We're the good guys, Michael.

title: Remember Babylon? (13)
rating: NC-17
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: This one didn't take quite so long. :)
warnings: semi- graphic sexuality, some violence and character deaths throughout.
previous: part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven | part twelve




xiii

“Do it,” Richard tells Juliet several hours later, walking out into the main room after Tom returns with the medical supplies.

She looks up at him, the condescending, superior look she has adopted, the unfazed expression learned from Ben. Juliet meek and mild, the good sister, the obedient wife, the gentle friend, has evaporated, replaced by firm control and chilling calm. “Do what, Richard?”

His brown eyes are penetrating as he sombrely looks her over, not amused by this change, nor accustomed to being questioned by her. “Run the transfusion, Juliet.”

Juliet sighs and leans back slightly in her chair. This is more than she bargained for when Tom called and said something about Alex not feeling well. It’s all more than I bargained for, she thinks bitterly, rubbing her temples. Ben, the Island, the job that turned out not to be the brief and lucrative scientific expedition she expected, but a three year sentence of virtual imprisonment - I do not want, she thinks angrily. She is always angry now, unless she is in love, losing her temper and transforming it into passion, burning away in some man's arms. It was better with Goodwin, who swept her off her feet, fed her chocolate and strawberries in bed, cradled her warm body against him. It was good with Jack, caught up in the panic of the moment, frightened and desperate and too involved in her game to dwell on her frustrations. It was something else with Ben, burning up like a firecracker, smouldering with fury and want as he held her down, his lips exploring her body, ever the sheen of ownership. Fear had been there, of course, cancelling out the rage. But now, she is alone, and the anger builds, the complete infuriated resistance to her situation escalates, until sometimes, she feels completely out of control, no longer the competent doctor they know her as, but a vengeful thing, unable to think of anything but how her life was stolen from her, how it vanished the moment she met Richard Alpert and drank his drugged juice and fell into Ethan's arms.

Even being permitted to return to the mainland did not assuage her anger. She had been excited, of course, and grateful, even bubbly. But it had not worked, and she had realized, later, Ben had known it would not. Rachel was different, distant, at the first meeting, after the bright smiles and clinging hugs. She does not understand why Juliet cannot speak of the places she has been, and does not believe any of Juliet’s half-hearted lies. Juliet can understand, almost. She knows Rachel searched Portland, worked with police departments. She hung posters when her sister disappeared. The frantic fear over her sister’s absence receded for Rachel when Juliet showed up at her door one morning, twenty pounds lighter than when she left, her hair unkempt, clothes wrinkled from jet travel, unable to offer much by way of explanation. They grew apart almost instantly. In the interim, Rachel has come to expect Juliet just ran out on her responsibilities, that she panicked and fled after Edmund's suspicious death and never looked back. Juliet, who cannot tell her the truth, does not bother to lie, and Rachel has treated her poorly for it ever since the tearful, confusing reunion. Rachel keeps Julian away from her. She herself stays away as well. Juliet grows closer to the breaking point, moves closer towards becoming the thing Ben has designed her to be: coolly emotionless, concerned with the needs of the island more than herself; one of his people, resigned to following his instructions.

Annoyed, Juliet bites her bottom lip to stop herself from spilling out the truth to Richard, who, she decides, will never understand. She did not ask to come here, dealing with impossible situations, surrounded by war and bloodshed. She does not want to be here to give Richard the news that she can do nothing more. She has given enough, and wants nothing more than to let go. The free-fall she’s been standing on the brink of for months draws ever nearer, and it seems, from her overworked perspective, that one less attachment, one less familiar face, can hardly be a bad thing at this stage.

“The situation is not what I anticipated, Richard. I’ve gone over Alex's vitals; she’s waning. I don’t think her body will accept the transfusion at this stage. She's rejecting the medications I’ve been giving her, her body is beginning to shut down. There is a strong possibility her body will reject the transfusion as well.”

He nods, calmly dismissing this. His dark eyes, so certain, are infuriating as Juliet meets them. “Run it anyway.”

“It’ll hurt her, Richard. At this stage, the most we can ask for is to keep her comfortable, to let her rest.” Juliet rises from her chair, shaking her head. “We don't have a universal donor. Tom wasn’t able to get any; blood banks in the city are low, they aren’t getting the donors they need. Nothing gets in or out without passing a dozen checkpoints.”

Richard rolls up his sleeve, preparing to answer, but before he can speak, Tom leaps to his feet.

“No,” Tom says, shaking his head. He looks at Richard warily, not used to quarrelling with his own. “Ben would never allow it.”

“Ben isn’t here," Richard points out starkly. "Juliet, do you know how to run the line or don’t you? You have managed to get the necessary supplies, haven't you?” Richard asks pointedly. He raises his eyebrow, his eyes meeting Juliet's “If Alex doesn’t get the transfusion, will she recover?”

Juliet shrugs, gritting her teeth. I'm not an emergency room doctor, she thinks grimly, actually wishing for Jack, who would take charge, not afraid of desperate situations. Somewhere deep inside Juliet is steel, but there is weakness too, the last vestiges of the woman she once was under her husband's control, the meek and timid mouse. I can't make these decisions myself! “I - I don’t know, but I don’t think so. I haven‘t dealt with this condition before, specifically. I only know what I was taught in med school, I haven't worked with it directly. I‘m not an expert, Richard." Drawing a deep breath, Juliet calms herself, regaining control. "I‘m not sure what will happen. Sometimes people pull through.”

“And sometimes not,” Richard finishes, holding out his arm expectantly. When Juliet nods gravely, he looks at her, eyebrows raised. “Then let’s do this.”

_____________


It is lonesome, being forever. Of course, Richard has not always existed, thought it often seems that way to those who meet him. He remembers, sometimes, happenings of a century ago, or the words he spoke to a person dead for generations. Thoughts, long and intentionally suppressed, come to him sometimes at night, delivering hazy images that never hesitate before fading once more, creating echoes of long-lost sound. The sound of bells, summoning church-goers out into a bleak and stormy morning. The slosh of his body, draped with sodden cloth, dragging himself up to the beach, out of the violent water. A kindly, noble face finding his after an eternity of sleep. Jacob's features cast in firelight and shadow.

The smell of rubbing alcohol drifts through the air for a moment as Juliet rips open an antiseptic cleansing pad. Cautiously, as though she is afraid to touch him, she dabs it across the crook of Richard's arm, then opens another, cleansing his skin further down his forearm. Trying to focus on the normalcy of the motion - she has taken blood hundreds of times - Juliet pushes aside the thought of what she is preparing to do. She is still not entirely certain why Tom slammed out of the hotel a few moments earlier, after reluctantly helping her set up the equipment, and she does not understand the issue behind Tom's warning of Ben's disapproval. If there is any chance of helping Alex, he'd want me to take it, wouldn't he? she considers questioningly as she tosses the towels aside. Her mind whirls with thoughts of disease and antiquity, humming over the notion of Persia and Babylon.

“This might feel a little cold,” Juliet speaks perfunctorily, spreading iodine down the bend of Richard’s elbow. He does not flinch, as she had known he would not. “Sorry,” she says anyway, the way she spoke to her last patients, the pregnant women who came to her for help delivering healthy babies, and the sick or hurt among the Others, whom she diligently patched. She tries not to remind herself, eyes focussed on the unmarked skin of Richard's arm, that she was seldom able to restore them to health. The pregnant women died, their unborn children never knowing the light of day. Colleen died, her shirt thick and soaked with her own blood.

Richard says nothing, glancing away from her, his mind elsewhere. He remembers the horrible slow pace at which he dragged himself up out of the sea, laden with sodden clothes and his own ordinary exhaustion, something he can no longer precisely recall feeling. The way his fingers clawed the damp sand, the way his lungs coped with the fresh influx of air - these are details he cannot remember, at least consciously, but he does remember Jacob’s face, the same face he has seen repeatedly since. I have a job for you, he remembers Jacob saying, though English had not been the mode of exchange then, and he would not have understood a word of it at the time, had someone spoken to him with it. Something I cannot trust to anyone else. Memories rush over Richard: himself, lying breathlessly and broken near the fire in a shadowy, cavernous room, trying to speak and tell this man he is close to death; Jacob crouching down close to him, a shade of a smile on his face. I need you to get up. Can you do that for me, Richardus?

Juliet rakes her hair back into a ponytail, then squeezes a liberal amount of hand sanitizer on. She glares around the hotel room, thinking disdainfully of the lack of sterility in this place. Even the island would be preferable. At least there we have an operating theatre, someplace sanitary for this kind of procedure. “This is an unusual situation, I know, but since we don’t have adequate facilities, I don’t dare store your blood for any length of time. We’re risking infection as it is, doing this here. You’re sure?” she adds, looking at him hopefully, beseeching him to change his mind. “Absolutely sure? Because Richard, we can stop this at any time, just tell me -” She falls silent at the look he gives her. “Fine. I’m going to do a direct transfusion. That’s normally not recommended, but I just don’t see any other way.”

She busies herself assembling the venous cannula, then uncoiling the length of tubing Tom brought for her. “Sit down on the bed,” she instructs Richard briskly. “I don’t have as much tubing I’d like, so once you’re hooked up, you’re going to have to stay pretty still.”

Richard nods, glancing down at Alex. He can feel the heat radiating off her even before he reaches for her, taking her hands in one of his. Visions of Jacob surface, visions from decades after their first meeting. He sees himself, shouting, and Jacob studying his anger passively, nearly amused by his fury. You made me a promise, Richard, a promise that you would do what I asked you, that you would help guide our people and protect this island. I promised you life in return, and you took my offer gladly, so why are you complaining? He shifts, grits his teeth, and thinks of the encounter that will someday be due. Someday, unavoidably, he will have to give an explanation for his behaviour. Jacob, he knows, will wait.

Juliet crosses the room, collecting the small device Tom had brought earlier. It is not precisely the up to date CFC aphaeresis machine she was hoping for. Rather, it looks like a World War I relic: a clunky, heavy device with a hand crank in addition to the frayed, fabric-wrapped cord and plug. She studies it doubtfully, the resilience she learned under Ben’s command dissipating, replaced with perfunctory pessimism. Wondering where Tom could possibly have attained it from, she shakes her head, then attaches the tubing, mentally petitioning heaven for assistance.

A few moments later, she is ready. Cleansing her hands, she pulls on a pair of fresh latex gloves. Inserting the needle into Richard’s arm is simple; he shows no reaction except to look away, even as the wide-bore needle slides into his artery. Alex, however, makes Juliet nervous. She half-expects Alex to wake up and jerk away at the first touch, but contrary to her expectation, the sharp goes easily into the vein. Securing it in place with clear tape, Juliet switches on the machine. To her amazement, it whirls to life, exactly as Tom said it would.

“Now,” Juliet says, sitting down in a chair a little ways away from the bed, where Richard is reclined against the headboard, studying the tube in his arm. He lifts his head and looks at her, slightly forgiving, questioning. Juliet sighs. “We wait.”

_______________


Deep within slumber, Alex stirs. She has been dreaming for hours - or has it been days, weeks, months, even years? Time, for once, means nothing to her. She cannot hear the ticking of minutes, and the old familiar panic she has intermittently felt throughout her life - that her life is slipping through her fingers and needs to be lived free of Ben’s control before it is over- is gone. Instead of the usual struggling to rein in her impatience, she feels completely calm. The drowsy, heavy feeling of days ago is absent as well. She has no desire to fight her exhaustion, but welcomes sleep with open arms.

Dimly, visions come to her. Perhaps they are memories, but more likely pure imagination, because even unconscious, she knows she has not endured the experiences she sees. Wars, but nothing like the battles she sometimes read about from the books on Ben’s bookshelves, or the films about modern wars she has seen on television since leaving the island. Instead of tanks and automatic weapons, she sees an army marching on foot toting spears, and watches as archers draw back taut bow strings to fire arrows into a scorching sky. Heavy skies, silver and bronze with heat and storms, drift above her, faster than anything she has seen before. She watches clouds drift on currents of air, as dawn, noon, twilight, darkness twirls quick and endless overhead. The air, when she attempts to breathe, feels cooler and fresher in her lungs that anything she has experienced; it feels almost young, almost new.

The scene that plays out before her closed eyes twists, and she feels the sickening sway of a ship tossed by unruly seas. Old boards quake beneath her feet as she is pitched forward and backward, hands scraped raw from clinging to the rope. A ship with a rising, carved bow, too small a craft to take out on the open ocean, or so it seems from her perspective. She sees faces of people she has never known, hears them speaking to her in languages she has never learned, yet she understands them all, even feels a rush of camaraderie, as though they were old friends and companions.

Then the dreams change again, showing her the innards of the Temple she has known of all her life but never seen. Although she has never set foot inside, in the vision Alex walks easily down the path to the door hidden in the outer wall, then steps smoothly inside, down to the place where the smoke lingers, its serpentine coiling and electric crackle somehow familiar to her, though she has only ever known the smoke from the distance, and feared it. She trails her fingers over the carvings, studying the hieroglyphics, waiting, though she does not know for what. Finally, she hears the footsteps she expected, and turns to encounter her pursuer, but then, before she can make out his face, she surfaces, and the dreams slide out of her mind.

For a moment, her body feels numb, not like her body at all but rather something corporeal she temporarily inhabits. Experimentally, she flexes her fingers, feels the brush of another’s touch across her open palm. The motion startles her. It is like learning how to operate new machinery, like the first time she sat in the driver’s seat of one of the old Dharma vans and Ben passed her the keys. She can feel pain. It circles through her body, travelling with her blood, but for a few seconds the disconnect is so intense and pervasive that she does not internalize the pain, just observes it dispassionately. My arm hurts, she thinks calmly. Everything hurts. And that is all it takes. Abruptly, it is not the separate body that aches, but her, herself. The distance vanishes, and she wakes with a start.

“Easy, Alex,” speaks a voice above her. Alex opens her eyes to the blurry image of blonde hair. Her mind supplies the rest. Juliet. “It’s all right,” Juliet says. “It’s almost over. I want you to lie still and try to relax.”

Alex closes her eyes again, not appreciating the stinging sensation of the bright light shining down on her. Brightness cuts like a knife, creating a sudden headache, but even with her eyes closed, a reddish glow pervades. “Too bright,” she speaks. Her voice emerges a gentle whisper, but the light goes out anyway, restoring the room to shadows. Suddenly, she remembers the figure in the Temple. “Where is he?”

“Who?” Juliet asks, confused. Unseen by Alex, she turns automatically towards Richard, one eyebrow raised.

“I don’t know his name. I dreamed about him,” Alex says. She opens her eyes, narrowing them cautiously almost instantly. Some of her focus is restored, but things still seem blurry around the edges. She can feel her body struggling to breathe, and the effort to draw oxygen into her lungs is exhausting. It feels like a stone is resting on her chest, prohibiting anything but the shallowest inhalations. Tiredness washes over her. “In the Temple...”

Above her, Richard and Juliet exchange a glance. It only lasts a few seconds, and Richard is the one to break it off, turning away and staring at the wall opposite. Unconsciously, he covers the bruise on his arm, which is already fading. Concern thrums through him, accompanied by anticipation.

“What happened in this dream?” Richard questions flatly, not looking at Alex. He is aware of Juliet staring at him, her keen mind adding together Tom’s protest with the strange things Alex is saying. She has had experience with the fever wrought delusions that sometimes accompany bad infections or savage illnesses, but Alex’s skin, though still warm, no longer burns as hot as before. He wonders uneasily how long it will take for her to become suspicious enough to badger Tom into explaining.

“I - I don’t remember,” comes Alex’s answer, barely audible. “I think I saw Jacob,” she adds, right before she returns to sleep, unable to fight against her body’s need for recovery. Closing her eyes, she does not see Juliet rumple her brow in puzzlement, nor does she notice as Richard rises swiftly from the bed and walks out, shutting the door behind him, his face still slightly pale. For a few seconds, she is aware of strange blood coursing through her veins, whispering secrets, giving her the answers to questions she has never thought to ask. Then she is aware of nothing at all.