It was cold. Not cold in the strict, literal definition of the word, but rather it just felt cold in bones, minds and hearts. The sun was filtering through the ancient oaks, their branches weighed down with the secrets of their ancestors. Not even the brisk wind could scatter their stories amidst the thrashing waves that attempted to pull the ground out from beneath them.

He walked with a new-found authoritative air, a cautious spring in his step. His surroundings seemed a little harsher than usual, a little more unpredictable than he would have liked. Those enormous oaks had eyes, he was sure of it.

"Come on, you don't have a whole lot of time."

He dropped his signature drawl and forced the words out hurriedly. He couldn't explain the feeling that was settling itself into the dock that stretched out before him... before them.

She brushed off the pollen that had found its way onto the front of her sundress, the tiny yellow spores drifting up towards the sun. Her hair shone bright in the midday glare. He was tugging at her free hand.

Their escape route was waiting for them at the end of the battered, wooden plank. Of course it was more like a plank than a landing dock. What exactly were they lowering themselves into?

"I'm not going without you. You're wasting your time."

She freed herself from his hold and stopped dead in her tracks. He raised an eyebrow as if it was just a reflex. This is what has to happen, a voice sounded in the back of his mind. She has to go and you have to stay behind.

"I told you," he said through a clenched jaw, "I can't. There are bigger things happening right now... bigger than either of us can possibly comprehend. I'm where I'm supposed to be."

She glanced up at him with her patented stony glare, softened only by the hazy yellow filter that spanned between them. Her features told the story of uncertainty, fear, and most obviously, of heartache. He didn't want it to be this way. He never wanted to see her go like this. But it's for the best, that damned voice told him.

Without further protest, he resumed his hold on her fragile wrist, a wrist that could snap at any moment if she let it. They made their way onto the mossy boards, their wooden strands shifting out of place with every step they took. It wasn't entirely unlike their life. For every action, she thought to herself, there is a reaction. Sometimes immediate, sometimes delayed. No one could possibly know.

"Look," she said forcefully as they trod along the soggy plank, "why don't you just come with me. We're not a part of this, James. We never were!"

He turned to face her, his eyes boring into hers. "Not part of this? We're what started this, Jules. I owe it to these people to get them out of it, if at all possible."

Her glare softened, the severity of her brow relaxing into a more neutral arch. "You don't owe anyone anything. Your whole life you've been looking for answers, for justice. Don't you think its just time to... you know, let everything work itself out?"

He sighed. His scraped knuckles snagged on the cloth of his shirt. She extended her arm and took his hand in her own. "Come on, let's go home."

It wasn't the first time he let his judgment be swayed by a woman. It certainly wouldn't be the last, either. This was truly bigger than both of them, bigger than their little community of do-gooders they left behind. He could stay and try to get them all off the island, shuttling six at a time in the submarine which they were now fast approaching. But if he wasn't around to do it someone else would. There was always somebody else. Somebody better, more capable, more...

"James, look at me."

He lifted his eyes from the dark, mottled boards beneath his feet.

"Where's home, Juliet? This place is my home. There's nothin' left for me back there... back 'home.' 'Course there is for you, you've got a nice family, a sister, a nephew. You can get your old job back, your old friends, your old house. Me? Nothin'. This is the only 'home' I know."

She took one small step closer, bridging the gap between them. It shouldn't be this difficult. None of them were supposed to be there, this horrible place was no one's home as far as she was concerned.

"Our home, James," she said sternly, "has yet to be built or bought. You can't possibly return to something that isn't there, can you?"

A small smile played at the corner of her mouth, opening just wide enough to let the sunshine seep out of her. It was all around them, feigning warm feelings and memories not yet made. He was going to get on that submarine with her, the only woman who never doubted him, the only woman who always trusted him. Why then did he still feel a chill rising in his bones?

They were five paces from the opening. Five paces from the beginning of the end. Five small, insignificant paces from home when it happened. The sound was loud and unwelcome.

The tall, handsome oaks cried in unison, their ancient histories dropping down to the pale earth beneath them. The crystal sea glittered gold with fragments of scripture older than the sunken treasures it held within its grasp. The man who wanted to return to a home he had yet to build simply crumpled to the ground, a crimson stain appearing on his side.

The woman now being helped down the narrow circular opening cried out in despair. This was far from her storybook ending. When did she ever know life to be fair? Her hair twirled about her face, the wind picking up and scattering those secret fates about the dock. There was always a reason for these things.

"Get in! Ms. Burke, get in!"

Her eyes were transfixed on the motionless figure that lay a mere ten feet in front of her. Her eyes were spilling secrets of their own.

"We can't leave him! We can't! He has to come with us, I can remove the bullet, it's fine.. just let me..."

The young man jerked her arm downwards, forcing her head below the opening so he could close the hatch safely. "We're being ambushed. He was shot by a hostile, ma'am and if we don't leave right now they're going to attack us too."

She spun around and glared at the man furiously. There was no sun down here. There was no false sense of warmth at all. No secrets, no stories. Nothing.

"I don't care about protocol. I'm going back up, I'm..."

The loud whirring of the engine reverberated throughout the cabin. It was over. It was out of her control.

"Stop!" she shouted, "I said stop! I'm going back!"

The young man grabbed at her shoulders. "No Ms. Burke, you're not. You're on our list, you have to go home."

"But..." she started but was cut off by the engines roaring below. "But what about James?"

The man looked at her apologetically. "I'm sorry ma'am, there's no James on this list. He's not supposed to be here. Did he have clearance?"

Her mind was racing.

"LaFleur. Of course he had clearance! Don't you people know anything?"

The man flipped through his cork clipboard and shook his head slowly from side to side. "I'm sorry, I'll wire out to central office back on land and tell them about the incursion on the dock. James can get the next sub out in a few weeks, by then I'm sure he'll be all fixed up."

She slid down to the floor, head in her hands. How foolish could she have been? It wasn't his destiny. He wasn't supposed to leave this place. He'll never leave this place. It's not supposed to happen.

"Ms. Burke, are you alright? Can I get you anything?"

She cried silently into her cold palms, the last ray of sunlight escaping her mouth in a defeated sigh.

Back on the plank the injured man propped himself up on his elbows, wincing as the pain coursed through his body. Shot, but not fatally so. He could feel the earth rumbling. They were coming. It had to happen.

His gaze was focused on the edge of the dock, on the tiny ripples of water that took her away from him. It wasn't entirely fair, but it was, however, fate. He was not finished here, with this horrible place he considered home. He knew enough now to know that the island worked in mysterious ways, never revealing why certain things must happen.

The only thing he could figure was that for every action there was a reaction. His destiny was not to get on that submarine with her. It was something far more complex, more daring. More courageous.

What is more courageous, he wondered, than taking a bullet for the woman you love, knowing full well that your destiny is not tied up with hers?

He winced again, the pain becoming intolerable. One way or another he would cut down these trees and change their secrets. He would rewrite his present, his future... their future. It could be done. He would get back to her.