Lost fic: Such Devoted... [Shannon/Boone, PG13]
Disclaimer: Lost is not mine.
Notes: Kiss and make up fic for Queen halfdutch.
Summary: There were never such devoted siblings. Shannon/Boone. PG13
Such Devoted...
by eponine119
August 4, 2007
They fight like real siblings do. Over who used up all the hot water (whoever got there first) and who gets the last Diet Coke (Shannon) and who gets to drive the car (Boone, always). But there's always that frisson of extra tension there when they're glaring into each others' faces, because they're not siblings. They're not related at all.
This is a bad one. He started ragging on her as soon as they pulled out of the parking lot. "He's a bad guy, Shan."
"Maybe I want a bad guy, idiot. God, why are you telling me what to do anyway? You think I need to be protected?" She scoffs. "I don't."
"You do," Boone snarls. "If you think --"
She pushes the door open at the stop sign, even though he's only slowed. Boone never stops for real. It's not like in the movies. She falls hard on her knees, and the sting of them brings tears to her eyes as she walks as fast as she can away from the car.
"Hey!" Boone shouts after her. She won't look. "Shannon!" She's practically running now, heart racing, lungs tight. She hears the squeal of brakes and the car door slam and the slap of his feet as he comes after her.
"Shannon!" He sounds just like her mother did, when she was little and used to wander off, tempted away from her mother's hand by her own thoughts, which were much more interesting to follow. Thinking of her mother closes her throat and she coughs. His arms close around her.
"Get off!" she cries, and her voice is thin and hollow. She struggles, flapping at him like a bird caught in a cage. He won't let her go. They fall, together, a tangle of legs and arms, into the soft damp grass of somebody's lawn.
His voice is a warm buzz in her ear. "Breathe, Shannon." And she does. There's a wheeze in it, but her lungs expand and fill. His fingers are against her stomach. She opens her eyes and his gaze on hers is as blue as the sky. She watches him look away, and shift his hard body away from hers.
"You can kiss me, if you want." The words are hardly more than a breath. She knows he wants to. He's always wanted to.
"You're fucked up," he says, as he grabs her arm and pulls her to her feet.
She flicks her hair back over her shoulder and gives him a smug smile. "I didn't mean like that, pervert. Kiss and make up, that's what you do after a fight."
"Do you need to go to the hospital?" His hair is sticking up in back and his shirt is rumpled, and he's worried about her.
Shannon rolls her eyes. "It's in the glove box." She can't say the words "my inhaler." That would be admitting she's sick. Defective. Broken.
She gets to the car first and tugs on the handle. It doesn't give. She laughs and looks back at Boone. "Moron." She's smiling.
"What?" he asks in that snotty way he has, like he knows he's so perfect. But his door doesn't open either. The car's running and they're locked out. Boone sighs. "Give me your cell phone."
"No," she says, already fingering the keys within its pink pearl shell.
"Are you going to be all right?" he asks her. She doesn't look up. "Are we going to be all right?"
That gets her. Her eyes meet his. "Course," she says, as the line to her father's office connects.
End.
Notes: Kiss and make up fic for Queen halfdutch.
Summary: There were never such devoted siblings. Shannon/Boone. PG13
Such Devoted...
by eponine119
August 4, 2007
They fight like real siblings do. Over who used up all the hot water (whoever got there first) and who gets the last Diet Coke (Shannon) and who gets to drive the car (Boone, always). But there's always that frisson of extra tension there when they're glaring into each others' faces, because they're not siblings. They're not related at all.
This is a bad one. He started ragging on her as soon as they pulled out of the parking lot. "He's a bad guy, Shan."
"Maybe I want a bad guy, idiot. God, why are you telling me what to do anyway? You think I need to be protected?" She scoffs. "I don't."
"You do," Boone snarls. "If you think --"
She pushes the door open at the stop sign, even though he's only slowed. Boone never stops for real. It's not like in the movies. She falls hard on her knees, and the sting of them brings tears to her eyes as she walks as fast as she can away from the car.
"Hey!" Boone shouts after her. She won't look. "Shannon!" She's practically running now, heart racing, lungs tight. She hears the squeal of brakes and the car door slam and the slap of his feet as he comes after her.
"Shannon!" He sounds just like her mother did, when she was little and used to wander off, tempted away from her mother's hand by her own thoughts, which were much more interesting to follow. Thinking of her mother closes her throat and she coughs. His arms close around her.
"Get off!" she cries, and her voice is thin and hollow. She struggles, flapping at him like a bird caught in a cage. He won't let her go. They fall, together, a tangle of legs and arms, into the soft damp grass of somebody's lawn.
His voice is a warm buzz in her ear. "Breathe, Shannon." And she does. There's a wheeze in it, but her lungs expand and fill. His fingers are against her stomach. She opens her eyes and his gaze on hers is as blue as the sky. She watches him look away, and shift his hard body away from hers.
"You can kiss me, if you want." The words are hardly more than a breath. She knows he wants to. He's always wanted to.
"You're fucked up," he says, as he grabs her arm and pulls her to her feet.
She flicks her hair back over her shoulder and gives him a smug smile. "I didn't mean like that, pervert. Kiss and make up, that's what you do after a fight."
"Do you need to go to the hospital?" His hair is sticking up in back and his shirt is rumpled, and he's worried about her.
Shannon rolls her eyes. "It's in the glove box." She can't say the words "my inhaler." That would be admitting she's sick. Defective. Broken.
She gets to the car first and tugs on the handle. It doesn't give. She laughs and looks back at Boone. "Moron." She's smiling.
"What?" he asks in that snotty way he has, like he knows he's so perfect. But his door doesn't open either. The car's running and they're locked out. Boone sighs. "Give me your cell phone."
"No," she says, already fingering the keys within its pink pearl shell.
"Are you going to be all right?" he asks her. She doesn't look up. "Are we going to be all right?"
That gets her. Her eyes meet his. "Course," she says, as the line to her father's office connects.
End.