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Apocalypse and Fast Food
by Nicola
Rating: R
Spoilers: #1.13, 'Hearts and Minds'
They left the hotel immediately. Neither of them could see the point in staying until morning. Sleep seemed suddenly surplus. The idea of rest made Boone's skin itch; dreaming seemed unimaginable. Adrenaline and afterglow throbbed in his veins, and he could feel his tiredness pushing through into manic wakefulness. Shannon, meanwhile, was woozy and distant, as her drunkenness wore down into hangover. She drifted along the hotel's corridors in slow, weaving lines. Boone couldn't quite bring himself to help her, to prop her up. He couldn't bear to touch her in any way.
The reception area, like the hallways and elevator, was deserted. A hushed emptiness filled the air as a light-polluted half-darkness curled closer around them. For a crazed moment Boone wondered if they had triggered the end of the world; if their sex had truly been apocalyptic. Then a car screamed past outside, drenching them in sudden light and sound, shattering the illusion.
Beside him, Shannon started, blinking rapidly, drawn out of her headspace. She placed a hand on his shoulder, fingers curling around the upper arm so that he felt the sharp edge of her nails through his shirt. He thought of the dark crescents she'd left on his back, and he did not flinch.
"I need . . ." She was whispering, and he wondered briefly if she had the same feeling as he did: that the rest of the world had somehow shut down around them. "I need some. Aspirin. I think I'm gonna . . . throw up." She hissed the words into his ear with deliberate ambiguity. When she reared back, releasing his arm, he saw her narrowed eyes.
"Fine," he managed in response. He left the room key on the reception desk without bothering to ring for assistance. He didn't care what they charged to his credit card. It would hardly be this trip's most expensive mistake.
Much to Shannon's chagrin, they began to walk from the hotel. She protested weakly, lagging behind, but he ignored her. The petulant sneer slipped right off her face when he stopped in front of a McDonald's. However, having assigned Boone most of the control for "rescuing" her, she seemed unable to resist when he held the door open for her.
The McDonald's was similarly empty. Boone's head ached suddenly as he craved the familiar bright noisiness of its daytime hours. He found a kid listlessly sweeping the floor, and paid him a small amount of money to run out to a 24-hour pharmacy for some aspirin.
The sneer on her face rearranged into a look of darker disdain, Shannon sat at a table, shredding napkins. Boone ordered two Big Mac Meals, and the kid returned a few minutes later with the order and a bottle of aspirin.
"Eat something," said Boone, pushing some fries toward her.
"I'm on a diet," she replied, enunciating hard. She shoved the fries away, so that they scattered on the floor. She watched with something like amusement as the kid rushed over to clear up the mess.
"You mean you've decided anorexia is cool again," he said. "You're so fucking self absorbed."
"The only guy who wants to have sex with me is my brother, so excuse me for deciding it's time to start being a little body conscious." Her words rang out across the restaurant, and the kid looked even less happy to be working the night shift.
"Fuck you," Boone hissed.
"Right here? right now?" Shannon arched an eyebrow. "Aw Boone, and I thought you'd be such a romantic."
Boone glared at her, biting viciously into his hamburger.
Shannon stood up, smoothing down her skirt and tossing her hair back. "I'm going to the bathroom," she told him coldly.
"Trying your hand at bulimia as well?" Boone called after her. "Just to cover all the bases for your eating disorder?"
In Shannon's absence, Boone ate steadily, working his way through both Big Mac Meals. He sat for another five minutes after he had finished, toying restlessly with the empty wrappers. The kid, now vacantly cleaning tables, was beginning to cast resentful looks in his direction.
Boone hesitated and then got up. "I'm just going to see if my sister's okay," he said to the kid, by way of explanation. The kid shrugged in response, apparently still wary of Boone and his crackpot 'sister' who insisted on troubling him at 3 o'clock in the morning.
Boone entered through the swing door with a small amount of trepidation. The ladies' rest room was stark and incongruously familiar. Random swirls and generic catcalls covered the walls (scrubbed faint by cleaners, but not quite removed). He could be in Los Angeles. He could be anywhere. Instead, he still felt curiously suspended . . . nowhere.
He heard the faint sound of sniffling coming from the stall at the very end. He had expected to find Shannon passed out in here; maybe still puking; or possibly feeding a drug habit she could have picked up from the charming Brian. Instead, she was crying. And part of him hated her for it. He did not want to comfort her. He did not want to hear about her pain; her remorse and irresponsibility.
The stall door was open, which only served to reinforce the implication that her little breakdown had been orchestrated for an audience. She looked up at him with forlorn, eight-year-old's eyes.
"I wanna go home," she said softly. "But I don't even know where that is."
"LA is home," he said firmly, still standing at the stall's threshold and making no move to touch her.
"It might be your home, but it's not mine. Not anymore. Not since . . . not since my father . . ." She wiped fiercely at her eyes, so that her fingers came away black with kohl. She looked up suddenly at Boone. "You hate me, don't you?"
Boone lost a moment in exasperation, as he searched for an answer. "What am I supposed to say to that?"
"I've finally done it. I've finally made you hate me." She looked away, examining Kathy's proclamation of love for Keith on the wall. "All these years," she continued, "all the times I messed up, I always knew you come after me. I just had to say and you'd be there like a shot"—she smiled sharply—"give or take a fifteen hour plane ride."
"What's your point?" said Boone shortly.
"That was home to me." Her lips twisted. "Wherever I was, I'd feel . . . wanted. Safe."
Boone stared at her blankly. "Bullshit."
Shannon laughed darkly. "See, I was right." She seemed oddly triumphant. "You do hate me." She stood up, moving closer to Boone. When she reached over to touch his face, he did not stop her.
"I think you're a liar." He placed his hands on her bare arms. "And I think you're a bitch." His thumb hooked inside of her top and she wriggled lightly in his grasp. "But I don't hate you."
"Tell me you love me." Her cheek was still wet from tears when she leaned into his chest, brushing his face with her lips.
". . . no," he murmured, tightening his grip on her arms.
"Tell me," she insisted. She kissed him lightly on the lips, and he found himself returning the kiss with force and urgency. Her hands rubbed tantalizingly against his erection, before her fingers found the first button on his pants.
She broke away from his kiss suddenly. "Tell me."
"I . . . I love you," he gasped, his eyes flashing.
She stepped away from him, pushing past him to get out of the stall. "Good," she said with satisfaction.
Shannon combed her fingers through her hair quickly, checking her reflection in the bank of mirrors. She smiled sweetly at him and walked out through the swing door. "I still won't let you fuck me in a McDonald's rest room, though," she called back to him.
January 2005
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