Shannon hated sand.

Before, she once enjoyed walking along the sandy beaches of California, feeling the soft substance warm between her toes. But now it was everywhere. In her clothes, in her hair, in her...everything. It clung to her legs, it clung to her face. Sometimes she woke up with sand in her eyes.

If they ever got off the god forsaken island, she swore she would never see a beach again. Never ever.

But even that was becoming a distant hope. Although Shannon remained on the beach with the rest of the optimists, her thoughts of being rescued were dwindling fast. Surviving, for that matter. There were other people on the island, and they wanted the survivors gone. They had taken Claire and Charlie. She barely saw Boone anymore. Not since he and Locke ventured into the jungle days ago. Jack and Kate had returned mostly unscathed, with Charlie no less. Even though Boone came back to the caves late at night, he left earlier in the morning and she never saw him for more than a few hours each day. It was like the others had spun him up in their web of mystery. Boone was already gone. She wouldn't let it show, but she was genuinely worried about her brother.

Shannon was on the brink of accepting her fate on the island. She heard the others talk about how the rescue boats weren't coming. She heard the monster in the jungle. She heard the transmission from the French lady who had been stranded, like them, for sixteen years. Her words haunted her nightmares each night.

It killed them, it killed them all

But then Sayid had returned from his week-long journey around the island. He brought news of others on the island; of the French lady that they were sure was long dead.

Shannon didn't know Sayid very well. Other than their trek up the mountain, she hadn't spent much time with the man. Despite her lack of knowledge, she could imagine what he was going through. Meeting with the French lady must've been terribly awkward. A woman plucked from society, left to her own devices on an island inhabited with polar bears and mechanical monsters for sixteen years. Shannon could imagine how crazy she would have been. His stories of his venture into the jungle of mystery would be fantastic, but she didn't care enough to ask.

Shannon had accepted that she was useless, Boone told her that everyday. It was an easy persona to keep up with. Lay on the sandy shores all day, look good, get other people to do her work for her. Shannon was used to being spoiled. So imagine her surprise when Sayid came up to her one day, asking for help.

She didn't lie when she told him her French sucked. Her boyfriend in France spoke fluent English, so other than a few romantic words whispered in her ear, what she heard on the streets, and that damn movie, she didn't know much else. But she needed something to keep her mind off of her brother and the island. Shannon could try the helpful act for awhile.

Sayid was different than she first thought. She figured he was just some extremely smart, older, darker man who wanted nothing to do with her. She tried her best with the French notations beside the map, she really did. She learned that Sayid was easily frustrated, but she guessed everyone was a little on edge. Sayid was just like everyone else; he wanted nothing to do with the well-tanned spoiled brat. She didn't deserve a chance.

After Shannon had confessed where she heard what she read on the maps before, she didn't expect to hear from Sayid again. He didn't need anymore help with the maps, the French was cleared up and it was up to him to decipher the equations that accompanied them.

So when she spotted him and his dark curls moving up the beach towards where she lounged on some luggage and a towel, she was confused as to what he wanted. In his hands, he held a box. It was burnt in spots, obviously rescued from the fuselage. He sat down beside her.

"I brought you something," he told her. A smile played on his dark lips, amused at her curiosity. He passed her the box, "Open it."

Tearing her eyes away from his, she looked down at the box in her hands. She carefully pulled off the lid and placed it beside her. Inside was what looked to be shoes. High heels, to be exact. They looked expensive.

"What's this for?" she turned the shoe over in her hand, reading the label on the bottom. 'L'amour,' it read. She recognized it. It was a French brand name, meant only for people of high class. She remembered seeing them atop a silver pedestal in a window while she was shopping in Paris.

"It is a thank you," he explained, "For helping me with the French lady's notes."

"I can't wear these," she said, "Not here." The shoes were much too fancy to waste on the jungle floor or get filled with sand. These were meant to be shown off, worn with a flowing gown and sparkling jewelry, both of which Shannon was without on the island.

Sayid nodded, "It's for when we get off the island,"

Shannon smiled. Placed the shoes carefully back in the box. She would remember to hide them in her luggage later. Sand wouldn't get to these babies.

"Thank you," she said, "Really, thank you."

Sayid looked away meekly, "A beautiful girl deserves beautiful things. Even on this damned island," he stood, "I shall see you later," and with that he turned and walked back down the shore, waves crashing at his feet.

Shannon lay back down on her makeshift easy chair and stared out to sea. Maybe now she wouldn't have to play the part of the brat. The Optimist was looking much better now. The Helpful Optimist. Hopeful.

Shannon could be hopeful. Sayid could help.