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[sallyslingshot]

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[gotanymilk]

The wooden hut Ben had had built by the building crew lacked in some of the conveniences of his Island home, but that, he'd supposed, was to be expected. Though he'd been living there for the past couple of days, he hadn't yet gotten around to any sort of decoration; the walls were barren, and what few possessions he'd acquired over the past two weeks were piled neatly in the corner, by the makeshift mat he'd been using as a bed. It was a step above camping, but only just; John likely wouldn't have approved, regardless

[sallyslingshot]

Alex couldn't have said just how long it had been when she came to, squinting against the sunlight and drawing in a sharp breath, but a few seconds was all she needed to remember why it ought to have been impossible, the last several minutes coming back to her all in a rush. She was meant to be dead; it was as simple as that, and despite the air in her lungs and the throbbing in her head, it was the only explanation, too. She'd died, been killed at her own father's word, and wherever she was now, it was what came after

[gotanymilk]

How many times had he relived that moment in the past few weeks? The countdown, Alex's pleas, his own stubborn voice trying to reason with a man who refused to be reasoned with. It was fresh enough still that he dreamed of it, and though he'd already exacted his most immediate revenge on Keamy, there were others who had yet to pay. Widmore was only near the top of the list; Ben himself took first billing.

All of this, of course, meant that he didn't quite believe his eyes when the body - and it had to have been a body - began to move, pull itself up. A breath caught in Ben's throat, and he started forward at the sight of it, hastily making his way to the door, which he wrenched open, but didn't step through.

"Alex?"

[sallyslingshot]

It was a voice that she'd have recognized anywhere. Even had the sound of Ben speaking not been the last thing she had heard before dying, there was no way Alex could have mistaken it, not after almost sixteen years spent living with him. Instinctively, she lifted her head in his direction, eyes wide, but then she went still, swallowing heavily. This, all of it, was wrong. That she didn't recognize the house in front of her didn't matter so much, but if she was dead, and she knew she was, then there was no reason why she should be facing her father now. He had been fully alive when he'd told Keamy to go ahead and kill her.

"What?" she asked, sounding quieter, more uncertain than she would've liked, confusion more than evident in the look on her face. What she really wanted was to ask what in the world he could have wanted with her when he'd just said that she meant nothing to him, but worn out and disoriented, she couldn't manage it. "What is this, and why are you -"