absolutely, a lost fanfic

He looks to her, drops his voice low. The girl continues to scream in the distance.

"You still got my back?"

"Absolutely."

Her finger pulls and the gun kicks back, a stab in her shoulder. The man falls to the ground, dead, grass rustling beneath him and the screams stop.

She looks down the barrel and sees Sawyer, unharmed. His eyes meet hers - he laughs, incredulous.

And she finally lets herself breathe.

"Who wants to bet the old man ended up in Antarctica instead?" Miles says in the jungle.

"Miles," Juliet sighs.

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

She has just as much patience for his bullshit in this decade than she did in the last.

He is LaFleur and she is Rebecca Thatcher, a fact which brings a smile to her face, one of slight amusement. And when there's the elaboration - 'Becky Thatcher' - to no avail, she laughs. "Never mind."

They're each given a uniform, Dharma Initiative blazed on the front. The cloth feels crisp and new, but when they touch it their skin crawls.

They stand silent, door swinging until it hits the wall and chimes tinkling in the breeze. Juliet's face is locked in steadiness while Sawyer is taut with energy, restless and anxious and maybe wanting to punch a hole in the wall. It's all unfamiliar, the decor is 70s and there's freshness to everything, lacking the retro texture of relics you'd find in museums and homage diners. They are both out of their element.

Juliet sits down as Sawyer closes the door and walks further inside, the floor groaning under his weight and his shadow sweeping across the pale walls. She watches as he moves around the edges of the room, grazing everything with his knuckles, trying to make it more real. After a minute, he stops and looks to her, fists at his side. "What've I gotten us into?"

There isn't an answer she has for that. Instead - "You came up with a plan, James. A plan to keep us safe until John comes back."

"What a plan, huh?"

His mouth turns downwards as he fixes the last button on his suit, more uncomfortable than he should be. He's bothered by the reflection in the mirror of him standing in it, looking perfectly in place, clean-shaven and all. He fits and it makes him sick to his stomach. He starts counting down the minutes until he can take it off.

Loosening the collar in hopes of breathing a little better - it doesn't help - he turns to see Juliet walking out of the bathroom in a similar outfit. It's figureless and neutral and she's trying not to squirm in it just as much as he is. All the same, she offers him a meek smile. "You ready for your first day of work?"

He fights against taking a deep breath and just shrugs his shoulders instead. "Oh, of course. Gonna go out there, impress the boss, aim for that promotion so I can buy my wife a pretty dress and maybe one of them fancy record players I been hearing about."

She falls into it easily. "Good, because you really should treat me better than you do."

"Well, sunshine, if you put out every once in a while - "

She rolls her eyes and brushes past him, "You're ridiculous."

"Hey, you married me." He smirks. "What's that say about you?"

She stops at the door and looks back, answering in the same motion as stepping outside. "That I'm charitable."

It's their second night, when the fridge actually has food in it, that they make a deal.

"We can make our own dinners and eat alone, or we can compromise. We both help with each meal or we take turns. And we eat together."

He doesn't smile but the tension in his shoulders seems to relax away a little. He nods and asks her to hand him the potato peelers.

Sawyer lays on the bed, punching the pillow a few times before it's comfortable. He sighs, deep and heavy as he looks up at the ceiling. After a long moment of absently staring upwards, he chuckles.

Removing her watch, Juliet looks at him in the mirror. "What?"

"Never thought I'd spend my time on this island workin' a nine-to-five. You know how long its been since I even punched a time card?"

"Is it really that strange?"

"Well, look at you, Miss Doctor Lady, workin' in the motor pool everyday. You tellin' me that doesn't make you wanna laugh?"

She smiles, nods. "I guess you're right."

It was on the beach, sand sticking to the back of her arms and seawater in her hair, that he told her about Kate, that he spoke of being so close without getting to touch her. It was then that she remembered the cold, hard surface of the monitor as she reached out to the woman - the beautiful, happy and healthy woman - and her son on the playground.

She never felt so close to home, with it just being out of her reach.

There's a little girl with fiery red hair and a smile that you can't say no to and when Daniel lays his eyes on her, something snaps. Some bridge between logical thinking and the freefall of insanity cracks. Ignoring his own rule he approaches her, he tries to convince her - stay away, leave and don't ever come back, please don't come back. He's in tears and shaking and the girl backs away, frightened and calling for her mother.

His hands ball into fists and when Juliet tries to pull him away, to shade, to inside where they can talk or even hide him, he plants his feet firmly on the ground and refuses to budge. His face is hardened and there's no softness left in his eyes. Juliet lets go like she's burned.

"I can't." And he turns and goes. He disappears into the jungle.

Later, when they find out, the men grab their guns and make for the jungle to find him. Juliet steps directly in their path, stopping them.

"We can't just let him go!" Sawyer practically growls.

"It's his choice. He's gone."

"We can catch up if we leave now. Little Whiz-Kid ain't that fast of a walker and - "

"If he wanted you with him he would've asked you to come. What're you going to say to the others about where you're going?"

Sawyer moves closer, intimidating but Juliet knows better. She doesn't even blink. "Well, what're they gonna say when they find out he's missing?"

"They'll form their own search party and if they ask for volunteers, you'll volunteer and you'll help them. But if you leave and go out there on your own when you're barely supposed to know him in the first place, they'll know something is up. We don't need them looking at us any closer than they have to, because if they do then they're bound to poke a hole in our stories. We all know that. Daniel knows that. He doesn't want us to follow him, James."

He stays in her face for a long moment, but when he finally says something, it's in the same motion he tosses his gun onto the couch. "You sure are a cold-hearted bitch, you know that?"

He sleeps on the couch that night.

The following Monday they return after their shifts to find, as usual, the fridge restocked with food and, more importantly, beer. Sawyer grabs one out immediately, looks over to Juliet and, with a resigned sigh, grabs a second one. Caps pop off onto the counter, spinning until flat against marble. He takes a gulp and she takes two, three, five...

His mouth opens in question, but no words come out - he just looks at her and she just puts the empty bottle in the sink and starts taking out food for dinner.

Rubbing his stomach, Sawyer drops his fork onto his plate with a clink and leans back into his armchair. Juliet's nursing her third beer, her plate long ago cleaned off, and staring absently at the flames dancing around in the fireplace.

"That was good," he offers.

"Yeah."

Silence follows and it's all he could do not to tap his foot as he watches her. She cradles the bottle close, her long fingers wrapped around the neck and he's wondering why this is so fascinating for him to stare at. He wonders how many beers he's had so far. "So what's on your mind, sunshine?"

"What's on my mind?" she repeats, thinking about it. She looks at him and smirks in that way that really grates on his nerves, like she can read his mind. "I don't know, what's on your mind, James?"

"I asked first."

"Okay, thoughts. Thoughts are on my mind. I'm questioning my own existence in this universe and whether everything around me is simply a figment of my own imagination."

All together, the words in that sentence are more than what he's heard from her in days. Still, he can't help it - "Wise ass."

"You asked." She seems pleased with his reaction but the moment doesn't last long, and her smile disappears as she takes a pull from her beer. "What would you do if we were rescued? First thing off the boat?"

She asks it like she's asking what he'd do if he won the lottery, if he could go into space - a fantasy just out of reach of possibility. But when she asks, she lifts her eyes to meet his and she has this look, this demand look that leaves him with no choice but to answer. "Shit, Jules, I don't know. Promise never to fly on a goddamn plane again?"

At this, she laughs. Laughs in that way that brings out the dimples in her cheeks.

"You?"

"I guess with that sentiment I'd move out of Miami, somewhere nowhere near a beach."

He cocks an eyebrow. "Miami, huh?"

She seems almost bashful about it - it's a new look on her. "Yeah, Miami."

"Well, hell, no wonder you have such an easy time adjusting here. Beaches all around, you must feel right at home." The second the words leave his mouth, he regrets them.

She looks away, down at the floor, at nothing in particular but anything that isn't Sawyer. "You know better than anyone that we have to make the best of this."

She doesn't directly tell him to stop and maybe that's the mistake. "It ain't like having a nice bed to sleep in is something to complain about, but I sure am getting sick of pretending to be this LaFleur guy. Do I look French to you?" He sighs, showing exhaustion for the first time since coming home. "All I know is...few weeks ago there was a ship out there ready to take us home and now here we are playing house."

"Well, it isn't there anymore. It doesn't exist yet. Wait about thirty years and maybe you'll stay in the helicopter the second time around, James."

"Maybe I will." He stands up abruptly, chair swinging back and threatening to fall. The sound of it rattling on the floor pushes the moment away as quickly as it came and he runs a hand through his hair, wanting just as much to pull it out as he does for the motion to calm him down. "Sorry."

"Don't apologize."

He walks to the fireplace, a hand on the mantle and with a heavy lean. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

"I see these folks traipsing around like it's all normal...hell, it is normal for 'em." He almost growls trying to force out the right words. "We ain't even in the right decade, Jules. I'm stumblin' around in diapers in Alabama right now. How can you plan on going to that motor pool every damn day until whenever help comes? I sure as hell thought I could but this is just...it's fucking ridiculous."

She looks at him, long and hard, eyes piercing into his. "If doing this means I get to go home one day, get to see my nephew for the first time then..." With the final gulp of beer, she swallows down her emotions as much as she can. "Then I'm going to do it for as long as I have to."

It's a night sometime mid-December when he wakes up to find the sheets damp with sweat. Juliet's stirring next to him and her skin is damp as well. She mumbles a woman's name, scared. He reaches out to grab her arm but stops. Instead, he says her name, firm enough to wake her but soft enough not to scare her. She wakes with sudden stillness, breath held tight and hands gripping the sheets.

"You alright?"

She looks at him like she forgot he was there. Finally, she let's out a breath "James. What - ?"

"You were havin' a bad dream. You okay?"

"I'm..." She sits up. "I'm okay. Thanks."

She gets out of bed and goes to the bathroom, and he's left wondering if it's sweat or tears she wipes off of her cheek.

He catches sight of the mark when she steps out of the shower. It feels like a leer and he knows he should look away, especially when she catches him with a glance over her shoulder, but instead his eyes lock with hers. He has this distinct urge to ask her to show it to him again, to ask her about it, but instead, he tears his eyes away and puts on a smile.

"Been a while since I've been graced with the presence of a lady. Can't blame me for lookin' can you?"

"D'you ever think maybe this was all just supposed to happen? All the shit we've gone through...well, maybe it's left us for the better. Changed or something." He thinks about what he just said and wants to laugh. "Do you feel changed, Jules?"

"A little. I don't know. Maybe I've changed a lot."

He can only shrug. "I ain't one to decide."

Her eyes remain cast downward, blue eyes warm with the reflection of firelight. "To be honest, sometimes I wonder if I've changed so much that when - if - I get to see my sister again...if she's even going to recognize me. And if she does, how...how am I going to be able to tell her about what's happened here?"

The question leaves him helpless for an answer, his gaze stuck on her, watching, waiting. Her body remains still and serene but in her eyes he can see that uncertainty, that anger, that fire waiting to be fueled.

It's just a matter of time.

"I don't know...hell, you could try 'n' show her through interpretive dance."

Even he knows that it sounds lame. She smiles anyways, but there are tears in her eyes. She takes a gulp of her beer.

This is a ritual of theirs.

Things change between them. Something shifts, they become something different.

He realizes this when he wakes up in the middle of the night to find that his body up against hers, his hand resting on her waist - it being possibly the most intimate of a position as he's ever found himself in - and it isn't until she's awake that he thinks to move away.

She remains still, and he waits for her to say his name, a reprimand, to tell him to move away, something. But the first thing she asks is: "Are you alright?"

"Yes, doctor." He shifts back, away from her. His hand is the last to move. "Guess I got carried away in a dream."

She turns when there's space, onto her back, and looks at him with understanding eyes. He wants to hate her for it. "It's okay."

They're drunk one night after a bonfire everybody goes to, something about camaraderie and celebration and all that. She's just as tipsy as he is, but its her arm around his waist that keeps him steady. He laughs into her hair, the kind of cackle reserved for a hyena but a little deeper and she's too drunk to act like she isn't amused by this behavior.

"Know what I been wonderin'?"

"What've you been--been wondering, James?"

He drops his hand to the small of her back, lets the cotton of her shirt catch on his fingers so its skin to skin. He isn't quite sure if she's the one to shiver or if it's himself. "Where'd you got that mark from?"

She giggles this little giggle that's not only obviously fake, even drunk he knows that, but it's not a Juliet giggle. Juliet doesn't giggle. "You are...crazy."

"I ain't crazy. I drunk...I drank a lot, sure, but--" He stops walking, grabs at her shirt and she slaps his hand away.

"James, don't." Her eyes flash with a kind of anger that can sober you up right quick.

Serious, he steps forward but doesn't go anywhere near her shirt, simply leans in and pleads with her. "Looks like it hurt. Ain't something you got by accident."

"It doesn't matter what it is, James."

"Pretty sure it does." He reaches out and grabs her hand - she looks down at the gesture, surprised. "Tell me."

"James."

"Stop saying that, saying my name like you know me, know what I'm thinking. Cause you do, and it bugs the shit outta me cause I don't...I don't know what you're thinking."

They're far enough away from the crowd that it's just a distant chatter, the bonfire a small candle in the distance. It's only the moonlight that let's him see the look on her face just before she leans in and

she kisses him.

They sit on the porch one day that just happens be that day, that day that's three years after they started all of this. It's not lost on them.

"You ever think about 'em?"

She looks at him, squinting against the sun as it sets in the distance behind him. "Who?"

"Who you have waiting for you back home."

"Home?" The word sound foreign coming out of her mouth. Her eyes turn downward. She never answers.

It's uncertainty that befalls them when they see their old friends approaching. He takes his glasses off, the blur of his vision somehow supposed to clarify if what he's seeing is true or not.

They look to each other, and Juliet is the first to speak.

"You still got my back?"

"Absolutely."

the end