When they got back to LA, they stopped at an artisan style jewelry shop where Boone had bought some pieces in the past. They'd come up with a ring design idea on the way back in the car, and they wanted to see if it was feasible. They selected antique silver with a plane engraved on one outside and the number 815 on the outer opposite side. They both knew that if not for the crash, they would never have ended up together, so the symbols meant a great deal to both of them. Shannon was surprised at how much her expectations had changed. She'd always thought, that when she got married, she'd have an engagement ring with a huge diamond, and a matching wedding band, but now the idea of an engagement ring was ridiculous, and the simple silver meant more to her than any diamond ever could.
When they got back home, after recounting their holiday stories, they told Tom and Heather their plans. They were excited and happy for them, of course. Heather wanted to know, "What did your mother say?"
"Oh no. No, no, no, no, no," Boone shook his head, he hadn't even thought of his mother. He stared wildly at Shannon, as it struck him that Sabrina would want to turn this into a media circus.
"You haven't told her, then, have you?" Heather surmised from his reaction.
As she caught on to what he was thinking, Shannon's eyes widened as she realized the obstacle they faced. "No we haven't, not yet. We have to figure out how, I mean, when. If we tell her too early, she'll want to plan a huge affair, with photo ops and everything. That's definitely not what we want."
Tom realized they were undoubtedly right about what Sabrina would want for her children's wedding, but, knowing them, they'd want something small and casual. "Well okay, you guys seem to have an idea about what you want, so where and when?"
"Here, I'm mean not right here, but here in town, and, I guess there's no point in waiting, so whenever." Shannon smiled at the idea of denying Sabrina the gala she would have wanted.
Heather took them to the local church, where the minister happily agreed to marry them in two weeks time. He knew their story, of course. It was a small town, and once they'd moved there, the strangeness of their tale: who they were, their relationship to one another, what had happened to them, made it excellent fodder for gossip, and he wasn't above listening to the local gossip.
She knew who she wanted to stand up for her, and when she told Boone, he handed her his cell, "It's number four in the memory."
She thumbed the keypad. He answered on the third ring. "Hey, it's Shannon," she responded to his hello.
Jack, of course, had immediately agreed to walk her down the aisle, and give her away. He seemed quite honoured, in fact, to be asked.
She actually toyed with the idea of asking Sawyer. They'd gotten quite close, when in the latter stages of her pregnancy, she'd become increasing less mobile. Sawyer, never one to volunteer, had seized on the excuse of keeping "Sue-Ellen" company as a reason to be even more lazy than usual, as if that was even possible. When he'd found out she was pregnant, he'd made all the requisite jokes about how everyone had thought that he was the hillbilly, when here was Metro knocking up his own sister. She'd been at her bitchy best as they'd sat on the beach, in the shade of the trees, verbally sparring with him endlessly, both of them enjoying it thoroughly. She'd known she'd made a major breakthrough with him when he'd slipped and called her Shannon, instead of Sticks, more than once.
She also thought about having both Jack and Sawyer, but she pictured their competition with one another taking over and, one on each side of her, dragging her up the aisle, struggling, like a condemned prisoner being let to the gallows, as they each tried to be first to reach the front. But ultimately, she knew that there was only one choice, and that was Jack.
Boone hadn't worn a suit in almost a year and a half, but he was sure that Shannon would want him to wear one for the wedding. Besides he knew, himself, that it was the right thing to do, even if he'd rather wear jeans and a t-shirt like he had at their wedding on the island. He went upstairs to check the closet in their room. He thought he remembered seeing a suit bag when they'd moved their stuff in. Surely his mother hadn't gotten rid of all of his good clothes. He found the bag shoved into the far side of the closet, and unzipped it hoping to find his favourite black suit. He was in luck, not only was the suit in the bag, but there was a belt hanging off the hook and, in his typical anal fashion, he'd tucked a tie into the pocket of the jacket. Christ, he thought, I'm so damn predictable.
He tried it on, his body shape was a little different than the last time he'd worn it, but he figured it looked okay. He though he'd play it safe, though, and get Shannon's approval. He knew she was in the kitchen with Heather, clearing up the dinner dishes, so he padded down the back stairs to see what she thought. "Hey, Shan? How does this look, is it….?"
She turned at the sound of his voice, and when she saw him her eyes widened and the knife she was drying slipped out of her hand, skittering across the floor to end up at his feet. "Holy shit," was all she said, staring at him.
Heather turned at the same time, "Oh my," she added.
He looked frantically behind him, from the way they were looking at him he expected to see Freddie Kruger, or some mad man behind him "What, what, what?" he asked them both.
Shannon took a second before she answered him, "Ah, um, I'd forgotten how nice you clean up. I haven't seen you in a suit in a verrry, verrry long time. Jesus, you look hot."
Heather agreed, he looked very different all dressed up, "Yes, uh, you look very nice Boone, although," peering around the table, "you kind of look like you're dressed for your own funeral," Oh no, she couldn't believe that had slipped out, of all the things she could have said, how inappropriate was it to say something like that to him! He didn't pick up on it though, still fuming over their reaction.He followed her gaze and looked down at his bare feet. In usual guy fashion, he hadn't bothered to put on shoes.
Tom came in from the hall carrying Andrew, and smiled at Boone, "Hey, you look nice."
"See!" he threw his hands in the air, "That's all you had to say, instead of throwing cutlery at me and telling me I look like my own corpse."
Tom turned to them shocked, "Shannon, you told him he looked like a corpse? I can't believe you said that!"
Heather grimaced a bit, and admitted, "Actually, it was me. He's…he's in a black suit and he's not wearing any shoes. It just came out before I could stop myself."
Boone turned and stomped up the stairs, "Women."
If he'd already planned what he was going to wear, Shannon figured she'd better give it some consideration as well. The following afternoon found her in front of the closet, surrounded by a small pile of dresses. She'd had an emergency stash of clothes at his house in Malibu, and when she'd sold the place, Sabrina had packed them up and kept them. She'd tried on pretty much everything in the closet, rejecting it all, when he came in to see what she was doing. He took one look at the pile of discards, and, smirking, reached into his side of the closet and pulled a simple pink dress from behind the suit bag. It was, of course, the very one she'd been looking for. "You're such a jerk," she snatched it from his hand.
"I guess you won't be flinging cutlery at me again, now will you?" he replied in a satisfied tone.
She looked down at the clothes on the floor, "I can't believe I actually wore this stuff, and liked it. It all seems so frilly and girly now. I hope I didn't look as stupid in it as I think I do now. " She slipped the pink dress over her head, smoothing it out over her hips. "What do you think?"
He stared at her a bit before answering, "I think you look like a bride. What shoes do you wear with that?"
She reached in the closet and pulled out a pair of four-inch heels, holding them up in front of his face. "You might want to rethink that, Shan," he advised.
"Why, because you hate it when I'm taller than you?" she immediately jumped to the wrong conclusion, becoming the bitchy sister for a minute. Jack had often commented that sometimes talking to them was like having a conversation with four people instead of two, as they seamless changed roles from the lovers they'd become, to brother/sister and back again.
He sighed, "No, because you haven't worn anything but running shoes for a very long time," he was just being practical. "You might want to give those shoes a trial run."
She pulled them on and started to walk from the closet to the bed, teetering unsteadily on the unfamiliar shoes. "Jesus, I used to be able to actually run in these things, how the hell did I manage that?" She took the shoes off and reached in the closet to substitute a pair with a much, much lower heel.
Their friends started arriving the night before the wedding. They were expecting all ten of the survivors they'd become close to. They had room for five in the house, and for the overflow, for people who were used to camping out by necessity, sleeping in tents in the back yard, beside a place with all the amenities, was no big deal. Michael had actually called ahead to see if it would be okay if Walt and he slept outside.
They solved the problem with when to tell Sabrina by not telling her at all. Boone simply called and asked her to come for lunch, that he had something to tell her. Then he called her chauffeur and, after swearing him to secrecy, told him exactly why he had to be sure he got her to their place on time. Boone thought the man was secretly pleased to be deceiving her; she probably made his life a living hell.
She was puzzled when she arrived and saw all their friends. When he'd called to invite her, and said he had something to tell her, she'd hoped it was that he'd split with Shannon. She was about to have her hopes dashed," Boone, what's going on?"
He drew a deep breath, steeling himself for the reaction to his next words, "We're getting married, mother."
"What? You and Shannon? When? Where?" she demanded, although she already suspected, from the way he was dressed, the answer.
"Yes, of course, me and Shannon," he replied in exasperation, "and to answer the rest of your questions, right now, and right here, at the church in town."
"Don't be absurd! If you're planning on marrying her, it will have to be done properly, with the proper arrangements. My son is not getting married in some backwoods revivalist tent!"
He closed his eyes, trying to remain calm, "It's not a revivalist tent, it's a proper church, and you are not going to ruin this for us, I won't have it. I want you here, but you'll keep your negative comments to yourself." He opened his eyes to look at her.
Her lips were pinched tightly together, "Do not speak to me like that again, Boone. I'm your mother, and you will respect that."
"Yes, I will, I do, that's why you're here, but you'll respect my wishes in this. I'm getting married, mother. Please, please, for once let this be about me, and not about you," he pleaded with her. "Now, here comes Shannon. You'll tell her how nice she looks, and that you're happy for us."
The ceremony went off without any complications, and Sabrina behaved herself throughout. Afterwards they returned to the house, to celebrate, eating, drinking and dancing well into the night.
They'd just finished dancing, and were standing together off to one side of the yard, when Boone turned to her and reached out to shake her hand. Shannon looked at it, not understanding the strange action, but reaching out and shaking it anyway, "Hi, I'm Boone and this is my wife Shannon," he said with a grin.
"You think you can manage to remember to say it like that?" she teased.
"I'll do my best," he promised.
He got the tattoo two weeks later.