We're the good guys, Michael.

title: Remember Babylon? (3)
rating: PG-13 to hard R/NC-17 in later chapters
summary: "She had to grow up sometime". When Charles Widmore attempts an island coup, the only safe place for Alex Linus is far, far away. With Richard Alpert overseeing her safety, everything should have been fine, but nothing Ben wants ever works out precisely as he had planned, and even for Richard, things do not stay entirely the same. Alex/Richard romance, along with a few other pairings, island history and Richard back-story. AU, utterly.
pairings: Richard/Alex mainly, mentions of several others, particularly rare pairings
author's note: Inspired by any number of Godless things, among them possessiveness and Nabokov, fickle weather, Oscar Wilde, Radiohead, world history and the Marquis de Sade.
author's note for this chapter: Yes, “Cassidy” is used on purpose. And I’m sorry, because this was a hard chapter to write. I hope it doesn’t disappoint too bad.
warnings: semi-graphic sexuality in later chapters, some violence and character deaths
previous: part one part two





“Love is a madness; if thwarted it develops fast.” - Mark Twain

"You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book(Lady Chatterley, for instance), or you take a trip, or you talk with Richard, and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom(when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death." - Anaïs Nin

iii.


Richard no longer has to remind Alex to take her coat when she leaves the hotel room. It is Springtime, and though the breeze is still chilly, the snow is long gone. Nor does he need to stalk her path, following just far enough behind that she does not notice. He does it anyway, of course, somewhat because it is an old habit, a bit out of curiosity and mostly for her protection, though he knows the ruse of hiding in plain sight works wonders on a man like Charles Widmore, who is blunt and arrogant and aggressive, and who, despite Richard's teaching, has no idea of the subtler strategies of the war games he plays.

“Where are you going?” Richard asks every time Alex prepares to head out. In the mid-morning, after breakfast, he rarely stirs from the desk where he sorts through the ever-increasing stack of files and documents, reading the reports. Bank account balances, passports bearing his image and Alex’s alongside different names and nationalities, and stacks of cash occupy the small safe in the closet. He runs his gaze over the printed page inside the latest brief. Only once Alex leaves does he rise from the chair, drain the last sip of the hotel’s excellent French roast and march out the door. It is becoming a daily routine.

“I don’t know yet,” she replies, each and every time the same mild answer. “Out wandering. I‘ll be back in a few hours.”

He smiles, nods, pretends to be distracted by his work. “Be back by dinner,” he says, his usual reply, flat-voiced but friendly enough, feigning busyness. "We need to meet with Jeremy." Or Alice, or Nicolae, or Cassidy, Alex frequently thinks, sarcastic and perturbed. It is always the same.

Homesickness has mostly faded, though she would still rather be back at her usual haunts, perched in the shade beneath heavy palm fronds, strolling the familiar paths or exploding the coastal caves that flood perilously at high tide. She would rather watch the stars and moon rise without thousand neon lights combating them, listening to the absolute still silence of the jungle without the crush of noise even quiet, hurried people make. Part of it is the unfamiliarity, but the main problem is Richard. She cannot deny the crush, slow burning, fuelled by the way Richard's gaze pours over her body, his expression half-captivated when she catches him watching out of the corner of her eye, but that just adds to the frustration. Sometimes, he fixes her with long, curious glances, hot enough to make her blush even as she pretends not to notice, but he rarely speaks to her. Now that she is compliant, he rarely offers to take her out sightseeing, and starts conversations less frequently. She has never had to work to make people pay attention to her before, but Richard, for all interest that crosses his face when he thinks she is preoccupied, will barely even lift his eyes from the files when she speaks to him. She has no way of knowing the reasons, of course, only the truth of it, that he does not seem to notice or care. It is maddening, for a lonesome, hormonal girl.

Alex takes a few ten pound notes from the envelope on the bedside table, puts them in her pocket, pulls on her sweatshirt and is gone with the quiet snick of the closing door. Richard waits three minutes, then four. He puts his hand on the phone on the table, waiting for a call from the front desk, alerting him that Alex has gone out. If Richard were to tell them to rein her in, captured she would be; his people are just that good. But every morning, he lets her go, content to follow behind. He picks up the phone before the first ring is finished. “It’s fine,” he speaks into the mouthpiece, hangs up, and puts on his boots.

Alex is farther away than usual by the time Richard steps outside. She is hurrying down the street with the air of someone who knows exactly where they are going. He follows her at a quick pace, but Alex practically jogs. She pushes past a knot of slow pedestrians, and when the crowd clears, he cannot see her anymore. There are two streets, two opposite directions, as well as straight ahead, into the thoroughfare of food vendors and shady parks and tiny specialty shops.

“Alex...” Richard sighs, worrisome. He strides forward until he comes to the divide, his pace quickening with every second that he does not see her. For a moment, the fear rises despite his outward calm. She is gone.

One of Widmore’s people, he considers. He imagines Alex pulled into a car, and the scene plays out before his mind‘s eye, stunningly rich in imaginative detail. He knows precisely how it is done, a quick kidnapping on a crowded street. He has done it for Ben a dozen times, maybe more, when Johnson quit, when they wanted to interrogate Widmore‘s off-island bit on the side, after Annie left. Alex screaming, clawing the door handles, fighting her captors helplessly. The chloroform-soaked rag pressed against her face. Alex’s limp, unconscious body in the back of a car, driven miles away, out of reach. Richard sees it all. He can picture her waking up in horror, screaming, crying, begging to be let go. He sees her, interrogated under the ruthless methods Widmore employed when he led the island prior to his banishment. Images flash through his mind of Alex, a means to an end, a lure to capture Ben, everything falling apart. He can see her being shot, killed, destroyed in front of Ben. Her death would be a threat to the island, though that is not the sole reason Richard‘s heart pounds as he turns around, looking for any sign. She has begun to grow on him, and he feels the affection rising accompanied by concern. “Alex?”

“Yes?” she inquires slightly sarcastically, stepping out from the shadowy perch of a coffee shop. Unbelievably, she smiles at him, grinning as though amused. “So you do follow me! I thought so -” she starts, but the rest of her words are silenced as Richard grabs her shoulders, yanking her forward. He looks her over as she gapes at him, searching for any injury, any sign of something amiss, and then Richard takes her arm, pulling her back the three blocks to the hotel as fast as he can march her.

“What’s the matter with you?” Alex asks as Richard drags her from the elevator, holding onto her elbow with one hand while unlocking the door with the other. They step inside and Richard closes and locks the door, still not releasing her. Her voice turns hot, temper rising. “Richard? What‘s your problem? I’m fine, you know. I just wanted to see if I was right. A couple days ago, I thought I saw you out of the corner of my eye. Yesterday, I know I saw you, following me to the museum. I didn’t mean to scare -”

His hand over her mouth silences the rest of what Alex intended to say as his dark eyes bore into hers. For a moment, Alex is too shocked to comprehend what is happening, and without thinking she tries to side-step him, but this is Richard, and resistance is useless. His hands close over her upper arms and he pushes her back against the wall, pinning her there, his legs up against hers to block her from moving. He is incredibly strong, more than she realized, and it occurs to Alex that he has been gentle with her always, handling her like something that could break. Never before has she seen a display of the strength that leaves him virtually fearless, a graceful miracle of self-preservation. She cannot move at all.

“Alex,” Richard speaks, in that quietly furious voice that makes even Ben and Widmore shudder. “Do not ever do that again.”

Alex nods, eyes wide as if dealing with someone of questionable sanity as Richard lets go of her. “I know I scared you, but I’m fine, absolutely fine. We’re safe here, remember?” That is not entirely true, but Richard does not bother to correct her. They are safer, in any case. It occurs to her, out of the blue, that Richard is a dangerous person, but that thought is overwhelmed by something stronger, the chrysalis of desire she feels. Watching him warily, feeling the press of his legs against hers, Alex waits. She wipes her mouth on the back of her hand and sees a faint smear of blood where she bit her lip, hard, and looks questioningly at him.

“I’m sorry,” Richard says as he steps back, though that is not entirely true. He is not sorry for frightening her, if that is what it takes to make her understand their predicament.

A faint bruise is beginning to form beneath her bottom lip like a shadow unfurling, mildly purple. Alex’s eyes, violet-blue in this light, look at him in absolute surprise. Richard’s heart pounds, waiting for something of Alex’s famed temper, her icy judgement. It does not come. Instead, she gives him a long, searching look, her eyes full of questions she does not ask. Then, she goes over to her bed, lays down on the covers, and closes her eyes.


...

Richard goes out alone and walks the darkening city in solitude, leaving strict orders that Alex is not to exit the suite. He barely notices the street vendors and scattered knots of pedestrians, not concentrating on the scents of coffee or vinegar that waft from the restaurants. Instead, he considers the press of Alex's body against his own. He had slapped his hand over her mouth, hard, because, had he not, he would have been tempted to kiss her. That untamed defiance, that has ever been a thorn in Ben's side, is deliciously tantalizing to Richard, even though it makes protecting Alex an even more difficult task than he expected. She is a spitfire and he likes it. He is quite aware of how wrong it is to be drawn to her, how much it could interfere with his important work, but no one is entirely immune from temptation.

Streets pass. He finds himself in parts of the city that do not feature in the guidebooks, where the litter underground makes a path for his feet over the rough dirt and rock roads. Magazine pages, warped and hideous, line the street along with chips packets and discarded cans. The people who skulk here are not shoppers but frightening shadows, though Richard does not feel fear, even as he walks dimly lit remains of Whitechapel in the East End, where the ghosts of 1888 linger. No one stops him, or interferes as he passes. Perhaps they sense something that makes them shy away from his soft footfalls, or notice a glint amiss in his dark eyes. That is how it should be.

"I didn't mean to scare you," Alex says, penitent, as Richard steps into the suite. She is stands by the window, her back to him, studying the full moon. Stars scatter, but they are wrong. The constellations are not the same here as the ones back home on the island, the stars she named hand in hand with Karl. “I’m sorry.”

Richard stands by the door. His voice is calm and practical. “You didn‘t scare me, Alex. I was concerned you might get lost.”

Alex shrugs. “Oh. You’re supposed to watch out for me, I get it. I shouldn’t have tried to ditch you.” After a beat, she turns and faces him. “That’s what I was trying to do.”

“You wanted privacy, some time alone,” Richard interprets. “I understand that, Alex.” How could he not, after the temper tantrums she had on the island, demanding to be left to her own devices?

“No, I wanted to get away from you,” Alex corrects him. She crosses the room, goes to him. Her eyes study him, shark-like, emotionless, haughty, with the distant look she uses on Ben. “Just you. Not them.” She waves her hand distantly, encompassing Ben’s collective, his people, who track her. “They’re easy. That woman, the one who you sometimes send to follow me? I’ve gotten away from her twice. Guess she was too cowardly to tell you,“ Alex adds when Richard looks up, startled.

His long-lashed eyes look away from her, his expression just this shade of sorrowful. “I'll contact Mikhail, then. He is in Berlin, with Juliet. You can join them, if you would prefer. We can probably arrange a flight in a few days, if that is what you want.”

She makes a contemptuous sound, lips twisting into a scowl. “You wouldn’t even care, would you? You can’t wait to get rid of me, can you? You can’t wait until I’m somebody else’s responsibility and you‘re done with me. You‘re just like the rest of them.”

“Alex,” Richard says patiently, still not looking at her. “If you will not stay here with me, then I cannot protect you. For your own safety, I need to place you with someone you will cooperate with. If not Juliet, then who? You can go to Jill and Jeremy, if you would rather.”

Alex takes a step closer, until their bodies are almost touching. She touches Richard’s face, observing the fact that he does not push her aside or draw away, and tilts it so he will look at her. “Is that really the only reason you told Ben you would take me? To protect me?”

Richard wets his lips, looking past Alex. His expression does not change, whether he speaks in truths or lies. It is flat, cool, calm. He wants to be that untouchable. There are chinks in the armour, though. “I felt I was the best equipped to watch out for you, Alex. That is all. Your safety is top priority, and Ben did not feel he could trust the others to do the job.”

“Oh,” Alex responds. She shrugs as though it doesn‘t matter, though of course it does. “I thought there might have been another reason.”

“And what would that be?”

“The way you look at me.” She slides one hand over Richard’s chest, able to feel the hammering of his heart against the palm of her hand, and then rakes her fingers through his hair. She observes the fact that he does not lurch away from her touch. “I’m not blind, you know,” she murmurs against his lips, smiling slightly when she feels Richard’s hand against her back, steadying her. She kisses him lightly, then. There are a number of reasons. She is lonely. She is sixteen and her body is raging. But it is also more than that. Her lips move against his unyielding mouth until, finally, he returns the kiss, his mouth far more forceful, the kiss demanding. She is just beginning to enjoy herself when Richard takes her hands and pulls her away from him, stepping back away from her.

His lips gleam, damp from their kisses. “Stop.”

She stares back at him, hurt and disappointed and most of all rejected, her chin set stubbornly, her expression pained. Her eyes are very young as they meet Richard‘s. “Why? Don‘t you want to?”

Richard shakes his head, reaching for her hand. “Don’t do this, Alex.”

“Answer the question,” she says, her voice twenty degrees colder, jerking away from his touch and wrapping her arms around herself protectively.

“No, Alex, I don’t.” Another lie, this time one he regrets immediately.

She looks at him, stunned and miserable, then turns on her heel, fleeing back to her own bedroom and slamming the door, locking it against him, something she never does. Beyond the door, there is no sound of muffled crying, no screaming, nothing being thrown. Richard is not grateful. The silence is the worst punishment of all.