Record-quick update. Woooo! Thanks, tia, for suggesting their reaction to this . . .
Juliet thinks the shaking has stopped. Everyone's crouched in the doorway, staring. Staring at her. Like she knows what's going on. What the hell was that? No one moves. What if it starts up again? No, it's definitely stopped. She stands up first - it's her house, after all. Out the door.
The shaking is over, but there's a high-pitched whine. From where? From the sky? No that can't be right. It's louder though, and, yeah, undeniably from the sky. She looks up. It's so bright and clear and blue and ohmygod ohmygod. It's a plane, and she watches as it splits right in two.
Those poor people, she thinks. Oh, God. Those poor people.
What the fuck just happened? Where is he? Face down in a pile of sand. Sawyer pushes himself up on his knees. He spits, chokes, gags. His teeth are gritty. His tongue is gritty. His whole fucking face is gritty.
He stands up, puts a hand to the back of his head. It's sore. He looks at his hand, surprised to find no blood there. He starts walking. Everything seems to work just fine.
What the fuck just happened? And why does it smell like jet fuel?
This is hell, right? If so, he deserves it.
PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS
If James has to hear one more goddamn word about Porter Fucking Goss he may just shoot himself in the face. Senate confirmation hearings on CNN. CIA head. Porter Goss? Yay? Nay? Just go ahead and confirm the damn guy already. Or not. Huh. Wow. James realizes from here on out, he doesn't know what's going to happen.
James came downstairs at the relatively early hour of 8AM. Juliet had been up God knows how long because there was a platter of scrambled eggs and about a loaf's worth of toast on the counter, and burnt-up bacon in the trash. Always burning things when she's stressed out.
"You expectin' company?" he asked, going ahead and picking up three pieces of toast, hardly making a dent in the pile. CNN was already on.
"No. Just. . . just got carried away."
"Any news?" he asked.
She shook her head. "Senate confirmation hearings."
They don't know when it actually happens. They don't know when the news gets out. So, they've been sitting here in the kitchen, watching on the little TV. Waiting. The watched pot that never boils.
PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS
This is as bad (worse?) than those long, long, loooooooong days (weeks?) between Rachel's due date and the day she decided to finally make her appearance. At least then they didn't have to watch Senate confirmation hearings. So, maybe that wasn't as bad as this. Juliet may disagree.
It's gonna happen, right? What happened, happened. Haven't they proved that enough? The grant, the crank call, the prison bribe . . . what happened, happened. But what if it didn't? What if one of the big events of their life wasn't supposed to happen? What if they weren't supposed to invest in Microsoft? What if she wasn't supposed to get pregnant that third time? What if they were supposed to move to San Francisco, not Los Angeles? What if they were supposed to stay in Ann Arbor?
Or what if they did all the big things right? What if the change was something miniscule? What if James, not Juliet, was supposed to be the one to drive Jimmy to the ER to get stitches in his head? What if Rachel was supposed to lifeguard instead of babysit the summer she was 16?
A butterfly flaps its wings in Brazil and causes a Texas tornado . . .
What if that butterfly flapping its wings was something TINY? What if it was having spaghetti instead of tacos for supper one random night in 1984? What if it was letting Jimmy borrow the car for prom? What if it was giving Sophocles to the neighbors in Ann Arbor instead of bringing him to LA?
Hours pass. Even so, it's not even noon yet.
"I can't stand this anymore," Juliet says. "I'm going to the gym."
Off she goes, and, she's not fooling anyone, James thinks. They have TVs tuned in to CNN at the gym, so he knows good and well she's gonna be running on that treadmill, eyes glued to PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS
He's going to read his book. He mutes the TV. He'll look up at the end of every chapter. No, every page. No, every paragraph. Fuck it. He turns up the volume and watches.
PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS
Juliet comes back from the gym.
PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS
Miles comes over. The three of them sit at the kitchen table.
PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS
They order pizza for lunch.
PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS PORTER GOSS . . . the anchor interviews a political pundit. The anchor puts a hand to her ear. "Hold on just a minute," she excuses herself to her guest. "We're getting word . . ."
James, Miles, and Juliet lean in closer.
". . . initial reports indicate that an Oceanic Airlines flight has been lost over the Pacific. Those are all the details . . .OK, we do have a flight number. Oceanic 815 . . . and, OK, we're going to go to commercial here, and we hope to have more details when we return."
James, Miles, and Juliet lean back in their seats and let out their collective breath.
"It happened. It happened," Juliet says, and "It happened," one more time for good measure.
"So, that's it, right?" Miles asks. "We're gonna be OK. What happened, happened. The plane crashed. We're gonna be all right." He grins.
James wishes. "No, dude," he says. "I think they gotta get rescued. Jack and that bunch. 'Cause that's when we went back in time. We gotta wait a few more months at least."
But at least the plane crashed. At least no butterfly wing flaps kept that damn plane in the air.
Juliet's shaking her head. "No. Not even then. I don't know that we're safe until they crash again . . . whenever that is. That's what led to us getting off the Island. Things could still change. I mean, what if Sayid doesn't get captured when they crash? What if Sun makes it with them? What if Kate decides to come back? Anything could change. We aren't out of the woods till then."
"Not even then, not really," James murmurs. Miles and Juliet look at him. He explains, "If they crash just like they did, that probably means Juliet makes it off OK. That happened pretty soon after." He looks over the table at her. "And if that happens, you'll be OK. Right? You and Rachel both. But, shit, Enos, we gotta wait practically half a year. I mean, if we don't get off that Island . . . If I don't get off . . . no Jimmy."
"In more ways than one, eh LaFleur? Know what I mean?" Miles jokes.
"Heh," James half laughs.
Juliet rolls her eyes. "What is it, Miles? Why are you so fascinated with our sex life?"
"I'm not fascinated," Miles protests.
Juliet cocks an eyebrow at him, crosses her arms over her chest. "There's at least two boxes of Jeep junk upstairs that says otherwise."
"Fine," he admits. "Fine. Wanna know something? Wanna know when I found out about you two?"
"We told ya at our little one-year in Dharmaville dinner thing," James answers.
"Bzzzzzz! Wrong. Thanks for playing," Miles game-shows. "No. Remember that damn monsoon we had? We'd been there, I don't know, not quite a year yet?" James nods, yes, yes of course he fucking remembers, where is this heading?
Miles continues, "So you," he points to James, "tell me to bring some security logs by your place. You say, 'I gotta meeting with Horace, just let yourself in, and leave 'em on the couch.' So, I do. I do just what you say. Except you forgot to tell me your meeting got canceled. So, I let myself in, and . . . Well, you want me to continue?"
Juliet's still got her arms crossed. "Please."
"Yeah, well, the noises coming from the bedroom . . . I mean, wow! First I thought maybe some animal trapped in there. Then I hear a woman's voice, let me see if I can get this right . . . 'Oh, God, yeah, right there. Mmmm hmmm.' And then, the unmistakable sound of a headboard against the wall."
James cuts his eyes to Juliet. She's bright red. She really does get embarrassed when it comes to this sort of thing – the talking about it, at least. Not so much with the actual doing of it.
"Yeah," Miles keeps at it. "So, I let myself out. Now, I don't have anything more to do with my afternoon. Everything shut down due to that damn monsoon. I figure, might as well sit across the way and wait to see who comes out. Find out, who, exactly, is responsible for all that noise. Remember that Stacey chick?" He looks over at James.
"Oh, God, yeah. Yeahhhhh." Stacey. Good looking, and kind of known as "easy pickings" among the men of Dharma.
"Yeah, well, my money was on her. There I sat under the gazebo, and here comes Stacey dashing out of the cafeteria and across the quad. 'Huh,' I think. 'Cross Stacey off the list.' Then I waited and waited and waited. You guys almost outlasted me, but I stuck with it. Finally the door opens, and I just about shit myself when I see Juliet come strolling out. Now, don't get me wrong, you guys had that kinda flirty thing going on for awhile, but. . . Jesus! And then you have the nerve to act like absolutely nothing's changed. For two weeks at least! We're all hanging out, and you two are same old, same old. Don't know how you did it, quite frankly."
"Me neither," James mumbles. Damn, that was pure torture. Kinda hot, though.
Miles isn't done. "And then, there's the whole Jeep story. And you," he points at Juliet. "You, always acting like such a prude."
Juliet, icily, "You think I'm a prude, Miles?"
"Oh, no. No, no, no, no. I know you're not a prude. Know that very well, but you act like it, and well . . . it's just too damn fun to get under your skin."
She turns to James. "Can you believe him?"
"Uhm, no. Look!" he distracts. "Back from commercial." He does the same thing with her. She does get embarrassed easily.
They watch the news. Juliet gasps. "Mikhail was playing this report . . ." she trails off. She puts a hand to her mouth and swallows hard. She's never had much good to say about that guy, so what is this all about?
Shit. She saw her sister then. Right now. Right this very moment, her sister is at a playground with her kid. He takes her hand, squeezes it. They keep watching. No details they aren't already well aware of. Actually, all the details are wrong. Commercial.
Miles says, "Maybe we should call them?" Why? So the details are all wrong. Not their place to correct. "Rachel and Jimmy," Miles clarifies. "Just to . . .you know . . . double check?"
Miles really is family. He's as worried as they are. He loves those kids, too.
Miles holds up his phone, he's not waiting for permission. "I'll call, you guys just keep quiet," he says, already scrolling through his address book. He's got the phone on speaker. It rings once, twice, and, damn, it's all gonna be OK, right? That plane did crash. Nothing's changed. Why is James suddenly nervous? Jimmy picks up the other end, and James unclenches his ass cheeks. Why is he so nervous? They're going to be fine. Right? Fine.
"Jimbo!" Miles trills in relief.
"Hey, Uncle Miles, how's it goin'?"
"Uh," Miles looks up in alarm. James shakes his head in disgust. If you're going to call, you need to have an excuse prepared. He still laughs about the ridiculous crank call Juliet made to her sister. Miles covers, though. "I got two tickets to the Dodgers on Friday. Wanna go?"
"Can't. I have a date."
"You're choosing a girl over me?"
"Well . . . yeah."
"I hope she's hot," Miles says.
"I dunno. I've never met her before. It's a blind date."
"So you don't have to wear your glasses?"
"Ha ha, Miles. Why don't you go to the game with Dad?"
"Your father is a loudmouth boor," Miles says. James flips him the bird.
Jimmy says, "You realize you guys can go to a ballgame without people getting the wrong idea? Sheesh."
"Yeah, OK, Jimmy. All right, well, talk to you later." Miles hangs up. "All right. One down, one to go." He sighs, relieved. James smiles over at Juliet. Yes, and if Jimmy's OK, Rachel surely is, too, right?
Before dialing, Miles says, "And before you ask, I don't actually have Dodgers tickets." He dials Rachel's number. It rings and rings and rings. Her voicemail picks up, but it's not her voicemail . . . it's not even her voice. It's a recording? Pre-recorded?. . . shit. Did something happen? NO. The plane crashed. It's all OK. It's all OK.
Miles clicks the phone off. They stare at each other. Juliet puts her head in her hands. Miles' phone rings, and they all jump. Miles answers, clicks on the speaker.
"You called?" It's Rachel's voice. Juliet mouths "Thank God." Why are they all so worried?
On the phone speaker, Rachel says, "Sorry, I just couldn't get to my phone in time." James throws up his hands in exasperation. Of course. Of fucking course.
"No problem," Miles says. "Hey, I've been seeing this woman, and I think she might kinda like a behind-the-scenes tour at the museum. You think you could arrange something like that?"
Rachel ignores the question. "A new woman? First I've heard of it. Who is she?"
"Never mind who she is," Miles snaps. "The question is, can you do a tour?"
"Yeah, sure. Just let me know a day or so in advance. No problem."
"All right. Great, thanks. I'll let you know."
"So?" Rachel leads. "Who is she?"
"Uh, no one. Just someone I met at the gym."
"Not one of those ladies in Mom's spin class?"
"God, no," Miles wrinkles his nose. "Those women are all old," he says. Juliet flips him the bird.
"Whatever, Uncle Miles," Rachel says on her end of the phone. "Just let me know. I'm interested to meet her."
"Right." Miles hangs up. "Well, two for two," he exults. "They're both OK."
James and Juliet glare at him. "Maybe you can take your imaginary girlfriend to an imaginary Dodgers game," Juliet notes. "Although, don't get any ideas from me. I'm old."
"I'd say somethin' myself, but it would be loudmouth and boorish," James adds.
"Cry me a river," Miles says. "The important thing is the plane crashed and, so far at least, everyone's OK."
"Your fringe of hair isn't fooling anyone, Miles. You. Are. Bald," Juliet says, smiling.
Miles flips her the bird, smiling back.
Thanks so much for all the reviews last chapter. Much appreciated!