Disclaimer: I don't own LOST, unless you count the DVD sets, which I happen to own all three seasons available.
A/n: Well I've been reading a lot of Boone and Boone/Shannon fics lately, and that coupled with a challenge in the Writer's Anonymous forum suddenly inspired me for this fic. I kind of did something completely different from what I've ever done before in terms of style, so I'd really like feedback on it! Firstly: this was written for the Writer's Anonymous Color Challenge, and I managed to scoop up red (coincidentally in my name AND my fav color!). Secondly: this takes place during Do No Harm, specifically, Boone's death. Flashbacks in italics, as well as some thought type things.
Red Is
He's lying on a cushioned bench in the caves. The familiar damp smell fills his nostrils but he barely notices. Strange things go through his mind as his eyes flutter, as he slips in and out of consciousness. The thoughts are disjointed and unfinished but he is not aware enough to do anything about it.
He sees himself climbing into the beech craft lodged unstably amongst tree roots and branches. He yells into the old, crackling radio, sure he is going to get them rescued.
The plane moans and lurches. Someone else is on the other end of the radio and he can't leave. He's talking to someone who can rescue them and he will finally be seen as someone who really helped.
"We're survivors of Oceanic flight eight one five, please copy!"
The radio returns something garbled, Locke is yelling for him to come down, to get out of there. He has a burning desire to make sure the people on the radio hear him, that they understand the situation, that they can find them and take them home. Then there is a loud cracking noise, the metal groans, and the plane around him lurches and shifts. There is a heart-stopping moment where he is not breathing, not thinking, not moving, followed by an instant of weightlessness and horror.
Impact. Flashes of red and yellow and gray, unpleasantness and noise. Nothing.
When he comes to, only briefly, his senses are all accosted with pain. He is being carried. He manages to open his eyes and he gasps for breath, which only brings about more pain. Red liquid runs in his eyes. He tries to shake it away, wipe it away, and then he sees. There's so much red... he very belatedly realizes it's blood. His blood.
"It'll be ok, Boone." says a voice, between labored breaths. "We're almost there..."
He slips away again. The last thing he sees is the blood, wet and sticky, staining the shirt of the man carrying him. Somewhere in the disjointed confusion in his mind, a memory breaks through, abruptly crystal clear just for an instant before drowning amongst the chaos.
"You're studying what colors mean?" he asked skeptically.
"Yes, we are." Shannon replied and flipped her golden hair over her shoulder. It was longer than usual because she wanted to have the prettiest up-do at graduation. "I only took Psychology so I wouldn't have to take Shop, you know. So help me study! I have to scrape a fifty at least."
He shook his head with a sigh at her attitude towards school and picked up her textbook. "Fine. Let's see... what does yellow symbolize?"
"Thank you." she said then thought for a moment. "Yellow is..."
"Come on, yellow should be easy!"
"Shut it. It's... youthful and..."
"Do you know any of these?"
"I do! Yellow is... right, ok. Yellow is positive, optimistic and... full of energy." she smiled triumphantly and added cockily, "And for bonus marks, I can tell you that it encourages communication and stimulates mental processes."
He laughed. "'Stimulates mental processes'? What about blondes?"
She shot him an irritated glare, ignored his dig at her intellect and told him to keep going.
"Fine. What about green?"
"Green. I know green. It's associated with peace and ecology. It soothes and relaxes."
"Black?"
"Black is easy. It often brings up negative feelings relating to something evil, depressing or scary. It can also symbolize power, wealth and elegance."
Boone whistled. "Sounds just like you. Minus the elegance part."
She glared again. "Oh yeah? Well you're most like red."
"Oh really? What's red?"
"Associated with energy, anger, lust, confidence and boldness." she answered and crossed her arms over her chest as though that settled the matter.
He laughed again. "Are you kidding? That's more like you than black!"
She left in a huff to study on her own.
Later that evening after Shannon had gone to bed, he couldn't sleep for some reason and retrieved her battered Psychology textbook to read. The intention was that it would be boring enough to help him fall asleep. Instead, he found it intensely interesting and the information somehow stayed with him for years later. He hadn't looked at colors quite the same since.
He is aware again and the pain is incredible. He has trouble breathing and he panics. There are lots of hands and voices. He sees without really seeing and hears without really hearing. Things filter into his mind but he can't comprehend them. He wants to speak and words fall from his lips without him realizing it.
He needs to see Shannon, hear her voice, feel her hand upon his, but she's not there. Jack and Sun are nearby constantly, and it's comforting. They're trying to help him, to save him and take care of him. He wants to say thank you. He wants to tell them to get Shannon.
Tell Shannon I need her.
He's not sure he's going to make it through this. He wishes he'd never gotten into the beech craft. That was one thing he should have not obeyed Locke on. He had just been trying to help, trying to be useful, trying to make a difference.
Red takes notice over other colors...
He wanted to be looked up to and respected like Jack. He wanted to be there for people, to make decisions, do important tasks and deal with important situations. But Jack is a doctor and Boone runs his mother's company. His mother is famous, Jack is turned to for answers and advice, Shannon uses Boone at her convenience. Boone is no one.
Tell Shannon I'm not like Jack, never could be and I'm sorry for that.
He hears Sun speaking in his ear. She wants to know his blood type. He knows the answer and he can't seem to get it out. He hears her and her words tumble around his head with everything else. Finally he manages to push out an answer.
"'A' negative…"
He has no concept of time. Seconds, minutes, hours, days later, he is a little more conscious and is able to speak. He tells Jack that his leg hurts. He says he was in the jungle with Locke when he fell. The plane fell. Jack says something about a cliff. Boone tries to tell him about the hatch. He forgets what he's trying to say and his leg still hurts, more than anything else. He asks for Shannon and wonders why he always, always was there for her when she was never there for him. And she still isn't.
Red is audacious, robust and virile...
Jack doesn't look well - he is pale and sweating - and it's because he is transfusing his own blood straight into Boone. Somehow, he wants to laugh. He is in the jungle on a mysterious, terrible island that no one can find, dying because he climbed into an old drug plane on the request of guy who sells boxes for a living (but probably is actually a bounty hunter or something), and now the only doctor on the island is putting his own life in danger, using an urchin needle to give Boone blood. It is absurd and real. He couldn't have made this up if he tried.
Tell Shannon I'm not going to hold out much longer.
It is becoming clear that he cannot be saved. He falls away from consciousness and doubts he will wake up again. He hopes Locke has found whatever he was looking for, that he will find a way to open the metal in the jungle they spent so long excavating, that it will bring him peace and answers. Boone's part is done.
Red represents courage, passion and guilt...
Images and memories flit through him as he hovers somewhere indescribable. When he met her, the time she had chicken pox, her first of many boyfriends, his jealousy, his caring, her beauty, her manipulation, Sydney...
He knows she thinks Sydney was a terrible mistake and truthfully, it probably was. She was lonely and drunk; he was in love with her. He still is.
Tell Shannon it wasn't a mistake, that I wasn't a mistake.
He comes to once again, somehow lifting out of the suffocating tide of pain and memories. Jack is ready to take Boone's leg in order to save his life. Jack is tormented and stubborn and Boone finds himself unnaturally calm in such a situation. Accepting, mellow and ready.
"I'm all mashed up inside and you know it."
Jack tries to fight, he tries to deny the truth, to ignore the obvious. He has to fulfill his promise to Boone, he has to save him.
Tell Shannon I'm done fighting.
"Let me go, Jack." he says.
It's probably one of the hardest things Jack has ever had to do, but he does it. Boone releases him from the promise that he be saved no matter what. He wonders what color Jack would be and wishes he'd had more time to find out.
"Tell Shannon..." he tries and he feels his throat closing up.
Tell Shannon I will always love her.
"Tell... Shannon..."
Red is love...
Tell Shannon, goodbye.
...and sacrifice.
Maybe he is red after all.
A/n: And there you have it. Again, this was a real different style, so I'd really like any feedback. Thanks for reading, and reviews are like oxygen. :)