here long, Locke decided. A day, maybe less, maybe a little more. Her doe-brown eyes pleaded for her life. She looked on the verge of tears, shaking like a leaf blown violently in the torrential winds.
Locke immediately recognized her as the young girl from the docks, who stopped him from getting killed, her ill-paced curiosity working to his benefit. What was her name again? Anna? Allie? That didn't matter. Only one thing mattered. She was Ben's daughter, and she was in the jungle, alone. What was she doing out here, and why was she following him like a homesick puppy?
"Don't shoot, please." Her voice cracked, tears threatening to spill. He could see her hands and arms quaking, struggling to stay upright.
She must have seen the gun that was tucked into his pants at the swell of his lower back. She saw a lot of things, he recalled, that fight on the docks to be specific. He spoke calmly, softly, hoping to make her feel at ease. "You can put your hands down. I have no intention of shooting you." He offered. She eventually, reluctantly put her hands down, her eyes still wide with fear.
"You're Ben's kid aren't you?"
She tearfully nodded, then wiped at her cheeks. She was so small, seeping fragility, but there was an edge about her that he noticed on the docks, a toughness that she wanted to prove to her father. What was he supposed to do with her now? She was literally miles away from her own camp, and the sun would soon set, pitching the jungle into complete darkness. He couldn't leave her out here all by herself and he needed to find his camp before nightfall, or they were both in serious trouble.
"Come on." Locke sighed. "It's about to be dark soon, and I need to find my camp." She looked at him with gleeful surprise and walked up to him, suddenly not afraid for her life anymore. Locke began to beat the trail that he found, and she followed close behind, a far enough distance so as not to disturb his concentration, but close enough not to lose him in the maze of impending shadows.
Locke eventually found his camp, just as he remembered it. He gathered some dry brush and added it to the fusing fire, its flames nearly burning away. He gathered some slices of pork meat from the boar and offered them to the young girl. She was shy about taking it at first, but once she heard and felt the rumble of her stomach, she ate at it ravenously. To say that she was starving would be a gross understatement. How did she expect to survive out here without any food, or at the very least the ability to hunt small game, like rabbit and squirrel? Locke asked himself. She had no idea what she'd gotten herself into, which was why Locke had to look out for her, at least for tonight, and then, she'd have to go back home, where she belonged. There was no place in his plans for an impressionable teenage girl, who looked at him like he was some savior, a father figure even. She would only get in his way and cause the tension between him and Ben to rise to an innumerable boiling point, and after what he just heard from Christian, the tension couldn't get any thicker.
Nightfall finally arrived. The fire was an adequate source of light, the small circle of their little camp illuminated. The young girl still ate her food. For someone so petite, she could definitely pack it away.
"What's your name?" Locke asked.
Her mouth was still was full of food, but she spoke over it, her voice garbled and slurred. "Alex."
"Ah, right." Locke said, nodding his head. "What are you doing out here, Alex?"
She swallowed, her voice low. "Following you."
Locke chuckled. "Well, obviously." He looked at her closely, the blanket he fitted over her shoulders moments ago falling on one side. "Why were you following me?"
"Because…I…I…," she hesitated, choosing her words a little more carefully after swallowing another large bite, "I thought I could go with you."
"Go with me where?" He pushed.
She was shy now, her cheeks blushing, her eyes captivated by the fire. "Back to your camp, to your people. The plane crash survivors." It dawned on Locke just then what this girl had planned in her head. She left everything she ever knew behind to live with him and the group at the beach, and she had no intention of going back.
"You ran away from home?" Locke asked, surprised at not only her guts, but her determination. She nodded shyly, and went back to tending to her food. She was miles away from the Others' compound, a day's trek at the most, Locke thought. Had she left soon after Ben and Richard released him? What was she running from? What was so terrible about her life that she felt the need to escape?
Locke shook his head at her, disapprovingly. "This Island isn't as big as you think it is, Alex. Ben will find you. He's probably worried sick about you."
Alex shrugged, not in the least bit interested in her father's concern for her. She didn't even want to hear his name. "You shouldn't be anywhere near those temples, you know." She changed the topic, completely determined to avoid the subject now that she was certain Locke disagreed.
He cocked his head to the side, an adoring, 'oh really?' smile lit his face. What a piece of work she was, he thought. Here she was, running away from the safety and familiarity of her home into the deadly labyrinth of the jungle and she had the nerve to tell him what he shouldn't be doing. "And why is that?"
"They're dangerous." Alex said in a matter-of-fact tone. "My dad says that it's what the ancient inhabitants called 'dark territory' and that none of our people should go there, ever, no matter what." Of course he would do that, Locke thought. It was classic Ben to protect his own evil dealings by claiming that the Temple was dangerous or threatening in any way. He had to admit, the place possessed an eerie quality that he could never quite put his finger on.
"I'm not one of his people," Locke pointed out, "so I'm pretty much able to do what I want." He swallowed a sip of water from his water bottle. "And I wasn't looking for the Temple. I didn't even know that it existed until a few hours ago." He looked out into the dark matter that surrounded them, the remote banks in the distance with a thought that he hadn't considered until now. He smiled. It felt right, the words rang true. "It found me."
"How did that happen?" She asked, sitting up a little straighter; her eyes opened a little wider. She was definitely intrigued by the epic adventures of one John Locke. He rather enjoyed her attentiveness, her curiosity, but he made sure not to get used to it.
He absentmindedly rubbed at the back of his head, unsure of how to answer her question. "I was attacked by the Smoke Monster." He admitted, watching the full-on terror play on Alex's face. "It led me there."
"And it didn't kill you." Alex pointed out, her perplexed expression lasting. She'd only eavesdropped on conversations about the Smoke Monster growing up, the adults around her simply terrified by the dark creature, sharing gossip about its omnipotence. For as long as she knew about the Smoke Monster, for as long as it terrified her, and haunted her dreams, her father told her that she would always be safe from its deathly grasp, that protecting her was the most important job he'll ever have in his entire life. Suddenly, Alex felt guilty for leaving, but it soon passed when she reminded herself that she was ultimately doing what was best.
Locke shook his head. "No."
"Why?" Alex asked.
He hadn't thought his response though, so he said the first thing that came to his mind, the truth. "Because Jacob needs me to do something that's pretty important." Locke silently cursed himself once the beans were spilled. He wasn't supposed to say anything, but in his moment of internal scolding, he was caught off guard by the recognition that lit Alex's face at the mention of the name Jacob.
He almost stopped himself from asking, but his mouth had a mind of its own. "Do you know who that is?"
Alex shook her head, suddenly unaffected by the name, as if they were talking about some random villager that didn't matter one way or the other. "No, but I hear my dad talking about him all the time, with Richard." She revealed nonchalantly, taking a drink from her water bottle.
Locke looked to the ground, his mind reeling with this new information. The night that he, Kate and Sayid invaded the Others' compound, Richard was pacing in Ben's direction with that note, the same note that Ben never allowed Richard to explain, he remembered. If they conversed about Jacob regularly, there was a good chance that the reason Richard was there that night was because of the Island, and most revealingly, because of Jacob. Who was Richard to Jacob? He thought. Was he a partner, a consultant, a representative perhaps? If Richard was the link between Jacob and Ben, that would imply that Ben wasn't as powerful as he led others to believe. It made sense with what Christian confessed about Ben's motives, why his decisions about the Island have turned against Jacob's wishes.
Alex's voice brought him back to the present, following up with her admission. "I eavesdrop a lot." She confessed with a smile. It was the only way she found out about anything her father tried to protect her from. "He hasn't said much about him lately though."
Because Jacob couldn't trust him, Locke wanted to admit to her, but he bit his tongue, hard. He'd already revealed too much, and hopefully, she wouldn't speak what he told her to anyone else. She was oblivious enough, which meant that Ben had definitely kept her out of his affairs as they pertained to the Island. He decided to change the subject, focus on her reasons for being so far away from home, but his mind was still cornered on thoughts of Ben, Richard and Jacob.
"Why did you run away?"
Alex scoffed. "Are you kidding me? Do you even have to ask? You've met my dad. He tried to kill you, and besides, he's a complete asshole. He never lets me do what I want to do. There's this guy that I like, his name is Karl and I can never get to see him, because my dad thinks that he's trouble. It's so infuriating." She rambled on, Locke suddenly rolling his eyes into the back of his head. She had no idea why she was telling this to Locke instead of her own father, but she found it easier to talk to him. He didn't judge, he barely flinched. He just listened.
Her tone veered from annoyed to sad. "Sometimes, I don't even think I'm his kid at all."
There was a long pause before Locke spoke. "How old are you?"
"Sixteen and a half." She said with confidence. He smiled.
"When I was your age, I was living in an orphanage. Do you know what an orphanage is?" Alex nodded sadly. "I've jumped around from house to house my entire life. In the foster care system, once you get older, you're passed over for the babies, because they're cuter and softer, but mostly because they don't know that they were left behind by those who loved them or abandoned by people who were supposed to. They have no memories of ever belonging to someone, somewhere. They're still impressionable, clueless. The older kids are hardened by feelings of loneliness, even guilt, because they don't feel like they're good enough for anyone, not even their real parents. Their worth is steadily tied up in who cares to notice them." It was an emotional trap that never produced a happy ending.
Alex watched the blankness take hold in his eyes. It was like he was completely detached from the sad story he was telling her. "I didn't know who my mother was until I was thirty-nine years old, and a few years later, I met my father for the first time." Locke soon realized that he had fallen into that trap decades after he was old enough to break free of the foster care system. His father's love and attention was what he wanted most in the world, and he didn't know what to do without it. He became visibly emotional then, tears stinging his eyes. He covered his mouth with one, shaky hand, and then quickly lowered it back to his lap.
"You're lucky, Alex. You don't see it, you don't even feel it, but you're lucky to have a father, to have someone who raised you, who knows you and who wants the absolute best in this world for you. That's not easy to come by." Locke looked into the young girl's eyes. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you come with me. You can stay here for the night, but by morning, you need to go back to where you belong."
Alex shot up, her fists clenched at her sides. "What? You're gonna send me back there? Why? You hate him as much as I do!" Her voice rose in anger and disappointment. The whiny tinge of it sent Locke's nerves into a mad dash, like nails on a chalkboard always had. Why were teenagers so fueled by their own feelings? Locke thought. Why couldn't she see that he wasn't what she needed, that he couldn't provide the freedom that she so desperately yearned for?
Locke looked up at her, nodding his head. "You're right, Alex. You're absolutely right. I hate him. I hate Ben, and nothing will ever change that, but I don't have the right to take you away from him. I have nothing to offer you. I'm on a path that will most likely get you hurt, or worse, killed."
He couldn't take that chance again. Boone's death was still an event that Locke deemed preventable, but because he pushed, because he had no foresight to what the consequences could be, he was dead, and dead was dead. There was no coming back from that. He believed that Boone's death was a sacrifice that the Island demanded, but he wasn't so sure about that anymore. If his death showed him anything, it showed him that he had to do what he had to do, alone. He didn't want to be responsible for another innocent life being taken away.
"But most of all, you can't come with me because you're the one person that Ben cares about more than himself." He didn't know why he cared about that bastard and taking something away from him that meant a great deal, because if the tables were turned, Ben wouldn't hesitate to destroy him with taking away everything he loved, and he was already intent on doing just that, with the Island. Whatever he was planning, he would fight dirty, that was what made them different, Locke supposed. He wanted to fight fair, even against the most deceptive of opponents.
He turned away from her. "You should get some sleep. It'll be morning soon enough."
He heard her sniffle and wipe at her face. "He would have killed you, you know?" She said, in a last ditch effort to persuade him to keep her, to let her stay. "If I hadn't shown up when I did, he would have had Pryce shoot you dead and he wouldn't have cared one bit."
"I know." Locke admitted. "But Ben has yet to realize one very important fact," he turned back to her, "he should have killed me when he had the chance."
The beach was quiet now, empty; everyone had retreated to their tents for the night, except for Kate, who sat in the sand, in front of a small fire, with a blanket covering her shoulders and arms. She held a stick in one hand, absentmindedly poking at the fire's pit, watching the random sparks sizzle and blink while her other was curled into a fist under her jaw, her head propped as her eyes lazily swarmed the flickering flames. She had been sitting there for hours, alone, with thoughts running through her mind at warp speed.
It never crossed her mind that her friends would react this way, that they would be so easily swayed and so effortlessly convinced that Jack had left them behind with the intent to never return. She tried to put herself in their shoes, but she couldn't, experience and faith just wouldn't allow it. Sayid was no surprise. Neither was Sawyer, because he couldn't stop moping long enough to see the bigger picture. Charlie was the one who had hit the hardest, and she was still recovering. Who knew that he could be so cruel and unreasonable? The Charlie that she knew was neither, but she reminded herself that when people were hurt, and felt betrayed, they were bound to act out, to believe anything, even if it wasn't the whole truth. It was a tried and true coping mechanism.
She looked over her shoulder, down the beach, her eyes filling with the view of Jack's old tent, empty and dark like the gaping hole he'd left in her life. It was collapsing on one side, no one bothering to maintain its upkeep, and now it was so obvious why. It sat there reminding of her of where he was, and the distance that expanded between them. She unraveled her fingers from underneath her jaw and looked down, his watch sat in her palm, gleaming in the firelight. Her lips curled up into a small smile.
In that instant, she felt this jab pierce through her, twisting like the blade a knife, cold and stinging. She gasped at its intensity, dropping the thin twig from her fingers and griping the cloth of her shirt that lay over her heart into a tight fist. She closed her eyes and breathed through the disturbing sensations. What the hell was that? She thought worriedly. The jolt soon bled into a constant throb, her temples now burning with the signs of a headache. She was tired, that was all. Tired and irritable, and disappointed, an entire range of emotions that she couldn't keep up with were raging against her now, catching up to her all at once. That was what this was, or was it?
Something wasn't right about being back here, she noted. She was definitely happy about seeing her friends again, and indulged in the love they poured into her, but it wasn't enough, it wasn't stronger than what she felt now, this eerie humming that rang in her ears. How could she feel comfortable here, where everyone looked at her differently now, as the girl who trusted blindly and stupidly, hanging on Jack's every word, the word that he always kept, the word he was still keeping to all of them? But that wasn't it, this uncomfortable aura wasn't external, it wasn't about the people around her, this was internal, intuitive. Being back here actually filled her with more anxiety than she felt when she started on her trek back towards the Others, with no real directional cues, her heart beating faster and faster as the days wore on. Now, her heart was beating at an inhumane pace, drumming with the fluttering in her head, a rhythm now set into motion with no intention of slowing down. She rose on wobbly legs, and stumbled to her tent.
Once inside, she collapsed onto the sand pavement, her fist still clutching her shirt. She pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged them to her, staring into the darkness of her tent with confused, hazy eyes. When the sensations bubbling through her system kept hold, she forced her eyes closed and gripped her head in her hands. She groaned, combing her fingers through her curls and stopping at the back of her neck, holding there, massaging.
She opened her eyes, her vision blurred. "What the hell is wrong with you, Kate?" She asked herself in a whisper.
The throbbing persisted while she breathed through it, hoping for some relief in the form of aspirin, which she had hidden under the platform of her makeshift cot. Jack had given them to her after she playfully complained of cramping one afternoon while visiting him in the hatch, an embarrassing admission that only made him smile at her, that knee-buckling smile that made her forget what they were talking about. He was a doctor after all, so he wasn't embarrassed about the topic, the natural bodily function that all women faced, but she, on the other hand, didn't want him to think of her in the clinical nature that he had everyone else, she wanted to be seen differently, as soft and sensual, not another person he felt obligated to take care of.
Two tablets every six hours, he'd told her with a cynical smile, very privy to the fact that she very rarely listened to his directions, medical or otherwise. She smiled back, fully aware of what his smile meant, but unwilling to entertain it. Then, there was a break, before he handed the bottle to her and before she took it. Their eyes collided, in a way that spoke more than words could, in that way that always made her feel like she had been backed into a corner, and she had no desire to push her way through. She invited the thrill of falling into his gaze, until she realized the risks she was taking, the feelings he would discover, and once he caught hold to something, he wasn't going to let go. He was a master at poking and prodding her inner most secrets. He could get it all out of her if he wanted to, which scared her more than anything. So, she looked away with the clearing of her throat, her face suddenly on fire, and her bottom lip caught between her teeth. She hurriedly muttered her thanks and went on her way, before she could hear him say anything in return.
She chuckled, she actually laughed, because her longing now ran so incredibly deep, that a simple, plastic pill bottle could rouse memories, moments that were so small, passable even, but meaningful. Her laughter quickly brought tears to her eyes. Would everything remind her of him? She thought. If it did, waiting for him to come back would definitely count as her own personal hell.
With the urge to sleep and her body's sudden refusal to cooperate, she twisted the top of the prescription bottle and poured two pills into her palm. Taking the canteen from her pack, she tilted her head, placing her palm over her mouth, swallowing the pills with a slush of warm water. She pulled herself into bed, untangling the blanket from around her waist and covering herself with it. The watch sat in her hand again; she was unwilling to part with it, for reasons that were obvious, and for reasons that would make this personal hell burn her alive if she let it.