Title: Ballet A/N: This one is for Islandpalm...hope you enjoy it. As always, special thanks to Mrstater.
Author: Morganagain
Rating: PG
Status of Fic: Complete, one-shot
Featured Characters: Shannon, Sayid
Summary: A post-rescue fic where Sayid reflects on Shannon. Inspired by the final scene in the novel, The English Patient.
Disclaimer: All people, places, and things Lost are copyright JJ Abrams, Damon Lindelof, and the ABC Network. This fanfiction is for entertainment only, and I seek neither credit for nor profit from the characters and plot of the television series.
The English Patient belongs to Michael Ondaatje and no infringement is intended
Ballet
Where is he when he thinks of her? It has been ten years since he saw her last, but still she is a part of him. She will always be a part of him. There are weeks that pass when he is busy with work and life and she is far away - as distant as hatches or polar bears, or knees that don't ache when rain is coming. Then there are days that she is everywhere – she is there on crisp fall days when he smells the season's first wood smoke from a neighbor's chimney, or when he walks along the breakwater at the marina, watching the sailboats bob as their owners tie perfect bowline knots.
Rescue comes mere months after her death. At first, he settles inland, in a desert town outside of Los Angeles, where the sun beats hot and dry, and the smell of salt water is far away. It doesn't last. He is drawn to the ocean; it is a part of him now. Initially, he wonders if it is because he wants to be near her, or at least as near as he can be away from the island. Whatever the reason, he accepts it quietly, and he makes his home along the southern California coast. As the years go on, just as quietly, the pain that her memory had brought in the beginning, somehow changes. As time passes, while the heartache is still there, there is also a sense of comfort, a way of finding his center whenever he feels lost. Some days he seeks her memory out, but there are days that it unexpectedly finds him. Days that she finds him.
Days like today.
Sayid makes his way into the crowded theatre, threading his way through people who are still standing in the aisle. The room is hot, his path a virtual sea of men in tweed sport coats and women cloaked in strong perfume and too-bright smiles. Laughter permeates the air and lights flash intermittently from what seems like a hundred cameras. With relief, he finds his seat and collapses just as the lights begin to dim.
Several minutes later, the rest of the audience is finally seated, and a hush falls over the crowd as the slightly tinny sound of canned music blares loudly. The heavy red curtains part to reveal the stage and in a flash the spotlight snaps on. As the harsh glare is adjusted and softened, the set, more impressive than he expects, comes to life. Wooden palm trees stand tall and straight like sentries, guarding the painted backdrop of a south-sea island. The backdrop is vivid - the blues of the sky and sea blend at the horizon, and a bright yellow sun hangs high, shining its light down toward sparkling white sand. It is what most people envision as paradise, although Sayid knows better. Unconsciously, he searches for a simple cross along the painted shore.
This is where Shannon finds him. She is there in the island-inspired set, and she is there in the tall blonde who leads the first troupe of dancers onstage. Sayid never knew Shannon when she danced, but he imagines she must have been much like this girl - her blonde hair tucked neatly into a bun, her arms and legs moving with a grace that sets her apart from the others around her.
Shannon. His heart aches as he thinks of her. He wonders what her life would have been like had she lived. What their life would have been like. He is sad, swept away by bittersweet memories, and he is angry that she never was able to fulfill her hopes and dreams, that he was never able to help her realize them.
It is the third group that catches Sayid attention again and takes him out of his reverie. He leans forward slightly as the ballerinas tiptoe their way across the stage, their sequined costumes rustling against pale pink tights. There is one in particular he watches. A beautiful girl with black curls much like his own. She is three, or as she insists to her father, three and a half. She has her mother's humor and sparkling eyes, and to Sayid, she is perfect. He laughs lightly as she pirouettes crookedly to the left while the rest of her classmates teeter to the right, and his heart swells with pride as he watches her dip and twirl.
He turns to his wife, her eyes focused on their daughter. She is the second love of his life. She has brought laughter, and joy and tenderness into his life, and has blessed him with a beautiful daughter and a handsome son. Their lives together have been full of a quiet kind happiness, an ordinary existence that some may find dull, but Sayid finds satisfying. There are soccer matches, and dance recitals, and quiet Sundays at home.
His life is a gift. A gift that Shannon gave to him that he will never be able to repay. She taught him to open his heart and accept love, and to love in return. He hopes that by living his life, he is honoring her memory, and that by loving again, he is honoring all that she gave him.
Sayid again watches his daughter, and his heart is once more filled with pride. He smiles as she takes her bow; she is slightly off center, and is terribly serious as she bends forward. Then with a twinkle in her eye, she raises her head and smiles at him.