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Stabbing Sensations
by Nicola
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: #1.17, 'In Translation'
"Agh, Jesus Boone . . . you wanna get that thing away from me?"
The knife shone bright and eerie in the moonlight. Shannon felt its blunt edge digging into the skin of her throat as she exhaled in annoyance. Boone hesitated for a moment, and then lowered Locke's knife, slipping it back into its sheath.
Shannon squared her shoulders, rolling her own weapon (a sturdy branch that Sayid had cleaned and sculpted for her) along the tips of her fingers. "Jumpy tonight, aren't we?"
"You . . . you ambushed me!" Boone said, his forehead furrowed. Shannon was gratified to see how genuinely her approach had rattled him.
"Well, you're Luke-fucking-Skywalker these days — doesn't that mean expecting danger at every turn?" Shannon replied. She turned to look around, exaggerating her movements. "Uh oh, look out, I think Claire might be coming . . . you don't know what she has stuffed up her shirt!"
"Shut up," Boone said ineffectually.
He paused, and his expression darkened. He moved forward, stepping carefully around Shannon. "Excuse me," he continued in a low voice. "I have work to do."
"Don't," Shannon said, pushing Boone backward with her free hand. She wheeled her club round so that it rested lightly on his chest. "For fuck's sake. It's the middle of the night. You can't be going hunting"—she narrowed her eyes—"or whatever it is you and Locke do all day."
For the first time, Boone looked her in the eyes. She recognized the expression acutely; the softening of his eyes, tempered by a flash of anger. She hadn't known before their night in Sydney what it was like the provoke that level of desire, that kind of hopelessness.
"I haven't seen you," she said flatly. She let her club fall to the ground. "I haven't seen you in, like, a week."
He didn't say anything.
"I had things I wanted to say." She couldn't remember any of them. "I'm mad at you, and I want you to know it."
She didn't want to look at him anymore. She squinted over his shoulder, through the tree cover. She could just make out the flicker of the fire at the caves; a flash of movement (Jack, maybe) and then stillness.
"You haven't been around," she finished. She knew she sounded petulant, but she didn't care.
"You been missing me, Shan?" His voice was harsh, the threads of sarcasm snapping as he turned away.
"I'm with Sayid now," she said boldly. It sounded all wrong, like boasting. It sounded too much like it was; that she'd replaced Boone with someone new.
"I know," he said quietly, and she felt a swell of gratification.
"He make you happy, Shan?" Boone said after a moment. "Does he hold you in the middle of the night? Comfort you when you can't stop crying." She flinched.
"Yes, he does," Shannon said, keeping her voice carefully toneless. She felt Boone's fingers reaching at the hem of her shirt. His hands were cold as they fumbled across her abdomen. Finally, his thumb grazed a scar, two inches from her navel. In the moonlight, it appeared as a thin, white line. His forefinger traced an oval around the knife's puncture wound.
Boone's hand dropped abruptly. "He know about that?"
The first time. The first boyfriend. When it hadn't been a scam. With a rush of memory, she heard her own screaming, detached and hollow. Steven whimpering in a corner, covered in her blood. Boone's voice telling the ER doctors that it was an accident, like it was possible to stab your girlfriend with a 6-inch knife by accident.
"No," she said at last, her mouth twisting around the word. No one knew. Not her so-called friends; certainly not her Satanic stepmom. Appendicitis, that had been the official story. It was Boone who was her saviour; her knight-in-shining-fucking-armour. She hadn't been able to think of any other numbers when she'd dialled the phone that night.
She missed him suddenly. A gnawing ache somewhere near her heart. There weren't many things that had been constant in Shannon's life. Restlessness was one, pushing her always onto someplace new. Money was another (at first its constant presence and then, after her father's death, the need to hoard it at any cost). The only constant person was Boone. Even as she had deliberately pushed him to the side of her life, he had remained a shadow on the periphery. Self-righteous and scornful, but always there. Now he seemed far, far away.
"You can go now," she said coldly. "Run along. Back to crazy John Locke and your secret missions.
She saw him hesitate. "I don't . . . I don't have to go . . . not right now," he said in a low voice.
"What? We can hang out?" Shannon said sarcastically, suppressing a smile. "There's that photography exhibit downtown. You've been wanting to drag me there for, like, two years."
"It's art, Shannon!"
"It's pictures of vegetables, Boone."
"We could go to the pier, instead," he said. "As long as you don't pretend to be on a diet and then eat all my candy floss."
"If it saves you from throwing up on the ferris wheel then I'll eat every last bit."
"That was one time! I was getting the flu!"
"Movies?" Shannon offered.
"If we're gonna go to a movie of your choice, we may as well stay home and watch MTV."
"I'm not going to the theatre. I don't care how critically acclaimed some play about a chick committing suicide is."
"A concert?"
"Maroon 5, not Bach."
"Maroon 5 suck."
Boone said it with such fervent seriousness that Shannon couldn't suppress her burst of laughter. Through his exasperation, he smiled faintly as well.
The breeze rustled the leaves around them, and Shannon felt the goosebumps rise on her arms. "I do, you know," she said quietly. "Miss you."
"Like a master misses its faithful dog," he said, his smile disappearing.
"Fuck you," she snarled reflexively.
"Well fuck you, too, Shan."
She clawed slightly at his chest when he reached for her. She wanted to throw him down on the ground and crawl all over him. He held her fast, though, his thumbs pressing into the flesh of her arms. He delayed slightly before kissing her and he almost seemed ready to push her away before his lips finally descended on hers.
She twisted her leg around his, craving his closeness. His hands moved up her back, tangling in her hair as his lips strayed to her earlobe.
"Is this what you wanted?" he murmured. She could feel the animosity (his petulance, his jealousy, his desire) vibrate through his voice, translating onto her body as a tingling sensation. "Is this why you ambushed me?"
His body relaxed for a moment as he waited for her answer. She seized the opportunity without hesitation. Her foot tripped him as she pushed him squarely, hands flat against his chest. He fell to the ground hard, grim surprise blossoming across his cheeks.
"Of course," Shannon replied, slightly breathless. "What, did you think I just wanted a nice cosy chat?"
In one swift movement, she pulled her shirt up over her head. Boone didn't try to stand up.
April 2005
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