"Ever dug a grave before?" Juliet's question catches him off guard and Sawyer shakes his head, taking another sip of beer. She knows she should find it infuriating that he's standing around lazing off while she pushes a shovel into the ground, but it's easier just to humor him given the situation.

"Nope. You?"

She smiles slightly. "I, uh…I buried my pet goldfish in our back yard when I was ten, does that count?"

A hint of a grin shadows his face. "Better than nothin'."

She sticks the shovel in the sand and leans back, wiping her hands. He walks over and joins her, tossing his now empty can to the side of the trees.

"Guess that about does it for the son of a bitch."

Juliet looks up at his face, down at the mounded grave, and then back up again.

"Yeah. I guess it does."

The first thing she notices is how weird it feels not to have his company and she's not even sure why she's thinking that. She wasn't attracted to him (not in that way, not at all.) She was just protecting him the way she would have protected anyone out of self-defense. And she was sure had done the same for her.

Had he?

The thought bounces around in her mind and she smiles a bit thinking of their conversation, of the way he so seamlessly bantered with her while they dug poor Tom's grave. It had been a long time since she felt so at ease with someone.

Still. Still.

She takes another step forward. His history precedes him, and she knows that he wouldn't be good for her. He cared too much about Kate, and despite what she could read on his face, he always would.

Juliet's a doctor, she attracts the guys who are respected and smart and full of themselves. She doesn't attract the ones that are saavy or the ones that match her true spirit.

It's just truth that guys like Sawyer didn't look at girls like Juliet.

He's walking with Hurley who's trying to talk to him, maybe to make nice about the whole incident back at the beach. He feels bad for ignoring the guy, especially in the wake of Charlie's death, but as he tromps through the jungle he finds that his mind isn't really on his friends. It's on her.

He feels almost embarrassed at the realization of that fact, and wonders why he's even thinking about it. True, she made him smile and he had to admit she was sharp even without a gun in her hand. Still, he found her annoying most of the time, especially when she used that voice, the one that for some reason always made him feel like he needed to stop and pay attention.

Sawyer kicks a branch out of his path. He's sure she's not even giving him a second thought right now, and why would she? She had the doc, and that's all anyone seemed to want these days. Jack and his leadership, respected because he could sew up a damn person's back where someone else couldn't.

Besides. He's been around long enough to know that girls like Juliet don't look at guys like him. Not in a million years. He's better off with someone equally damaged, someone who knows what a bad person he is.

Someone like Kate.

It doesn't take much thought, but Juliet's made up her mind by the time he catches up to her.

"Hey." Sawyer grabs her arm, pulling her away from the group and she looks at him in surprise, eyes traveling down to where his fingers grip her forearm.

"Can I help you, James?"

He sighs, his voice lowering to a growl. "Look, I'm headin' to the barracks. Locke's comin' too, probably safer there than the beach. You goin'?"

She's silent for a moment, and then abruptly shakes her head in response. He looks exasperated.

"Well, why the hell not?"

"Because I don't need to go to back there." Her voice is quiet and firm as she wrenches her arm out of his hold. "I'm going to stay at the beach. With Jack." She adds the last part with a sense of finality and turns abruptly, leaving Sawyer stationary for a moment before he quickens his pace, catching up beside her.

"Look. I didn't mean to force you, okay? I just mean that maybe it would help havin' a doc there. Jack's already at the beach, an' –"

Juliet whirls around, a hard look sliding over her face. "I don't want to go back to the barracks, James. And I'm sure you can get along just fine without me."

As she turns and rejoins the group, he tries not to think about why he even cares that she doesn't want to come with him.

He spends the first few days alone, enjoying somewhat of a solitary life and attempting to be sociable while reading whatever he can get his hands on. Somewhere, Locke is playing leader or God (he's not sure which one) and Sawyer thinks maybe he should care more, but realizes he's finding it hard to care about anything.

(His dreams of killing Cooper are now mingled with memories of killing Tom, and sometimes he has a hard time telling the two apart.)

Why hadn't he come back to the beach? True, given the opportunity, the idea of living in an actual house seemed ten times more appealing than sleeping in a tent. And Locke might be on some sort of crazy-like God bender, saddled with his fair share of insanity, but at the moment he trusted the guy a lot more than he trusted Jack.

And Kate.

Sawyer puts down his book and rubs a hand over his eyes, suddenly feeling tired of it all.

The trees part when she's not looking, the water glistening in the distance with stretches of sand trickling into the dirt ground of the jungle and Juliet feels her stomach dropping with every step. Being back at the beach feels odd and comforting all at the same time, familiar enough for her to feel at ease seeing the makeshift kitchen of DHARMA goods, the tents and the mess of open suitcases and Claire's empty cradle.

And unfamiliar. Juliet pauses as she passes Sawyer's tent, messy with clothes and books and magazines, tries to not let her mind dwell on the fact that it's otherwise unoccupied and pushes her feet forward, towards the water. Sneaking a glance back at the tree line, she suddenly finds herself wishing she was back at the barracks, back in her small house with the drawers full of books and the kitchen cabinets that she knew like the back of her hand. Three years of a home, the closest thing she knew to the word.

Except the barracks were never her home, not really, not any more than the beach was. I don't belong at the barracks, she finds herself thinking as a second thought passes through her mind almost in simultaneously. I don't belong at the beach, either.

And when she realizes her next thought, the truth hits her with a force that almost causes her to her laugh out of irony.

I don't belong anywhere.