Chapter 19: An Overwhelming Question
Ben swallowed. The mercenary had his weapon aimed threateningly at Alex's forehead. She stood in front of the man, frozen and terrified, her slingshot aiming back at him.
This wasn't right—he thought they'd already avoided this fate. He glanced at Valerie. She frowned, shaking her head. She couldn't get close enough with the knife. This man was nervous—not in control of himself the way that Martin Keamy had been—and he was more dangerous as a result.
Ben collapsed the baton and put it back in his pocket. "Don't touch her," he said carefully, his hands in the air.
"Tell the crazy bitch to put the knife down."
"Val," Ben said, turning to her. "Please—do it."
She tossed the knife to the ground.
Ben took a couple of steps towards Alex. "Let her go."
The blast of a gun reverberated through the clearing. Ben's heart jumped out of his chest.
The mercenary collapsed to the ground, a bullet hole in his temple.
Danielle emerged from behind the brush, rifle in hand, and rushed over to the trembling Alex.
Valerie darted around the bodies, checking to make sure there weren't any survivors. "We're good," she called back to the woods. Sawyer, Miles and Karl joined them in the clearing.
"You can't bring a slingshot to a gunfight, kid," Sawyer chided Alex gently.
"I thought they killed my dad," she explained, stubbornly wiping away tears.
"I'm pretty sure Tomb Raider here wasn't going to let that happen," he said, patting Valerie on the back as Ben pulled Alex into a hug,
She smiled gratefully at Valerie over his shoulder.
"Don't do that again, Alex," Ben scolded. "I think I nearly had a heart attack." He kissed the top of her head.
Danielle frowned skeptically at him.
"Thank you," he told her. "For taking the shot."
She nodded curtly.
"Dad," Alex asked urgently, "where do we go now?"
Ben and Valerie looked at each other.
"I have to move it, don't I?" he asked her.
She nodded. "It's the only way."
"They're not going to stop coming for me," he explained to Alex. "I have to leave."
"What?" Alex demanded. "Can't I come with you?"
He shook his head. "No, Alex—it won't be safe. Believe me, the last thing I want to do is abandon you. I have to stop Widmore—there's no other option. But I'll be back. I promise you—I'll be back."
"You can't just leave me!" she replied desperately.
"Stay with your mother, Alex," he instructed. "She won't let anything happen to you. I will be back as soon as I can."
Alex glanced back at Danielle.
"I'll take care of her," Danielle told Ben. "Go. Do what you must."
"What about Valerie?" Alex asked plaintively.
"I have to go with him," Valerie answered.
"And that the hell are we supposed to do, Wednesday?" Sawyer demanded.
"I think I preferred Tomb Raider."
He rolled his eyes.
"There's a helicopter, isn't there?" she suggested, looking at Ben questioningly.
"If you can find the pilot, it's all yours," he agreed.
"That's it? We can just leave?"
"Sure, James," he replied, "if that's what you want. The bearing is 305 degrees at the moment."
Sawyer looked at Valerie.
She shrugged. "Just be careful."
"Alright," he agreed solemnly, uncharacteristically devoid of snark.
Ben hugged Alex one last time. "Stay out of trouble," he warned. "I'll miss you."
"I'll miss you too, dad."
"Don't let her do anything reckless," he told Karl.
"I don't make promises I can't keep, Mr. Linus."
Ben glared at him.
"I'll try my best," he offered, taking Alex by the hand.
Ben nodded at the pair of them, feeling a swell of emotion. She was safe—for now. They'd done what they could.
"Ben, we have to go," Valerie reminded him.
With a last goodbye, they trudged off into the jungle, making their way to the Orchid with as much speed as they could muster.
There were a number of questions on his mind. He knew from personal experience that Val could put up a fight—and it had been less than a day since he'd watched her stab Martin Keamy in the jugular—but it was another thing entirely to do what she had done. He wondered how she'd gained such a skillset—and why—but he was too exhausted to ask.
It wasn't long before they arrived at the station. Ben half expected them to be met by more of Widmore's soldiers—but between the smoke and Valerie, the mercenaries were outnumbered and leaderless.
Valerie led them decisively into the greenhouse.
"Are you sure this is the only way?" he asked her plaintively as they pushed back the anthuriums that hung over the entrance to the elevator.
She nodded at him sadly. "It is," she confirmed. She paused for a moment before continuing, her brows creased into a thoughtful frown. "There's a chance I could do it alone, I guess, but it's risky—I don't know everything."
She reached out to open the door to the elevator and winced, grabbing at the bandage on her shoulder.
"I won't let you do that."
"No?" she asked, an eyebrow raised, holding the elevator door open for him.
He looked her in the eyes as they descended. It was something he had to do himself—and it was not something he was willing to take risks with. "My daughter is alive because of you," he said instead. "I know what you sacrificed to do this."
She attempted a smile.
"Let's sew your shoulder up," he suggested, changing the subject. "There are supplies here."
"We don't have time."
"I'm not going to be responsible for you dying of an infection—and if we wait any longer it will be too late for stitches. It won't take more than an hour."
She looked at him gratefully and nodded. "Fine."
She dropped her backpack as they entered the laboratory. "It looks so different," she noted distractedly.
Ben looked through the cabinets until he found cleaning supplies. He moved a rabbit cage from a steel table to the floor, then sprayed the table down with bleach.
Val helped him wipe it down and hopped on to it as he searched for the first aid kit.
She ripped the bandages off.
He aimed a desk lamp at her shoulder and looked at it closely.
She pulled down the strap of her tank top. "Antiseptic pad?" she requested. He handed one to her and she tore the package open with her teeth, the sharp smell filling the air.
He scrubbed his hands down and found a pre-threaded hooked needle. He watched as she cleaned both sides of the wound, gritting her teeth through the pain.
"This is going to hurt," he warned.
"It already hurts," she snapped. "Just hurry up."
He started with the exit would on her collarbone, pushing the needle into her skin.
She bit her lip and grabbed at him, clutching the hem of his shirt.
He frowned at her, concerned.
"Keep going," she growled through clenched teeth. "It doesn't have to be pretty."
He finished with the front as quickly as he could, and neatly tied off the thread before moving to the hole in her back. The entry wound was smaller and easier to work with than the exit wound on her chest. He was finished with it in minutes.
He pressed fresh bandage pads over each set of stitches.
"All set," he said gently, meeting her eyes again.
"Thanks," she said simply, sliding off the table. She looked around the lab.
"How do we even get to it? Where's the door?"
He frowned at her. "There's no door," he said cryptically, and started tossing every loose piece of metal into the vault.
"What are you doing?"
"Anything metal you can find—throw it in there."
She didn't question his instructions, joining him in piling every piece of heavy lab equipment into the room.
"That should do it," he announced as a wrench clattered down through the pile.
He sealed the doors shut and moved over to the control panel.
A deep, distant noise shook the room.
"What did you do?" she asked.
"Nothing yet—that wasn't me."
She frowned at him. "Oh—fuck."
"What?"
"The freighter—they just blew up the freighter.
"Oh." He blinked. "I suppose Charles was never going to let that thing leave unless it was on his terms."
Valerie nodded absently. She frowned to herself, calculating something in her head. She looked up and realized he was waiting for the go ahead. "Do it—we have to hurry."
Wordlessly, he flicked a series of switches on the control panel.
He grabbed Valerie by the waist and pulled her away.
"What does that—"
The vault buzzed and rattled wildly, violently blowing a hole into the wall behind it.
"That would be why the room looks different," she noted dryly.
Ben grabbed a pair of parkas from the closet and tossed one to Valerie. She put it on and grabbed her backpack.
"Ladies first," he said, gesturing at the rubble.
She crawled through the hole in the wall and followed the path that had opened up, descending down the rickety ladder.
Ben followed her. They pushed through the ice that had sealed the entrance to the wheel chamber and stepped through it.
"Are you certain we can do this together?"
She made a face. "That depends on how you define 'certain,' I guess. I'm pretty sure"
"Very reassuring," he noted sarcastically.
She exhaled decisively, her breath visible in the cold. She stepped over to the wheel and grabbed a spoke. "Do you trust me?"
"Yes," he sighed, "against my better judgment, I suppose I do." He stood next to her, placing his hands on the spoke.
They thrust the spoke forward, and he looked over at her. She was focused—her brow furrowed in concentration. She glanced over at him and saw that he was watching her. She said nothing, steadily holding his gaze as they took labored steps forward, pushing the heavy, iced-in wheel on its axis.
As the light began to glow, his mind flashed to the brief moment of despair he'd felt before he'd realized that Keamy's gun hadn't been loaded—then to the taste of blood on her lips.
Ice fell away as the wheel turned, shattering on the ground. The glow grew brighter and brighter until it was blinding. With a final push, they reached the wall and were swallowed by the light.
Valerie's walk to the water was long, and difficult in the dark. When she arrived, she saw that he'd started a fire, halfway down the beach. She took her sandals off and walked towards him slowly. The sand was cold between her toes. She wasn't as nervous as she thought she would be. It was just Ben, after all.
He noticed her almost immediately, but he didn't really react. He looked over in her direction, confirmed to himself that it was her, then he turned back to the black waves. When she reached him, he shifted over to make room for her next to him.
She sat down. Neither of them spoke for quite a while.
The ocean was easy to get lost in, especially at this hour. The moonlight was refracted across the surface of the water—and the endless expanse of it was only amplified by the way that it seemed to merge seamlessly with the sky.
"I almost robbed that boy of his mother," Ben said eventually. His voice was quiet, and he spoke slowly. "And of all people, I should know what kind of loss that is." He pushed some sand around with his hand. "He has no idea. Perhaps he never will."
She could fill in the blanks. Charlie was just an innocent child—he hadn't become collateral damage in Ben's quest for vengeance, but it had been a close call. There were many others who hadn't been so lucky. And Charlie, knowing none of this, had sought him out. Granted, Charlie was just ten—and trusting in the way that only children can be. But for Ben, that simple act of trust had skewered him.
Valerie lightly patted his knee. "Penny forgives you."
"How can you say that."
"She told me."
"She did not."
"Not in so many words. But she does."
"What brings you down here?" He asked in response.
She hesitated. She'd been so lost in the ocean that she'd almost forgotten why she had decided to follow him. But even though he'd asked her point blank, she couldn't bring herself to tell him. "You said that I could stay until my boat was fixed," she began, "and Desmond is here now. It'll be fixed soon."
"But?"
"But—I really don't want to leave. I was hoping it would be okay if I stayed."
He scoffed. "Did I really say that?"
"When I first got here."
"That was before…" he trailed off. "You don't have to leave, Val—of course you don't have to leave."
"Oh. Good."
"Is that really all?"
"No—sort of. I guess I've just been thinking a lot about what Hurley said—that the Island brings people here for a reason. And there have been times when I'm sure I've figured out why I'm here, but then other times I'm not so sure."
He didn't react to that.
"Ben," she murmured, "why do you think I'm here?"
He looked at her sharply.
He'd thought about it since the last time she'd asked, of course, but had no answers—at least none that he felt he could tell her. "To be honest, I still don't know," he said instead. It was true. He was far from certain. She seemed disappointed.
He looked at her, her face lit up so perfectly by the fire and the moonlight. Her hair moved a little with the breeze. Valerie was a beautiful woman. He'd known, of course—but it had taken him a while to really see it.
He'd never met anyone quite like her—who could quote poetry at him with one breath and spout off vulgarities with the next—someone who could make him laugh, even when he didn't want to be laughing.
He was fond of her—perhaps more than that. And she had chosen to walk to the beach—to sit alone with him—in the middle of the night.
"Whatever the reason, I suppose I'm glad you are here," he said, so quiet that it was almost under his breath.
She didn't say anything, but she leaned against his shoulder, and the contact made him too tense to move. He stayed very still—gradually relaxing into the weight of her body against his.
He wondered suddenly how she might react if he kissed her. The thought surprised him—that his mind would conjure something so bold out of such a quiet moment. He swallowed anxiously and said nothing.
The silence was strangely comfortable. They sat together—nearly motionless—so long that the fire burned down to embers, and the sky, though still very much night, was beginning to show hints of day.
Eventually, he broke the silence. "Shall we head back?" he suggested.
"I guess we should."
She took a deep breath and stretched her arms. He stood up first and offered her his hand. She took it gratefully, squeezing it as she rose to her feet. He let go, and gently touched her back as she started walking.
The path back to the Barracks was narrow. They walked close together in the dark, and her hand bumped and brushed clumsily against his. Eventually she caught his palm in hers and held it—loosely. It was a question. He felt the breath leave his chest, and he answered her by tightening his grip.
He could feel her pulse—pounding, like his. He ran his thumb across her knuckles, and she walked a little closer to him.
He could barely breathe.
Their hands eventually fell apart as they reached the Barracks. It was still dark out, but the first rays of sunlight were beginning to turn the night sky blue.
They found themselves stopped in front of the steps to his house. He took a moment to look at her. She met his gaze, her eyes heavy and serious. He knew there would be no going back from whatever happened next. He took a breath.
"Would you like to come in?"
She let her eyes wander over him, then she nodded slowly. A sudden influx of nerves sent the air out of his lungs again. He opened the door with shaky hands, and he held it for her as she stepped inside. She slipped her sandals off and started wandering towards the back of the house—towards his bedroom. He swallowed.
He stood by the door, watching her. She paused, resting the back of her head against the wall of the narrow hallway. She stared at him as he followed her into the house, a burning intensity in her eyes. He leaned against the wall across from her, still hesitant to get too close.
He watched her chest rise and fall. He felt the desire rushing in—a slow-rolling wave that gradually drowned him. The air was almost too thick to breathe.
The tension had built to the point that the silence roared in his ears. He stepped across the hall, closing the distance between them in a single sudden moment. He leaned against her, his palms pressed against the wall. He glanced down at her mouth. Her wavering breath was soft and warm against his lips.
She grabbed the collar of his shirt, pulling him into a feverish kiss.
The sudden contact sent an electric current ripping through him. She clung to him as he kissed her back, rushed and desperate. He had never felt so aware of his own flesh.
She reached down, her hands unsteady, unbuckling, unbuttoning, unzipping—urgently removing the barriers between them.
His body was screaming at her touch. He felt her reaching for him, her hands on him. He tasted her mouth. He felt her skin—ran a nervous palm up the length of her thigh. His other hand clutched at the nape of her neck—trembling fingers in her hair. He wanted her—badly. Immediately.
He took her right there, in the hallway, lifting her up by the hips, his body pressed into hers.
She leaned into him, gripping his shoulders, gasping with every move he made.
The intensity of the sensations overwhelmed him. He felt the rush of heat rising up, a crackling tension building into an undulation that grew increasingly palpable until it could no longer be contained.
He found himself resting his forehead against the wall, breathing heavily and unable to think. He had never experienced anything quite like this before. He glanced down at her face.
She met his gaze and kissed him again—slowly—until his back was against the wall and her chest was flush against his. He wanted to pick her up and carry her to his bedroom—to undress her and lie with her naked and make up for all of the years that no one had wanted him.
But when she pulled away from the kiss, she smiled slyly, fixed her dress, picked her sweater up off the floor and made her way to the door.
"Where are you going?"
"Home—it's almost morning." She bit her lip and grinned at him. "I'll see you later."
"Later," he agreed breathlessly, and watched as she slipped outside.