Chapter 7: Inconstant

The weeks that followed were difficult for the survivors as they fought to leave—and to stay alive. Their curiosity often ended in near-misses, and—on occasion—tragedy. They bickered and fought with each other—learning slowly to forgive mistakes and restore trust.

Neither Ben nor Valerie saw a benefit in being directly involved with their little adventures. Ben saw it as risky and out of character for Dean, while Valerie insisted that it was not her place to meddle.

The rumor of Dean's illness had spread—presumably through Sawyer. Although no one confronted them about the tumor, no one questioned Dean's need to avoid exertion, or Audrey's desire to stay close to him.

Locke's accidental discovery of Swan station brought a renewed sense of fear and hope to the survivors. It also drew Ben closer to Locke. Ben was wary of his interest in the Dharma station and aimed to influence his beliefs about the Island. They shared long conversations about purpose and fate, and Ben carefully attempted to dissuade him from trying to open the hatch.

Ben had been shaken by the revelation that Locke had not been able to walk before the crash—and was struck by the irony of that fact when juxtaposed with his own situation. Part of his friendship with the man stemmed from a compulsion to understand why the Island would restore John's legs while threatening to take his own.

It was, perhaps, his new friendship with John that led him to be so deeply affected by the accidental death of John's young protégé, Boone. When the group had brought the dying Boone back to the beach, it was Ben who stopped John from wandering off from the group to let the guilt consume him—convincing him to stay and help Jack try to save the boy.

Valerie noticed that Ben seemed particularly moved by the improvised funeral.

"Did you know?" he whispered to her, as they walked back to their tent.

She shook her head. "Not really."

"Could you have stopped this? Is this part of Jacob's plan?"

She shrugged. "Probably. I don't know."

Ben scowled at her.

"Are you upset with me?"

"He was just a boy."

"It is tragic," Valerie agreed unemotionally.

He shook his head and walked off. She wasn't sure why he expected more emotion from her, or why her callousness irritated him. It was about Alex again, she supposed. Boone was young and thoughtlessly brave, like her. He saw shades of his daughter in the boy.

She sighed. It was sad. But she'd known that many of the survivors would die. If she let it affect her, she wouldn't be able to do what she came here to do.

After Boone's death, they moved to the caves.

There, they met Ethan, who had been keeping a low profile. Ben acknowledged him politely but was careful never to speak to him directly.

Valerie was immediately suspicious of Ethan when she heard that Claire had been having nightmares. She couldn't control everything that Ben did, but she knew about his obsession with the Island's maternity problem, and she knew he would see Claire's pregnancy as an inimitable opportunity to solve it.

They were resting in the tent when she decided that she had to confront him about it.

"What are you having Ethan do?" she asked bluntly.

He made some show of bristling at her question, but she stared him down.

"Just tests," he hissed defensively.

She rolled her eyes. "You're going to get him killed—and for nothing."

"He knows the risks—risks I'm taking too, I'd remind you."

"He's not on the manifest—you are. It will take a lot for them to think you might be something other than a passenger. Ethan is at risk the moment anyone questions that. If he gets caught—what do you think they'll do? All for this pointless endeavor."

"It's not pointless—it will save lives."

"It won't. You have to give it up—there's no way to prevent or cure it. The only solution is for pregnant women to leave the Island right away. Claire will be fine—she was what? Seven, eight months when we crashed? Too far along to be at risk."

"You don't know that."

"I do know that. You have to let it go before this goes bad. Between Boone and the hatch, they're all terrified. If they find out, they'll kill him. There's nothing to be gained here. Just let it go."

"Val," he snapped, pulling away from her, "this is none of your fucking business." He unzipped the tent and stormed out.

She was a bit startled. She hadn't really intended to provoke an emotional outburst, but she sensed an opportunity.

"None of my business?" she shouted, following him out into the clearing.

He waited until she'd caught up to him before responding. "You have no idea what we've gone through—the pain that this illness has caused. If there is a chance—any chance—to stop it—"

"No idea?" she asked again, raising her voice. "Are you serious?"

People had been pretending not to notice, but Valerie's steadily increasing volume made that impossible.

"You're dying Dean," she shouted. She noticed Ben's eyes widen momentarily as he realized what she was doing, then narrow as he wondered whether she'd deliberately goaded him into an argument.

"Be quiet," he snapped back.

"I can't just pretend you're not—"

"It's going to be fine."

"What do you mean, 'it's fine,' Dean? We're fucking marooned on an island—it's been weeks. No one is coming to save us. It's just going to keep getting worse until—"

"I said it's going to be fine," he interrupted. "It's not fine now."

"Oh for fuck's sake—that's splitting hairs over semantics. You can't stay in denial! It's slowly killing you—how long before you can't walk? And you have the audacity to tell me that I have no idea what you've gone through?"

By now most of the survivors had stopped what they were doing to listen to the fight. Ben walked in the direction of the beach, and Valerie followed.

"Don't walk away from me!" she shrieked at him, tears forming in her eyes. "What about me? I'm losing everything too!"

He stopped and turned around. "You're being dramatic!" he yelled.

"I don't want you to die."

"So what—you want me to ask Jack to operate on me? Lay me out on the beach and cut it out with airplane cutlery?"

"Don't be an asshole."

"I'm the one with the tumor on my spine!"

Valerie heard a slight gasp behind her. She smiled just enough for him to notice.

He tilted his head in acknowledgement.

"I'm sorry," she said calmly, actively looking over her shoulder at their audience. She trotted over to him and dropped her voice to a low but audible whisper. "It's not your fault—you need some space. I shouldn't be so selfish."

He frowned at her and she raised her eyebrow at him. He needed to sell it.

He pulled her into an awkward hug and rested his chin on the top of her head.

"It's alright," he told her. "I just need to take a walk.

She noticed him making eye contact with John as he said it. "Alright," she agreed. "Just—please be careful."

"I will," he replied.

"Love you," she added casually as he walked away. He didn't seem to hear her.

Jack approached Ben while he was sitting with John.

"I couldn't help but overhear earlier—your tumor."

"I apologize for my wife's outburst. She can be a little…"

"She's a lawyer," Locke explained. Ben tilted his head and nodded in agreement.

Jack laughed a little.

"Do you mind me asking—how long have you known?"

"Not long—a couple weeks before our trip. I was supposed to have a consult when we got back."

"In L.A.?"

"New York."

"Who's your doctor?"

Ben didn't feel that Jack was interrogating him—his questions seemed to come from a place of genuine concern—but he didn't want to give Jack any reasons to be suspicious.

He made some show of trying to remember. "He's at Mount Sinai—he had a funny name—I can't remember it exactly. We hadn't gone to meet him yet. It was the kind of name that should be easy to remember, but—"

"Zossimov?" Jack asked.

"That's it."

"He's good," Jack said, nodding. "Where's the tumor, exactly?"

"L4," Ben said quickly.

"And do you have symptoms yet?"

"Some numbness in my toes—only the last few days. And some pain."

Jack frowned. "It probably wasn't a great idea to go on a trip at this stage. I suspect Dr. Z would have scheduled you for surgery fairly quickly."

"Audrey talked me into it," he told Jack. "And I wasn't exactly planning to be in a plane crash," he added.

Jack chuckled. "Well if there was anything I could do, I would do it. Let me know if you have any other symptoms."

"Thanks Doc," Ben said with a broad smile. He looked forward to sharing this development with Valerie. "I appreciate it."

Jack patted him on the shoulder and walked off.

"Don't be too hard on your wife," John advised. "You're lucky to have someone who cares about you. That's always a gift. Don't ruin it."

Ben looked up sharply. "Speaking from experience, I take it?"

John nodded, confirming Ben's assumption. "Her name was Helen," John told him. "I made a mess of things. If we ever get off this rock…" he trailed off. "You've managed to fool a beautiful young woman into spending her life with you. Don't waste that."

"I'm not sure who fooled who," he quipped in response.

John flashed him a disapproving look.

"You're right, of course," Ben conceded. "I suppose I'll have to apologize to her later."

John stared out at the ocean. "Don't wait too long," he advised.

That night, Valerie woke up with a nosebleed.

She'd been feeling a bit off since the argument with Ben. They hadn't spoken about it since—in fact, they hadn't spoken much at all since. She was worried that the maternity issue would be a sticking point. She hadn't anticipated him getting that angry about it.

She was hit with a wave of nausea.

Shit.

She wiped away the blood on her face and shook him awake.

"Linus," she muttered urgently, clutching his forearm.

He sat up and looked at her.

"My god, what is happening to you?" he asked, with seemingly genuine concern.

She thought about trying to explain the nature of her illness to him, but now was not the time.

"It's complicated—I have a predisposition for it." She shook her head, feeling a deep fatigue. Her mind felt cloudy. "Shit. I'm not supposed to be sick. I can't do this if I'm sick. This shouldn't be happening with you here—"

Her words turned to mumbles and she slumped forward, a gush of blood pouring from her face.

"I'm gonna barf," she told him and fell out of tent, vomiting into the dirt.

"Valerie, this seems serious." Ben noted, frowning at her. "I'll find Jack," he offered

"No, no, not Jack—I need Desmond."

"Who's Desmond?"

"The guy in the Swan—we need to open the hatch. The cure is in the Swan."

She vomited again and tried to stand up, stumbling into the dirt.

The idea of letting her succumb to whatever this was crossed his mind, if only for a moment. It would undoubtedly generate sympathy with the passengers if he lost his wife to a tragic illness. But he believed that she was working in his interests, at least for now, and the cautious choice was clearly to help her—or try to, at least.

He realized the only way to get her to the Swan was to carry her.

He picked her up, hooking one arm under her knees and the other under her armpits. Her head dangled limply over his arm.

Valerie had caused enough of a commotion that other survivors had woken up and were watching him carry her in the direction of the hatch.

Her head shot up and she whispered into his ear. "Tell me you love me—really sell it."

He admired her commitment to the lie, even while barely conscious.

"I love you," he said, as sincerely as he could, the words feeling wrong and uncomfortable.

"You have to mean it," she rasped.

He stopped and looked down at her face—the tired sadness in her eyes, and her long, messy hair. He didn't love her.

"It's going to be ok, Val," he whispered. "We'll get you to the hatch."

"Please don't let me die, Ben," she whimpered.

Locke had noticed, and had started to follow them.

"What's wrong with her," he asked.

"I'm not sure, John," Ben replied. "She's out of it—and she keeps talking about the hatch, so I'm going to take her there." Locke seemed unconvinced. "I think the Island is trying to tell her something," Ben added, playing on John's superstitions. Locke's eyes widened.

"I'll get the doc," Locke offered, limping off in the other direction.

Ben set Valerie down on the ground next to the hatch.

She lay belly-down on the ground started banging on it as forcefully as she could.

"Desmond!" she screamed into the metal, "Desmond Hume! It's Valerie—I need your help."

Ben absently stroked the back of her head.

John appeared with Jack.

"He said something's wrong with Audrey—Dean, what is she doing?"

"She woke up in the night with a horrible nosebleed and started vomiting, talking about going to the hatch. She told me not to get you, Jack—I don't know why."

"And you listened to her?"

"Shut the hell up, Jack," Valerie said clearly. Jack appeared startled at her sudden lucidity.

"What does she think she's doing?" Jack asked Ben.

"I can honestly tell you that I have no idea."

"Desmond, it's Valerie. Penny is coming for you."

A light flicked on.

John and Jack took a step back. Kate appeared behind Jack, and he held his arm in front of her to keep from getting any closer.

"There's a lot of people here Des, and they aren't going to understand what's happening. It's safe to open the hatch, I promise."

"Is she talking to someone? Is there someone in there?" Kate asked Jack.

"The light just went on," Jack answered. "But I don't know if there's anyone—"

"Who are you?" a Scottish voice asked, muted by the thick metal and panes of glass.

"My name is Valerie—you don't know me yet, but I know you. I know Penny. I know how much you love her."

"Why is she saying her name is Valerie," John asked, shooting a pointed look at Ben.

Ben held his hand up to request silence. "Not now, John."

The hatch door inched open.

"Don't worry about them, Desmond. We can keep pushing the button with you, it's okay."

Valerie seemed remarkably more alert. Perhaps the cure was the Swan itself.

Desmond threw open the hatch door, dressed in his hazmat suit. He looked intently at Valerie's face.

"I can't tell if I know you," he said simply, ignoring the gathering crowd.

"You do and you don't," she said by way of explanation. "Please take me inside. And let him come down with me," she added, gesturing at Ben.

Desmond eyed Ben with mistrust. "I don't think I like that man."

Valerie laughed. "I don't suppose you do."

Desmond helped Valerie down into the hatch—but she had recovered enough strength to manage on her own. Ben followed her down. Desmond closed the hatch behind them, sealing it shut.

"What the hell just happened," Kate said, breaking the stunned silence.

"We're not alone," Locke said solemnly. "And I think we've been conned."

Things had gotten a little bit out of hand.

Zachary's illegal import business had not been all that well run. Zach himself wasn't the problem. He was, ultimately, fairly low in the operation—as much a useful idiot to his higher ups as he was to her. But Zach—along with the other lower-level Oceanic employees he'd brought with him—we critical to their success—and she was stuck with him.

Valerie was primarily valuable to them because of her job, but she was also able to contribute in other ways—she was a strategic thinker, and she understood the game being played. She'd started by making small suggestions here and there, gradually ingratiating herself to Zach's higher-ups with every improvement.

They saw the value of a corrupt federal prosecutor and engaged her more—knowing that the deeper she was in, the more she would do to protect them.

She'd been aware of what they were doing, but she'd let her worst qualities consume her—growing more ruthless and apathetic each time she pulled something off.

She wasn't that surprised when it all started to sour. The arrangement was never really tenable, and their little operation was far from the only trans-pacific import business operating out of L.A. The more they were able to grow, the more aggressive the strategy had become—and they'd made some enemies.

Their rivals had, evidently, figured out that the airline was at the center of things, and had started making threats. Valerie had no problem with sneaking contraband past customs—she had major problems with hijackings and bombings. She'd suggested backing off—coming to some kind of truce. She'd pushed her position emphatically. But the decision had been made—leadership was adamant that any sign of weakness would be taken as an invitation to encroach on what was theirs.

Zach had called a meeting with her. He'd chosen a swanky hotel—he'd never stoop to anywhere cheap and sleazy—the benefits of anonymity did not outweigh the optics, in his view. The high-end establishments offered their own sort of anonymity—at a price—and he was willing to pay it.

She wasn't so confident. She arrived loosely disguised, wearing a blonde wig and big sunglasses. It was ridiculous—but it was enough to render her unrecognizable.

She knocked twice on the door of the hotel room he'd booked.

He opened it wordlessly.

She walked in decisively and took a seat in the lone armchair, slowly crossing her legs, placing her handbag on the floor.

"What do you want, Zach."

"I'm not sure the blonde suits you," he noted, smirking a little.

"It doesn't. I bleached my hair to this stupid color in high school. It was trendy. I looked awful. What do you want?"

"I bet you had Juicy Couture sweatpants and everything."

"It's L.A. Of course I did."

He chuckled to himself.

"Zachary—what is this about?"

"The boss is concerned that you're not fully on board anymore."

"I'm not, but—"

"Don't tell me that—if I can't convince you, I'm supposed to tell you that we'll have to tip off the U.S. Attorney's Office."

She flinched. "That's stupid—I'll just flip. Then none of you will have anything." She pulled her purse onto her lap. "If that's where we're at—I'm out. I'll tip you off if the bureau ever gets a whiff of what you're up to, but I'm done."

"They were worried you'd say that."

She shrugged. "They could just back off."

He frowned. "They're not going to do that. And they have ways of making people bend to their will—but the trouble with you, Valerie, is that they couldn't find anyone or anything that you cared about enough to use as a threat."

"I know they didn't send you to kill me."

"Whoa now—no one said anything about killing you."

"Do you see another option?"

He pursed his lips, trying to understand the situation.

"Tell me—are you really okay with the possibility of a planeful of Oceanic passengers dying over some dirty money?"

He shrugged.

"Like I said," she told him, standing up. "I'm out."

"I can't let you leave," he told her, pulling out his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling the boss."

Valerie knew what would happen next. Someone would arrive at the hotel room and ask Zach to leave. She'd be dead.

She reached into her purse, pulling out her gun. She'd almost left it at home, but she'd had a bad feeling about Zach's phone call.

"Put the phone down," she instructed.

She knew what she was doing. She'd been around guns most of her life—her father had been a collector and had insisted that she learn how to handle a weapon. But she'd never aimed one at a person before.

She thought that she'd feel more anxious—that her hands would be shaking—that she'd be sick to her stomach at the thought of killing a person. But she felt nothing. If anything, she felt deeply calm.

"Whoa—Valerie—putting the phone down." He dropped it on the bed.

"Sorry buddy," she said coldly. She pulled the trigger—firing the gun three times into his chest.

With a long enough head start, she could get out of the city—or the country—before they knew she was gone. There was no head start if Zach was alive

A plan was forming in her head—there was a boat in a marina in San Diego. She was the lead attorney investigating its owner for human trafficking and drug running—he was under FBI surveillance—and she knew he'd be in Las Vegas all week. She'd have enough time to pack up her things—and all the cash that she'd squirreled away. She'd have to get a cab to the marina—it would be expensive, but that didn't mean anything anymore. Stealing the boat would be easy—she knew the codes. They'd shown up in the surveillance of his online accounts—he'd emailed them to himself—4321 and 42069 were not hard to remember.

She glanced down at Zach's body—slumped in a bloody heap on the floor between the two double beds. There was no point in trying cleaning up—it would only be a matter of time before someone found him—and it wouldn't take much to figure out that she'd been behind it.

As long as she had time to get to the boat, she'd be alright. She wasn't exceptionally good at sailing, but she knew the basics. Once she got going—she wasn't sure what would come next. She didn't have a particular destination in mind.

She'd just have to leave that part up to chance.