The Second

They were gone. So many of them were gone. Plans had tumbled into despair, and even as hope was not lost, his role was over. Locke had done more than he could, and now the remaining were home. Well, if not home, safer. Time was right.

She looked at him like he was a bug on a slide. Juliet. Something tore in him every time he caught her gaze, and he kept his eyes well away instead. He deserved her hate. This was not a new revelation. Everything he had done, that he had perceived had been for her, had turned inward, warped, gnarled, and fallen into sorrow. He had been an architect for pain. He wanted to die.

Locke was addressing the rest of them, the survivors, the lost. The words were unimportant to Ben, but the tone was that of a true leader. This time, they would all be going home. Those that belonged to the island would stay, in peace at last. Safe. Kept away from the world that might abuse that place. He would be leaving with the others – and how that word hurt him to think. Now he was, truly, other. He had nothing left. He was left as a shell. No one acknowledged him.

Richard gave him one brief glance, dark eyes sparing him a moment's pity, and Ben found no gratitude for it. He knew his place. He knew how he had bought his fate.

But Juliet's gaze – that still pained. Locke's speech fell into silence and the rest began to slip away. The boats drifted closer. It was all done, the storybook closing. And she still stared at him. It drove him mad. He hadn't wanted to break her, and yet he had. She did not walk away as the others did. She still stood on the beach, staring at him. He knew the question in her thoughts – why are you still alive when so many are rotting? and had no answer for it.

Ben walked towards her. Juliet didn't move, her expression didn't change, and Locke merely watched from a distance, not interfering. Ben stood for a moment before her, broken, clothes torn and dirty. He opened his mouth to speak, but found he could not. He fell to his knees instead and cried.

There was nothing else for long moments. She didn't move.

"I'm sorry, Juliet. I'm so sorry." He waited for her to strike him, perhaps blessedly even find a gun. There was nothing. He continued to weep, silently, trapped by the moment he had caused.

More time passed and the sun began to set in the horizon. The soft blare of a distant boat broke through, and birds cried out in the distance, enraged by this intrusion. He sighed, emptied out and wrung through.

Juliet reached down and placed her hand on his head. The palm was heavy and warm. "You're a bastard, Ben," she muttered. Her voice was tired and held no malice in it. "The boat's here. Let's go."

* * * *

Four months had passed. Ben did what he could, finding new identities for those who had left the island. It had dwindled his hidden savings, but he had no fear of poverty. There was plenty left. And he had many options, not the least of which involved little bits of corporate espionage against the remains of Widmore's sprawling company. They were meager plans. But it was familiar work for him, and he found some comfort in it.

He clung to a brief memory from the boat, where he had succeeded in drawing one moment's peace from Juliet. She had asked him, not really caring about the answer, what he would do with his life.

"There's always work for a checkout bagger," he'd muttered offhandedly, not really addressing the question, and she had laughed, surprising him.

"I'd like to see that."

"Maybe a few nice late evening shifts. Something on the weekend. The particularly dire hours." His tone was dry, admitting some of the same amusement at the improbable scenario. And she had laughed.

Juliet had stayed behind when the others drifted off. Some had gone back to LA, some to New York. Korea. Or just vanishing. He wandered. She wandered with him. He didn't know why, and he didn't ask. It didn't seem safe. If he asked, she might go, and he was too lonely to risk it. He didn't feel he had the right to.

* * * *

Two years now, and quiet truce had evolved into something more. He still never pressed her, but in time, she pressed against him. He tried to step back, knowing that all he had done was hurt her, but she no longer seemed afraid of him. Or angry. She smiled more frequently, and it was summer where they were – wandering Europe, avoiding angry ex-Widmoreans, revisiting the world and seeing it for what it was, broken and beautiful. Florence haunted them both the most and they left within days, seeing too many parallels in its history to their own.

The island had taken most of his life, but now he felt as if some of it had returned, as though there would be years yet for him, and new youth. He smiled more easily as well, and his face had lost its frightening, distant cast. It was a better life that he had now, and he supposed now he was struggling towards his own salvation. Juliet was guiding the way, and he owed her everything. If she had left him when the boat had docked, his journey surely would have led to a swift river, and his corpse drifting along its shores.

He told her only once of what he still felt for her, in Ireland, a ruined tower rising in the distance. They had gone to visit a distant lochan, birds skimming across its surface. It was one of the places Avalon had been rumored to be, though they were not there to seek it. It was simply a beautiful place. Juliet had said nothing to his words, but later he would not go to bed alone. Nor afterward. He didn't need her to speak. She understood. It was more than enough.

There was peace for him at last. He clung to human contact like drowning, and never let her again feel as if she were in danger.

* * * *

So dark, and alone again. Ben stirred from where he lay and rolled, afraid again. His memory was again blank, but the smell of Juliet's hair filled his nostrils. Where was she? Where was he? He reached out and found nothing. He called out wordlessly, his voice cracking, sounding like a frightened child.

"Stop it, Ben," Juliet muttered. "You're fine. I'm here. Nobody's lost."

"We all got away, didn't we? It's over..."

"Well, no, Ben." She sighed. "Not all of us, but we're not lost. Are you scared?"

"God, yes."

"You probably should be." She sounded sympathetic. He felt her palm against his forehead, heavy and soothing.

"Will you still be there at the end?"

"Should I be?"

"I... don't know." He felt fear gnaw at him.

"Well, try. Do what you can, keep on the path, and we'll see what happens, right?" She laughed, a short burst.

"I don't know if I can, I think I broke something. I can't remember what."

"Well, you need to remember, and you need to fix it, or you'll die."

"I'm not scared of that." He was, and she sighed at him.

"Don't lie to me, Ben. You know better than that by now. We're done lying to each other, right? Lie down now. It'll be done soon."

Ben laid his head back down on cold stone, sensing his collar caught in something sticky and moist and that smelled intangibly familiar, like copper. He passed on into the dreaming state, a troubled expression marking his brow. He could still smell Juliet's soft hair.