I have received a few requests about writing another Lost fic... and truthfully, I really couldn't resist trying Sayid/Shannon, no matter how depressing it could get. I'm not saddened by this because I'm used to writing incredibly dismal things, but you may need tissues.

I don't own Lost, but I worship whoever created it. Praise is nice but unnecessary; criticise if you feel you must. All flames will burn Ethan's corpse.

Truly Lost

Sayid clutches the ivory and peach-coloured seashell necklace in his fist, the only remnant of her he has left. The tears streaming down his tan, aged face are as salty as the ocean not far from where he stands on the old grave, and the memories run fresh in his mind. Though it was more than fifty years ago, Sayid cannot forget, and he knows that he never will.

The twilight-stained clouds paint the evening sky with exotic shades of pink and orange, and Sayid shivers. It was on an evening like this his life changed. Sayid lowers his eyes to the mossy stone near his bare feet. Shannon Rutherford, it reads, aged twenty-one, d. 23 November 2006...

---

Sayid had never expected to fall in love after all he went through with Nadia. And it surprised him that he had fallen for Shannon, who had been his exact opposite. She was witty, spirited, and young, but he loved her nonetheless. He was certain that eventually she felt the same.

She was taken from him in an instant, when he never though she could be. On the day before her death, Shannon had been as lively and sarcastic as ever, and Sayid had no reason to fear. Simply knowing that Shannon slept in his arms with their young daughter by their side was enough to keep him satisfied, and enough to prevent him from wandering too far from them.

One morning Shannon woke up with a fever and terrible nausea. Sayid didn't think much of it at first, and he blamed it on Michael's disgusting dinner from the night before. Only when Shannon struggled to walk and began to lose all of her strength, he called for Jack. But even Jack could do nothing to help her.

By the evening, Shannon could barely breathe, and Sayid knew then that their parting would be inevitable. But he would not leave her side. And so he sat there, bouncing little Emilie on his knee as Shannon coughed up rivers of her own crimson blood. The fear in her azure eyes was something he had never seen, but the only thing he could do for her was to hold her hand and try to console her.

"Sayid," she had whispered, sighing and closing her eyes. "Thank you... thank you for everything. You renewed me, and I thank you."

"You do not have to thank me," he answered, but he looked down and realised that she had not heard him. She had died, and so had a part of him.

He buried her under a palm tree near the beach, under the very one where she helped him translate Danielle's notes, the very spot where they made love, where their lives became entwined. Sayid knew Shannon would have loved it; a glorious, warm morning under the sunrise, with everyone gathered around to remember.

They were rescued an hour after the funeral.

Sayid tried as hard as he could to rebuild his life. He moved to England and got a job at a communications company in Cobham, and in his spare time he wrote a memoir about his experiences on the island. Emilie grew up well, and Sayid did his best to conceal everything about Shannon from her.

"Daddy," she would ask. "Where did my mummy go?"

"Emilie, I'm not ready to talk about that," he always answered.

And he never had been.

---

The pilot and Emilie call for him from the beach, but Sayid does not answer. Instead, he gazes at the ground, blinded by his tears.

After a few more minutes, he turns to them and nods, and they board the helicopter and wait. Sayid lets the tears fall down his worn, weary face as he kneels and kisses the ground. " Shannon," he whispers. "Thank you... thank you for everything."

He slowly rises, but no, he cannot leave yet, not when his heart is tied to the island and the ones buried on it. His love, buried on the island where his dreams were destroyed and rebuilt, would be a part of it forever, and this parting would be as bitter as the one he had endured fifty years ago.

Sayid drops the necklace and goes, shuffling his feet almost as if he does not wish to leave. He boards the plane and watches as the island that he had once called home vanishes into the darkening horizon for the last time.

Though he is going home, he will always be truly lost.