Spoilers: Takes place after the show, so...everything! But especially 6.1 "LA X" and 6.17/18 "The End" in this first chapter.

Summary: This is a follow up to "My Promise To You", which was a series of letters written between James and Juliet during/inspired by season 6. This one will be a mix of letters, third person narrative and dreams, all from James' point of view, and all after his escape from the island.

(I feel the need here to mention justawritier's post-finale fic "Broken", which I was really inspired by before I wrote this. Definitely check it out, it's beautiful.)

Rated T for language.

My Life Without You

Hey, baby.

We made it. Me, Miles, Claire, Kate, Alpert and this guy named Frank who flew us out. We all made it 'home'. But you and I both know I never had a home aside from what I had with you, and even that island was a shitty substitute.

My home was you.

Miles told me to stay put in LA, and Kate offered me a place to stay. She asked me to help her take care of Claire for a while, but I couldn't say yes to either of 'em. I had to go someplace nobody would talk to me or ask how I was really doing. I felt alone no matter who was around me, so I thought I might as well be alone too.

Went down to Mexico for a while. I knew I wouldn't see too many blondes down there. That's the quickest way to make my heart ache nowadays, and another reason I couldn't stick around Claire too long, either. She ain't you, Blondie. No one is, was, or ever will be. But still.

I'm gonna go see your sister and your nephew. I promise. But I'm scared. I know it's worse for her not knowing, but she don't know me yet, and I'm scared of what it'll do to her, hearing it from a stranger. I keep wondering if she's gonna look like you, and if that's gonna make it harder.

I call Miles once in a while, to let him know I'm alive, and to make sure Los Angeles hasn't fallen into the ocean. Seems to happen a lot to the people I know, the ground going out from underneath 'em.

I -

"Whatcha writin?"

James stopped moving his pen and looked up from the table, remembering only then that he was in a diner. The waitress that smiled down at him smacked her gum loudly, living up to the stereotype. She was being nosy, but it was harmless. She just wanted a tip. He glanced down at the paper, debating covering it up with his arm and then realizing he really didn't care if a stranger got a peek.

"It's a letter." he said, to be polite.

"To who?" the waitress said, smiling again.

Girlfriend? She was more than that. Wife? She never got the chance to say yes. Love of my life? Didn't mean much unless you knew her.

"To a woman I knew." James said simply.

"Aw, a love letter?" the girl asked, missing the subtext of the past tense.

"You could say that." he replied, his tone flat and lacking any charm or invitation to continue asking him questions.

The girl finally sensed that he wasn't going to flirt or have a friendly conversation with her, so she asked him what she could write on her little pad, and he gave her his order. When she walked away, James returned his left hand to the sentence he'd just begun.

I had that dream again. The one where you're pregnant and you keep telling me we gotta get rid of it. If I never have it again it'll be too soon. It's nice to see you, but not like that, not sad and sacrificing. It tears me up every time. Please, if you can, come to me some other way. I need to see you happy.

I'm in Arizona now. Heading to Utah in the morning. Gonna see those Red Rocks we talked about. Is that far enough away from the jungle for you?

James would drive and drive until his car was almost out of gas, and then he'd find a gas station, fill up the tank and keep going. When he passed through a small town he'd find their liquor store and buy a bottle of Jack Daniel's. He was saving up for a bender, trying to see how long he could go before he needed to slip into oblivion. He'd been doing well lately, in that respect. Writing his letters kept him sober, because he didn't like the way they came out when he was drunk. The things he read back to himself when he woke up with a hangover felt disrespectful and dumb, but even those he didn't have the strength to burn or throw away. Every word belonged to Juliet, the moment the ink dried on the paper. He'd been doing well lately, but he'd been saving up for a bender because he felt the edge of a cliff rushing up to meet him. When he reached that edge he'd need to be numb for a while. The numbness would last until he hit the ground, when he'd feel all the pain again, fresh and deep into his bones. The pain of losing her.

That night, after leaving the diner and driving to the next motel, James almost opened one of the bottles, but changed his mind at the last second. I can wait another day. he thought. One more day. He'd been doing so well lately.

That night, after kicking off his boots and laying flat on his back in bed, James stared at the ceiling until he was asleep. How he slept at all when he was sober he didn't know, but when he started dreaming, his subconscious thanked him for leaving that bottle alone. He didn't dream when he was drunk.

That night, James had a new dream. In this new dream, he was in a motel, but it wasn't a motel he'd ever been in. Fuck, he'd think later on. At least I was off the island...

Juliet sat on the edge of his bed, gazing at him like she'd been watching him sleep. James stared at her, aware that he was dreaming but trying to figure out a way to make himself think it was real. She was in her red shirt, the one that she'd died in. The one he'd buried her in. She looked clean, though. At peace.

"I thought you'd be happier to see me." she said. Her eyes crinkled when she smiled, turning what could have been a complaint into a sweet, teasing thing. He hesitated, still trying to work through what was happening in his mind. The quiet in the room, invaded by the hum of the vending machines outside his window, was so convincing.

"I am happy to see you." he said suddenly, breaking the noisy silence. "I'm just scared you'll disappear if I do anything but lay here."

Juliet let her head fall to the side, her hair slipping out from behind her ear, and she regarded him with a calm and reassuringly confident look.

"I won't." she said. "Not until you wake up. I promise."

James let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. It didn't comfort him, knowing he'd eventually wake up. But he could pretend for now. For her. He sat up, reaching for her, and she moved toward him.

"Can I kiss you?" he asked, so innocently, looking into her eyes for permission, or for reassurance that it wasn't against the rules. At this, her quiet confidence seemed to dissolve into heartbroken sympathy for him.

"You can do anything you want to me, James." said Juliet.

He touched her face, his thumbs stroking the skin on her cheeks, and he knew she could feel his hands shaking. She put her hands over his, pressing them to her face, and smiled while he continued to search her eyes.

"It's okay." she told him, and his eyes welled up with tears. The tears spilled over, but he didn't fight it. He didn't have to with her.

"I miss you." he said, his voice choked. God, her face...her neck was so warm...

"I know." said Juliet, turning her head to kiss one of his palms.

"I miss you so much -"

James woke up with a start, sitting up immediately. The room was empty, and his cheeks were wet. That was it. There was no ground underneath him anymore, the edge was behind him and he was falling now, so fast and hard he almost couldn't breathe. James covered his face with his hand, steeling himself against the feeling, but it lanced his heart and he began to cry. She wasn't there. She wasn't anywhere he could reach. The pain would never end because, no matter how long he dreamed, he'd always wake up alone. He tried to control it, but when he tried to remember more of the dream he got to bawling as hard as ever before. He couldn't numb it now, not now that he was in it, feeling it, being ripped apart by the ache.

He'd open a bottle and start that bender the next day, though. As soon as he finished the letter.

I had a new dream last night. Felt like an answered prayer. You came to my motel room, and you smiled at me and told me everything was okay. You were so beautiful, just the way I remember you. Thing is, fool that I am, I only asked for a happy you. Forgot to ask for a happy me too. I realized something last night though, after I woke up out of that dream.

I'm never gonna get over you.

I also realized that I don't want to.

I love you, Juliet. Forever.

- James