Lost: Ballerina Princess, Weightless and Free: Shannon fic
Fandom: Lost
Title: Ballerina Princess, Weightless and Free
Rating: PG-13 for language and mature subject matter
Pairings: Shannon/Sayid, a bit of Shannon/Boone
Summary: Everything washes away with the tide, in the end.
Warnings: Spoilers. Many many spoilers. Especially for Abandoned. Read at your own risk.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or any of it's characters, but I certainly wish I did.
Notes: Shannon is my ballerina princess *hearts*
Ballerina Princess, Weightless and Free
Shannon doesn’t know when exactly she became a bitch. Probably around the time she realized that there was no one in the world who believed in her, so she’d have to find a way to show she didn’t care.
She remembers, in great detail, her feelings for Boone, and how much his believing in her mattered.
Maybe in a way she had been a little in love with him growing up, and having the tables turn in the end was her way of feeling sickeningly satisfied.
When you stop caring about other people, start thinking about yourself, their opinions about you matter a whole lot less. At least, Shannon would like to believe that.
*
She’s never felt about anyone the way she feels about Sayid. He’s strong and makes her feel safe and warm. Makes her feel like she’s worth more than nothing.
Some nights she wakes up from nightmares where she’s screaming, you can’t take it all away from me. You can’t take my dreams. I want this, I want it so bad, you can’t take it from me! and Sayid always seems to be close by to calm her down. He probably thinks she’s dreaming about Boone, about death. But there are some nightmares scarier than dying, Shannon thinks.
*
If Boone had just said, “I want you to take the money because I love you, because I want you to do this. Because I know you can do this. I want to support you so you can get on your feet. I believe in you.” She would have taken the fucking money, and they never would have ended up on flight 815. They could have been brother and sister forever and she never would have slept with him and he’d never be dead. She’d never be on this fucking island, stuck with her memories and people that are more fucked up than her.
*
Shannon loved her father more than anyone in the world. Sometimes people forget that. Sabrina never replaced her in her father’s heart; her father had said no one ever could, and he wasn’t lying. He never lied to Shannon, and she’ll always remember that and love him for it.
Every year on the day her mother died he took Shannon to her grave and they sat there together for as long as they needed. They sometimes sat in silence, and other times they talked about her, shared their memories. Shannon has no one to do that with now; she doesn’t have a grave to visit, she doesn’t even know what day it is anymore, and somehow that doesn’t matter. Every day now is the day her mother, father, and brother died.
She sits by Boone’s grave, and it’s like they’re all there, buried in the same exact place.
*
She became bulimic when she was thirteen, and it made her feel like she had some control over her life, over everything. Her father had Sabrina who hated her, and Boone was fifteen and ignoring her. Now she thinks it was probably because he wanted her and that scared him. It always scared him, but she didn’t know that then, and now she wishes she had, because then everything might have turned out differently.
It was funny because at dinner she’d bitch about her weight and the food, knowing that later she was going to get it out of her. Get it the fuck out of her body. She was going to be so perfect, she thought. A perfect ballerina doll. Weightless and free, without Sabrina scowling at her, telling her what to do.
One day she’d be eighteen and free. Maybe a dancer, even.
*
“I don’t want your fucking money!” Shannon had screamed at Boone after he’d shut the door and gone from her room. She didn’t want the money. All she wanted was for him to come back and tell her it was going to be okay. If he had, things might have turned out differently.
She’d sniffled and wiped at her eyes for a few minutes before going out. She ended up driving to the beach because it was pretty there at night, and she knew that if she ended up in New York she probably wouldn’t come to the beach as often. She’d practically grown up there, with the sand in her toes and the sun shining down on her, the water stretched out endlessly in front of her. Sunbathing was one of the things she was actually good at.
Perfecting her tan had become an art.
She sat by the ocean for a long time, giving little regard to the sand getting inside of her clothes and stuck to her skin. It would wash away, everything washed away in the end. Shannon could see her dreams drowning in front of her. Her dreams came out looking like a cross between a friend of hers who’d almost drowned when they were ten, and herself.
Today the waves crash behind her, rather than in front, and the wind blows her hair. Boone’s grave seems so so quiet. Maybe it’s empty. Maybe Boone was just a dream from a long time ago. Maybe he was never here to begin with.
But she knows that’s not true. You don’t hurt this much over someone who was never there.
If she had paper she might write Boone a letter, telling him all the things she never did. But all there is is sand, so she traces a few words in the sand closer to the water with a stick, until she gets fed up and rubs her heel into the words, until they’re mostly gone. She tosses the stick on the ground as she leaves.
Any trace left of the words is washed away with the tide.
*
Dancing has always made Shannon feel beautiful. Getting lost in the music is her favorite thing in the world. She can move her body to create art. Twist it and bend it, make beauty in her movement.
Dancing has always been her way out of her mind, her way to feel comfortable in her skin.
Sabrina took that from her. Shannon doesn’t regret taking the money. She deserved it. Maybe Boone didn’t deserve to be used by her, but Boone never told Sabrina off. He knew he should have, but he didn’t.
He didn’t have to be a fucking mama’s boy. A fucking wedding planner for his stupid mother.
*
Someone on the island said to her, “Boy, it’s a good thing you lived in France for a year or we’d be in big trouble.” She, however, didn’t agree with that. If she’d never spent a year in France she probably wouldn’t have ended up on this fucking flight to hell. She never would be going so insane. Things could have been so different just because she didn’t go to France.
Her head is spinning, spinning all around, these days. Like she’s always drunk when she hasn’t had anything to drink since that night where she made Boone fuck her.
Although, when Sayid brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes, for a brief moment she’s glad she went to France and learned French, because otherwise she never would have gotten to help him. She never would have gotten to know him.
Sometimes, you get what you need, not what you want, she thinks, but she’s not sure where she’s heard that before. It sounds like something Boone would say when he was trying to sound smart.
That’s the soberest moment she’s had in a long time, even thought what she’s thinking is completely crazy.
*
Walt tells her things when he appears to her. Most of the time she can’t understand what he’s saying, but there’s one time when she’s almost sure he’s saying, you’re going to die. Not a threat, just a fact.
Vincent growls from beside her and she strokes his fur, looking at Walt without flinching.
Is it possible to know you’re going to die? Or is it always a surprise?
She’d like to ask Boone, but he’s dead, and it’s like she just remembered that because suddenly she wants to cry more than anything in the world.
*
If her dad hadn’t died then Sabrina never would have taken everything from her. If her dad hadn’t died then everything might not have spiraled out of control. Everything would have been different, and, she’s sure, better.
It’d be so easy to blame him. To place the blame on everyone involved. The person who hit him, the surgeons who couldn’t save him, the people in his office who didn’t call him back for one more thing…or who did. She could blame whoever had caused him to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It’d be so easy to place the blame, but some things are left up to fate.
She wishes she wasn’t here, that things had been different. But they aren’t, and they never will be.
*
She had forgotten that love could be so strong after years of boys who didn’t care, or maybe more accurately, who she didn’t care for. A few of them probably could have really loved her if her heart had been open, but it wasn’t, and she hadn’t even known it.
She hadn’t realized that there had been so much love inside of her, waiting for someone to give it to.
Sayid makes her feel new and perfect, thin and weightless. Like a ballerina princess. Free.
She could die happy right now, she thinks.
*
This shouldn’t be driving her crazy. It shouldn’t. Seeing Walt everywhere, that means she’s already crazy, doesn’t it?
But why doesn’t Sayid believe her? Why doesn’t anyone ever fucking believe her? Why can’t she even believe in herself?
Shannon wants to scream, to let all the pent up rage and frustration out of her, but she knows that no one would listen.
*
Shannon barely even sees the gun pointed at her before she feels a sharp, constricting pain in her chest. Blinded with pain, for a split second she sees shocked faces. She recognizes Jin and Michael, but can’t tell who those other people are.
The world is swirling around her, looking bright and black all at once. She turns, thinking incoherently, I could die happy. I could die. I could die. Sayid’s grabbing her, and she’s dying. Dying dying dying.
Feeling weightless and free. I’m going to be free, she thinks. Someone told her they believed in her and now she’s dying. Someone’s really loved her, seen her at her worst, and now she’s dying.
I could die happy.
Title: Ballerina Princess, Weightless and Free
Rating: PG-13 for language and mature subject matter
Pairings: Shannon/Sayid, a bit of Shannon/Boone
Summary: Everything washes away with the tide, in the end.
Warnings: Spoilers. Many many spoilers. Especially for Abandoned. Read at your own risk.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost or any of it's characters, but I certainly wish I did.
Notes: Shannon is my ballerina princess *hearts*
Ballerina Princess, Weightless and Free
Shannon doesn’t know when exactly she became a bitch. Probably around the time she realized that there was no one in the world who believed in her, so she’d have to find a way to show she didn’t care.
She remembers, in great detail, her feelings for Boone, and how much his believing in her mattered.
Maybe in a way she had been a little in love with him growing up, and having the tables turn in the end was her way of feeling sickeningly satisfied.
When you stop caring about other people, start thinking about yourself, their opinions about you matter a whole lot less. At least, Shannon would like to believe that.
*
She’s never felt about anyone the way she feels about Sayid. He’s strong and makes her feel safe and warm. Makes her feel like she’s worth more than nothing.
Some nights she wakes up from nightmares where she’s screaming, you can’t take it all away from me. You can’t take my dreams. I want this, I want it so bad, you can’t take it from me! and Sayid always seems to be close by to calm her down. He probably thinks she’s dreaming about Boone, about death. But there are some nightmares scarier than dying, Shannon thinks.
*
If Boone had just said, “I want you to take the money because I love you, because I want you to do this. Because I know you can do this. I want to support you so you can get on your feet. I believe in you.” She would have taken the fucking money, and they never would have ended up on flight 815. They could have been brother and sister forever and she never would have slept with him and he’d never be dead. She’d never be on this fucking island, stuck with her memories and people that are more fucked up than her.
*
Shannon loved her father more than anyone in the world. Sometimes people forget that. Sabrina never replaced her in her father’s heart; her father had said no one ever could, and he wasn’t lying. He never lied to Shannon, and she’ll always remember that and love him for it.
Every year on the day her mother died he took Shannon to her grave and they sat there together for as long as they needed. They sometimes sat in silence, and other times they talked about her, shared their memories. Shannon has no one to do that with now; she doesn’t have a grave to visit, she doesn’t even know what day it is anymore, and somehow that doesn’t matter. Every day now is the day her mother, father, and brother died.
She sits by Boone’s grave, and it’s like they’re all there, buried in the same exact place.
*
She became bulimic when she was thirteen, and it made her feel like she had some control over her life, over everything. Her father had Sabrina who hated her, and Boone was fifteen and ignoring her. Now she thinks it was probably because he wanted her and that scared him. It always scared him, but she didn’t know that then, and now she wishes she had, because then everything might have turned out differently.
It was funny because at dinner she’d bitch about her weight and the food, knowing that later she was going to get it out of her. Get it the fuck out of her body. She was going to be so perfect, she thought. A perfect ballerina doll. Weightless and free, without Sabrina scowling at her, telling her what to do.
One day she’d be eighteen and free. Maybe a dancer, even.
*
“I don’t want your fucking money!” Shannon had screamed at Boone after he’d shut the door and gone from her room. She didn’t want the money. All she wanted was for him to come back and tell her it was going to be okay. If he had, things might have turned out differently.
She’d sniffled and wiped at her eyes for a few minutes before going out. She ended up driving to the beach because it was pretty there at night, and she knew that if she ended up in New York she probably wouldn’t come to the beach as often. She’d practically grown up there, with the sand in her toes and the sun shining down on her, the water stretched out endlessly in front of her. Sunbathing was one of the things she was actually good at.
Perfecting her tan had become an art.
She sat by the ocean for a long time, giving little regard to the sand getting inside of her clothes and stuck to her skin. It would wash away, everything washed away in the end. Shannon could see her dreams drowning in front of her. Her dreams came out looking like a cross between a friend of hers who’d almost drowned when they were ten, and herself.
Today the waves crash behind her, rather than in front, and the wind blows her hair. Boone’s grave seems so so quiet. Maybe it’s empty. Maybe Boone was just a dream from a long time ago. Maybe he was never here to begin with.
But she knows that’s not true. You don’t hurt this much over someone who was never there.
If she had paper she might write Boone a letter, telling him all the things she never did. But all there is is sand, so she traces a few words in the sand closer to the water with a stick, until she gets fed up and rubs her heel into the words, until they’re mostly gone. She tosses the stick on the ground as she leaves.
Any trace left of the words is washed away with the tide.
*
Dancing has always made Shannon feel beautiful. Getting lost in the music is her favorite thing in the world. She can move her body to create art. Twist it and bend it, make beauty in her movement.
Dancing has always been her way out of her mind, her way to feel comfortable in her skin.
Sabrina took that from her. Shannon doesn’t regret taking the money. She deserved it. Maybe Boone didn’t deserve to be used by her, but Boone never told Sabrina off. He knew he should have, but he didn’t.
He didn’t have to be a fucking mama’s boy. A fucking wedding planner for his stupid mother.
*
Someone on the island said to her, “Boy, it’s a good thing you lived in France for a year or we’d be in big trouble.” She, however, didn’t agree with that. If she’d never spent a year in France she probably wouldn’t have ended up on this fucking flight to hell. She never would be going so insane. Things could have been so different just because she didn’t go to France.
Her head is spinning, spinning all around, these days. Like she’s always drunk when she hasn’t had anything to drink since that night where she made Boone fuck her.
Although, when Sayid brushes a strand of hair out of her eyes, for a brief moment she’s glad she went to France and learned French, because otherwise she never would have gotten to help him. She never would have gotten to know him.
Sometimes, you get what you need, not what you want, she thinks, but she’s not sure where she’s heard that before. It sounds like something Boone would say when he was trying to sound smart.
That’s the soberest moment she’s had in a long time, even thought what she’s thinking is completely crazy.
*
Walt tells her things when he appears to her. Most of the time she can’t understand what he’s saying, but there’s one time when she’s almost sure he’s saying, you’re going to die. Not a threat, just a fact.
Vincent growls from beside her and she strokes his fur, looking at Walt without flinching.
Is it possible to know you’re going to die? Or is it always a surprise?
She’d like to ask Boone, but he’s dead, and it’s like she just remembered that because suddenly she wants to cry more than anything in the world.
*
If her dad hadn’t died then Sabrina never would have taken everything from her. If her dad hadn’t died then everything might not have spiraled out of control. Everything would have been different, and, she’s sure, better.
It’d be so easy to blame him. To place the blame on everyone involved. The person who hit him, the surgeons who couldn’t save him, the people in his office who didn’t call him back for one more thing…or who did. She could blame whoever had caused him to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.
It’d be so easy to place the blame, but some things are left up to fate.
She wishes she wasn’t here, that things had been different. But they aren’t, and they never will be.
*
She had forgotten that love could be so strong after years of boys who didn’t care, or maybe more accurately, who she didn’t care for. A few of them probably could have really loved her if her heart had been open, but it wasn’t, and she hadn’t even known it.
She hadn’t realized that there had been so much love inside of her, waiting for someone to give it to.
Sayid makes her feel new and perfect, thin and weightless. Like a ballerina princess. Free.
She could die happy right now, she thinks.
*
This shouldn’t be driving her crazy. It shouldn’t. Seeing Walt everywhere, that means she’s already crazy, doesn’t it?
But why doesn’t Sayid believe her? Why doesn’t anyone ever fucking believe her? Why can’t she even believe in herself?
Shannon wants to scream, to let all the pent up rage and frustration out of her, but she knows that no one would listen.
*
Shannon barely even sees the gun pointed at her before she feels a sharp, constricting pain in her chest. Blinded with pain, for a split second she sees shocked faces. She recognizes Jin and Michael, but can’t tell who those other people are.
The world is swirling around her, looking bright and black all at once. She turns, thinking incoherently, I could die happy. I could die. I could die. Sayid’s grabbing her, and she’s dying. Dying dying dying.
Feeling weightless and free. I’m going to be free, she thinks. Someone told her they believed in her and now she’s dying. Someone’s really loved her, seen her at her worst, and now she’s dying.
I could die happy.