Time Is An Illusion, Lunchtime, Doubly So

by Mistress Scribbles

Set after 'The End'. Matters would be much easier for Ben Linus if he weren't trying to juggle an existential crisis and his first real romance. Some sexual content - not particularly graphic. Dr Linus/"Sideways" Rousseau, and lots of cameos!

4. Chapter 4

Time Is An Illusion – Lunchtime Doubly So

-x-

Four

-x-

I'm sure that, had by some freak time travel event or afterlife placement mishap, I had ever found myself in the presence of Dr Sigmund Freud, he would have seen me as the perfect case study. I can only imagine the thrill he would have taken correlating my sexual frustrations in life with my eagerness to turn to the gun or the knife, let alone linking the fact that I never knew my mother with my murder of my father. And, since Freud was always adamant that there were no accidents – that everything we do has a conscious or subconscious motive, he would have had a field day with what happened that afternoon at Danielle Rousseau's house, just after I had spoken with Miles Straume.

There is a question, you see, about who started singing first, and I'm not sure it will ever be satisfactorily answered, as far as I'm concerned. Freud would tell you in a heartbeat that it was me, but then he'd also tell you that I've always wanted to have sex with my mother, so what does he know?

Lasagne was probably a mistake. Yes, I'll admit that cooking a lasagne might have been a bit of a Freudian Slip. Miles' accusation that I had been hurting Danielle and Alex by refusing to facilitate the return of their memories had left me with a sensation of leaden guilt, so I wanted to cook something a little more special for them. It was only as I was layering the pasta that I'd recalled how much Alex had used to enjoy that particular dinner. "Dad's Lasagne", that's what she'd called it. She'd used to request it on birthdays sometimes, or when I'd been too busy with the island's business to spend much time with her for a while. Could a lasagne, of all things, make my daughter aware of her island life? I didn't know, and although my conversation with Miles had convinced me that she had to know the truth, it still made me anxious to say the least. I was so wrapped up in thinking about this as Danielle and I ate lunch, and as she dished up a hefty portion for Alex to microwave after school that at no point did my thoughts turn to the real reason that Dad's Lasagne turned out to change my relationship with the Rousseaus forever – namely, the amount of washing up that had to be done. Since I'd cooked, Danielle washed, leaving me to dry and put away. There was a sort of organic rhythm to our routine as she passed glasses and plates to me. My hands worked as though on autopilot as my mind drifted back again and again to Alex.

Dad's lasagne nights. That disgusting mango mush she used to make that I'd always pretend was the most delicious dessert I'd ever tasted because it made her smile so proudly. Games of Scrabble and chess. Minor arguments over the rules. Making fun of one another. So much laughter. Playing the piano together – chopsticks and 'Heart & Soul'. Those songs we used to make up about Ethan Rom, and we'd have to sing them really quietly so no one would hear, and she'd always burst into giggles before we'd got more than a few lines in – God, I'd forgotten all about those!

'What's so funny?' asked Danielle, alerting me to the fact that I was grinning like a madman.

I shook my head. 'A silly old joke I only just remembered.'

Danielle smiled, wiping a speck of foam from the tip of her nose. God, but she was beautiful. 'I like it when that happens.'

She went back to the washing, and I took chopping knives and serving spoons from her to dry, and continued to remanisce.

That record, again and again.

Welcome to the world of love and laughter, baby,

Welcome to the sunshine of a brand new day…

She'd loved it ever since she was tiny – when I'd found the Dharma Initiative's seeming obsession with The Mamas And The Papas as indicated by the music left behind in their old barracks particularly handy, once it became clear that my adopted child didn't share my taste for German and Russian Romanticism.

You drifted onto the scene,

You flowered into a dream,

A dream that never will fade away…

It was easy enough to play by ear on the piano, but Alex always preferred Cass Elliot's interpretation of the song to mine. Besides which, if we played the song on the record player instead of the piano, it left Daddy free to dance with her. I can't imagine that I was the first parent in the world to juggle ruthlessness in the workplace with a more whimsical attitude with my child, although I'm aware that the mental image of me dancing around my kitchen to Mama Cass might be at odds with the one I built up around myself as Charles Widmore's usurper. If you are finding it difficult to picture then just be grateful, as I often am, that her favourite song wasn't 'It's Not Easy Being Green'.

'Living in a world of love and laughter, baby,

We can find the secret to a constant smile…'

It wasn't me who was singing, but Danielle. I blinked across at her, and she beamed as she sang the word "smile".

It was so difficult to say how long we'd all been in this afterlife. However long it had been, Danielle still believed that it had been her who'd raised Alex single handed all those years. Danielle probably knew Alex's favourite song inside and out by this point too. Maybe I'd only started thinking about it because she'd been humming it to herself, or maybe I'd been humming without realising, leading her to pick up the tune. I don't know. Danielle wasn't a strong singer by any stretch of the imagination, but her voice was sweet and happy. There was something about her expression that suggested she wanted me to join in.

I am not the sort of person who gleefully bursts into song, in public, at the drop of a hat. "Shy" is the wrong word. I prefer "reticent". This wasn't the middle of the street or an Alpine mountain-top, however, but a private kitchen, in front of nobody but the late Danielle Rousseau – the woman who, over the past few days hadn't just seen me naked, but who had relieved me of my cherry with considerable gusto. I'd done things with her that I'd convinced myself towards the end of my life that I'd never, ever get to do, and other things that I hadn't even so much as imagined. It had only been the day before that she'd suggested just watching one another as we saw to our own needs. After the show she'd put on for me with an apparently much-loved vibrator named Gérard, I couldn't exactly shy away from fulfilling my part of the deal. I'd asked her to pull my hair and whisper threats in my ear as she watched me. It was amazing. With this in mind, it really didn't seem right to be coy about letting her hear my singing voice. I joined in – quietly at first.

'The music no one can hear,

Will sound for us loud and clear,

To find forever, it takes a while…'

In the kitchen, in that warm, safe environment, with the smell of lasagne and the photos of Alex and the smile of a lovely woman, I began to let my guard down. I let myself fall into the song, and into the happy memories that went with it. I raised my voice as I waited for her to finish scrubbing the lasagne dish.

'It's time to give our love a chance,

The music's going, shall we…'

She passed me the cleaned lasagne dish. Our fingers brushed as I took it from her.

That's when she saw it.

And I saw too – I hadn't been expecting that. I saw her die in the jungle – running from the men sent after me, unprepared for the magnitude of their fire power and terrified for her child. But what we both saw after that was more heartbreaking still – all the memories that I'd been merrily reliving recently; moment after happy moment that she'd believed she'd spent with Alex becoming undone, with me taking her place. The flashes were coming backwards in order – I didn't know why – and we both saw Alex get younger and younger, always with me usurping Danielle's rightful place, until the flashes of life ended with me taking the baby from her. As I blinked back into this world, I noticed that we both still had a hold of the lasagne dish, and that her grip on it was rapidly growing tighter and more desperate.

'No,' she muttered, 'no, no, no…'

I let go of the dish. 'I'm sorry, Danielle.'

She clutched the sopping crockery to herself and backed away from me slowly, shaking her head down at the floor as she went. 'No, no, no, no, no!'

'And I'm sorry that you had to find out like this,' I added, hoping that she'd find something to say other than "no" at some point soon, 'but now that you have…'

She looked up at me, her expression more full of bewilderment and hurt than the hatred and fury I'd been expecting. 'Is this why you're here? Flatter the sad, lonely Madwoman so that you can take her daughter away from her again?'

I'll admit – I was mortified. That hadn't even crossed my mind. 'No! God, no. Danielle, this world put you and Alex together because that's how you were meant to be. That same order made me Alex's teacher. That's all I deserve to be – all I deserve to do, to care for her from a distance. The first time I came to your house, I wasn't even aware of my real life. I came because I was invited, because it was a nice dream for me to be able to go to a loving household and have a home-cooked meal with a sweet student with whom I felt a kinship that I didn't understand, and her beautiful mother. And, even when I was aware, I kept coming for as long as I was invited, because it was still a nice dream to be able to cling to. I confess, yes I did want Alex back in my life. But I'd never take her from you, Danielle, I'd never separate you again. I've made some changes to my outlook since you knew me in life, you see, and… well, I'd love to be able to tell you that I don't want to take Alex from you because I've learned to be selfless, but the truth is, I want you, too. I want to keep living this dream.'

'You don't want me. How could you want me?'

'I don't know how. I don't even know if it should be possible – to fall in love with someone here – after our lives have all been played out, but I think that's what's happened to me, Danielle. I think that's what's happened…' I paused, searching her closed expression. 'But why should you believe a word I say, right?' Still no reply from her – no change to her steely countenance. I nodded, taking a step towards the door. 'I see. I'll go back to the school. If Alex ever needs me, she can find me there. Please make sure she knows that.'

'You're not leaving.' Danielle's tone had been flat – more a statement than a question or a plea.

'I think that would be best,' I replied, 'don't you?' I took another step towards the door. 'It's like I tried to warn you before - I don't deserve you and Alex – not after the things I've done.'

Danielle slammed the lasagne dish down on the work surface. 'That's not our problem!'

'No, Danielle. It's mine. I thought I might be able to overcome it by now. Clearly, I'm not, so…'

'And it's always all about you, isn't it?' yelled Danielle. 'Always other people paying for your mistakes. I spent sixteen years of my life without one of the few things I ever loved because of your selfishness – don't you dare do that to me again!'

'For the last time, I'm not going to take Alex away from you…'

'I wasn't talking about Alex!'

I stared at her from our opposite corners of the kitchen.

Danielle seemed to have collected herself a little better. Her tone softened. 'I don't know if it should be possible either – to fall in love with someone here. But somehow, it must be, because here we are.'

'Here we are,' I echoed, unsure of what else to say.

'Don't get me wrong,' she added, 'I thoroughly despised you when we were alive.'

I nodded in understanding. 'I don't blame you. So did I, sometimes.'

'Alex,' added Danielle. 'They killed her too, didn't they?'

'Yes. Soon after you.'

'There was nothing you could do?'

'There was. I could have surrendered. But, as you say, it was always about me – always making other people pay for my mistakes.'

Danielle sank into a chair, biting back tears. 'She was so young.'

'I know.' Despite wanting to go over and comfort her, I still remained awkwardly at the other side of the kitchen.

'Did you even care?'

'Danielle.' How could she ask that? 'I was raised by a bitter alcoholic who even when I was little, liked to show his lifelong resentment towards me with his fists, the only woman I was ever interested in in life comprehensively spurned my affections and the magical healing island that I'd devoted my life to decided to give me what was very nearly a terminal cancer at 39, but the moment I saw Alex die…? That was the one moment that crushed me – just crushed me.'

'What did you do?'

'Cried a little,' I replied, 'and then I proceeded to kill an awful lot of people.'

'You killed the people who murdered us?' Danielle asked. She didn't sound particularly excited at the prospect of this, but didn't seem to disapprove of it, either.

'Amongst others,' I told her.

She pulled a chair out from the table. 'Sit.'

I did as I was told.

'Tell me everything,' she demanded. 'Everything that happened after I died - everything that you know and I don't.'

'That will take a very long time.'

'We've got as long as we need.'

-x-

So, I told her. I told her about Keamy and the freighter explosion, about moving the island and finding myself exiled, about using Sayid Jarrah to help me with my off-island vengeance spree, about my hunt for Widmore's daughter. Danielle's expression remained impassive in the main, although she seemed to be relieved that I hadn't shot Penelope Hume, and that the gunshot wound I'd inflicted on her innocent husband hadn't been fatal. I continued with my tale, telling her about the Ajira flight and the Smoke Monster's use of Alex and John Locke's forms in order to manipulate me. I told her about Jacob, and that final life I had taken – that of Charles Widmore. After I had finished, she sat back in her chair, contemplating my story.

'You weren't joking when you said you'd killed a lot of people, were you?'

I shook my head.

'I mean – Jacob. Wasn't he the closest you people had to a god? I don't even know what the term is for killing a god…'

'Jacob wasn't a god. He was just a man. A very powerful man, but a man, nonetheless. I'm still very sorry about killing him, though.'

'But you killed all those people… for us?'

'No, Danielle. I killed all those people for me.'

'I'm not sure I wouldn't have done the same, if it had been me who'd lived to see Alex die,' admitted Danielle. 'I imagine it wouldn't have been nearly on the same scale as you, but still.'

'You're taking this all remarkably well, I must say,' I noted. 'I expected you to be angrier than this.'

'Yes,' Danielle agreed. 'That is strange. Stranger still is that I have the strongest feeling that I can trust what you say is true – as strong as the instinct I had in life not to trust you.'

'I'm glad,' I told her. 'Because I don't want you to doubt what I said earlier – what I said about the way I feel about you.'

She took my hand. 'Stay with us.'

'I'd love that.' I paused. 'Are you sure you're OK?'

'Of course.'

'I'd hate for you to feel you have to repress any anger. Not just for your sake - I've been on the receiving end of your pent-up rage before…'

'You're quite safe. I must have left my crossbow behind in this life. I could punch you in the kidneys if it would make you feel better, or pull your hair – I know you enjoy that.'

I laughed a little. I hadn't realised how late it was – we must have been talking all afternoon, because it was at that moment that Alex came in from school. I got to my feet, instinctively. There was something wrong about her expression.

'Alex,' Danielle greeted her with a smile. 'We've got some very happy news…' She trailed off, noting the same odd look in Alex's eye that I had. 'What's wrong?'

'I don't know,' Alex replied, focussing on me. 'I thought perhaps you might be able to tell me.'

'What?' I asked.

'Are you in some sort of trouble, Ben?'

'Not that I'm aware of. Why?'

'Some of the guys were saying there'd been a man hanging around outside the school, asking the students questions… asking about you, Ben.'

I exchanged a glance with Danielle. 'Did he approach you?'

Alex shook her head. 'I didn't even see him. But my friend said that this creep had a British accent, and you said that's what the guy who beat you up and ran down that poor disabled guy sounded like, so…'

'You don't have to worry about that man any more, Alex,' I told her. 'He had… issues. He turned himself in. He's gone, now. This must be a different person.'

'So there's two people out to get you, now…'

'Nobody's out to get me,' I soothed. 'Maybe it's somebody from the Insurance company. Maybe the university is finally headhunting me. Nobody's out to get me. But maybe it would be wisest if somebody asking after me didn't know right now that I'm living in sin with my favourite student's mother.'

Alex's expression brightened. 'I'm your favourite? Wait – you're moving in?'

Like I say, I'm a pathological liar. It's in my veins. Maybe I'll never be able to quit lying completely. In my defence in this case, it was meant as a white lie. There was no reason to worry Alex that Charles Widmore was stalking me in the afterlife, to the point of finding my workplace – her school. There was nothing she could do about it. I was still wondering what I could do about it, although one thing was paramount – I'd keep Alex and her mother safe this time. I intended for my feud with Widmore to affect Alex as little as possible this time around. As is my way, I smiled at her and buried the lie beneath a truth.

'Yes. I'll be staying with you.'

Alex beamed, and hugged me. 'For good?'

'I hope so.'

It had been so long since I'd had my arms around her; so long since she'd pressed her head against my shoulder and made me feel needed. As I felt the happy glow that holding her had always brought me, I wondered if it was Alex's day to remember too.

She pulled out of the hug. 'Ben?'

'Yes, Alex?'

'Do I smell lasagne?'

-x-