Title: The Substance of Things Hoped For
Disclaimer: Don't own them; just borrowing.
Summary: She kisses him without thinking about it, because the falling and the pain and the nothing had all been so terrifying and alone.
Spoilers: Do No Harm, Abandoned
Notes: The prompt on this one was: Lost, Boone/Shannon, in the sky.
She's never believed in all that God and Satan and heaven and hell crap. She'd worn black to her father's funeral because that's what was expected of her, but she's never thought of him as anyplace other than just gone. Heaven and hell are for people who think they're better than her. She's pretty certain flying in the sky in a shapeless white nightgown and wings doesn't appeal to her all that much more than burning in an eternal fire.
There's a moment, though, when she's sitting with Boone. Sitting with Boone's body.
She strokes back his hair and she holds his hand and she pulls her blanket closer around her and she hopes. For something. For heaven, and even for hell, for anything that would mean that he isn't just gone.
And then – and this is much later, but time suddenly means exactly nothing – she's falling back and being caught by something, someone, and there's a sharp, hot pain in her belly and then there's nothing. And she has no time to wonder, let alone hope, about heaven and hell (and she'd never believed in all that nonsense, anyway).
When she sees him again, he's whole and he's beautiful and he's so familiar. And she kisses him without thinking about it, because the falling and the pain and the nothing had all been so terrifying and alone. Of course he kisses her back, because he's Boone and she's Shannon and they're them. He tangles his fingers in her hair, and the pain is forgotten and she's no longer alone.
Then later, when he fucks her against the wall in this unnamed place she's landed, she's not sure which this is: heaven or hell.
It's not like she believes in that crap, you know.