Fic: Disconnect (LOST)
Jun. 25th, 2006 06:04 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fandomfrom3[mood| 
tired]
[music| brokenheartsville - joe nichols]
Title: Disconnect
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
chicafrom3
Rating: PG. More for safety than anything else.
Fandom/Pairing(s): LOST: Michael/Shannon
Warnings: Erm. Offscreen casual sex?
Word Count: 1,534
Disclaimer: LOST belongs to JJ Abrams and other people who aren't me, because I am not clever enough to have come up with a phenomenon like LOST. Also, if I were clever enough, I would have a good deal more money and wouldn't be worried about being sued for borrowing other people's characters.
Summary: I feel as though you ought to know/That I've been good, as good as I can be. Three years after the crash survivors are rescued from the Island, Shannon Rutherford runs into a familiar face in New York.
A/N: Pretty sharply AU, as it ignores those very gigantic and pivotal events that happen to Michael and Shannon in season two. Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
two_of_us_fic, and to satisfy my own craving for this absolutely nonsensical crackpairing written in a serious way. It's a new, slightly experimental style for me, so feedback and concrit worshipped.
Love and accolades todramashark, who so graciously betaed this for me.
"Shannon? Shannon...Rutherford?"
The almost-empty coffeehouse suddenly felt small and crowded, and Shannon tensed before turning around. She didn't want to deal with press, not tonight. Three years and they still asked their stupid questions, three years and they still wouldn't let her move on.
Please don't let this be press. Or one of Sabrina's friends—dealing with someone connected to her stepmother would be at least as bad, tonight.
She turned.
And her jaw dropped. "Michael?"
"I thought that was you. Hi." He smiled at her, looking about as unsteady as she felt.
"Hi!" She lurched to her feet and hugged him, awkwardly. After a moment he started to hug her back, but she was already pulling away by then, and they got tangled up in each other for a minute. She flushed in embarrassment at her gracelessness and determinedly pressed ahead for a conversation, pulling him down to sit with her at the table. "How are you? How's Walt? What are you doing here?"
"Uh, I—I'm good. I'm doing okay. Walt's doing great, he's in school—I live in the area, thought I could use some coffee. What are you doing here? Don't you live in LA?" Michael frowned. "With your...your mother? Was that it?"
"Stepmother, but yeah." She took refuge in her latté, so she wouldn't have to look at him. "I, uh, I moved out. I got accepted to NYU, so...here I am!"
"You're going to NYU?"
He looked surprised, and she felt disappointed but forced herself to smirk. "I know, Shannon the lazy blonde at college, what a ridiculous idea, right?"
"No! I mean...Shannon, that's great!"
She bit her lip and managed a smile.
"What's your major?" he asked, and sounded interested.
"French. With a minor in dance." She needed to change the subject. "Have you heard from anybody? I hear from Claire every so often, but I'm really out of the loop—"
They drank their coffee and traded the bits of gossip they'd each managed to pick up. Michael hadn't heard about Charlie proposing to Claire ("Took him long enough," he said), and Shannon hadn't heard that Sawyer had had yet another stint in jail ("Doesn't surprise me, though," she put in), and when she looked at her watch she realized she was in danger of missing her bus.
Michael stood up when she did, and offered to walk her to the bus stop, tugging on his jacket as if he fully intended not to take "no" for an answer. She let him walk with her and felt better.
He tried to make small talk. She tried to respond. It didn't work very well. Their lives were too different, now; they didn't touch at any points. Hell, their lives had barely even touched when they were still stranded on the Island together. Michael buried his hands in his pockets and stopped talking after a few minutes.
She didn't know why, but when they stopped at a crosswalk and Michael turned to look at her, Shannon leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips.
It took him several seconds to respond.
It wasn't the best kiss she'd ever had. Not even close. It was awkward and uncomfortable and they bumped noses and he tried to pull his hands out of his pockets but got tangled up in fabric and when she put her own hands on his shoulders her shawl slid down to the concrete sidewalk. But it was a kiss, and it was contact, and they both needed it.
They both needed to connect with someone who'd been through the same things.
The light changed and Michael broke the kiss.
She said, all in a rush, needing to explain herself, "I haven't seen Sayid since we all split up after the rescue. And I haven't been serious about anyone since then, either. I just kept thinking that one day I'd see him again. And that I'd be able to tell him that I've been good, as good as I can be. I don't know why I just told you that but I feel like you ought to know."
When she paused, he didn't say anything, and neither did she, but he took her hand and walked closer to her.
They reached the bus stop and saw Shannon's bus heading down the road. It was gone.
She groaned out loud. "Oh, that's fantastic. That's just perfect!"
"I can give you a ride," he told her. "I'm one of the only people in New York City who finds it necessary to own a car."
She hugged him impulsively and said, "My hero," and suddenly everything was uncomfortable between them again.
She pulled back and busied herself with rearranging her shawl; he buried his hands in his pockets again; and they resumed walking.
"You should come by sometime," he said suddenly, breaking the awkward silence. But it was still awkward, and he pressed on: "Walt'll want to see you. He's all grown up now, y'know, and I missed so much of it—I just—he'll want to see you. He always liked you..."
"I liked him, too. I'd like to see him. He's a good kid."
"He's a great kid." Michael cleared his throat uncomfortably and wouldn't meet her eyes.
Shannon thought about that inept kiss that was just so many levels of wrong, and said, "I don't have any classes tomorrow."
"Yeah?"
"And I've been living in the dorms because I never really had that whole college experience. I mean, I got married when I was eighteen—"
"Wait, you were married?"
"—and I spent most of my time after that living with one guy or another so after I got accepted to NYU I figured, hey, why not go the whole way. But my roommate is kind of obnoxious and—" She stopped.
"And?" he prompted, still looking bemused by the "married" revelation.
"And could I maybe stay at your place tonight or something?"
His mouth worked for a moment without any sound coming out and she regretted having said anything.
Then he pulled one hand out of his pocket and reached out to grab hers. "I'd like that."
"Really?" Her voice squeaked on the word.
"Yeah." He grinned at her. "Walt's staying with a friend tonight, so, uh—"
"So!" She squeezed his hand and edged over until she was walking hip to hip with him. He laughed, a mixture of relief and disbelief, and let go of her hand in order to throw his arm around her shoulders.
Shannon wondered what the people they passed must think of them. Probably not "practically strangers who still managed to understand each other better than most people would be able to". Or "plane crash survivors desperate for someone to hang on to". And in a way, it felt good.
She left in the morning before he woke up. Quietly, expertly, extracted herself from the sheets without disturbing him. She called for a cab and while waiting for it to show up found a few scraps of paper and a pen.
She left a note for Walt in his room. Told him she'd missed him, that she hoped he was doing good, and that if he ever wanted to call her she'd be thrilled to hear for him, and signed it with her name and her cell number.
For Michael, she just wrote I'm sorry in big letters and stuck it on his fridge with a magnet shaped like a bell.
The cab arrived and she was gone before he started stirring.
She thought about sitting on an idyllic beach with Sayid and watching Michael play with Walt and Vincent, Boone's grave out of sight (and out of mind), and hated herself a little more.
But she couldn't make herself stay.
"Please don't hate me," she whispered, and left Oceanic Flight 815 behind her once again.
Hurley organized a reunion and Shannon allowed herself to be persuaded to show up.
Claire hugged her and let her hold Aaron, which made her feel way too old. Aaron was walking and talking (complete sentences and everything) and a genuine kid now, and he didn't really remember who she was, and she remembered holding him when he was still a newborn.
Jack looked sheepish when he saw her. Kissed her on the cheek and muttered something about "It's been too long" and "You look like you've been doing good" and something about Boone that she tuned out.
Sayid was there. With a woman. He called her Nadia and looked at Shannon apologetically and she forced a smile and said she was happy for them, and it's good to see you again, and keep in touch, okay, and oh, is that Sun over there, I should go talk to her, I haven't seen her in forever –
Eventually she withdrew and just watched everyone mingling around, clumsy and trying to get reacquainted with virtual strangers who had once been family.
Then Michael walked up, and put his hand in hers, and when she looked at him he said, "I feel as though you ought to know that I've been good, as good as I can be."
Shannon looked at him, and then looked past him and saw Walt, too tall and too grown up, sitting on a table and talking to Charlie, and for the first time really let go of the island.
She squeezed Michael's hand and leaned over to press a feather-light kiss on his lips.
tired][music| brokenheartsville - joe nichols]
Title: Disconnect
Author:
chicafrom3Rating: PG. More for safety than anything else.
Fandom/Pairing(s): LOST: Michael/Shannon
Warnings: Erm. Offscreen casual sex?
Word Count: 1,534
Disclaimer: LOST belongs to JJ Abrams and other people who aren't me, because I am not clever enough to have come up with a phenomenon like LOST. Also, if I were clever enough, I would have a good deal more money and wouldn't be worried about being sued for borrowing other people's characters.
Summary: I feel as though you ought to know/That I've been good, as good as I can be. Three years after the crash survivors are rescued from the Island, Shannon Rutherford runs into a familiar face in New York.
A/N: Pretty sharply AU, as it ignores those very gigantic and pivotal events that happen to Michael and Shannon in season two. Written for
two_of_us_fic, and to satisfy my own craving for this absolutely nonsensical crackpairing written in a serious way. It's a new, slightly experimental style for me, so feedback and concrit worshipped.Love and accolades to
dramashark, who so graciously betaed this for me."Shannon? Shannon...Rutherford?"
The almost-empty coffeehouse suddenly felt small and crowded, and Shannon tensed before turning around. She didn't want to deal with press, not tonight. Three years and they still asked their stupid questions, three years and they still wouldn't let her move on.
Please don't let this be press. Or one of Sabrina's friends—dealing with someone connected to her stepmother would be at least as bad, tonight.
She turned.
And her jaw dropped. "Michael?"
"I thought that was you. Hi." He smiled at her, looking about as unsteady as she felt.
"Hi!" She lurched to her feet and hugged him, awkwardly. After a moment he started to hug her back, but she was already pulling away by then, and they got tangled up in each other for a minute. She flushed in embarrassment at her gracelessness and determinedly pressed ahead for a conversation, pulling him down to sit with her at the table. "How are you? How's Walt? What are you doing here?"
"Uh, I—I'm good. I'm doing okay. Walt's doing great, he's in school—I live in the area, thought I could use some coffee. What are you doing here? Don't you live in LA?" Michael frowned. "With your...your mother? Was that it?"
"Stepmother, but yeah." She took refuge in her latté, so she wouldn't have to look at him. "I, uh, I moved out. I got accepted to NYU, so...here I am!"
"You're going to NYU?"
He looked surprised, and she felt disappointed but forced herself to smirk. "I know, Shannon the lazy blonde at college, what a ridiculous idea, right?"
"No! I mean...Shannon, that's great!"
She bit her lip and managed a smile.
"What's your major?" he asked, and sounded interested.
"French. With a minor in dance." She needed to change the subject. "Have you heard from anybody? I hear from Claire every so often, but I'm really out of the loop—"
They drank their coffee and traded the bits of gossip they'd each managed to pick up. Michael hadn't heard about Charlie proposing to Claire ("Took him long enough," he said), and Shannon hadn't heard that Sawyer had had yet another stint in jail ("Doesn't surprise me, though," she put in), and when she looked at her watch she realized she was in danger of missing her bus.
Michael stood up when she did, and offered to walk her to the bus stop, tugging on his jacket as if he fully intended not to take "no" for an answer. She let him walk with her and felt better.
He tried to make small talk. She tried to respond. It didn't work very well. Their lives were too different, now; they didn't touch at any points. Hell, their lives had barely even touched when they were still stranded on the Island together. Michael buried his hands in his pockets and stopped talking after a few minutes.
She didn't know why, but when they stopped at a crosswalk and Michael turned to look at her, Shannon leaned over and pressed a kiss to his lips.
It took him several seconds to respond.
It wasn't the best kiss she'd ever had. Not even close. It was awkward and uncomfortable and they bumped noses and he tried to pull his hands out of his pockets but got tangled up in fabric and when she put her own hands on his shoulders her shawl slid down to the concrete sidewalk. But it was a kiss, and it was contact, and they both needed it.
They both needed to connect with someone who'd been through the same things.
The light changed and Michael broke the kiss.
She said, all in a rush, needing to explain herself, "I haven't seen Sayid since we all split up after the rescue. And I haven't been serious about anyone since then, either. I just kept thinking that one day I'd see him again. And that I'd be able to tell him that I've been good, as good as I can be. I don't know why I just told you that but I feel like you ought to know."
When she paused, he didn't say anything, and neither did she, but he took her hand and walked closer to her.
They reached the bus stop and saw Shannon's bus heading down the road. It was gone.
She groaned out loud. "Oh, that's fantastic. That's just perfect!"
"I can give you a ride," he told her. "I'm one of the only people in New York City who finds it necessary to own a car."
She hugged him impulsively and said, "My hero," and suddenly everything was uncomfortable between them again.
She pulled back and busied herself with rearranging her shawl; he buried his hands in his pockets again; and they resumed walking.
"You should come by sometime," he said suddenly, breaking the awkward silence. But it was still awkward, and he pressed on: "Walt'll want to see you. He's all grown up now, y'know, and I missed so much of it—I just—he'll want to see you. He always liked you..."
"I liked him, too. I'd like to see him. He's a good kid."
"He's a great kid." Michael cleared his throat uncomfortably and wouldn't meet her eyes.
Shannon thought about that inept kiss that was just so many levels of wrong, and said, "I don't have any classes tomorrow."
"Yeah?"
"And I've been living in the dorms because I never really had that whole college experience. I mean, I got married when I was eighteen—"
"Wait, you were married?"
"—and I spent most of my time after that living with one guy or another so after I got accepted to NYU I figured, hey, why not go the whole way. But my roommate is kind of obnoxious and—" She stopped.
"And?" he prompted, still looking bemused by the "married" revelation.
"And could I maybe stay at your place tonight or something?"
His mouth worked for a moment without any sound coming out and she regretted having said anything.
Then he pulled one hand out of his pocket and reached out to grab hers. "I'd like that."
"Really?" Her voice squeaked on the word.
"Yeah." He grinned at her. "Walt's staying with a friend tonight, so, uh—"
"So!" She squeezed his hand and edged over until she was walking hip to hip with him. He laughed, a mixture of relief and disbelief, and let go of her hand in order to throw his arm around her shoulders.
Shannon wondered what the people they passed must think of them. Probably not "practically strangers who still managed to understand each other better than most people would be able to". Or "plane crash survivors desperate for someone to hang on to". And in a way, it felt good.
She left in the morning before he woke up. Quietly, expertly, extracted herself from the sheets without disturbing him. She called for a cab and while waiting for it to show up found a few scraps of paper and a pen.
She left a note for Walt in his room. Told him she'd missed him, that she hoped he was doing good, and that if he ever wanted to call her she'd be thrilled to hear for him, and signed it with her name and her cell number.
For Michael, she just wrote I'm sorry in big letters and stuck it on his fridge with a magnet shaped like a bell.
The cab arrived and she was gone before he started stirring.
She thought about sitting on an idyllic beach with Sayid and watching Michael play with Walt and Vincent, Boone's grave out of sight (and out of mind), and hated herself a little more.
But she couldn't make herself stay.
"Please don't hate me," she whispered, and left Oceanic Flight 815 behind her once again.
Hurley organized a reunion and Shannon allowed herself to be persuaded to show up.
Claire hugged her and let her hold Aaron, which made her feel way too old. Aaron was walking and talking (complete sentences and everything) and a genuine kid now, and he didn't really remember who she was, and she remembered holding him when he was still a newborn.
Jack looked sheepish when he saw her. Kissed her on the cheek and muttered something about "It's been too long" and "You look like you've been doing good" and something about Boone that she tuned out.
Sayid was there. With a woman. He called her Nadia and looked at Shannon apologetically and she forced a smile and said she was happy for them, and it's good to see you again, and keep in touch, okay, and oh, is that Sun over there, I should go talk to her, I haven't seen her in forever –
Eventually she withdrew and just watched everyone mingling around, clumsy and trying to get reacquainted with virtual strangers who had once been family.
Then Michael walked up, and put his hand in hers, and when she looked at him he said, "I feel as though you ought to know that I've been good, as good as I can be."
Shannon looked at him, and then looked past him and saw Walt, too tall and too grown up, sitting on a table and talking to Charlie, and for the first time really let go of the island.
She squeezed Michael's hand and leaned over to press a feather-light kiss on his lips.
