Chapter 6: Reconnaissance
The next several days were an exhausting blur. There had been a rift in the group of survivors a week earlier over whether to move to the caves—which offered a source of fresh water and shelter from the heat—or remain on the beach to maximize the chances of a rescue.
Audrey and Dean had stayed on the beach at first. Valerie's tent provided a source of shade and privacy, and when Ben had noted that it would be wise to spend time establishing some relationships here, before moving to the caves, she had agreed.
There was an art to this, and she knew he was better at it than almost anyone. Jack was their target—immediately clinging to him would reek of an ulterior motive. They needed to work their way in to Jack from other angles.
"You should start with Kate," he suggested.
"Okay," she agreed. His expression told her that he had been expecting an argument. "What?"
"I thought you might disagree."
"I trust your judgement," she replied. In truth, she'd thought the same thing, but it was important to let Ben feel in control—at least occasionally. "I'm just glad you didn't want me to make friends with the pregnant girl," she added.
"Oh?"
"I don't do babies."
"No?" He didn't seem all that surprised.
She shook her head so quickly it was almost a shudder. "Not my thing. Or kids."
"Hm," he acknowledged, but didn't follow up.
It was easy for her to build a rapport with Kate. As the one who had found her, it made sense that Kate would be the one Audrey felt most comfortable with, especially at first. They were also about the same age, and Kate had a sense of lawlessness that Valerie found easy to relate to.
Through Kate, she gained access to both Jack and Sawyer—both men were clearly interested in Kate, though Jack wouldn't admit it to Kate, and Sawyer wouldn't admit it to himself.
Sawyer, in spite of his aggressively apathetic façade, quickly became Valerie's favorite person to waste time with. Due to his sense of humor—or perhaps his unwillingness to learn anything new—he had given just about everyone a nickname. Ben—who spent much of his time reading and wore his round little glasses while doing so—was creatively nicknamed 'Glasses.'
Valerie had been designated 'Wednesday'—presumably because her big brown eyes and grim attitude reminded him of Wednesday Addams. Sawyer seemed to like her—or Audrey—quite a bit. She felt that he appreciated her cynical sense of humor and the way she seemed impervious to his bullshit.
His affection for her was, however, unquestionably platonic. She could tell that he sensed kindred spirit in her—so much so that he'd wondered if she was running a con on her husband.
When he'd put his theory to her, she'd laughed in his face.
"What's in it for you, then?" He asked, certain that there was something unusual about their marriage.
"What do you mean? I love him."
He squinted at her. "But why?"
They watched Ben from a distance as he paced back and forth, glowering at his surroundings.
"Can I be honest?"
"Won't you, darling." "Oh, fuck off," she snapped back, playfully punching him in the shoulder. She turned back to Ben. "I guess I just like the way his mind works," she said with a wistful smile.
"Ugh, you do love him," Sawyer announced. "Here I was hoping you'd be counting down the days until he eats it."
Her face changed immediately. Tears formed in her eyes. "Not at all," she said, choking down a slight sob. She hoped that her intense reaction would pique his curiosity.
"Oh Wednesday—I didn't mean to—"
"It's okay, James—" she shook her head. "Just don't joke about that. Please."
He frowned at her, but he didn't ask her to elaborate.
After that, Sawyer was careful not to tease her about Dean anymore. He and Valerie continued their routine of watching in amusement as the other survivors made futile attempts to communicate with the outside world or escape.
Kate, unlike Sawyer, felt compelled to keep everyone alive. She got help from Valerie once in a while. Valerie even dragged Ben along occasionally—on their less arduous errands—to help ingratiate him to Kate and, by extension, Jack.
Ben, for his part, waited for people to come to him. Valerie's earliest efforts had been worth something. Thanks to Jack, enough people had heard about the panicked woman who had run off looking for her husband. That they had both survived to be reunited was, to some, a miracle. To those desperately looking for a miracle, their story offered some much-needed hope.
Many survivors were drawn in by that sense of hope—and Ben's strange magnetism. People were curious about him—and once they initiated a conversation, he had them wrapped around his finger.
Locke was particularly curious about the man named Dean, though Valerie suspected it had more to do with what Rousseau had said in the woods than anything else. She'd warned Ben that Locke would be looking for inconsistences, but she trusted Ben to handle him. The two of them got on well, and they often went for long walks into the jungle together. She could only guess what they got up to, but she didn't let herself get too concerned.
Ben seemed to get along well with Hurley too, which Valerie was pleased to see. Hurley was a genuinely kind person. He was bound to be a good influence on Ben, given enough time.
Valerie's only worry came from the relationship he seemed to be building with Michael—not out of concern for Ben, but for what Ben might be planning.
"It's a contingency," he explained when she confronted him about it. They were on their nightly walk down the beach—the only opportunity they had to freely discuss their progress.
She blinked at him deliberately. "Why?"
"Why have a backup plan?"
"No—why him?"
Ben shrugged noncommittally.
"Linus," she hissed, briefly breaking her own rule of only using their assumed names. "Walt is off limits. Strictly off limits."
"The lengths people will go to for their children, Valerie—it's a powerful motivator. You wouldn't understand."
She laughed involuntarily. "Oh—believe me—I understand."
"Then what is the problem?"
"He's special."
"Michael?"
"Walt. He's unique—we talked about this. Nothing can happen to him."
"Nothing will, I promise."
She scrunched her face at him skeptically. "Will it though?"
"I won't harm him under any circumstances."
She frowned at him. She knew Ben wouldn't hurt a child, but the fact that he was already zeroing in on Michael made her uncomfortable.
"Think of it this way, darling," he instructed, his voice rich with condescension, "if your plan works, there will be no need for a contingency, will there?"
She sighed. "Provided you don't get impatient," she countered.
"I would rather not have to coerce anyone," he replied. "I would also rather not be left without a plan B."
"Fine!" she agreed, exasperated. She turned her head to the sky. "Fuck you for sending me here!" she said to no one in particular. "He's even more of an asshole than you said he'd be—I honestly don't know why I'm surprised."
Ben shrugged at her. "Do you really think he can hear you?"
She glared at him for a moment, her eyes cutting into his stare. "Oh, he can hear me," she answered bluntly, then turned to walk back to their tent.
Ben woke with a gasp in the middle of the night, sitting up immediately. He'd had the dream again. He'd watched that man put a bullet in his daughter's head. He'd seen it happen so many times now that he thought he would become numb to it, but someone each gunshot was louder than the last.
Valerie reached over and touched his arm. "Was that about Alex?" she asked, mumbling through her grogginess.
He frowned at her.
"You were talking in your sleep," she explained, before he could ask how she knew. "It was just a dream."
His brows creased, and he pursed his lips skeptically.
"Go back to sleep, Linus," she murmured. "It was just a dream."
He leaned back down. She frowned at him with obvious concern.
"What?"
"Nothing," she replied drowsily. She sighed and rolled away from him. "Go back to sleep, hon."
The ease with which she feigned familiarity made him uncomfortable—as did the fact that she insisted on maintaining the charade of intimacy whenever they were within earshot of the survivors. He struggled to reciprocate, though he certainly performed better with an audience than he did when they were alone.
He understood why it was wise never to stop the act. Any hint of phoniness could unravel the plan. But she hadn't missed a beat—not one. It unnerved him. She was a better liar than he was—more credible, more natural. It gave him pause.
Around the others, though, her acting abilities were an undeniable asset.
The next day she approached him with a smile in the middle of a conversation he was having with Hugo. He expected her to interrupt them, but she wordlessly pulled two bottles of water from her bag and handed one to him and the other Hugo. She kissed the top of his head, lightly squeezed his shoulder, and walked back to the group.
"How'd you get so lucky, dude?"
"I'm afraid I'm not sure what you mean, Hugo."
"You know—how'd a guy like you end up with her?"
"Like me?"
It took a moment for Hurley to even realize what he had implied. "No, not like that!" he sputtered, embarrassed. "Just like, how did you meet? You're so different."
Ben thought about it before responding. "She seemed to appear out of nowhere, one day. In an instant I went from very much alone to constantly in her presence. And every day since she's been a central part of my life. I couldn't explain it to you."
"That's really sweet, dude."
Ben smirked, pleased at how easily he'd twisted the truth. "And for the record, I'm not sure we're all that different."
"You are lucky though, man. She really loves you."
"Why do you say that?"
Hurley looked startled by the question.
"I'm curious," Ben clarified, "what makes it so obvious?"
"Well I mean—she's married to you, dude. But, like, it's in the eyes—you can't fake that."
He glanced over at the woman. She did have a way of looking at him that he found intensely unsettling.
It wasn't the frequency with which she looked at him. That was unsettling in its own way, but understandable given that she was supposed to be keeping an eye on him. It was the looks themselves. Sometimes her gaze cut through him like a knife, piercing through his layers of defenses—seeing his vulnerabilities in ways that no one ever had.
Sometimes the looks weren't incisive, but soft—caring, forgiving—loving, even. Those looks were uncomfortable as well, in part because she feigned them so easily, and in part because he was so ill-equipped to return them.
Across the beach, Valerie dropped next to Kate on the sand. The group was still recovering from a close encounter with one of the polar bears. There was an instinct to deny the bizarre realities of the island. No one wanted to admit that there was something different about this place—admitting that would mean admitting that help was not on the way.
Sitting on the beach and talking about the mundane things was an escape from the realities that they had to face deeper in the jungle.
They watched together as Ben chatted with Hurley in the shade.
Kate glanced at Ben and back to Valerie, who was staring at him with a particularly adoring look in her eyes. "Audrey, don't take this the wrong way—but I have to ask—what do you see in him?"
Valerie laughed a little to herself. "You know, Sawyer asked the same thing."
Kate laughed. "Well Dean is—you know."
Valerie raised an eyebrow.
"And you are—" she gestured at Valerie "—you know."
"What?"
Kate struggled to find the right words. "He's just—not very pleasant. And he's not—well you're just—so much better looking than he is. Is that awful?"
Valerie let out a hearty laugh. "I think he's handsome," she replied defensively. "I mean—I see what you see—I do, but—"
"—the heart wants what it wants?" Kate said grinning. She looked over at Sawyer.
"I mean it doesn't always really know what it wants, does it?" Valerie replied, scrunching her nose.
Kate glanced at Jack, half smiling. "I guess not."
"At least they're both very good-looking," Valerie offered.
Kate buried her face in her hands, laughing through her embarrassment.
"The worst part was that I had to try so hard for him to see me as anything other than a friend," Valerie added, glancing back at Ben. "I don't think he had really considered that I might have something different in mind until I made it very obvious."
"That I believe."
Valerie laughed. "They're all idiots."
Sawyer sauntered over to them, flashing Kate a crooked smile. "Freckles, Wednesday."
"Speaking of idiots—what can we do for you, James?" Valerie asked, flashing him a grin.
He rolled his eyes at her. "I'd hoped to borrow you for just a minute. It's about your better half—other half."
The smirk on her face was quickly replaced by a concerned frown.
"We'll continue this conversation later," she told Kate with a wink, and walked off with Sawyer.
"What did he do?" she asked him when they'd walked out of Kate's earshot.
"It's not what he did—I was keeping an eye on him, and—"
"You were spying on my husband?"
"Spying is awfully strong word-wise—observing would be better."
"Okay, observing. And?"
"He doubled over in pain. He had to sit for a few minutes before he could get up again, and when he did—let's just say it wasn't easy to watch."
Valerie frowned and bit her lip.
"Is something wrong with him, Audrey?"
Sawyer had given her the opportunity to plant the seeds of their con. It was still early, and she wasn't sure whether or not it was the right time. But he'd given her such an easy opening—and Ben's pain was very real. The sooner she did something about it, the better. She sighed heavily before answering him.
"You have to promise not to tell anyone—please, James."
"Tell anyone what?"
"Promise me first—and just know that I'll give you to Sayid if you tell anyone what I'm about to say."
"Fine, I promise. What is it?"
"Can I have a cigarette?"
"Whoa now, Wednesday," he drawled. "These are a precious commodity."
She stared him down.
He relented, handing her one. She popped it into her mouth and pulled a pack of matches from her pocket. She lit one quickly, holding the flame up to the cigarette and inhaling deeply. She stuffed the matches back in her pocket and exhaled slowly.
"Didn't know you smoked," Sawyer noted, surprised.
"Oh, I don't smoke," she replied, taking another long drag. She flicked away the ash.
"Well, obviously not," he joked
"He has cancer," she said quickly. "A tumor on his spine."
Sawyer was stunned. "You have to tell the doc!"
"Jack is the last person I would tell."
"Why? Hell, he's not just a doctor, he's a spine doctor!"
"That's the problem—he'll think there's something he can do." She leaned back and blew smoke up at the sky. "He'll insist on trying something. The man can't stand to know that there's someone he could be helping. And there's nothing he can do—it's not like there's an operating room and medical supplies around here. He'd raise Dean's hopes—convince himself that there's something to be done, and for what? We're all going to die here anyway."
"Well aren't you just a ray of sunshine?"
"At least now you know why I'm so morose."
He nodded slowly, unsure of what to say.
"I do really appreciate the concern, James," Valerie told him, her voice tired. "You're a better man than you give yourself credit for." She took a last drag of the cigarette and put it out in the sand.
"You just wait—I'll prove you wrong," he replied with a grin, walking back towards the others.
"I'm banking on it," she muttered under her breath.
She told Ben about the conversation with Sawyer that night in the tent. "Were you hoping someone would notice? Or are you actually in a lot of pain?" she asked in a hushed whisper.
He looked up at her but didn't respond right away. She tilted her head reproachfully.
"Tell me the truth."
"It comes and goes," he answered quickly.
"Yeah," she sighed, "I know." She squeezed his forearm—the gesture seemingly unconscious.
He pulled back reflexively.
"Sorry," she said, turning away from him.
He woke in the middle of the night to Valerie pulling herself into his chest. She rested her head on his shoulder. He looked down at her face, but she didn't seem to be awake.
He wanted to extract himself from her embrace, but it wasn't entirely unpleasant, and he knew that waking her might result in more awkwardness than simply letting her be.
"I'm sorry," she mumbled. There was a horrible sadness in her voice—he knew the words must be meant for someone else.
"It's alright," he told her, gently patting her shoulder. "It's alright."