The first two months Richard spends away from Alex are lost in a fog. Sleep eludes him, showing him visions that he does not care to see, and he prowls darkened cities in the wee, silent hours, moving down the abandoned streets like a phantom. It is retribution that he turns his attentions to, letting vengeance consume him as he fulfils Jacob's wishes, hunting down the scattered crowd from Widmore Industries. This isn't his fight, it never was, but Richard assures himself that his work is important as he eliminates any lingering threat. There is no purpose to it; he is a chaos element, whatever Jacob has assured him to the contrary. Destiny doesn't just happen. It needs the right conditions, and it is Richard's job to create them. People need to be wounded to recover, or so he tells himself when the thought of his victims' loved ones occurs to him. They need to be broken to find strength. This he knows from experience, and considers it ruefully, wondering if he will finally attain invincibility. Certainly, he feels shattered, when he lets himself feel anything.

"Why are you doing this?" Penelope Widmore asks when Richard arrives at her Sydney slip one deep, moonlit night. The reflection of the moon glows white on the still water, and it is bright enough for Richard to see the opera house in the distance, a miracle of architecture.

She shivers and pulls her wrap more tightly around her shoulders, standing barefoot on the dock a short distance from the boat. Inside, below, Desmond sleeps and so does Charlie. It has been a long day, searching through maps to chart the easiest path back to Los Angeles and the woman whose words jerk Des from his sleep some nights. His nightmares have grown so frequent that they no longer wake the little boy. Unlike Charlie, however, Penny can never fall back to sleep after being awoken to the sounds of her husband's madness, the babble of needing to go back and the cursed assurances that he cannot escape his fate. It is the nightmares that have driven her out here, off the boat, needing solid ground, as though it might make a difference.

She stares into the face of the man who murdered her father and his associates, unable to see the monster within. She is sure he is a monster - the body count has continued to rise, and she knows enough about Benjamin Linus to understand who has loosed this vengeful demon on the world - but Richard only seems sad, and purposeful.

"Why?" she asks again, unable to look away as he withdraws the gun. "You knew him, my father - you were his friend, a long time ago. He mentioned you, Richard. You are Richard, aren't you?"

Richard's smile is grim. "Yes, I knew him," he agrees, and suppresses the stab of guilt. One day, he is certain, the ability will leave him, forcing him to bear the brunt of regret. He has much to be guilty for, more sins than could be accumulated in anyone else's lifetime. He does not comment on her assumption of friendship, remembering the frustration that had grew within him each time Widmore did something brash and stupid.

"You're from the island," Penny assesses. Her gaze flicks back to the boats tethered to the dock. Her houseboat floats among them, bobbing gently in the waves. The splash of water against the pier is like a lullaby, and she hopes Charlie can hear it, and that it will soothe Desmond to sleep. If he wakes, comes for her - but she shudders, refusing to dwell on the worry. "Trouble always came from that island." When Richard raises his eyebrow skeptically, Penny smiles slightly through her fear. "He used to tell me about it, the place he was from, the life he lived before. It was his obsession, getting back there. My father was not a bad man, but that obsession consumed him. It changed him." She shrugs, as though Richard were merely an uninvited guest and not a threat. "I can't say I'm pleased to see you."

"Loose ends," Richard tells her in his smoothest voice. He reads sorrow in those green eyes as Penny stares back at him, waiting for the worst. "You're his daughter, a Widmore. Ben wants to ensure all threats are eliminated."

"It's Hume now, actually," Penny replies with a touch of pique. The ring around her finger still feels a novelty. Even standing before Richard, knowing the gun he holds will end her life in a few short minutes, she cannot prevent the habit of holding out her hand and letting the moonlight reflect off the diamond. She spares another glance back at the boat. "And Desmond? My son?"

Richard shakes his head. "I'm only here for you."

"I understand," Penny explains, and that is the truth. She has lived most of her life away from her father, trying to break away from the name and image, but she has never completely escaped him. Charles Widmore has been lurking in the shadows for her entire lifetime, a curious element she could never rely upon to be wholly benevolent or unfailingly cruel. He was there with bribes to pay her way through the finishing school he had hoped would refine her, and there, according to Desmond, to snatch the letters Des had posted, to break her heart. She had always scoffed at his dire predictions, his anger at someone named Benjamin, whom she has heard about since childhood, but a part of her has always expected this. "Not here," she says to Richard. Her voice is even, not begging, and her expression demands obedience. "I don't want them to hear."

He shows her the silencer on his gun, then exhales and points the way towards his rental car.

"You won't hurt them?" Penny asks again, then bites her lips. "Leave me behind, when it's all over. I want Desmond to know. I won't have him left without answers, never knowing what's happened to me, still clinging to false hope."

Her words startle him down to his core. He can imagine Alex waking, full of questions he is not there to explain away. For a long moment he clutches the gun, prepared to have done with it. Then he sighs and lowers the weapon. Moonlight bathes the pavement, and Penny's eyes seem to gleam. "Go," he tells her, holding out his hands. Widmore's words come back to him, and he thinks the man might have been right. Leadership potential is evident in Penny's fearless stare, her refusal to plead with him. She has inherited her father's imperiousness. Shaking her head slightly in disbelief, Penny draws away from him a step, suspecting him still.

Richard looks at her harshly. "Go," he repeats. This time she obeys orders, walking backwards away from him, unwilling to turn away lest he shoot her in the back. He picks up on her thoughts and he feels like a monster, a twisted thing put to bad use, a danger to behold. Gripping the gun, Richard spins on his heel, his jaw clenched against his own abrupt anger. He waits by the car until he hears the sound of the waves slapping the dock, signalling a boat has left the slip. Then, finally, he wrenches open the door.

"Richard," speaks a voice, stopping him.

He would recognize it anywhere. It is the voice that questioned him when she was a child and spoke to him haughtily as a leader, the voice of a woman who would never underestimate him. He releases the handle of his car and turns expectantly towards Eloise. She looks different now, older, her hair white and her piercing eyes shrouded in flesh that is no longer so smooth, but there are similarities. She still appears a threat, not a woman to be crossed or challenged.

"Eloise."

"Put that gun away, Richard," Eloise snaps, making him realize he is still holding it. She shakes her head, her eyes flicking heavenward with exasperation.

Richard waits a moment, but she does not speak, and so he has to. "Did you come here to stop me?"

She shakes her head, a wispy sound of amusement escaping her lips. "If you were meant to have murdered the girl, Richard, she would be dead. You can't stop what's coming for you. Haven't you learned that yet?"

"So why are you here?"

Eloise narrows her eyes at him, refusing to be cowed by his rudeness. "How well do you know Alexandra Linus?"

"Rousseau," Richard corrects before he can stop himself. Eloise's sharp gaze makes him look down. "She's not Ben's, as I'm sure you remember. Her mother's surname was Rousseau."

"Well enough, I see," Eloise exclaims softly. She shakes her head, scolding him. "I heard some rather frightful gossip that last time I spoke to Thomas. At the time, I was certain he was mistaken. I think I understand now."

Richard jangles the keys in his hand, impatient to escape into the anonymity of Sydney. He longs for the feeling of flight, the glorious moments of lift-off where he can convince himself for just a few seconds that the next place he goes will be better, that things will no longer fall apart. Frowning at Eloise, he wonders how they have managed to reverse roles yet again. Who is in charge has been a constant question. He was her leader once, then she was his. Now the power between them is up for grabs. "I'm glad you understand," he says with as much respect in his voice as he can manage. "I don't mean to cut this short," he continues as she glares, well aware of his sarcasm. "But I have a plane to catch."

"Why did you leave her?" Eloise questions just before Richard manages to shut the door.

His heart slams against his rib cage. "Did Ben send you?"

"Are you actually asking me if I'm here on orders from Benjamin Linus?" she scoffs, incredulous. "Oh, Richard," she sighs, shaking her head in disappointment. "Whatever would give you such an idea? No, I'm afraid my purpose for the moment is to serve as your escort. You won't need those," she adds, pointing to the clutch of false passports and an envelope of foreign currency. "You're not leaving the country."

"Ben instructed -"

"Since when do you answer to Benjamin?" Eloise questions disdainfully. After a moment, she makes eye contact. "Do you love her?"

"Ellie…"

Gazing up in exasperation, Eloise clucks her tongue. The juvenile nickname still has the power to infuriate her. "I'm not here to play games with you. Let me put it another way: would you be willing to postpone your trip to Germany if I told you I have information that would help save Alex's life?"

Richard's heart skips a beat. "Alex is on the island. She's safe."

"She's on the island," Eloise agrees. "She arrived two days ago, in fact." When she sees the shock on Richard's face, she shakes her head. "You thought they'd sent her back months ago, didn't you? No, she's been with Tom and Juliet, cleaning up as it were. And I'm afraid I'll have to challenge you on the second point as well. The island is no longer safe. Here," she says, gesturing to a black car. Richard can see people waiting inside, but it is too dark to make out their facial features. "I've taken the liberty of collecting your friends," Eloise explains. "Get in. I'll explain on the way to the airport."

"Where are we going?"

"Los Angeles," Eloise explains. "I'm afraid a red-eye flight is in order; there isn't much time to spare. I hope you were not planning on a good night's sleep."

Richard sighs as he opens the door. He can see Sawyer and Claire in the backseat, whispering earnestly. "And what are we going to Los Angeles to see, Eloise?" he asks, careful to use her given name.

"Two things," replies Eloise crisply as she slides into the seat beside him. A capped driver Richard does not recognize sits behind the wheel. "I have a document to show you, one which for security reasons I did not entrust to bring with me. Secondly, I'm charting you a way back to the island. For that, we require coordinates which only the lamppost can provide."

"Our work isn't finished -"

"Trust me," Eloise interrupts him as the car rockets towards the airport, "when you know what is at stake, you will understand why it is imperative for you to go back."

Richard nods, taking this all in. Then he frowns. "How did you find me? Ben gave me a list of names. He didn't suggest them in any particular order. How did you know I would be at the marina?"

Eloise shakes her head, smiling softly. "Jacob told me, Richard," she says in mock exasperation, as though he ought to have known.