Chapter Four

Legal Note: As usual, I am not associated with Disney, ABC, "Lost," or anything remotely resembling these companies / organizations. Once again, I simply feel sorry for Boone, and want to give him the opportunity to speak his mind.

Much to her disgust, Shannon had been paired off with Locke. She had really been looking forward to a little jungle-time with Sayid, but Locke had ordered him to search with Hurley. Shannon was sure John Locke was the only person alive capable of ordering Sayid to do anything.

In the meantime, Shannon had spent over two hours trampling through underbrush, swallowing bugs and trailing along behind Locke. Shannon hated to admit it, but Boone was right: Locke really did have a great butt.

What a way to spend the afternoon. Nothing like wandering through the wilderness, looking for a wayward brother to get a girl excited. Shannon could be stretched out on the beach, soaking up some rays, rereading the same dog-eared copy of Cosmo she'd read eight times already, having sex with Sayid somewhere in the jungle, giving herself a pedi….wait. Back up. Having sex with Sayid somewhere in the jungle. Having sex with Sayid. Sex. With Sayid.

Sex with Boone.

Shannon stopped. No! She wasn't going to think about Boone. He was no longer a part of her life. Why would she want to have anything to do with someone who felt relieved when he thought her dead? Augh! He was lost somewhere on this godforsaken island, hopefully miles away from where Shannon stood, and Boone was still ruining her good time. Shannon stopped walking and stomped her little foot. She wanted to be rid of this noxious connection between them for good.

"I can't guarantee your safety if you don't keep up," Locke warned, looking over his shoulder at her. He didn't break his stride.

"I don't need you to guarantee my safety," Shannon snapped. "You were on the plane, you know. You, the mighty John Locke, were on the plane, yet it still crashed. Amazing how that happened, isn't it? Looks like you could have guaranteed everyone's safety when we were boarding in Sydney."

Locke stopped walking. He didn't look back at Shannon, nor glanced to the right or left. He merely stared straight ahead, thinking. Finally, he said, "You and your brother are quite different."

"I don't have a brother," Shannon spat at him.

"Well, step-brother," Locke amended.

Shannon started. She and Boone never called themselves step-siblings. That was just wrong. She and Boone were much closer than that. Shannon couldn't believe Boone had told Locke they weren't blood related. Shannon almost felt betrayed by Boone. He'd called her his step-sister? That sounded cold, like someone you'd accidentally run into at a wedding or shower. And step-brother didn't even begin to cover all the roles Boone played in her life. For years, he had been her friend, he protector, her worst enemy, her lover.

Her brother.

Locke stared straight ahead, seemingly focused on their search. Instinctively, however, Shannon knew differently. She knew Locke was waiting for her response, every sense turned to the slightest variation in her voice inflection, her step, her body language. She knew Locke was playing her.

He should have known better.

Squaring her shoulders, determined to play her part well, Shannon flounced past Locke. "Do whatever you want, old man," she sneered. "I really don't have time to help you find your boyfriend." She stomped off into the jungle, into the dangerous unknown, without a backward glance.

Locke stared after her, his emotions spiraling. Shannon loved that boy, loved him with every beat of her selfish heart. Locke wondered what it was like to be loved that completely, that passionately. He wondered why Shannon fought against her fate.

Locke had been bursting with love for Helen, though she had only been a voice on the other end of a phone line. If Helen had given him the opportunity to actually love her, to show her how much he wanted and needed her, Locke's life would have been complete.

No wheelchair could have stopped him.

But Shannon…Shannon also possessed all that desire and adoration. She loved Boone; Locke could see that.

And so could Shannon.

Locke liked Boone; he wouldn't deny it. He liked the boy's innocent charm, his child-like

loyalty and compassion. After all these years of being pitied, Locke also enjoyed having someone look up to him, respect him, like Boone did. Locke liked Boone's spirit, his willingness to learn, yet he also pitied him. The boy wore his heart on his ripped, bloody sleeve. He opened too quickly, took on others' battles. It was the reason he kept getting knocked down. Locke wanted to teach Boone how to take up for himself, to remain standing. Somewhere, perhaps buried so deep it was bruised and torn, Boone had confidence. Locke wanted to rescue to help the boy find himself.

As noble as these wishes were, however, there was one final reason John Locke had taken Boone under his wing. Though she tried, usually very successfully, to keep it hidden, Locke knew Shannon adored Boone. Truth be known, she worshipped the boy.

Locke prayed that some of Boone's sweetness, his ability to unknowingly win the undying devotion of this reckless girl, would rub off on him. Locke wanted to be loved with a passion on the brink of hatred, the same type of love Shannon felt for Boone.

And though she had put on quite an act, Locke knew. He knew Shannon had set out to search for Boone—on her own terms, of course.

Locke stared into the darkening jungle. Shannon was out there all alone. Alone, with the polar bears and the boars and the island monster. God help them.

With a decisive nod, Locke started back to camp.

While everyone was busy forming search parties, Shannon had quickly rambled through Jack's bag and located four aspirin. Silently slipping the medicine into her pocket, she slipped back into place beside Sayid and began complaining loudly about having to search for Boone. She ignored the angry glances the others sent her. Shannon had always played life by her own rules; she wasn't about to change now.

Now, crashing loudly through the jungle, Shannon's anxiety grew. What if she didn't find Boone before it grew completely dark? What if something had already happened to him?

Horrific scenarios, each one more graphic than the last, flashed through her mind: Boone, being captured by one of Ethan's murderous friends; Boone, loosing his footing and tumbling head first off a cliff; Boone, lying alone in the mud, feverous and alone. Boone,

without her.

"Boone!" She yelled. She glanced up at the darkening sky. "Hey, Boone! It looks like it's going to rain! You don't want to be all alone during a thunderstorm, do you? Wouldn't you rather have me with you?"

No reply. "Boone! I can sing for you, how about that?" Throwing back her head, Shannon began singing Happy Birthday. After about fifteen minutes of nonstop singing, Shannon's throat was sore and her head ached. "Okay, so Happy Birthday is the only song I know completely," she called out. "It's an important one, right? Right, sweet Boone?"

Still nothing. She had been on her own for hours now, and she feared she was walking in a huge circle. While she was singing, darkness had settled over the jungle. She was alone,

lost in a dark jungle, and she had broken at least two nails thrashing through the wilderness. By God, Boone was going to pay for making her break those nails. It wasn't like she could run over to the Golden Screen Salon and Day Spa for a quick manicure.

As she thought about this, however, Shannon realized Charlie might be able to fix her nails. His weren't that bad.

Lost in thought, Shannon tripped headfirst over a fallen tree. Instinctively, she threw her hands out in front of her to break her fall. When she hit the ground, her wrist gave a loud crack and pain shot through her hand. A wave of dizziness suddenly overwhelmed her.

Shannon lay still for a moment, struggling to remain conscious. Her stomach churned, and she tasted bile in her throat. She thought back to the old Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck cartoons, where the injured animals always saw little birdies or stars whirling about their heads. Shannon felt that way now, dazed and unaware of her surroundings. Unable to keep the bile down any longer, Shannon turned her head and wretched.

Funnily, boar tasted just as bad coming back up as it had going down.

Wiping her mouth with the back of her good hand, Shannon struggled to sit upright. She had to stop twice and force the bile back down her throat, and once to close her eyes against those dancing cartoon stars. Finally, she backed herself against a tree, using the trunk for support. She finally glanced down at her broken wrist, and almost threw up again. Her wrist hung limply at the end of her arm, flopping around like a flesh-colored rubber glove. And, the best she could tell, all five nails were broken.

It was absolutely hysterical, thinking about it. She, Shannon Rutherford, prom queen and player, pampered daddy's girl and high school princess, was propped up against a tree, lost in a dark jungle, surrounded by the stench of sick, nursing a broken wrist, and there wasn't a salon in sight. This was it, there was no doubt. She was in Hell.

Even more unbelievable, there was no Boone to rescue her. No, she was the one trying to play the heroine. Ha! But then, isn't that what she had promised him days earlier? They could switch roles, she'd said. He could be the sexual predator, she would be the rescuer.

Yep, she'd ridden to his rescue, all right. In ditching Locke, the ultimate attempt at saving her dignity, she'd ended up loosing everything. She was lost, and Boone was somewhere, delirious and alone. Great job, Shannon.

Okay, Shannon Rutherford did not cry. She sniffled a bit, sure, but no crying. Time to suck it up and look on the bright side. Okay, positives…look for the positives in the situation. Hum…well, she was positive her wrist was broken. She was positive Renee Zellweger had deserved the Oscar for Chicago. And she was positive she had failed Boone.

"Boone," Shannon whispered into the darkness. She wished he would come running out of the jungle, riding to her rescue. Boone, so timid and shy around other men, would risk his life to save a damsel in distress. He had almost killed himself in an attempt to save that swimmer—Joanna, maybe?—from drowning. Later that day, Shannon remembered ridiculing him for once again playing the hero. She laughed at him for simply being himself. He should have been a medieval knight, an English peer who risked life and limb for God and country. The thought of Boone in Queen Elizabeth's court amused her.

The pretty, flirtatious queen would have fallen in love with her brother. And Shannon probably would have been beheaded for decking the queen.

Sighing, Shannon decided there was no point going any further tonight. It was too dark to see, and she still felt woozy. Briefly, she considered swallowing one of the four aspirin hidden in her pocket. Anything to stop the throbbing pain…No! The medicine was for Boone. She would find him. She would start searching at daybreak. She knew she'd be awake; there was no way she'd ever be able to sleep. Not with Boone, sick and alone, lost in the jungle. Well, that, and the pain in her wrist. There was no need in pretending to be totally selfless.

Before she left in the morning, however, Shannon planned on totally destroying that freakin' tree she had tripped over. She didn't know how she'd do it, but she'd be damned if she'd let a moldy old log get the best of her. She reached out her good hand, feeling for the log. Instead of feeling something hard and mossy under her fingertips, however, Shannon made contact with something hot and…hairy? No…it couldn't be…Using her good hand, she slapped the sweaty surface.

And heard a groan.

"Boone?"