Shannon could never remember feeling this sick before. Jack held her hair back as she retched again and again. Just as her throat seemed like it was raw and bleeding her stomach settled and she sat back on her shins.

Jack put a strong hand on her forehead, "I think you're going to be okay Shannon. You just need to rest, it's probably heatstroke."

Shannon gulped and nodded. She smiled weakly when she felt Boone's protective arm around her shoulder.

"Yeah, I'll be fine. I just need to rest."

"I need to get back to the caves, okay?" Jack told her, "It's getting late. I want you to drink plenty." He nodded to Boone and walked off, shouldering his backpack.

"Shannon, you know this wouldn't have happened if you would get over yourself and move to the caves," Boone said.

"No. Oh, no. After what happened to Claire, I don't think so," Shannon surprised herself with the bitterness of her voice, despite her sore throat.

"She wasn't raped already. Jack thinks it's a combination of stress and her pregnancy that's making her hallucinate."

Shannon looked away, not wanting to admit a loss.

"You look pretty pale. Do you want some water or something?" Boone offered.

"No," she snapped, "Do I look like I need a babysitter?"

"Well, when you say stuff like that it makes me wonder."

"You're not in charge of me you know," Shannon hissed.

"Somebody has to keep you from taking advantage of your inferiors, Shannon."

"Give me a break, Boone. I don't need looking after."

"Seems to me like you do. Here on this island we look after you. Locke always has meat available, there are fish, someone is bringing water back from the caves, Jacks is here when you're throwing up, and Sun helped your asthma. Would it kill you to say the god damn words 'Thank you.'"

Shannon flushed, "Let's not fight, Boone. I don't have the energy."

He rubbed his forehead and relaxed. She laid her head down on his shoulder and drifted to sleep.

Shannon saw Boone. His nose was bleeding heavily, dripping on white t-shirt. She saw her father, too. His face was red, his eyes were wide. She could feel herself crying. He towered and seemed to touch the roof of his study.

The words hung, tangible, in the air. 'You bastard!'

Shannon knew, without remembering, that her father was drunk. The bloodshot eyes, the tip of the head, the arrogant sneer. She had seen it before. Shannon saw herself in the mirror, a 15 year old girl. Her shirt was askew, several of the neat buttons undone. But Boone stood between them, he was a solid barrier.

Shannon wanted to cover her eyes, to block out what came next, but couldn't. She watched her father lash out at Boone. She saw the hit that broke Boone's collarbone. She saw the punch that blacked his eye. She watched the hatred that would have Boone in intensive care for 2 weeks.

"Shannon! Hon, wake up!" Boone was shaking her gently. "You're sobbing."

Shannon wrapped her arms around him, "Thank you, Boone. Thank you."