Chapter 4: Before the Dawn

Ben continued receiving regular reports from his spies on the survivors' progress. Ethan's group was considerably larger—the tail section of the plane, where Goodwin had installed himself, had crashed into the ocean, leaving fewer passengers alive.

In Ethan's group, the doctor had emerged as a leader—he'd grown close to a woman who appeared to have been in the custody of a marshal on the flight, though it was unclear if the doctor was aware of that fact. There was an Iraqi man with an interesting set of skills, and the pregnant girl—Claire—had grown close to a musician, who appeared to be keeping a close eye on her.

The boy Walt interested Ben as well. As Valerie had alluded to, he seemed to have some unique qualities that had the potential to prove valuable. But she'd expressly indicated that Walt was off limits—and while he was willing to push some her boundaries, he was hesitant to cross that line if it was not what Jacob wanted.

After a week or so, Ethan's group had split—several of them had moved their camp to caves some ways into the jungle. They'd done it to be closer to a water supply—but those still yearning for rescue had lingered on the beach.

Ben communicated none of this to Valerie. She didn't seem that curious about what was happening among the passengers—she was primarily concerned with Ben's health, and the credibility of the story they were building. He wasn't sure if it was because she didn't care, or because there wasn't anything he could tell her that she didn't already know.

Two nights before they had planned to leave, Ben intercepted Juliet on her walk home. There were some things that he needed to resolve with her before he left.

"Juliet," he called after her.

She turned to face him. "Ben," she replied curtly.

"Tomorrow is my last night here—for a while at least. I'd like to have dinner with you, if you don't object."

She frowned at him. She had every reason to object.

"Consider it an apology," he pleaded, "I have not been fair to you lately."

"Will anyone else be there?"

"I'd prefer to talk privately—but I understand if you're not comfortable with that."

She seemed taken aback by his willingness to be accommodating.

"It's not a date," he added firmly. "It's a meeting."

"Fine," she agreed, shaking her head slightly.

"Thank you, Juliet," he said, and turned back towards home.

He'd felt quite strongly about Juliet. She was a strong-minded woman, very beautiful, and very kind. Kind—but not meek. He'd wanted so badly for her to see something in him—to be impressed by the world he ruled here—but she never was.

The infatuation had, fortunately, begun to pass. It had started to fade when the plane crashed—a realization he'd come to with some relief. He did still need to keep her on the Island—but not for himself.

"I'm having Juliet over for dinner tomorrow," he called to Valerie when he walked through the door.

"Oh?" she asked, emerging from his office in what appeared to be one of his shirts, and nothing else.

"Why aren't you wearing pants?" he asked, exasperated.

She shrugged. "It's warm. Anyway, you have a date tomorrow?"

"It's not a date—she's not—"

"Oh I know," Valerie replied, plucking a single piece of celery out of the fridge. She took a bite of it. "She's fucking Goodwin," she continued while chewing.

He winced at the choice of words, but she'd made his point for him. "Exactly."

"But you like her," she told him, pointing the celery in his direction.

He put his hands in his pockets and stared at her.

"What?" she asked, feigning innocence.

He thought of a dozen things to tell her. "Nothing," he said instead. "Is that—is that my shirt?"

"Yeah," she answered, taking another bite of celery.

"Please finish chewing before you continue," he instructed.

"I've got to get into the wife mindset," she said with her mouth full, waving the celery stalk around.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Do you want help with the dinner?" She asked seriously.

"Help?"

"Cooking it." She opened the fridge again. "You'll need to make her something really special so that she misses you," she added mockingly.

"Are you jealous?" he asked suddenly.

"Of course, Dean darling," she answered. "Don't you understand? You're mine."

He didn't know what to say to that. She started laughing.

"Sure, you can help," he agreed, in spite of himself. "But please make yourself scarce. I do need to talk to her."

She smirked at him. "Yes dear."

He rolled his eyes as she disappeared back into his study.

He peeked in Alex's room on his way to bed. She wasn't there. He knew that she was at that age, and the dangers of that here were orders of magnitude greater than they were elsewhere. But if he went out looking for her, she'd only grow more resentful.

He sighed. She was the only one here he'd really miss.

Alex said a sullen good morning to him the next day, then disappeared out the front door before they could have a chat. He knew that she hated him for the way that he tried to control her—he just hoped it was in the way that all children hate their parents at that age, and nothing more.

Valerie woke up late and fussed over dinner with him for most of the afternoon. There was something unnerving about the way that she moved through his kitchen—grabbing spices and utensils with unthinking ease.

She argued gently with him about how much salt to use—firmly suggested adding cinnamon to the spice rub for the roast chicken and rosemary to the potatoes—nudged him out of the way to put things in the sink.

The wife mindset, he realized. He smirked to himself.

"What?" she asked, noticing his expression.

"I see what you're doing."

"What's that?"

"Getting into character."

She laughed, drying her hands on a dishrag. She pursed her lips. "Sure," she said, the laughter in her eyes disappearing into a tight smile.

Juliet arrived a little early—anxious to get the dinner over with, Ben assumed.

"Valerie, did you help him make all this?" she asked, looking at the spread of food on the table.

Valerie nodded.

"And you're not going to stay?" Juliet asked—almost plaintively.

"I've been asked to make myself scarce," she explained, tilting her head at Ben.

"Ah," Juliet replied simply. "We'll save some for you," she offered.

"Don't worry about me." She winked at Ben and slipped out the front door. He rolled his eyes.

"She likes you," Juliet said, sitting down at the table.

"She's acting," Ben explained, sitting across from her. "She's quite good at it. It's honestly rather disconcerting."

"You don't think some of it is real?"

"No. She's given me a glimpse into who she really is. She's more dangerous than she appears. I don't trust her."

"Well you're famously trusting, so that says a lot," Juliet muttered to herself.

He raised an eyebrow but held his tongue.

He served her a plate of food and they ate quietly for a moment.

"Juliet."

She looked up at him, a challenge in her eyes.

"I need to apologize."

"Well then go ahead."

He huffed a bit at her insolence, but—in fairness—he'd earned it.

"I've been selfish," he began. He'd rehearsed this little speech in his head a few times, wanting to get the words just right. "I know you are anxious to leave, and I've been finding reason after reason for you to stay. I wanted you to want to stay—but it's become clear to me that will never happen. I'm not happy about that, but I understand. I am sorry for the way I have tried to control you."

Juliet tried to hide her surprise at his candid self-awareness. There was still a guarded caution in her expression—she correctly anticipated that there was a catch to all this.

"I need you to stay a little while longer," he continued. "Then you can go home. I promise." His judgment was no longer clouded, but he did need her expertise here—at least for a while.

"A little longer?"

"Until I get back—and the surgery is done. I don't trust anyone else to help with that."

"And?"

"And in the meantime, I want you to be in charge—of the project, and of working with the survivors—liaising with Ethan and Goodwin. All of that."

"Me?"

"Richard and Tom will handle the rest—but yes, you. You are the best person for the job." He knew that conceding his own failings while trusting her with a bit more power would go a long way towards convincing her to give him more time.

She smiled cautiously—obviously suspicious of his motives. "It's her, isn't it?"

"Her?"

"Valerie."

"No—none of this was her idea."

"That's not what I meant," Juliet replied with a smile. "This is excellent, by the way," she said, taking a bite of the chicken.

While Ben and Juliet shared dinner, Valerie wandered the barracks. She was a bit jealous of Juliet—not because of Ben, but because she was so hungry. She couldn't be eating three course dinners while desperately trying to survive in the jungle, so she had been subsisting on snacks. That roast chicken was one of her favorite meals—particularly with her improved recipe, and she just wanted to eat the whole thing. Spending all day working on it only to leave before dinner was its own form of torture.

She found herself sitting on the swing set, staring at the stars.

"Lonely night?" a familiar voice intoned from behind her.

"Hi Richard," she replied without turning around. "He's having dinner with Juliet—saying goodbye—or dumping her—not entirely clear."

He laughed a little and sat on the swing next to hers.

"You ready for tomorrow?" he asked gently.

"We're as ready as we're going to be," she replied. "You talked to Jacob lately?"

"I have," he replied slowly. "Strangely, he didn't mention you."

Valerie sensed that he was testing her. "Well we both know that's not how talking to him works."

"No," Richard agreed. He stared her down for a moment, squinting at her. She got the sense that he was trying to figure out what it was about her that bothered him so much. "You're not who you say you are," he said finally. It wasn't a question.

She smiled knowingly at him. "No," she agreed, "I'm not."

He nodded. "You understand that I don't trust you."

"I understand. But our interests align at the moment. I'm not trying to hurt him."

"That much I believe."

"You'll take care of things here, I assume?"

"That's the plan."

"Keep an eye on Alex, would you? She's the only thing he really cares about."

"Apart from himself," Richard added.

"Yes," she agreed wryly. "Apart from himself."