Title: It's a Wonderful Life
Authors: Morganagain
Rating: PG
Status: Complete one-shot
Featured Characters: Sayid, Shannon
Disclaimer: All people, places, and things Lost are copyright JJ Abrams, Damon Lindelof, and the ABC Network. This fanfiction is for entertainment only, and I seek neither credit for nor profit from the characters and plot of the television series. "It's a Wonderful Life" belongs to Frank Capra and no
infringement is intended.
A/N: Special thanks to Islandpalm for the plot bunny, as well as her enthusiasm and encouragement. And to Mrstater, wonder-beta that she is, for her time, energy, and encouragement. It is much appreciated.
It's a Wonderful Life
Sayid sat at the edge of her grave, as he did every morning, and stared off into the endless reach of the ocean. The waves lapped forward and pulled back, as they did every morning, an endless procession that only changed with the tides. Would the waves end at the rocks or further up the beach, closer to the three graves? Would the morning fog, which had started settling over this stretch of beach, burn off in one hour or three? Or would it linger even longer, burning off in time to only allow a handful of hours before the sun set?
Exhaustion and despair were a dangerous pair. No longer did the Iraqi hope for rescue. The raft had failed. Michael, Jin, and Sawyer had returned with people from the tail section who brought a horrific tale with them. Twenty-three. They had started out as twenty-three and were whittled down to five. Walt had been taken, and based on the vision he and Shannon had had, Sayid believed him to be dead.
And Shannon. His Shannon. She lay beside him, buried beneath the earth, gone forever. Dead. He seemed to bury his hope along with her. Now it just took courage – the courage to end it. To find peace, to finally end the pain that ripped at his heart till he was left with nothing but a dull aching shell.
Turning his back to the graves, slowly Sayid approached the water in front of him. It wouldn't take much. His swimming abilities were never very strong, and the tide would do much of the work. Perhaps there would even be a riptide like the one Joanna encountered during that first week. Water lapped at his feet and swirled cool around his ankles as he waded in, slowly, now to his knees.
"Help! Help! Save me! Help!" A man's frantic screams from the water broke through Sayid's trance. "Help!"
He could see the man flailing about the water, not far from him. Sayid dove into the sea, not thinking, moving on pure adrenaline. He gasped and struggled as he fought toward the drowning man. As he neared, the man grabbed him and for a moment both men were submerged beneath the waves. Sayid floundered several times but finally gripped the man around his chest and labored to reach the surface. It took all of his strength to keep both of them afloat he turned and paddled towards the shore.
The tide helped in a way Sayid had not expected and unceremoniously dumped the two men back on shore. Both men sputtered and gasped for air for a moment. Salt water burned Sayid's mouth and lungs ,but he had done it - he had brought the man safely to shore. How close had he come to drowning?
As Sayid struggled to catch his breath, he noted the man he had rescued. He was youngish, tall, lanky, with fair hair and hazel eyes. Had he seen him around the camp before? The Iraqi wasn't so sure. The man seemed familiar - maybe Steve? Sullivan? Sayid shook his head as he tried to put a name with the face. How could he be expected to remember everyone and still fix a transceiver, build a transmitter, decipher maps?
As his breath began to even, the younger man began to laugh. "There. I saved your life."
"Excuse me?" Sayid stared at the man.
"I saved your life," the man repeated. After a brief pause, he explained, "You were planning to end it, weren't you? But you're still here, right?"
Sayid shook his head. This made no sense whatsoever. It was rather like talking to Locke.
The man's eyebrows knit together in a thoughtful expression. "You've seen, It's a Wonderful Life, haven't you? The movie?"
When Sayid shook his head yet again, the man rolled his eyes slightly and continued the "Jimmy Stewart is having a run of bad luck and decides to kill himself, when his guardian angel, Clarence, yeah, that was his name, Clarence comes along and saves him.
Sayid continued to stare at the man, not sure what to make of him.
But the man continued, "Then Jimmy Stewart decides maybe it would have been better if he'd never been born. Of course, we all know how that turned out." As though remembering he was explaining the film, he added, with a sigh, "Although I guess you don't know, do you?"
"Maybe that would have been better. If I had never been born at all," Sayid mumbled.
"Well," said the man to himself, "it's been done before, but it could work again." Brightening he turned to Sayid. "Okay, you've never been born."
"What?" Sayid looked quizzically at the man. He wasn't sure if he was going insane or if the man next to him already was. Or perhaps they had both been out in the sun for too long.
"You've never been born. Just like you said. Just like in the movie," the man said impatiently.
"Who are you?" Sayid finally asked.
For a moment the man didn't answer. He almost seemed to think about his name. Finally, his mouth turned in a smile, and his hazel eyes twinkled. "You can call me Clarence."
"Clarence," said Sayid, standing, "perhaps we should head back to camp. You should speak to Jack. You may be suffering from heatstroke – the sun can be quite strong here. It can affect you if you spend too much time in it."
Just as they approached the encampment, Sun emerged from her tent.
"Sun" Sayid called. "Have you seen Jack?"
Sun merely looked confused, and with a shake of her head she mumbled something indistinguishable.
"I'm sorry, I didn't hear you," continued Sayid as he drew closer to her. Sun looked quickly around her, as if looking for someone, then spoke rapidly in Korean and went back inside her tent.
"Sun?" Sayid's confusion grew as he realized the Korean woman didn't seem to speak English. Hadn't that all been resolved long ago?
"She can't understand you, Sayid." Clarence whispered. "Well, she can, but she's pretending not to."
"What is going on?" Sayid muttered to himself. Sun hadn't even seemed to know him. As Sayid reflected, Hurley trudged by the two men.
"Hurley, have you seen Jack?" Sayid called.
"Dude, he's at the caves getting water. He should be back soon. We're having a golf tournament - well, driving tournament - later. He won't want to miss that, being a doctor and all."
"If you see him, will you tell him I'm looking for him?"
Hurley looked slightly uncomfortable then with an uncertain smile said, "Okay. Um, dude, can I tell him where to find you?"
"Tell him I'll be in my tent."
"Um, dude, and where is that at?"
"Where it has always been, Hurley." Sayid pointed to his makeshift tent.
Hurley looked down the beach, shifted his weight, and looked back at Sayid with confusion. "But um, that's Michael's tent."
"Hurley, what are talking about? That has been my tent for as long as we have been here."
"I've gotta go, man. I'll, um, tell Jack if I see him." The larger man continued on his way.
"Clarence, what is going on? First Sun, now Hurley?"
"Nobody knows you. Nobody has ever seen you before. I've told you, you've never been born. Just like you said."
"Hurley knew me."
"Hurley called you, Dude. He calls everybody, Dude."
Sayid stared at Clarence for a moment, then smiled slightly and said, "I think we both need to get out of the sun. Come, we can use my shelter." As he turned toward the tent he claimed to be home, he noticed something was different. None of his belongings were nearby, and the structure itself was decidedly different. Gone was his worktable and chair, and there was a clear plastic tarp instead of the bright blue one that had been in place.
As they approached, Michael pulled back the flap and exited the shelter. He had a haunted look and seemed not to notice either Sayid or Clarence.
"Michael, what is going on?" Sayid asked quietly.
Michael's head shifted to look at them briefly, but instead of answering, Michael simply gathered up a few empty water bottles and headed toward the path to the caves.
"Michael?"
"He won't answer you," Clarence said sadly with a heavy sigh. "He doesn't talk at all, not since Walt disappeared."
"So Walt was still abducted from the raft?"
"There was no raft. They never built a raft.
This was all too much for Sayid. He protested, "What do you mean, no raft? What happened to the raft? As soon as we translated the maps, as soon as we realized the French Woman had been here for 16 years, Michael was adamant about the raft."
"Sayid, you never existed. You've never been born. Without you, the transceiver was never repaired, the survivors never heard the French Woman's distress call. Nobody ever met her.
"This cannot be," Sayid whispered.
"But it is, Sayid, just as you asked it to be. You know what they say, be careful what you wish for and all that," Clarence smirked.
Sayid ran his hand through his hair. His mind was racing. This couldn't be true. None of this could be. And yet, what could not be true seemed to be so.
"And Walt. What happened to him?"
Clarence's eyes grew sad and his voice caught as he spoke, "the Others. They were stealthy, took him in the dead of night," his eyes shifted from Sayid and turned to the ocean, "no one ever knew what happened. Just one day, he was gone. Michael formed a search party and they combed the jungle, but Walt had just disappeared without a trace. Most people think he went for a late swim and just drowned, like Joanna did that day."
"What of the other survivors?" Sayid looked out at the handful of people on the beach before him, "what of Claire? And Aaron? If Rousseau was never brought into the equation, was Aaron never taken?"
Clarence bowed his head and slumped a little, as if a great weight had been shifted onto his shoulders.
Sayid scanned the beach, searching for the Australian woman. He turned and gripped the younger man's shoulders, "Clarence? Where is Claire?"
Sayid spotted Charlie approach in his peripheral. "Charlie! Have you seen Claire?"
"Bugger off," was Charlie's only response as paused briefly and stared with suspicion at the Iraqi.
"Charlie? It's Sayid. Where is Claire?"
The British man began to back away. "Listen mate, I don't know who you are talking about. Why don't you get out of the sun for a while?"
"Sayid," said Clarence, touching his shoulder and gently pulling him around to face him. "Claire was out shopping, getting ready for her trip to America, when a suicide bomber attacked."
Sayid froze. "A suicide bomber? In Sydney?" Once again his mind reeled.
"I keep trying to tell you, you weren't born. You weren't there to stop Essam. Claire and hundreds…" Clarence paused for a moment, his face clouded with sorrow, "Aaron was never even born."
A look of horror crossed Sayid's face, his naturally dark skin paled. "Essam," he whispered. All of those people. Dead." Another thought crossed his mind. "And Nadia?"
"Dead, Sayid. You weren't there to help her escape. That day, years ago, she was executed."
Bowing his head, Sayid ran his hands roughly through his hair. This couldn't be true. Could it?
Slowly he raised his head again and scanned the beach. He had yet to see her. Where was she? Shannon. Where was she?
"Clarence, where is she? You have to tell me. I have to find her."
"You don't want to know, Sayid. Its not good. You have to remember, you weren't there to stop her from killing Locke."
"Take me to her."
"Sayid…"
"Now!" the Iraqi shouted.
"Alright. But don't say I didn't warn you. She's a few miles up the beach, along the outskirts of the jungle, over there."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
Sayid turned toward the direction the other man indicated and the two men started to walk. "Why is she so separated from everyone else?"
Clarence merely shrugged as he struggled to keep up with the former soldier.
"Why, Clarence?"
"Sayid, after she shot Locke, her mind seemed to snap. She was alone. No brother, no friends. No you. The other castaways avoided her, and to be honest she didn't seek their company. She started going for walks on her own, as if she were searching for something. She always returned by nightfall, but instead one day she just didn't come back. Nobody noticed, at least not for a few days. And when they did finally notice she was gone, nobody really cared.
Sayid's head pounded. How could all of this happen? As they neared a rickety shelter, his pace slowed. Shannon. Fear began to take hold of him. Something wasn't right.
A twig snapped and the two men turned toward the jungle to see a woman standing there, watching them. She was disheveled and very thin, as if she hadn't bothered to eat in a long time. The pink shirt and shorts she wore were dirty and torn, and hung on her like they were now at least a size too large.
"What do you want?" Shannon's eyes narrowed, and she backed away. Her voice was raspy as if from thirst or lack of use. "What are you doing here?"
"Shannon?" Sayid could hardly believe his eyes. This woman wasn't the Shannon he knew…the woman before him looked older, tired. Her once mischievous eyes were sunken and held no life, no spark. His breath caught as he realized that she reminded him of Rousseau.
"How do you know my name?" Shannon took another step back and tripped over a vine.
"Shannon?" Sayid whispered as he reached to help her up. "What has happened to you?"
"Get away from me!" Shannon cried, "Are you one of them?" she scrambled to her feet and darted away, as though in search of escape.
Slowly he moved toward her and tried to hold his voice steady as he spoke, "Shannon, its me, Sayid. Shannon I love you. Stop, don't run. Your asthma."
"How do you know about my asthma? How could you know about it unless you are one of them?"
"Shannon…"
"Stop saying my name! You're a freak!" A wheeze escaped from her chest as she shouted at him, "Just get away from me – " the blonde froze and stared off into the jungle as if she saw something, or someone. "Walt," she called, her voice barely above a whisper. Then louder she began to shout, "Walt! Walt!" Without another word to Sayid she took off into the jungle.
Slowly the Iraqi sank to the ground. She didn't know him. She didn't remember him. How could his life – a life that seemed so inconsequential – have affected so many people and events? Rather than lessen his anguish, this new world seemed to only magnify it, to make it worse.
Her scream ripped him from his reverie. Propelled by fear he tore through the jungle in search of her. He was unprepared for what he found - she was lying in a pool of blood under a pile of rocks and spikes, her thin body battered and broken. A trap. One of Rousseau's traps. She hadn't known to look out for them. How could she have known.
"Shannon! Shannon!" Sayid cried in pain as he saw her there, dying, alone. "Please, not like this. This cannot happen. Shannon."
The Iraqi collapsed. "I want to live. I need to live…she needs to know that she was loved, that she was important. She needs to know. I need to tell her." Sayid paused, staring up into the jungle's thick canopy. "Allah, let me live. Let me have my life back. Forgive me." Frantically he began to look around for Clarence, "Clarence, help me. What can I do?"
"Turn around, Sayid," said a familiar female voice. "Look at me."
Sayid blinked the tears out of his eyes as he stared into the shadows where Clarence had stood. There, in his place, was Shannon. Not the thin, lifeless Shannon, but the Shannon he knew. The Shannon he loved and who had loved him in return. She was beautiful – her pink shorts and shirt brought out the color in her cheeks, and her eyes, though filled with tears, held their familiar spark.
"Sayid." Tears streamed down the blonde's face as she knelt beside him and gently brushed the hair from his eyes.
"How is it you," he whispered, closing his eyes at her touch. "I must be dreaming. I must be mad."
Softly she kissed his eyes, then his forehead, "it's not a dream. You're not crazy. I'm really here."
He reached for her and felt her, warm and alive, settle briefly into his arms.
"I can't stay," she said softly. "I only have a moment. You took longer to convince than I expected. My bad," she laughed lightly, "I should have known better."
Sayid bowed his head for a moment as he realized what she meant. "It was you?"
"I couldn't let you see me," she murmured. "You wouldn't have listened. You had to see, on your own…" Her voice caught, and she stroked his hair and held him tighter. "I had to make you see. You have to live, Sayid. For me. For you. For all the lives you've touched."
"Shannon, I can't let you leave."
"Shhhh,"
Softly the blonde leaned in and kissed him. As her lips touched his, the fog thickened around him and the kiss began to break. Sayid reached for her, trying to keep her with him, but he grasped only air. Shannon was gone.
Slowly Sayid made his way through the fog, back along the path to the beach. As he rounded the last bend, the fog seemed to lift all at once, and there, before him, going about their lives as if nothing had happened, were the other survivors.
"Hey Sayid, you wanna get in on this?"
He turned to see Hurley gesturing to Kate and Jack, who were playing golf.
"I've got ten bucks on Jack," Hurley added.
Sayid turned to see Jack confidently positioned over the ball before him, golf club in hand. Before Sayid could respond, the doctor neatly swung, hitting the ball and hooking it off to the left.
"Hey, Jackass," called Sawyer, "I thought you were a doctor! Can't even out-drive a girl."
"You shoulda taken the bet, Sayid" Charlie called from his spot amongst the other spectators. "He's worth millions ya know," he continued in a cooing voice as he bounced a fussy Aaron in his arm. "Hey, could you help me for a sec?"
"Certainly," said Sayid, approaching
"Can you hold the baby? I'm trying to find something in this pack for him that will stop him from crying. I sent Claire off for a nap. She was up all night with him."
Sayid took a seat next to the British man and gingerly took the baby into his arms. He stared in wonder at the infant in his arms - this baby who would never have been born if it weren't for him. Their lives had been intertwined even before the crash. His life had affected so many others.
"Where the bloody hell did this come from?" Charlie fished a small bell out of the depths of the backpack. He smiled briefly at Sayid and then turned and offered the bell to Aaron's grasping hand. "Well, let's give it a go little man."
Aaron's dimpled fingers instinctively grasped the bell and it rang lightly as he jerked his hand. A tiny smile appeared on the infant's face and his eyes grew wide as he stared at his new discovery. Quickly, he began to shake the bell.
"He likes it." Sayid couldn't help but laugh as he watched the baby in his arms. "That's right, little one. Just like that." Sayid smiled and turned to look at a very proud Charlie. As he glanced up and saw Claire approach.
"What are you men up to?" She smiled as she settled down next to the trio.
"I don't know where this bell came from," Charlie said, "but Turniphead seems to like it. Look, he's already musical!" Charlie beamed at the blonde next to him.
Claire rolled her eyes at him and laughed. "Would you stop calling him that already? He has a name, you know."
"Yeah I know, I know, 'Aaron'. But just look at him go with that bell."
Claire looked thoughtful for a moment. "What was that line from that old movie? That movie about the guy who wishes he'd never been born. You know the one, they play it incessantly at Christmastime. Something like 'everytime a bell rings an angel gets its wings.'"
"You forget, luv, I was in a band, not home watching boring old Christmas movies."
"What about you, Sayid, have you ever seen it?" she turned to the Iraqi.
Sayid stared at the baby in his arms, "It's a Wonderful Life," he said quietly. "It is called, 'It's a Wonderful Life.'"