"You got the pliers there, Amy?"
Jack's voice cut through her thoughts. She turned away from the door, and looked down at her feet for the tool.
"Uh, no, don't think so. Sorry."
Jack stood, the blood-soaked rags in his hands. He opened his mouth to speak, but paused, hearing shouts from the armory. Rushing towards the door, Jack let out a frustrated sigh and looked at Amy.
"Crap. He's got them in there, doesn't he?" Not expecting an answer, he turned and hammered on the door.
Torture.
"Sayid!"
"Jack, leave it." Jack whirled around to find John standing behind him. He grabbed at the man's collar and pressed him firmly against the wall.
"Open it, John."
"Jack, this has to happen. Amy—"
His sentence was cut off by the timer starting to beep loudly. John turned his eyes to Jack, who stared but with no sign of moving.
"Amy," John's voice was only just kept from wavering, "Amy, get the button."
"No." she answered calmly, moving to stand beside Jack. Crossing her arms, she smiled fleetingly at John. "Give us the combination." His eyes darted between Jack and Amy, as if trying to verify the truth of their words.
"You wouldn't…" he breathed loudly, seeing no sign of them giving in. "You would risk all their lives…"
"The combination, John." Jack growled. "I don't give a damn about the button. It's yours now; you push it."
"Amy…" For a moment, John Locke just looked like a tired old man, pleading in vain. "Amy, you wouldn't – you can't…"
"I can, and I will, John."
Flickering numbers
click, click
Hieroglyphics?
The timer beeping more insistently now, reaching under a minute. The intensified alarm seemed to break something within the man.
"Okay, left fifty-four…"
Jack shoved him towards the door.
"You do it."
Shooting an anxious look towards the computer, he hurriedly turned the dial with the correct combination before darting off to end the beeping.
Jack wrenched open the door and grabbed Sayid. Henry was sobbing on the floor, covered in blood and dirt. Amy rushed to help Jack with Sayid, and saw the state of Henry.
"Haven't you ever heard of the Geneva Convention, Sayid?" she shouted at the Iraqi as he struggled in her and Jack's combined grip.
"He's a prisoner, Sayid, not a punch-bag!"
Sayid shouted something unintelligible as he was hoisted out of the room. Then, regaining his composure: "He's lying!"
Henry's wide eyes darted to Amy, and again she saw that flash of knowledge beyond their own before Jack pushed the door shut.
"I don't think that's a good idea."
Jack sighed exasperatedly, his back to Amy. "Not a good idea, Amy? So we just leave him there, filthy?"
He stood over the sink, filling a small bowl with warm water. He dropped a rag into it with a small splash. Bandages sat on the drainer, and he gathered these into his hands along with the newly-filled bowl before turning to face Amy.
"No, that's not what I'm saying." Amy stood at the desk, her hand on the back of the chair Locke sat on. "What I mean is, why don't I go in?"
Locke turned to face her, his brow furrowed. He and Jack exchanged a glance.
"No, really, think about it. I'm the least threatening." She shrugged and spread her hands wide. "And we want him to talk, right?" Locke nodded, eyes thoughtful now, and Amy looked hopefully to Jack. "After Sayid's beat him up, I don't think he wants to see someone threatening. If I go in, it should be less hard to put him at ease."
"You can't argue with that, Jack." Locke stood from the desk and looked at the armory door. "If you – we – want him to talk now…"
Jack seemed to be weighing the matter in his mind. Finally, he reached his arm out, offering his supplies. "Here, take them. Clean the cuts as best you can and make sure the dressing is still on his wound."
"Thanks, Jack." She carefully took the bowl from his hand and piled the bandages in the crook of her elbow. She motioned to John to get the door.
"Wait, Amy." Jack took the gun from his belt and cocked it before handing it to her. "Take it. Just in case."
She raised her eyebrows at him but accepted the weapon, tucking it in the back of her pants. The combination clicked as John opened the door wide enough to let her through.
"Good luck," he whispered, tapping her on the arm.
I'm not the one that needs it, she thought sadly.
As the door was pushed shut, Amy turned her attentions to the man lying prone on the floor. She dropped the supplies onto the cot, and set the bowl of water at her feet.
"Henry?" she started tentatively, one hand outstretched to him.
"You knew." Again, no question. His raspy voice was flat and without emotion. He turned his face up to her, and she gasped. Now she saw the bruises that were livid on his skin, and she knelt immediately beside him, fingers reaching towards the injuries instinctively.
"Oh god, I'm so sorry… I—"
"Didn't see this coming?" Both on the floor, they looked at each other levelly now. His blue eyes were guarded yet probing, looking deep into her own open, expressive ones.
"Not until…" She stopped, careful, and drew back from him. Why had that slipped? She was usually so careful with her words, so hesitant at imparting knowledge which could be telling of her ability. She steeled her gaze and took a deep breath.
"Henry." She closed her eyes a moment, before looking down at the floor. "That's not your name."
The man's eyes grew wide, innocent, and he opened his mouth to argue. "I think you'll find—"
"… It is not Henry." She cut across him. "Trust me, I know."
"Trust you?" His voice was incredulous. "You're still asking me for that? After your… friend… After this?" He put a hand to his nose, where a deep cut sat over the bridge.
"He's not my friend. As soon as I—I didn't want this to happen to you." She exhaled loudly.
"Look, your name isn't Henry, is it? You…" she held a hand to her head as something flashed across her vision. "You're… you're a leader." She quickly searched his eyes for any reaction, and she caught him frowning slightly, almost imperceptively. "Yeah, that's it. A leader. People answer to you…"
Nothing now. The bruised man sat on the floor in front of her, face betraying nothing. She could see the salt tracks down his face from his tears, and the cut high on his forehead was still sluggishly leaking blood. She leaned closer, pleading with her eyes now.
"Please. Trust me. Trust me as the man with the tumor." He flinched, and began to speak before she cut him off again. "And please don't insult my intelligence by denying that. Again." To his credit, he remained silent. "What's your real name?"
The man regarded her coolly before a small smile crawled across his face. "A rose by any other name…" he quoted softly.
"Shakespeare." She identified, out of habit. Caught off-guard, he chuckled slightly at her speed, blue eyes losing a little of their coldness. "But for the record, you smell nothing like sweet."
"And whose fault is that?" He asked, thin eyebrows high.
She regarded him then, for a time, and he simply stared back, seemingly not uncomfortable with this attention. Finally, Amy reached behind her for the bowl. She took the rag from the water and wrung it out, before holding it for him to see. "Let me clean you up."
The man, the leader, squared his shoulders and titled his head to the left. He spread his arms wide, palms upraised. "Be my guest, Amy."
He was silent then, as she set about cleaning him. His face first, gently rubbing her rag across his bloodied and bruised skin. He hissed loudly as she touched her cloth upon his broken lip, and his hand flew up to catch her wrist. At his touch, something shot through her head.
A birthday, a doll.
A girl. Cherry blossoms.
Innocence.
"Please." He stopped her. His tongue ran out and darted across the break in the skin, tasting the fresh tang of copper. "That's really… It– it hurts."
She pushed away what she had realized was a memory of his, and looked at his hand. He did not hold her tightly, but there was an undeniable strength in his wiry fingers. His grip was hot on her arm and she twisted out of it. "Sorry," she muttered, not meeting his eyes, moving to clean his cut cheekbone. The skin was purple there too, but the grime was shifting. Underneath it lay a scattering of fine stubble, and pale but sweaty skin.
"Amy. Do I… Do I frighten you?" The question was tentative, carefully asked. She looked at him then, his hands resting in his lap now and his shoulders slumped. His eyes were wary, a small frown between his brows.
"No, actually, you don't." She looked into his eyes as she said it and she saw a flash of something – contentment. Relief. She carried on, keeping his gaze. "You can't frighten me, because I don't know who you are. But that frightens me, the not-knowing. That frightens me plenty." After another second, she broke his gaze and continued cleaning.
Henry – or whoever he was – said nothing more for the remainder of her administrations. He did not even hiss if she touched a tender scar, only wince. Amy tried to forget how her skin had tingled as he'd touched it.
When she finished, sitting back on her haunches to admire her efforts, she hesitated before standing. Henry caught the hesitation and looked at her strangely. Something in his eyes, perhaps the tiredness that lay behind them, startled her and a sense of what she'd seen in the net came over her. When she spoke, she held his eyes and felt a sense of sadness wash over her.
"You've been on this island for years."
The man regarded her in silence. His blue eyes were thoughtful and he returned her look levelly and without fear. He reached to her hand and slowly removed the bloodied rag from her fingers, slick with both his blood and the water. Not breaking eye contact, he dropped the dirty scrap of cloth into the reddened water of the bowl at her feet. He handed it to her then, lifting it in both hands and offered with it, in a whisper, his first fragment of truth.
"I know."
A/N: DUN DUN DUN. Ben just told the truth? What is this coming to?
Hopefully the next chapter won't be so long in production. Found myself watching the Dr. Linus episode of series six today and I got the writing bug again, so this is the result. Think of it as a late Christmas present - hope you all had a great festive time and if I don't see you until then, I wish you the best for New Year also. Maybe 2011 will be a good year for "To Be Confirmed". :)
Feel free to drop a review and let me know what you think!