Only fools believe in bliss
Title: "Comfort to Run From", for the shannon_boone "By the Pool" challenge
Pairing: Shannon/Boone (Lost)
Word Count: 960
Rating: I confess i don't know how to work the ratings sytem. I think it's R for language. :D
Spoilers/Warnings: No spoilers. Warnings for the use of the f-word once or twice. And Shannon's teenage angst. Beware, it bites.
Summary: The poolside had always been the place she ran to when she needed comfort.
And thanks to the lovely i_like_soap for the beta and encouragement.
He remembers the first time he found her there.
++
“Shannon?”
“Go away.” Without turning around.
“Why are you- ?”
“Fucking GO AWAY!” She screams the words this time, lashing behind with one hand to hit him. He grabs her wrist, forces her to spin around. Glaring through tear-glazed eyes, she sniffs back a sob with typical Shannon disdain.
“Let go of me,” but her voice is a whisper and her struggles half-hearted.
“What’s wrong?” She bites her lip, the glassy wells in her eyes threatening to spill again. “Please Shan, tell me.” He circles his free hand around her waist to pull her closer, but she
beats him to it, all but throwing herself at him.
“I just felt sick, I need- needed air, and then… I don’t know, they were there, and he- but… she’s my best friend and… and I never thought- and he said he loved me anyway!”
Trying to unravel what this tirade actually means, Boone is wholly unprepared for an outpouring of noisy tears and Shannon’s head buried in his chest.
“Shannon,” he tries to pull away, make her sit down. She only clings tighter.
“No! Don’t go, please not yet.” She sniffs again, looking up into his face, silently pleading.
“I’m not- Shannon!” Damn if he ever knew the right thing to say to her. She was wailing again, forehead on his shoulder, her arms around his neck so tightly he was nearly choking.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Deftly he scoops her up in his arms, carries her to the deck. Barely heavier than Sasha, he thinks, stroking her hair gently away from her face. Sasha, however, was nowhere near as much trouble, quite content to eat and catch the balls Boone patiently threw to her.
“Now. Do you want to tell me what’s wrong? And slowly this time.” He sounds facetious, but the look in his eyes and his fingers laced through hers betray his concern.
“I told you.” Impatient, a perfect teenager. “I felt sick, I couldn’t breathe. I came out here for air. And,” her voice wavers again, dangerously close to breaking, “and…”
“And?”
“And he was there.”
“He who?”
“Aaron.” The boyfriend, he thinks, eyes narrowing subconsciously. Well, boyfriend of this month at any rate. She carries on, oblivious to his reaction, hurt momentarily replaced by self-righteous indignation. “With Tiffany” - that insipid redhead she’s always giggling with - “and they were k- “ She bites on her lip again, frowning.
“Kissing?” supplies Boone, eyebrow raised.
The bite becomes harder, her fingers tighten around his. When she whispers again, he can hardly hear the words.
“He called me an immature little brat. He s- said I didn’t … really matter.”
“Oh, Shan.” You are a little brat sometimes, but God, you matter to me. For want of anything else to do, he hugs her to him, resumes the gentle stroking of her hair. Ever the good big brother.
Aaron, he recalls, had come out about two hours later. They’d still been sitting there, Shannon’s legs across his lap, her head on his shoulder, half asleep and happier. She’d looked up as he passed them, glared her favourite put-upon glare and wrapped her arms tighter around his waist.
Boone couldn’t have stopped the smug smile that danced across his lips if he’d wanted to.
++
The poolside had always been the place she ran to when she needed comfort. Through the window he sees telltale blond hair, peeking above the edge of the rock wall. She’s taller now, she can’t hide behind the fern fronds like she used to.
“Shannon?”
“Go away.” She’s intent on examining her knees and he smiles. Just like every other time.
Dropping down beside her, he settles, waiting for her to speak. Underneath it all, Shannon is predictable and he’s played this role too often now to be able forget his lines.
She says nothing at first, just continues staring at the hem of her skirt, biting on a thumbnail. The hand that was wrapped around her knees gradually falls, resting close enough to his own that he can feel her trembling.
“It’s ok.” Before he can cover her hand with his own she’s beaten him again, slipped her fingers between his and laid her head on his shoulder.
“I’m leaving.”
He turns, sees her eyes are peeking up through smudged black lashes. Measuring again. Always testing, aren’t you Shan? Always trying to see who’ll go furthest for you. “You don’t have to-”
“No, I do. He was my father, Boone. If I stay here I’ll see him everywhere. I just… can‘t. I‘m going.” She’s rarely this honest with him, a sign of her sincerity. He sighs.
“Okay, Shan. You do what you have to.” Her eyes are startled, confusion fleeting through. Why aren’t you fighting me? Her voice betrays none of it.
“I will.” Standing she turns to him, offers her hand in the most un-Shannon gesture he’s ever seen. He takes it.
Shannon’s eyes search his as he stands, as if she’s not sure of the person standing in front of her anymore. When neither of them break the silence, she presses her lips to his gently, almost shyly. She pulls away before he can even think about what’s happening.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Understanding.” And she’s gone, black dress blending with the night that has fallen on top of them.
Thumb absent-mindedly tracing her kiss, Boone’s eyes trail the path she takes to the house. She’ll go, he knows. Shannon always makes good on her threats. But she’ll be back, and he‘ll wait. Deep down, she needs comfort, like air. Deep down the only comfort Shannon can accept is the poolside, and the one who sits with her beside it.
Pairing: Shannon/Boone (Lost)
Word Count: 960
Rating: I confess i don't know how to work the ratings sytem. I think it's R for language. :D
Spoilers/Warnings: No spoilers. Warnings for the use of the f-word once or twice. And Shannon's teenage angst. Beware, it bites.
Summary: The poolside had always been the place she ran to when she needed comfort.
And thanks to the lovely i_like_soap for the beta and encouragement.
He remembers the first time he found her there.
++
“Shannon?”
“Go away.” Without turning around.
“Why are you- ?”
“Fucking GO AWAY!” She screams the words this time, lashing behind with one hand to hit him. He grabs her wrist, forces her to spin around. Glaring through tear-glazed eyes, she sniffs back a sob with typical Shannon disdain.
“Let go of me,” but her voice is a whisper and her struggles half-hearted.
“What’s wrong?” She bites her lip, the glassy wells in her eyes threatening to spill again. “Please Shan, tell me.” He circles his free hand around her waist to pull her closer, but she
beats him to it, all but throwing herself at him.
“I just felt sick, I need- needed air, and then… I don’t know, they were there, and he- but… she’s my best friend and… and I never thought- and he said he loved me anyway!”
Trying to unravel what this tirade actually means, Boone is wholly unprepared for an outpouring of noisy tears and Shannon’s head buried in his chest.
“Shannon,” he tries to pull away, make her sit down. She only clings tighter.
“No! Don’t go, please not yet.” She sniffs again, looking up into his face, silently pleading.
“I’m not- Shannon!” Damn if he ever knew the right thing to say to her. She was wailing again, forehead on his shoulder, her arms around his neck so tightly he was nearly choking.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Deftly he scoops her up in his arms, carries her to the deck. Barely heavier than Sasha, he thinks, stroking her hair gently away from her face. Sasha, however, was nowhere near as much trouble, quite content to eat and catch the balls Boone patiently threw to her.
“Now. Do you want to tell me what’s wrong? And slowly this time.” He sounds facetious, but the look in his eyes and his fingers laced through hers betray his concern.
“I told you.” Impatient, a perfect teenager. “I felt sick, I couldn’t breathe. I came out here for air. And,” her voice wavers again, dangerously close to breaking, “and…”
“And?”
“And he was there.”
“He who?”
“Aaron.” The boyfriend, he thinks, eyes narrowing subconsciously. Well, boyfriend of this month at any rate. She carries on, oblivious to his reaction, hurt momentarily replaced by self-righteous indignation. “With Tiffany” - that insipid redhead she’s always giggling with - “and they were k- “ She bites on her lip again, frowning.
“Kissing?” supplies Boone, eyebrow raised.
The bite becomes harder, her fingers tighten around his. When she whispers again, he can hardly hear the words.
“He called me an immature little brat. He s- said I didn’t … really matter.”
“Oh, Shan.” You are a little brat sometimes, but God, you matter to me. For want of anything else to do, he hugs her to him, resumes the gentle stroking of her hair. Ever the good big brother.
Aaron, he recalls, had come out about two hours later. They’d still been sitting there, Shannon’s legs across his lap, her head on his shoulder, half asleep and happier. She’d looked up as he passed them, glared her favourite put-upon glare and wrapped her arms tighter around his waist.
Boone couldn’t have stopped the smug smile that danced across his lips if he’d wanted to.
++
The poolside had always been the place she ran to when she needed comfort. Through the window he sees telltale blond hair, peeking above the edge of the rock wall. She’s taller now, she can’t hide behind the fern fronds like she used to.
“Shannon?”
“Go away.” She’s intent on examining her knees and he smiles. Just like every other time.
Dropping down beside her, he settles, waiting for her to speak. Underneath it all, Shannon is predictable and he’s played this role too often now to be able forget his lines.
She says nothing at first, just continues staring at the hem of her skirt, biting on a thumbnail. The hand that was wrapped around her knees gradually falls, resting close enough to his own that he can feel her trembling.
“It’s ok.” Before he can cover her hand with his own she’s beaten him again, slipped her fingers between his and laid her head on his shoulder.
“I’m leaving.”
He turns, sees her eyes are peeking up through smudged black lashes. Measuring again. Always testing, aren’t you Shan? Always trying to see who’ll go furthest for you. “You don’t have to-”
“No, I do. He was my father, Boone. If I stay here I’ll see him everywhere. I just… can‘t. I‘m going.” She’s rarely this honest with him, a sign of her sincerity. He sighs.
“Okay, Shan. You do what you have to.” Her eyes are startled, confusion fleeting through. Why aren’t you fighting me? Her voice betrays none of it.
“I will.” Standing she turns to him, offers her hand in the most un-Shannon gesture he’s ever seen. He takes it.
Shannon’s eyes search his as he stands, as if she’s not sure of the person standing in front of her anymore. When neither of them break the silence, she presses her lips to his gently, almost shyly. She pulls away before he can even think about what’s happening.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“Understanding.” And she’s gone, black dress blending with the night that has fallen on top of them.
Thumb absent-mindedly tracing her kiss, Boone’s eyes trail the path she takes to the house. She’ll go, he knows. Shannon always makes good on her threats. But she’ll be back, and he‘ll wait. Deep down, she needs comfort, like air. Deep down the only comfort Shannon can accept is the poolside, and the one who sits with her beside it.