Chapter 5: One of Them
Valerie returned to the house just as Juliet was leaving. She could see Ben through the window, cleaning up in the kitchen.
She smiled curtly at Juliet, expecting to avoid a conversation. Juliet reached out and grabbed her wrist.
"Thank you," she said.
"Why?"
"He's different—I'm not quite sure, exactly—you've changed him."
"I haven't done anything, honestly," Valerie said, shaking her head.
"I think you've put him in his place," she said, laughing. "Someone needed to do it."
Valerie smiled and glanced back at Ben. She could tell that he'd positioned himself to hear the conversation. "Maybe."
"You don't know him like I do," Juliet explained. "He's not usually this easygoing."
Valerie chuckled. "Oh, I know." She opened the front door and stepped inside, still laughing to herself. "Have a good night, Juliet."
"What was that about?" Ben asked as she stepped into the kitchen.
She picked a piece of cold chicken from the carving board and ate it slowly—savoring every bite.
"I don't know what you said to her, but she doesn't hate you anymore—not as much, anyway."
"I gave her a little leash."
"What a tasteful analogy."
"You know what I mean."
Valerie raised her eyebrows at him and took another piece of chicken. "It's even good cold," she announced as she chewed, and walked out of the kitchen.
The next morning, Ben stopped Alex before she could head out the door. He'd tried his best to put that awful dream out of his mind, but he'd had it several times since, and hadn't been able to shake it.
He'd told her that they were going to gather information on the survivors—that some of them may be of interest to Jacob. This was partially true, of course. He hadn't told her about the tumor—she didn't need to worry.
"Alexandra."
"What?" she answered, obviously annoyed.
"I'm leaving today—we won't be back for some time."
"I know."
"I just want—" he hesitated.
"What?" she said again, rolling her eyes at him.
He frowned. The words were hard for him to say. "I want you to know that everything I do, I've done to keep you safe. I know you hate me for it—but I just want to protect you."
"I don't hate you," she replied quickly.
"Listen, I've never been a very good father, but—"
"That's not true, dad," she interrupted, stepping closer to him. "I just wish you would trust me. I'm not a little kid anymore—I'm good at a lot of things. I can handle myself."
He nodded, a bit misty-eyed.
"Oh my god, are you crying?"
"Of course not," he lied, and hugged her tightly. She hugged him back.
"Why are you being so weird?" she asked, pulling away. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing—I just don't know when I'll be back. And I want you to stay safe."
"Fine! I will. I promise."
"Good."
"And dad," she called over her shoulder as she ran out the door, "I love you too."
He smiled, in spite of himself.
Valerie emerged from his study, dressed in the same dirty clothes she'd arrived in. She had been careful to avoid interacting with Alex. She seemed to understand that what Alex needed most these days was space, and that she had no interest in being forced to speak with the strange outsider holed up in her house.
"That was nice," she told him.
"It's not polite to eavesdrop," he chastised.
"I'm not sure if you've noticed this, but I'm not actually very polite."
"Mm," he agreed. "I guess we'd better get going, Audrey," he added.
She nodded. "I'll miss running water and sleeping inside, but the sooner we leave, the sooner we can come back." She reached into her pocket. "Before I forget," she said, holding out her hand, "this is for you."
It was a simple gold band—a little tarnished by time. He slipped it on and started at his hand, fascinated by the way it looked on his finger. He looked up and noticed Valerie snickering at him. "What?"
"Wrong hand," she told him, amused. She took his right hand and pulled off the ring, slipping it onto his left ring finger. It fit perfectly. "There."
He frowned at her, pulling his hand away. She grinned back impishly.
They changed into the clothes they'd strategically destroyed and dirtied their skin. Valerie's backstory—a backpacking trip to New Zealand—allowed them to bring some supplies along. Ben already owned a backpack that closely matched Valerie's—likely not a coincidence, he knew. He packed a first aid kit, water bottles and a couple changes of clothes—dirty enough to seem worn, but ready to be washed.
Valerie had a small two-person tent. He was not looking forward to sharing it with her, but he'd survived worse.
He had a few brief but necessary conversations with Richard, Tom, and Juliet, and then headed out.
Richard drove them to the perimeter and shot a knowing look at Valerie as they crossed over. She nodded back, and she and Ben took off into the jungle.
Ben made some point of leading the way, even though Valerie obviously knew where she was going.
They moved quickly, not wasting much time on conversation. They slept briefly inside a banyan tree, not bothering with the tent.
The next day, Valerie insisted on getting into character. He was not interested in this game, feeling that they had done enough preparation, and that there was no need to waste energy talking.
She, in turn, became aggravated with his unwillingness to participate.
"Audrey, darling," he began, sneering at her, "would you do me a favor and shut your mouth for a minute?"
"Look, you don't have to like me," she retorted "but you at least have to pret—
There was a snapping sound, and suddenly she was trapped in a rope net, hanging from a tree.
Ben looked up at her, hands on his hips. "You were saying?"
"God damnit. Is this one of Rousseau's traps?"
"It would appear so." He didn't recall discussing Rousseau with Valerie, but he wasn't surprised that she knew about the French woman when she'd known about Karl.
"Oh, for fuck's sake."
Ben winced. "It will take a while to get you down safely. If she comes back and finds us—"
"I know. She'll kill you." Valerie sighed. "I guess you should keep going—head to the camp. Act as though we haven't found each other."
"How will you get out?"
"I'll figure it out."
"Are you sure?"
She nodded "I guess."
He started walking, without hesitation.
"We could sell an emotional reunion." She called after him.
He kept walking.
"Or at least one of us could," she added.
He looked over his shoulder and smirked at her, obviously pleased to be free of her company.
"I'll see what I can do."
She was stuck up there for the rest of the day. It was a long time to be alone with her thoughts—and she didn't like where her mind went.
She should have known better than to think Linus would be even remotely agreeable in this situation. He really seemed to dislike her personally, which was made this even more difficult to deal with. Beyond that, she was certain that he was plotting some way to undermine her plans, or some way to take advantage of what she knew.
She didn't trust him.
A noise in the bushes interrupted her train of thought. A woman emerged, holding a long rifle.
"Danielle? Danielle Rousseau?" Valerie asked, in a crisp French accent.
"Who are you?" Rousseau asked, aiming the gun up at her. "I saw you with him."
"Je m'appelle Valérie."
Rousseau frowned skeptically. "Venez-vous de l'avion? Vous êtes d'où?"
"Oui—et je suis Canadienne."
Rousseau raised the rifle at her again.
"Il faut que vous m'écoutiez. Je sais qu'ils ont pris Alex quand elle n'était ni plus qu'un bébé. Mais c'est pas si simple—l'homme qui elle a prit—il devait le faire—il y'avait un autre homme qui voulait qu'il la tuerait—qu'il tuerait vous deux. Voler Alex—c'était ce qu'il devait faire pour la sauver."
Rousseau listened dispassionately to her plea. Valerie worried that her French was a bit too rusty for her to be effectively persuasive.
"Laissez-moi ici. C'est tout ce que je demande."
Rousseau looked her over slowly. Valerie was certain she had not been convinced.
A rustling in the woods interrupted her train of thought.
Danielle held up her rifle and aimed at the rustling bushes.
A middle eastern man with chin length curly hair emerged, his hands in the air. "Don't shoot!"
The man was Sayid, Valerie guessed. He was flanked by a brown-haired woman and a bald man—Kate and John, she surmised.
Rousseau looked at the group of survivors and back up at Valerie.
"Don't trust her," Rousseau told them. "She'll lie. She's one of them."
"She was on the plane with us," Kate interjected. "She's one of us."
"She'll lie for a long time," Danielle warned. "She'll lie for him. Don't trust either of them."
With her rifle still aimed at Sayid, she backed away into the bushes.
The waited a while, guns still aimed at the trees, until they were sure she was gone.
"I take it you've met the local?" Valerie shouted down at the survivors.
"We've been acquainted," Sayid replied.
They got to working on the ropes that would lower Valerie to the ground. John stared up at her with his hands in his pockets. She found it unnerving.
Eventually, they managed to get the net back down to earth without too much trouble. Kate put a comforting arm around Valerie.
"I'm Kate," she said softly. "You're Audrey, right? You were on the beach—you gave Jack your husband's passport and took off."
"Yeah—he hasn't shown up at the beach yet, has he?" She asked, her voice pleading. "I left his passport with Jack, just in case—" she let her voice choke up "in case he washed up."
"No sign of him—I'm so sorry," Kate answered.
"Fuck," she said quietly, wiping her eyes. "I've been wandering out here—I don't know how long it's been. I've been trying to find him. I found some fresh water and I stayed there for a while. I haven't eaten much."
She knew the story had holes, but if they knew she had been on the plane, they'd be inclined to believe her.
"I just keep hoping I'll find him."
Kate and Sayid looked at each other—obviously wondering how to convince her that her husband was dead.
"It was stupid to go looking for him—if I died out in the middle of the jungle—I didn't think, I just ran."
"Not going to argue with that," Kate said with a smile.
They walked slowly in the direction of the beach camp. Valerie made an effort to seem weak and pained. She gritted her teeth and held on to branches of the trees they passed, taking deep wavering breaths every once in a while. It was not over the top, she hoped, but it would be enough to make the point.
John walked behind the three of them, conspicuously silent. Valerie glanced over her shoulder at him a few times, catching his eye with every glance. He appeared lost in thought, but he was staring right at her.
Eventually he spoke.
"Why did the French woman tell us you were one of them?"
"What?"
"She said that you were one of them and you would lie. Who are they? Who are you?"
"John!" Kate interrupted.
"I don't know," Valerie replied cautiously. "We spoke a bit. She was saying something about her daughter. I have no idea. Who is she?"
"We're not sure," Sayid replied, before John could speak. "She seems to have been here for a while. As best as we can tell, she was part of some sort of scientific exploratory mission that went awry. She's been alone here for years—decades maybe."
"That's terrifying," Valerie replied. "If no one has ever found her—"
"There are a lot more of us," Kate jumped in, "and we have more resources. We'll find a way off this island."
"I hope you're right," Valerie lied.
It was night when they reached the camp. A bonfire was roaring on the beach. Valerie could make out Sawyer lounging against a piece of fuselage, and Walt playing with Vincent in the sand.
Jack emerged from the shadows, grinning broadly, mostly at Kate.
"Look what we found," she told him, before he could speak.
"Audrey, I can't believe it!" Jack turned and started pointing at a figure standing quietly by the fire. "Dean found us this afternoon, he's—"
Valerie started running before he could finish the sentence. She felt that it was important to sell the moment, and so she drew on every ounce of grief and passion that she'd been burying for the last two weeks.
He noticed her running towards him, and his eyes widened in momentary surprise. She launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his chest and planting her face into the side of his neck.
She sobbed violently, clutching at his shirt and breathing him in.
"You're alive," she whispered throatily, just loud enough for the people nearby to hear her.
He leaned back to look her in the eyes, and all he could muster was a mute nod. She wasn't sure if he was unsure of how to react, or just caught off guard by her vivid expression of emotion.
He took her face in his hands and stared at her for a moment, then pulled her into his chest, clutching her hair in his hands and kissing her forehead. She sighed into his chest—genuine relief. He had pulled it off.