I know, I know, the readers from my other stories are probably getting pissed at seeing another story up here, but not an update on one of my other stories; I'm sorry about that, but good news is that this is only a 2-part story and both are already written, so no need to fret about this particular one distracting me further. I know that stories about the remembering scenes on The End have been done before but I just felt the need to write this. Both are first-person; part one is from Shannon's POV; part two will be from Sayid's. I hope that you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine! If it was, Shannon and Sayid would have had more time together on the show.

Remembering You

Part 1: Shannon

'Why the hell am I here?'

That is the $10,000 dollar question whirling around in my mind. Of course there are two 'here's to address: LA and this shady bar. I take a drink from my shot, trying to ignore the idiot next to me who has been attempting to flirt for nearly half an hour.

I roll my eyes and mentally turn my attention to my original self-posed question.

Why am I here in LA?

Well, when Boone had attempted to bring me back a couple of weeks ago I had laughed him off and told him to go screw himself. Why I had given in when he came back and insisted I return with him this last time, I have no idea. And I am still pissed as hell that I let him talk me into coming back.

Not that I was really all that happy in Australia; or with that guy – do I even remember his name? – I didn't even really like him; I just did it to piss off Boone and, even more, his mother, my stepmother. That's the reason I had done most things since my father's death, to piss off my remaining "family". Though sometimes how we called ourselves a family is beyond me. Boone can be alright, when he isn't being a self-righteous prick, but my stepmother…I had yet to find any real redeeming qualities in her – the witch had destroyed my dreams after all.

So why had I allowed myself to be talked into returning to this town where I knew I would be just plain miserable?

Because of a damned feeling. A feeling that something was off, like I was forgetting something and it was driving me nuts as to what that was. When Boone came back to Australia to try again it was the first time that the feeling eased at all, and that alone had – for some insane reason – been enough to get me on a plane back here – not that I had made it easy for Boone though.

I drain the last of my shot and gesture to the bartender for another, to which he nods and begins to pour me another glass. The guy next to me is still droning on; I continue to ignore him, hoping that eventually he will take the hint. Normally I would have torn him a new one long before this point but I'm just not in the mood.

My mind turns to the second question:

Why am I here in this godforsaken bar?

The reason for this was a little simpler – if not more idiotic.

Because Boone had decided that we just had to come in here and get a drink. And for some reason I had agreed. I had thought one or two drinks and we're gone. Nope. An hour later he's playing his third round of pool and I had moved to the bar, bored.

I must be insane. That's the only explanation for all of this. A – hopefully – temporary insanity that has me following Boone and stupid feelings nearly blindly. I. Am. An. Idiot.

Now if this numb-nuts next to me could just shut up I might be able to drown this knowledge in the drink the bartender just gave me.

He ran his hand suggestively along my arm, making me want to vomit. "So sweetheart, why don't you and me head back to – "

"Oh my god!" I cut him off angrily. "Can't you take a hint? Get lost!"

His face becomes dark. "If you think you can lead me on – " He raises his hand, but it's caught before he can come close to striking me.

"Hey!" Boone yells at the guy, grasping his wrist. "What are you doing to my sister?"

They guy jerks his hand from Boone's grasp. "Fuck off, pretty boy," he snarls.

Boone – in a gesture totally out of character for him – punches the guy.

The guy dives at Boone taking them both to the floor; in the rush of people trying to get out of the way I am pushed toward the back.

The bartender pulls a shotgun from behind the bar and yells at Boone and the guy to "take it outside!" the guy obliges him by tossing Boone in the direction of the door and following him.

I struggle to follow them, squeezing between people trying to get to the door, but having a hard time of it. All the while I'm calling for them to stop, but they either can't hear me or are ignoring me, either is possible. By the time I finally get out the door they've disappeared; I look up and down the street for them, but there's no sign. As I turn to the left to head down the street I hear the tussle coming from the other side of the building. I run around the corner, for some reason in the back of my mind I note a bright yellow hummer parked across the street, but it's pushed away as I see the guy pounding on Boone.

"Hey!" I shout, as the guy throws Boone into the gutter. "Leave my brother alone!"

I grab at his back trying to pull him away from my prone and pulverized brother. He wrenches around and tosses me off of him, against a wall and into a pile of trash bags. I'm reeling from hitting the wall; disoriented. My head clears a little and I can hear him behind me, I know another blow is coming but I can't make my body move.

But it never comes. Instead I hear footsteps running toward us and a moment later blows being exchanged with grunts of pain and one body hitting the ground with a groan within seconds.

I'm finally beginning to regain my bearings when a deep, accented voice says, "Hey, it's alright," and fingers brush down my upper arm – chills run down my spine and my heart's pounding overtime at the slightest touch – to finally grasp my elbow gently.

It's like a bolt of lightning. I've never heard that voice before but I know it. That hand – its touch – I know it like I know my name…

The memories flash through my mind.

Sharing a mango on the beach, our legs entangled; him gently brushing a lock of my hair away from my face.

Him helping me carry the suitcase full of Boones things when it was too much for me.

Our kisses…every single one we shared…

The place that he built for us – that tiny, perfect, little hut – and how proud he was of it; the hopeful expression on his face that I would like it.

The one night we had together in the hut; lying languid in his arms afterward and teasing each other.

Him telling me he believes in me…that he loves me.

Every moment.

Every heartbeat.

I remember it all.

I let my eyes drift up – hardly daring to believe that it could be true – to that face…his face…his dark eyes…

He looks so startled. So confused for a moment. As if he is trying to place where he knows me. And it only takes a second until I see the memories return to him. His expression is more disbelieving now, as if he just can't believe I'm here, not that I am having any less trouble believing that heis here. At some point I had returned his grasp and am gripping his arm; he gently helps me to my feet, neither of us able to break eye contact.

The disbelief is gone now; I'm drinking in every inch of his face, his intense gaze – I had forgotten how entirely he can focus on me, as if I'm the only thing in the world; he's the only one who's ever looked at me like that – and he's staring back at me as if I'm a dream. Maybe this is a dream…no…no I know it's not, I don't know how I know but I know it's not.

His expression becomes one of such aching tenderness and love that I can hardly breathe. A grin spreads across my face and I can feel tears of joy burning behind my eyes; it takes me a moment but finally, finally I can say his name, "Sayid."

He breathes out my name, "Shannon."

The breath is stolen from my lungs. Oh, how I have missed hearing my name from his lips. His hand comes up to cup the side of my face in that habitual gesture of his from the island; the one that he used to reassure me that he was there and that he cared. This time, though, it feels like he is reassuring himself that I'm here and real as he runs his hand up and down my hair for a moment, caressing my cheek with his thumb; he looks like he wants to weep. I don't know how, but somehow I know what happened to him in his life, even before the crash and after my death, all he went through and did – maybe that's just how it is here – and I want to wash away the pain and guilt he is carrying for him; I want to let him know I love him, no matter what he did. So I say the words I never got to say to him in life.

"I love you, Sayid."

His eyes light up with joy and relief; then his lips crash onto mine. His kiss, oh his kiss. I had forgotten how consuming it was; how the intensity matched the one he looked at me with – carving out our own little world where only the two of us exist. All of the scattered pieces of myself; the emptiness I had run all over the planet trying to fill – both in life and here – pull back together and it's as if the hole in me never existed, as if I was never in pieces.

Our arms are locked around each other, as if we'll never let go, and I don't think we will.

When our lips part for a moment he whispers back, "I love you. And I will never leave you."

I'm grinning again at the echo of his promise to me just before I died; happy tears spill down my cheeks. "I know. And I'm not ever leaving you either. You're stuck with me, forever."

He pulls me into his arms again, holding me tightly. "That is a promise I will be holding you to," his voice is rough.

I smile against his shoulder. "And I will be holding you to that," I whisper back.

We just hold each other, reveling in the peace and happiness of finally being together again and the fact that this time we knew we could keep our promise to each other. And it would be for forever.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope that I didn't make them out of character and that it was ok! Like I said part two is complete and will be up in a few days. Please let me know what you think!