fic: you get a lifetime (Lost/Sandman, 1/1)
I wrote this a few months ago; it’s been sitting on my hard drive, waiting for the right time. It’s the Lost/Sandman story, so if you’re unfamiliar with either fandom, it might be a little hard to follow. I don’t think so, though.
After tonight, it is entirely possible there will be a sequel to this.
you get a lifetime
by Gale
SUMMARY: The sound of her win-oh, wait, no. Sandman/Lost crossover.
Boone doesn’t look up from watching Shannon weeping over his body, not until he feels someone stand next to him. Like, *next* to him, like she knows he’s there.
He automatically looks over at her.
“Hey,” the girl says, smiling at him. She’s cute, if you like tiny Goth girls in tank tops and cargo pants, and Boone does. Or did, once. Being dead is messing with his verb tenses something awful.
“I know you,” Boone says after a minute, and winces. “That probably sounded stupid.”
”It’s not stupid,” the girl says. She has an extremely soothing voice; just listening to her makes Boone feel a little better, though he’ll be damned if he knows why. “We’ve met before, Boone. You just don’t remember it.”
”I should, though.” He’d remember a girl like this, he thinks. He hasn’t dated a lot of girls who can see dead people.
The girl just waves him off. “It’s okay,” she says. “No one ever remembers the first time we meet.” She grins suddenly. “You have the same eyes! Most people don’t.”
”…Ohhhh-kay.” Maybe one of Jeff’s parties? But no, that wouldn’t explain why she was here on the island. There were coincidences and there were *coincidences*, but that would’ve been ridiculous. “So have we-“
”Boone,” the girl says gently, tilting her head a little to the side. There’s a little filigree of something underneath her left eye, like a curlicue. “You know my name.” The sunlight catches on the pendant around her neck, reflecting back at him, and-
Oh. *Oh.*
“Fuck,” he mutters, and presses the palms of his hands against his forehead.
”Yeah,” the girl says, “that’s the usual response.” She sounds - let down, for lack of a better phrase, but not disappointed, precisely. Like she’s used to this. That’s what finally convinces him.
Boone doesn’t move his hands. “Did it hurt?” he asks.
”Do you remember it hurting?”
He thinks for a second. “Not really,” he says. There was a lot of pain earlier, mostly when Jack had done whatever to his leg, but what he really remembered was feeling…tired. Exhausted, actually, and then - everything was all right, and he was over here, looking at himself, watching Sayid lead Shannon away from his body. There hadn’t really been any pain.
“Then it didn’t hurt,” the girl says. She looks perfect, he realizes: no smudges, no dirt, no sweat. Not that he’s really expecting any, but it would have been a nice touch. He feels suddenly, irrationally angry.
“So, what? You’re gonna tell me it was my time?”
”I could,” she says, utterly nonplussed. “I could tell you every platitude in the book; I’ve heard them all. I try not to repeat them, but if that’s what you want-“
”No,” Boone says. He drops his hands and shakes his head. “I don’t know *what* I want. Shit.” He sits down on a rock and tries very hard not to think. Honestly, being dead is turning out to be at least as much of a pain in the ass as being alive had been, except he’s not as sweaty.
So. He’s dead. It’s nothing at all like he expected, so far. There’s no bright light; no skeleton with a robe and a scythe waiting for him, let alone speaking in all caps. It hadn’t hurt, and he wasn’t seeing any loved ones who’d gone before. Of course, that might be because all his loved ones were still alive, but jeez, Shannon’s dad could have, like, popped over to say hi or something. They hadn’t been friends, barely acquaintances, but *still*.
“I like it here,” the girl announces, dropping to sit next to him. If she’s put off at all by the dirt and the dead body six feet in front of her, she doesn’t show it. Of course not; why would she? “It’s so - so outdoorsy, you know? It’s like going camping.”
Boone looks at her. “I guess,” he says warily. “If you ignore the part where it’s nothing like camping, sure.”
The girl sticks her tongue out at him. “You know,” she says, “I distinctly remember you being more fun when you were younger.”
”Yeah, but you like everyone,” Boone points out. He’s not sure how he knows that, but he knows it’s true. Hell, she probably even likes Sawyer.
She beams. “Good! You were paying attention.” She shoots a look at his body - the one in front of them, anyway. Someone, probably either Sun or Shannon, got most of the blood off his face. Probably Sun. Shannon’s never done well with blood. “’Course, you’d done that sooner, you and I might not be having this conversation now.”
”Oh, thank you,” Boone mutters.
Another little smile. “It’s nothing to do with me. There’s a school of thought that says you’re born with so many breaths, and when those are gone, so are you. Some people say that you can’t escape your destiny no matter how you try - that you were supposed to die today, and there was no way around it. Some people would say this is all a terrible accident, and if you hadn’t put your ass in a plane precariously perched in a tree you’d be fine right now.”
“Huh.” Boone looks at her. “I don’t suppose you’re in any position to tell me which one’s right.”
She just smiles at him. “But I could take your hand,” she offers, “and let you find out for yourself.” And she stretches out her hand.
Boone looks at her for a long time, then back at himself. Then he reaches out a hand to take hers.
”My sister?”
Boone and the girl look up. Their hands aren’t touching just yet.
A man is standing a few feet away - which is weird enough, considering that everyone’s cleared out already, because, hi, *dead body* - dressed not unlike Boone: T-shirt, jeans, sneakers. His hair is snow-white, his eyes bright green. He seems extremely pale, especially to Boone, who’s gotten used to seeing people get more and more tan with each passing day. He’s got a bright green backpack slung over one shoulder, and though he can’t be more than a couple years older than Boone - 25, maybe 26 - he seems older. A lot older.
The girl looks surprised. “Hey! What are you doing here?”
Boone blinks. “You know him?” he asks, nodding at the guy.
”He’s my little brother,” the girl says. She fixes said brother with a look. “You never answered my question.”
”I was not given a chance,” the guy says, glancing at Boone. “You cannot take him, my sister. He is my province now.”
”No he’s not,” the girl says. “He didn’t die in a dream. If he had, we’d-“
”That is not my meaning. I speak of *where* he died.” The guy stretches out his arms, the gesture seemingly encompassing the entire island. “On this skerry.”
”On this-“ The girl glares at him. “Oh, you’re *kidding* me.”
”On a what now?” Boone asks. They both ignore him.
“Not all the skerries have been uncreated, sister, as you know; and some have traveled great distances from where they were created. The compact that I had with Alinora-“
”Who died a couple hundred years ago,” she snaps, “and I should know, I was there-“
”-states that any beings whose mortal lives end there become the responsibility of the Lord of Dreams,” the guy says, “and not you.” He looks apologetic. “I am sorry, sister.”
Finally - finally - he looks at Boone. “You cannot leave,” he says, simply, and turns to go.
“Wait, *what*?” Boone gets to his feet. “What do you mean, I can’t leave?”
The guy blinks at him. He’s either honestly startled or doing a very good impression of it. “You cannot leave,” he says again, looking confused. “I - was I unclear?”
”You were fine,” the girl says. “Look, Boone-“
”No, this is bullshit,” Boone snaps. He should probably moderate his tone around these two, because he knows who *she* is and if that’s her brother, it’s not a good idea to piss him off either, but dammit, it’s been a long day. And not just because he’s dead now. “I’m dead. Fine. I don’t love it, but fine, and it’s not like I can do anything about it. But if you’re telling me that I’m stuck here - stuck here on this island, where I *died*, without any hope of ever leaving, even *now* - then yeah, I’m gonna be a little cranky.”
“It is not entirely my decision,” the guy says, not unkindly. “The compact was made with my - predecessor. I cannot go back and undo what he did; and even if I could, I would not without a reason, for the deal was fairly made.”
”So, what, I’m stuck here?”
There’s a pause.
”You do not have to be,” the guy finally says. “I can release you from this contract, if you do so wish.”
“Good, great, okay.” Boone relaxes a little. He’s negotiating. This, he can still do, dead or not. “How?”
”I can unmake this skerry,” the guy says.
Boone blinks at him. Next to him, the girl looks troubled. And pale, but that’s no surprise.
”When you say ‘unmake’-“ Boone says slowly.
”Uncreate.”
“And everyone who’s still here-“
”There would be no island,” the guy says. “And I am not in a position to grant you a boon.” The guy almost - almost - smiles.
“So-“ Boone squints at him. “What, they’d be *dead*?”
No more John. No more Walt, and Jesus, he was just a kid. No more Claire, no more Claire’s baby. No more Jack.
No more Shannon.
”As are you,” the guy says. “But you would be free to leave this place, now, with my sister. They would be free of this place, too, when they died. There are those who would consider such a thing a blessing.”
”But they’d be dead,” Boone says, and if he’s dead how can his heart still be racing? “And that’s not - there are *kids* here!”
Both of them stare at him, utterly implacable.
“Could you - hold off on it, maybe?” Boone says. “Just wait until they’re all off safely or whatever?”
”I owe you no boon,” the guy says again, and this time he’s not smiling. “I am under no obligation to do you any kind of favor, let alone to do so at your whim.”
”But that’s - so, what, you’re just willing to let everyone *die*?”
”They do not matter to me,” the guy says. “Few lives do, as a matter of course. My sister would perhaps prefer you not choose this option, as it would create more work for her-“
”Oh, no,” the girl says, glaring at him. “Don’t go dragging me into all this. I don’t play favorites, little brother. You of all people should know that.” She gets to her feet and looks at Boone. “Boone, I can’t make this decision for you.”
Boone takes a deep breath. “Just give me a minute, okay?”
He’s never been great at spur-of-the-moment decisions, especially where his private life is concerned. Being stuck on a deserted island hasn’t made him any better at it.
“So here are my choices,” Boone says slowly. “One: I get *stuck* here, on this island, until it erodes into the ocean. Two: you get rid of the island, let everyone else here die, and let me move on to whatever comes after this. Those are my only choices, right?”
The guy nods. “Those are the choices before you, yes.”
Boone lets out a long breath. It was a number game, really. Forty-six lives verses his one life, and his was already gone.
“Fuck it,” he mutters, rubbing at his eyes. “Don’t get rid of the island. I’ll - I’ll just hang around here, I guess.” He tries to sound brave and negligent, like it’s no big deal, but it comes out a little teary. Goddammit. He hasn’t cried since - when *had* he cried last? He can’t remember.
”You don’t have to do this,” the girl says.
He looks at her. “I’d just be stuck here, right? No afterlife, hanging around, watching what happens but unable to do anything about it? Like a ghost?”
”Like a ghost,” she agrees. “And you’d be stuck here, like you said, until the island erodes. And I don’t know how much wedding planners know about plate tectonics, but that could be a while.”
”I’ve got it, okay?” Boone lets out another breath. “But I can’t do that to them. Maybe some of them deserve it-“ or don’t *not* deserve it, anyway, and here he thinks, again, of Sawyer “-but I can’t just let all those people die, you know?”
”I get the idea,” the girl says, and her smile is sketchy. But she stands up and brushes the butt of her pants off like she’s getting ready to go, and Boone’s seen Shannon and his mother do it enough times to know what it means: his company’s about to leave.
She must catch the look on his face, because suddenly she’s at his side, squeezing his shoulder - where it’s covered by his shirt, he notices, and knows it’s important even if he’s not sure why.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “If it makes you feel any better, you’ll see me again. Just - maybe not for a while. And I think what you’re doing here is really…noble, I guess.”
“It’s not noble,” Boone mutters, looking away from her eyes. She has Theresa’s eyes. Didn’t make them any easier to meet, even after all these years. “I just…I think I’d like to be less of a jerk in death than I was alive.”
”You weren’t a jerk, Boone,” the girl says. “Nobody is, not really. Everyone’s silly and wonderful and brave and smart and stupid, most of you more than one at a time. You were just a person.” She beams, and it was almost - almost - all worth it. “That’s the best part.”
She lets go of his shoulder, and for a second Boone looks away. When he looks back, she’s gone, as if she’d never been there.
Shit, maybe she hadn’t been. Can dead people hallucinate?
The guy’s still there, though. Still with the backpack over his shoulder, staring at him with bright green eyes.
Boone looks at him for a long moment. “What?”
”I owe you no favor, Boone Carlisle,” the guy says, and damned if he didn’t seem familiar, though Boone can’t think of where from. “But…I know something of what it means to be separated forever from those who love you.” He looks around. “And because to do otherwise would be to move in a direction other than forward. And there are those who would be greatly disappointed were this to be so.”
After a second, Boone admits, “I didn’t get a word of that.”
The guy waves a hand. “No matter. You cannot leave this island to cross over to whatever comes next until this island is gone; that part of the compact I cannot change. But I will grant you this: free roam in the Dreaming as far as it extends to this skerry. You cannot tell people back in the rest of the waking world where your friends and family are, nor contact those here directly; but you will be able to see into their dreams. Influence them, perhaps, over time. This is all I can do for you. I hope this is enough.”
”It’ll have to be,” Boone says, and shakes his head. “No, no, it’s - it’s fine. It’s better than I was expecting. Thank you.”
The guy tilts his head in that same almost-nod his sister has. “Good journey,” he says, and is gone, as suddenly as sharply as she was.
Boone lets out a long breath and looks around.
It’s weird. The island’s the same size it was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before *that*. It just seems…smaller, somehow. But at least now he has plenty of time to explore it.
Parts of it are going to suck, sure. He’s not looking forward to being stuck here and not seeing his mother again, not being able to go back to his life back in Los Angeles, but he can deal with it. He has to. And if he can help the others out somehow… He has to try, anyway.
Boone settles down to wait. Maybe Sawyer will dream of reading something. It’s been too long since he’d read Watership Down, and he doesn’t quite remember how it ends.
After tonight, it is entirely possible there will be a sequel to this.
you get a lifetime
by Gale
SUMMARY: The sound of her win-oh, wait, no. Sandman/Lost crossover.
Boone doesn’t look up from watching Shannon weeping over his body, not until he feels someone stand next to him. Like, *next* to him, like she knows he’s there.
He automatically looks over at her.
“Hey,” the girl says, smiling at him. She’s cute, if you like tiny Goth girls in tank tops and cargo pants, and Boone does. Or did, once. Being dead is messing with his verb tenses something awful.
“I know you,” Boone says after a minute, and winces. “That probably sounded stupid.”
”It’s not stupid,” the girl says. She has an extremely soothing voice; just listening to her makes Boone feel a little better, though he’ll be damned if he knows why. “We’ve met before, Boone. You just don’t remember it.”
”I should, though.” He’d remember a girl like this, he thinks. He hasn’t dated a lot of girls who can see dead people.
The girl just waves him off. “It’s okay,” she says. “No one ever remembers the first time we meet.” She grins suddenly. “You have the same eyes! Most people don’t.”
”…Ohhhh-kay.” Maybe one of Jeff’s parties? But no, that wouldn’t explain why she was here on the island. There were coincidences and there were *coincidences*, but that would’ve been ridiculous. “So have we-“
”Boone,” the girl says gently, tilting her head a little to the side. There’s a little filigree of something underneath her left eye, like a curlicue. “You know my name.” The sunlight catches on the pendant around her neck, reflecting back at him, and-
Oh. *Oh.*
“Fuck,” he mutters, and presses the palms of his hands against his forehead.
”Yeah,” the girl says, “that’s the usual response.” She sounds - let down, for lack of a better phrase, but not disappointed, precisely. Like she’s used to this. That’s what finally convinces him.
Boone doesn’t move his hands. “Did it hurt?” he asks.
”Do you remember it hurting?”
He thinks for a second. “Not really,” he says. There was a lot of pain earlier, mostly when Jack had done whatever to his leg, but what he really remembered was feeling…tired. Exhausted, actually, and then - everything was all right, and he was over here, looking at himself, watching Sayid lead Shannon away from his body. There hadn’t really been any pain.
“Then it didn’t hurt,” the girl says. She looks perfect, he realizes: no smudges, no dirt, no sweat. Not that he’s really expecting any, but it would have been a nice touch. He feels suddenly, irrationally angry.
“So, what? You’re gonna tell me it was my time?”
”I could,” she says, utterly nonplussed. “I could tell you every platitude in the book; I’ve heard them all. I try not to repeat them, but if that’s what you want-“
”No,” Boone says. He drops his hands and shakes his head. “I don’t know *what* I want. Shit.” He sits down on a rock and tries very hard not to think. Honestly, being dead is turning out to be at least as much of a pain in the ass as being alive had been, except he’s not as sweaty.
So. He’s dead. It’s nothing at all like he expected, so far. There’s no bright light; no skeleton with a robe and a scythe waiting for him, let alone speaking in all caps. It hadn’t hurt, and he wasn’t seeing any loved ones who’d gone before. Of course, that might be because all his loved ones were still alive, but jeez, Shannon’s dad could have, like, popped over to say hi or something. They hadn’t been friends, barely acquaintances, but *still*.
“I like it here,” the girl announces, dropping to sit next to him. If she’s put off at all by the dirt and the dead body six feet in front of her, she doesn’t show it. Of course not; why would she? “It’s so - so outdoorsy, you know? It’s like going camping.”
Boone looks at her. “I guess,” he says warily. “If you ignore the part where it’s nothing like camping, sure.”
The girl sticks her tongue out at him. “You know,” she says, “I distinctly remember you being more fun when you were younger.”
”Yeah, but you like everyone,” Boone points out. He’s not sure how he knows that, but he knows it’s true. Hell, she probably even likes Sawyer.
She beams. “Good! You were paying attention.” She shoots a look at his body - the one in front of them, anyway. Someone, probably either Sun or Shannon, got most of the blood off his face. Probably Sun. Shannon’s never done well with blood. “’Course, you’d done that sooner, you and I might not be having this conversation now.”
”Oh, thank you,” Boone mutters.
Another little smile. “It’s nothing to do with me. There’s a school of thought that says you’re born with so many breaths, and when those are gone, so are you. Some people say that you can’t escape your destiny no matter how you try - that you were supposed to die today, and there was no way around it. Some people would say this is all a terrible accident, and if you hadn’t put your ass in a plane precariously perched in a tree you’d be fine right now.”
“Huh.” Boone looks at her. “I don’t suppose you’re in any position to tell me which one’s right.”
She just smiles at him. “But I could take your hand,” she offers, “and let you find out for yourself.” And she stretches out her hand.
Boone looks at her for a long time, then back at himself. Then he reaches out a hand to take hers.
”My sister?”
Boone and the girl look up. Their hands aren’t touching just yet.
A man is standing a few feet away - which is weird enough, considering that everyone’s cleared out already, because, hi, *dead body* - dressed not unlike Boone: T-shirt, jeans, sneakers. His hair is snow-white, his eyes bright green. He seems extremely pale, especially to Boone, who’s gotten used to seeing people get more and more tan with each passing day. He’s got a bright green backpack slung over one shoulder, and though he can’t be more than a couple years older than Boone - 25, maybe 26 - he seems older. A lot older.
The girl looks surprised. “Hey! What are you doing here?”
Boone blinks. “You know him?” he asks, nodding at the guy.
”He’s my little brother,” the girl says. She fixes said brother with a look. “You never answered my question.”
”I was not given a chance,” the guy says, glancing at Boone. “You cannot take him, my sister. He is my province now.”
”No he’s not,” the girl says. “He didn’t die in a dream. If he had, we’d-“
”That is not my meaning. I speak of *where* he died.” The guy stretches out his arms, the gesture seemingly encompassing the entire island. “On this skerry.”
”On this-“ The girl glares at him. “Oh, you’re *kidding* me.”
”On a what now?” Boone asks. They both ignore him.
“Not all the skerries have been uncreated, sister, as you know; and some have traveled great distances from where they were created. The compact that I had with Alinora-“
”Who died a couple hundred years ago,” she snaps, “and I should know, I was there-“
”-states that any beings whose mortal lives end there become the responsibility of the Lord of Dreams,” the guy says, “and not you.” He looks apologetic. “I am sorry, sister.”
Finally - finally - he looks at Boone. “You cannot leave,” he says, simply, and turns to go.
“Wait, *what*?” Boone gets to his feet. “What do you mean, I can’t leave?”
The guy blinks at him. He’s either honestly startled or doing a very good impression of it. “You cannot leave,” he says again, looking confused. “I - was I unclear?”
”You were fine,” the girl says. “Look, Boone-“
”No, this is bullshit,” Boone snaps. He should probably moderate his tone around these two, because he knows who *she* is and if that’s her brother, it’s not a good idea to piss him off either, but dammit, it’s been a long day. And not just because he’s dead now. “I’m dead. Fine. I don’t love it, but fine, and it’s not like I can do anything about it. But if you’re telling me that I’m stuck here - stuck here on this island, where I *died*, without any hope of ever leaving, even *now* - then yeah, I’m gonna be a little cranky.”
“It is not entirely my decision,” the guy says, not unkindly. “The compact was made with my - predecessor. I cannot go back and undo what he did; and even if I could, I would not without a reason, for the deal was fairly made.”
”So, what, I’m stuck here?”
There’s a pause.
”You do not have to be,” the guy finally says. “I can release you from this contract, if you do so wish.”
“Good, great, okay.” Boone relaxes a little. He’s negotiating. This, he can still do, dead or not. “How?”
”I can unmake this skerry,” the guy says.
Boone blinks at him. Next to him, the girl looks troubled. And pale, but that’s no surprise.
”When you say ‘unmake’-“ Boone says slowly.
”Uncreate.”
“And everyone who’s still here-“
”There would be no island,” the guy says. “And I am not in a position to grant you a boon.” The guy almost - almost - smiles.
“So-“ Boone squints at him. “What, they’d be *dead*?”
No more John. No more Walt, and Jesus, he was just a kid. No more Claire, no more Claire’s baby. No more Jack.
No more Shannon.
”As are you,” the guy says. “But you would be free to leave this place, now, with my sister. They would be free of this place, too, when they died. There are those who would consider such a thing a blessing.”
”But they’d be dead,” Boone says, and if he’s dead how can his heart still be racing? “And that’s not - there are *kids* here!”
Both of them stare at him, utterly implacable.
“Could you - hold off on it, maybe?” Boone says. “Just wait until they’re all off safely or whatever?”
”I owe you no boon,” the guy says again, and this time he’s not smiling. “I am under no obligation to do you any kind of favor, let alone to do so at your whim.”
”But that’s - so, what, you’re just willing to let everyone *die*?”
”They do not matter to me,” the guy says. “Few lives do, as a matter of course. My sister would perhaps prefer you not choose this option, as it would create more work for her-“
”Oh, no,” the girl says, glaring at him. “Don’t go dragging me into all this. I don’t play favorites, little brother. You of all people should know that.” She gets to her feet and looks at Boone. “Boone, I can’t make this decision for you.”
Boone takes a deep breath. “Just give me a minute, okay?”
He’s never been great at spur-of-the-moment decisions, especially where his private life is concerned. Being stuck on a deserted island hasn’t made him any better at it.
“So here are my choices,” Boone says slowly. “One: I get *stuck* here, on this island, until it erodes into the ocean. Two: you get rid of the island, let everyone else here die, and let me move on to whatever comes after this. Those are my only choices, right?”
The guy nods. “Those are the choices before you, yes.”
Boone lets out a long breath. It was a number game, really. Forty-six lives verses his one life, and his was already gone.
“Fuck it,” he mutters, rubbing at his eyes. “Don’t get rid of the island. I’ll - I’ll just hang around here, I guess.” He tries to sound brave and negligent, like it’s no big deal, but it comes out a little teary. Goddammit. He hasn’t cried since - when *had* he cried last? He can’t remember.
”You don’t have to do this,” the girl says.
He looks at her. “I’d just be stuck here, right? No afterlife, hanging around, watching what happens but unable to do anything about it? Like a ghost?”
”Like a ghost,” she agrees. “And you’d be stuck here, like you said, until the island erodes. And I don’t know how much wedding planners know about plate tectonics, but that could be a while.”
”I’ve got it, okay?” Boone lets out another breath. “But I can’t do that to them. Maybe some of them deserve it-“ or don’t *not* deserve it, anyway, and here he thinks, again, of Sawyer “-but I can’t just let all those people die, you know?”
”I get the idea,” the girl says, and her smile is sketchy. But she stands up and brushes the butt of her pants off like she’s getting ready to go, and Boone’s seen Shannon and his mother do it enough times to know what it means: his company’s about to leave.
She must catch the look on his face, because suddenly she’s at his side, squeezing his shoulder - where it’s covered by his shirt, he notices, and knows it’s important even if he’s not sure why.
“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “If it makes you feel any better, you’ll see me again. Just - maybe not for a while. And I think what you’re doing here is really…noble, I guess.”
“It’s not noble,” Boone mutters, looking away from her eyes. She has Theresa’s eyes. Didn’t make them any easier to meet, even after all these years. “I just…I think I’d like to be less of a jerk in death than I was alive.”
”You weren’t a jerk, Boone,” the girl says. “Nobody is, not really. Everyone’s silly and wonderful and brave and smart and stupid, most of you more than one at a time. You were just a person.” She beams, and it was almost - almost - all worth it. “That’s the best part.”
She lets go of his shoulder, and for a second Boone looks away. When he looks back, she’s gone, as if she’d never been there.
Shit, maybe she hadn’t been. Can dead people hallucinate?
The guy’s still there, though. Still with the backpack over his shoulder, staring at him with bright green eyes.
Boone looks at him for a long moment. “What?”
”I owe you no favor, Boone Carlisle,” the guy says, and damned if he didn’t seem familiar, though Boone can’t think of where from. “But…I know something of what it means to be separated forever from those who love you.” He looks around. “And because to do otherwise would be to move in a direction other than forward. And there are those who would be greatly disappointed were this to be so.”
After a second, Boone admits, “I didn’t get a word of that.”
The guy waves a hand. “No matter. You cannot leave this island to cross over to whatever comes next until this island is gone; that part of the compact I cannot change. But I will grant you this: free roam in the Dreaming as far as it extends to this skerry. You cannot tell people back in the rest of the waking world where your friends and family are, nor contact those here directly; but you will be able to see into their dreams. Influence them, perhaps, over time. This is all I can do for you. I hope this is enough.”
”It’ll have to be,” Boone says, and shakes his head. “No, no, it’s - it’s fine. It’s better than I was expecting. Thank you.”
The guy tilts his head in that same almost-nod his sister has. “Good journey,” he says, and is gone, as suddenly as sharply as she was.
Boone lets out a long breath and looks around.
It’s weird. The island’s the same size it was yesterday, and the day before that, and the day before *that*. It just seems…smaller, somehow. But at least now he has plenty of time to explore it.
Parts of it are going to suck, sure. He’s not looking forward to being stuck here and not seeing his mother again, not being able to go back to his life back in Los Angeles, but he can deal with it. He has to. And if he can help the others out somehow… He has to try, anyway.
Boone settles down to wait. Maybe Sawyer will dream of reading something. It’s been too long since he’d read Watership Down, and he doesn’t quite remember how it ends.