Disclaimer: I don't own LOST. All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Summary: All he had in his wallet was their picture. What else did he really need? Shannon/Boone
A/N: This is the first time I've ever written in this fandom. Re-watching the first season, I remembered my adoration for this couple and figured a little oneshot would work. Please read, review and enjoy!
The sand grains caked in the folds of his makeshift cargo pants. He wasn't as equipped for the outdoors like Locke, with his safari-like clothing, compasses, case of knives and whatever booby traps he was sure the island was filled with in part to him, but he wished for a good hot shower, the water hitting every spot that he only vaguely existed as the merciless sun beamed harder onto the beach that never seemed to take a break unless it took pleasure in drenching every sin or deed you ever committed. He was doomed to his own salvation, seeing her walk aimlessly by the surf in fabric just enough to cover the inappropriate places. He wanted to walk over and throw a towel or blanket or just his arms around her, claim her as his own and not let the other men on the island watch her like he was.
He was always watching her, rather for her safety of for his own benign enjoyment. She walked so gracefully, with a slight turn of her swan-like neck, it was impossible not to waste the better part of the day seeing how she carried along. She kept her distance from most people until a few days ago with Sayid, sniffing about, hording in like the scavenger he was and collecting her to do his bidding like he convinced everyone else on the island to believe that he was a changed man, still hearing the screams Sawyer cried out deep in the jungle only days before. He wished he didn't return, staying lost in the distance with his supposed French woman. Boone could see through that thin facade, just another excuse to get close to Shannon, another way to creep his way into their lives. He closed his eyes as he tried to erase the images of her bloody corpse laid haphazardly on the river bank, her honeydew complexion glistening under the harsh rays. He knew it was a dream, the most real thing he ever felt in his life, other than the seldom times he was able to hold her.
The hold. That's what it came down to. The hold she had over him for better or for worse. The hold on reality that seemed so blurry and distorted that it barely existed. The hold on the claim that everyone else thought was true, that she was his sister, that they were blood. They might not have been blood, but she was family, the only family he ever felt close enough to. Despite his quasi-compliant relationship he had with his mother, they both knew that they only really had each other, now more that ever. He wanted to talk to her, maybe for a moment, just to see how she was holding up, needed any extra food, maybe even try to actually hunt down some boar for her. He would, he knew, for her. He wasn't that skilled as he had liked to be at this point, spending every possible moment they could trying to figure out to open something that might not need to to be open, no telling what horrors might lay under the surface. Knowing first, you should awaken anything that has been under wraps for that long. And that's she did. She opened a can of worms that should have never been touched. It was fine where it was contained, deep under the surface, unseen by everyone, but as ever, she could always see me, every part of me clearly. I was an open book as far as she was concerned. And I hated it.
"Boone? You ready?" Locke smiled easily in the early morning sun, ready for the next twelve hours of agonizing patience and mental dexterity that the hatch willed.
"Yeah, sure." Boone threw back his pack, looking again to the far edge of the water, the waves that reminded him of her laugh when her tent was so far away. He wanted to change things, not feel the way he did for her. Parts of him knew it was immoral, even begged him to find other women, other distractions, but the hold that she had over him. She was his for so long, his friend and only confidant. Why did she have to ruin everything? Why did she have to make things so complicated? It was hard enough to be this close and yet so far without her knowing anything other than the half-truths he supplied to help her sleep at night. It was always for her. His disregard for his own hunger. His blatant lies he told to keep her at bay, about the hatch and everything else. He felt relief when he saw her dead, not because she was a nuisance, but possibly because she wasn't on this godforsaken island anymore, relieved she was free from this hell on earth. But most importantly that he didn't have to suffer the closeness and fear of being that close, knowing he would never get further.
The sand squished between her toes as she walked the lone trail along the coastline, footprints leaving a mark while the waves erased them. She couldn't feel the sun anymore, knowing it was still there. She had noticed a distinct tan line on her shoulders that morning, but they lost meaning. She didn't want to be here, even less than she had before. For a few brief moments, the island seemed like a haven, an escape from everything she was, what she would have become and the lies that she told to keep the nightmares and haunting dreams at bay. She wrapped the shawl over her shoulders more to protect herself from the hot sun, the light that seemed to be present at night, present everywhere except in the canopies of the disgusting wetland crap she always turned away from on the Discovery channel at home. She didn't think about TV or bubble baths or anything she used to enjoy anymore. They all brought that constant feeling of home, that untouchable longing of the one thing she was now without. At least with him around, she knew she had home not too far away.
She sat down on the shore again, hearing that wild dog and the little kid running around like they were some lame version of the Swiss Family Robinson or that stupid book she had to read in school, something about flies or bugs. Either way, she wasn't interested in any of it, the sounds, the noise, all but the waves seemed to calm her, at least bring her closer to him. He had always enjoyed the waves, the boats and yachts their parents had let them play on as children, how he would hide in the cabins and tackle her with tickles until she cried "Uncle". A smile appeared on her lips, not significant enough to draw attention, but enough for her to feel it in her ears, causing her to lose balance. Crossing her arms again, she felt she needed to, to keep it all under the surface, the pain that seeped through her clothing, that the sun rays could burn and tarnish, leaving her nothing but raw and hunger for his arms that would never come.
But she felt him watching her, like always. She felt it in the weeks they were here together, when she would gallivant with whomever, knowing he was making sure she was safe. But she had the quiet hope that he might come and join her, take her hand and ask her how she was feeling. His attention always seemed so privileged, as if one look was worth twenty. He gave them to her endlessly and she took them all for granted. She half stayed with his body in the caves, simply looking at him, hoping to make up for the time he had given her. Another round of sobs climbed up her lungs, hoping to God she wouldn't have another asthma attack, not now, not when he wasn't here to calm them. She knew Jack could get the job done, but she needed him, here and now, not four feet under the sands she walked, becoming worm food while she had to keep on the facade that made everyone else feel more comfortable, not wanting to bring more attention to herself after the near-killing of Locke. She just wanted someone to blame. She blamed herself most of all, not wanting to tell anyone. She figured maybe if she didn't push him away, let them become who they were meant to be together, maybe he wouldn't need to find a friend in Locke, maybe she would be his girlfriend on the island, not the sister that only cared about the tanning and the expensive Jimmy Choos that got lost after the crash. Maybe it was her fear of being honest for once or that he would get bored with her like every other guy, but she couldn't stand the wondering, the never knowing.
She stood up again, walking back to his corner of to the side he had made up after their last big fight, walking amongst his things. It wasn't much, but it was his home for the duration they were there and she could sense his presence. She touched his bag, the straps that still held his sweat from the long hours of hunting with Locke, tracing them and wondering if they held secrets. She opened one pocket, not fazed by the boundaries she crossed, but he was hers long before this crash, possessing every secret and hidden gem. It was than that she found his picture, their picture, slightly worn, but still whole. They seemed happy, maybe when it was a good day for them both. She remembered the day well. He had just one the small tennis conference at the country club they ran every year. She had just made it before the end of the second half, having to get to the Dolce and Gabbana sample sale on Sunset before three, seeing him score the final point, forty-two to love. She cheered him on from the back of the stands, seeing his pearly blue eyes from the distance, smiling when he saw her bright pink clamor running down the stairs. She usually didn't react that way in public, trying to keep up her appearances, but she had known how much he had worked to beat the resident prick Dennis, who's father ran the annual Children's Hospital benefit. They both hated him, Shannon for what he did to her at their junior formal and Boone for what he did to Shannon on their junior formal. It was another stick to the colossal douche, making everything about that day even better. It was Shannon who bugged him to take a picture, knowing they had to document the look of victory. They had later taken a picture of Dennis' defeat, laughing about it later over drinks. But it was their special day, when they weren't just siblings, but friends.
She hoped he was watching her now, seeing that she actually cared, that she needed him like she always had. That she didn't need Sayid or anyone else on the island but him. She needed to control herself again, not let it out, not here. She'd wait until everyone else went to sleep before she let the tears fall, like when she was little, when only her teddies knew her real feelings. Instead, she did her best to keep up appearances, still feeling sore about losing it after his death. She just tried to shut down, not let anything out. It was better that way, if only so she didn't hurt anyone else. She just wanted retribution, something was owed to her, a life, a heart, anything. Instead, she folded his clothes, making everything look pretty and perfect, trying to stabilize her breathing, hoping it would settle with this mundane but soothing pleasure of feeling the clothes that covered him, hoping they would give an illusion of him, a hug she would never receive. It was than Walt walked up with Vincent over to her.
He smiled innocently, looking over Boone's belongings. "Why are you folding the clothes?"
"Because I'm anal." She sighed, not wanting to talk to little children who were leaving the island in a matter of hours. "Is there something you want?"
He patted his dog, as if to say something before looking up at her again. "I think you should take Vincent."
Shannon turned around, looking down at the hairy mongrel, thinking the exact opposite. "Are you serious?"
He smiled as easily as Locke did these days, the similarity was kinda creepy. "He'll take care of you."
She chuckled. "What makes you think I need a dog to take care of me?"
Walt bent down, beating the dog more, looking every bit as wise as his mentor and Boone's. "Vincent took care of me when my mom died -- and nobody would talk to me. They pretended like nothing happened. So I had to talk to Vincent. He's a good listener. You could talk to him about Boone if you want."
Shannon didn't answer right away, patting Vincent gingerly before looking back at Walt. "Alright, but only until you get us rescued, okay."
Walt smiled as he ran back over the to raft with his father, leaving the two alone as Vincent pulled after him. Shannon ran reluctantly down the shore, thinking fondly that it could only take Boone to make her be nice to an animal.
FIN.
I hope you liked it. Cheers!