DISCLAIMER:
I do not own LOST or any of its affiliated characters, settings... and the rest of it. I had to sell it because of the Credit Crunch, when I found out that "Credit Crunch" isn't just the name of a new cereal. True story. Fact is, LOST ain't mine – got it? Amy is my creation... like Frankenstein, only without the bolts and suchlike.
[In places, the dialogue is canon (from 'One of Them' [2:14] the glorious episode in which Michael Emerson got LOST for the first time), and therefore belongs to the brilliant writers of LOST, and I take no credit for it.]
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Thank you lovely reviewers!
Chapter 4, in which there is more Henry Gale, or Benjamin/Ben Linus, or Ben Gale, or Henry Linus, or Benry, or Benryjamin, or Henjamin, or Yoda, or Captain Bunny-Killer, or "that guy played by that guy out of Saw, you know, the one that played that Zep guy, with the creepy eyes", or the-artist-soon-to-be-formerly-known-as-Henry-Gale, or... whatever your moniker of choice is for that (rather delicious) man. So yes, it has him in it, as promised.
Amy could hear Jack moving around in the kitchen area when she woke. John was speaking to him in a low voice, but Amy failed to catch the words.
Throwing her legs out of the cot, she reached for her backpack. A quick fumble through its contents let her confirm she'd taken everything, and she pulled out her journal. Crossing her legs beneath her, she scrawled a few lines into a fresh page, trying to get down what she'd seen minutes before waking.
The plane crash, from a different angle, above a village...
Surprise, shock, plans.
She lingered over the last word. It had been particularly emphatic. After drawing a ring around it with her marker, she closed the journal and returned it to her backpack. Amy changed quickly into the clothes she'd worn yesterday and folded the blanket neatly. She heard Jack's voice growing louder with temper, and decided she'd better intervene.
"Hey guys," she said as breezily as she could manage, appearing in the doorway. "What's up?"
Both men turned at the sound of her voice, and fell silent. John excused himself quickly, and headed off to the computer, but offered her a warm smile and a nod as he passed. Jack still looked angry, his eyes staring at Locke's retreating back, but grit his teeth and gestured towards the kitchen area.
"Want some breakfast, Amy?"
She smiled at him, and settled down on one of the stools. "What's the time?"
Jack moved across to the cupboards and brought out a box of DHARMA cereal. "Lunchtime."
"Ah." Amy felt her stomach turn; not long to go now, she reminded herself. "I'll just have a bowl of, uh, DHARMA flakes then."
Jack grinned at her as he rummaged in the cupboards for a bowl. "So, how'd you sleep?"
She watched as he set the bowl down and proceeded to shake cereal into it. He looked up and met her gaze, eyebrows raised.
"Oh, er... okay, really." He brought out a sachet of powdered milk and began to prepare it. Amy watched uninterestedly, her thoughts elsewhere.
"And your head?" he asked over his shoulder. "Is it feeling any better?"
Amy answered that it hadn't been too bad, and allowed him to present her with the cereal, which she ate slowly. They talked together about the island, and the crash. Nothing important was said or asked. Amy felt the minutes ticking away in what would have been a comfortable conversation had she not known what the minutes were ticking down to.
Her mind wandered during the conversation, but not far enough to blank Jack's words out completely. She smiled in the right places, laughed a time or two and gave the appropriate responses. All the while though, her heart raced and her mouth felt dry despite the milk. If Jack noticed her discomfort, he chose either not to mention it or put it down to her migraines. She kept finding her mind returned to the same thing, repeatedly. Henry. There had been something... strange about him... something different. She felt almost sure he wasn't who he said he was, but that left a big problem – who exactly was he?
"So," came Jack's voice, startling her from her thoughts of the man in the net. "I don't think I've actually asked you yet - why were you on the plane?"
Amy went cold. So here it was, she had to lie again. Lie for her safety, lie for her acceptance into this society on the island. "I... er... I was visiting a friend," she said, possibly a little too quickly. "They were ill."
Jack nodded, and then looked at his feet. Entirely unasked, he continued the conversation. "I was taking my father's body."
Amy felt a twinge in her head.
The smell of alcohol.
A bitter father-son relationship.
"I'm sorry, Jack. I didn't know..." she let the apology trail off, selfishly feeling thankful that his distress meant he had not seen her wince.
"No, no, it's fine Amy." He looked up then, and picked up her empty bowl. He set it in the sink and leaned back against the counter.
"So, d'you mind taking a shift just now? I kinda want to get outside, go down to the beach."
Amy stood too, and shook her head. "That sounds fine Jack, just go. I can press a few numbers in every so often, I'm sure."
Jack nodded his thanks and walked towards the door. He turned, one hand on the doorway, "And that's 4, 8, 15—"
"16, 23, 42," she completed smiling. She pointed to the monitor, where a piece of paper had been taped to the corner, and raised her eyebrows. "John's put a copy of them there."
Jack nodded. "I'll be back soon."
Settling herself in the chair in front of the computer, Amy waved, and her worried wait commenced.
Amy was jerked out of a doze with the arrival of Sayid and Henry. Henry. When Sayid hurried in with the spluttering man on his back, he totally failed to notice Amy sitting at the computer desk. Ignoring her completely, he dumped Henry Gale down unceremoniously beside a cabinet and crept towards the cots to wake John. Amy hurried over to Henry, her stomach turning unsettlingly, and knelt next to his shaking body. He was filthy now, covered in dirt and blood. He was clearly in pain, reflexively curling into a fetal position on the floor.
"Hey, hey, hey," she whispered, carefully taking his shoulders in her hands and moving him into a sitting position, leaning against the cabinet, "Just relax, okay?" His blue eyes widened at the sight of her and he opened his mouth to speak. She shook her head jerkily, and saw his gaze flicker towards where Sayid had headed.
"Get away from him!"
Sayid's angry voice cut through her thoughts and she turned to look at him. She hadn't really spoken much to Sayid, despite being stranded together for eight weeks. He ran over to Amy, Locke following. Quickly, Amy stood and held her hands up calmly, turning to face Sayid.
"Sayid, the man's hurt, whoever he is," she tried to reason with him. "Look, we have to stop the bleeding... Jack..."
"No!" he barked, "He's one of them." Henry looked up in fear, but not before directing a glance towards Amy that she pretended not to notice. Sayid fixed her with a glare and knelt. Amy dropped to her knees and looked at the arrow protruding from Henry's shoulder. He looked up at her, eyes full of pain and fear – emotions she could tell were genuine. She rested a hand on his injured shoulder gently and tried to examine the wound.
Sayid pulled on his other arm painfully and met his gaze threateningly. "Who are you?" he hissed, his face close to Henry's.
"Henry," he gabbled nervously, "Henry Gale." His face contorted into a mask of pain as he tried to draw his eyes away from the arrow. "Ahh, my back."
John stood beside them, his arms crossed. "Sayid, maybe we should let Jack—"
Ignoring him, Sayid met Henry's eyes. "We're going to take it out, but first I want you to relax." Amy rolled her eyes, a gesture that went unnoticed by Sayid. He glared at Henry, who cringed at the attention. "How did you get to this island?"
"Four months ago," he muttered between gritted teeth, "We crashed, my wife and I." His eyes flickered towards his shoulder, then to all of their faces, and his voice dropped. "Please, please," his face was screwed up, and he seemed close to weeping. Amy felt a sharp twinge in her head.
The submarine.
A sense of years, not months.
Liar.
"Crashed in what?" asked Sayid quickly.
Amy kept her head down, and focused on the injured man. She knew that Henry was not telling the truth, though the story was what he had told her. Trying not to think about this, she noticed she could see the sweat on his brow, and she unthinkingly wiped at it, and held her hand across it for a moment. His skin was hot against hers, with fear and probably the tension of his injury. He looked up at her, eyes wide with shock, and flinched as Sayid jerked at his arm again. The Iraqi's dark eyes were narrowed, and Amy met them angrily, her fingers lightly curling into Henry's shoulder. "Sayid, we need to get Jack. He's hurt, you can question him later."
Henry looked at her thankfully, but Sayid was having none of it. He repeated his question, louder, more forcefully.
"Crashed in what?"
Henry hung his head, face screwed up in pain. "A balloon. We were trying to cross the Pacific."
"Your wife, where is she?" demanded Sayid roughly.
This time, Henry met his eyes and tried to keep his voice steady. "She died. She got – she got sick three weeks ago. We were staying in a cave off the beach." He looked at his shoulder again; seemingly unable to take his eyes off it, or comprehend his predicament. "Ah, my shoulder." Sayid's face showed no pity or compassion, and he looked to John pleadingly. "At least untie my arms!"
"What the hell's going on here?" Amy's head snapped up at the sound of Jack's voice, and she looked to the door. The doctor ran towards the trio on the floor, and frowned at the injured man.
"Jack, thank God."
Sayid looked up calmly, and watched Jack as he rushed to Henry's side. "Rousseau trapped him in the jungle. She believes he's an Other."
Amy rested a comforting hand on Henry's uninjured shoulder as he looked at Jack, confused. His eyes flickered to hers, and again she saw that suggestion of knowledge beyond theirs, intelligence that seemed quite unexpected from him. Was he an Other? Amy searched his face for a clue but the guard was up again and she could read nothing in his expression but genuine pain.
"An other what?"
Ignoring the man's question, Jack's eyes focused on the arrow, and he tried to examine it.
"You shot him with an arrow?"
Sayid, standing now, spread his hands and replied lightly, "Do I have a bow?"
Amy felt Henry slump to the side, and she caught him gently. Jack's attention turned back to her: "Amy, you got him?"
At her affirmation, he gripped Henry by the shoulder and helped him drink some water. "Hey, hey, you with me?"
Amy held the injured man gently, thankful that he had given nothing away. Not that he was in any fit state to, but he had kept his mouth shut. Jack, still focused on the wound, threw a scathing glance over towards Sayid.
"What, you were just going to let him bleed to death?"
"I was trying to get honest answers while he was able to give them. And his wound is far from life threatening," answered Sayid coolly. Amy glared at him, her arm still wrapped around Henry protectively.
"We should let Jack treat him first, then we'll get our answers." John's voice was quiet, reasoning. Sayid fixed Jack with an intense glare.
"Jack, do not untie him."
Jack looked up at Sayid, about to argue, but Henry gave a groan of pain and writhed in Amy's grip.
His face still angry, Sayid marched off with Locke. Amy shushed the man in her grip, as he let out another quiet moan of pain, and turned to Jack. He was regarding her with a thoughtful look.
"What do you think?"
"I think, Jack," answered Amy quietly, "We should get the arrow out."
"Hold him there, Amy," Jack glanced up at her as she looped her arm around the back of his shoulders, carefully avoiding the arrow. "Tightly."
Amy pressed Henry closer to her, and he groaned in pain. "Sorry," she whispered to him, as Jack moved away to get things to help. "Sorry."
"You knew," came the cracked reply. It was not a question, but a statement; he had realized she had known he would be shot. Her silence confirmed it. She felt him shaking his head as Jack returned with a set of pliers and rolls of bandages.
"You got him?"
Amy nodded, and Jack knelt down in front of Henry, meeting his gaze. "I'm going to get this out, okay? You have to stay still." He deftly ripped the man's orange shirt, uncovering the wound. Blood had crusted around the edge of the arrow and dry flakes stuck to his heaving chest.
Henry whimpered pitifully as Jack raised the pliers to the arrow. He tightened the shaft of the arrow in the jaws of the implement and pulled the handles together. A dull crack made both Henry and Amy flinch. Looking up, she saw Locke and Sayid carefully watching the three of them.
"We've got an audience," she murmured, causing Jack to look over his shoulder.
"Yeah, well, they can watch all they want."
Amy frowned, a niggling feeling creeping over her. "They're planning something, Jack. I'd watch your back."
"Amy," he replied testily, "There's only one back I'm concerned with at the moment." He had tightened the pliers around the shaft again, and was waiting for her. She, in turn, tightened her grip on Henry, but was watching Sayid and Locke over Jack's shoulder.
With a defeated whine from Henry, Jack pulled the arrow from his shoulder and then pressed gauze to the wound. Henry's breathing was harsh and rasping, and Jack helped Amy lower him to the floor carefully. Amy watched Jack check Henry over, making sure everything else was okay, and was struck by a strange sensation.
Not quite déjà-vu, but more a sense of... déjà-vu in reverse. She wasn't thinking of the incident as something that was a repeat, but something that would be repeated. Her head hurt badly, and she gripped a hand to it.
Jack, operating on this man again.
Dressed in doctor's scrubs, using sophisticated implements.
A sense of future, but not too distant.
She opened her eyes to see Jack leaning over Henry and checking his breathing. Glancing up, she saw Sayid regarding her suspiciously. Locke was nowhere to be seen. Moving forwards, but feeling strangely lethargic, she started to tidy away the bandages and broken bits of arrow. Just as she reached for the pliers, Sayid's shadow fell over her. She looked up.
"Did he say anything while...?"
Jack looked up, almost angrily, and fixed Sayid with a hard stare. "No, he didn't. He was in shock."
Locke entered the room, and Amy felt her head twinge.
Plans.
She looked from Sayid to John, and then shook her head.
"We should put him in the armory, Jack." Sayid's voice was careful – not so much a suggestion but an order.
"...put you in the armory," muttered Amy under her breath.
Sayid glared at her, and Locke cut in. "He's right. We can't just leave him laying here, Jack. If people see him it'll create a panic."
Jack looked at Amy, who shrugged. He turned back to the two men standing above him and nodded resignedly.
"It'll do. For now."
All three men stood, and began to lift Henry. Amy followed carefully, supporting his head. When they reached the armory, they set him carefully down on the floor. Jack stood and then looked to the sleeping quarters of the hatch.
"We can pull that cot in here." He said thoughtfully. "He shouldn't be on his back."
"Good idea," answered Locke. Sayid watched them move away, and then turned his attention to Amy who knelt on the floor next to Henry's prone body, trying to make him more comfortable. She rolled him onto his side, trying to replicate the recovery position. His breathing was harsh, shallow, but his heartbeat was slow and regular; he was simply in shock from the wound.
"Amy," Sayid's voice was low, and held a hint of warning. She looked up from Henry and raised her eyebrows at him. "Get out."
She opened her mouth to argue when he grabbed her by the collar and practically threw her out of the room. The door slammed shut behind her.
"No," she scrambled to her feet and rushed to the door, Jack following.
"Sayid, hey, what the hell are you doing?" shouted Jack, "Sayid! Sayid! Answer me!"
"Sayid!" Amy joined in, and watched as Jack starting twisting the dial of the combination. First to the left, then to the right, and back left again. He moved to open the door but it was stuck. Frowning, he quickly turned the dial again, repeating the combination; again, the door remained stubbornly stuck. Jack thumped his weight against the door, defeated. A sharp pain cut through Amy's head as he did so, and she leaned heavily against the door.
Conflict, information, pain.
Torture.
The sudden revelation frightened her. He was going to hurt Henry, torture him for information. She turned to Jack, slumped against the door.
"Jack, Jack, we have to get him out of there."
The doctor rounded on her, arms flying out to his sides in exasperation. "What the hell, just what the hell do you think I'm trying to do, Amy?" he growled.
Ignoring Jack's outburst, she turned her attention back to the door. "He's gonna hurt him," she said quietly, "He's gonna hurt him."
Her fear turned to anger, and she thumped herself against the door, hurting herself but not caring. "SAYID, don't you dare touch him!"
"This has to happen. We have to let Sayid do this."
Locke's quiet voice surprised them both, and Jack whipped round and stared angrily at him.
"You changed it, John. Why would you change it?"
"Jack," Locke's eyes flickered to Amy's, equally angry expression. "Amy, this is what has to happen."
Yeah, John, thought Amy, you know what's going to happen.
"Open it, John." Jack was trying to sound composed, cool, collected.
"No," Locke's voice was exactly what Jack's had failed to sound like. He nodded once at both of them and walked away from the two of them.
Amy stared after him, at a loss for words. Jack turned back to her, and they stared at each other in the silent hatch. There was no noise from the armory. Abruptly, Jack turned from her and stared at the bloody floor.
"We should clear up. C'mon."
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Blah. I'm sorry, I suck.
That wasn't at all what I promised. Although a little birdie (my muse) tells me there's going to be more Ben/Amy interaction in the next chapter.
Wow this is late. Like, a year…? And LOST is over and stuff but this story isn't! I'm moving the story on really slowly, I think; but it sort of needs to be like that because Ben isn't the most trusting man ever, and there needs to be time for development. But don't worry, I'm not waiting too long – this story is brought to you by a Ben fanatic and we all know he needs some lovin', sooner rather than later.
Anyway, read and review, people.
Apologies in advance for any spelling mistakes; spell-check has deserted me for some reason, and I have to use the shriveled little organ in my skull.