Disclaimer: Lost belongs to people much richer and more famous than myself.
Authors Note: I took some liberties with the back story of Boone and Shannon in Australia in the alt-universe that Boone told Locke on the plane. For this reason this story is slightly AU.
It hit him hard and fast.
Kind of like being hit by a plane.
Oh wait…
Say what you will about overreacting- Boone Carlyle had every excuse to use the metaphor. He knew what being hit by a plane was like from direct experience. That was how, in another world, in another time that was so clear in his memory but just out of his grasp, he died.
He was dead. Twenty-two and dead.
"Sorry to break the news to you dude," Hurley said, a sad look on his face. "And about that whole kidnapping thing. Desmond really wasn't sure how to approach you- you never met on the island- and since you didn't remember me yet… well it didn't seem like there was any other way. But you met Locke, and that's the important thing. Desmond said it was the kick you needed to see the light. Would have been easier if Locke already knew, but it'll happen eventually."
Boone shrugged, still slightly confused at what he'd just experienced, accepting the beer that Hurley handed him. It didn't feel any different in his hand, didn't taste any different on his tongue. It tasted like a regular Corona, the same he chugged on the beaches of Cancun over the Spring Break of his freshman year in college.
When he was alive.
This revelation was going to take some getting used to.
"Locke- he'll move on with us, right? "
The strangest feeling passed over Boone. He should have been angry with the bald older man- leading him to his death to open a hatch that likely had another exit (how else would have Desmond survived?). He should have been confused- he was dead before any of the others, had no idea what any of them had experienced after he was gone. But he didn't feel either. He felt… complacent. Accepting. This was the way of the world, how fate had chosen it to be.
He was dead at twenty-two, and that was how God, or whoever was running this show, wanted it. And he accepted it.
"Oh yeah, Locke's gonna move on. He just has to find the right person to trigger his memory."
Now Boone was confused. "What do you mean?"
Hurley sighed. "Dude, seriously, this would be so much easier to do when everyone's together."
He shook his head in reply. "You have met my sister, right? She's stubborn. It's gonna take a lot to get her out of Australia."
Hurley smiled slightly at the memory, before mulling over the best way to explain the night's events. Or at least, the least confusing way. "Think of this world kind of like an alternate reality. Kinda like one of those late night sci-fi, Star Trek thingys. After we die, we all come here; live our lives like nothing exciting ever happened, with no idea of what our real life was like. Time doesn't matter here- I lived a hell of a lot longer than the rest of you all, but I'm kicking it with the rest of you."
"Why don't you look any older, then?" Boone interrupted. Not that he was complaining about being eternally twenty-two.
"Hold on, I'll explain. So we stay here, and keep living, but not really living…" Hurley stopped and stared at him. "Dude, is this making any sense?"
Boone nodded. "Yeah, I think I get it."
"Anyway, so we're stuck here, waiting to move on. And to do that we need to find the people we were meant to move on with. We all have someone waiting for us here, in this world, and that's why I look the same as I did when you knew me. If I showed up looking like some old dude, would you have connected me with the guy you knew on the island?" Hurley asked. Boone was starting to get it. "They're the triggers. One person who can help recall the memories that will allow us move on. Sun for Jin. Claire for Kate. Charlie for Claire. Someone who, during our real lives, played a role in changing us from the people we were before the crash to the people who survived and died on the island."
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Boone wondered how Hurley knew all this. "Like Locke helped me get over Shannon," he added, still slightly disgusted at his real life obsession. "And she has a person too?"
"Yeah, Shannon has a person too. She needs him, and he needs Shannon. Neither can move on without the other."
Boone didn't ask who it was. He didn't need to.
And unlike his other-worldly self, there was no disappointment that he, himself,wasn't the one chosen to open Shannon's eyes to reality.
"You sure you can't bring Sayid to her? Would be a hell of a lot easier than convincing her to leave the sunny Australian beaches" He gulped at the beer as if it was the first time he'd ever drank one.
"It's the only way dude. Desmond has it all planned out. We just need your help." Hurley called over the bartender, a slim brunette with big green eyes and a tight t-shirt, and handed her a wad of cash. "Keep the change." The girl grinned, giving Boone a wink before she headed over to serve another set of patrons.
"Any way she can move on with us too?" Boone asked with a smirk as he finished off his beer.
Hurley laughed, slapping him on the back. "Sorry dude. But when Ben finally gets his act together and helps the freighties move on, there's this chick you should meet. Goes by the name Naomi. I think you'll like her."
Boone smiled, feeling relaxed. He was moving on. To what, he wasn't sure. But it was comfort enough to know that he wasn't going alone.
Sure, if you'd asked him in the years before he died (and probably up until the day he died) who'd be waiting for him on the other side, he would have entirely glanced over the group of strangers he'd lived with a brief forty-two days on a desert island. It would have been his family, his college friends, maybe a girlfriend or wife and kids.
Now that the time had come, however, it only seemed fitting. It was enough.
All that remained was to convince Shannon of the same.
OOO
To say that Shannon Rutherford was annoyed barely scratched the surface of it.
She was halfway through college, something she could barely believe was really happening to her. When her father had somehow been convinced to write her out of the will, and Sabrina had refused to help foot the bill (despite Boone's arguments that she was being entirely unfair), Shannon had thought her dreams were out the window. Still, Boone convinced her to send in an audition tape anyway.
Two months later: a full scholarship offer.
This Australian vacation- a trip she saved for with her own money, earned through teaching screaming, uncoordinated four year olds ballet and tap every night after her own intensive dance classes ended- was supposed to be perfect. Nothing but laying on the beach in her pink striped bikini, staring at the half naked men speaking with the world's sexiest accents alongside her friends from the dance program at Fordham.
Boone showed up unexpectedly in Sydney four days into the two week trip. It had been one of the pleasant surprises of the trip. Business had called him to Australia to meet with a groom whose bride lived in the States. The couple was having budgetary issues, Boone was there to smooth everything over and ensure that the couple could, indeed, pay for their six figure wedding.
After he was done with work, they'd met up, gone out to dinner. It had been months since they'd actually been in a room together, thanks to the fact that they now lived on opposite coasts. She'd even introduced Boone to a few of her friends, laughing at his attempts to be suave. Their few days together had been ridiculously fun. She hadn't realized how much she missed her stupid brother.
And that's where it all started going downhill.
It started with a phone call from her sort-of (but not technically) boyfriend, calling things off. There was another girl- a younger girl, fresh meat starting her dance courses early in the summer rather than waiting for the end of August. Shannon and Bryan hadn't been serious hadn't been serious, but she hadn't expected it. Boone offered to arrange for a second ticket home on his flight, Oceanic 815, but she declined.
She was in Australia, and if Bryan wasn't interested anymore, well she'd just find someone new to hook up with. God created half naked men on the beach for a reason, hadn't he?
Sure he had.
At least, until the beaches were closed due to an unexpected sighting of sharks in the water. It would be at least a week before they reopened, and by that time, Shannon would be back in New York City, getting ready for classes to start up again.
She resorted to site seeing and shopping, though she had to be frugal with her money. It didn't grow on trees, like when her father was alive. Beaches were free, the mall and the museums were not. The last of her trips budget was blown within days.
Which was why, when the phone call from Boone came, it was almost a stroke of luck. Sprawled across the queen sized bed, she'd answered the phone, trying to keep the twinge of desperation to get out of Australia from of her voice.
"Whaddaya want, Bone-head?" she asked in mock annoyance.
"Shannon, you need to come home now," he replied.
She rolled her eyes. "Boone, I've been saving forever for this trip. I'm only here three or four more days. What could possibly be so important that it can't wait?"
There was no humor in his voice when he replied: "Shan, I really need you to come home. We need you here." He let out a sigh. "We need you…"
Now she was worried. "Are you alright? Did something happen to your mom?"
Silence.
"Boone?"
More silence.
"Boone, you're scaring me. What's going on?" Scaring was putting it lightly. Shannon was terrified that something horrible had happened to her brother.
"Just get on the next plane out of Australia, Shan. I can't really explain what's going on over the phone. It's better in person."
She sighed. "Boone, I can't afford to switch my tickets to a different flight. I spent most of the money I saved on buying the tickets!"
"I already took care of it. When you get into LAX, grab a taxi. I'll call you with the details of where you need to go."
She had wanted to leave Australia, but not like this. Not with her head filled with worry- for her brother, for her grandparents, hell, even her own personal evil stepmother. She would never wish ill on any of them.
"Just promise me one thing, Boone. You're ok, right?"'
"Yes I am. In fact, I've never been better. I'll talk to you tomorrow night. Get home safe."
"Good—"
He'd hung up before the words could even get out of her mouth. Looking around the room, she couldn't help but be confused. He was fine- perfect, apparently- yet it seemed like a life-or-death matter that she go home. Boone had never lied to her before. The situation had to be urgent.
Unable to think of another option, she began packing her bags. Apparently, she had a flight to catch in the morning.
OOO
"You convince her, brotha?" the Scottish man asked, leaning over Boone's shoulder to grab a crumpled, stained sheet of loose-leaf from the bulletin board. It was covered in tiny scrawl, barely discernible, but as it passed by his face, Boone was able to see Kate, Claire, and concert written there, part of a long list. Pulling the pen that was stuck above his ear, Desmond checked several items off before pocketing it.
It was strange for Boone, sitting here with Desmond. To know that his death, in a way, saved this man, and that if Boone has survived, Desmond would have been the one rotting, locked eternally in the underground bunker.
"Yeah, I convinced her," Boone replied.
Who would have thought he'd be sitting here having an easy conversation with the man who just twenty-four hours ago kidnapped him from outside his office in order to make him realize he was dead.
Desmond smiled. "Good. You know what you have to do, yeah? I'm off to turn myself in!"
The Scotchman, in Boone's opinion, looked much too gleeful for a person about to confess a hit and run to the cops. And strangely, Boone didn't even question it.
OOO
"Joe's on 3rd, please," Shannon asked, nearly stumbling over her heals as she stepped into the taxi. She had to be worried- it was the only explanation. She'd been wearing five inch stilettos since she was thirteen, and had never fallen once.
Peaking into the rearview window, she checked her hair, falling quickly back into old habits. Why it was so important she look her best, she had no idea, but Boone had called her again that morning before she left for the airport, telling her where to meet him. "Dress up, Shan."
"Boone, what's going on? You're not telling me what happened, one minute it's like it's the end of the world, and the next you're telling me to dress to the nines. If you don't tell me what's going on right now I'm not getting on that plane," she threatened.
Half the night she'd spent tossing in her hotel bed, worrying that her brother had lied, and was sick, or hurt, or dying. Now he was making it sound like she was going to a party.
"Trust me, Shan. You want to get dressed up for this."
"Boone. What. The. Hell."
He half sighed, half laughed into the phone. "Just trust me for once Shan. Get on the plane. You'll be glad you did."
Shannon had followed through, but not before putting up a hell of a fight trying to find out what was waiting for her when she got home. Fourteen hours later, she stepped off the plane at LAX to find a taxi driver that would bring her to Joe's Place, a bar she'd never heard of.
A dog barked at her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin. She hadn't noticed the golden retriever sprawled across the passenger seat. "Sorry about that," the driver, a youngish African American man, called over his shoulder. "He gets real excited around people he kno—well, he likes meeting people.
As they drove through downtown LA, she couldn't help but notice that the traffic that night was nearly nonexistent. A few limos, here and there an SUV or another taxi, but for the most part her driver made his way down one street and up another at an uncharacteristically fast pace.
They turned off the brightly lit main streets, heading for a seedier part of town, and Shannon felt her stomach drop. Sure she was a bit of a risk taker- it's not like she lived in the safest part of New York City, and sometimes she went home from bars with total strangers- but she'd never gone to this side of town by herself at night. She wasn't entirely stupid. "Are you sure this is the way to Joe's Place?" she asked, tapping on the Plexiglas window that separated her from the driver.
"Only one Joe's Place in LA, miss," the driver said over his shoulder, a smile on his face and a glint of laughter in his eyes. Like he knew something. It was slightly more comforting than creepy. But just barely.
Shannon glanced down at the driver's credentials, remembering the name in case she had to call the cab company and complain. Walt Lloyd. She felt like she should know this name, but shook it off. Probably just thinking of another driver, back in New York.
"Don't worry. I know exactly where we are going."
That's what worries me, she thought, settling back into the seat. The pleather seats were sticky against her bare shoulders, and she couldn't help but try and pull down the dress she was wearing in case any creepers tried to peak in the taxi windows.
Another fifteen minutes of driving, and the taxi came to a stop. "We're here, miss. Joe's Place. It'll be twenty-three dollars."
Grabbing thirty dollars out of her purse, she told the driver to keep the change, eager to get inside and see her brother. Hopefully he'd finally give her some damn answers.
It was the least she deserved.
OOO
Sitting in a dark alley, the vibrations of the running van engine lulling him into a false sense of security, Sayid Jarrah wanted to demand answers from the fat man who had kidnapped him.
Well, it wasn't technically a kidnapping. Kidnapping would imply going against his will, and Sayid had jumped in the yellow hummer with this slightly insane man without question. But anything was better than prison, wasn't it?
Perhaps it would have been better if he had been locked up. He was beginning to believe that may be the case There, he could no longer harm the people he loved. Couldn't harm Nadia, Omer, and their children. When he last left Iraq, he'd sworn his days of violence were over, that he'd never injure another soul. And yet, when his brother's life was endangered, when Nadia begged him for help, he could not deny her. He had killed again.
It felt different this time, and for the first time, he doubted his motives.
He doubted her.
For so long, Nadia had been the paragon, the long-lost love of his youth. Sayid could tell himself, over and over, that he had killed these men to avenge his brother, but he could only lie to himself for so long. It had all been for Nadia, as it always had been. And as it would always be?
That, surprisingly, was the question. Because when as he snuck out of the abandoned restaurant, bodies lying face down on the ground, in a frying pan full of eggs, he found himself swearing that this was the last time he would abandon his principals for her. Nadia may claim to love him, and he might have loved her, but Sayid had finally come to accept that it was never meant to be. Childhood love, even one elevated to such an ideal that it seemed to be true love drawn from a fairy story, had led him only to abandon his vow to finally prove he could be a good man.
Stepping out of that restaurant, he was determined to leave, determined to say his final goodbyes to Nadia, and finally find a life- one of his own, where he would decide what course of actions he would take. He would prove he could live a life of goodness, perhaps find another woman, one he could love unconditionally, without the emotional baggage of a life in turmoil. And if he could not live this way, he would live in isolation, where he could no longer cause anyone harm. He swore to himself that he would—
And at this, he nearly laughed. Hadn't he taken a similar vow, stepping on the plane from Iraq? And look where that got him?
So easily he'd slipped, like a former drug addict who could no longer resist the temptation of the needle and the line. Why fool himself into believing he could be good? Sayid Jarrah was an irredeemable man, who in trying to help those he loved, only allowed them to be hurt even more. He deserved to be locked away.
Which was why it was so confusing when, after rambling on about tranquilizer darts and motels and secret rules, the fat man said to him, "Just trust me, okay? I trust you, Sayid."
He barely contained a snort of disdain. "And what, may I ask, have I done to earn your trust?"
The side door of the bar swung open, and Sayid took note as two men stumbled out, shouting at each other. He wanted to ask if this was what they were waiting here for, but the fat man remained quiet, deep in thought.
"You know, Sayid, a lot of people have told you that you aren't a good person, and maybe you've started to believe that. But I know that you are one of the good guys. And I think you have to make that decision for yourself whether you want to be good or bad."
You make your own fate, Sayid thought with a laugh. He'd once heard those words, many years ago.
He'd tried to determine his own fate, and look where that had led him.
Still, a response to the man eluded him, and so Sayid turned his attention to the fight outside the car.
OOO
Son of a bitch, Boone thought, using Sawyer's infamous go-to phrase as another blow landed near his right eye. I should have picked a scrawnier guy.
OOO
How long had she been in the bar? Thirty seconds? Maybe forty, if you stretched it. And instead of seeing a smiling Boone, sitting at the bar and waiting to give her a decent explanation of this whole fiasco, she watched as he shoved the ugliest, burliest man in the bar into a pile of empty classes, sending them clattering to the floor in pieces, before getting punched in the face and falling backwards. Struggling to his feet Boone rushed the guy again, getting a jab in the stomach in before he started to retreat towards the side door that led to the alley.
The man, angry and red in the face, rushed him again, hitting Boone hard in the eye and sending him crashing through the door. Luckily, it had been propped open; otherwise they'd be paying for the door as well as Boone's inevitable facial reconstruction surgery. "Boone, what the hell!" she shouted. Unfortunately it drew the man's attention to her. Somewhere between a leer and a sneer, his look was lascivious, and frankly, a bit frightening.
Shannon sure as hell hoped Boone knew what he was doing.
OOO
Sayid almost didn't see her, so distracted he was by the fighting. Dressed in dark clothes, she was camouflaged against the alley wall. It was her long blonde hair that gave her away, highlights catching the fluorescent lights as she stumbled over the overflowing garbage after the man being attacked.
"Why are we here?" he asked again, turning to the fat man. "Why me? Why tonight? Why are we watching this?"
The man in the driver's seat shrugged nonchalantly. "I'm letting you decide for once, Sayid. I told you that already. No one else tells you what to do tonight. You choose who and what you really are… if you're ready."
He felt an almost maniacal laughter building up inside him. Was he cursed to never again get a straight answer from anyone? Had he completely lost his mind, sitting in that jail cell?
No, it couldn't be him.
"You're insane," he muttered under his breath.
"Not any more dude," his companion replied.
The shouting outside drew him out of his stupor. The young woman was yelling, waving her purse at the man who was attacking. The third member of the group, the young man being attacked, was lying prone among the aluminum garbage pails, barely even throwing a punch back anymore.
Do I stop this? Sayid thought.
It was the right thing to do, wasn't it? A good person would stop this. A good person would get involved. A good person—
OOO
Hurley was starting to get nervous. Sayid was just sitting there, staring blankly out the window, eyes darting from Shannon, to Boone, to the stranger, then back to Shannon. Not even a glimmer of recognition.
Was Sayid too far gone? He couldn't be.
He had to be moving on with the rest of them.
The car bounced slightly, then moved upward, making Hurley jump. Glancing next to him, he saw the passenger's seat was abandoned, the door wide open, and Sayid was moving across the alley.
Hurley couldn't suppress the smile that spread across his face.
OOO
"BOONE! STOP IT!" Shannon screamed.
Honestly, she knew her shouting wasn't going to help, unless it drew the attention of someone built like Arnold Schwarzenegger in the Terminator movies. One thing was for certain: she couldn't fight, not in these heels (or even out of these heels). Calling the police wouldn't help either. She just watched Boone start the friggen fight, and the last thing her brother needed at this moment was a misdemeanor charge. "Leave my brother alone!"
The man's fist rose again, ready to hit Boone, who was barely conscious and not moving amidst the garbage. Without thinking, she grabbed him by the wrist; her pink painted finger nails digging slightly into his skin.
She expected the guy to ignore her. She expected him to punch her brother again. Maybe she even expected him to finally realize what he was doing and back off.
What Shannon hadn't expected was the man to turn on her.
How it happened she wasn't sure, but somehow she was no longer holding him back, and his, sweaty hands were wrapped tightly around wrist.
"Let go of me!" she heard herself screech, hardly aware of the words leaving her mouth. In the dim light of the ally, the man looked absolutely brutal. If he was aware that he was hurting her, he certainly didn't show it. His malicious grin grew wider the more Shannon struggled. He squeezed his hand even harder around her wrist, and she yelped in pain.
"Let her go!" she heard Boone shout from the ground.
Suddenly the man's knee buckled slightly. Boone had kicked him right at the joint from his spot on the ground.
Angry and injured, he yanked her arm away from him, throwing her backwards.
For a few moments, Shannon was completely unaware of her surroundings, conscious only of the air rushing by her ears, and the searing pain in her shoulder where she'd felt something pop. Then she hit the ground hard, empty bottles covered in plastic digging into her back, knocking the air out of her lungs and leaving her gasping for air.
Everything went black.
OOO
Rage filled Sayid. But it was different this time. This was not the uncontrollable rage he felt, shooting the gangsters that injured his brother. This was a controlled rage, one he knew was entirely justified.
The fight between two men could be easily dismissed- two drunk college guys supporting opposing sports teams or trying to hook up with the same girl, two older men with nothing better to do on their Saturday night. Needless to say, had it remained just the two men, Sayid might have left it alone.
It all changed when he saw the young woman fall.
He had done many horrible, unspeakable things in his life. But never once, not even when he had been charged with getting information from Nadia at any cost, had he hit a woman.
Dashing out of the car- almost certainly leaving the door wide open, though he didn' stop to check- he saw the man moving to grab the girl again. He grabbed him by the collar, using his elbow to hit him once in hard in the back of the head. Dazed and thrown off balance, the man threw a wild, unaimed punch back at Sayid. He easily dodged it, hit the man in the stomach, then again in the head, throwing him back onto the pavement.
He wasn't dead, but it was certain he wasn't going to hurt the girl again.
Ignoring the second man, Sayid pushed aside the fallen garbage cans to where the dazed girl was beginning to stir.
Her hair was in disarray, falling over her shoulders. She was slim and tall, despite her high heels. Her clothes were obviously high end, and her large black purse had been flung a few feet behind her. She moved a hand to her eye, rubbing it as she came around, and he noticed she wasn't wearing a wedding ring.
He felt inexplicably relieved.
"Are you alright?"
Her eyes grew wide as she looked up at him, and he thought it might be fear. She was obviously afraid she'd be attacked again. Tentatively he reached a hand toward her, offering to help her up.
Whispering softly, he said, "You're safe now…"
OOO
She was in pain. Incredible, extreme pain. The only blessing was that it was concentrated to her head and arms- if she'd hurt her legs, she'd never dance again, and then what would she have left? When she figured out a painless way to stand up out of this pile of garbage, she was so going to kick Boone's already broken ass for dragging her out of Australia for this. A friggen disaster, that's what this was.
"Are you alright?" she heard a soft, accented voice ask from above her. Looking up, she rubbed her eyes, trying to see straight. He wasn't a tall man, but he was well muscled with dark skin. His hair was black and curly, and his eyes were a soft brown.
He made her feel safe.
She nodded slowly in response to his question, still hurting badly. His hand stretched out to help her up, and she moved her uninjured arm to take it, grateful for this stranger's sudden appearance and willingness to help her.
And as her fingers neared his, not touching, not even brushing, she was struck by the intensity of his presence, of the peculiar familiarity of him touch.
And then it hit her.
OOO
It hit him like a bomb exploding in the tiniest of compartments.
It hit her like a bullet to the stomach.
Say what you will about overreacting- they had every excuse to use the metaphor. They knew what it was like from direct experience. That was how, in another world, in another time that was now so clear in their memories but just out of their grasps, they died.
And as she fell into his arms, she forgot about her lost vacation in Australia and that Boone might still be lying injured on the pavement. As he leaned in to kiss her, he forgot about his vow to live peacefully or live alone and the cryptic words of Hurley in the van.
All that mattered in this moment- and in every moment that existed in the eternal hereafter- lie directly in front of them.
"Sayid."
"Shannon."
OOO
"Should I go get 'em?" Boone asked, still struggling to catch his breath.
"Nah, let's give them a minute," Hurley replied with a laugh.
Catching a glance of his sister and Sayid over his shoulder as he struggled to catch his breath, he couldn't help but smile. The last piece of the puzzle had been fit together, and though during his real life he never would have admitted it, this was right. Him, Shannon, Sayid- one strange, dysfunctional little family.
He climbed into the back of the van, closing his eyes as he relaxed his now beaten body. Already, he was starting to feel better. Recovery time was a lot shorter when you were dead. Not that it mattered. Really, they had all the time in the world.
Boone smiled again.
They were ready.
Well this story became a monster. This started off strictly Shannon/Sayid, due to my immense excitement over their reunion in the finale. Then I wanted to toss some Boone in to answer his questions. And then it kept going. And kept going. And... well you get the idea. And in the end it's a little less Shayid than I intended, and is more of their journey back to each other rather than their love. But I think I'm satisfied with that. Please leave a review and tell me what you think! I always enjoy hearing from readers, especially constructive criticism. Also, if you see any giant grammatical gaffes, let me know- I definitely did not read through this as many times as I should have. Best wishes - Jac