Hi everyone!

Okay, so here is the summary of the story in progress:

This fic is mainly about Boone and the effect that his 'accident' has on him and the other LOSTaways. I felt obligated to write this story, b/c 1) I like Boone's character not to mention Ian's eyes! ) 2) I am interested in the relations btwn all the LOSTaways, and 3) I feel that 'Do No Harm' should have focused more upon Boone, and his memories/ past experiences, rather than becoming a vehicle for Jack's emotions, memories, and problems. For the moment, Boone is alive in my tale, and he will probably remain so, unless I have a very good reason for killing him off. However, I would feel very bad to have him go through death again, so we will have to see.

So that's my plan, and I already have a couple of chapters written, but I generally like to tweak and re-tweak pieces that I write as I create new sections or add plot lines, etc. So I will be hoping to update past chapters, and am warning you that sometimes you will have to go back and re-read sections in case I've changed something. (I will probably make a note in the beginning if that's necessary, however)

Okay, thank you, enjoy the story, and please, comments and constructive criticism are welcomed with open arms! I guess flames are alright as well, but they help the story much more when written as constructive criticism! (hint hint)

Thank you again, happy reading.

weaver of the web

Rated T (just to be safe)

He Was Harmed, But Will He Mend?

"Please, Boone, please, be quiet. Shhhshhhh…" gently she stroked the damp hair away from his face. He was muttering now, and leant his face into her hand.

"I'm sorry…so…rr…y…" For some reason, that's all he could manage to gasp out. His voice was the whisper in the wind, the faint shadow of thin cloud on the grass. She could just make out his stumbling words because of her close proximity to the heaving shoulders and bloody body.

"Boone, I'm here. Quiet now, shush. Sleep, Boone, sleep." Again she ran her hand through his black hair, slick with what she soon realized was blood, not sweat. Red rivulets ran down her fingers and caressed her wrist with a few slow-moving streams of crimson.

Sun was startled for a moment; transfixed by the droplets on her fingers and filling the lines of her palms. It was so bright, and there was so much of it, seemingly with a mind of its own; rolling, weaving drops of life. And as a breath was brought roughly into Boone's damaged lungs, the gravity of the situation was pummeled into her mind – Boone would not – could not – make it much longer. Pain obviously ripped through his body and chest with each breath, and the primal screams of white hot pain had been heard clearly as his broken leg was set.

Sun looked back and forth from her hand to her charge, and lowered her hand, drawing a gash on the thigh of her pants as she wiped the liquid from her palms . What needed to be focused on was the blood inside of Boone, and keeping it within his wounds; not the blood that escaped through torn flesh. She would gladly give anything to have the wounded man in a hospital with good technology and blood transfusions. She knew that herbal remedies were far gone in Boone's case.

The drip of cave water echoed nearby, and the night sounds of the jungle began to overpower her hearing. Focus momentarily lost within the trees, Sun stared into the night, pondering the questions that had been presented since their arrival upon the island. 'Would there be rescue? What was on the rest of the island? Who were 'the others'? What did Hurley's numbers mean? Whathad Boone and Locke been doing in the forest all day, returning deprived of food? Boone. Would he even survive the night?' Her attention was brought back to his prone form, bloody and covered in sweat on the makeshift bed. True fear began to coil within her.

'What if he dies while I'm here with him? Would people hate me, for not doing anything? What can I do? What if he asks me to end his pain? And his sister, Shannon, where is she?' Each thought and problem was rolled around thoroughly inSun's mind, and she even mouthed the questions unconsciously. But what had happened had happened, and (to her knowledge) could not be changed, and what would happen, would happen. Unless there was one on the island who could reach into the future and divine the sporadic events and odd occurrences to come, there was no telling what would take place upon this island.