"Nothing, Jack, I'm sorry."
Amy sat at the kitchen table in the hatch, head in her hands. Jack paced beside her and Locke stood, leaning against the door to the armory.
"He must've said something, anything..." Jack ran his hands through his short hair and sighed irritably.
Amy turned to face him and offered him an apologetic look.
"Jack, I wish I could tell you differently but he's sticking to his story. Maybe it's because he's telling the truth."
She wasn't going to tell them. She'd decided it was best. Selfish, stupid, but best. She couldn't tell him, because she'd have to explain. And she'd spent her whole life dodging explaining, so she wasn't about to give up now. Why should they believe her, anyway? And what was there to tell – yes, he wasn't telling the truth but she had never sensed any danger about him. There was something in the man's eyes, something that intrigued her. But nothing that frightened her, nothing that made her feel unsafe. She couldn't explain it.
"What if he is an Other?" Locke spoke now, in a low voice. "What will we do then, Jack? You can't keep him there forever."
Jack turned on his heel and marched up to the older man. A fleeting anger danced across his face. "I know, John, I know! But we—"
Amy stood and moved towards the two men. "We can wait."
"Can we?" Locke looked doubtful. "If he's an Other, the longer we have him, the more suspicious his people will get, the more likely—"
"His people? Anyone who's on this island and didn't come on the plane is an Other, John. It's not unreasonable that he's telling the truth and he's alone."
"He did seem pretty convincing. We should keep him talking, though." Jack ran a hand over his chin, eyes fixed on the armory door. He looked tired.
Amy looked between the two men, then back to the armory door. "Is that it, then? We wait. Talk to him, see what he says. But we wait." Both Jack and Locke nodded. Amy smiled tiredly, and rubbed her eyes. "Well, if that's sorted I'm going to bed."
Jack turned to Locke, who volunteered to stay on watch. Jack muttered something about the beach and exited.
"Goodnight, John."
Locke settled himself at the computer desk and smiled kindly at her. "Night, Amy."
Amy lay in bed, doodling around her latest journal entry in the semi-darkness. She'd tried to explain the... vividness of her latest flash. The one with the girl, the doll. She touched Henry and the strength of vision... well, that was new. She underlined the entry then snapped the book closed. Henry. She had to speak to him again.
Carefully, she threw back the covers from her cot. Slipping out of bed, she rummaged around in a cupboard and took out a few items, folding them over her arm. The alarm had gone off ten minutes ago, and she'd heard John moving to correct it. Standing at the door now, she could hear his slow, steady breathing. So... asleep, or dozing. Close enough. Barefoot, she crept over to the armory door. It took her a minute to remember the new combination, but she dialled it in quickly. The door clicked loudly, and she held her breath.
Nothing. John moved slightly in his chair, but otherwise nothing. She breathed out slowly. As quietly as she could, she slid the door open and slipped inside, gently closing it behind her.
Henry was lying on the cot when she entered, a blanket pulled up to his chest, but his eyes flickered open as she sat with her back against the wall.
"No gun this time?" His voice was quiet. He turned his head to face her, hands resting on his chest. His blue eyes were calm, at peace. She frowned. How did he...? "You didn't click when you sat down." He raised his eyebrows. "I must admit I'm grateful, if not a little flattered."
She smiled, a little ruefully, and shook her head. "I told you I'm not scared of you."
The corner of his mouth twitched too. "Well, evidently, otherwise you wouldn't have sneaked in here without checking in at the front desk." The twitch pushed into a full smile, before an interested frown creased his brow. "Why was that, do you think?"
curiosity, confusion.
interest.
Eyes still focussed on her, he sat up stiffly, one hand supporting his shoulder. He pushed the blanket down with one hand, rolling it to his feet. The orange t-shirt he wore was still ripped and filthy, and she reached out to him, handing him the clothes she'd brought.
"Thought you could use these," she offered, ignoring his question. He took them from her, unfolding them, and eyed them appreciatively. In a few practised movements, he folded them neatly, laying the clean shirts on the cot.
"Thank you, Amy. I appreciate it." He set the clothes beside him, and swung his legs off the bed so he was facing her. Still sitting, Amy was aware of the imbalance of power between them – he, the prisoner, looking down at her. He seemed to realise this too.
"Could you stand up a moment, please?"
She did so, watching him carefully. He retrieved the blanket from his cot and, wincing as he moved his shoulder, spread it on the floor. One hand on the cot, he awkwardly lowered himself to the floor, and beckoned her to do the same. She stood her ground, and noticed how her hesitation seemed to displease him.
"Amy, please. Humor me." He sighed. "You'll catch your death standing barefoot on stone floors." Genuine concern was in his tone, and she moved to sit in front of him. "And I thought you weren't scared of me?"
"You surprised me." She admitted, curling her cold feet underneath her. Her fingers played with the hem of her thin sweater, and she nervously met his gaze.
He raised an eyebrow, leaning back against the cot, breaking their eye contact. "With common courtesy? It's a pity it seems such an unfamiliar concept. If we were in my house, I'd be a lot more courteous."
"You have a house?" Amy could not contain her surprise, and an element of excitement rose unbidden. She leaned towards him, trying to catch his gaze. "What's it like? Do you all have houses?"
He leaned forward, eyes unreadable. "You tell me." She was silent, and he leaned his head back again. "In any case, it was you who surprised me." He mused quietly. "Tell me, what did you come for? You wouldn't have to go behind both of your friends' backs just to bring me clean clothes."
"I'm not going behind anybody's back." Her reply was too quick, too defensive and she immediately kicked herself for it.
"The stealthy nature of your visit suggests otherwise." He countered levelly. She hung her head, and he did not press the matter. "So what did you come for?"
"Your honesty." She replied, after a moment's hesitation. "Will you tell me your name, at least?"
He snapped his head forward, and his eyes were playful now. "Do you think if you name me I'll disappear, like Rumpelstiltskin?"
She allowed herself a grin at that, and then shrugged. "I just... think if I name you, I could... maybe understand you. I'd have something concrete, at least. If I had your name I'd have something to hold."
He did not reply for a moment, but when he did his voice was serious. "Can we speak frankly, Amy?" At her nod, he hunched his shoulders, hands clasped between his crossed legs, and kept her gaze. "You appear to know things that are, to put it bluntly, impossible for you to know. I have been candid with you, at least as candid as this prisoner-captor charade allows me." He laid his hands flat on the blanket before Amy. "I propose a different arrangement, Amy."
"I'm listening."
"An exchange of information." He tilted his head to the side. "You tell me things, and I'll tell you what you want to know."
"Quid pro quo—" she couldn't hold back a smile, "—doctor?"
He raised his eyebrows and dipped his chin, the smile in his eyes. "All of the irony in our current parallel aside, it is as good a way as any to begin. Well?"
"Quid pro quo." She repeated, nodding. She did not offer her hand to shake, fearing another flash. She could tell him if he asked. "Ask away."
Henry eyed Amy for a moment, before taking a deep breath. "Forgive me for being so patently obvious with my first question, but I want to know how you know... everything."
Amy looked to the floor. How could she even begin to explain? She sighed, and her fingers occupied themselves twisting the hem of her sweater.
"Does it scare you?" she wasn't sure where the question came from, not entirely. Even Henry looked surprised. Neither of them said anything for a few moments, him thinking.
"Yes." He said eventually. "Yes, it scares me. Two days before you crashed on the island, I discovered I had a fatal tumor on my spine, and two minutes after I met you... you knew. That scares me."
Amy looked at him, and for a fleeting moment saw the emotion in his eyes. Normally guarded, now bare and expressive. He was scared.
"I'm sorry, I truly am." And she was. For reasons she could not identify, not fully, it frightened her – upset her even. "And you know what – it scares me too." She made an effort to answer his question. "Look, I'm not sure how to tell you. I'm not even sure why I'm telling you. Just..." She passed a hand over her face, frustrated at her lack of articulation. "Maybe I can show you."
She reached a hand out to him, palm upraised. "Touch me." His blue eyes met hers, confused. "Touch my hand," she insisted.
Henry, his eyes wide, tentatively touched his hand to hers, and she curled her fingers around his, feeling their warmth, the rough edge of his skin. They locked eyes, and Amy's mind whirled with a thousand thoughts. Fully focussing her energies on him, she found she could in some small way direct what she was looking for.
Trees – a wood, birth- yet loss...
The submarine.
Bitterness.
The smell of alcohol.
No sense of belonging.
Destruction, destruction.
Loneliness, such loneliness.
Amy gasped and took his hand in both of hers. Her eyes shut, she concentrated fully on him, this leader, this man. The intensity of the flash frightened her, and began to overwhelm her. Only fleeting thoughts could be picked from the storm of her vision.
Something else... something...
Hope.
His name. His name.
With a small cry, Amy collapsed on the blanket, her eyes closed.
"AMY!" Henry dropped her hands and knelt at her side, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. "Amy?" Panicked, he brushed her hair from her face and checked her breathing. He cradled her head in his arm, and patted her cheek anxiously, trying to wake her. "Come on, Amy, come on."
There was a commotion outside the door. Henry could hear Jack shouting something, and Locke's calming voice. He raised his voice as he heard the combination being turned.
"Guys? Amy's just… guys? A little help, huh?"
The woman in his arms stirred, and he looked down to her opening her eyes. She stared up at him, confused for a moment, and then she opened her mouth to speak. The door burst open and Jack ran into the room with a gun to find Amy lying curled in the arm of their prisoner.
"Amy! What the hell's going on? What did he do to you?" He dropped to his knees and pushed Henry away, supporting her to her feet. Locke stood in the doorway, ready to help.
"I…" She grasped her head and almost buckled as her legs weakened. Jack, moving forward, caught her quickly, lowered her to sit on the cot. "Ahhh…"
"What did you do?" barked Jack, pointing his gun at Henry with his free hand. Still sitting, Henry shuffled backward until he was against the wall, and then he raised his hands.
"Nothing, I swear… She… She just— I mean, it was..." He was gabbling, eyes darting to Amy, worried.
"Jack, no." Amy collected herself enough to defend Henry. She put a hand on his gun arm. "No, Jack, no. He didn't do anything. We were talking. I think I blacked out."
"What were you doing in here?" He did not lower his gun, or take his eyes from the prisoner.
"Talking. We were talking, Jack. Please." Jack turned to look at her, but seemed to not want to pursue the matter. She stood, accepting his hand to steady herself.
"You should put some socks on," Locke commented at the door of the armory, standing back to let them pass. "You'll catch your death on these floors, Amy."
Amy looked behind her, and tried not to grin as Henry's lips quirked into a small smile as Locke echoed his earlier words.
"Thank you." She said quietly, meaningfully.
Before the door closed Amy saw Henry nod once, a quiet smile in his blue eyes.
A/N: Another chapter? So soon? Who is this author and what have they done with ReaderFOUR?
I do hope to be uploading more often, now that it's getting increasingly juicy. So I hope you all had a great New Year, consider this your gift to welcome you into 2011.
Aaand I couldn't resist the Lecter reference. Forgive me.
And I know every fanfic author out there says it, but reviews really do help me upload faster. Maybe because I feel guilty that sometimes you say nice things and I'm not writing anything... so if you want more, GUILT ME! Read and review! It's the only way! Exclamation!
... and thanks to all of you that have stayed with the story so long. It means the world to me.