TITLE: Healing
RATING: PG
SUMMARY: Shannon has finally left home and is on her own in France. Can she find the peace she's searching for?
DISCLAIMER: I don't own the characters from Lost and am not making a profit. If they were mine, then there would be more Shayid moments.

Shannon stood alone in the plaza. Her easel was already set up, and a blank page waited for her. Yet she made no move to start painting. Instead, she ran her fingers through her black hair. She'd dyed it before she got on the plane. She liked the way it made her feel. She felt as if she could blend in here. Didn't feel so much like the Barbie doll she'd been while living at home. Home. She didn't really have one of those anymore. She wondered if she ever had.

Her father was dead. Her stepmother had turned her into her servant. Shannon had to keep everything clean in the house, answer the phone, and take messages for Sabrina. Whatever she wanted, Shannon had to do. Her stepbrother continued to be a mama's boy. Shannon had no one, and after the last blow up with Sabrina, she had finally decided that it was time to leave. She packed her bags, packed her paints and flew to France. She knew Sabrina would probably cut her off, but she needed to be away from LA, needed to find a place where she could be herself. Whoever that was.

She hated that she didn't know who she was anymore. She could remember a time so long ago where she'd go up to complete strangers and start conversations. When she'd climb trees and have fun. Somewhere all that had gone away. Shannon had thought that maybe that had been the lie, but maybe the coldness she felt now was the lie. Maybe she wasn't really this person. A person who had no idea how to smile or laugh. Back home, the only way to find a smile involved lots of alcohol. At least in France it was legal. Not that she normally worried about breaking the law, she knew how to talk her way out of getting in trouble.

Her shoulders sagged as she sighed. She didn't want to think of the past anymore. Only her future here. She knew she didn't have much money and would have to find a job. She could waitress or something. Or maybe she'd go to school somehow. Of course, it might help if she could actually speak more French, maybe she should take care of that first. She'd figure it out. For the first time, she would be the one in control. A terrifying and exhilarating thought. She could do whatever she wanted. And right now she wanted to paint.

She glanced around the plaza in search of a subject. People walked by, but none of them were worthy of her attention. Her eyes finally settled on a man sitting on a nearby bench. The first thing she noticed was his dark curly hair. She had always wanted her hair to curl like that. It seemed like such a waste on a man. The man turned his head, and Shannon's breath caught in her throat, even though he was in no way what she normally found attractive. He was older. Ten years at least, maybe even more.His nose was a little large for his face. But it was his eyes that drew her to him. He looked sad, as if something horrible had happened. She believed he was Middle-Eastern, and wondered if he'd lost someone in one of those terrorist attacks she always saw on the news but never really paid attention to. Maybe he had lost his wife and children. Or maybe his mother. He seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.And what nice shoulders they were. Or at least she imagined they were.

Shannon looked away as she realized she was staring. Her gaze fell on the paper, and she was startled to see that she had started painting the man. She bit her lip, embarrassed, then decided it would be nice to have a reminder of the hot guy in the park. She wondered what his name was. She knew he wouldn't talk to her anyway so it didn't really matter. No one would talk to someone damaged and unwanted like her. She decided that she would finish that painting, and if he realized what she was doing, then she'd lie and say she was painting whatever it was behind him. She just hoped she could do his eyes justice.

Sadness was something that had accompanied most of Shannon's life. She tried to tell herself that's why she was drawn to this man. But there was something else. It could be because he was gorgeous. Or maybe she just recognized the haunted look in his amazing eyes.

She continued painting. She decided that she needed to give him a story. Something big enough to break a strong man.It had to be love. She just had to decide if it was family love, or romantic love. He looked like the type who loved completely. She wondered what it would be like to kiss him. Her paintbrush hovered over the painting. It was just because she was working on his mouth that the thought came to mind, she told herself. She was not fantasying about kissing strangers. And she was definitely not fantasizing about taking him up to her hotel room.

The man looked up, and she made eye contact with him. He offered her a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. She wondered what he'd look like laughing. She thought he was probably like her: not many things made her laugh. Maybe she should ask him. She shook her head. And what exactly would she say? Would she just march up to him and say, "Excuse me, but do you ever laugh?" Maybe that wine from last night was having a delayed reaction or something. It was the only way to describe her random thoughts.

She was disappointed when he turned to look away. There was something special about him. She wondered what it was. Screw it, she thought as she dropped her brush to the ground. She was tired of all the thoughts. She would just have to go ask him. He probably didn't even speak English so she wouldn't have to worry about making a fool out of herself.

She took a few hesitant steps forward. She felt butterflies in her stomach. When was the last time she'd felt butterflies? Had to be a warning that this was a bad idea. Shannon was so focused on getting to the bench that she wasn't watching where she was walking and bumped right into another person.

"Sorry," Shannon said.

The man spoke quickly in French, and she tried to translate quickly in her head. She was only able to get the words beautiful, lucky and dinner. She really needed to work on her French skills.

"A beautiful woman may run into me anytime," this man said with a heavy French accent.

Shannon was relieved that she could speak English with him, but wanted to quickly get away from him. She noticed that the man with the amazing eyes had stood. She needed to catch him.

"Will you allow me to take you to dinner?" he said with a charming smile.

She opened her mouth to say no, but noticed that the Middle Eastern man was gone. So she decided she might as well say yes to dinner. She needed to meet some people here.

As this new man talked, she looked out into the crowd to see if she could find the one from the bench. She sighed. She guessed it wasn't meant to be. If she was meant to talk to him, she would.

Isn't that what people always said? That fate would take care of things?

The End