Work Text:
The beach was empty when Alfred arrived. The camera crew working with him for this nighttime confessional were waiting at his normal filming spot against the rock shelf, half in the crystal clear waters. He waved at them, not even bothering to contain his smile. Everything was going just according to plan.
“How’s it going, Al?” his main cameraman, Jake, asked as everyone finished the set up, smiling back at him under the moonlight, “Rough night at tribal?”
“Just peachy,” he chirped, perching on the rocks. During the day he preferred to soak in the water. But at night, no way was he risking that. He let his legs dangle into the crisp water, letting the soft sound of water lapping at his ankles soothe him.
He was all too aware of the way his shorts were hanging loosely on his hips as he sat on the rock, how his cut-up t-shirt was almost a full size too big and dragged against the water when he’d walked over. He wasn’t the truly unhealthy weight that some of his fellow competitors had reached - winning rewards as often as he did had kept the meat on his bones, and let him keep a lot of muscle - but he’d definitely dropped a size or two. And going towards the end of their 39 days on the island, food running low and energy scarce, it wasn’t going to get any better. Not until they left.
Or until he lost. But he’d been shutting out the small, food loving part of his brain that kept pointing out that the jury was at least fed properly since the merge.
He settled in with ease, watching with keen eyes honed by over a month living by natural light as the camera crew finally finished setting up and took their positions. Jake grinned at him and the recording light blinked on.
“We’re all set,” he said, settling in, “Well Al, big night at tribal. Want to update us?”
Their questions would get edited out, of course, however much of this confessional they decided to put into the episode. But they had answers they wanted the viewers to see, to connect his moves to his explanation, hence the little prompts.
“So,” he said, dragging out the word, “Gilbert was voted out tonight.” He sat on that thought for a long moment, shifting on the rock, “The plan worked. Elizabeta convinced Ivan to vote Gil instead of me, and we blindsided him without anyone other than Eliza or I knowing about the play.”
He pulled one knee up to his chest, letting his foot perch on the shelf rock he was sitting on. He pressed his forehead against his knee and sighed.
“I felt bad,” he told them, “just a little, at least. Gil’s been like a brother to me on this island, he’s been a constant pillar of support since the first merge. That I was the one who flipped, and he probably still doesn’t realize it was me, kind of hurts inside.” He went quiet, turning to stare off into the starry sky, legs back to dangling in the surf.
He turned back to the camera with an easy shrug, “But it’s the game,” he said, a quirked half smile touching his lips, “And I hope he’ll understand that getting him out wasn’t just removing him as a threat, it was part of a bigger play I’m going to finally put into action. It wasn’t personal - it never is, for me at least.” His half smile turned into a grin, “You come here to play the game, then you damn well better play the best game you’ve got.”
And that’s what he was doing. Ever since he’d started on the island as a beauty tribe member, despite his doctorate and natural athleticism, he’d known that he would be underestimated, and it would be one of his greatest assets. So he’d played the ditzy blond, who’d modeled in college and did sports but wasn’t into it. Who was smart but not clever. He was well liked and helped out the most at camp, making himself valuable but not a threat. He played middling in challenges, but almost always pushed his team to victory, only letting calculated losses come into play when absolutely necessary.
The first merge had been the time to put his slowly built reputation to the test. Having merged his three beauties with half the remaining brawn tribe and a lone brain, they’d been in the power position. He’d known though, unlike his fellow beauty tribe, that they wouldn’t stay that way for very long. Gilbert and Eliza had been the two brawn tribe members they’d merged with, and he’d gone around his beauty-solid alliance and made an offer of food and friendship for the two. And maybe they’d just needed a push to start seeing Alfred as more than a ditz, but after they’d noticed the repeated wins, and the strategic move to lose right before the merge in order to eliminate their poor unfortunate brain tribe member… well, at that point, Alfred would’ve been concerned if they’d still thought he was an idiot.
Idiots didn’t last long on Survivor. And Alfred was 37 days strong.
Then, the merge happened. And then… Ivan.
He felt the grin tugging at his lips again, and didn’t bother to suppress. This had to be one of the longest running pranks in the show.
That he was married to the head of his rival alliance on the island, that they were in the Final Four together, and no one except the producers knew.
Not that they were working together, of course. That wouldn’t be any fun at all. They’d decided going in that since they were both naturally competitive, they would give it their all. Even against each other. Hell, especially against each other.
His big lug was a self-made entrepreneur, and had been cast in the brain tribe at the beginning. He’d established a solid alliance, and even stole away one of Alfred’s alliance members, Elizabeta, when they made the full merge. Though, to be fair, Alfred had stolen Yao away, so he wasn’t too surprised when Ivan retaliated.
The merge was true chaos and alliance building, and Alfred relied even more on his reputation to shield his actions as he started putting people on the jury. The looks the jury would give him on occasion were more than satisfying, as they finally realized who’d outplanned them right to the end. Though Alfred’s favorite moment so far might’ve been when he’d told Carlos about him and Ivan being married, and forced his husband to blindside his closest alliance member in order to deal with the potential insurgency. No one wanted an alliance leader who they thought was in bed with the other side.
Not that people believed Carlos, as hysterical as that was when Alfred had realized.
Sometimes, it seriously helped being the “ditzy blonde model,” he thought with a smirk. No one knew he’d been a chess champion, who excelled at strategy. Or that he had a doctorate and a half. Or even that he’d been a good enough swimmer to make junior Olympics (though he didn’t really get any farther than that).
No one but Ivan, who’d quietly warned the members of his alliance that Alfred was dangerous, and possibly the biggest threat - that flatterer - on the island.
Too bad none of them ever believed it until Alfred blindsided them. And now, it was only Alfred, Ivan, Elizabeta and Yao left.
But that was just fine. However much of a threat Ivan and Elizabeta were going to be to him, it didn’t matter. He’d planned for this very outcome. This was the reason he’d flipped on Gilbert. This was the opening of his final checkmate.
Tomorrow was the final immunity challenge.
Alfred would win it. There was no option, no room for doubt in his mind. If he lost, he’d be voted out tomorrow night, without a doubt. Ivan knew he was the biggest threat to him, and while Elizabeta was as much a threat as Gilbert had been, she didn’t come close to the long game that Alfred had been playing from the very start. And the jury knew that (since Alfred had put most of them there). The chance of Yao winning would’ve been a lot higher had Alfred, Elizabeta, and Ivan not been playing a more well rounded game, so no one would hesitate to bring him into the Final Three, and to the jury.
If Alfred lost tomorrow, that was it. There was nothing left. And he didn’t come this far only to let his husband take the money, the pride, and the knowledge that he’d outplayed Alfred.
He refused.
So he would win.
The moment he won individual immunity - and all posturing aside, he had a great chance too, considering how often he’d won the necklace - he’d get to pick who would sit in front of the jury with him, and which two would go to the fire making challenge to decide their third.
Yao would come with him, all the way. The one promise Alfred had made in the game - to take him to Final Three - Alfred would keep. Which would send Ivan and Eliza to making fire together.
Ivan was his single biggest threat.
Ivan couldn’t make fire.
Something the big lug had realized last night, but hadn’t quite processed. The reason Gil had to go instead of Elizabeta.
“So, it’s a big day coming up. Final moves to make and games to play?” the crew prompted him, drawing him out of his thoughts.
“Tomorrow’s the last immunity challenge,” he acknowledged, grinning, “and I’m going to win. I sacrificed my knight to steal the queen, and put the board in checkmate. I’m half a step from winning, and the plays are already panning out. There’s nothing left for me to do but wait and see where the pieces fall.”
His grin flashed, bright and white and devastating in the gleam of moonlight. “But I already know what’s going to happen when they do.”
Half a step from checkmate, from the million dollar prize. Half a step from winning, from seeing his son again. From seeing his husband and being able to be with his husband; be married instead of at the head of rival alliances.
Half a step away from his dreams, and he could all but taste the victory. Half a step.
But not yet.