He could tell by the quality of the light through his closed lids, that it was morning. Something was missing though. He moved his left arm expecting to find Shannon curled up against him. His mother had seen them sleeping like that after they'd been rescued and had commented that that was the way they'd slept as children, when Shannon would crawl into his bed after a nightmare, so he could comfort her. Or when, during a thunderstorm, knowing he'd be lying awake, alone and terrified, she'd crawl into his bed, so she could comfort him.

He opened his eyes to look for her.

She was sitting on the bed at his side, naked, cross-legged, facing him. Watching him, obviously waiting for him to wake up. When she saw his eyes were open she spoke.

"It's day three."

"What?" His still sleep-fogged brain didn't grasp what it was she was getting at.

"You told me that they said at the tattoo place that on day three you could take the bandage off. It's day three. I wanna see it."

"Right, uh, okay." He scooted up the bed so that he was sitting upright against the headboard. He lowered his eyes to the white bandage that covered the inside of his left wrist. "I've been nervous about your reaction. I'm scared I'll see a look of triumph, or satisfaction, on your face."

She was mystified by his statement. "Puh-leeze don't tell me you've done something stupid like get "I heart Shannon" or something equally ridiculous. You told me you were just going to get my name."

"Well," he said quietly, "it's a little more than that."

He pulled off the tape that secured the bandage to his wrist, and extended his arm out to her. He raised his eyes to her face to gauge her reaction as he turned his arm over.

She stared at the word imprinted on his wrist. "What…why…Boone, what have you done?" Her lower lip started to tremble as she looked from his wrist to his face, and back again.

Now it was his turn to be mystified. This was certainly not the reaction he'd expected from her. He'd gotten pretty good at guessing how she'd react in any given circumstance, seeing as they'd been pretty much inseparable since, three months after the crash, she'd come to him to tell him she was pregnant with his child.

"Is this what you really think Boone?" Her eyes started tearing. "That I own you, that you're mine to use? I'm not that person any more, I know I have in the past, but I could never use you again. It's all different now. Please tell me you don't think I could do that." She was crying now, and looking at him, hurt and uncomprehending. He gathered her in his arms, trying to think of some way of explaining.

He hated it when she cried, especially when he was the cause of it, like now. The tears came more readily these days, for both of them, but it was usually due to the horror of a memory that might randomly surface. God knew that they each had enough horrific memories to draw on.

He felt her crying start to subside, and so pulled her away from him so that he could look her in the face as he tried to put it into words.

"You remember the first week we got back after we were rescued, we went to your friend, Cindy's, house? She asked each one of us separately what it was like to be married to the other. Afterward, she told us that you wanted to possess me, and that I wanted you to. That's what this is about, Shan, not you using me." He hoped it would suffice to correct her misinterpretation.

He'd thought about getting the tattoo when, during a discussion, he'd flippantly remarked that he might as well have "Property of Shannon Rutherford" tattooed on his ass. She'd embarrassed him in public, again, and they were talking about it. The island may have tamed her somewhat, but there was a wild streak in Shannon that nothing could ever completely extinguish.

"I'm sorry Boone," she apologized. "It just kind of caught me off guard. I don't know what made me jump to the wrong conclusion. I'm a dope sometimes."

"It's alright Shan," he reassured her.

He reached behind himself to grab an item on his bedside table. He showed her the antique silver "C" shaped bracelet that matched their wedding bands. It was funny, he'd asked her to marry him because he thought, given the change in their relationship, it was no longer appropriate for him to finish an introduction with "and this is my sister, Shannon." But, invariably, he still introduced her that way. Years of habit are hard to break.

He slid the silver bracelet over his left wrist with the opening on the top. The width of silver on the inside of his wrist completely covered the new tattoo. "See, no one has to know it's there but us." He knew he couldn't wear the bracelet, not yet, not until the healing had finished, but he wanted her to know that he had it.

She gave a little laugh, "You're an idiot."

"But I'm your idiot," he replied.

"Apparently you are," she said, tapping the bracelet.

She took his arm in her hand, carefully removing the bracelet so she wouldn't hurt him. The skin still looked red and sore.

She thought about what the word there meant to each of them, to both of them. She realized the truth of it at she stared at what was engraved in his flesh:

Shannon's