Where the energy comes from to move at all is mystery, yet Juliet repeatedly strikes the bomb's core. The cavern echoes with her pathetic efforts, small pings and clangs mix with her whimpers, each of which fail to bring the necessary release. Her broken fingers tighten around the rock which threatens to slip from her bloody grasp; somehow she rallies the strength for one last attempt. This, this is it, she thinks. Rock and flesh slam down once more on top of metal and wire. Relief follows in the form of a bright white light. Finally, she says to herself. It's over.
There is nothing the universe likes to do more than tease Juliet, so of course, it is not over. A new chapter unfolds, and not without some sympathy, since whomever or whatever saw fit to heal her body first. She awakes with the taste of liquid rust on her lips, but finds her bones and skin mended. It is not necessarily a kind gesture; there are things that cannot be so easily fixed. Her physical heart beats strong, but the emotional one seeps like a gangrenous wound requiring amputation. For a long while Juliet just lies on the ground, willing her heart to stop. Like everything else, it defies her by circulating blood and oxygen as it should.
One thought pushes her synapses back from defeat. James! If she of all people had survived, she should not be alone.
Juliet stands on wobbly legs and takes in her surroundings. She makes a 360 degree turn; all around her is a dense green lushness that grows up from the ground and hangs down from the trees. Clearly, she is still on the island, but not in a location she believes to have ever set foot before. Plump air, thick and alive, envelopes her and fills her lungs. It carries with it the nearby ocean, salty and wild, and of rich earth underneath her feet. A dozen signs of life buzz around her; birds and monkeys chortle from above and the treetops sway with their antics; bees so heavy with pollen that they smell like candy, dodge the obstacle she presents in their path. A patch of brown catches her eye, and Juliet gets a glimpse of something slight and lithe before it skitters off. Despite the fertility around her, the word that comes to mind is untouched.
Like her, this land has emerged unscathed by the weapon she ignited, but there is more to it than that. Where she stands has not just been spared, it is new and fresh and most importantly, intact. Scientists had never burrowed under this ground looking for magic. A plane had never been plucked from the sky and had its parts and people scattered across this land. A man named Ricardus had never given a sermon at the foot of a statue. This air had yet to be inhaled by Benjamin Linus, young or old. It occurs to Juliet for the first time that she had nothing to do with the bright light that swallowed her up, instead the island had once again shifted in time and space. She knows this by how clean and empty of man's touch the landscape is. She had been looking for the end, and the island bequeathed her its beginning.
The island also granted her a companion. Juliet finds a man sitting up against a tree, head in hands, not far from where she came to. Long blond/brown hair causes great confusion for both at first, and there are cries of "James!" and "Penny!" before the case of mistaken identity unravels. Still Desmond acts as a tourniquet of sorts for her. Having been continents and commitments away, his bewilderment and bereavement at finding himself back on the island far surpass her own. In the first few weeks, Juliet manages to keep her own panic at bay by trying to calm him, and when that fails, offers some answers for their predicament.
Magnetism, she says, as they sit and wait together, knees tucked to their chins, hoping for another flash to whisk them away. Their different levels of exposure to The Swan must have coated their bodies in some residual form of magnetism, she theorizes. When the time flash occurred, they were unceremoniously yanked back to what appeared to be the future site of the station. She determines this after they orientate themselves. Though the jungle is much heavier than it had been in their times, they are able to pinpoint where a clearing would eventually be made, and a crater dug. Juliet's conclusions offer Desmond no solace, because it is not an explanation he craves, but a way home.
Once the shock wears off, he has several ideas how to achieve this, most of which depend on finding someone with more knowledge than them. After they give up waiting for another dissolve into whiteness, Desmond spends his days roaming the jungle, calling out "Daniel!" or alternatively, "Faraday!" It is only a less tortuous knell than the one saved for his wife and child. She joins him in his search half-heartedly, convinced even if they were to uncover the physicist, fate would intervene to leave her behind. It takes them three months to survey the entire island, and in that time, they find no trace of past or present human inhabitation.
His next plan is to build a raft. He takes on this project while Juliet maintains a search and rescue-style bonfire. Their hands are their only tools and it is a slow and painful process to collect enough wood for both projects. At night they sit by her fire, attempting to remove the splinters from each other's palms and fingers, and rubbing aloe on their cuts and blisters. It is a silent ritual. Once the sky darkens and the fire lights their faces, they both succumb to their own private memories and musings. Expressing their losses out loud is too painful, so they tend to the lesions that are visible.
Only one evening does the pattern break. They have a rollicking argument about abandoning the fire or raft and focusing on just one project. Each thinks their plan is the sounder one and a good amount of yelling occurs. At one point Juliet slaps a stunned Desmond across his face, and follows that up by a good old-fashioned stomping pout down the beach. She only makes it a quarter of a mile away before her terror boils over at the thought that in her absence, he had taken off in the half-completed raft and left her alone. Even though she can see the flicker of their campfire in the distance, she is overcome with the darkness of abandonment.
It is then she hears a voice as raw and fearful as her own call out "Juliet!" It acts as a lighthouse beckoning her home. She follows it until Desmond meets her halfway. His apology is underlined with the desperation painted plain on his face. It reads, the only thing worse than being here, is being here alone. Her agreement is a much delayed embrace that confirms her presence and his. Together they are Desmond and Juliet. Alone they are no one. That can't happen, and they are never that far apart again.
It goes on like this for a while; Juliet purposely loses track of the exact number of days. Finally Desmond produces something that might be considered seaworthy on a very calm and small lake. It is the best they can do. Using some vague calculations from the stars, he suggests they set sail the following week. In the meantime, they collect as much fresh water and food they think is possible to store. There is little ceremony to the launch of the raft, no speeches or longing looks back at the piece of land they leave behind.
They fall into a routine, paddling as long as their arms hold out, then resting and riding the waves. For several hours a jaunty team of dolphins accompany their journey. For the first time since they had arrived here, she and Desmond exchange smiles. He lets out a jubilant laugh she didn't think he was capable of, and she follows, thinking they might just actually get somewhere. They decide not to stop at the smaller island. Since they had arrived, there had been no smoke or any other sign of life.
They make good progress. By nightfall, the main island appears as a shadow behind them. When Juliet takes her turn to sleep, the clear night sky presents an optimistic trail of stars, and she allows herself to fall into a dream.
It only lasts a few seconds. She is watching from behind a kitchen counter in her sister's Miami apartment. Across the room, Rachel and James sit engaged in a battle of wills over a stack of poker chips. It is a sight she could drink in indefinitely. A small hand tugs her pant leg, and Juliet smiles down at her nephew. She thinks, Hey sweetie, shouldn't you be in bed? She can't get the words out because she finds her mouth full of wet sand. This is not a dream dissolving into a nightmare, but reality doing its best to wake her.
Juliet pushes herself up on her elbows, spitting out sand. With no memory of getting here, she finds herself lying on the beach, her legs still blanketed by rolling waves. About three arm lengths away, Desmond lies on his back, eyes blinking madly. His head rolls over her way when he hears her stir. She can see where his tears have made tracks through the salt water stains on his skin and beard.
There is not point in asking what happened. Whatever happens, happens. It always ends the same for her, and apparently for him.
"Bloody snow globe all over again." He follows this statement with his second laugh of the day. This time the joy is replaced with a hysteric bitterness. She crawls over to him, resting her head on his shoulder and joins in.
They walk back to their camp. Neither of them makes any effort to light the bonfire when they arrive. They sit shivering in their wet clothes.
Out of nowhere Desmond says, "Before the storm came up, I dreamt I was home."
"I was with my sister and James."
He holds his hands to his nose and inhales. "I could smell them."
"They were so close," she agrees, trying to capture the vision again and failing.
After these confessions, stories tumble out faster than either could tell them properly. It is suddenly important to know the story of each other's lives.
"I was but six, when my mum died of…"
"My first choice was actually art school, not medicine, but I worried about making a…"
"…nearly got married when I was twenty-two to this lovely girl Ruth…"
"…No! I can't believe it! You've never read Stephen King! But he's a…"
"Would you believe I met Jack before…"
"As a child, Ben looked so…."
"The last time I saw Pen, she was fretting over her first grey hair. God, she would still be beautiful when she's ninety."
"Before they all came back, James and I made a date to cut his hair. It was getting too long."
They went on like this, talking until their throats are raw and their bellies empty. They take breaks to collect fruit and catch the occasional fish, and then hurry back to share bits and pieces of their histories, their families, of past and current loves, of aspirations attained and unrealized. There's an intimacy not born of touch but of sound. It reminds them wherever they were, they were not alone, and that there had been another world before this one.
When the rains come more frequently, they move to the caves, continuing their conversations until all that is left to say are the things that leave lumps in their throats and sobs in their chests.
"If I'm here, where are they? Does my Charlie even exist?"
"I hate myself for being so jealous near the end."
"I don't think Penny can come for me this time."
"I should have gotten on that sub."
They both say, almost in unison, "I'm never going to leave this place."
After that statement, there is nothing left to share and they dare not lapse back into the silence of their own heads. So Juliet fills the void with a thought that had occurred to her in the first few days. "Desmond, there is some Brugmansia growing nearby. Those golden trumpet shaped flowers by the spring?"
"Hmmmm? "
"All parts of the plant are fatally poisonous if ingested."
He makes another non-committal noise and rolls over on his side, away from her. She lets it go.
In the morning she suggests they go for a swim and surprisingly he agrees. Rather than go to the beach, they retrace their steps and find the waterfall they had spotted in the early days searching for others. By then, modesty had become an afterthought, and Juliet leaves her tattered clothes on the grass and climbs over the slippery wet rocks until she can stand directly behind the falls. At first she uses them like a shower, letting the water pound her head and face, shaving off not only layers of dirt, but pounds of stress. Under the roaring of the water, she can't hear anything, not even the grief that echoes in her head and heart. Then she plugs her nose and jumps. The water welcomes her with a cool embrace.
Underwater she hears James speak, "Blondie, I didn't expect to see you here of all places, giving Braveheart a free show." When she surfaces, she expects to see him beside her, grinning. Of course he was not, but his presence is everywhere with her that day.
By then Desmond has shed his clothes and dove in. Then he climbs out again and like her, spends some time under the falls. Eventually he joins her and they circle each other, treading water, just smiling, enjoying the relaxation and cleansing comfort they can't find on land.
They don't linger. Before long Juliet leads their way to the caves. On their way back, it begins to rain lightly and Desmond sends her on ahead. She presumes he was gathering fruit, and so she starts a fire outside the cave while she waits, thinking they could roast some coconut this time. He returns quickly, not with dinner, but with a shirt full of the yellow flowers she had described to him last night.
He kneels, spreading them out before her, counting. The yellow blossoms stand out starkly against the dark greys and black of the cave. "I didn't know how much to get."
Her voice catches, then steadies. "This is fine."
He nods; his thumb and forefinger play with the scraggly hair at his chin. "I think she would understand."
It wasn't her place to answer him, so she says, "I could make us a tea."
"Would that work?"
She nods, and his response is to go to fetch them some water. With a rock, Juliet pounds the petals and pistils laid out on Desmond's shirt. As she smashes and tears the flowers, she is reminded of her insane attempts to shatter the bomb. Her actions and dread are the same. One thing stands out as different; she is not alone.
By the time the water has heated, Juliet has managed to grind the blossoms into a paste. She divides the quantity in two and places it in their cups made of coconut husks. Each of them stir the water with their index fingers until the paste turns the water a bright shade of orange, one that matches the tones of the setting sun.
Desmond studies the liquid, and says with his remaining humour, "Bottoms up, sister."
Her chuckle dissolves before it can make any sound. No reassurances are passed between them. Desmond drinks the bitter liquid and she follows. It's as simple as that. Holding hands, they watch the sunset from the mouth of the cave. The fiery ball of orange and red appears to hang indefinitely on the horizon, then finally, sinks into the ocean.
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