They'd gone on a family cruise vacation when they were in their early teens, and both had enjoyed it, though for vastly divergent reasons. Their parents had quickly become distracted by the social scene, so they'd been pretty much left to run wild, although Shannon's idea of wild was considerably different from Boone's. He remembered watching her flirting outrageously by the pool with any guy who'd pay attention to her, which, of course, had been most of them. Even at thirteen, Shannon had already known just how to wrap some poor unsuspecting patsy around her finger. He'd caught her coming back to their room on several occasions with the smell of alcohol on her breath, after she'd conned some guy into getting a drink for her. It had been torture for him to share the small room with her, especially when she'd slipped into his bed, startling him awake, when she'd returned to the room after one particularly adventurous night. She'd quickly fallen asleep after kissing his cheek, snuggling into the curve of his body. He'd laid awake the rest of the night, his arm around her shoulder, just staring at her, so lost in the closeness of her; the feel of her pressed up against him, that he'd had to force himself to remember to breathe.
They wandered down the corridors, trying to figure out just how to get to the area of the ship where the shops were located. He stopped frequently at first, trying to get used to the shorter cane and adjusting the strap of the baby carrier across his shoulders, attempting to get the weight distribution right. She finally asked him if he wanted her to carry Andrew, but he declined, choosing instead to get her to carry his green bag for him. Things had gone better after that.
They started nervously every time one of the stateroom doors opened, Boone's hand dropping automatically to grab the hilt of his knife, but only encountering empty space. He knew Jack was right, that there was no threat onboard, but he still felt naked without it, and fought the urge to take it out of his bag and put it back in its' accustomed place.
They finally emerged into the shopping concourse. It was crowded with people; at least to them it seemed so. Shannon fumbled for his hand and moved to stand close to him, a little edgy. Glancing around, she spied a pub over his shoulder. "Buy you a drink?"
"What about my hair?" he didn't look at her, just continued staring at the unaccustomed sight of so many strangers.
"I think it'll still be there after we have a drink. Come on." She tugged at him.
"I don't think Jack would approve." Boone looked at her, a little doubtful.
"Then I guess it's a good thing I didn't offer to buy him one." She inclined her head toward the establishment. 'I could really use one, this is a little freaky.' She added silently.
'No shit,' he agreed.
They found seats at the bar and Boone ordered for them.
Shannon smiled at him somewhat slyly, 'This is the first time I've bought you a drink. Another first, you think it calls for sex too?' She slid her hand up his leg.
He tried to push it off, but she just moved it higher, brushing her fingers against his zipper. 'Jesus Shan, not in the bar,' he pleaded silently.
She just smiled at him, as the bartender brought their drinks, finally removing her hand, much to Boone's relief.
He poured the amber liquid into the frosted glass, tipping it carefully to minimize the foam, and raised it to her in a toast. "Here's to being clean."
'Here's to being very, very dirty later.' She thought back.
He just about choked on the mouthful of beer he'd already taken.
She laughed. "You remembered what I like." She commented as she sipped at the white wine.
"Shan, we were on a desert island for a year, not some guinea pigs in a government mind wipe experiment, of course I know what you drink." He made a face at her like she was an idiot.
"You guys from the plane crash then?" the bartender asked.
"Yeah," Boone acknowledged.
Any questions the guy might have had were forestalled by the arrival of the next customer.
"Well, well, if it ain't the Bobsey twins, the last two people I'd 'a figured would head for the nearest waterin' hole," Sawyer's voice came from the entrance. "Sticks, and Met…" he stopped as Boone leaned back, so he could see around Shannon.
"Boy howdy, but I do believe you bear more than a passin' resemblance to my cousin Sharla-Anne." He commented on seeing Boone's hair.
God, Boone thought, how is it not surprising that Sawyer has a cousin with a name that could easily be attributed to a stripper.
"So, Sticks, this your doin'?" he asked, laughing.
She nodded, smiling evilly, sharing the joke with Sawyer, her back to Boone.
He winked at her, making sure Boone couldn't see him.
Sawyer made his way to the stool on Boone's left and sat. "I think Prince Valiant called, he wants his hair back."
"Asshole," Boone muttered under his breath.
"Whiskey, my good man, and keep 'em comin'." He ordered the bar keep.
Shannon leaned forward and they started kibitzing. Sawyer threw back the first whiskey; then asked for another. Boone barely contributed to the conversation at all as they fell into a familiar rhythm. The two of them had spent a lot of time together in the final couple of weeks of Shannon's pregnancy; when all she'd wanted to do was sit in the shade on the beach.
"So you two thought about how you're gonna explain your little rug rat there?" He asked.
"What?" Boone was puzzled.
"Well seein' as you both call the same woman momma, I'm thinkin' it's gonna be a little interestin'." Sawyer sneered.
The short, balding, dark haired bartender looked up startled and glanced at the two young people; they looked no more alike that he looked like the tall, lanky, blonde, obnoxious southerner.
"That didn't stop your pare…" Boone bit off the rest of the words, as Shannon let out a gasp, his eyes widened and he cursed himself. Oh fuck, he thought, open mouth, insert foot. Over the course of the past year, many of them had learned of the tragedy of Sawyer's parents' death, he couldn't believe that he'd been about to make a flippant, and untrue, remark about them.
"You gonna finish that thought, Metro?" Sawyer asked dangerously.
"No, man, I'm sorry, really, I didn't mean it. It was stupid, I was…I know that they weren't…Oh, shit." Boone babbled sincerely apologetic, until he realized what a fool he sounded like. He paused and asked hesitantly, "You're not going to punch me now, are you?" The silence stretched out uncomfortably as he waited for an answer.
"And ruin that pretty, pretty hair?" Sawyer relaxed marginally. "'Sides which, you got the ultimate body guard there." He indicated Andrew, nestled in the sling against Boone's chest.
"Yeah, right," Boone smiled nervously. "Uh, we gotta go. The hair, you know, we've…I've got an appointment." He said, even though he didn't. He slid off the stool and held his hand out behind him for the wallet that he knew Shannon already had out. He opened it and pulled a fifty out putting it on the bar.
The bartender stepped forward, sliding the money back towards him. "No sir, the Captain already said anything for the crash survivors was comp."
"I pay my way," Boone insisted, suddenly, acting on impulse he reached in and pulled out another twenty, "and his."
The last of the anger left Sawyer's face, as he glanced, surprised, at the seventy dollars on the bar. Even at shipboard prices, he figured that'd keep the whiskey coming for a good long while. "Well, ain't that somethin'? Thanks Boone. No hard feelin's?"
Boone looked at him for a minute, then smiled and breathed a short laugh, "No, man, no hard feelings." He took the hand that Sawyer suddenly held out and shook it.
Shannon brushed past him and kissed Sawyer's cheek. "Don't drink up all that money on your own, please?"
"No darlin' I wasn't plannin' on it." He turned to eye a brunette sitting by herself a few seats down.
"You're going to break my heart." She joked.
"No Sticks, if that ever happens I think Metro'll be the only one who could do that to you. And I don't see that comin' about. You're more likely to do him in." He reached out and brushed his thumb against her cheek.
"Please be careful." She reached down and squeezed his knee before turning and following Boone out of the bar.
They found a hair salon without too much trouble, and were pleasantly surprised that there was a chair available immediately.
"Just a cut?" the receptionist asked.
Shannon held her right hand out in front of her, "No, a manicure as well." She decided. "And him too." She indicated Boone.
"What?" he asked incredulously.
She looked at him calmly, "You too."
He shook his head. She grabbed the hand that wasn't curled around the handle of the cane and held it up in front of him. "These? Are not touching my body again until you have a manicure," she informed him. The girl behind the desk tried unsuccessfully to hide a laugh.
"Fine." He spat, gritting his teeth. "But we don't have much time, princess. I still have to see Jack, so they'd better be able to cut hair and do our stupid nails at the same time." He thought he'd found an out.
"Of course, sir, that's no problem at all." The receptionist assured him. He just sighed in resignation.
About ten minutes after Shannon went in; a no-show meant there was another opening. When the receptionist offered to watch Andrew, Boone was only too happy to take a seat in the suddenly available chair.
He grimaced again at his reflection as he was faced with himself in a mirror once more. "So you just want a trim?" The stylist asked.
"Jesus no." he blurted out before he could stop himself. How could she think he actually wanted to look like this? Just a trim, was she nuts? "I'm sorry," he apologized as he noticed her startled reflection. "It's just that it hasn't been cut in a year, and I didn't realize how long it was, or quite how ridiculous it looked." He realized that her expression had changed from startled to puzzled, "We're from the plane crash," he explained.
"Oh, wow I heard about you guys." She looked like she was ready to launch into a session of twenty questions.
"Look, I'm sorry, I'm sure you've got questions, but I hope you understand that it's just all too much right now. Please?" He smiled what Shannon referred to as his Carlyle Enterprises smile, meaning that it'd assure any woman that she was the centre of his universe. It had convinced any number of recalcitrant women that he knew best, and had always been one of his most successful weapons in business.
Any thought of asking him any questions just simply vanished from her mind as she smiled warmly back at him. "So what're we doing then?"
He glanced around then pointed at a man in, maybe, his late forties, seated in the reception area, who had what in his estimation was a reasonable length of hair. Boone guessed, based on the purse that the man had in his lap that he was waiting for his wife. If not then the guy seriously had to rethink his choice of handbag, because it certainly didn't go with his Hawaiian shirt, but then, Boone reflected, what really ever went with a Hawaiian shirt? Oh, god, I'm actually critiquing some guys' apparel, he thought in dismay, I'm such a loser.
The manicurist arrived, so they spun the chair away from the mirror, and both got to work. He found himself closing his eyes and relaxing as they proceeded, he hadn't been pampered like this in ages.
They had just finished when he sensed Shannon's approach, and opened his eyes. She'd had her make up done too, she looked fabulous he thought, but wasn't happy about the look on her face as she took in his altered appearance.
"Uhm, jeeze Boone," she grimaced, "did you actually explain how you wanted your hair to look?"
"Well there was a guy in the reception area, and I just said that the length of his hair was about right." Understanding seemed to flood into him as he grasped the import of her question. "Oh, no. No, no, no, no, no. Please do not tell me I look even more ridiculous than I did when we came in." He spun the chair around to face the mirror. "Oh shit, I look like an idiot!" he cried.
"Well you do look a little like Sheldon Dorfenberger, the guy who ran the A.V. club in high school." She winced.
His hair was combed flat and parted carefully on one side. He looked like some cheerleaders' dad; all he was missing was the cardigan and glasses. "Fuck, Shan, no, not twice in one day, fix it, please." He was almost vibrating in the chair in anxiety.
"Boone, calm down." She laughed at how worked up he was.
The stylist stood behind the chair, horrified, she'd never had a customer react quite so badly.
"Shan, I can't take any more." He was close to the breaking point, she abruptly realized, shocked, the emotions and stresses of the day suddenly catching up with him.
"Okay, calm down," she said it slowly, soothingly, stroking his arm gently. She watched while some of the tension drained out of him. She grabbed a spray bottle of water off the edge of the stylists' cart and wet his hair down, then ruffled her fingers through it, eliminating the part. She pulled one of the hair dryers out and used it on him, then used her fingers to rake it into the messy non-style she recalled he'd worn it in precrash. "Okay?"
"Yeah, I guess." God, he sounded like a spoiled child. "It's better, thanks."
"Boone, you seriously need to cut back on the caffeine. It's only hair." She tried to joke him into a better mood.
"I'm sorry, I'm an idiot." He apologized.
"Yeah, I'm sorry you're an idiot too." She smiled at him. "Come on, let's get you to Jack." She held her hand down to help him up.
He stood at the front counter, his wallet in his hand, Andrew hung back across his chest. "Well, let's see if my mother's had me declared dead," he commented, pulling his Amex out and handing it to the girl. She looked at him strangely, perturbed by the comment, then swiped the card.
Somewhere in Los Angeles a phone rang and a secretary knocked on a lawyers' door. "Boone Carlyle's Amex has just been used," the woman advised the man behind the desk, "on a cruise ship. What do you want me to tell them?"
"Authorize the charge."