Andrew was still awake when Boone got home, snuggled deep into Boone's bed, his pillow sideways and pulled in tightly against the boy, one arm and one leg thrown over the white cotton, much the same way Shannon had arranged her limbs when she'd slept up against his side.
'Hey Bud,' Boone sat on the edge of the bed and ran his hand through Andrew's hair. The boy shifted to look up at him.
'Was it real Boone?' He knew there was no way it could have been, his own existence and his memories of Shannon obvious evidence of it, still the images had been powerful enough that he needed confirmation.
Boone shook his head. 'No…John…he thought it was something I needed to see, but it wasn't real, and in the long run it didn't make a difference anyway. I still ended up with your mom.' Boone was still a bit bitter about Locke's pointless cruelty, especially now that it had impacted on Andrew as well.
Andrew rose up on his knees and slid his arms about Boone's neck, hugging him tightly.
Boone kissed him and rose, carrying him into the bathroom, sitting him on the counter while he got ready for bed; then back again to his bedroom laying him down then joining him beneath the covers after stripping to his boxers. He turned off the lights and spooned the small figure up against his chest. "I love you," Boone whispered comfortingly into the boys' ear as they both fell asleep.
There could have been a nuclear holocaust while Boone slept and he would never have been aware of it, he was such a deep sleeper. So he wasn't surprised when he woke up the next morning in bed alone, Andrew having risen at some point in the night. The fact that he'd returned to his own bed without Boone's knowledge was confirmed by a quick peek into the boys' own bedroom.
Over the next couple of days Boone became increasing silent and withdrawn, the good mood he'd been in gradually shifting to quiet introspection, by the evening of the second day, he was almost mute.
On the morning of his fifth wedding anniversary, Heather watched him come down the stairs for breakfast, and head directly to the fridge. He got the jug of iced tea out and went over to the cupboard, passing right by the steaming teapot and mug she'd set out for him. He got himself a glass and poured it full, then carefully put the jug into the cupboard from which he'd just gotten the glass, and closed the door again.
He put the glass on the counter and stood there staring at the wood of the door, as his hand fumbled in the plate of cookies on the counter. He absently started eating one, still staring at the grain of the wood, though she knew he wasn't really seeing it.
When Boone reached for a second cookie, she crossed to him and put her hand on his bare forearm, stopping his hand halfway to his mouth, even then it took a few seconds before he acknowledged her. "What?"
"You going to eat cookies for breakfast, instead of the toast I'm making for you?" Heather asked, letting go of his arm.
"What?" He repeated, he rarely ever ate cookies, especially not for breakfast, and so had no idea what she was talking about.
She nodded down at his hand, "That's your second."
Boone stared at the item, and furrowed his brow, "My second?" He ran his tongue over the inside of his mouth a bit, surprised when he did in fact taste oatmeal raisin cookie. He put it back on the plate.
"And you might want to put the iced tea jug back in the fridge." She continued.
He looked down at the counter, confused when there was no sign of an iced tea jug, just wondering why there was a glass of the stuff beside his empty mug.
She reached past him and opened the cabinet door.
"Oh." He frowned, and reached for the pitcher, "Sorry, I guess I'm a bit distracted." He looked at the glass. "Did I drink any of this?" In his present state not sure if he had or not. When Heather shook her head no, he dumped it back in the jug and returned it to the fridge.
"And Boone, really, buy yourself some new t-shirts." The one he was wearing was so worn it had a big hole in the shoulder seam.
He shrugged, "No one sees me in them." He never left the property without wearing long sleeves.
"So I'm no one?" Heather asked, amused
He shook his head, "Of course you're not. After today I'll get some new ones," he said quietly. "Just let me wear it for today. You know why."
She smiled a bit sadly, knowing it was one of his collection of short-sleeved tees that Shannon had given him. His toast had popped so she went to spread peanut butter on it for him, while he poured his tea, hot this time.
She put it on a plate and added some berries, setting it in front of his place.
He turned from the counter and looked at Andrew, wondering what looked strange for a minute before putting his finger on it. He pulled his chair out and sat, looking in curiosity at the boy's notebook. "Andrew, what are you doing?"
He looked up briefly, "Math."
Boone tried again, realizing that he certainly hadn't made himself clear. "No I mean what are you going with your pencil in your left hand?"
"Math," he repeated, sounding a bit annoyed, he felt he'd already answered the question.
Boone pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, as Heather hid a bit of a smile, though till Boone pointed it out she hadn't picked up on the fact that the child had been holding the pencil in his non-dominant hand, and was also a bit curious.
"Whoakay, let's try this one more time. Why are you writing with your left hand?" He winced a bit, waiting for yet another unintentionally obscure answer.
"Sandy does it. He sits beside me in English. I wondered what it was like, so I copied him. I've been watching him and practicing. It's fun, but different." He bent his head to his notebook again.
Boone just lowered his face to his hand and rubbed it. God the kid could be strange sometimes, but he knew Andrew loved a challenge, and he assumed that this was just another one of those. He couldn't see any disadvantage to the boy being able to write with either hand, but had to chuckle a bit anyway. When he'd glanced at the notebook, he'd seen a difference in the quality of the printed words and numbers, but they were still perfectly legible, if anything they just looked a little more like the work of a five and a half year old than Andrew's usual fairly neat writing.
"You still write with the other hand too?" Boone wondered.
"Yeah," He switched hands easily and Boone could see his printing even out, "But I'm getting a lot better with the other one too. It was real hard at first, though." He seemed to notice Boone's toast and peanut butter for the first time, as his dad started eating.
"Can I have a peanut butter sandwich for lunch?" He sounded a bit excited.
Boone had to patiently explain, again, why he couldn't take anything with nuts in it to school.
Andrew pouted a bit; then thought he'd found a loophole.
"You could bring me a sandwich at lunch, and we could go out." He nodded enthusiastically.
Boone got still and looked at him for a minute, "Not today, bud." He had a self-assigned task already claiming his time.
Andrew reached out and put his hand over Boone's, "Cause it's your 'versary, right?"
"Yeah, because it's our anniversary," Boone acknowledged. The letter he was going to compose that day, one of four he wrote to his absent wife every year, but had never yet sent, weighing heavily on his thoughts.
"Tomorrow?" Andrew smiled and asked tentatively.
"Yeah, tomorrow, I'll come take you out for lunch. And we'll both have peanut butter." Boone reached out and ruffled his hair.
"Kay, Boone." He agreed to the compromise.
When Boone got back from taking Andrew to school, he stopped briefly in the office to tell Heather that he was going to be in the dining room, writing supplies tucked up under his arm and a glass of iced tea in his hand.
"I'll check on you in a couple of hours." She said, standing to give him a kiss on the cheek.
She got up every so often, and moved quietly down the hall, listening at the closed door, but this time not hearing the crying that she usually did when letter writing days came about and he sequestered himself away.
On her third trip he called out. "I know you're out there you know."
"I've got the jug of tea. Would you like some more, dear?" Heather enticed, just wanting to see him, to be sure he was all right.
She heard him give a little laugh, "Yeah, okay, whatever."
She opened the door and peered in, he was sitting at the table, a few sheets of stationery over-turned to his left and a fresh one in front on him, half covered by his precise handwriting. There were no balled up pieces of paper, he always carefully considered each and every word before he committed it to parchment. Boone slid a blank sheet of paper over his writing, to hide it, as she approached to refill his glass.
"I'm going to make lunch soon, how much longer will you be?" Heather asked.
"Half hour, maybe less," he looked up at her. He bit his lip, and gave a brief sob, his face crumpling, "You think she thinks of us ever?"
She pulled his head against her waist as he circled his arms around her, "I'm sure she does, Boone, I'm sure she does."
Shannon was sitting in a café, the coffee she'd ordered half an hour ago still untouched and now room temperature, completely unappealing. She'd been to the bank earlier to check her balance and, even though it was still substantial, she'd decided to call their lawyer to have some more funds transferred; refusing to acknowledge that it was just an excuse to connect with someone from home, someone who knew him. Her thoughts, considering the significance of the date, had naturally been consumed with him all day.
She stood and grabbed the strap of her bag from the back of her chair, slinging it over her shoulder and heading for the street.
In her apartment she settled in a chair and dialed the phone.
Their lawyer's secretary already knew which calls to put through and which to screen. This was the second Carlyle call she'd put through that day, given the date not surprised at all by it.
When the man answered, they ran though the passwords and codes that confirmed that she was who she said she was and that she wasn't being blackmailed into making the large transfer, then he verified the mailing address that he'd already given Mr. Carlyle when he'd called earlier in the day, then her banking information. "You'll have the funds by noon tomorrow Ms. Rutherford, was there anything else?"
"I, uhm, I guess not." She replied hesitantly.
"Nothing at all?" he asked again, certain that there was, you didn't make a career out of prying hidden secrets out of people without being able to determine, even over the phone, that something was being held back.
"Well, how…how is" somehow the name 'Boone' just wouldn't come out, instead "the weather in LA?" popped out instead.
"The weather in LA is perfect." He paused. "In fact, right now, everything in California is just fine." He stressed the word.
"Okay, thanks. I mean that's good to know. The weather and all. Great." Shannon ran her hand through her hair, god she sounded like an idiot, but it was obvious from his words that he'd known what she was really asking.
"If you've finished questioning the condition of the climate, I assume we're done?" He asked smoothly.
"Yeah, thanks, I'm glad the weather is fine." She got a little bit of her composure back.
After he hung up, she reached for the large tumbler of vodka on the rocks she'd poured for herself out of the bottle in the freezer, and rested her head against the back of the chair, letting her thoughts drift freely.