Title: His Heroine, Chapter VIII "Lost Boy, Golden Girl"

Author: Zeldabel / Zelda Loves Charlie / Orlando Hope

Warnings: Adult language

Pairing: Shannon and Boone

Disclaimer: I own nothing! Am associated with nothing! AM nothing!

All characters belong to JJ Abrams, and the lyrics to "Lost Boys & Golden Girls" belong to Meatloaf.

Summary: Boone told his side of the story in "Just a Boy." Now it's Shannon's turn.

His Heroine

"Lost Boy, Golden Girl"

Lost boys and golden girls
Down on the corner, and all around the world
Lost boys and golden girls
Down on the corner and all around, all around the world
It doesn't matter where they're going
Or wherever they've been
'cause they've got one thing in common, it's true
They'll never let a night like tonight go to waste
---Meatloaf

Sabrina Boone Carlisle Rutherford cried when she learned her eighteen-year-old stepdaughter, Shannon, had eloped.

Not that Sabrina cared what Shannon Rutherford did with her life. Sabrina thought the little bitch was a conniving, over-sexed gold digger.

Not unlike Sabrina herself, to be honest.

Now that Shannon was married—to some penniless idiot she'd picked up in a seedy dive no doubt—Sabrina could finally wash her hands of her rebellious step-daughter. Sabrina's second husband, Shannon's father Kyle, had died two years ago. Kyle had left Shannon a meager trust fund and had prepaid UCLA tuition. Shannon didn't need Sabrina's money. In Sabrina's opinion, her family could sever ties with vulgar little Shannon Rutherford.

But then there was Boone.

Sabrina had watched Shannon and Boone over the years. She watched, totally helpless, as Boone rode to Shannon's rescue again and again. From neglected algebra homework to lovesick boyfriends, Boone was always ready to clean up Shannon's messes. So many times, unknown to Boone, Sabrina had slipped away from work and watched his soccer games and school plays. And, more often than not, Boone had left his teammates and cast members in the lurch to ride to Shannon's rescue. Sabrina hated them both for it. Hated Shannon for abusing her son, abhorred Boone for letting her. .

Once, just once, Sabrina would have loved to find her son retching after a frat party, stoned on too many joints, or naked in the backyard hammock with the homecoming queen. Instead of alcohol or drugs, however, Boone was addicted to his sister. Step-sister,

Sabrina corrected herself. The difference was vital.

The frightening thing was, Sabrina wasn't the only one who knew the power Shannon held over Boone. Unfortunately, Shannon herself knew. She knew, without a doubt, Boone would easily sacrifice his life for her. Shannon knew Boone watched her, had felt his gaze on her since early childhood. She used her asthma attacks as a way to keep Boone tied to her side, a clever ploy to tease and manipulate herself into his embrace. Shannon knew Boone was constantly looking for an excuse to pull her into his arms. It was all so easy for her.

Thunder began rumbling in the distance. Sabrina sighed, pushing back the parlor windows to stare at the darkening sky. At least Boone was in Mexico, where, hopefully, it was warm and tranquil. Short of beating Boone, she'd never been able to rid him of his fear of thunderstorms. His father, Richard, had hated them, too. It was during a torrential August thunderstorm when five-year-old Boone found Richard sitting in his favorite recliner, a smoking revolver in his hand. Sabrina blanched, thinking not for the first time, what might have happened had Boone and Theresa arrived home only minutes earlier.

Mexico. Yes, her boy was in Mexico, supervising the wedding of a snotty little rich girl. Sabrina had, unbeknown to Boone, even paid to have two of his UCLA frat buddies accompany him on the trip. Knowing John and Dave like she did, with their identical freckled faces and Southern charm, they'd have no problem introducing Boone to the wild Mexican nightlife.

And by the time he came home, Shannon Rutherford would be a bad memory.

The first time it happened, Andrew thought he had heard wrong. Why, in the midst of a shattering orgasm, would his new bride yell boo? It wasn't Halloween. Maybe she had said something like "flew" or even "moo." He'd had a girlfriend once who had mooed anytime she felt horny. The moos never made Andrew horny. They'd made him want a hamburger.

He decided to ignore the entire thing. He was probably having flashbacks to Bovine Girl.

The second time it happened, Andrew was sure she had moaned "soon." Well, that made a bit more sense. Andrew picked up the pace, convinced he was about to have to scrape what was left of Shannon off the ceiling. "Soon!" She screamed. "Soon!"

The third time it happened, four weeks into their marriage, Andrew knew for certain what word his young wife had whispered. It was well past midnight, and Andrew was tired and cranky, yet unable to sleep. Shannon had a touch of the flu, and you'd think no other person alive had ever been sick. She'd sent Andrew out early that morning for cough syrup and a Starbucks peppermint latte. He'd spent the entire day listening to her moan and sneeze, fluffing her pillows, going to Food World for Ben and Jerry's, calling Shannon's doctor, going back to Food World to fill inhaler and sleeping pill prescriptions, handing her Kleenex, painting her toenails, searching for the latest issues of Cosmo and Glamour under the dusty bed, fixing her lunch, washing pajamas and sheets, going to the neighborhood video store for ten different Johnny Depp movies, going to Food World for a third time when Chocolat made her hungry and fending off calls from Shannon's obnoxiously flighty girlfriends.

Andrew was exhausted.

He now lay beside Shannon in the darkness, one arm flung carelessly over his head. He had flirted with the idea of taking one of Shannon's sleeping pills, then quickly dismissed the idea. He was just cranky enough to enjoy feeling restless with sleep and sick with fatigue. The idea of simply lying there being miserable appealed to him.

Shannon was curled up in a ball, hugging her corner of the bed, a crumpled Kleenex in her hand. Her breathing was raspy, her lungs so wet he almost missed her whispered plea: "Boone."

Andrew turned his head, mystified. She was dreaming about her brother? He imagined dreaming about his sister, Becky, and shuddered. Poor Shannon. She often said how much her older brother, Boone, annoyed her. Andrew had only met him once, and found Boone snobby, overly protective, and unexplainably angry. Now Shannon was dreaming about the bastard. Smiling indulgently, Andrew rolled over and pulled his wife into his arms.

"Boone," Shannon sighed, burying her face in Andrew's chest. "Boone."

A bizarre suspicion snaked its way into Andrew's mind. He thought back to their wedding night, when he had heard his new wife yell "boo" during their lovemaking.

Had she said…Boone? And, once again, had it been Boone as opposed to "soon?" Boo.

Boone. Soon. Boone. Boone.

Clenching his jaw, Andrew released Shannon and angrily rolled out of bed. Taking giant, angry strides over to Shannon's closet, he pulled her newest handbag off a high shelf. Rifling through her wallet, he quickly found what he was looking for: a high school photo of Boone.

Taking the photo, he went back to Shannon's side of the bed. The hand not holding the Kleenex was propped up against the bedside table. Andrew placed the small photo in her hand, and left their bedroom without looking back.

Shannon woke thirty minutes, groggy from all the cough syrup and sleeping pills. Running her foot up one tanned leg, she cringed, realizing she was in desperate need of a pedicure. Getting sick was no excuse for ignoring her beauty regime. She'd ask Andrew to drive her over to the Golden Door later do get her nails done. No problem.

Okay, that was taken care of. What else did she need? Hum…chocolate sounded good. And sex. Sex and chocolate and a manicure. And she knew Andrew would be more than happy to obey her every whim. She so loved being married!

"Andrew?" She called, her voice huskier than usual. Damn cold. "Andrew?" When he didn't come running, Shannon moved to roll out of bed. In the floor, half hidden under her nightstand, she saw it. Boone's face, serious and composed, stared up at her.

Andrew had discovered their secret. Shannon laughed dryly. It had only taken Andrew a month. Most guys—and Boone's little gold diggers—usually took a lot longer to catch on. She had to give Andrew credit. He had been smarter than most.

With a sigh of resignation, Shannon rolled over and reached for the phone. Drawing upon three years in the high school drama club, she forced tears into her eyes and voice.

It took Boone only a second to answer his cell. Like Shannon, his voice sounded strained and husky.

"Boone," Shannon cried. "I need you."