stand by me

by maddtropics

the sunshine was the same, the island was the same, but it was the seventies. because of course it was

2. Chapter 2

Baby-pink sunlight filtered in through psychedelically patterned curtains, filling the room with a dim, dreamy glow. Outside, the lights in the windows of neighboring houses began to flick on one by one, casting beams of artificial yellow light into the pale lightening air. Soft, ankle-high wisps of damp fog flickered across the alleys and pathways weaving through the neighborhood, concealing the occasional bird or small animal that darted from garden to garden. Though it was early, the sun was already well on its way up, just in time to greet the Barracks residents as they rose for work.

Inside the house, it was as damp and hot as it was outside. The curtains waved listlessly in the draft that seeped in through the improperly sealed windows, bringing with it the dew-laden scent of outside. Everything seemed quiet and serene, as the gentle outside chorus of crickets gave way to early-morning songbirds and the sounds of people in neighboring houses going about their busy mornings.

Miles, wiping sweat off his brow, stomped down the hallway to where the thermostat was nestled next to the front door. James, who had just barely woken up, swung his legs over the side of the sofa and rubbed his face, trying to get his bearings. After sleeping outside for so long, he thought even the couch would be a welcome respite. Needless to say, the unfamiliar surroundings made it near impossible to sleep.

"Jesus, Chachi, do ya really gotta make so much noise this early in the mornin'?" He grumbled, watching Miles fiddle frustratedly with the little thermostat.

After another few seconds of tinkering, he took a step back and huffed. "I cranked it up all the way—it's been on max all night—and I'm right under the vent—and I didn't feel a bit of cold air all night!" With that, the moved to the neighboring window, using part of the tacky curtains to dry beads of condensation off of the inside of the window in order to get a good view of the outside.

"First world problems. Would ya rather sleep outside with Smokey?" James watched him as he made his way to the kitchen, pulling up the curtains on the window over the sink.

"At least there's a damn breeze outside."

James pushed himself off the stiff, tackily patterned couch, stretching as best he could in the small space between the cushions and the coffee table. He didn't know what he expected from a hippie commune on a magic island, but these houses were small. He turned to look at the window, where Miles had wiped a small clear spot amidst the blurry glass, obscured by humidity. The light outside told him it was probably six or seven—but he knew sunrise was earlier on the island, and it was more like four or five.

Still rubbing his aching back and shoulders, he lumbered to the small kitchen, moving toward the coffeemaker. No sooner had he stepped onto the tile had a door in the hall opened, and Jin stepped out and headed for them. He was fully dressed in his new uniform, looking as ready for work as anyone could be.

"Well, if you ain't ready for work." Remarked James, receiving Jin's nod of greeting as he entered the cramped kitchen.

"It is not a job I'd prefer, but I will still do it well." He responded.

"Deep. Waning philosophical this early in the morning?" Asked Miles, who had moved to the fridge and stuck his head inside.

James moved to take one of the discarded coffee mugs from their first night out of the sink and, after inspecting the inside, gave it a quick rinse before placing it on the counter.

"Gross, dude. You need to wash that. It's been in there for like more than a day."

James threw up his hands. "Juliet tellin' me what to do with my life is one thing—"

A door clicked open, and all three heads turned to see Juliet exit her room and enter Daniels. After a moment, Daniel's door clicked open and she exited into the hall alone, moving to the kitchen with a nod of greeting.

"Speak of the devil—Mornin'." James moved aside to let her get her own mug out of the sink. As she did so, she eyed the inside of his.

"Are you going to wash that?"

"For Christ's sake—"

Juliet couldn't help a small smile as she gave her mug a quick wash, turning it over and over in the lukewarm tap and watching pale dawn light reflect on the streams of water, frowning thoughtfully.

"How's 'yer patient, Dr. Burke?"

Juliet froze for a split second, eyes clouding briefly, before sighing and moving to grab a dishrag from the oven handle, meticulously drying her cup. "Daniel's fine, he should be good as new."

James let himself be shoved aside as Miles exited the fridge, triumphantly holding a carton of eggs, and began to forage for a pan in the cabinets under the counters.

"Good, I'd hope he'd be in good shape. You gonna miss us when we leave?" He nodded toward Jin, already dutifully dressed in uniform and looking at the grandfather clock.

"No," Juliet answered flatly as she extracted a bag of Dharma Coffeehouse Roast from the cabinet, though she wasn't able to fully suppress a smile.

"Ah, that's right. You're gonna be busy playin' Mother Hen, I forgot. What are ya gonna do when Daniel leaves on the sub?"

Miles whirled around. "He's not goin' on the sub, Lafleur—don't even mention it—" James continued speaking without paying any attention to Miles.

"—Sure, you could find some kids to babysit 'round here if you looked hard enough. Heck, I think Roger has a boy at home—"

Juliet froze, turning to James with a genuine deeply concerned expression. "Roger has a child?—"

Miles stepped between them. "Hold it, Jim, I thought you were concerned with Juliet takin' your job and now you're concerned with her being bored?" He said, another attempt to change the subject.

James rolled his eyes. "And I thought you could take a joke about this sub business, but apparently—"

Juliet groaned jokingly as the coffeemaker sputtered to life. "Can't you wait until you leave the house to start arguing?"

Miles snagged the rubber spatula from the sink behind James, giving him a final look before moving to attend to the pan that was heating up on the gas stove. The scents of coffee, melting butter, and orange juice began to swirl and mix with the early morning air.

Juliet leaned onto her elbows on the counter, watching the coffeemaker begin to stream dark, steaming liquid—occasionally interrupted by a loud, mechanical grinding from the inner depths of the machine that was followed by a sudden spray of coffee grounds into the pot—into the glass pot, slowly filling it. She listened with half an ear to the banter, watching the inside of the glass container begin to steam up with the heat. Her attention was recaptured by Miles.

"Yo, Juliet—I know you ain't the resident house expert—but any idea how to get the air to start workin'? It hasn't done anything all night."

She nodded. "I'll take care of it." With that, she moved curtly to the wall which held the AC. James used this as an opportunity to steal the first cup of coffee from her, pouring into his own (unwashed) mug and then turning to see her work her fix-it magic.

Juliet reached to the thermostat as if to adjust it—and then began to tug it off of the wall, causing James to nearly choke on his sip of coffee. Juliet frowned with the effort, getting a firm grip around the small plastic box and pulling harder, leaning back as she did so.

"Jesus, blondie, you don't have to—"

Juliet put one foot up against the wall for better torque, continuing to tug mercilessly. James put down his cup and moved quickly to see what was happening. Miles whirled around and, upon comprehending the scene, moved to follow him.

"What the—" Miles stopped short, almost bumping into James, as they both surveyed the scene. Suddenly, the thermostat came loose from the wall with a resounding crack, sending Juliet a solid step or two backwards. She bent over to catch her breath, then began trying to pry open the thermostat itself.

James followed Miles' incredulous gaze to the spot on the wall where it had been. There wasn't any kind of hole or wiring, just the remains of the adhesive used to stick on the plastic casing. At first, he thought this was slightly weird—God knows when wireless thermostats were invented.

However, he turned to stare as Juliet popped open the plastic casing and, still panting with effort, placed the upturned halves in James' hands. With that, she turned and walked back into the kitchen to attend to the eggs Miles had abandoned and nearly burnt on the stove.

James and Miles stared down into the remains of the thermostat. There was nothing inside—no wiring, no connections to the wall, not even a little clicker to make sure the dial stayed in place. They blinked, astonished, and then exchanged a glance.

"Ooookay!—First mystery of the day solved, can I clock out now?" He took the casings out of James' hands and went to deposit them into the trash.

Juliet blinked at him, then turned back to the stove with a shrug. "I didn't want it taking up wall space."

James, still stunned, walked slowly back to the kitchen. Jin, who had been watching the entire thing behind the half-wall divider, turned to Juliet.

"How—How do you control the air?"

"From the tunnels." She responded without looking up, as if that clarified anything. It didn't.

After an expectant silence, she clicked off the gas stove and dished the first plate of eggs out to herself, moving to pour an accompanying cup of coffee. "Under the Barracks. There are dials for each house. They were set on a schedule where they'd disperse air to each house at the same time for an amount of time, and then shut it off—I assume it's so they could devote energy to the other buildings. The scheduled dispersal broke, so we had to go down there each time to control the air." She explained casually, turning around and nearly bumping into James as he reached across her to grab his own mug back from the counter.

"Jesus, ain't you Miss Fix-It? Maybe you should work as a mechanic or somethin', I'm sure you'd have this place runnin' smooth in an hour."

Juliet hummed thoughtfully, untangling herself from James. "Maybe. But I don't want to keep showing you up."

Miles groaned and cut in front of James to steal the next ration of eggs, dodging to miss being swatted at with a spatula (and subsequently missed) by James. "Stop flirting, it's gross."

James booted him aside for his own plate, and handed one to Jin, who nodded to the window over the sink. "When do we go?"

Sawyer sauntered to the sink to peek outside, where the baby-pink rays of dawn light were transitioning to a sherbet orange. "Calm down, we can take our time. What, ya think Horace is gonna be mad? I'd like to see that."

"He said hell once." Interjected Miles.

"Once."

Juliet broke in. "Horace is your boss? I swore his jumpsuit said mathematician."

James froze for a split-second, trying to remember if he had ever paid attention to Horace long enough to read his jumpsuit. He gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'm guessin' he's takin' care of Phil and Jerry since Paul's gone—he was their security head I guess."

Juliet blinked, gaze flickering down to stare at her reflection in the pitch-black coffee. Her eyes clouded briefly. Paul. The person who was murdered in front of us. She wondered idly how more people would have to die before their time here was up. She was torn from her thoughts by a sudden tug on her arm, turning to see Miles staring concernedly at her.

"Yo, Juliet—Your patient's up. Go get him." He nodded to Daniel's door, under which light was now streaming into the hall. She nodded dutifully, gently putting down her cup.

Making her way across the crowded living room, her gaze lingered on the windows, briefly scanning the brightening outside. Judging by how quickly the fog dispersed it would be warm today, and most likely clear. She paused at Daniel's door, gently turning the knob.

Light had flooded the room, as had many pieces of half-used, crumpled paper. Juliet squinted in the bright rays of apricot sunlight, realizing the window was open as well as the curtains. Daniel was kneeling toward the foot of the bed, leaning outside of the window, pen hovering on a piece of notebook paper as he studied the outside. Juliet let the door shut gently behind her, rustling the papers as to make him aware of her entrance.

"Daniel?"

After a moment more of craning his neck to see the sky above, he retracted back inside, scribbling haphazardly on the paper before finally acknowledging her. "Oh. Juliet. Good morning." He turned back to his paper.

Hesitantly, she took another soft step forward. "Breakfast is ready," she began, "…and the others are about to leave."

No response, but Daniel's brows pinched slightly. Juliet sucked in a breath before trying again.

"Don't you want to say goodbye to Miles?" She cringed inwardly at her own words, regretting them the second they were said. Too far.

Daniel frowned, beginning to fidget nervously with the pen in his hands. He tensed, gaze flickering over the scribbled notes and diagrams.

"…N—No. I'm fine, thank you…" He murmured a quiet response, fingers twitching around the pen.

She gave a small nod. "Okay. I'll bring you a plate if you'd like." Her gaze drifted to one of the discarded pieces of paper, the notes on which had been completely obscured by tears and scribbles.

"I'll—I'll wait. And come—come out." Daniel added, not waiting for a response before ducking out of the window once more.

Juliet let out a long breath and nodded. "Okay, come out when you're ready."

The living area was now flooded with a peachy golden light, slowly brightening and casting long shadows out from behind the furniture. The sounds of outside—mostly laughing and talking and walking now that everyone was out and about—floated in through the poorly-sealed edges of the windows, nearly drowning out the chorus of songbirds. The scent of coffee permeated the small, cozy house, tinged with the typical old-book scent that accompanied the Barracks houses.

Juliet almost ran straight into James, who was exiting the hall in full uniform, as she left Daniel's room. He caught her smoothly and flashed his dimples. "Easy, Blondie."

She tipped her head to one side and untangled herself from him.

"How's Danny Boy?"

Juliet's gaze flickered nervously to the light flooding out from under Daniel's door. "He's not coming out to say goodbye." She murmured, raising her eyes as Miles rounded the corner in his uniform. He paused, looking between the two of them. Juliet cringed inwardly, not wanting to tell the truth.

"He said he'd rather stay in his room." She explained calmly. Miles' face screwed briefly, before he gave a quick nod and brushed past them in the narrow hallway.

"Aight. I'm heading out, I think Jin's already at the door. Bye." His voice echoed around the corner as he hastily dove out of sight.

James gave a nod and shoved his hands in his pockets. "I guess the chase is on, eh? See you tonight."

Juliet gave a small smile. "Of course. We'll get along fine here." She gently exited the hall to watch as they fiddled with the front door and the iron security door, filing out into the bright sunlight. A rush of hot, damp air flooded though the open door. She closed the iron door behind them, watching the security team round a corner into the bright, vivid, neatly-trimmed greenery. She kept the front door open, letting in some fresh air.

For a moment, it felt quiet in the house. The sounds of outside were nothing more than a gentle ambience as the emptiness of the bungalow began to set in. The only sound inside was the soft ticking of the grandfather clock. For a moment, the sudden silence seemed to envelop Juliet. For a moment, she was somewhere else, standing in the middle of a derelict sun-bleached house that was nothing more than rubble. She was vaguely aware she was drifting again, but her mind seemed to only barely register the feeling; everything felt far too slow and she didn't have the energy to pull herself out of the state. The warmth of the sunlight on her skin seemed to fade, as if she were becoming less and less associated with her own body.

She felt entranced, unable to break herself out. Suddenly, a door creaked open from behind her, and Juliet started awake as if out of a nightmare. She glanced around, taking in her surroundings in an attempt to get her bearings, and turned quickly to the source of the noise.

Daniel timidly exited his room, sweeping a nervous glance around before tentatively making his way into the hallway. Juliet greeted him with a nod as he stepped out into the beam of warm sun, running a hand through his wind-swept hair.

"They're gone." She said, her voice sounding so loud in the quietness of the house.

Daniel glanced out of the iron security door and blinked, then quietly made his way to the kitchen. He stepped into the warmth of the sunlight once more, leaning a little on the counter to keep himself steady. His eyes scanned the far-from-tasteful décor on the counter between the old appliances. The more he looked the less real everything felt, as if it were all some kind of strange dream. He had felt like that since he had stepped out of the helicopter. His eyes drifted to the mugs in the sink, some still half-full. His eyes fell on the only one that had creamer in it, blinking. Miles liked cream in his coffee, he was the only on the science team who did. Daniel swayed a little on his feet, gaze lingering on the half-full mug.

Juliet watched him linger in the kitchen, then quietly moved to open the other doors in the hall, deciding she would busy herself by cleaning. In the Others' camp, there wasn't really the time to clean, between all the goings-on. Though, some nights when she couldn't sleep, Juliet would go around and try to scrub mold off the baseboards or fix the cabinets or fold the linens. It was strange being in a house that wasn't completely decrepit. The carpet was plush and although not tasteful, it was better than the hole-ridden flooring of the modern-day houses.

She ducked into Daniel's room, seeing the window was still open. Normally, she'd keep the windows closed (that is, if they were able to close. Some were cracked or completely missing panes, in which case they'd have to be boarded), not wanting to allow god-knows-what into her house. However, as she took in a breath of the warm, sweet-smelling air tinged with the scent of freshly cut grass, she realized some fresh air might do her good. She went about tidying the room, making sure to neatly stack all the discarded or half-scribbled papers into a pile. Her hand lingered on the sub flyer, eyes flickering over the illustration of the pedestrian sub. Amidst the bright colors and wavy block lines typical of the decade's illustrations, she could easily make out the shape of the Galaga. The recognizable features of the familiar sub stung her a little, and she put it down on top of the paper stack a little slower than she did the others.

After another moment of staring wistfully at the submarine flyer, she turned curtly on her heels and stripped Daniel's bed of the sheets to wash, deciding to distract herself as quickly as possible before anything else crossed her mind. Being busy and working hard was, as she had quickly discovered, the best way to keep one's mind off of other things. She tucked the bedding under her arm and walked into the hall, depositing it onto a neat pile in the floor on her way into the room she shared with Jin.

Both bedrooms were almost the same, but this one contained a cot that had been set up. There was only one available at the time, though Juliet hoped they would import more soon as to alleviate her guilt for letting James and Miles sleep in less than comfortable conditions.

Even though she had offered time and time again to take the couch or even the cot, everyone collectively agreed she would take the last remaining bed. She couldn't but help feel—uncomfortable. She didn't dare say suspicious, but uncomfortable. She wasn't used to people giving up things for her, at least, without expecting something in return. She collected the bedding and opened the window slightly, just enough to allow in air, and moved to put the bedding in the laundry pile.

As she entered the narrow hallway she nearly bumped into Daniel, who had opened the doors leading to the laundry alcove and was preparing to start the washer. He whipped around, wide-eyed, as Juliet entered. She blinked, then sighed.

"You don't have to help, Daniel." She said, putting down the bedding and moving to look concernedly at the scientist. He had bounced back from his fever extremely quick. Most people who came to the island would get sick during their first week or so, at least, according to Ben.

Daniel raised his chin. "I want to help. I don't want to sit around and not do anything."

"You're not doing nothing, you're going on the sub tomorrow, and you need your rest." Juliet insisted, though she couldn't bear to be mad at Daniel.

He winced visibly at the mention of the sub, tapping his fingers erratically on the top of the washing machine. "I—I don't know, about the sub, I mean."

Juliet looked at him quizzically, not denying help a second time as she let Daniel put the rest of the bedding in the washer. "You don't have to, but I thought you wanted to see how much it would help."

Daniel's bony shoulders drew up and then back down in a shrug, fingers tapping a little faster on the metal top of the washing machine. "It… I don't know. I'd like to go, but… There's just… It's complicated." He struggled to explain, gaze dropping to the dark inside of the washer.

Juliet gently untangled part of the linens from the corkscrew grooves of the agitator, adding soap. It was nice to have a functioning (or, hopefully functioning) washing machine. However, there didn't appear to be a dryer. She nodded sympathetically.

After a moment of brief silence, he continued. "I just—I'd really like to go. It'd help. But I think there'd be… consequences." Juliet closed the top of the dryer and turned it on, moving to the living room once more.

"You should talk to Dr. Chang." The name felt foreign in her mouth yet sent a twinge of deja-vu through her. She froze in place, trying to remember if and when she had heard the name before. "He's in charge of the sub, right?"

Daniel nodded, moving to adjust some of the windowsill figurines, before looking up to study the space on the wall where the thermostat had been. Juliet opened the rest of the windows, taking in the scents and sounds of the neighborhood. This was the most lived-in and friendly place on the island it seemed, it was the only place that even came close to civilization. Sometimes she could even forget she was on the island at all.

A sudden rattling at the front door made her jump, whirling to see a tall shadow looming in front of the sunlight. Her heart caught in her chest, gaze flickering to Daniel, who stood in the shadow of the stranger. As she came into view of the doorway, Juliet stopped to take in the man before her. He wore a snow-white labcoat that, despite his height, went all the way down to cover his feet. He had a drawn face and a businesslike expression and stared down at the two residents. His critical gaze swept from Juliet to Daniel, studying them both silently.

It wasn't until Juliet read the embroidered name on his labcoat that she felt a little of her intimidation recede. Daniel had apparently read it too.

"Dr. Chang?" He started, blinking. Juliet cautiously opened the iron security door. Before she could invite Dr. Chang inside, however, he extended a hand wordlessly to Daniel.

"Faraday." He said, more of a statement than a question. Daniel hesitated, then reached to shake his hand with a nod.

"I'd like to have a talk with you. We usually don't make spaces on the sub, but I feel you'd be an exception." His eyes locked firmly with Daniel's.

The scientist sucked in a deep breath, hesitating for a long while. Then, he released Dr. Chang's hand and stepped forward, squinting a little in the bright sun. "Is there something you need me to do?" His voice wavered slightly.

Dr. Chang blinked at him, his expression betraying nothing. "I'd like you to meet some of our other personnel, at least. You are not in trouble, nor will you be interrogated—but I'd like to make sure we get to know each other." His gaze slid to Juliet. "And I'll make sure he gets back home at a reasonable time."

Daniel turned to look over his shoulder. "I'll be back." He offered as Dr. Chang stepped aside to let him out, not even turning to face Juliet as he turned and began leading Daniel down the path. She blinked, incredulous, and slowly closed the door.

A tightness gripped her chest as she watched them disappear around the corner through the cast-iron of the security door. 'I don't know what you expected.'

Miles kicked his feet up on the desk, slumping down in the receptionist chair. The lobby of the security station was so quiet, all outside noises muffled by the walls. Figures could be glimpsed darting past the windows, and faint voices could be heard from the nearby Gazebo Quad, a large grassy area which contained the gazebo near the welcome center.

Miles looked up as the door clicked open, another one of those labcoat-clad 'scientists' curtly making her way past the receptionist desk without even sparing a glance in his direction, and immediately entering the nearby offices and slamming the door shut behind her. He didn't recognize her, but then again, they all looked the same anyways. Apparently, the little office area was "off-limits", and access was only allowed to the unnamed researchers. Miles had managed a little glimpse inside before they remembered to close the door, and it looked pretty sketchy. Among the plentiful clouds of cigarette smoke wafting their way to a cracked-open window, he caught sight of an apparent one-way-mirror, and padlocks on the cabinets. Before he could see anything else, one of the scientists stood up and abruptly shut the door in his face without another word.

Miles busied himself by tapping a pen on the desk, gaze flickering over the typewriter and paper stacks. After glancing around the empty, sunbathed lobby, he moved to open one of the many drawers in the desk. The top drawer contained nothing interesting, just some nail stuff and a bunch of stationary. However, the bottom drawer seemed to contain some good reading material. It wasn't chock-full of files like the cabinets in the office, but it had a fair amount to rifle through.

Having been placed in the most boring part of the security station for whatever reason, it was only natural to look for something to do. He rifled through a few of the dividers, trying to see how everything was arranged. The dividers were labelled inconsistently, some titled with last names, others with first names, some with random numbers and letters, others completely blank. Dissatisfied, but still curious, Miles picked a random file and pulled it out, wincing inwardly at how loudly it ruffled the other papers. He peeked up over the edge of the desk, looking to see if the noise had alerted anyone, and then leaned back in his chair with the prized file in tow

He turned it over in his hands, inspecting the front and back pages of what turned out to be a few pages stapled together. The front page didn't have any kind of labelling on it, but when Miles held the papers a little higher and let the sunlight filter through, he could see the silhouettes of letters inside. Eyes darting upward quickly to make sure he was still alone, he turned the first page and curled it underneath the others, revealing the text.

'Dr. Winston,

Regarding your concerns, I feel the matter is not serious enough for immediate interference. The matter in question can most definitely wait until the next inspection. However, I appreciate your honesty.

That being said, the purpose of the experiment is to see how far these things will be taken, is it not? Not that your concerns are unfounded—I would have a hard time witnessing such things without interfering, which is why I work on the mainland—but I'd imagine a certain amount of restraint would be in order to get best results.

I am personally more concerned with the changes having been made to the recently departed files. Only 14 minors in total were listed on the combined manifest, but 17 were counted. I understand that it's hard to keep track of who's in possession of what group of documents in such an environment, but I would like you to place tampering with federal papers higher on your list of priorities. Human rights take priority in other circumstances, I do agree, especially in terms of a ch—'

Before any more could be read, Miles started at the abrupt noise of someone fumbling with the front door handle. Suddenly aware he was reading a very private document; he tried his best to haphazardly shove it in the stationary drawer before the door opened. He looked up, squinting a little in the even brighter sunlight filtering in from outside. His eyes widened as the silhouette came into view, shuffling awkwardly toward the front desk.

"Dan?" Miles stood, glancing around. Daniel had some papers in his hand. He nodded slightly to Miles and gently laid them on the desk.

"Daniel, what are you doing out here? Where's Juliet?" His brows immediately pinched together, frustrated at the lack of verbal response.

Daniel blinked, gaze still lingering on the floor. "'m not out with Juliet." He was silent for a moment, before his dwindling confidence spiked enough for him to raise his chin and uneasily meet Miles' eyes. "T-Those are the testing papers. Dr. Chang said you all still need to do some of the entrance exams, it's just p-procedure." He winced inwardly at the way he stumbled over his words, wishing desperately he could get the stuttering under control.

Miles tensed, frowning. "You all?" He froze before saying any more, but his unspoken question hung in the air.

Daniel grimaced slightly, eyes flickering to the ground before meeting Miles' once more in that sad puppy-dog look. "Miles… You know I've gotta—I've—I've gotta fix this. And—"

"That doesn't mean you have to leave." Miles shot back, bristling.

"I… It does. If we want the best chance of… Of being able to be here, and being able to go back, I've gotta go on the sub."

"You don't." Miles snapped; a lot more harshly than he meant to. He put a hand to his forehead, trying to take a moment to breathe. He couldn't just leave, just go leave them for the real world. Why couldn't he just stay put where—

Daniel shrank back, and Miles swore internally as he saw a flicker of hurt in his brown eyes. Before he could say anything, he noticed a tall shadow looming over the doorway. Daniel turned to glance at it as well, sighing a little.

"I've… I've gotta go Miles." Was all he said, dipping his head and shuffling toward the doorway. He stepped over the threshold and into the sunlight, then moved out of sight with the caster of the tall shadow moving behind him. Miles' heart jumped into his throat as the man, dressed in a labcoat, spared a quick and stern glance into the lobby. Miles barely got a glimpse of his drawn, serious face, but a sudden jolt of familiarity ran through him—something he couldn't quite place but that chilled him all the same.

The front door slammed shut, and Miles sank back into the receptionist chair.

However, just as soon as it had closed, the door opened again—that is, after a fair amount of fumbling with the knob from the outside. The door swung open and Horace stumbled in, a beat-up cardboard box of full of papers in hand. Several of the papers flew out of where they had been haphazardly placed and began cascading to the ground. Miles kicked the heels of his boots against the edge of the reception desk, sending himself rolling back in the office chair. He swung his legs over the side and moved to intercept Horace, who was attempting to pin down most of the runaway papers with his feet while holding the door open at his back.

Miles snagged a few papers off of the floor and shoved them into a bit of empty space in the box, letting Horace stumble awkwardly out of the way and letting the door slam shut behind him. He would have fallen face-first if Miles hadn't reached out to grab him and pull him back. Horace, who was usually all smiles, bore a more nervous expression than Miles had ever thought possible, even for him.

The mathematician regained his balance and thanked Miles with a breathless nod, glancing around the office and hurriedly adjusting his crooked glasses. "Wh-Where's James?" He panted.

"Downstairs." Miles responded, stepping in front of Horace before he could advance. "What's up?"

Horace gritted his teeth and gestured vaguely with his hands, struggling with his words. "I—Okay, it's just—We have an inspection—I really need to talk to him, please—" He swerved around Miles and headed for the door, shedding a few more papers behind him as he hurried downstairs.

James' brows pinched in frustration as he leaned his forehead into his hand, which in turn was propped up on the desk. The droning buzz of the flickering monitors was completely drowned by the voices of his coworkers. They were arguing about who was going out to patrol, or at least that's what started the argument, God knows what they were talking about now. Jin, who was supposed to leave on patrol with either of them, stood by helplessly checking the clock.

Phil, despite being lanky, was the most annoying kind of spitfire, a true pain in the ass. The only reason James could think of him being on the team was that he could scare away wildlife with his constant, shrill yapping.

"You come in here high as a kite and you get pissed when I say you're in no state to drive?!" He was saying incredulously, swinging his good arm wildly as if it would help.

"'Least I got two arms." Jerry bit back, and although he was set on driving, he was currently slumped into the chair as if it were a part of him. He was, admittedly, not in the best driving condition, but at least he had a head on his shoulders. He swiveled around in the chair to face Phil, eyes red and glassy. "And I don't get into fights with the janitors." At that, he stood unsteadily to face his taller coworker, though Phil's slouch made them about equal height.

At Jerry's words his face screwed up and he pulled his injured arm, which was tucked in a cast, a bit closer to his body. "Yeah? I guess that's cause if you did, you'd be at the Hydra for weeks. I got away with just a broken arm."

"Still lost." Scoffed Jerry, snatching the keys out of Phil's good hand while he was distracted. "Wouldn't be surprised if he came back to crunch your ribs in for good measure after hearin' your bragging."

James, having finally had enough, whipped around in his chair and stood to grab Phil before he left after Jerry. "You ain't goin' anywhere with 'yer arm like that, Barney Fife, and don't tell me it ain't 'yer fault, Horace said you're stayin' down here." Phil yanked his good arm out of James' grip and glared at him in as much of an intimidating manner as he could muster.

Before he could say anything else, the door at the top of the stairs was kicked open, and James could hear it hit the wall and bounce back violently, along with the sound of heavy, hurried footsteps descending the concrete stairs. The door to the office opened, sending a flickering beam of the fluorescent lights in the hall shining into the dimly lit monitor room. Horace burst through the open door, letting it swing back behind him, papers flying everywhere with the force of the door shutting. He dropped a very full, beat-up cardboard box that looked like it was another stack of papers from collapsing, and then bent over to pant.

"Jesus, the Jungle Cavalry after 'ya or somethin'?" Horace didn't strike James as the most athletic guy, and certainly not the most graceful, so there had to be some reason why he was hauling ass down those stairs.

After a moment of catching his breath, Horace began tugging James into the side room. "I-I really, really need to talk to you, man, it's important—" James let the shorter man drag him along rather awkwardly until they were both out of sight from the monitor room.

James raised his brows expectantly as Horace took a few more heaving breaths, giving the impression he wasn't the most avid runner. It was then James noticed the look on his face. Not that Horace didn't always look at least a little nervous, but something was obviously up. For a moment he thought the worst, another Others Invasion, but there hadn't been anything on the monitors.

"We, uh—We've got a real big problem man." Horace panted out, nervously adjusting his now crooked glasses. "'Gonna have some guests earlier than we expected. Told me they were inspecting next Friday but they said they're comin' earlier so—"

"Hold 'yer horses, what guest? Isn't everyone already here?"

Horace seemed to lose his train of thought momentarily, gesturing wordlessly for a brief moment before he seemed to understand. "Oh, yeah, I forgot I haven't told you about—Uhm, you see, Dharma's kinda bein'—uh—babysat by the Feds. They come by every year or so to make sure there's nothing funny going on. Usually we have more time to prepare, but they're gonna come and make sure we're complying with regulations—"

James blinked. "Have you been complyin' with regulations?"

Horace gritted his teeth and sucked in a nervous breath, giving a subtle shrug, which was enough of an answer for James. "Well…"

"Alright, alright," he relented, "Let me put it this way, what do ya need to do? And when are they comin'?"

"Monday, in three days. We need to do a sweep of most of the houses 'n facilities to make sure everything's clean and nothing's there that shouldn't be there." He lowered his voice. "See, we're not exactly supposed to… to tell everyone that they're coming. But we do, 'cause I want everyone to be on their best behavior. They're not gonna break down doors or anything like that, just go over a checklist and take a tour and maybe bring a K-9 or two to sniff around. Nothin' big if everyone's prepared, but…" He trailed off, fidgeting with the collar of his jumpsuit.

"I think I see the problem, Chief. You've got a lotta houses to go over, I'm guessin'?"

"That's where you guys come in. We mostly use the, uh, the honor system here. I don't think there's anything that bad but we're so far from the law, here, y'know, everyone just gets a little loose."

James rubbed his forehead, trying to figure out exactly how long this 'survey' would take and where it would fit with the perimeter sweep they had planned for the afternoon. Since nothin' seemed to happen around here, they could cut out the screen-scrutinizing and put all hands on deck.

"So, just to summarize: we got three days to do some door-knockin' and cleanup?"

Horace nodded vigorously. "R-Right. I know perimeter sweeps and everything are important but I feel like the security team is the only one that can really do it. I mean, you don't have anything big planned, do you?"

James shook his head. "Nah. Just gotta intercept Jerry and snag Miles and everyone's on deck. If you could give us a checklist and a map, I think we'd have it done before the Feds arrive."

Horace wiped the sweat from his brow and started back into the monitor room. "Thanks, man, I knew I could count on you." He began shuffling though the box, snagging a few manila folders and tossing them onto the concrete. "I think this is all you need. Lists of banned items, questions to ask, and a map hopefully in there somewhere."

James nodded, half-listening to Horace ramble on about something as he continued to dig out relevant files from the box, tossing them onto a growing pile.

"…There's a copier downstairs in the welcome center, and I'm sure there's a spare Jeep in the Motor Pool if you need it—And before I forget, did you guys get your testing papers yet? I mean, you're part of Dharma already, and the tests aren't gonna impact your current standing, but we just need some info, right?..."

James had toned out the rambling and just barely registered the question. He looked up with a nod, which Horace took as a good enough answer. He picked up the beat-up box and grabbed a few of the crumpled papers on the floor, tucking it all under his arm as he hurriedly waved goodbye and started up the stairs, just barely keeping enough balance to make it up without falling, and bursting through the lobby back out into the compound.

After realizing Phil was staring at him, James huffed and tossed his head in the direction of the stairs. "Horace says we got some inspectin' to do. Need ya to hold down the fort here, since we're gonna be out." He watches Phil's face screw up, bracing himself for some backlash, but instead the lanky security member whirls around in his chair to face the monitors.

At least I don't gotta deal with him, James thought as he reached for the walkie and began upstairs to fetch Miles, the idea of testing going out of his mind as quick as it had entered.

Juliet set the small, wicker laundry basket down in the freshly cut grass outside the bungalow. Sunlight warmed her skin and she could feel the lingering dew from earlier in the morning brushing off against her as she knelt to start sorting through the pile of damp laundry. She was no stranger to using the Barracks' old washing machines that rattled shrilly through the entirety of their cycle, or the dryers which would refuse to start (in the three years she had lived with the Others, she had never had a success starting the dryer), or the clotheslines outside of most houses.

She dug a sheet out from the basket and grabbed a few clips off the line, brushing the rest of the unused clips to the side to make enough room to stretch the cloth out to dry. As she began pinning it to the line, she was startled by the sound of footsteps from behind her on the pavement. Juliet threw a quick glance over her shoulder, a mix of relief and sheepishness washing over her as a young woman in bright clothes smiled and waved. She silently cursed herself for continually being so jumpy. Even though she was in the same location as before, everything was so different. The little yellow houses and the tropical surroundings were really the only thing tying this Barracks back to the one she used to know. The sidewalks were full of people walking by or riding their bikes, the sounds of lawnmowers and schoolchildren filled the air, filling the Barracks with a lively, friendly atmosphere.

Juliet took a step back to see if she had hung the sheet level to the ground, backing up a few more steps as a citrus-scented warm island breeze nudged the sheet toward her, catching a few rays of sunlight in its worn threads. Another set of footsteps from behind her nearly made her start, but she forced herself not to tense as she heard them approach. Then, she heard the crunch of grass behind her and felt someone looking at her. Fear overcoming her for a brief moment, she whipped around to face whoever was approaching. However, another rush of embarrassment washed over her as she turned to see another girl standing in the grass with a friendly smile.

She had dark brown hair pulled back into a loose ponytail and wore a striped t-shirt that fit snugly to her athletic frame that was knotted messily in the back, and moderately dusty flared jeans. Juliet estimated her to be pretty young, only about sixteen or seventeen. Her hands were clasped behind her back and she took a step forward, unclasping them for a moment to give Juliet a short wave.

Juliet blinked, though she knew the residents of the Barracks were extremely friendly, she didn't expect so many encounters during working hours. And, as far as she knew, most weren't allowed to wear anything but jumpsuits outside of said hours. Still, she raised her head to smile and nod politely in greeting.

"Hello!" The girl chirped enthusiastically. "You must be new here." She walked over to the wicker laundry basket to investigate its contents.

"Hi." Juliet started, her voice faltering subtly as a strange feeling settled over her. She took a moment to think on it. It wasn't a bad feeling, but strange. Something was different. Knowing this, she tried to pick her words carefully. "I am new. I'm guessing you're not?" She went on gently, moving to pick up another damp item from the basket and starting to shake the wrinkles out of it.

"Nope, I came on one of the first subs." She announced, turning to glance at the now empty sidewalk. She rocked thoughtfully on her feet for a moment before looking back to Juliet. "I guess you're one of the pirates, then."

Juliet paused, caught off guard. "…Pirates?" She echoed.

The girl grinned slightly. "I guess you're not real pirates then, didn't think so. It's what most of the younger kids are calling you."

She nodded. "Ah. Word gets around fast here, I assume." She finished pinning the other sheet onto the line and bent to pick up an item of clothing. "Are you in school still?"

"Nope." She answered curtly. "My name's Mary."

"I'm Juliet."

Mary nodded and glanced back down at the wicker basket. "Gosh, that's a lot of laundry. I wish I could help." Though, she didn't exactly say why she couldn't. Juliet decided it best not to ask.

It was then that Juliet realized the sun had cooled briefly, and the pathway was strangely empty. She shaded herself with a hand and looked up at the sky, seeing it as clear and blue as it usually was. It should be sweltering right now. At first, she chalked it up to the breeze turning cool. Though, as she turned back to pin the shirt she was holding to the clothesline, the sheet caught the corner of her eye. It took her a moment to realize what was wrong, it was completely still.

Mary took a few steps in the grass, whistling absentmindedly to herself before she twirled on her heels to face the clothesline again. "You know Amy, don't'cha? I mean, I guess you must since you came here with her. Maybe you should see how she's doing." The suggestion was very out-of-the-blue, and Juliet probably would have questioned it had it come from someone else. However, something about this situation made her consider it.

Juliet blinked, feeling almost no desire to go and talk to Amy. She was as far from a people-person as one could possibly be. What exactly would they talk about, anyways? Paul? The name sent a chill through her. Everyone here was more than friendly (well, mostly everyone), but people still needed time to grieve, right?

Mary must have sensed the questions on her mind and tipped her head to one side thoughtfully. "Amy's the socialite around here, she might be out organizing something. I'm sure there's something you could help with." The way she put emphasis on the world 'help' gave Juliet serious pause. Again, the specifics of this situation were enough to keep her from questioning it too much.

Weighing her options and deciding there wasn't much to lose, she straightened up and took the last few items of laundry under her arm to begin pinning them to the line. "I suppose I should check in on her. And see if there's anything useful I could be doing." She blinked slowly, awaiting a response from her visitor. When she didn't hear anything, not even the crunching of grass behind her, she turned.

A hot breeze that felt like it came straight out of an oven washed over her as she turned to survey the now very empty patch of grass where Mary had been standing. Juliet didn't know what exactly she expected, squinting in the bright sunlight. Footsteps sounded on the pavement again, and a man walked by in his jumpsuit. A minute later, someone else rode by in some other strange, Dharma-Issued uniform on a baby-blue bike, ringing its bell in greeting has they passed Juliet.

She blinked, surveying the area again briefly just to make sure she wasn't dreaming, then turned and began distractedly pinning up the rest of the laundry. Her mind spun, the encounter replaying in her mind. Help. Useful. The words had a special draw to her, and she couldn't deny finding something to do for someone else would make her feel much less like she was taking advantage of Dharma's kindness for nothing. They had offered her the security job, but she knew she couldn't take that. Still, she felt extremely guilty. They obviously trusted her to do it, she knew that. But they let her have her own choice in the end.

Of course, she was a woman in the 70s, it wasn't unusual that they weren't forcing her to work and were letting her have the unemployed housewife slot. But there was one thing Juliet couldn't stand and it was not having something to do. Not even just housework, something useful, something that gave her the right to be here, eating Dharma's food and enjoying their luxuries. They were more than kind and generous, but even then, the guilt kept eating at her. She knew it was just a leftover feeling from her time with the Others, but that didn't make the drive any less strong.

She pulled back from the clothesline to inspect her work, though she spent more time staring into space then she did watching the drying laundry wave listlessly in the hot breeze. She suddenly became very aware of how many of the people passing by and waving were wearing jumpsuits or engaged in some sort of work-related activity, and suddenly felt very strange standing outside in regular clothes doing nothing but laundry. Quickly, she picked up the empty wicker laundry basket and started inside.

The scents of laundry detergent, coffee, and dish soap mixed together with the ambient dusty scent of the house. A subtle rush of room-temperature air greeted Juliet as she stepped inside, feeling much cooler than the heated breeze outside. She let the iron security door click behind her, moderately thankful it was welded with swirling, vine-like decorative shapes rather than generic iron bars. It would make the place look more like a prison than it already felt. However, Juliet had to admit that right here, right now, it looked nothing like a prison.

Neat, spotless shag carpet and shiny new tile covered the floors. The half-open windows that overlooked the clothesline let bright beams of late-morning sunlight illuminate the open living area, catching each and every decorative detail in the sparkling light. Trinkets like the windowsill statues and the fake plants, other items like the full magazine rack and asymmetrically hung blanket draped over the back of the couch made the house look comforting, lived in. Dishes were drying on the rack next to the sink, still sparkling with water droplets, and the coffeemaker still held the remains of the last pot it had poured, pairing with the ready-to-use mug sitting next to it. Everything looked picture-perfect, picked right out of the heart of suburbia. No secrets, no conditions, it was so perfect Juliet didn't even feel she had the right to be there. However, she sucked in a breath, deposited the wicker basket in the laundry closet where she had found it, and decided she'd better head to Amy's before she started talking herself out of it.

"Star Wars isn't even out yet! It isn't even a twinkle in someone's eye right now, and Star Trek's been running for like eight years!"

"Yeah, like bein' out earliest means it's best. Just means it's tryna do a science fiction story with the budget of a ham sandwich!" James punctuated his statement by hitting a bump in the winding pathway, one of the few sidewalks wide enough to drive a van on. They were lucky this wasn't a very busy time, being that everyone's at work, otherwise they'd have to be constantly beeping the horn.

Miles jolted, remembering the van didn't have seatbelts just in time to grab the edge of his seat to prevent him from soaring upwards and hitting the ceiling of the van. "I hope that wasn't a cat."

James rolled his eyes, choosing to ignore the comment. Miles turned around to look out the back window of the van, staring over Jin's head as he tried his best to sit comfortably in the back of the van. Some of them had more than two seats, but most didn't in order to get extra storage space.

"Yeah, that was definitely a cat."

"You do realize ya don't have to talk the whole time, right?" The van took a sharp curve to the left, and then stopped abruptly. "This it?"

Miles fumbled for the makeshift map he had scribbled some directions onto before they'd left, looking around at the house numbers. This was the farthest they could get to the first ten or so houses in the van, they'd have to walk the rest of the way as the sidewalks weren't wide enough.

"Yeah, let's get going. I wanna have time for a lunch break."

"If we keep goin' at this pace you'll have your lunch break at 10pm and yer dinner break at 2 in the morning."

Miles swung open the passenger door of the van and hopped out, snagging the clipboard on his seat and tucking it under his arm. A blast of hot air hit him immediately, and he squinted in the bright sunlight.

As everyone else departed the van, he took the time to look around, spinning on his heels to get a good view of his surroundings. The wide pathway on which their van was parked continued for another foot or so and then hit a fork, where it divided into two smaller pathways. One went straight and the other took a sharp curve. The curved one, as much as he could gather from the map, was the path they should take. All around him were the backs and sides of several yellow bungalows, all bordered with small patches of trimmed greenery.

Miles took a few steps and craned his neck to see down the straight path. From where he was, he could see it going straight for a long way and taking a gentle curve. He could see someone's lawn and part of their front porch, but not much else. The curved path didn't offer much except greenery from where he was, but over the decorative trees he could see the tops of more houses.

James tucked his keys into the pocket of his jumpsuits, studying his own clipboard and frowning as he read the list of questions. "You seen what we're supposed to ask 'em?"

Miles opted to pad over to James and peer over his shoulder rather than look at his own clipboard, glazing over the list. "'Have you or anyone else in your household kept personal records such as diaries or planners since the last interview? If so, could you offer them up for inspection?' What is that supposed to mean?"

"Guess we can't keep diaries here, that's a shame." James responded, flipping to the next page.

"And put the Polly Pocket notebook I ordered off the sub for you to waste? Bummer." Teased Miles, striding toward the curved pathway, map in hand, to find their first victim.

House 174 was the first one on the left, bordered on one side by a thick artificial copse of mainland trees and native flowers, and on the other by a gentle furrow where the yards of 174 and 173 met. Miles was the first to step onto the sidewalk leading up to the front porch. Unlike the porch of their own house, this one sported two steps leading up to a concrete porch that spanned the width of the frontmost façade and was sheltered by the roof's generous overhang. The house itself looked different at first glance than its neighbor, and as Miles took a few steps forward to see what exactly he was dealing with, he gradually took in the eccentric details.

Firstly, the front door was open, which wasn't exactly uncommon. Though Miles didn't know anything about island life, he'd assume one would leave their iron security door shut at least, instead of leaving both doors open and letting God-knows-what wander in and out. His eyes strayed to the windows, and he froze as something sparkling caught his eye. It was hard to get a feel for the depth of the house at first, and at first glance he thought that there was a bookcase, or something backed up against the window. As he got closer, the obstructions revealed themselves to be stuff, piled almost waist-height next to the window. The piles seemed to contain boxes, small items of furniture, cloth, and miscellaneous crafts and décor items. That, however, was not the source of the persistent glimmering and shimmering from the window. Miles scanned it once more, revealing scores of small, glass trinkets, suncatchers, and crystals lining the window. Different cuts of gems and crystals cluttered the windowsill, spanning from hunks of quartz to neat cuts of agate, and some Miles couldn't even identify. The remaining glass of the window was covered with all kinds and sizes of glass suncatchers, some handmade, all gleaming in the late morning sun.

Miles skipped both of the small concrete steps and went straight up onto the porch, which contained a few chairs, some stacked on top of one another, and a few rugs and blankets either draped over the furniture or laying haphazardly on the cool concrete floor. James was the first one to bend to inspect one of the rugs, cringing a little as what had appeared to be dust turned out to be a fine layer of shed cat hair coating the applicable rugs. The use of the scattered cloths became even more apparent as a scrawny tuxedo stray dove out from underneath one of the stacked chairs, clearing the concrete porch in a single bound and flying into the safety of the greenery nearby.

As Miles and Jin cautiously approached the doorway, letting their eyes adjust to the dim inside, another black and white cat strode confidently out of the doorway. James rubbed at his nose as he spun around, making a sudden dive for the cat.

"Yo, LaFleur, what the h–?" Miles exclaimed as James attempted to hold down the squirming cat and grab at its neck. The cat fluffed out its fur and hissed, finally ducking out of range as it bounded a few steps out of reach, groomed its chest embarrassedly, and continued striding. James rubbed a scratch on his hand for a moment, and then pulled up what he had pulled off of the cat. A shard of howlite on a string, which apparently had been hanging around its neck.

"I got a feelin' that ain't his." He jerked his head to where the thief in question was lingering on the sunlit sidewalk.

"Jeez, man, if Juliet saw you wrangling that cat like that…"

James stood to his full height and frowned at him. "Well, good thing she ain't here, Enos." Both of them turned and realized Jin was staring into the doorway and followed his gaze.

The dimly lit interior of the house was now obscured by a short woman in her sixties, almost snow-white hair pulled back into a bun and wearing a floor-length, eccentrically patterned purple robe that seemed befitting of a psychedelic shaman. She blinked at the three men through cloudy spectacles, smiling knowingly in greeting. Another cat was winding around her ankles, also bearing a tiny crystal necklace around its neck.

Jin was the first to look at the list of houses and their inhabitants on the clipboard. "Miss… Dziwne?"

Ms. Dziwne gave a small nod, scanning the small group on her porch. "Good morning. Another inspection so soon?" Her voice oozed calm and collected energy.

James quickly regained his composer. "Yeah, jus' need 'ta come inside and ask a few questions is all. I take it you've done this before?"

She gave another small nod, the cat at her heels winding a few more times before ducking back into the coolness of the house, joining a few other wiry silhouettes climbing over the stacks of clutter inside.

James sniffed. "Well, that makes one of us." He held out his hand. "'Name's Jim Lafleur."

She reached out as if to take his hand but reached past his outstretched palm to take the howlite from his hand, inspecting it. "Oh, poor Cow, he never got to take his crystal past the porch, I think he was excited to carry it too."

"Did—Uh, Ms. Dzwine, did you give it to the cat on purpose?" Asked Miles, peeking out from around Jin.

"Call me Diane. Yes, they take them wherever they're needed to be." Her gaze lifted from the howlite in her palm back to James, who was staring confusedly. She held his gaze and gently placed the shard back in his palm, enclosing his fingers around it. "I feel like this one's found its owner."

Miles ventured forward, "What's that one for?"

Diane squared her shoulders and smiled knowingly. "Howlite. It's for anger management." After a quick moment of silence, she turned and gracefully stepped inside, beckoning for the others to follow. Jin ducked in first, but Miles lingered before stepping in, snickering a little at the dumbfounded James.

"What are you laughin' at, Miss Cleo?"

The inside of the house was thankfully cool, offering relief from the growing heat of the day outside. It wasn't as cluttered as it looked from the outside, with most of the stuff gathering at the walls and edges of the house, leaving clear pathways to walk through. It certainly wasn't as bad as it looked at first glance.

The sound of windchime-esque clinking from above drew Miles' eyes to the ceiling, where thin geode cuts were hanging like stalactites from the roof of a cave, all twirling and clinking lazily in the air. Diane made her way to the kitchen with a catlike gracefulness, where the counters were covered with all kinds of vials, mortar-and-pestles, and tea boxes. She sat down in one of the less obstructed chairs and pulled close a lava lamp for light.

Miles lingered in the kitchen, inspecting all the clutter and décor. He had to admit, he expected a hippie commune to have more nutcases, even though most residents were upstanding PTA moms and well-respected white-collar-workers plucked right from the heart of suburban America. It was the seventies, after all, though perhaps the whole flower-power spirit had burned out by '74 or whenever they were.

James flipped a few pages back on his clipboard, scanning for the questions list, on which Horace had scrawled a bunch of "helpful" additions.

"Aight, got any unregistered weapons? Firearms, huntin' knives…"

Diane shook her head. "You can check the files for the katana registration, that's the only weapon I have on—"

James blinked. "The… The katana?" Diane nodded to the wall directly behind him. He followed her gaze, turning to see that there was, indeed, a katana proudly displayed on the wall next to a cat-shaped clock and photos of presumed grandchildren. He moved to check it off his list and move on to the next question.

By the time they were through the inspection of the house, Miles felt thoroughly beat. He was sure everyone else felt the same; Jin was leaning exhaustedly against the wall and James, who was apparently allergic to cats, was continually rubbing his nose. They made their way down the steps, squinting in the bright sun.

Miles ducked under a particularly low tree branch as they trudged through one of the many grassy quads interspersed throughout the neighborhood. James tailed him, complaining about the heat. Jin, however, took the sidewalk around, having said something about not wanting to ruin the grass. Admittedly, the route had far less shade and respite from the sun, though faster. Right now, all Miles wanted to do was get this done so he could go home and—well, he hadn't exactly thought that far. But it would be better than sweating his ass off going door-to-door like a Girl Scout.

Miles emerged onto the sidewalk and sighed in relief as he paused in the shade, glancing over his clipboard and trying to see the next house. Every single one apart from Diane's had been boring, just a typical cookie-cutter suburban house, each holding their own Betty Crocker inside. All that were home today, it seems were homemaking moms who didn't have jobs. He wondered, exactly, if they would offer Juliet any job, apart from security.

It was all the same: go through the checklist, ask questions, get answers, check things down and poke around the house a little. So far, he had been offered coffee, tea, water, cookies, brownies, and a lunch invite from the overbearingly friendly resident homemaker of each house. Sure, they were friendly, but Miles didn't appreciate any social interaction, especially with pretty much the same exact person. Did they only hire people with one personality?

House 154, one of the last on the list, sat just two 'blocks' from their first houses. It really didn't help anyone that all the houses were numbered randomly and out of order, making it completely nonsensical to try and find one's way around by following the pattern of each house's number.

154 was one of the smaller houses, but not quite as downscaled as the ones at the east end of the Barracks looked. It had a front yard shaded by a large native tree, and its own little sidewalk leading up to the shaded porch. It was set a little further into the block than the surrounding houses, exposing the other houses white picket-fences, presumably holding backyards. Miles padded under the shifting shadows of the tree, disinterestedly scanning the front door.

The windows were open, letting in the breeze, but Miles' eyes didn't adjust enough to let him see inside. He didn't care that much, anyways. In fact, he didn't care at all. He hated to admit it but talking to middle-class housewife after middle-class housewife sparked a kind of jealousy in him. Not that he wanted to be a housewife, but the fact that the big, homey, cozily decorated houses holding women who seemed like they'd never had an economic trouble in their lives; it seemed like such a hard contrast to what he had grown up with. He was less than pleased at having to go through this process with at least a few more houses, and 154 was no different.

He scaled the porch steps easily, giving a half-hearted knock on the door. A few seconds went by without a response, during which time James went to peek inside the window. Miles frowned at him.

"Not very professional of you."

James jerked his head out of the half-open window, nearly hitting it on the raised sill. "Quiet, Enos. I'm just lookin' to see if anyone's home."

"See anything?" Miles knocked again and pressed his ear to the door.

"Nah." James sauntered to the other window and gave the inside a cursory glance. "Probably flushin' some contraband."

"Or maybe nobody's home. Or maybe they're calling security after seeing some scraggly-ass guy sticking his head in the window."

"We are security!" James patted the walkie on his side, frowning. As he did so, it turned on suddenly, first blaring static and then mumbled words. He fumbled with the ancient technology for a second before finally clicking the right button.

"—James? Uh, I don't know if you can hear me, but—" It was Horace, his voice going in and out. "Don't know what house you're at—"

"Can barely hear 'ya chief, we're at 154, what do 'ya need?"

"—Oh, I was going—This is good timing—You need to follow the extra procedures—in the back of your clipboard. This house—be careful—" It was at that point that the weak signal gave out and produced a garbled mess of smashed syllables and blaring static. James groaned.

"'Aight, can't hear 'ya anymore, we've got it handled," And with that, he silenced the walkie. He and Miles exchanged a glance. Miles raised his brows. These people either have the worst or the best timing. Suddenly, the door and screen door of the house opened. Speaking of great timing—

Miles whipped around to face the door, expecting to see—well, something dangerous, or whatever Horace thinks is dangerous. However, he wasn't expecting to see a young woman in the doorway. Something about her, however, was different. She had a different air to her, something about her was far less obnoxious.

James cleared his throat, adjusting the cuffs of his jumpsuit. "'Afternoon, ma'am. We're here for an inspection."

Her eyebrows went up slightly, but she took a step back and motioned inside. "You can come in."

Miles was the first to duck into the house, glancing around to see what exactly was considered "dangerous" inside. However, it looked pretty normal. That is, until his eyes focused. Miles stopped just inside the front door. Something was off about this place, but he couldn't really place what it was until he looked to the window James had looked into. There weren't any trinkets on the windowsill. Even the unoccupied houses had their sills lined with little figurines and fake plants, but this window was comparatively spotless. As Miles turned his attention to the rest of the house, unease pervaded the air at how empty it was. Blank walls, blank shelves, nothing but appliances and some barren furniture. There wasn't even the for-show thermostat on the wall by the living room where it usually was.

Miles, temporarily forgetting what he was doing there, stepped onto the linoleum kitchen floor, the sound of his boots on the tile suddenly very loud. It seemed quieter in here. Despite all the windows being open, he felt like all outside sounds were muted, replaced with a dull nothingness.

Jin was the last to step into the house, sharing an unsure glance with the other two security members. James sauntered to the kitchen and tapped Miles on the shoulder. "Think you can take this one?"

"What, you scared?" Miles raised his brows.

James subtly motioned to the girl now standing in the center of her living room, staring out one of the open windows. "You ain't?"

With a huff, Miles shuffled the papers on his clipboard to the list of questions and tugged a blank page out enough to write on. Might as well entertain himself, seeing as there wasn't really anything to look at. The girl raised her eyes and nodded politely to him.

"Do you want some co—"

"Nope, just need you to have a seat." If one more person offered him a coffee, he'd swear he'd scream. She blinked at him, then obediently pulled out a chair and sat down. James shuffled past them to free up room in the narrow kitchen, turning to glance back at their interviewee.

"Mind if we look through 'yer… stuff?"

"I don't mind, I'm used to it at this point." She replied nonchalantly, not even looking up from the table. There wasn't any bite or passive aggressiveness to her words, but it caught Miles off-guard nonetheless. Though, considering it wasn't the weirdest thing he'd heard today, he brushed it off and decided to push through.

Miles scanned the list of questions, and then flipped to the back of the clipboard to see what these "extra procedures" were for.

"EXTRA PROCEDURES: HOUSE 154

DO NOT LET RESIDENT OUT OF SIGHT

DOUBLE-CHECK EVERYTHING!
NOTE ANYTHING SUSPICIOUS"

Miles raised his eyes from the clipboard to the resident in question, who was casually staring off to the left, watching dust particles in the sunlight from the open window. He squinted a little, trying to scrutinize her as much as he could. What, was she another Austen? Tough criminal record?

If he was going to be nosy, he could at least be professional about it. Miles flipped back to the question list, keeping the "extra procedures" in mind.

"Alrighty, question one: full name?"

"Taylor."

"…No last name?" Miles met her gaze. She blinked back at him, unfazed.

"Nope. Just Taylor." If that isn't suspicious, I don't know what is.

"Ookay then. Birthday?"

"I'm not sure."

"I—You're not sure when you were born? Do you know the year?"

She shook her head. "No, there's an estimate of my age and birthdate on-file though."

Miles gave her a long, hard look. For once, he genuinely had no words. His first interview of the day and she didn't have a last name or a birthday, great. His next question wasn't exactly on the list, but he couldn't help but ask.

"Is there, uh, any reason you don't know when you were born or what your last name is?"

Taylor looked fazed for once, brows furrowing slightly in confusion. "I… Are you new? They put everything in my file."

Miles' gaze flicked upwards to where Sawyer and Jin were going through the drawers in one of the rooms, out of hearing range. Jin pulled some beat-up looking clothes from the drawer, placing them neatly in a pile next to him. He froze briefly, hand hovering above the drawer, before reaching down and slowly pulling up a knife of some sorts, showing it to James.

Refocusing to the current situation, his gaze moved from the knife to Taylor, who was patiently waiting to be asked the next question. Her clothes were different too. Not that the Dharma wardrobe wasn't cheap, but they looked worn in a different way. Relatively plain and familiar-looking. Almost handmade.

"Uh, never mind." Nice security work Miles, not even gonna ask about the suspicious knife. "Anyways, you got anything we don't know about? Weapons, contraband, sharp knifey things…"

"A hunting knife. It was a gift; I don't use it. Horace allowed me to keep it."

"Where'd you get it?" Miles continued, trying to look busy by doodling on the clipboard.

"A friend."

He met her gaze and held it for a moment. The temporary intrigue of the situation was beginning to fade, and Miles was starting to get bored again. He decided not to press the issue, glancing down at the unasked questions.

Miles huffed, not happy with all the repetitive and invasive listed questions. He'd never been one for things like rules or order, and nobody really cared about that here anyways, so he decided it would be better to entertain himself than to do nothing.

"You know what?" Miles shifted in his seat, pushing the clipboard and pen aside and glancing quickly to where Jin and James were still occupied in the bedroom, and leaning in a little closer to the table. "I don't want to be here asking you all these stupid questions, and I can tell you don't wanna do this either, right?"

She blinked but didn't speak up, raising her brows slightly in intrigue.

"So, let's make a deal. We can do whatever until the other guys come back out here. And if anyone asks, we've been havin' a serious and important conversation, got it?"

Taylor smiled a little, endeared, and nodded. "That's nice of you."

There was a moment of silence. Miles looked off to the side, never having been much for social interaction anyways and now having nothing to say. Taylor's gaze drifted back down to the table, where she was fidgeting absentmindedly with the lace doily, which was pretty much the only decoration in the kitchen area.

"I'm guessing they let you have more decoration in your house—bungalow, I mean." She corrected herself, breaking the silence and looking up to meet Miles' eyes.

He frowned and narrowed his eyes. "I didn't say you could start askin' me questions." He snorted, but when she continued to stare expectantly at him, Miles heaved a sigh and decided to answer for the fun of it. "Yeah, yeah. They gave us a house complete with the ugly curtains and weird-ass statues stacked from floor to ceiling, the whole shebang."

Taylor's soft smile flickers from polite to genuine. "I guess they thought your 'ship captain' talking with Richard was a massive favor and wanted to pay it back."

He eyed her, trying to remember who exactly was watching when that whole thing went down. He couldn't really remember anything except that one lady's house they were unceremoniously shoved into during the lockdown.

"Yeah…" He trailed off, hoping maybe she'd offer some kind of explanation as to why she knew so much about how they got here. Come to think of it, Miles didn't even think they'd told anyone but Horace the ship story.

Rather than offer an explanation, she tucked a hair behind her ear and stared wistfully off to one side. "You know," she began, "this place looks really nice from the outside. It looks beautiful. But it's not really like that." She shrugged. "I mean, I guess that's true of everything."

Miles had never been one for waning philosophical at one in the afternoon. "Yeah, I've always loved picture-perfect suburban neighborhoods, just the place to get away from everything." He doubted she'd sense the sarcasm in his tone.

"I came here to get away from everything, or most things at least," she echoed his statement. "Didn't work out the way I had planned, but I like to see the best in everything, you know?"

Jesus, lady, I know. He had to force himself not to roll his eyes at the 'everything will turn out alright' sentiment. He had to wonder, though, wherel this chick was from if she thought this place would be the answer to all her problems. 'Course, he and the rest of the 'shipwreckers' had come here, but what other choice did they have?

He felt the urge to just get up and leave, but whether it was boredom or curiosity, something spurred him onward. "Doesn't really seem worth it to try and 'get away from things', they just follow you anyways; so, I mean, why not just go wherever you want to?" So much for not waning philosophical.

She tipped her head, considering this. "That's true, I guess. But that assumes things won't ever get better."

Yeah, that's usually how I think.

Taylor continued. "It's a depressing view to have."

"Life is depressing." Miles leaned back and tossed his pen up and down in the air.

She frowned. "It doesn't have to be." Sensing his discomfort, she changed the subject. "This place in general is depressing enough already."

Miles snickered, finally having something to agree with. "Yeah, a real party central. I mean, you seen the way these people dress?—"

"Hey Chachi—we ain't bein' paid to flirt on company time, let's get movin." Miles looked up abruptly as James meandered into the room, hands in the pockets of his jumpsuit. Jin trailed behind him, silent, as usual. Miles quickly put down his pen and took his shoes off the table, smile vanishing off his face.

James swiveled on his heels to face Taylor and fished the hunting knife out of his pocket. "This 'yers, little lady?"

She reached up to take it from him with a nod, but he retracted it slightly with a shake of his head. "Hold on, hold on—I ain't saying having a giant hunting knife in ya sock drawer is suspicious, but—"

Miles figured he'd already embarrassed himself enough today, and that a little more wouldn't hurt. "Cool it, LaFleur, she says Horace let her keep it."

James frowned. "How do you know?"

"I'm observant, give the knife back. Let's get moving."

James raised his hands defensively as Miles shouldered past him, huffing.

"Alright, alright, if 'ya say so. But if 'yer friend here uses it for somethin' very un-Dharma, I'm not taking the blame 'fer it."

Taylor accepted the knife and nodded. "Thank you."

Miles opened the door for James, murmuring to Jin as he walked through,

"Stabbing people seems pretty Dharma to me."

Juliet shifted uncomfortably in the doorway. Amy's house wasn't one she recognized from her own stay at the Barracks, but the size and neatness of it daunted her. It was surreal to see such a well-kept house on the island, even the Barracks houses she saw three years ago were all varying degrees of unkempt. Most of the houses that had been saved from ruin were the smaller ones, like the one the Shipwreckers were staying at.

Amy walked briskly past the doorway again, carrying in the rugs she had been shaking out on the porch. "I said you can come in!" She chirped brightly. "I need someone to make me a pot of coffee anyways," she added jokingly, going back to tending to the house.

Juliet smiled politely, trying to push back any feelings of awkwardness. She stepped gingerly onto the… uniquely colored shag carpeting. The house smelled like fresh air and clean laundry. All the windows were open, a broom was propped up against the kitchen doorway, and Amy was currently busying herself with dusting the windowsills.

Not that any reactions to grief were strange but seeing Amy so cheery after the events under which they met—namely, Paul's death—was unexpected. Though, Juliet wasn't really sure what she was expecting in the first place. She picked her way across the carpet, not wanting to get in her way, and headed for the coffee maker.

As Juliet turned it on, Amy glanced over her shoulder from where she was dusting the top of a window on her tiptoes. "Oh, I was joking, you don't have to!"

"No, it's fine. I came here to help anyways." And I think I need some too. Over her years as a scientist and island doctor she'd come to rely on it more and more. After all, sleep was sparse on the island. She listened to Amy bustling around behind her with half-an-ear. I guess cleaning to cope isn't that strange. She reasoned.

She went to fish a bag of the usual 'Dharma Coffeehouse Roast' out of the cabinet, opening and closing a few until she found the right one, however, she was surprised to see something else sitting up there. Behind a few of the mugs was a tin of coffee grounds. At first, Juliet thought maybe it was the lighting, but as she picked it up and inspected it, she realized it was red. Every Dharma product, past and present, was white with black labelling—or very rarely, the inverse. She turned it over in her hands to look at the labelling. Sure enough, it was a genuine, brightly colored tin of Folgers mountain-grown coffee.

The very idea of a red tin that looks like it'd just been picked off a supermarket shelf sitting among the monochrome Dharma-branded rations was so strange to her. In all her years here, Juliet had never seen a name-brand product. Dharma branded their own contacts, brushes, toothpicks, cigarettes… If she didn't know any better, she'd think name-brands were outright banned.

The sound of the broom tipping over and hitting the linoleum startled her, and Juliet turned around to see Amy making her way into the kitchen. Suddenly, she noticed Juliet holding the tin.

"Oh! I guess you've found my little secret, huh?" Juliet didn't respond at first, not entirely sure how serious she was. Amy smiled mischievously, rocking a bit on her heels.

"Horace got it for me from off-island, said he had to sneak it on the sub himself." She giggled, taking the tin and beginning to scoop out some of the grounds. She lowered her voice in a kind of mock whisper. "Guess we aren't supposed to have non-Dharma stuff."

Juliet smiled. "He must have cared about you a lot to take the risk."

Amy snorted. "Yeah, this is probably the only brand-name we have here! But you won't tell anyone, right? Don't want them all asking."

"Of course not." Juliet watched as she dumped the grounds into a waiting filter, humming cheerily as she did so. It was hard not to compare her to Rachel, who was always the more upbeat sister. She loved cleaning and cooking as well. One of Juliet's earliest memories is the two of them being asked what they'd like to be when they grow up, and Rachel's very enthusiastic answer was that she'd like to be a mom and have twelve kids. It was funny, but as times changed, she seemed more serious about it. Juliet didn't doubt Rachel would make a good mom, but it was something she couldn't see herself doing personally.

Amy poured two cups and bustled to the seating area next to one of the open windows, placing them gingerly on the table. Juliet followed a bit awkwardly, taking a seat in the plush, clean living chair and glancing around the tidy house. Needless to say, the environment was far from what she was used to. Juliet picked up her mug as Amy disappeared into the kitchen, taking a slow sip as she wondered what to say.

"How much cream and sugar do you wan—" Amy, hands full of half-and-half bottles, paused abruptly as she saw Juliet drinking the stark-black coffee.

"Do you really drink it like that all the time?" She enquired enthusiastically, dumping a ridiculous amount of the cream in her coffee as she bent to look and make sure that Juliet was indeed drinking black coffee. Juliet, meanwhile, blinked confusedly.

"I prefer it that way." She explained simply.

"Even Horace doesn't drink it black," she continued, putting the condiments aside and sitting down to stir her own cup. "He's always real busy, you know, dashing around everywhere. I get tired enough as it is sorting papers!"

"Sorting papers?" Juliet inquired.

"Mhm, I don't have a set job around here, just help out where I can. Horace said my job is 'keeping our morale high,'" she beamed, turning to glance out the window. Juliet followed her gaze.

"Do you like it? Living here, I mean," she asked gently, gaze falling on a group of children playing in a quad just barely in view from around the corner of the next block.

"Hm? Oh, of course I do! This really is a great place, just our own little community in the middle of all this scenery. I'm glad to be a part of whatever I can," she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, gaze falling on her distorted reflection in her light-colored cup of coffee. "I don't do any of the science stuff, I dunno about any of that. But keeping everyone happy? That's something I can do."

Keeping everyone happy, sounds a bit like my job. Juliet nodded, more content to listen than to talk. "How'd you get involved here? Did you have any connections off-island?" Since Amy was already more than fine with talking, she might as well sate her own curiosity.

"I met Horace when we were both on the same mission to South Africa, when he was still married to his ex-wife. He got me into some really cool places there, and we had a lot in common." Amy turned to one of the many tribal-looking artifacts that decorated the walls of the Barracks houses; specifically, a dark wooden mask resembling the head of a deer or a gazelle, the snout and long, twisting horns decorated with small shards of brightly colored glass or ceramic in a way that resembled a mosaic. Juliet tipped her head to one side as she inspected the mask, admiring the way the light danced off of the colored shards.

"He took me to all kinds of dinners and the like in the Portland area, and one day he offered me and Paul a spot on the sub." She continued to stir her coffee, smiling wistfully into the cooling liquid. "'Course we took it immediately, probably the best decision I've ever made!"

Juliet waited for any kind of emotion or hesitation after the casual mention of Paul's name, but didn't see any. She nodded understandingly. Coming to the island herself was the worst decision she'd ever made, but she could see why Amy would love this place. What wasn't to love? Other than the 'hostile' natives, of course.

She hesitated before asking her next question. "You and Paul met off island too?" Juliet waited for any kind of overly negative reaction, any sign she'd pushed a little too far, but Amy still seemed as chipper as ever.

"Oh, yes! We worked at the same company. He had a wife too, but at nights he'd work security, since I was pretty much the only one in the office during the nights he'd come and visit me a lot." She smiled nostalgically at the memory.

Juliet couldn't help but take in each minor piece of information. Horace has an ex-wife, Amy's been with two men who've had ex-wives, she's been to South Africa, she has connections in the Portland area… It made her cringe inwardly, realizing she hadn't fully trained herself out of her former way of life. She wished she could just listen to people, and not file away every small detail about them as if she needed to use it against them.

"What did you do off-island?" Amy looked up at her expectantly, no kind of bite or suspicion to her words, just boundless curiosity.

The question made Juliet's heart jump in her throat. She should have seen it coming, she supposed. She sucked in a breath, the thought of having to lie one more time made her sick, but it was for other's safety this time. She hated how easy it seemed to come to her, analyzing everything James had said and churning out a fake story with picture-perfect accuracy.

"I was training to be a pediatrician but went into general medicine instead. I've always been kind of a history person as well, and someone I know contacted me with an offer to board the ship. I didn't have much to lose, so I went." Only half a lie, she supposed.

Amy nodded and listened intently, sipping her cup. "So you're a doctor? That's so cool! It's such a man's job, I don't ever think I could do something like that. Especially if you're like a doctor doctor, and people's lives are depending on you, that sounds super stressful."

Juliet sucked in a breath and nodded, trying not to let the flow of bad memories invading her mind reach her eyes. "It can be stressful, but I did it because I liked helping people."

"I bet the ship crew was glad to have you on, then!"

Juliet stared down into her own cup, blinking. The flickering light reflecting off of the coffee was beginning to agitate her a little. She'd been feeling the beginnings of a headache all day, it was bound to flare up at the worst moment anyways. She couldn't help but wince a little at the dull throb.

"Are you okay?" Asked Amy, putting down her cup and tipping her head to one side.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I'm fine. I just have a headache." She hesitated, wondering if she should ask something that she'd always wanted to ask about this place. "Do you suppose I should go to the infirmary?—"

Amy looked up immediately, her expression changing. "Oh, no, you don't need to do that!" Suddenly realizing how defensive she had been, she smiled nervously. "No need to go to the infirmary, everything medical's in the houses."

That's what I thought. Though, she hadn't expected that much of a reaction. She blinked at Amy, not exactly sure how to respond. "Okay, if you're sure."

"Yep! I'm sure." Her chipper attitude returned as soon as she was sure she'd convinced Juliet and seemed rather proud of herself for it.

She was cut off by the sound of excited yells from outside, and they both turned to see several schoolchildren chasing a runaway ball, running just out of sight. Juliet watched them, wondering how many children lived here. She did like kids, maybe babysitting or helping out at the school would be a good way to fill her time.

"Oh, and before I forget, did anyone tell you that you guys need to do your entrance tests?" Amy began, catching Juliet's attention immediately.

At Juliet's confused and slightly worried expression, she laughed and waved her hand dismissively. "No need to worry! It's nothing at all, just a few boxes you need to check. You're a part of our little group already, no worries! But we still gotta check the box for paperwork reasons, y'know? And it's just some colors and pictures and stuff, not anythin' you can fail."

Again, Juliet fought back her trained responses and forced her hackles to lower, nodding. "This is the first I've heard of it, but I'm sure we can get it done." She assured, feeling relieved as Amy smiled in return.

"Good! Horace will tell you all about it, he's the one that handles the entrances and new recruits and all that business. Don't worry about it too much, though, it's nothing big!"

Juliet nodded and leaned back in her chair. She didn't remember the last time a conversation had been this exhausting, but she had to admit it was nice to have someone to talk to. Questions still spun in her mind, but she was too tired to ask them. Amy, thankfully, was a good talker.

By the time she left Amy's house the sun was on its way down in the clear blue sky, and everyone was returning from their lunch breaks. The cafeteria had more people leaving than entering. It was then she noticed the building's proximity to the Infirmary.

Starting down the path, Juliet decided that the Infirmary may be worth a look.

Juliet was relieved to be out of the hot sun, but she couldn't help feeling a twinge of nervousness as she approached the bright, low-slung infirmary. The cool shade of the building's awning was a welcome respite, and she wiped sweat from her brow as she stepped onto the concrete porch. At first glance, it was hauntingly similar to the infirmary she knew from the Others' stay at the Barracks. It was one of the more well-kept communal buildings, though it was still dilapidated compared to the pristine building here in the 70s.

Apart from the obvious differences, such as the scrubbed-clean yellow siding, she noticed a bench that hadn't been there in the future. Other than that, it seemed almost the same.

Juliet threw a quick glance over her shoulder, keeping an eye on the dissipating crowds returning from their lunch at the cafeteria and going in their own small groups back to where they worked and lived.

None of them seemed to pay any mind to her. Everyone here was so friendly, always talking about one person or another. It seemed to give the impression of a close-knit community, but Juliet and the rest of the shipwreckers seemed to slip in unnoticed. She wasn't about to question it, though. The anonymity of being part of a large, unremarkably homogenous crowd was the perfect cover.

After making sure she wasn't being eyed by any of the passers-by, Juliet took a few steps toward the front wall of the building. The shady front wall was wide, but minimalistic. A few strides from one corner was a metal, glassless window made up of thick, diagonal lattice. Through the small diamond-shaped holes, Juliet could catch glimpses of what looked like a hallway. A few strides from the window was a white metal double-door, decorated with the same crisscross lattice. There wasn't any glass in the windows or doors, leaving open holes.

Despite the lack of a proper breeze, the damp draft that stirred under the awning whistled as it weaved in and out of the small holes. Juliet tested the door hopefully, but it was locked. She fiddled with the handles. They didn't have any kind of holes or obvious lock mechanisms on the outside, but each time she pulled she heard something rattling against the interior handles. Was it padlocked from the inside?

Lifting her eyes to glance at the hallway inside, she could see three more of the same kind of doors sitting on the opposite wall. She listened carefully. Voices floated through the doors and bounced off the walls of the open-air hallway. Just loud enough to be registered as individual voices, but not enough to make out words. Juliet stood quietly, trying to piece together all these strange aspects of the 'infirmary'. Door's padlocked from the inside, the infirmary isn't even necessary due to the houses themselves having medicine, there's people talking inside, and nobody's allowed in. Her curiosity spurred her brain to revert to her old way of thinking, redirecting her thoughts to early-morning stakeouts and watching the cameras, just to see if anyone went in and out. She stopped herself before the plans started forming, silently frustrated at how easy it was to think that way.

Before she could even turn around to leave, the sound of a metal door clanging from far inside the infirmary echoed into the desolate hall. Juliet started, her hand freezing on the ice-cold doorknob. Was someone coming outside? She took one step back, then another, trying to figure out how much danger she was in.

"Good afternoon!" A voice greeted from behind her, and she spun around to see a short, labcoat-clad figure standing on the sidewalk leading to the Infirmary.

Juliet blinked, studying her up and down, before recognizing her. The labcoat didn't have any name or logo of any sort stitched onto it, unlike the jumpsuits. She took a moment to try and remember the scientist's name.

"Molly." She responded, striding coolly away from the Infirmary and into the sun. The much shorter Molly stared up at her expectantly through comically sized coke-bottle glasses, which she adjusted shrewdly.

"Poking around?" She mused, standing on her tiptoes to peer around her to the Infirmary door. Obviously, there was no denying it, she had been seen. Instead, she kept as cool an expression as she could manage. If she were a well-meaning new resident, what reason would she have to hide her exploration of the Infirmary?

"Someone directed me to the Infirmary," she explained vaguely, trying to study Molly's expression. The scientist took a few steps around Juliet and looked between her and the Infirmary door. After a few moments more of silence, she shoved her hands in her pockets and spun to face her once more.

"They did? I thought it was pretty well known around here that the Infirmary is not currently in service." Molly explained succinctly.

"Why?"

The scientist frowned at her; the simple question was clearly unexpected. She narrowed her eyes and perceptively looked her over. She transitioned through several emotions in one minute, before finally taking a step closer to the Shipwrecker.

"Listen, Juliet," She started, her tone a lot quieter. Juliet returned her gaze nonchalantly.

"I hope you know that just because you live here now doesn't mean you can go and do whatever you want. You're not one of them, we both know that, but that doesn't mean you're exempt from all the rules." She continued, "I don't want you setting a bad example. Just as long as you understand that, we can all get along just fine."

Her attempts to be intimidating, didn't have very much of an effect. If anything, Juliet was compelled to push back in the slightest manner, just to see what information she could get. "I just asked a simple question."

Molly sniffed. "We both know you're asking more than that. Go back to whatever you were doing, because you're not getting anything else out of me." With a dramatic flair of her labcoat, Molly brushed past her and strutted down the path, into the now dissipating throng of people.

Miles squinted at the small, printed label. "What's ethically-sourced keratin?" Before he could read any more, James snatched it out of his hand and placed it onto the back of a bottle of Dharma-brand maple syrup.

"We're supposed 'ta be puttin' the labels on, not readin' em." He smoothed the nutritional label over the formerly blank back of the bottle, then slid it across the table to join the other newly labelled products.

James leaned back and surveyed the surrounding area. They were in a large garage-like area in the back of the Welcome Center. One of the walls sported an almost full-size garage door, currently open, through which one could see the small backroad vans used to bring in luggage from the sub. Beams of afternoon sunlight shone into the warehouse-like back area. There were large shelves against the walls on either side, and the back wall sported some tables, which in turn held stacks of important papers. A cool breeze funneled in through the open wall.

The concrete floor was covered in folding tables, each covered with an array of blank-backed Dharma products, and a few boxes of nutritional labels. Horace was stationed at the far end of the array of tables, hastily working on his own stack of labels to be assigned.

James picked up another label to peel off the adhesive backing. He couldn't help feeling a little bored with the menial work, but at least he was out of the sun. Just a couple of weeks ago, he'd never have seen himself working Dharma security of any sort, let alone labelling products in the 70's. He chuckled out loud at how ridiculous this all was.

"Something funny?" Miles looked up from his own bottle of Dharma ranch dressing, which he had labelled upside-down.

"Well, Enos, I don't know about you," he began, taking the mislabeled bottle out of Miles' hands and putting it back on right-side up, "but a week ago I wouldn't have even dreamed I'd be in a little yellow house with a white picket fence, workin' a steady job, havin' food on the table and a roof over my head."

"Steady job?" Miles frowned, "We literally just got here. And," He snatched another blank-backed bottle of salad dressing from the stack in front of him, "I don't know about you, but about a week ago I didn't think I'd still be alive. Hate to say it, but I wasn't thinking about white picket fences."

James shrugged. "Well, to each their own." He continued fiddling with the adhesive backing, trying to stick it in place on the back of a bottle of maple syrup. After pushing that one aside, he lifted his gaze with an exasperated sigh to the other bottles, waiting to be labelled, stacked overwhelmingly in front of him.

"This sucks." Said Miles, leaning back and huffing. "Tell me why we signed up to do this again?"

"Pity," James' gaze lifted back to Horace, who was frantically trying to shove some newly-labelled products into an industrial crate.

"Yeah, I feel really sorry that they didn't print all these labels when they originally packaged the product, just to save a measly ten thousand bucks!"

"Nine and a half thousand," James corrected.

"I'm not usually one for following laws, but it would have been way easier to just—" Miles broke off as one of the doors leading into the Welcome Center opened, and a familiar labcoat-clad figure stepped out onto the concrete floor.

"Afternoon, Scully," James put his hands on his hips as Molly weaved around the tables near the door, "come to help us label?"

"Definitely not," she responded as she rounded the tables to stand next to him, turning back to watch Horace. Clipboard in one hand, she reached down with her free one to pick up one of the labels and scan it. "Taurine, that's new." She remarked, putting it down nonchalantly.

"Anyways, I thought I'd stop by to see how you're all adjusting."

"How hospitable of you," James responded, "Why now?"

"Because I'm about to leave. Tomorrow, actually."

Lafleur put his hands on his hips. "Well, ain't that convenient, right before the inspectors come. Dont'cha think that the Feds might wanna take a look at your lab?"

"Hah, sure. If they could find it." She adjusted her glasses complacently.

"I'm not that good of a criminal," Miles broke in, "but I wouldn't go around announcing that you're skipping town to keep the fuzz from finding out about your secret laboratory."

"It's not secret," she stated, "But, I figured you all are a curious bunch, so I'm just letting you know I'm out of town, in case you wanted to ask me any questions."

Her tone would have been threatening, if it weren't for her height. James raised his brows and nodded bemusedly.

"Yeah, I think we're good on that front." He could feel Miles desperately trying to catch his eye.

Molly looked between them. "Right. I'm sure you haven't forgotten about your testing by now, eh? It's important we have everyone's data."

James resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah, yeah. We've got a busy schedule, though. The way 'yer pushin' this on us, it sounds to me like you're tryna get us placed as workmen."

"Hah!" Molly stood up straighter, beaming at the opportunity to be condescending. "No worries, workmen are picked based on criminal record. Unless any of you have any extensive ones, I don't think you're going to have any problems."

"Really? Shame, I'd rather mop floors. Oh well, guess we're not cut out for it." Miles moved to sit down casually on the table but stood right back up as the cheap plastic creaked in a very unsafe manner.

"Good!" She announced, spinning on her heels. "And don't forget," she called nonchalantly over her shoulder as she departed, "Just because you're security, don't feel entitled to the whole neighborhood."

James and Miles watched her go, before the latter broke the silence.

"Well, that's not ominous at all!" He quipped, "Dharma mystery indeed."

As James watched Molly disappear around the corner, he squinted at another familiar figure that headed down the path toward them.

"Evenin' blondie, glad you finally decided to join us." He stood up straighter and put his hands on his hips. Juliet stepped into the cool shade of the Welcome Center, taking in the surroundings. Her expression was, as usual, hard to read. She strode past Horace with a nod of greeting, though he didn't seem to notice her.

Miles' head snapped up at her entrance, immediately putting down the label in hand and taking a step toward her.

"Hey, where's Dan?"

Juliet paused, a bit taken aback, but her expression remained the same as always.

"Miles—"

"Who's that creepy ass scientist guy he was with? And did you see the condition he's been in since we got here? I don't know what kind of doctor you are—"

James stepped between them quickly, gaze flickering between the two of them and Horace, who was thankfully too distracted to notice them.

"Wait, wait, hold on—What are you yellin' about?" He hissed, keeping his voice low.

Miles bit back a quick response, huffing. He looked between Sawyer and Juliet bitterly.

"What, you're siding with her?" He piped up hotly.

"Stop, I don't even know what we're fightin' abou—"

"James." Juliet interrupted in that quiet way of hers, one hand raised in a placating gesture. She blinked, turning her attention to Miles.

"He's fine, Miles. He doesn't have a fever anymore and he can get around fine on his own." She explained calmly. Miles, meanwhile, took a threatening step toward her, glaring.

"Yeah? So, you just drop him off with the first guy you see?"

"He's the one observing who goes on and off the sub, he wanted to talk to Daniel about taking a job on the mainland." She went on, steadily meeting Miles' gaze.

"Job on the mainland?!" Miles' attempts to quiet his voice were beginning to weaken. James was looking continually over his shoulder to make sure they weren't being heard. Miles caught sight of this and took a moment to swallow back his anger, before stepping closer to Juliet.

"And you just said okay and handed him off?—"

Something flickered in Juliet's eyes. "And you left without saying goodbye?" Her voice had no malice or even sarcasm, it was a simple statement.

Miles stopped abruptly, as if taking a moment to comprehend what was just said to him. He pressed his lips shut in a tight line. The fact that Juliet's gaze was more chiding—maternal, even—than scathing served only to make him angrier.

He took a pronounced step forward, closing the distance between them to only a few inches. "Listen, lady, I don't care what you and your little hobbit friends think you know about all of us, but I'm gonna tell you right now—step off." He inhaled shakily, realizing he was losing control and needed to end this before he said something he didn't mean, though it was probably too late for that.

"You don't know anything about us, and if you think you can just pick at us like your beach friend here," he gestured with a hand to James, who had given up mediating and was hovering awkwardly near them, "you're wrong."

Juliet stared back at him with that same damn mask of hers, like she's heard this all before and this isn't her first time being yelled at. In the brief moment of silence Miles uses to take a breath, he becomes suddenly very aware of the height difference between them, which only serves to make him feel more ridiculous. But, if there's one thing he's learned, it's that if you've messed up, there's nothing to lose by going all the way.

Miles, wavering on his feet, shoved past her before his façade could drop completely. "I'm gonna go find Dan, and if you don't mind, stay out of our way." With that, he whirled on his heels and stomped past Horace, who continued as if nothing had happened.

A brief silence followed, with the exception of the friendly, neighborly ambience of the Barracks outside. James eyed Juliet warily. Her gaze lingered on where Miles had stomped off to, and then she swiftly moved to investigate the labelling he had left behind.

James' eyebrows raised. "Well… That certainly was somethin'." He knew getting any kind of explanation out of Juliet was a lost cause, but he couldn't help prodding. As expected, she received the statement with a calm expression.

"What are you doing?" Calm, simple. James leaned his elbows down on the table.

"Labellin' products before the Feds get here. Got a big inspection' comin, I'd say we had good timing."

She didn't look up as she picked up and studied one of the adhesive labels, scanning the ingredients. "Why didn't they just put the labels on when—"

"Yeah, yeah, that's what we said. But hey," He stood up and raised his hands in a kind of half-hearted shrug, "who are we to question the ways of the powerful Dharma?"

Juliet remained as calm and unreadable as ever, gingerly peeling off the backing and smoothing it onto a bottle of generically labelled maple syrup.

"James, I need you to do something for me." She issues it as more of a command than a question. He prided himself in catching the brief knit of her brows as she spoke, a rare occurrence.

"Anything for you, 'yer majesty." He expected to at least get a smirk out of that. Swing and a ex

Juliet let the bottle linger in her hands, running them over the newly applied label more than should be necessary. "I need you to look in the files for anyone named Mary."

The name struck James as familiar, but he'd be damned if he couldn't put his finger on where he last heard it. "Aight. Any particular reason?"

He expected a spoken denial at least, but she put down the maple syrup and picked up another label, analyzing it. He narrowed his eyes, continuing to study her. I'm guessin' that's a no. Or, what she'd have liked to pass off as a 'no'. Perhaps she wanted him to think that she was denying any reason, so that he'd think there was a reason and put a lot of thought into it when, really, there wasn't anything there at all. Maybe that's what she wanted him to think, and there really was a reason and she was trying to—

"James."

He shook his head and looked around, realizing he had just been spoken to. It took him another second to truly regain his bearings.

"James. You're staring at me more than you usually do." She wasn't even looking up, how did she know that? Still, he felt a humiliated flush threaten to tint his cheeks. He sucked up the feelings as quickly as he had felt them. If she wanted to put on a mask, he would too.

"Can't help but notice you got somethin' on your mind." He played it off as smoothly as he could, even through the tension that still hung in the air.

"I do."

He eyed her expectantly, but it was as if she'd been a bottle-labeler since she got here, working away. Realizing that this was a stupid idea, and out-Othering the Other would only lead to frustration, he turned back to his own stack.

"What kind of an inspection would Dharma have?" Juliet wondered aloud, and James couldn't help but notice her wince disapprovingly at whatever she was reading on the labels.

"Horace says they're bein' babysat. I suppose that ain't the worst idea, considering the time period we're in." Juliet nodded understandingly.

"I don't understand why they wouldn't be on-island, in case something happens."

James shrugged. "Guess they got a lot of trust." Though, he personally couldn't imagine any government official handing over control of a facility to—well, Horace.

He picked up another Dharma-brand ranch dressing, glanced at it tiredly, and sighed as he looked at the pile he still had sitting in front of him.

He let his eyes wander to where Jin had been working quietly this entire time at the table behind him, scoffing loudly at the sheer amount of products he'd managed to label in the time the rest of them had been arguing and gossiping. Today was gonna be a long day.

Hot, dense humidity laid over the Barracks like a blanket of thick fog, seeming to weigh down everyone and everything inside. The sun set later on the island than everyone was used to on the mainland, but all the residents maintained their former schedules. Normally, it would have been concerning to see a neighborhood sidewalk abandoned during a nice evening—that is, until one remembered it was nine at night.

Miles, for one, was glad that the Barracks were empty for the rest of the day. If he had to be trapped in this mess of yellow boxes called houses, he wanted to interact with other people as little as possible. Anger flushed over him in waves, coming and going. He wasn't entirely sure how to feel, other than pissed.

Juliet, for one, needed to back off. He was certain about that. Of all people, one of Ben's cronies would be the one getting into his business. To make matters worse, he didn't know jack about her. Sure, he hadn't really read anyone's file, with the exception of the one regarding Linus' finances, but It'd be nice if he had a little warning at least. Even worse, why would James-goddamn-Ford of all people want to take her side? Well, she was a hot blonde, so it wasn't all that unreasonable.

Still, he needed some reason to be angry at her. Jim was right to be suspicious of her, Other or not. A sudden thought stabbed at Miles like a knife. If she was so dangerous, why would he leave Dan with her? His hands balled into fists defensively. I didn't have any other choice. He took a sharp turn on the path, ducking into a narrow strip of concrete that snaked through a narrow alley.

Miles swatted some unkempt, spindly vines away from his face as they climbed up the slatted siding of the Dharma houses. Shouldering through the narrow alley wasn't the best way to get around, sure, but it beat running into people he didn't know. He made sure to step gingerly around the boxy AC units that protruded from some of the unbarred windows, keeping an ear out for anyone who might want to follow him and start up a conversation. God, if he thought people on the freighter were annoying—

A noise broke him out of his thoughts, and he hovered at the mouth of the alley where the pathway rejoined with the sidewalk. A hot, sticky evening breeze carried some muffed sounds to his ears. A child laughing. Miles sighed, relieved it wasn't anyone coming his way. Though, where there was child, there was parent.

Ducking out of the alley and merging onto the larger path, he sighted the source of the noise: Charlotte. He stopped abruptly in his tracks.

Charlotte, dressed in a pink dress and covered in mud, was laughing as she pulled up grass from the lawn and put it into a pile, wild red hair falling into her face and spilling over her shoulders. She looked so happy, getting her hands (and dress) dirty in the island sun. Miles felt like the breath had been knocked out of him, and it took a moment for him to regain his composure. Sometimes it was hard to remember that Charlotte was… gone. It was like his brain just wouldn't accept it.

Miles' gaze slid up from the lawn to the porch, where two people, presumably Charlotte's parents, were talking. He recognized the woman by her familiar red hair, Charlotte's mother, who he didn't know the name of. She was a small woman with a quiet demeanor, but her hair and face were just like Char's. Miles slunk along the far edge of the pathway, watching Charlotte's mother sway on her feet under the shade of the porch, tugging a bathrobe self-consciously around her thin frame.

Raising his head, Miles was able to get a better view of the man she was talking to. He squinted, racking his brain for any memory of Charlotte mentioning her father. She'd mentioned her mother and sisters in passing—not that Miles paid very much attention—but he could have sworn she said something about the absence of a father. Maybe they'd bonded over that? He didn't remember.

"I'm going back down there because it's my job, not because I want to." The man's gruff voice echoed off the porch. Miles' gaze darted between the oblivious Charlotte and the man—her father—on the porch. Miles squinted, catching the name David on this pocket, right above the embroidered 'Workman'. He curled his lip.

David carded his hands through his sweaty hair, sucking in a breath. His baggy jumpsuit was covered with a fine layer of dirt, small particles of grit cascading off the fabric as he shifted his weight from foot to foot.

Miles wasn't the eavesdropping type—he hated when people were in his business—but he couldn't bear walking away from little Charlotte, who was apparently digging for worms. He tried to steel himself into taking another step, getting out of there before he was caught staring, but he caught movement out of the corner of his eye.

A small, timid figure was hovering on the other side of the path, eyes locked firmly on Charlotte. He took a step forward. Oh no.

Dan, wavering unsteadily on his feet, stumbled out into the sunlight, eyes completely glossed. He's staring so intently at Charlotte, but it's obvious he's somewhere else completely. Miles' breath catches in his throat, and he's suddenly unable to move.

Charlotte continued clawing a muddy hole into the pristine, manicured lawn, lost in innocent fun. Miles looked up, hearing the crinkle of plastic, as Daniel extended a tempting Apollo bar in the girl's direction. She looked up, blinking.

"Hi," Dan croaked, his voice seeming so much smaller than usual. "Can…C-Can you come talk to me for a second?" Miles gaze flickered between the two figures. Dan's eyes were firmly locked on her nose, as if expecting to see little threads of crimson any second.

What was he supposed to do? Miles sucked in a breath and held it, feelings mixing like hot and cold water in his gut. He was completely out of sight, sure, but Dan—the idiot, did he not realize how this would make him look?—was in the line of fire. Miles shifted uncomfortably. Experience the embarrassment secondhand or firsthand? His eyes narrowed.

Charlotte blinked innocently, still half-covered in mud. Her eyes lit up at the sight of the familiar wrapper. She moved as if to get up, then plopped back down in the dirt. "My mum says I'm not supposed to have chocolate before dinner." She said firmly, though her gaze was still locked intently on the candy bar.

Charlotte's mother looked up, giving Dan a concerned but non-confrontational once-over. David followed her gaze, curling his lip and narrowing his eyes threateningly. He pushed away from the red-haired woman and stomped down the porch.

"What th' hell do you think you're doing?" Daniel clambered timidly back off the path, as Charlotte's father came thundering down the pathway. He tossed aside Dharma's flimsy plastic excuse for a hard hat, which splintered immediately on impact with the concrete. The unsuspecting Charlotte watched as her dad passed.

Something about seeing the formidable and very angry David towering over the mousy Dan made something click in Miles' head. Yeah, no, he wasn't going to let Daniel—even if he was stupid and brainless and a whole bunch of other things—get cornered by some red-shirt. He pushed off firmly with his heels and went to intercept.

"D'you really think you could just make off with her without me knowing, huh? I don't care what kinda job I have, that doesn't give you any excuse—"

Miles stepped between the two of them, bristling. He could feel Dan staring at him—the damn idiot, he's probably gonna get mad at me for ruining whatever scheme he thought he could pull off—and moved to block David's path.

"Watch it!" He snapped, his nerve alone sending Charlotte's concerned dad back a step. "Get away from him, man. He didn't do anything to you."

David's gaze landed on the embroidered 'Security' on Miles' jumpsuit and screwed up his face in irritation, probably biting back something scathing.

"You here to come get this nut? 'Cause he doesn't need to be anywhere near—"

"I've got it handled." Miles growled through gritted teeth, hackles rising. "Back off." He kept his voice low, so Charlotte wouldn't hear. Charlotte, however, seemed uninterested in the conflict and once again had her head buried in the muddy hole she had dug in their lawn.

Miles swept a hand behind him to wave Dan back, away from this asshole, and stepped back to push him toward the small alley. The two men stood for a moment, glaring at each other, until David shook his head and stepped back as well.

"Jeanette," He called over his shoulder to Charlotte's mother, who was concernedly watching the whole thing play out from the porch, "take her inside."

Miles stood his ground, watching triumphantly as the offender stomped off, the now very dirty Charlotte tugging at the pants of his jumpsuit and trying to show him a worm she had found.

Dan broke the silence.

"M-Miles?..." He prodded timidly from behind. All Miles' anger flushed back to the surface, and he spun around to begin shoving Daniel unceremoniously into the narrow alley.

Once they were fully concealed behind the untamed vines and boxy AC units, Miles took a deep, measured breath—oh he was gonna kill Dan for this—

"Are you insane? Are you stupid?" Miles snapped, causing Daniel to back up as far as he could against the slatted siding of a Dharma house. He stared at him with those wide, puppy-dog eyes that Miles just couldn't stand—

"Do you even know what you just did?" Miles snatched the Apollo bar roughly from his hands and tossed it aside. "You could have ruined everything, Dan, you—" He faltered, feeling the rage begin to burn out already.

Daniel blinked at him, flinching slightly at the scathing words. "I—I had to warn—" He started, trying meekly to defend himself.

"You—You—You could have gotten yourself hurt—" Miles sputtered, gesturing wildly. He had to spin on his heels and turn away from Daniel to try and compose himself, running clawed fingers fretfully through his hair. All kinds of possible scenarios flashed through his mind, terrible things happening to Daniel. First Char, now him, and he'd have to deal with hearing the last thoughts of the only two people he'd even come close to calling friends—

He fell silent, gritting his teeth to stop himself from saying something else he didn't mean, eyes screwed shut in an attempt to just block it all out.

He could hear Dan exhale shakily behind him. "I'm…"

"Y-You're what, sorry? Sorry that you think you can change the future? Sorry that you think you're smarter than everyone else? Sorry you don't look where you're going? Sorry you're leaving me for a theory you yourself said was bull?!" His voice hit a crescendo, catching forcefully on the lump in his throat. He took a sharp breath in, blinking back the tears in his eyes because he'd be damned if he let anyone see Miles Straume cry.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead to the damp siding of the house, using it to support himself. He didn't trust himself to look at Dan right now, but he could feel those wide eyes staring a hole through his back.

"L-Listen, Miles." He didn't even have to look to know Dan was doing that little determined raise of his chin he did when he was set on something, he had every mannerism memorized.

"I… I don't know anything for sure. I have a doctorate but I'm—I'm not a scholar. Nothing is… Nothing I say is for sure, and…" He took a second to breathe,

"…If there's even the smallest, slightest chance that I'm wrong—" Miles could hear his voice cracking, it felt like someone had put a dagger through his chest—

"I… I have to do this. I… I'm sorry… I don't want to leave you. B-but I can't let her die again either. And if there's anything I can do to help, it's not here… You said it yourself I'm—I'm not cut out to be here, to lie. I could have ruined everything… But I can help, I know I can, I can fix this, this is what I'm here to do—"

Miles was listening with only half an ear, trying to focus on forcing each breath in and out lest it catch in his throat. Dan's voice trailed off, seemingly he had realized that Miles wasn't someone who could be reasoned with.

"I'm sorry." The scientist offered brokenly; the words were so genuine they hurt to hear. Miles heard the gentle, shaky footsteps leading out of the alleyway and away from Charlotte's house, somewhere else. He was gone.

Miles turned painfully to face the empty space behind him, the setting sun too bright now. Great. Just great, Miles, you've gone and messed everything up again. He lowered his head, feeling hot shame burn over him in waves. You made Dan cry, great job. No wonder he wants to get away from you so bad.

He could see the fading sunlight catch on the cheaply made Apollo bar wrapper as it lay in the grass, and he moved to pick it up, scrutinizing the logo and designs as thoughts swirled tumultuously in his mind. In the distance, he could hear hushed voices.

"…Nothing like that happens here David, you know that."

"Oh, it doesn't? It doesn't?—Don't tell me that, Jeanette—I don't care what kind of bloody safe haven you think this place is—"

"Pierre wouldn't lie to us; Horace wouldn't lie to us…" The voices faded quickly, their absence accompanied by the sound of a screen door opening and shutting. Miles tightened his grip on the candy bar, screwing up his face.

He turned and threw it against the pavement, not even staying long enough to watch the flimsy wrapper wither on the hot cement. He was already stomping out of the alley, headed for god-knows-where.

The buzzing of the florescent lights overhead mixed with the whirring of the beat-up box fan mixed together into an overwhelming drone, covering up the clinking and scraping and the moaning of pipes in the surrounding walls. No matter the hour, it always looked like it was three in the morning in the monitor room, deep black shadows broken by beams of fuzzy white light from the monitors.

James shifted uncomfortably in his chair, letting the folds of his jumpsuit's collar engulf him. He couldn't decide if he was too hot or too cold, but he knew for sure that he was uncomfortable. He lifted his eyes from one of the many files he'd pored over that evening, watching shadows move to and fro in the doorway to the side room. He could hear Horace fretting inaudibly over something or other, occasionally dropping things, and Phil making some annoying remarks. Horace was nothing if not… dedicated? No, that wasn't really a good word. Enthusiastic, maybe?

After realizing nothing interesting was happening in the side room, James turned his attention back to the file in his hand. He skimmed over the bare-bones information that was in everyone's file, not really looking at anything but the name. According to Dharma's Glorious Leader, the real files were kept under lock and key in those cabinets in the room upstairs. The one that smelled like smoke and was packed to the brim with sketchy-looking people in suits and lab-coats. Was Security, of all departments, allowed to access the files of their own residents? Of course not. He'd caught glimpses of manila folders so full they looked like a slice of cake, but they weren't allowed to see those. So, he had to settle for the one or two page 'files,' which contained information so useless he would have rather surveyed every resident in person.

Name, birthday, age, photo, house number…

Finding nothing of note in the current folder, he let it snap shut and tossed it into the 'uninteresting' pile, reaching for another one from the box. He didn't know why he was doing this, staying late in a hot, sticky concrete box underground to look for a name on the word of Nancy Drew herself. Did she give a reason? No. Did he do it anyways? Of course.

He screwed up his face and pretended to concentrate as Phil carried out another stuffed-full box of papers and plopped it in front of the door, spinning curtly on his heels and scurrying back into the side room. Juliet was a mystery that he could never hope to unravel. And, being the sucker that he was, he's putting himself within 10 feet of Phil just to scrounge for information.

Nothing of interest in this folder, either. He was running out of files to skim, and running out of patience for—

"I don't know why I've gotta do this, man. I've got one good arm, and he's got two!" The sound of something dropping and papers going everywhere sounded above the din. A lone paper drifted gracefully into the doorframe of the side room and landed soundlessly.

"He's helping." Horace replied dismissively, accompanied by the sound of him picking up the papers he presumably dropped.

James tossed aside the folder in hand and reached for one of the last ones in the box, listening with half an ear to the oh-so-enchanting banter from next door.

His fingers brushed the folder before feeling something unfamiliar. He brought them close to his face and closer to the light of the monitors to study them. Sure enough, there was a fine layer of grit coating the pads of his fingers. Perplexed, he retrieved the file, bringing it into the light. He didn't exactly know what he expected, but it was dirty. The cut-rate manila had been discolored into a grimy tan by a thin layer of dirt coating it. James grimaced and dusted it off as best he could, hearing the clinking of little particles of gravel and dirt hitting the concrete floor.

After giving the folder a good shake, he deemed it clean enough and opened it. Immediately, something was off. The first thing his eyes were drawn to was the picture, which appeared to be of a young woman. Instead of the spotless lei-clad portrait photo in every folder, this one was obscured by a black mark. On closer inspection, it was a black bar over the woman's eyes, completely hiding them. It looked like someone had taken a sharpie and drew a black censor bar over them.

James frowned. Everything about Dharma was either eccentric or confusing, or some mix of both. But he couldn't help but wonder what would cause this. First of all, censoring eyes in particular, nothing else? That—along with the dirt covering the folder—easily marked this as the most interesting, if not unsettling, file he'd seen today.

His gaze slid from the picture to the name.

Mary.

Her last name, age, and a few other things were blocked out in the same manner as her eyes. Someone had scribbled incomprehensible cursive onto the corner of the page.

James barely had any time to fully process the sudden clatter of things falling onto the floor before Horace piped up with a quick "Sorry!" He snapped the folder shut, tossed it aside, and brushed as much dirt off his hands and jumpsuit as he could.

"Need some help, Chief?" He drawled, fully intending on staying right where he was. Horace moved to gather up the spilled items and pack them into their cramped box.

"Nope! We're just dandy over here. Keep on doing whatever you're doing!" He replied, fully genuine, before squirreling away the box on a palette sitting by the door and ducking back into the side room.

James leaned back in his chair. He'd thought conning his way into Dharma and keeping up some ridiculously tangled and complicated lie would be hard. Fortunately, they ended up being chaperoned by the one and only Horace Goodspeed. James was fully convinced that this would be an easy, easy ride. In terms of keeping their story straight, at least. God knows what they'd have to deal with in this place.

His thoughts drifted back, as they always did, to Juliet. What'd she been doing when they were gone, anyways? Handing off Dan to some guy for something about the sub… He'd already forgotten most of the details. Still, he felt something tugging at the back of his mind, nagging him. Something wasn't really right here. He just had… a feeling, of sorts. After clearing most of the fine dirt from the folds of his uniform, he spun in the chair and reached under the monitor desk to feel for the bucket of tapes.

He shifted through them and pulled out the one from the morning hours, turning it over once or twice in his hands to confirm it. Popping out the current tape, he looked up and flicked the monitors to the one showing the bungalow they'd been granted. He tuned out Phil's squeaky voice from next door and the droning of the ambient noises, leaning in to focus on the grainy footage.

After a moment of clicking through the cameras, he sighted him and the rest of the security party heading out for the morning. James hit play on the tape, forwarded it a little bit. A few minutes after they had left, a tall, labcoat-clad man strode to their doorway. After a few moments of looming over Daniel, he led him down the path. Shortly after that, Juliet came out to dry laundry. James leaned in even closer, eyes fixed on her figure in the corner of the screen.

People walked by. Juliet pinned up clothes on the clothesline. James was ready to fast-forward, but his heart skipped a beat as he keenly spotted Juliet turning around, as if noticing something. This had gotta be it.

Wait, what?

James clicked back a few seconds to re-watch that part. Sure enough, it happened again. It had to be the tape glitching, right? No, on the third rewatch he could see it plain as day. One moment, she was there, and a split second later—she disappeared. Not walking, not turning, no puff of smoke, just snap—and she was gone. Like she'd completely blipped out of reality. Few minutes later, she was back like nothing happened. He didn't know what he had expected. At the most eccentric, maybe he'd see Juliet talking to the air, sure—but he sure as hell didn't expect this.

"H-Hey Jim, on second thought, we could use a hand with these boxes!" Of course, Horace would be the one to break up a moment like this. James leaned back in his chair, letting the chills wash over him.

He popped the tape out and put it at the very bottom of the stack.

Miles shifted uncomfortably, turning over and kicking off the standard-issue scratchy canvas blanket he had been trying to sleep with. Never before had crickets and night birds sounded so deafening. He sat up on the porch swing he had slept in the night before, grimacing as he felt the stick of sweat on the side of his body he'd been laying on. Even the wood of the sunroom floor felt hot and damp. And he thought trying to sleep through police sirens was bad.

He had found his way home—back to the house, he corrected himself—after a fair amount of wandering and dodging out of the way of any potential encounters. No matter where he went, he was still surrounded by laughing families and cookie-cutter houses. By the time he'd found his way back he could hear Juliet bustling around in Dan's room. He stormed past Jin and Sawyer and decided to turn in early. Only good thing about this place was how easy you could get a beer. He drank a little—okay, maybe a lot. But it didn't dull any of the pain, only made him feel like death. What an amazing day—he made Dan cry, got pissed at Juliet, had a bad day of 'work,' had beer that tasted like straight battery acid, and to top it all off he was hot as hell.

Miles groaned audibly and slumped back against the back of the porch swing, causing the chains holding it up to creak lethargically. He shut his eyes, trying to block out the waves of nausea from whatever he just drank, trying to will himself to feel cooler. Crickets chirped outside. Some jungle animal made a god-awful noise far off in the distance. A few nocturnal songbirds twittered to one another sleepily. It would have been peaceful, if it weren't for the surroundings. None of it would have been so bad if he wasn't surrounded by a bunch of rainbow-colored boxes and their way too friendly inhabitants. Miles couldn't help but think how nice it would be to be somewhere out in the jungle, sleeping on the ground or something like that. No houses and no people—just the nature sounds. Yeah, he could live with that. Just sleeping outside.

Unfortunately, the musty, broiling sunroom was the closest he was gonna get to outside. If I have to put that blanket over me again, I'll die. He thought, wishing desperately he had snagged the little box fan from the monitor room. His attention turned to the wide, industrial air vent sitting high up on the wall to his right, glowering at it. Real nice that they had the one house without a damn window unit. It was a good thing Juliet did away with the thermostat, or he'd be fiddling with it all night. Miles tried to remember what she had said about the air… Something about the tunnels, whatever they were. He was about to go down there and turn on the air himself if—

Wait, was that a noise?

Miles sat up faster than he ever thought he could, staring bewildered at the vent. Had he jinxed it? He slid closer to it on the porch swing, listening intently. It sounded… muffled. Like… someone talking? Miles strained to make out words.

Now that he was focusing, he could definitely make out the noises to be voices. Most importantly, Juliet's. She must be sitting near a vent somewhere inside. He listened closer, trying to catch any recognizable words.

"Did you… feel like you were somewhere else? When you saw her?" She was asking, just the slightest lace of urgency in her voice.

"I don't think I understand." Jin, of course. That was the only other room with an industrial vent in it.

"It happened to me. It felt like I was… in the same place, but somewhere else." She began to say something else, but Miles couldn't make it out, nor Jin's response.

He grimaced in frustration, trying to move close enough to hear. If I can't get air out of this thing, I can still get some private conversations.

"Were there other people around?" Juliet asked calmly.

"No, not before or after." Jin's responses were slow and measured, as if trying to pick the right words.

There were some muffled sounds and suddenly, the voices were too hard to make out. Wherever they were sitting before, they must have moved farther away. Miles fell back against the wood of the porch swing, kicking his feet up onto it in defeat. There were some muffled sounds and suddenly, the voices were too hard to make out. Wherever they were sitting before, they must have moved farther away. Miles fell back against the wood of the porch swing, kicking his feet up onto it in defeat.

He wondered if Dan had gone straight back to the house after their argument. Would Juliet had been there when he got back? Miles huffed and turned on his side. However, his anger toward Juliet fizzled out as quickly as it sparked. Of course, Dan would go to her… He didn't know any better… Actually, maybe he knew the best out of all of them. Miles felt an uncomfortable pang of—jealousy? No—guilt. He turned over onto his stomach, feeling the porch swing sway under his uncomfortable shifting. He stared idly out through the screen and into the green yard, watching the lampposts flick off. Was it really that close to morning? He hadn't glanced at the clock when he came in.

Huffing, Miles kicked his legs over the edge of the porch swing, deciding maybe he should get a head start on this testing bull.

Day or night, it was boiling hot on the island. By the time Miles had wound his way through the sidewalk (and gotten lost a few times), the edges of the horizon were beginning to lighten into a pale lavender. Already, some lights were on here and there, and some houses even had their doors open. Scoffing, Miles followed the smaller, out-of-the-way paths, not in the mood to get caught up in a conversation about the weather.

The security station came into view, and Miles walked past it toward the grassy quad containing the gazebo, which was abandoned save for a few cats stretched on the damp wooden seats. Welcome center, right? I hope they don't give me another few bottles to label. He sniffed in frustration at the sight of someone already at the door. On closer inspection, it was a Workman, cleaning the windows. For a moment he thought it was Charlotte's dad, but it was just—what was his name, Ron? Rich?—Roger, yeah, that was it. He couldn't decide if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Miles slowed his steps as he approached, eyeing Roger cautiously as he tried to see how close he could get to the doors without him noticing. Something tightened in his chest as he neared. Roger was the one who did away with one of those rowdy teenagers, he remembered. Kid's last thoughts still echoed in his head. Roger didn't take notice of him at first, easily separating the crisscross metal lattice from the windows they protected, tossing the hunk of metal aside as if it were nothing. Miles decided to get this over with, hackles rising. I'm glad Dan ran into that other guy instead of Roger, he thought with a chill.

"Is it open?" He asked, not caring if he sounded rude. If anything, maybe it would make him less of a target. Who am I kidding, this is the damn Brady Bunch neighborhood. He's probably the worst guy here.

Roger turned his head slowly in his direction, glowering at him from behind a curtain of messy, shaggy blonde hair, not unlike the mop in the bucket beside him. Roger huffed and looked him up and down.

"Does it matter? Ain't nothin' lock here. Jus' go inside." Miles had a hard time meeting his eyes but met his glare with one of equal malice out of spite as he pushed past and opened the door, wincing at the brief stink of alcohol in the air.

The door swung open, letting the pale dawn light into the shadowy, empty Welcome Center. If nothing else, he had the place to himself. The front room of the welcome center was lined with seats and boxy monitors perched on the walls. Along the far end of the left wall, several cubicles were embedded into the now half-wall. Either one had a surface and a stool on the visible side, the other side separated by what looked like a bank teller window with a metal cover on the other side, obscuring the opposite end of the cubicle. Miles, hands in his pockets as he walked over the cold concrete floor, decided the stools looked more comfortable than the rows of chairs.

He pulled out a stool and sat down, resting his elbows on the provided surface and staring idly at the little speaker protruding from the covered window. He let his gaze wander to the rafters of the high, vaulted ceiling, spying what appeared to be a bird's nest nested within the fork of two wooden beams.

A noise on the other side of the half-wall startled Miles out of his thoughts as he turned to look at the little speaker. He heard a shifting of papers and footsteps on the other side. After a moment, they seemed to come his direction. He heard the scraping of a stool on the other side of his stall and half expected to see the metal cover open. However, it remained closed.

"Here for the testing?" A female voice came through the tinny speaker and echoed over the half-wall. Miles heard her shifting on the stool on the other side.

"Yeah," he replied, too tired to somersault around potential interactions now. It was either her or Roger, he surmised.

"You're a bit early," she responded, though she didn't seem too mad about it. "I am too," she added self-consciously.

"You work here?" Miles asked, trying not to let disinterest seep into his voice.

"You could say that. I'm just filling in the jobs they don't exactly hire for here, this kind of thing is a volunteer position. Do you?"

"Security," Miles clarified unenthusiastically, "not here on business, unfortunately." He rested his chin in his hand, which was in turn propped up by his elbow on the surface of the cubicle.

"Where are you from?" Prodded the voice from the other side.

Miles was half-tempted to give some sarcastic answer, but it was at that moment he felt a twinge of familiarity. He'd be damned if he hadn't heard that voice before, but for some reason he couldn't place it. And, it would be more entertaining to talk to some lady on the other side of a window instead of Mr. Workman, who was still window-washing outside.

"Encino," he answered, truthfully for once. He didn't have the energy for lying through a conversation.

"California?" The mystery woman echoed, "My family's from California. Not exactly Encino, but in the area."

Miles' brows raised. "Really? How'd you end up here?"

He could hear her fidgeting on the other side, continually clicking a pen. "I filed papers for Dharma's Los Angeles sub dock, never really intended on coming here," she paused, as if taking a moment to reminisce. "I met a head scientist working there. I remember I was trying to get some papers from him when he came off the sub. He must have been a little woozy still, because he fell off the side of the dock and into the waters, where I had to pull him out."

Miles snickered, the mental image of one of those obnoxiously superior labcoats tumbling into the water off the dock extremely humorous to him. "Really? You talk about him like you still know him. What, you marry him after you pulled him outta the ocean?" He teased, picking up on her nostalgic tone.

He heard her laugh on the other side, turning away from the speaker as she did so, though the echoes still bounced up from over the half-wall. Miles tried to keep himself from smirking. It was such a distinct laugh, but he couldn't place where he knew it from.

"Well, not right after he got out of the water," she chuckled, "We were the first couple to be married on-island, right after the Truce." She clarified modestly.

"Quite the scenic location, eh? Never suspected a scientist to go after anyone but their work." He remarked, the image of Dr. Cunningham popping into his head. He'd be damned if she was married to anyone.

"He tells people he's married to his job," She explained, "and I'd say that's pretty accurate. I'm lucky to have snagged him before he got as self-important as he is now." Her tone was teasing, but in an affectionate way.

"Gag, the one thing I didn't expect to be here was romance." Maybe it was the "beer" he drank a while ago, but he didn't expect himself to talk so freely without biting back smart remarks.

That earned another snicker from the other side. "You'd be surprised. Everywhere that isn't the Orchid or the Flame seems pretty happy-go-lucky. I'm glad for it, though." She paused, continuing to click the pen on the other side. "I'd never imagine myself living in such a nice white-picket-fence neighborhood, never in a million years," the woman admitted sheepishly.

Miles nodded in agreement, "Same here, me and my ma just scraped by. As far as I can remember we were in a bad place and an even worse neighborhood for my whole childhood."

"Me too," she admitted somberly, "Growing up I was always different from everyone, in ways I couldn't change. Other kids would tease me, not knowing I had to go back and take care of my baby siblings so my ma could work her three jobs."

Miles hesitated before responding, realizing how familiar this all sounded to him. What a coincidence he'd sit down with someone so similar to him? What's his face—John Locke—would probably have a field day explaining how this was destiny to him. He wondered if he really should be saying as much as he was, but it came so naturally. He couldn't remember the last time he was so comfortable and truthful talking to someone.

"I was an only kid," he said, "but my ma was always working and scraping to get by. She'd babysit 'cause she needed the money, so that meant I had to help. I didn't mind, though, I like kids and they seem to like me. Had some family in the area that needed it too, so she'd do that for free."

"I love children," the woman on the other side confessed, "but I don't know if I'd ever be able to bare more than one myself, doctors say I'm weak. Ever since I came here, though, I've felt so much stronger. My husband says he wants a son."

"To carry on the scientist legacy, I assume?" Miles cracked.

She laughed. "He's not really a kid person, but it's always different with your own. He's got a young adult nephew here, not really the best with people in general, I guess. I suppose you're not with anyone?"

Miles snorted and shook his head. "Don't believe in love. Only things I believe in are money and duct tape." He didn't expect her to find him so funny, but apparently, he was.

"It sounds hypocritical from me, but money isn't everything. It can't buy you happiness."

He sighed. "You sound just like my ma, she'd always tell me that."

"I think it's a good rule to live by. I believe in love, of all kinds. Friends and family especially."

Miles rolled his eyes good-naturedly. Yep, that sounded exactly like something she'd say. His smile fell as he remembered Dan, and he glanced at the nearest clock. 5:38, sub leaves around half-past six. "Friends are more trouble than it's worth, it seems."

"I don't see it that way," she responded calmly. "It's easier to lose money than friends. Especially when you're caught up in work and the like. It's not really something you can explain to someone, just… feel." She laughed. "I sound so much like a hippie right now, don't I?"

Miles snickered. "Yeah, you do. I think you've been here too long." Again, his smile faded. "I mean, it's pretty easy for me to lose friends. I just…" He hesitated once more, still feeling reservations over spilling to some lady he just met. But at the same time, she seemed more agreeable than most people here. He hadn't talked to anyone like this in a long time.

"I just do the wrong things a lot. I mess things up, I mess 'em up bad. It's easier to let them live their lives without knowing me, y'know? So, I don't have to worry about that. Better for both ends." As the words left his mouth, he believed them less and less.

The woman on the other end took a moment to think about this, and Miles couldn't help but feel a little guilty that she was seriously considering giving him advice.

"I understand, but it's not irreversible. You always have a second chance, especially with friends. That sounds like a lonely way to live, avoiding problems you haven't caused yet. It doesn't sound worth it to me." She advised calmly.

Miles never took lectures like that from anyone but his ma, but for some reason her words made a lot of sense to him. Yeah, a lonely way to live for a lonely guy. He sighed. "But I've already caused at least one problem, and it was my fault 'cause I was being a dick for no reason."

"At least you're admitting it," she said good-naturedly, "that's a step in the right direction. But you still have your second chance, it can't hurt to try. The worst that could happen is you're in the same place as you started, so why not make an attempt?" Damn, that made a lot of sense actually. Miles' heart caught in his throat. She was—dare he say it?—right. And he never admitted he was wrong.

He sat up straighter on the stool. The sub! "For the first time in a while I don't know how to disagree with that." He laughed, touching his face subconsciously. "I really should get off my ass and try, huh?"

"Of course!" She responded, and Miles stood up and scooted the stool out of his way.

"Wait," she said from the other side, "what's your name?"

"Miles," he responded with no hesitation. "You?"

"Miles, like Miles Davis?" She laughed, "I'm Lara."

Oh. Lara was, yeah that was his ma's name. Yep, same name. Same voice. He froze in place. Did he—it's gotta be some kinda coincidence, right? That's—that would be some serious Back to the Future stuff. Yeah, that was her name and voice. He'd just met his mom. In 1974.

"S-See ya around." Miles didn't realize nor care how tiny his voice sounded. Two big revelations and it hadn't even been an hour yet. He decided he'd better get to the sub before the full reality of the situation sank in, he had something to do.

Hot, citrus-scented morning air whizzed through into the open windows of the van as it sped recklessly over the rocky dirt 'road' leading to the sub dock. Miles caught glimpses of rolling green hills and the lush, colorful treeline of the jungle as he drove by, thankful this road was at least half in the shade. The colors of the sunrise had already sprung from the horizon line, the sherbet-orange glow was already giving way to blue. Miles led the clunky, half-useless van down the road and under a natural archway of branches above. The van roared down the slope, kicking up clouds of dust in its wake.

The second Miles hit even ground, he could see the dock and the surrounding lake come into view. A few vans and jeeps were already parked where the dirt road turned into a half-overgrown path toward the dock, which was stacked with boxes and luggage. Miles hit the brake as quick as he could and stepped out, not bothering to see if the door swung shut behind him. The hot air hit him like a breeze from inside a hot oven, made worse by him being out of breath, but there wasn't any time to complain now. He made his way around the other vans and raced up toward the dock area, nearly colliding with a few people already there.

That's when he saw the figure in the baggy navy jumpsuit, holding some crumpled papers.

"Dan!" He exclaimed, not really caring if anyone else heard. He skidded to a halt as Daniel turned, bewildered, to look at him. Miles put his hands on his knees for support, panting, and desperately tried to catch his breath. Daniel looked him up and down with wide brown eyes, confused.

"Miles?" He asked in a small voice. As Miles straightened himself back up, he saw Dan's eyes change from confused to slightly defensive. "Are… You're not here to tell me not to go, are you?"

"No," Miles panted, sheepishly avoiding his gaze, "No, I'm—I'm here to…" he struggled to even say the word, "…apologize."

"…You are?"

"Y-Yeah." He took a deep breath in, wondering where all his bravery went. For a moment he struggled for the right words. "I'm… Look, Dan, I'm sorry I raised hell about you leaving. I…" Come on dumbass, just say the words! "I was just worried about you, I got scared." His face burned as he talked, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking away.

Daniel blinked, taking in the words. He took a breath, looking as if he genuinely didn't expect an apology. Once again, his expression changed, and he blinked sympathetically. "It's… It's alright. I-I'm sorry I almost ruined everything—"

"You didn't almost ruin everything, that was just me being pissy. I just didn't want you to get hurt." He finished, breathing out all his tension and anxiety. It felt like a weight had been lifted, and he could finally meet Dan's eyes. He gave that small, half-smile that Miles would have killed for.

"I… Thank you…" Their eyes met, both of them blinking awkwardly at one another. Miles was the first one to break eye contact.

"First call for sub boarding!" A voice rang out from somewhere over the edge of the dock, and both men turned to see a worker hanging out of the hatch entrance to the sub, waving his hand. A few people in uniform walked past, toward their own seats.

Miles held his breath, not really sure what to say or do. Daniel shifted on his feet. Do something Miles, you didn't come here for nothing. The urgency of the situation crumbled the walls of his tougher façade. Before he could stop himself, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around Daniel's small frame, careful not to startle him.

"Bye, Dan." He breathed out, sorrow and relief mixing in his gut. Daniel tensed immediately. Miles knew ever since they met that he was a pretty touchy person, but never really the receiver of it. After a moment of being surprise, Daniel returned the hug. Miles had never been a touchy person, but honestly this was the best thing that had happened to him all week.

"Bye, Miles." It hurt to break the hug, but Miles was already flushing sheepishly enough. He rubbed the back of his neck as Daniel blinked and smiled at him.

"Don't do anything stupid," he added, trying to reclaim his character. Daniel smiled a little wider.

"Be good, don't get into trouble." He responded.

"Last call for sub boarding!" The man hanging out of the sub entrance called again, checking his watch meticulously. Daniel spun on his feet and began walking down the dock, but not before waving. Miles returned it, his stomach twisting at all the bittersweet feelings. Daniel's small frame disappeared into the sub, and the hatch shut.

Miles took a deep breath. Daniel was gone.

Sure, Miles was fashionably late for testing—as he was for everything—but he still felt pretty confident about it. So long as they didn't ask any math questions, he'd be fine. It was, however, not the kind of testing he expected. Though, he didn't expect anything less bizarre from Dharma. Of course, Juliet passed every test with flying colors, much to James' discouragement. And Horace had to passive-aggressively explain to Jin that they didn't have any tests for non-English speakers.

An eventful morning, he surmised. And, probably an eventful day at work too. He was glad they were allowed to walk home for a bit before their shifts started. Miles was thankful he could play his and Dan's spat off coolly, at least Juliet didn't ask a lot of questions. Everything felt right in the world, for the most part.

That is, until Horace showed up with a bag full of brownies and nervously shoved them into James' hands, telling him to 'do something with them' and it was really important. And, if there was one thing Miles adored it was junk food.

Juliet had been conversing with James in the beams of morning light coming in from one of the windows. She had picked up one of the small windowsill figurines and was fidgeting with it in that delicate way of hers as she talked.

"I don't think they were that easy." She explained, to which James rolled his eyes and crossed his arms.

"You don't have to play it off to make me feel better, Pollyanna. What kinda tests were those anyways? 'Punch Strength?' Why would they want that?"

"You are security." She used the pad of her thumb to wipe away some dust from the little figure and placed it back in its place on the windowsill.

"Security with a gun. Did they have us shoot targets? No! Do they think we're gonna get into hand-to-hand combat with tree wookies? In case you didn't remember, lil' miss "Ellie" had a rifle that was almost as big as she was."

She couldn't suppress a smile at that, looking away and tipping her head to one side knowingly.

He scoffed. "Yeah, yeah, rub in your "observation" skills too. They show me a picture of a buncha grass and trees and ask me how many people were in it? There wasn't any person I could see—But you said twelve and barely even looked at it, and you were right!"

"You're working yourself up over this, James. Horace said there isn't any winning or losing, it's just to measu—Miles, did you just eat that?!"

Miles, face covered with brownie crumbs, didn't feel the need to give a verbal answer. He simply shrugged and kept chewing. Juliet sighed and headed to the kitchen, where the bag of suspicious brownies was sitting on the counter. James followed.

"Well," he remarked, "I guess we are gonna find out what's in those—eventually." Juliet frowned at the now open bag, then quickly reached forward and grabbed one.

"Hold on Jules, what do you think—" He couldn't stop her before she ate it. "Why, I would never think of you as the type!" He exclaimed with mock surprise. She smiled and shrugged, joining Miles in sitting on the countertop to eat them.

"He said we have to do something with them," she explained nonchalantly.

"Some of us," he glared at Miles, "have important work to do today."

"What, like Jerry?" Miles cracked through a mouthful of brownie.

James opened his mouth to dispute but shut it without saying anything. "Yeah, okay." He too reached forward and grabbed a brownie. "Peer pressure," he grumbled, biting into it.

Juliet laughed. "Why, Sherriff LaFleur! You have an important job to do."

"What, like triaging some stay-at-home housewives? Maybe rescuing a little kitten from a tree?" He hoisted himself up onto the counter.

Juliet tipped her head to one side thoughtfully, smiling. "I suppose."

"Look, Blondie. Nothin' happens here, inside or out. I think we're gonna be just fine."