A/N Hurrah! Another fanfic to busy myself with. So, let us catch up on our lovely LOST characters. It's four months since they were rescued, and some are faring better than others… Shannon is my first chapter. I don't like her at all, but I have a lot of fun writing from her perspective. Hmmm. Enjoy, and do send me some yummy reviews, if you please.

And October Sky, if you read this… please please please don't think I'm copying you with the whole: they're back from the real world thing and there's danger afoot. It's something I've had in mind for a few months and never got around to doing it… besides; I assure you it's not much like your fantastic fic at all.


If someone turned to look at Shannon in the dim movie theater, they might have thought she was enjoying the film.

She had her eyes on the screen, but they were unfocused. In fact they were full of tears. Shannon had become very good at looking as if she was happy. Now she was letting her guard down. She wiped at her eyes furiously so her friends Melanie and Jenna, who were on both sides of her, wouldn't see her crying. Come on, Shannon thought dryly to herself. This isn't even a sappy romance. It's supposed to be funny. Maybe it would have been hilarious if she was in the mood. Right now, she just wanted to go home and get drunk. Today wasn't a good day.

How pathetic was she? She groaned inwardly at herself. She used to be the social butterfly, the partygoer, the adventurous fun-loving girl who always went to nightclubs with her friends – just to check out the hot guys. She used to drink a lot because she lost control when she was having fun. Well… almost always having fun. Now she would sit down at the t.v. alone in her apartment and drink beer after beer, almost every night.

It wasn't her friends that were a problem. They'd been so awesome when she was rescued.

Shan! Oh my God, when I saw on the news that there were survivors, I almost had a heart attack!

Sweetie, we can't believe you're really here. We missed you so much.

Are you ready for the best night on the town you've ever had?

But slowly, after a while, they had realized that she was changed. When had she changed, by the way? When she'd gone to Australia and left her friends in L.A.? The crash? When Boone died? Or when the cruise ship came, and instead of rejoicing like she'd imagined, she'd spent the day vomiting into the sand because she couldn't wrap her mind around leaving?

They had started questioning her worriedly or kindly, or trying to lighten the mood.

Are you hung over again? God, Shan, you drink more than a fish!

What's wrong, hon?

You seem kind of pissed off today.

Is it Boone?

Is it Boone... Shannon scoffed hatefully. She clenched her teeth and balled up her fists every time they mentioned him. She refused to talk about her brother. She couldn't bring herself to think of the day the survivors had buried his broken body on the hill. She had stood apart from everyone, as if she was an onlooker, not the main reason why all of them had congregated around the makeshift grave. She wouldn't let anyone come near her, and if they did, she would ignore them until they left. Several people did try to comfort her, but she'd just lashed out at them. They had finally seemed to realize that it was better to let poor, grieving, drama queen Shannon cry alone. So she had stood there, her arms around her protectively, and watched everyone watch her. She watched them nail down the grave marker. That crude, hated little cross that was supposed to be a grave marker. Shannon hated it so much and didn't even know why. Maybe she thought Boone deserved better. Maybe she thought she deserved better.

Better than to sit, isolated on a godforsaken beach eating the remains of a tusked beast with no one to talk to… no one who mattered at least. She had pushed them both away. She had pushed Boone away, and then he died. She had pushed Sayid away because of Boone. And she couldn't bring herself to go back to Sayid, because she was afraid of what might come tumbling out of her fat mouth.

Now she'd been back from the island for four months. Her friends started to get exasperated. Finally, Melanie had sat her down in her apartment. She fiddled with the t.v. remote in her hands before speaking. At first she talked downwards, as if she was talking to the sofa. Finally she looked pleadingly up at Shannon's tight face. "Shannon… it's not healthy that you never talk about your brother." She paused, nervous. "I mean, I can tell, like, that you're upset and everything, and who wouldn't be? But… we don't even know how he died, Shan. We tried to find out on the Internet –"

Shannon had given her an icy frown. Melanie recoiled as if she'd been slapped.

"We didn't want to pry, or anything!" she whined defensively. "But all we found is that he died after the plane crash." She hesitated, and then bravely looked Shannon in the eye. "How did Boone die, Shan?"

"I don't know." She answered hollowly, staring straight back.

Melanie rolled her eyes. "Come on." She said, her voice raised. "I know you've been through a lot, but God, we're your friends. I think we deserve to know!"

"So do I." Shannon had said, and without further detail, knowing Melanie would never bring Boone up again, she had stood and left the room.


Now, in the cinema, Shannon looked sideways at Melanie. She was giggling like she didn't have a care except the color of her nails. Melanie had no idea. She'd said she deserved to know. That couldn't be farthest from the truth. Melanie didn't even know what day it was. No one had remembered. Or had they ever know. It didn't matter. Melanie hadn't been there when her world fell apart. How could she be there? Shannon argued with herself. Wedidn't even know where we were. But it was no use. She knew she would have to leave or she'd really start to cry.


Shannon flopped down on the sofa. It was soft and inviting, but she didn't feel like sleeping. She would only have nightmares anyway.

She decided to grab a couple of beers and watch t.v.

"How predictable." She said out loud to herself, because there was no one else to talk to.

Oh, God. Her desolateness rose in her stomach like nausea. What a horrible day. A sudden fury bubbled to the surface, and Shannon threw her unopened beer as hard as she could across the room. It shattered against the wall, and the liquid sprayed and dripped to the expensive carpet.

She sank down onto the sofa, her face in her hands. She needed a distraction. Anything. Quickly, she flipped on the t.v. She began channel surfing and landed on the Entertainment Channel. It was a True Hollywood Story.

She laughed. She laughed in a loud, manic way that made her insides cringe.

"He's done it all," the television announcer said in a fake, squeaky voice. "He's been a rock sensation. He's come back from the dead. Now he's going to get married and be a step-dad. Tonight, we're going to delve into the exciting life of Charlie Pace."

The screen went to a clip of Charlie, guitar case in hand, ambling down a city street and walking side by side with Claire. They were ignoring the camera and talking animatedly.

Shannon wiped her face and watched. A small smile played on her lips. Then she took a deep breath, reached across the arm of the couch, and picked up the phone. She bit her lip, wondering why the hell she was doing this, why now, why today? Then she dialed a number she knew by heart, but had never used before.

It rang once. It rang again. She considered hanging up, but knew it was a juvenile thing to do. Her heart beat against her ribcage. Why was she doing this?

"Hello?" A soft, male, foreign voice answered the phone.

She gasped.

"Hello?" he asked again, slightly impatient.

"Sayid." She said. She wanted to say something more, but couldn't seem to think properly.

There was a pause. "Shannon?"

"Charlie and Claire are getting married." She blurted stupidly.

"I know."

A sudden sob escaped her, though she had no idea it had been coming.

"It's Boone's anniversary." She cried.

"I know."