Chapter 8: Intra Machina

Ben watched quietly from the corner as Valerie sat Desmond down in the kitchen. She worked to calm him, softly explaining the true nature of Swan station and reassuring him that he hadn't been exposed to a virus. With her encouragement, he'd removed the hazmat suit, and he'd started to settle down.

While the illness seemed to have passed, her nosebleed had cost her a lot of blood. She'd tried to wipe the mess from her face with the back of her hand, but she had only succeeded in smearing it around. She looked dreadful.

"You said you know Penny?" Desmond asked, wild-eyed.

"Yes—she's desperate to find you. She's got a ship looking for this place—she knows you're here."

"Did she send you?"

Valerie took a moment before responding. "No, Desmond—I'm here to help Ben." She pointed at Ben and Desmond sneered at him.

"I don't trust him."

She shot Ben a quick glance. "He's alright. I guess wouldn't really recommend that you start trusting him, but he's not as bad as you think he is."

"Are you sure? Did he do this to you?"

"Do what?"

"Your face."

"Oh. No." She looked around the room for a moment and flinched slightly as her eyes met Ben's. "I have a condition—it has to do with spending time on the Island. There's a lot of electromagnetic energy here—in Swan station. It's the best treatment. As long as I'm here, I'll be fine."

Desmond nodded quickly, eager to believe her.

Ben found the story less credible. He'd lived here for nearly his entire life and had never seen anything like it. And while he was no doctor, he'd never heard of electromagnetic energy as a cure for any illness.

Desmond shook his head, suddenly remembering something important. "So you're sure you don't have a flu?" he asked Valerie, pointing at the ceiling. "Because I have medicines for that—I have the vaccine."

"There's no flu, Des—nothing contagious," she explained gently. "That was a lie they used to keep people here."

"It's not real? Is any of it real?"

"The numbers are important. That's real."

He nodded again, calmly accepting her explanation.

Ben found it strange that Desmond so easily believed everything Valerie told him. She'd had a similar effect on him, he realized. It didn't seem malicious—she was telling Desmond the truth, at least about the lack of contagious illness outside the station. It wasn't even clear that she knew how strange it was that he believed her.

"Desmond," he called out.

Desmond turned to face him.

"Where's the restroom?"

"That's what's on your mind?" Valerie asked incredulously, getting up from her seat.

"You should sit," he instructed sternly.

She complied immediately, flopping listlessly back into the chair.

"I wanted to get her a wet towel," he explained to Desmond, "for her face."

Desmond pointed at a door. Ben went into the bathroom and carefully soaked a facecloth in the running water. He glanced at himself in the mirror—he looked nearly as worn as she did.

He brought the towel to Valerie and she snatched it from his hands, quickly wiping her mouth and hands with it. She dropped it on the table and leaned back in her chair, clearly exhausted.

He frowned. "Val, you missed most of it," he told her, picking up the facecloth. He gently dabbed her face with it, erasing the blood from the spots that she'd missed.

She blinked at him, her expression unreadable. "I'm fine," she insisted.

"No, you're not," he informed her. "Why don't you try to get some sleep?" He turned back to Desmond. "Is that alright?"

"Aye," he agreed.

Valerie rolled her eyes at both of them, but she didn't protest when Ben offered his arm to help her to the couch.

Desmond trotted off to grab a pillow and blanket from the spare bunk.

When Desmond returned, Valerie grabbed the pillow from him, pulling it under her head. Desmond handed the blanket to Ben who—over Valerie's muttered objections, made some effort to shake it out and drape it over her.

"Thank you," she murmured.

He nodded curtly.

As Valerie slept, Ben and Desmond wandered around the Swan in silence, eyeing each other suspiciously. It was clear to Ben than Desmond had a deep mistrust of him—verging on hostility. For someone who did not know him, it seemed a touch excessive.

Desmond was too rattled by his presence to start a conversation. He paced around, looking at Valerie, who he seemed to care about, and glancing suspiciously at Ben.

"Tell me about Penny," Ben asked finally.

"Excuse me?"

"I don't know what Valerie knows about you, Mr. Hume, but Penny seems to be at the heart of it all. Who is she?"

The question seemed to settle him down.

"Penelope Widmore," he answered dreamily. Ben's brows shot up.

Desmond described Penny to Ben—how they'd met, how their romance had fallen apart. How desperate he was to see her again—but Ben was barely listening.

"You said her name is Widmore?" he asked suddenly, interrupting Desmond. "Any relation to a Charles Widmore?"

"That's her father's name. He's the reason I was sailing around the world—the reason I ended up here. Do you know him?"

Ben frowned. "We've been acquainted." He walked over to Valerie. She was sleeping contentedly.

He found himself wondering how Valerie knew so much about Charles Widmore's off-island daughter. It was possible, he surmised, that Jacob kept himself aware of Widmore's activities. It was also possible that Valerie had been lying.

He frowned. There was no way to prove Jacob had sent her—short of dragging her through the jungle to find him. She very well could be spying for Charles—it could explain her knowledge of the Island, and her knowledge of him—at least some of it. But a well-informed charlatan could fill in the blanks that Widmore would have left—no more impressive than a palm reader.

The rest is just guess or a parlor trick, she had told him in his office. The possibility sent a chill down his spine. And—he realized—if she was Widmore's agent, then Widmore would have had something to do with the plane crash.

It didn't make perfect sense—how could she have known about the tumor? Unless, he surmised, Juliet was somehow involved. Or Widmore had a spy. It seemed unlikely, but not out of the question.

There was no use in confronting her with it now—and of course, if she wasn't lying, he would be putting himself at even greater risk. He resolved to keep his theory to himself until that calculus changed.

"How long have you been married?" Desmond asked, interrupting Ben's thoughts. He nodded at the sleeping woman.

"Oh—we're not married."

"You're not?" He seemed genuinely confused.

Valerie had not mentioned it, so Ben didn't understand why he'd made the assumption. He remembered the ring on his finger and started fiddling with it.

"We were pretending to be—I'll have to let her explain. It was her idea, after all."

"Right," Desmond replied, obviously still confused. "Right."

Desmond remained slightly agitated and a bit confused for the next couple of days. Once Valerie woke up, she was able to calm him, but he still carried himself like a man disconnected from reality.

Valerie explained to Desmond that she'd heard about him from Penelope Widmore, who she claimed to know. She certainly knew more about Desmond—and Penelope—than a cursory investigation would have revealed. It was not definitive proof of anything, but it was enough to concern him.

She'd done nothing that suggested to Ben that she knew Charles—or even that she knew about him. It would be an unimaginable coincidence for her to simply know his daughter—though there were myriad other explanations for why she would have arrived prepared with these details. Desmond was, perhaps, significant in other ways. He resolved to keep his suspicions to himself.

Ben's familiarity with Swan station was limited. The station had housed unwitting residents since the DHARMA days. His people had been able to keep an eye on its occupants from the Pearl, but so long as it was inhabited, it had been inaccessible to them. The assumption had always been that the Swan's purpose was as a psychological experiment—and that freeing its subjects would not be worth the effort.

Valerie seemed to know more about it than he did. He listened quietly as she explained that the station was designed to release a buildup of electromagnetic energy. In the absence of a controlled release, the station would implode. Desmond did not seem surprised—he'd been certain that entering the numbers was a critical task, and his beliefs had been confirmed.

She offered to take the responsibility in shifts, and Desmond happily agreed. Ben quickly volunteered to help as well. The computer that was used to enter the numbers—and, evidently, to discharge electromagnetic energy—could also be used to communicate with the rest of the stations. If Valerie was aware of this, she didn't mention it—and he didn't bring it up.

Ben had taken advantage of the time he'd had in the computer room to send instructions to Mikhail—who had passed along his messages to Tom and Juliet. Valerie's little incident had derailed the plan, but he'd been prepared for that exigency.

She'd tried to apologize to him for what had happened. She seemed ashamed—and frustrated with herself.

He'd refused her apology. It was not necessary. He didn't trust her, but, as irritating as it was to be trapped in the Swan, it had better amenities than the beach—and he believed that she hadn't intended any of this. Her fear had been genuine.

In a way, he felt bad for her. It was not like him to empathize so easily, but she seemed to have a way of drawing a reaction from him. He typically buried his emotion carefully—letting it rise to the surface only when doing so would serve a purpose. He was always surprised to really feel anything.

He was particularly surprised to feel jealousy, of all things. She spoke to Desmond with a certain familiarity and kindness—not with the charged, acerbic condescension that she reserved for him. She had been kind to him as well—and he believed that it was at least partially sincere—but the easy friendship she shared with this stranger irritated him all the same. He'd let it get under his skin.

"We're going to need to get him out of the way," Ben mentioned casually—largely to gauge her reaction.

Desmond was an inconvenience—but as a connection to Charles's daughter, he had the potential to be useful at some point. For that reason, it was important that he stayed alive and on the Island. But it was also critical that he stay out of the way while the plan was executed.

"We're not killing Desmond," she replied dismissively

"That's not what I—why would we kill him?"

"What did you mean?"

"Set him loose—when the time comes to leave, it will be easier not to have him around."

"Where would he go?"

"Does it matter?"

She shrugged. "He could be useful."

"You know something." It wasn't a question.

She shrugged. "We can set him loose, sure." She paused, taking a moment to look at him. "How have you been feeling?" she asked, deliberately changing the subject.

"Fine," he answered quickly, avoiding eye contact.

"Ben," she chided softly.

He looked up to meet her gaze. There was genuine concern in her eyes—gentle and reproachful—as though she pitied him for feeling the need to lie.

"Don't give me that look," he instructed.

"What look?"

"Like you actually—" he stopped himself from saying the word on the tip of his tongue. "Like you care," he said instead. "It's disconcerting."

"Jesus, that's depressing."

"What?"

"You're bothered by the idea of someone caring about you? I have my fucking work cut out for me."

"And what, exactly, is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing, I just—"

Before Valerie could answer him, a massive explosion shook the room—so loud that he was suddenly deaf, save for the ringing in his ears.

"What that fuck was that?" Desmond mouthed, stumbling in from the computer room through a cloud of dust.

Ben winced and rubbed his temples, waiting for the ringing to subside.

"Oh, those idiots," Valerie groaned, her voice a muted shout in her ears.

"What is it?" Ben asked, rushing over to Valerie,

"I forgot about the fucking dynamite."

"The what?" Desmond asked, rushing to shut the blast doors. He pulled a duffel bag out from a closet and started to toss things into it.

"They have dynamite?" Ben added, confused. "You knew about the dynamite?"

"I knew of the dynamite. It's in the Black Rock. I didn't think they'd find it—not this fast."

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess they don't trust us anymore—what do you think Val?"

"I thought 'there was no need to apologize,' Linus? I didn't intend for them to find out like that!" She shot him a suspicious look. "But you don't seem too worried."

"I tried to tell you, Valerie, I have a plan."

"What did you do?" she asked accusatorily.

He bristled at her tone. "Nothing to be upset about."

"What did you do?"

"Ethan was to extract Walt immediately if ever we were exposed. Instructions will be communicated to Michael."

"Jesus Christ, what did I say about kidnappings?'

"I don't recall you having any authority at all, Valerie."

"For fuck's sake he's a child."

"He'll be fine," Ben replied dismissively.

"What if Michael doesn't help?"

"He will."

"What if he doesn't? What if he gets himself killed?"

Ben shrugged. "I won't hurt the boy."

"Have you considered that taking him from his father might be hurting him?"

"He'll be fine," Ben repeated.

Valerie rolled her eyes.

"You're the reason we're in this position," he reminded her.

"Fuck you."

He raised his eyebrows. "I don't recall getting a nosebleed so severe that I nearly died."

She huffed at him. "I am sorry about that, for the millionth fucking time."

"You know, I could have let it kill you. Think of all the sympathy a grieving husband would get."

She frowned, realizing that he was right. "Well why did you help me then?" she asked.

He didn't know how to respond right away.

"I'm not a monster, Valerie," he said finally.

"I know," she snapped. "Thank you," she added bitingly, "for not letting me die."

"I hate to interrupt your delightful bickering," Desmond yelled from across the room, "but I think we need to get out of here,"

"We're not bickering," they said, nearly in unison.

"You are married, aren't you?"

"We are most certainly not," Ben replied, rolling his eyes as he took a deliberate step away from Valerie.

Valerie sneered at him. Ben smirked back at her. He glanced up at the ceiling and over at Desmond.

"Are you coming?" Desmond asked, unimpressed.

"No, Mr. Hume, Ben said smoothly. "It's been a pleasure, but I think you ought to go without us." He ushered Desmond toward the exit. "We'll deal with them," he added, pointing upward.

Desmond was taken aback. "What do I do on my own?"

"I believe your boat is still around here somewhere," Ben suggested. "The Elizabeth, yes? I'm sure you'll find her."

"Aye," Desmond agreed, slinging the duffel bag over his shoulder. "You don't want to come?"

"No," Ben answered simply.

"You should go," Valerie added. "We'll be fine. Be careful."

Desmond nodded again, accepting Valerie's judgment without hesitation. He leaned over to Ben. "I'll see you in another life, brother," he declared. He gripped Ben's shoulder for a moment, then took off out the corridor toward the airlock.

"That was cruel, you know," Valerie noted. "He'll be sailing in circles for weeks without the right bearing."

"Yes, he will. But we may need him later."

Valerie nodded half-heartedly.

"And at least he won't be trapped in an abandoned science experiment."

"Fair enough." She shrugged, though it was obvious that she was concerned for Desmond. "How do you propose we deal with—that?" she asked, pointing at the ceiling.

"Let them come," Ben answered. He hurried over to the sofa and lifted up a cushion. He reached into the space under it and pulled out a pistol and a grenade. "I've locked up the armory. We wait for them, then we run—and make sure they follow us."

"You have a plan."

"Yes, Valerie," he replied. "I always have a plan."

He handed her the grenade. She took it carefully, a skeptical frown on her face.

"It's a flashbang. I'll tell you when to use it."

He rushed off into the computer room and sent a single word message to Mikhail.

Now.

He found Valerie still standing in the common room, staring at the grenade.

"Are you sure it's just a flashbang?"

He stared her down.

"What?" she replied. "I don't want to blow anyone up."

"It's a flashbang, Val."

A series of clattering thumps echoed from the hall.

"Is anyone in there?" Jack shouted, his voice muffled by the blast doors.

Neither Ben nor Valerie responded.

"If you don't open up, we're going to blow the doors."

Ben walked decisively over to the controls and opened the door, aiming his pistol at the entryway.

"I don't think that would be wise, Doctor," he informed Jack as the doors slid apart.

Jack gaped at him, slowly raising his hands. Kate and John were close behind him.

They didn't appear to have any of the dynamite with them.

"We have a favor to ask of you," Ben continued coolly, his eyes settling on John. "Through that door, there is a computer. Every one-hundred and eight minutes, someone needs to enter a series of numbers into the computer. It is critically important that the numbers are entered at the correct intervals."

"There's an orientation video—it will explain everything," Valerie added, her hands behind her back.

"What?" Jack asked, obviously baffled by the situation.

"What the hell is going on here?" Kate demanded. "What is this place?"

"As I said, there's an orientation video," Valerie explained, tilting her head at the television set.

John was the only one who appeared more curious than afraid. "What happens if we don't enter the numbers?" he asked.

"Destruction," Ben answered simply.

He glanced at the three of them and smiled slyly.

"Now, Valerie," he instructed.

Valerie pulled the pin from the flashbang and threw it across the room at Jack, Kate, and John.

Ben grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her toward the exit. She held her hands over her ears as she ran.

It detonated just as they passed through the doorway into the corridor, a blinding light and thunderous noise temporarily incapacitating both of them.

He dragged Valerie towards the door and ushered her into the airlock, quickly opening the double doors to the outside.

"We have to go, Val," he instructed in a harsh whisper.

"Yeah, I gathered that. Where are we going?"

"A clearing about two hours into the jungle. Michael will convince a party to follow us."

"And then?"

"Then, we give Michael back his son," Ben answered. "You were right about him. His talents make him more trouble than he is worth."

"Let me guess," Valerie replied dryly, "Michael will make sure that Jack, Kate, and Sawyer all come looking for us?"

Ben frowned. "Why would you say that?"

"So that you can use Kate and James to manipulate Jack—for fuck's sake Ben, I'm pragmatist, not an idiot."

He sighed—there was nothing he found quite as vexing as Valerie's ability to understand his thinking. She was nearly impossible to surprise.

"For the record, I'm opposed to this," she added.

"For the record, I do not care what you think," he retorted, grabbing her wrist again, "but we need to go."

Valerie was profoundly irritated.

Ben's plan had gone off without a hitch, and he was exceptionally smug about it. Michael had arrived in the clearing with Jack, Sawyer, Kate, Hurley, and Ethan. They'd been ambushed—forced to surrender—and they had been shocked to learn that Ethan was not who he'd claimed to be.

Tom and Mikhail were in charge of the group that tied them up and put burlap sack hoods over their heads. Hurley was sent back to the camp with instructions—to warn the survivors not to venture too far from the beach or the caves, and to continue pushing the button in the hatch. Terrified, he obliged.

Slowly, the group marched the hooded captives to the water and corralled them onto the barge that delivered them to the docks.

Valerie held her tongue as Ben closed the deal with Michael. That was the silver lining in this—he hadn't hurt the boy too much. Michael was reunited with Walt, given a fishing boat and a bearing of 325 degrees, and wished a safe trip home. She noticed Ben smile slightly as the boy leapt into his father's arms.

As Michael disappeared over the horizon, the three prisoners were brought up to the dock. "Go ahead and take the bags off," Ben instructed.

Tom and Danny pulled the hoods from their heads. Jack, Kate, and Sawyer looked at their captors—their eyes darting around in confusion and alarm. Even though they had begun to realize they weren't alone, none of them had expected that they were sharing the Island with an entire community of people.

Standing in front of the group of onlookers, Ben was back in his element. Juliet seemed skeptical; she watched on with a frown as Ben rattled off a short diatribe on the nature of the situation they'd found themselves in. Alex was equally unimpressed—rolling her eyes each time Ben made a grandiose statement.

Valerie took a step back, trying to avoid eye contact with the prisoners. She was ashamed of Ben—she knew that she should have expected this from him, but part of her had wanted to believe that the tiny spark of kindness she'd seen in him was indicative of a deeper shift.

She glanced at Alex, who noticed her looking. She flashed Valerie a confused look. Valerie shrugged slightly—trying to indicate with her eyes that none of this was her idea. She didn't bother to hide the irritation on her face. She was sure that she wasn't alone in finding Ben's leadership style needlessly harsh.

She'd have to have a word with him once they were back at the house. She hadn't figured out what she would say. Her plan hadn't worked. He'd have no reason to trust her—not without better reasons to. She still had cards up her sleeve, but it might just complicate things for her to play them while the two of them weren't on the best of terms.

From the corner of her eye, she saw him nod decisively at someone behind her. There was a look in his eyes that she couldn't quite place—not quite guilt, but something like it.

In the next moment, she felt a blunt pain reverberate through her skull, and everything went black.