Happiness Is A Warm Gun, a lost fanfic

Title: Happiness Is A Warm Gun

Pairing: Juliet/Jack

Rating: R for mentions of drug use and suicide

She's not a girl who misses much

But Juliet missed this. Missed how she could possibly not be happy off the island. And she missed him. More than she thought possible. More than what was bearable.

I need a fix 'cause I'm going down.

Juliet meticulously cleans her stainless steel spoon with rubbing alcohol. She laughs. Why bother, she thinks, but does it anyway. She places two tic tac sized pieces of black tar in the centre and squirts water onto it. She watches numbly, as it dissolves. Then with eager anticipation she waits until the piece of cotton puffs up like a sponge, soaking up all the pain along with it. She lets the syringe suck it up then deposits it into the vein in the bend of her arm.

She's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand.

Juliet sprawls out onto her stomach and holds the piece of paper flat onto the dirty carpet. She reaches blindly under piles of unread mail scattered on the floor and finds a pen. Takes the cap off with her mouth and manages to write two words. "Forgive me."

She folds the paper as neatly as she can and slides it into an envelope marked Dr. Jack Shephard.

Happiness Is A Warm Gun

Juliet stumbles to her feet and heads to the kitchen counter. It's heavier than she remembers it to be. Seemed so much lighter in her hands back on the island but maybe it was because he was there, watching her back. Still she lifts the gun and points it to her head. "Bang, bang, shoot, shoot," she says before pulling the trigger.

Mother Superior jump the gun

A knock comes at the door, and with her bandaged hand held limply at her side she manages to open it with her other. Her blue eyes stare widely at the man before her. Jack Shephard.

"Jesus, you look worse than I do," she says her eyes taking in his disheveled appearance. Eyes hard and dark from pain and regret, body soft and worn from abuse and neglect.

"You're lucky the gun backfired," he tells her.

"Am I?" she asks not really expecting an answer. And as he pushes his way into her messy apartment she wonders how she, Juliet Burke, could have forgotten to clean the chamber.

"Why didn't you call me, you could have called me," he says his hand running over his tired face, stopping to scratch at his beard.

"Because I'm not supposed to exist, I'm not supposed to be here, I'm not supposed to know you, not supposed to have ever lov…" she stops herself as she feels the emotions rise to the surface. She can't take feeling anymore. She should have used, would have used if she knew he had received her envelope, if she knew he'd come to try and fix her.

Jack stares at her before diverting his eyes and scanning the room. He sees used up syringes on the living room sofa and his eyes water to know what's become of her. His hands dig into his pockets and they hit the plastic jar, rattling with one single pill and he sighs. What's become of him?

Juliet waits for him to say something but he doesn't. He takes a step closer to her body and she can feel his heat. She thinks she shouldn't but she can't resist falling into it. He lets her, arms already open, mouth already wet.

I need a fix 'cause I'm going down.