(no subject)
Title: Nicknames
Fandom: Lost.
Characters: Shannon, Sawyer. Mentions of Boone, Jack, Kate, and Sun.
Prompt: #76 - Anonymous for
50_darkfics
Word Count: 3,548.
Rating: R
Timeline: Begins roughly two years pre-crash. Ends right after 1x08 - Confidence Man.
Summary: Sticks. She's heard that nickname before, knows it from somewhere.
Author's Note: I know several other authors have done variations on this plotline but I couldn't help myself. I've always wanted to do something like this and never got the chance until now.
---
Shannon's always been good at this.
She can stride inside in one of her shortest skirts, that plainly display tanned legs, and take a seat right at the bar, flashing a sweet smile that has the bartender in front of her in seconds. She knows everyone’s watching her. She knows she looks good. Boone’s roving eyes confirmed that as she walked out the door. She also knows that it will be awhile before one of the men, who are avidly checking her out, approaches her, finally over his fear of rejection. She gives it about twenty minutes tops. Still Shannon hates waiting. And if she’s going to have to wait, she might as well get drunk.
“I’ll have a Cosmopolitan,” her eyes flick to the bartender’s name tag, her voice smooth, “Jason.”
The drink is sitting in front of her in less than a minute.
----------------------------------------------------
She’s on her third Cosmo and the stool next to her is still empty. It’s not that no one’s interested, they’re just all too scared. They don’t seem to realize that she came here just to hook up. The alcohol is merely a bonus. At this point it didn’t matter who came up to her either. The drunker she got, the better everyone looked.
Her bright orange nails, freshly painted to match her blouse, are tapping on the wood of the bar, and she’s staring up at the ceiling counting the cracks, when someone finally takes the seat next to her. He’s just walked in and she can smell the scent of cigarette smoke on him, mixing with what might have been cologne. He orders whiskey and doesn’t even spare her a glance until she sighs loud enough for the guys at the nearby pool table to hear.
“You need something Princess?” He asks, talking to the glass more than to her. But at least he’s talking. He’s got more balls than the rest of the men here. She makes a note to avoid this place next time she’s looking for a good time.
“Depends on what you’re offering.” She replies, licking her lips and tasting strawberry lip gloss. This is the other side effect of drinking. She becomes way too straightforward.
His head lifts up, and he’s finally looking at her with an expression that says he knows what she means. Why she’s there. When he smiles she can see dimples that would be charming if she had been thinking about his facial features, and not just how his body would feel sliding against hers. “It has to have been one slow night for a girl like you to be this desperate.”
She would take offense to that last word normally, because people didn’t get away with insulting Shannon Rutherford, but her pride had taken a backseat since she seemed completely out of other options. It wasn’t like it wasn’t true anyway. “Look I’ve been here for an hour and nobody’s said anything to me. I need something that I’m fairly sure you wouldn’t mind giving me.”
“Is that so?” She nods her head, self-assuredly. “And what makes you so sure of that?” He’s just messing with her now, and she knows it. It’s a stalling technique so he can have more time to size her up, and see if she’s worth it. She knows because she takes the time to do that when she’s not just looking to hook up. Those times when people actually approach her and she doesn’t have to sit there and wait.
“You came here to drink which tells me you’ve got something on your mind that you want to forget about.” She leans closer to him, her top falling just enough so her cleavage peeks out. His eyes leave her face briefly and she knows he’s looking. He’s a man, he can’t help himself. She’d be offended if he didn’t. “And I’ve been told I am an excellent distraction.”
The smirk that appears on his face lets her know that she’s won and she might actually be getting off sometime tonight. He downs the rest of his drink in one gulp, then asks, “Your place or mine?”
-----------------------------------------
Somehow Shannon’s either forgotten her keys or just can’t find them, but either way she’s pressing the button outside the apartment building and begging Boone to let them in. After her fourth plea he buzzes her in, and she drags the stranger up to her and Boone’s apartment, just in time to hear her step-brother slam his bedroom door in an angry fit because she’s brought yet another lover home, and he’s lost out again. Like he’ll ever win.
She kicks off her stilettos on the way inside and is just shrugging off her jacket when they enter her bedroom and he gets her pinned between the wall and his hard body. She hadn’t expected him to make the first move, because after all it was her who wanted this in the first place, but she’s glad he has.
His lips are on hers a second later and she’s pleased to discover that he is a really good kisser. Really, really good. Her mouth opens to his and his tongue slips in, tangling with hers, and she tastes the alcohol. Her hands claw at his shirt, trying to unbutton it and slip it off his shoulders, but he’s so close to her that she can’t get the last few so she just pulls, satisfied when the buttons don’t come off from the force.
The lights aren’t on in the room so she can’t get a good look at him but she can feel taut muscles underneath warm skin and that paints a clear enough picture in her mind. He pulls back slightly, but not before she can nip at his lower lip just hard enough to assert herself, and then he’s lifting her blouse over her head, letting it land in a pile of velvet and chiffon. She reaches back to unhook her bra, but his hands still hers and he undoes it with barely a flick of his wrist. The simplicity of that movement alone spoke of experience, which she could’ve guessed anyway.
“Try not to make too much noise,” she breathes, fumbling with the buttons on his jeans, as he kisses from her collarbone down to the space between her breasts. Ironically, it was her who gave a small moan as he takes her nipple between his teeth. She finally gets his jeans unzipped, unsurprised that he’s not wearing any underwear, and steers him toward her bed, mumbling, “My brother’s in the next room.”
He looks up at her with a grin, and dark eyes. “You’re a sick girl, sticks.” She lands on the bed as he switches their positions so that he’s on top of her. So he liked to be in control. Her skirt is slid off by deft hands and her black panties follow suit as she spreads her legs at just the slightest touch. There are no games and no gentleness here; he’s hard and she’s wound so tightly she wants to scream.
It’s almost relief she feels when he pushes into her, because the feelings of arousal outweigh her guilty conscious. He’s groaning, and she’s biting her lip to keep from crying out. She knows this is just absolutely killing Boone because she can hear him pacing in his room. Their silence leaves him alone with his imagination, which is most likely worse than the reality.
He speeds up his thrusts and her hips buck upwards, meeting him every time, going through the motions. Both of them just wanted to get to the finish line and quickly. She feels him nearing the brink and when he thrusts into her one last time her hand slips down to touch herself and then she’s shuddering around him. His arms are locked as he empties himself into her, pulling out soon afterwards, and rolling off of her, breathing heavily. She opens her mouth to exhale, realizing she’s been biting down on her lip the entire time, the stinging sensation only trumped by the pulsing that she still feels despite his absence.
She only gives him a minute or two to collect himself and then she’s rising from the bed with the sheet wrapped tight around her body, turning on the light. His eyes are on her as she gathers up his clothing and tosses the various articles in a heap next to him on the bed.
The man sits up on his elbows, cocking his head to the side but she just stares right back at him with eyes as hard as stone. She’s done this so many times that she’s lost count and her plans won’t be thwarted just because this guy isn’t exactly average in the looks department. He thinks more of himself than he should. He finally gets the hint, and starts putting his clothes back on. “You ain’t much for the romance angle are you, Princess?”
“If I was looking for a boyfriend I wouldn’t be doing it in a bar.” She crossed her arms over her chest and the sheet slipped down slightly. “And it’s not like you were looking for anything more than a one-night stand either, you just didn’t anticipate being kicked out right after. You thought you would be the one doing the dumping.”
He pulls on his shirt, not bothering to button it up, and stands. “You are a bold one, aren’t you?”
“No, I’ve just done this too many times.” She tells him, which doesn’t seem to surprise him all that much. Shannon wonders if he had her pegged as a slut when he first saw her. Really she’s not, she’s just a hell of a lot more forward than most people are.
He chuckles, “Yeah, you and me both.” The man makes to leave but stops with his hand on the brass doorknob. “You got a name?”
She tenses at his question. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like we’re going to see each other again.” Shannon never gives out her name, just like Julia Roberts never kisses on the lips in Pretty Woman. She’s always anonymous. It helps her forget the person, to distance herself from them.
“Right.” He nods, and opens the door, going through it, calling out over his shoulder, “See you, Sticks.”
When the front door of the apartment slams shut, she climbs back into bed, covered in sheets and blankets that are sweat laced and smell like smoke.
----------------------------------------------------
It’s only day five on this fucking island and the sand fleas are already wreaking havoc on her skin. It wasn’t like she had been prepared to crash here and have to deal with all number of tiny little bugs. Needless to say everyone she’s asked doesn’t have anything to help. What they all do have is the same idea as to who might. Sawyer. Go figure.
So she was off to find him. Not that that would be very hard seeing as he spent most of his time holed up by this shelter that he was putting together for himself. He didn’t help anyone else unless he got something out of it. She understood that. Hell she was the same way most of the time. That’s why she is going to him with the knowledge that she would be giving something up before their conversation was through. She didn’t know why yet but really she would do pretty damn close to anything if it meant getting rid of those sand fleas.
She had asked him about it yesterday, offhandedly, and he had just looked her up and down and responded that he’d look around. Ideally she had wanted it as soon as possible but he ignored her after giving his reply, and so she had turned and left. Boone had asked her why she was associating with the island’s resident sociopath and she had asked him why he wasn’t off looking for water sources since some idiot had gone and stolen it. Boone liked playing hero even though he failed nearly every time. He just got this look that edged on guilty and Shannon had a flash of an idea as to why. She merely shook her head and picked up the Vogue she was clinging to as one of the few things she brought with her that connected her to the outside world.
A whole day was more than enough time for him to root through his stuff and she doesn’t hesitate to approach him about it today. She finds him lounging in the sand, reading.
“So do you have it or not?”
She says it as soon as she’s standing in front of him. He doesn’t look up, just keeps his eyes on the book like he either doesn’t hear her or doesn’t care. She doesn’t like that reaction.
Finally, “You’re in my light, sticks.”
Shannon frowns, taking aback by the comment. Sticks. Why does that sound familiar? That can’t be right, she thinks.
“Lightsticks? What the hell is that?”
He actually looks up at her this time, although his eyes travel up her body before they find her face.
“Light comma sticks. As in those legs of yours.”
There’s an emphasis on that word. The familiarity of the nickname startles her because while she knows she heard it before she can’t quite figure out where she knows it from. She’s pretty sure she would remember a guy like that. Actually she kind of does. More like several guys all jumbled into one. Only that word stands out in her memories, separating one from all the others.
She doesn’t make anything more of it though, files it away in her backlog of things to ponder while pretending to listen to Boone prattle on and on, and recovers in record time. Unfortunately what she doesn’t recover is the stuff she needs to get rid of the sand fleas, and for awhile that makes her forget all about Sticks.
---------------------------------------------------------
When Shannon does finally remember it things have changed significantly, even though it’s only days later. The whole camp, including the doctor who is really on her last nerve, knows she has asthma. Now everyone hovers over her. Boone. Sun. Jack, you know, when he’s not off helping that guy from the Republican something or other torture Sawyer the man who, as it turns out, doesn’t really have everything. Which is what brought up the sand flea incident, and then the nickname.
She hasn’t had an attack in almost a day and Boone is still always right there. It was sweet at first; she appreciated the attention. As time passed though, and he seemed to never leave her side, it got annoying. Annoying quickly escalated to highly irritating and then all she wanted to do is tell him to fuck off. Instead, she waits until he’s passed out unintentionally and then sneaks off to the beach. She needs fresh air and room to breathe it at that.
The beach is quieter than she expected but then again it is late after noon by the time she arrives and on this island that means things start winding down. There’s not much you can do once the light starts fading, even with the raging signal fire and the flashlights. Thus people are gathering with friends or family and keeping mostly to their small groups. They’re actually pretty widespread in their positions on the beach, but there is one clear area, and that extends about forty or so feet around Sawyer’s shelter. On all sides.
Sawyer himself is laid out with a large white bandage wrapped around one arm. She doesn’t want to know why it’s there, and what or who caused the injury. There’s a chair situated directly across from him, like someone was keeping watch over him before. Probably Kate. Shannon doesn’t even see Kate on the beach and so that means her post is abandoned for the immediate future and Shannon is free to steal her seat.
She drops into the chair, quietly, but Sawyer’s eyes still open. Briefly she thinks she sees disappointment in them, but it’s covered up before she can be sure, as he tries to sit up, hesitating when he jolts his arm in the process.
“I told them, I don’t have your damn inhalers. Thought I got the message across pretty clear last time.” He protests after she doesn’t say anything for a minute. She wonders why he feels the need to defend himself to her. It’s not like there’s anything she can do about it even if he did have them.
“I’m not here because of that.” Shannon tells him, drawing her legs up and under her. “Looks like you got enough punishment for that pathetic attempt at drawing attention to yourself.” It wasn’t meant to be mean spirited, even though that’s the way it sounded, it was just the truth.
He avoided her gaze. “What are you channeling Freckles now? Getting all deep and trying to figure me out.”
She’s going to take a guess and say that ‘Freckles’ is Kate. Kate is the only one who would bother to try to analyze him. “Do you have to give everyone nicknames? It makes it a hell of a lot harder to understand who you’re talking about.” He doesn’t answer and she fiddles with her nails, picking at the chipped pink polish. “You called me Sticks.”
He lowers his brow and he doesn’t look like he understands what she’s getting at. She’s not even sure she understands. But she remembers the nickname even if she doesn’t remember him and she wants to know why. It’s stupid, but it’s bugging her and it’s not like she has anything better to do. “You walked all the way out to these parts just to talk about my choices in nicknames?” This time it’s her who remains silent. “Didn’t we already have this conversation anyway?”
“Not then.” She corrects. “Before. I remember someone calling me that before.”
“Sweetheart, you are not the first person I’ve called that and, provided we ever get off this damn island, you won’t be the last.” His voice is thick and she can tell he’s tired and just really wants this conversation over with. “Hell, I remember this real fiery blonde I slept with. Kicked my ass out of her apartment right after too. But that girl had legs for days.”
That triggers her memory. “Did she tell you her name?”
He snorts, “No. Which is the reason why I called her Sticks.” Sawyer tilted his head about as far as he could while pretty much lying down. “You remind me of her actually.”
It all clicks after that. “I told you to be quiet because my brother was in the next room.”
“What are you...?” He stops short and his face changes as he realizes that she is that girl. She’s not sure why neither of them noticed the other before, whether it was due to their inebriated states at the time, or just repressed memories of the event. It makes her wonder how many of her other conquests she’s seen but not remembered. “Well, damn, this just got awkward.”
Shannon doesn’t say anything, but nods her head, looking away from his piercing gaze. “Don’t mention this to my brother, okay? He already hates you.” She knows this would simply be fuel to the fire for Boone, especially after the past few days.
He gets a slightly sick look on his face, as if just finally putting two and two together. “I try to make it a point to avoid Pretty Boy as is.”
“When you’re not beating him to a pulp, you mean.” She looks back at him and it’s Sawyer who flinches this time. Her stare is reprimanding, warning him against going up against her brother again. That’s why she refers to him as her brother, and leaves out the ‘step’ part. She’s possessive, just in a less obvious way as compared to Boone. She still loves him like he truly was her sibling.
“Yeah, when I’m not beating him up.” He says, his face showing that there is some guilt, that he does feel bad for this whole ploy.
“I should go back to the caves,” she says, pushing herself up into a standing position. There’s nothing left to say and she doesn’t see a point in sitting here amid all the silence. “Boone’s prone to freaking and Jack doesn’t seem much better. They’d probably send a freaking search party if I’m gone too long.”
She only just turns her back on him when he speaks, “For what it’s worth I’m sorry about the inhalers.”
Shannon doesn’t know if it was an apology because they were gone and she needed them, or because he had led her on. The sincerity in his voice makes her want to believe him, but she finds herself doubting his words. Still, “I can manage without them,” She alludes to Sun’s eucalyptus concoction. “Goodbye Sawyer.”
“Yeah, see you around,” He replies, waiting until he thinks she’s out of earshot to tack on, “Sticks.”
She looks over her shoulder as she walks away, to see the smirk on his face, and she glares, suppressing the smile that she feels tugging on her lips.
Fandom: Lost.
Characters: Shannon, Sawyer. Mentions of Boone, Jack, Kate, and Sun.
Prompt: #76 - Anonymous for
50_darkfics
Word Count: 3,548.
Rating: R
Timeline: Begins roughly two years pre-crash. Ends right after 1x08 - Confidence Man.
Summary: Sticks. She's heard that nickname before, knows it from somewhere.
Author's Note: I know several other authors have done variations on this plotline but I couldn't help myself. I've always wanted to do something like this and never got the chance until now.
---
Shannon's always been good at this.
She can stride inside in one of her shortest skirts, that plainly display tanned legs, and take a seat right at the bar, flashing a sweet smile that has the bartender in front of her in seconds. She knows everyone’s watching her. She knows she looks good. Boone’s roving eyes confirmed that as she walked out the door. She also knows that it will be awhile before one of the men, who are avidly checking her out, approaches her, finally over his fear of rejection. She gives it about twenty minutes tops. Still Shannon hates waiting. And if she’s going to have to wait, she might as well get drunk.
“I’ll have a Cosmopolitan,” her eyes flick to the bartender’s name tag, her voice smooth, “Jason.”
The drink is sitting in front of her in less than a minute.
----------------------------------------------------
She’s on her third Cosmo and the stool next to her is still empty. It’s not that no one’s interested, they’re just all too scared. They don’t seem to realize that she came here just to hook up. The alcohol is merely a bonus. At this point it didn’t matter who came up to her either. The drunker she got, the better everyone looked.
Her bright orange nails, freshly painted to match her blouse, are tapping on the wood of the bar, and she’s staring up at the ceiling counting the cracks, when someone finally takes the seat next to her. He’s just walked in and she can smell the scent of cigarette smoke on him, mixing with what might have been cologne. He orders whiskey and doesn’t even spare her a glance until she sighs loud enough for the guys at the nearby pool table to hear.
“You need something Princess?” He asks, talking to the glass more than to her. But at least he’s talking. He’s got more balls than the rest of the men here. She makes a note to avoid this place next time she’s looking for a good time.
“Depends on what you’re offering.” She replies, licking her lips and tasting strawberry lip gloss. This is the other side effect of drinking. She becomes way too straightforward.
His head lifts up, and he’s finally looking at her with an expression that says he knows what she means. Why she’s there. When he smiles she can see dimples that would be charming if she had been thinking about his facial features, and not just how his body would feel sliding against hers. “It has to have been one slow night for a girl like you to be this desperate.”
She would take offense to that last word normally, because people didn’t get away with insulting Shannon Rutherford, but her pride had taken a backseat since she seemed completely out of other options. It wasn’t like it wasn’t true anyway. “Look I’ve been here for an hour and nobody’s said anything to me. I need something that I’m fairly sure you wouldn’t mind giving me.”
“Is that so?” She nods her head, self-assuredly. “And what makes you so sure of that?” He’s just messing with her now, and she knows it. It’s a stalling technique so he can have more time to size her up, and see if she’s worth it. She knows because she takes the time to do that when she’s not just looking to hook up. Those times when people actually approach her and she doesn’t have to sit there and wait.
“You came here to drink which tells me you’ve got something on your mind that you want to forget about.” She leans closer to him, her top falling just enough so her cleavage peeks out. His eyes leave her face briefly and she knows he’s looking. He’s a man, he can’t help himself. She’d be offended if he didn’t. “And I’ve been told I am an excellent distraction.”
The smirk that appears on his face lets her know that she’s won and she might actually be getting off sometime tonight. He downs the rest of his drink in one gulp, then asks, “Your place or mine?”
-----------------------------------------
Somehow Shannon’s either forgotten her keys or just can’t find them, but either way she’s pressing the button outside the apartment building and begging Boone to let them in. After her fourth plea he buzzes her in, and she drags the stranger up to her and Boone’s apartment, just in time to hear her step-brother slam his bedroom door in an angry fit because she’s brought yet another lover home, and he’s lost out again. Like he’ll ever win.
She kicks off her stilettos on the way inside and is just shrugging off her jacket when they enter her bedroom and he gets her pinned between the wall and his hard body. She hadn’t expected him to make the first move, because after all it was her who wanted this in the first place, but she’s glad he has.
His lips are on hers a second later and she’s pleased to discover that he is a really good kisser. Really, really good. Her mouth opens to his and his tongue slips in, tangling with hers, and she tastes the alcohol. Her hands claw at his shirt, trying to unbutton it and slip it off his shoulders, but he’s so close to her that she can’t get the last few so she just pulls, satisfied when the buttons don’t come off from the force.
The lights aren’t on in the room so she can’t get a good look at him but she can feel taut muscles underneath warm skin and that paints a clear enough picture in her mind. He pulls back slightly, but not before she can nip at his lower lip just hard enough to assert herself, and then he’s lifting her blouse over her head, letting it land in a pile of velvet and chiffon. She reaches back to unhook her bra, but his hands still hers and he undoes it with barely a flick of his wrist. The simplicity of that movement alone spoke of experience, which she could’ve guessed anyway.
“Try not to make too much noise,” she breathes, fumbling with the buttons on his jeans, as he kisses from her collarbone down to the space between her breasts. Ironically, it was her who gave a small moan as he takes her nipple between his teeth. She finally gets his jeans unzipped, unsurprised that he’s not wearing any underwear, and steers him toward her bed, mumbling, “My brother’s in the next room.”
He looks up at her with a grin, and dark eyes. “You’re a sick girl, sticks.” She lands on the bed as he switches their positions so that he’s on top of her. So he liked to be in control. Her skirt is slid off by deft hands and her black panties follow suit as she spreads her legs at just the slightest touch. There are no games and no gentleness here; he’s hard and she’s wound so tightly she wants to scream.
It’s almost relief she feels when he pushes into her, because the feelings of arousal outweigh her guilty conscious. He’s groaning, and she’s biting her lip to keep from crying out. She knows this is just absolutely killing Boone because she can hear him pacing in his room. Their silence leaves him alone with his imagination, which is most likely worse than the reality.
He speeds up his thrusts and her hips buck upwards, meeting him every time, going through the motions. Both of them just wanted to get to the finish line and quickly. She feels him nearing the brink and when he thrusts into her one last time her hand slips down to touch herself and then she’s shuddering around him. His arms are locked as he empties himself into her, pulling out soon afterwards, and rolling off of her, breathing heavily. She opens her mouth to exhale, realizing she’s been biting down on her lip the entire time, the stinging sensation only trumped by the pulsing that she still feels despite his absence.
She only gives him a minute or two to collect himself and then she’s rising from the bed with the sheet wrapped tight around her body, turning on the light. His eyes are on her as she gathers up his clothing and tosses the various articles in a heap next to him on the bed.
The man sits up on his elbows, cocking his head to the side but she just stares right back at him with eyes as hard as stone. She’s done this so many times that she’s lost count and her plans won’t be thwarted just because this guy isn’t exactly average in the looks department. He thinks more of himself than he should. He finally gets the hint, and starts putting his clothes back on. “You ain’t much for the romance angle are you, Princess?”
“If I was looking for a boyfriend I wouldn’t be doing it in a bar.” She crossed her arms over her chest and the sheet slipped down slightly. “And it’s not like you were looking for anything more than a one-night stand either, you just didn’t anticipate being kicked out right after. You thought you would be the one doing the dumping.”
He pulls on his shirt, not bothering to button it up, and stands. “You are a bold one, aren’t you?”
“No, I’ve just done this too many times.” She tells him, which doesn’t seem to surprise him all that much. Shannon wonders if he had her pegged as a slut when he first saw her. Really she’s not, she’s just a hell of a lot more forward than most people are.
He chuckles, “Yeah, you and me both.” The man makes to leave but stops with his hand on the brass doorknob. “You got a name?”
She tenses at his question. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like we’re going to see each other again.” Shannon never gives out her name, just like Julia Roberts never kisses on the lips in Pretty Woman. She’s always anonymous. It helps her forget the person, to distance herself from them.
“Right.” He nods, and opens the door, going through it, calling out over his shoulder, “See you, Sticks.”
When the front door of the apartment slams shut, she climbs back into bed, covered in sheets and blankets that are sweat laced and smell like smoke.
----------------------------------------------------
It’s only day five on this fucking island and the sand fleas are already wreaking havoc on her skin. It wasn’t like she had been prepared to crash here and have to deal with all number of tiny little bugs. Needless to say everyone she’s asked doesn’t have anything to help. What they all do have is the same idea as to who might. Sawyer. Go figure.
So she was off to find him. Not that that would be very hard seeing as he spent most of his time holed up by this shelter that he was putting together for himself. He didn’t help anyone else unless he got something out of it. She understood that. Hell she was the same way most of the time. That’s why she is going to him with the knowledge that she would be giving something up before their conversation was through. She didn’t know why yet but really she would do pretty damn close to anything if it meant getting rid of those sand fleas.
She had asked him about it yesterday, offhandedly, and he had just looked her up and down and responded that he’d look around. Ideally she had wanted it as soon as possible but he ignored her after giving his reply, and so she had turned and left. Boone had asked her why she was associating with the island’s resident sociopath and she had asked him why he wasn’t off looking for water sources since some idiot had gone and stolen it. Boone liked playing hero even though he failed nearly every time. He just got this look that edged on guilty and Shannon had a flash of an idea as to why. She merely shook her head and picked up the Vogue she was clinging to as one of the few things she brought with her that connected her to the outside world.
A whole day was more than enough time for him to root through his stuff and she doesn’t hesitate to approach him about it today. She finds him lounging in the sand, reading.
“So do you have it or not?”
She says it as soon as she’s standing in front of him. He doesn’t look up, just keeps his eyes on the book like he either doesn’t hear her or doesn’t care. She doesn’t like that reaction.
Finally, “You’re in my light, sticks.”
Shannon frowns, taking aback by the comment. Sticks. Why does that sound familiar? That can’t be right, she thinks.
“Lightsticks? What the hell is that?”
He actually looks up at her this time, although his eyes travel up her body before they find her face.
“Light comma sticks. As in those legs of yours.”
There’s an emphasis on that word. The familiarity of the nickname startles her because while she knows she heard it before she can’t quite figure out where she knows it from. She’s pretty sure she would remember a guy like that. Actually she kind of does. More like several guys all jumbled into one. Only that word stands out in her memories, separating one from all the others.
She doesn’t make anything more of it though, files it away in her backlog of things to ponder while pretending to listen to Boone prattle on and on, and recovers in record time. Unfortunately what she doesn’t recover is the stuff she needs to get rid of the sand fleas, and for awhile that makes her forget all about Sticks.
---------------------------------------------------------
When Shannon does finally remember it things have changed significantly, even though it’s only days later. The whole camp, including the doctor who is really on her last nerve, knows she has asthma. Now everyone hovers over her. Boone. Sun. Jack, you know, when he’s not off helping that guy from the Republican something or other torture Sawyer the man who, as it turns out, doesn’t really have everything. Which is what brought up the sand flea incident, and then the nickname.
She hasn’t had an attack in almost a day and Boone is still always right there. It was sweet at first; she appreciated the attention. As time passed though, and he seemed to never leave her side, it got annoying. Annoying quickly escalated to highly irritating and then all she wanted to do is tell him to fuck off. Instead, she waits until he’s passed out unintentionally and then sneaks off to the beach. She needs fresh air and room to breathe it at that.
The beach is quieter than she expected but then again it is late after noon by the time she arrives and on this island that means things start winding down. There’s not much you can do once the light starts fading, even with the raging signal fire and the flashlights. Thus people are gathering with friends or family and keeping mostly to their small groups. They’re actually pretty widespread in their positions on the beach, but there is one clear area, and that extends about forty or so feet around Sawyer’s shelter. On all sides.
Sawyer himself is laid out with a large white bandage wrapped around one arm. She doesn’t want to know why it’s there, and what or who caused the injury. There’s a chair situated directly across from him, like someone was keeping watch over him before. Probably Kate. Shannon doesn’t even see Kate on the beach and so that means her post is abandoned for the immediate future and Shannon is free to steal her seat.
She drops into the chair, quietly, but Sawyer’s eyes still open. Briefly she thinks she sees disappointment in them, but it’s covered up before she can be sure, as he tries to sit up, hesitating when he jolts his arm in the process.
“I told them, I don’t have your damn inhalers. Thought I got the message across pretty clear last time.” He protests after she doesn’t say anything for a minute. She wonders why he feels the need to defend himself to her. It’s not like there’s anything she can do about it even if he did have them.
“I’m not here because of that.” Shannon tells him, drawing her legs up and under her. “Looks like you got enough punishment for that pathetic attempt at drawing attention to yourself.” It wasn’t meant to be mean spirited, even though that’s the way it sounded, it was just the truth.
He avoided her gaze. “What are you channeling Freckles now? Getting all deep and trying to figure me out.”
She’s going to take a guess and say that ‘Freckles’ is Kate. Kate is the only one who would bother to try to analyze him. “Do you have to give everyone nicknames? It makes it a hell of a lot harder to understand who you’re talking about.” He doesn’t answer and she fiddles with her nails, picking at the chipped pink polish. “You called me Sticks.”
He lowers his brow and he doesn’t look like he understands what she’s getting at. She’s not even sure she understands. But she remembers the nickname even if she doesn’t remember him and she wants to know why. It’s stupid, but it’s bugging her and it’s not like she has anything better to do. “You walked all the way out to these parts just to talk about my choices in nicknames?” This time it’s her who remains silent. “Didn’t we already have this conversation anyway?”
“Not then.” She corrects. “Before. I remember someone calling me that before.”
“Sweetheart, you are not the first person I’ve called that and, provided we ever get off this damn island, you won’t be the last.” His voice is thick and she can tell he’s tired and just really wants this conversation over with. “Hell, I remember this real fiery blonde I slept with. Kicked my ass out of her apartment right after too. But that girl had legs for days.”
That triggers her memory. “Did she tell you her name?”
He snorts, “No. Which is the reason why I called her Sticks.” Sawyer tilted his head about as far as he could while pretty much lying down. “You remind me of her actually.”
It all clicks after that. “I told you to be quiet because my brother was in the next room.”
“What are you...?” He stops short and his face changes as he realizes that she is that girl. She’s not sure why neither of them noticed the other before, whether it was due to their inebriated states at the time, or just repressed memories of the event. It makes her wonder how many of her other conquests she’s seen but not remembered. “Well, damn, this just got awkward.”
Shannon doesn’t say anything, but nods her head, looking away from his piercing gaze. “Don’t mention this to my brother, okay? He already hates you.” She knows this would simply be fuel to the fire for Boone, especially after the past few days.
He gets a slightly sick look on his face, as if just finally putting two and two together. “I try to make it a point to avoid Pretty Boy as is.”
“When you’re not beating him to a pulp, you mean.” She looks back at him and it’s Sawyer who flinches this time. Her stare is reprimanding, warning him against going up against her brother again. That’s why she refers to him as her brother, and leaves out the ‘step’ part. She’s possessive, just in a less obvious way as compared to Boone. She still loves him like he truly was her sibling.
“Yeah, when I’m not beating him up.” He says, his face showing that there is some guilt, that he does feel bad for this whole ploy.
“I should go back to the caves,” she says, pushing herself up into a standing position. There’s nothing left to say and she doesn’t see a point in sitting here amid all the silence. “Boone’s prone to freaking and Jack doesn’t seem much better. They’d probably send a freaking search party if I’m gone too long.”
She only just turns her back on him when he speaks, “For what it’s worth I’m sorry about the inhalers.”
Shannon doesn’t know if it was an apology because they were gone and she needed them, or because he had led her on. The sincerity in his voice makes her want to believe him, but she finds herself doubting his words. Still, “I can manage without them,” She alludes to Sun’s eucalyptus concoction. “Goodbye Sawyer.”
“Yeah, see you around,” He replies, waiting until he thinks she’s out of earshot to tack on, “Sticks.”
She looks over her shoulder as she walks away, to see the smirk on his face, and she glares, suppressing the smile that she feels tugging on her lips.