Sure (Rose, Shannon, PG)
Two for the price of one. I'm still catching up from earlier in the week. This would be the stories for Monday the 3rd and Tuesday the 4th.
Posted for posterity, good faith, etc. Doesn't quite work, I don't think. *shrugs* Oh, well. This is all exploratory, yes?
Title: Sure
Characters: Rose, Shannon
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1200
Note: The story switches back and forth with their POVs, and it covers a lot of time.
Sure
Rose thinks it's a crying shame a girl as pretty as that thinks that's all she's made of: blonde hair and legs, a sharp smile and a shiny shell of cynicism.
Probably, Rose tells herself, she's got her reasons. Not loved enough; loved too much for all the wrong reasons. Doesn't make the girl and her defense of helplessness and apathy a damn bit easier to take, though.
*
It's not that Shannon doesn't like the old black woman. It's that she can't be right in the head. Some of these people, the crash shook something loose in their sanity, and they might never get it back. Shannon thinks that woman is one of those.
Still, she envies her the crazy. At least she seems sure of something.
*
"Can I get you to help me for a second?" Rose says before the girl can look at her, cut her with her eyes.
"Huh?" the girl says, scrunching her face up. She shields her eyes from the sun with her hand. More curious than annoyed, maybe; not cutting, anyway.
"See that last corner of my tarp flapping in the breeze? Long as those legs of yours are, you could probably reach it."
The girl at least has the good grace not to voice it, the You want me to stop what I'm doing to go tie up your stupid tarp?
Her fingers are still holding the place in her magazine when she says, "You can't?"
"I can't," Rose replies.
Cautiously: "And you want my help?"
"Need it."
The girl's eyes narrow and widen again, and she takes her finger out of her magazine, but she doesn't say anything, just stares Rose down.
Rose isn't easily stared down, of course. Doesn't mean she doesn't feel it when she bumps into that shiny shell.
"What's your name?" Rose asks.
"Shannon."
"Nice to finally meet you, Shannon. I'm Rose. Do you like lemon Starburst?"
"What?"
"The candy. I have a package. Well, part of one. All that's left are the lemon ones, and I hate them. Like dish soap. You can have them if you want them. Whether you help me or not, of course."
"I was going to," Shannon says. She still hasn't moved.
"Well, come on, then."
Rose turns and ambles back toward her tent, and she doesn't let herself look back.
She's still not looking, but still waiting, when a voice says:
"I wouldn't want them for myself."
Shannon stands there with her hands on her hips as a matter of habit, not attitude. Of course it's just habit. Rose wonders how much her habits might change now. The island seems to be changing a lot of people.
Shannon adds, "My brother likes lemon."
"So does my husband."
Shannon opens her mouth to say something, but she obviously changes her mind mid-stream. Rose can see it in her eyes. She's seen it before--the pity.
But then it shifts again, to something that doesn't look patronizing in the slightest. Rose doesn't know what it is, only that it isn't what she expected.
Shannon says, "What's his name?"
"My husband? Bernard."
"You don't want to save them for Bernard?"
Rose smiles. "Man's a dentist. He doesn't like me keeping sweets around. And I imagine if he was here, he'd fall all over himself to let you have them."
Rose had meant to compliment her, but she sees instantly that it makes something in Shannon close up fast. Closes up, but she doesn't leave. That's good.
She just shifts from one foot to the other and sounds like a much younger girl, bored and annoyed and totally forgetting that good grace, when she says: "So, the tarp?"
Rose says, still smiling. "Here. Let me show you what I mean."
Shannon has to stand on her tiptoes, but she makes it work. Awkward, but then again, Bernard would've been too. Not a handy bone in his body. Still, Rose wishes he had been the one here to do it. As she hands over the remnants of candy, she wonders when he's finally going to come back to her.
*
So Boone is doing mysterious things in the jungle with John, leaving her a lot. This is what Boone does, though. He leaves her all alone.
Something in Shannon's chest squeezes. No, she thinks: not alone. He drifts as far from her as he dares, but it's somehow never all that far, even across a whole ocean.
He always comes back, if she snaps her fingers. Used to be, he didn't understand what was happening until it was over. She thinks she won't be able to hide that kind of thing from him anymore, not after Sydney.
She doesn't know whether she should even try to snap her fingers now. What would she do if he came running anyway?
*
If Rose had known what was happening, she would've gone and found the girl. As it is, it's too late. Her brother's gone, and she's even farther gone.
Rose looks in her eyes as Sayid leads her by the arm, away from the grave. She likes the man, sees the way he draws her out like the wary bird she is; but still, she hopes he doesn't do too much leading, that Shannon won't let him.
*
It's not a conscious decision; despite the subterfuge, it's not exactly a rational thing Shannon does. She just knows she needs to get a gun, and she needs to rid them all of John Locke.
There's something at the back of all that murderous rage that feels solid, seems crystal clear. It's a good feeling. Her resolve doesn't waver, even when her hand does.
When she begins seeing Walt in the jungle, she's not entirely surprised. She's only surprised it's not Boone. Him, she sees in her dreams, like he's never left. He's always spitting her own words back at her.
You've always been in love with me.
She's not sure it's true, only that she needs it to be, as much as she needs Sayid to believe her about those visions in the jungle.
She wishes she didn't. One day, maybe she won't. Then, she thinks, this will all be easier: when she's capable of...
When she's capable.
*
Rose's chest aches when she hears Shannon has been killed--aches, at least, as much as it can with her hand in her husband's again. No; maybe it aches more.
She tries to explain it to Bernard. Surely she can do that much. Doesn't seem enough, though. The sand just slips through her fingers over the girl's grave.
"They say she was a little crazy in the end," Rose says to him as they walk away. "But don't you believe it."
Bernard just smiles and squeezes her hand. "I won't. But how do you know? Did you even know the girl?"
"Enough," she says. She takes another couple of steps and says, "No. Not enough. But it is what it is."
Bernard just nods and helps her keep her balance as she leads them back to their shelter.
Posted for posterity, good faith, etc. Doesn't quite work, I don't think. *shrugs* Oh, well. This is all exploratory, yes?
Title: Sure
Characters: Rose, Shannon
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1200
Note: The story switches back and forth with their POVs, and it covers a lot of time.
Sure
Rose thinks it's a crying shame a girl as pretty as that thinks that's all she's made of: blonde hair and legs, a sharp smile and a shiny shell of cynicism.
Probably, Rose tells herself, she's got her reasons. Not loved enough; loved too much for all the wrong reasons. Doesn't make the girl and her defense of helplessness and apathy a damn bit easier to take, though.
*
It's not that Shannon doesn't like the old black woman. It's that she can't be right in the head. Some of these people, the crash shook something loose in their sanity, and they might never get it back. Shannon thinks that woman is one of those.
Still, she envies her the crazy. At least she seems sure of something.
*
"Can I get you to help me for a second?" Rose says before the girl can look at her, cut her with her eyes.
"Huh?" the girl says, scrunching her face up. She shields her eyes from the sun with her hand. More curious than annoyed, maybe; not cutting, anyway.
"See that last corner of my tarp flapping in the breeze? Long as those legs of yours are, you could probably reach it."
The girl at least has the good grace not to voice it, the You want me to stop what I'm doing to go tie up your stupid tarp?
Her fingers are still holding the place in her magazine when she says, "You can't?"
"I can't," Rose replies.
Cautiously: "And you want my help?"
"Need it."
The girl's eyes narrow and widen again, and she takes her finger out of her magazine, but she doesn't say anything, just stares Rose down.
Rose isn't easily stared down, of course. Doesn't mean she doesn't feel it when she bumps into that shiny shell.
"What's your name?" Rose asks.
"Shannon."
"Nice to finally meet you, Shannon. I'm Rose. Do you like lemon Starburst?"
"What?"
"The candy. I have a package. Well, part of one. All that's left are the lemon ones, and I hate them. Like dish soap. You can have them if you want them. Whether you help me or not, of course."
"I was going to," Shannon says. She still hasn't moved.
"Well, come on, then."
Rose turns and ambles back toward her tent, and she doesn't let herself look back.
She's still not looking, but still waiting, when a voice says:
"I wouldn't want them for myself."
Shannon stands there with her hands on her hips as a matter of habit, not attitude. Of course it's just habit. Rose wonders how much her habits might change now. The island seems to be changing a lot of people.
Shannon adds, "My brother likes lemon."
"So does my husband."
Shannon opens her mouth to say something, but she obviously changes her mind mid-stream. Rose can see it in her eyes. She's seen it before--the pity.
But then it shifts again, to something that doesn't look patronizing in the slightest. Rose doesn't know what it is, only that it isn't what she expected.
Shannon says, "What's his name?"
"My husband? Bernard."
"You don't want to save them for Bernard?"
Rose smiles. "Man's a dentist. He doesn't like me keeping sweets around. And I imagine if he was here, he'd fall all over himself to let you have them."
Rose had meant to compliment her, but she sees instantly that it makes something in Shannon close up fast. Closes up, but she doesn't leave. That's good.
She just shifts from one foot to the other and sounds like a much younger girl, bored and annoyed and totally forgetting that good grace, when she says: "So, the tarp?"
Rose says, still smiling. "Here. Let me show you what I mean."
Shannon has to stand on her tiptoes, but she makes it work. Awkward, but then again, Bernard would've been too. Not a handy bone in his body. Still, Rose wishes he had been the one here to do it. As she hands over the remnants of candy, she wonders when he's finally going to come back to her.
*
So Boone is doing mysterious things in the jungle with John, leaving her a lot. This is what Boone does, though. He leaves her all alone.
Something in Shannon's chest squeezes. No, she thinks: not alone. He drifts as far from her as he dares, but it's somehow never all that far, even across a whole ocean.
He always comes back, if she snaps her fingers. Used to be, he didn't understand what was happening until it was over. She thinks she won't be able to hide that kind of thing from him anymore, not after Sydney.
She doesn't know whether she should even try to snap her fingers now. What would she do if he came running anyway?
*
If Rose had known what was happening, she would've gone and found the girl. As it is, it's too late. Her brother's gone, and she's even farther gone.
Rose looks in her eyes as Sayid leads her by the arm, away from the grave. She likes the man, sees the way he draws her out like the wary bird she is; but still, she hopes he doesn't do too much leading, that Shannon won't let him.
*
It's not a conscious decision; despite the subterfuge, it's not exactly a rational thing Shannon does. She just knows she needs to get a gun, and she needs to rid them all of John Locke.
There's something at the back of all that murderous rage that feels solid, seems crystal clear. It's a good feeling. Her resolve doesn't waver, even when her hand does.
When she begins seeing Walt in the jungle, she's not entirely surprised. She's only surprised it's not Boone. Him, she sees in her dreams, like he's never left. He's always spitting her own words back at her.
You've always been in love with me.
She's not sure it's true, only that she needs it to be, as much as she needs Sayid to believe her about those visions in the jungle.
She wishes she didn't. One day, maybe she won't. Then, she thinks, this will all be easier: when she's capable of...
When she's capable.
*
Rose's chest aches when she hears Shannon has been killed--aches, at least, as much as it can with her hand in her husband's again. No; maybe it aches more.
She tries to explain it to Bernard. Surely she can do that much. Doesn't seem enough, though. The sand just slips through her fingers over the girl's grave.
"They say she was a little crazy in the end," Rose says to him as they walk away. "But don't you believe it."
Bernard just smiles and squeezes her hand. "I won't. But how do you know? Did you even know the girl?"
"Enough," she says. She takes another couple of steps and says, "No. Not enough. But it is what it is."
Bernard just nods and helps her keep her balance as she leads them back to their shelter.