A/N: Publishing here as an excuse to read through it all again, in prep for a sequel!

Summary/Spoilers: S1-S3 reimagined, with changes to/divergence from canon, and heavy emphasis on James and Juliet's inner turmoils and relationship. An alternate timeline starts early in S1, when Sawyer/James is most at odds with the other Oceanic survivors and would not refuse the mysterious Others if they offered him a hot shower and something good to eat. Started as a writing experiment, placing Juliet in Jack's role as reluctant leader/savior. It was really fun writing in the style of the actual canon show, which I realized is not something I do often, if at all! Much respect to TV writers who have to keep track of all this shit and answer to an angry audience, lol.

Rating: Mature for sex & violence

TW: references to non-consensual voyeurism (Ch5), strangulation/attempted murder (Ch10)


Chapter 1 - Holding Tank


Juliet woke up disappointed that the island hadn't sunk into the ocean overnight.

She thought about suicide while making coffee, to see if that glimmer of hope and one last sliver of pride were still there. Always disappointed to see they still were.

Dulled senses made it easy to keep going. The carefully designed mundanity of the Dharma barracks took care of that. Idyllic Living, by Benjamin Linus.

Juliet peeked out her living room window, the one she'd curtained the night before when she caught Ben staring at her house, and not for the first time. She walked a tightrope, keeping him at arm's length without betraying her festering hatred of him. She couldn't shut him out entirely. Only in the moments when she couldn't take it anymore.

Now she had a new assignment: recruit the prisoner in cell block dolphin tank.

Juliet was too tired to cry; instead she read the file again, studying every police report, court record and photo. Each page represented another small glimmer of hope. It meant the real world still existed. Someone had gone there - or at least accessed its information - to fill this hard copy folder, the supposed summary of one man's life.

James Ford. 34 years old. Confidence man. Alabama. Parents deceased, violently.

It was a test. Everything was a test. If she passed, even if she only tried, maybe Ben would grant more privileges. More interaction with other departments. A glimpse of home?

The deep gulf of disappointment would open up if she thought that way. And that always led to rage. Assume the worst, complete the task as given, no questions asked. Don't hope for a reward. Simply avoid punishment instead. That was the better way, the safe way.

Juliet wondered what her own file said. Surely Ben must have one on her.

"Stupid enough to fall for this all-expense paid vacation."

At least she hadn't endured a plane crash. That was the invisible exclamation point on the files of each of these survivors. The only reason she believed Ben hadn't planned the crash himself was the look on his face when he saw the plane break in half in the sky. She'd seen each stage of his reaction. Disbelief, horror, hope…and greed.

Juliet took a deep breath and put herself in Ben's mindset. James Ford was a chess piece. She only had to convince him to move to the right space.

One detail nagged at her as she read through it all again. In all her time there, they'd never taken prisoners. Ben was improvising, and Juliet could tell. That was her glimmer of hope. She'd been put in charge of a new variable. If the bizarrely mundane routine of living on Mystery Island didn't drive her insane, maybe she could make this new variable work in her favor.


James woke up feeling like twice-baked dog shit, surprised he'd been able to fall asleep at all.

The bare metal cot might have been the only thing worse than sleeping on the sandy, buggy beach. He'd told his captors, after waking up in his cell the first time, that they shouldn't have gone to the trouble of beating him unconscious; he'd have gone willingly. After a couple nights on the cot he wasn't so sure anymore.

He'd been camping further inland, in exile from the beach after the inhaler incident. They'd come in the night, hit him over the head and dragged him through the trees to a clearing where they could more easily shoot a tranquilizer dart into his neck. Waking in his mystery cell two days ago, he had no idea where he was, or how far they'd taken him. For a disorienting moment he thought he was in the Sydney airport, that he'd fallen asleep on the baggage carousel and dreamed the last few weeks. As his eyes adjusted he realized it was a decrepit laboratory, and the dank smell on the tiles held remnants of long dried ocean water.

His only theory was that their desert island wasn't so deserted after all. Then he'd had his first visit from his captors, a couple of serious looking dudes who dutifully refused to answer any of the requisite questions.

Who are you? Where am I? Why are you doing this?

James didn't have the energy to yell or demand answers. All they asked was that he move to the back of the cell so they could deliver a tray with what looked like rations from World War II on it. When they returned with his next meal, they found the first untouched. He told them he wasn't that hungry.

They were only slightly friendlier the next day. James was rewarded for good behavior - not trying to escape - with food that seemed to be from the twenty-first century, at least. They assured him someone would talk to him in the next day or so. That this was all a precaution, and all would be explained. Little did they know, James was simply too tired and beat up to fight them just yet.

Groaning, James got to his feet and took another defiant piss in the corner of the small observation room. He hoped they were watching. Better yet, that a guard would walk in right then, so he could spray the plexiglass wall separating him from the rest of the lab. If they left him in there long enough, maybe he could drown himself in it.

Limping back to the cot on bare feet and aching limbs, James tried to discern what to attribute to each stabbing pain. Plane crash, beach tent, or torture? The steel bed was therapy at this point. Toss in a thin mattress pad and it was basically his former prison cell.

At least they weren't driving bamboo under his fingernails. Maybe he was safer here than on the beach. And maybe that was better than he deserved.

On the morning of the third day, just as he wondered when breakfast would arrive, there was a bang - the sound of the heavy metal door being unlocked. He turned as it creaked open, expecting to see the same two friends return with more shitty astronaut rations. He watched a tall blonde woman enter with a tray of food. She took her time closing the door behind her, allowing him look her up and down at his leisure. She was dressed like the others he'd seen; plain khakis, buttoned shirt. Apparently this was the suburbs.

When she finally acknowledged him, it was with a confident and unflinching gaze. After a long moment her gaze dropped to the previous night's food tray.

"You ate." she said, pleasantly surprised. So pleasant it could have been sarcasm.

"Hunger strike wasn't worth it." James replied.

He could hear the exhaustion in his own voice.

On her tray was a plate of scrambled eggs and hash browns, still giving off heat, pulp visible on the sides of a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice. His stomach growled.

"Is that for me?" He gestured toward it.

She nodded, approaching his cell door. James got up close to his side of the glass, leaned his forearm on the space above his head and stared at her. She stared back, a reproachful smile gracing her lips.

"You should know the rules by now," she said softly.

"I'm too tired to try anything stupid."

"I believe it," she replied. "But the rules apply to me, too. Please?"

James smirked, holding her gaze a beat longer.

"Well…when you ask like that..." He shoved off as requested, shuffling slowly away. "So you're the good cop, huh?"

Juliet didn't answer. She waited until he'd relaxed every weary muscle against the far wall. She opened the door, another heavy one, and carefully set the tray on the floor, just inside of it. She gave him enough time to rush her, but he really wasn't interested in proving anyone right today.

"You mind?" he asked wearily. "I'm hungry."

He sat tight and didn't move until she'd secured his cell door. She walked a few paces to a steel table, the one in the middle of the outer chamber that matched his 'bed' inside the cell.

As soon as he had the tray in his hands, James took up the plastic fork and shoveled a big bite of scrambled eggs into his mouth. The rest of the eggs disappeared quickly, followed by the juice which he gulped down all at once.

Juliet watched him empty the glass, letting him savor it and the inevitable belch that worked its way out of his stomach.

James looked over at her, waiting for her to speak. The other guys hadn't stuck around after food deliveries.

"What do I owe you for the nice meal?" he asked, shoving another bite in his mouth.

"I need you to answer some questions."

"I'm a Sagittarius, and I liked long walks on the beach 'til I landed here."

"Are you experiencing any headaches or nausea?"

"Why? Did you poison me?"

"Blurred vision or flashing lights?"

"I don't have a concussion." James cut her off tersely, since she wasn't engaging with the sarcasm.

"Good." said Juliet.

"If ya'll are so worried about CTE, you shouldn't go clubbing strangers over the head."

"The people that did that to you will apologize, the next time they see you."

"Those other two? Fuck 'em. They're not as pretty as you. You cook better, too."

James was so tired even his compliments came off as sarcastic and grumpy. Juliet's neutral stare didn't waver.

"So what do you really want from me?" James asked with a mouth full of food. He knew how these things worked. Zoo animals had to perform to get their rewards.

Juliet hesitated, considering her options one last time. James stared hard and kept eating.

"I was supposed to come in here and gain your trust," said Juliet. "Over the course of days if necessary. But I think you're smarter than that, and practical. So I'd like to offer you a trade."

James took another big bite. "I'm listening."

"I can get you out of this cell. It's a tank, by the way. For studying marine life. I'm pretty sure the last tenants were a pair of dolphins. But, outside of this lab, we have houses, with beds and showers. And toilets."

James' chewing slowed. So they had been watching...

"All you have to do is tell us where your friends are right now, and how many of them survived the crash."

"My friends?" James repeated, almost spitting out his food. "Lady, this is a luxury spa compared to the way they were treating me."

"The other survivors." Juliet corrected herself coolly, letting him know she'd call them whatever he deemed appropriate as long as it meant he'd cooperate.

James stared at her and chewed.

"They treated you badly." She asked as a statement.

"Yeah." James agreed. "Doesn't mean I'd sell 'em out. Maybe I deserved it."

"I don't think you did, James."

He faltered, hearing his real first name out of this stranger's mouth.

"Think about it." Juliet said gently before he could recover. "I'll be back with lunch."

James sat against the wall with his fork hovering over the last bite of food, and watched her leave.


The state of the lab door made her exit entirely too dramatic. In order to close it all the way, she had to pull very hard, making it bang as if he was being sealed inside that room forever.

"You went off script." Ben said from behind her.

Juliet waited for the wave of repulsion to pass before she turned to face him. She took one look at his face, and averted her eyes apologetically. "I read the file. I thought a little honesty would help." She looked up.

Ben smiled very softly. "You don't have to defend yourself, Juliet. You did very well. Using his name at the end there was a good touch."

As manipulative as he could be, his compliments were really what made her skin crawl. She may as well have been in the cell with James for the way he treated her. She had to quell the urge to physically attack him. She played up the gratitude instead. More trust would equal more files. More files meant more hope. More potential allies. The glimmer of hope rose in her eyes. She let it show, so Ben would think it was directed at him.

"Thank you, Ben."

Ben smiled like a pleased teacher whose student finally understood the lesson.

Using his name at the end there. Good touch.

"Danny will keep an eye on him for now, from Observation." he told her. "Talk to Danny before you bring lunch. This may not take as long as we feared."

Juliet forced a polite smile. "I will."


She did as ordered, checking in with the Observation team on her way back in. All Danny had to report was that their prisoner really did seem exhausted. There was no pacing, no taunting, no banging on the glass. He'd sat for a while, eyes closed, just resting. Juliet took that in, and prepared for their next conversation.

James played the surly prisoner just long enough to make a sarcastic remark, then moved to the back of the repurposed tank, allowing her to place the food tray inside the door. He watched her face for any clues about his situation. Her expression was flat, her motions business-like. She didn't hesitate closing the door this time.

"What's up, Warden?" he asked. "You look disappointed."

He stooped to pick up the paper plated sandwich, roast beef on white bread.

"My boss isn't happy with me." Juliet confessed. She positioned herself near the glass, standing directly in front of James when he stood straight.

James didn't pause his meal on account of conversation. "Why's that?" he asked, mouth full of his first bite.

"I went off script." said Juliet. "I was supposed to be mysterious. Make you think we all had god-like powers of perception. Recite a list of all your darkest secrets to make you paranoid and willing to cooperate."

"And what made you deviate from this master plan?"

"I was tired," said Juliet.

"You were tired? You got a room like this one? Don't tell me this is the presidential suite."

"It's exhausting, being this mysterious. And I really thought the offer of a shower would do it."

"Do I stink that bad?"

"I wouldn't know. That's what the glass is for."

She cracked a small smile, what passed for one on her otherwise impassive face.

It almost looked like she was having fun, James thought. And somehow she'd made it so he was asking all the questions.

"And here I was," James sighed. "Thinkin' I'm dangerous like Hannibal Lecter."

Juliet watched him finish his sandwich. They were a foot apart, separated by a plexiglass wall and a bottomless well of questions. He would have asked more if he'd known where to start.

"We've got beer, too." She spoke softly, almost in a whisper.

"Whiskey?" James asked, hopeful.

Juliet smiled. "We can get you anything you want."

James stared at her, searching both eyes for some morsel of truth. This had to be a cult. Normal societies didn't live on secret islands and send pretty ladies to be nice to their captives. Normal societies sent people to jail, or tied them to a tree and tortured them if they were desperate. There had to be a doozy of a catch here.

James backed away from the glass, finding no clue in her clear, blue eyes.

"I'll think about it." he said.

"...You'll think about it?" Juliet repeated dryly.

"Yeah." James said, easy breezy. "I'm starting to like it here." He gestured vaguely at his accommodations. "Reminds me of prison. Keeps me out of trouble. Keeps things real simple."

"Your self-awareness is admirable." Juliet replied with wry tone. "If it helps - if you do want to get out of here and into a real house, with a real bed and a shower - we can lock you in at night and post guards outside to keep you in line?"

"Would you still come visit me, Warden?"

Juliet caught herself wanting to flirt back, and not in a manipulative play-act way. It felt natural. With a week's worth of filth and all the evidence of mistreatment, the man was still magnetic.

"Afraid not," she said. "Once I convince you to cooperate, I'll be assigned to some other impossible task."

"You're tanking your pitch," he warned. "I wouldn't trade your company for the whole damn island."

He was laying it on thick, and Juliet wondered - did he know Ben was listening? Half the fun of these interactions was the jealousy emanating from the monitor room. Ben wouldn't trade the island for anything.

"I'll let you think about it, then." she said, aborting before she lost control of the narrative.

"Are we on for dinner?" he asked as she opened the heavy door.

"I only work the day shift." she joked wistfully.


"Tomorrow." Ben began as soon as she arrived in Observation. "Tell him the rest of the deal."

"Okay."

"You're doing great work here, Juliet."

His ever-calculating eyes shone with the many layers of emotion he harbored for her. Juliet braced for the stabbing knife that usually followed any compliment from Ben.

"His flirtation is an act, of course. And you're handling it very well."

There it was, the cold and familiar blade. Why did she care if he thought another man considered her pleasant company? Juliet forced another smile. The flirtation with James had been the only authentic interaction she'd had on this rock. If she could manage to thread this needle, both of Ben's prisoners could potentially help each other.