I think my muse had a hard time finishing the story I posted yesterday because she hasn't been feeling schmoopy lately, instead wanting me to write stuff that's sad or angry or whatnot. I blame the weather - where exactly is the sun? Anyway, here's something:

Title: In Memoriam
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1,100
Warnings: Spoilers for S1 and 2
Summary: Character reflections on those who died.

+++

Pulling out the picture of them together in his billfold, Shannon couldn't help but think how appropriate it was, her image tucked away between him and the stack of checks.

Boone's death was her fault, she thought. Not in the sense that he wanted to be helpful because she had been helpless or her time with Sayid had driven him to want to leave camp everyday, but in the sense of who she had been, that Boone had been on the plane at all because of her.

After her father died, Sabrina wouldn't give Shannon the money that was rightfully hers. She hadn't believed in Shannon, and then she thought Boone didn't believe in her, either, when he tried to give her money. If she had just taken it then, Shannon realized, Boone would still be alive. Shannon could remember the silent pleas in his eyes as he held out the envelope, wanting her to take it, and it had been almost like he knew. Like he knew that her refusal would seal their fates.

Everyone wanted her to know how sorry they were for what happened, and she absorbed the words, half-hearing, Shannon feeling the sorriest of them all.

After her father died, Boone had been the only one left who truly loved her. Shannon's mother was long-gone, and Sabrina had never cared for her more than she needed to. Boone never stopped believing that she could do better, trying to save her, save both of them, with the money she'd refused to take. He was the last one to have faith in her, and now, looking at the photograph, Shannon had nothing left.

+

Crushing her body against his chest as he fought back the sad agony, focusing all his anger and hatred on the woman holding the gun, Sayid felt the suppressed side of him, the torturer, flare to life.

Shannon's death had been unnecessary, caused by a moment of carelessness and quick assumptions. He didn't blame the woman so much as he blamed those that she had thought Shannon was. The Others, Danielle had called them, but Sayid was determined to learn their real names, see their real faces.

After the war, Sayid had to retrain himself to figure out who the enemy was. He had been loyal to people that he saw as his brothers, only to see the crimes that his brothers had caused to save their land. It was the same on the island, but here they couldn't fight each other when all their pains and sufferings were the fault of those who whispered in the trees, who had prophesized Shannon's death moments before the gunshot rang out.

Sayid brushed Shannon’s hair out of her eyes, wet with the rain and it looked like her own death had caused her to cry.

After the war, Sayid learned how to be a civilian, but the soldier never died. He realized as much when he hurt Sawyer, pressing bamboo under his fingernails, pressing him to talk. Sayid felt guilty for what he did to Sawyer, as the other man had been innocent, despite the other sins most likely committed. But these people, these Others, they took someone from him, and their pain was one he felt glad to afflict to atone for what they had done.

+

Walking into the hatch, stepping through to the living room, Jack felt surprised upon seeing Ana Lucia, slumped on the couch, a red hole marring an image that otherwise would have looked like she was sleeping.

Ana's death didn't surprise him so much as his reaction to it - the complete and utter sense of failure, the fact that he couldn't have prevented it, and the relief that her death had been quick. They had met before getting on the plane, so Jack thought it would have hurt more, but it just didn't.

Before the plane crashed, Jack hadn't been regarded by his fellow passengers as the hero, the leader, the doctor who would save the day and always had a plan. Ana had known that Jack, not the one the rest of them wanted him to be, and she didn't treat him like Kate or Hurley or Sun did. To Ana Lucia, he had just been a man, a man that happened to be a doctor, but there were no further expectations of character.

They didn't need a man, though. Plenty of men had survived the plane crash, and as much as Jack hated it, someone did need to tell them what to do, try to make life as normal as possible until rescue came, and no one else had stepped up.

Before the plane crashed, Ana had sat next to him in the airport bar, drinking a tequila and tonic as she listened to Jack talk about how his dad had died. Jack couldn’t help but think about how wrong Ana had been when she had told him the worst part was over.

+

Watching Jack slip the needle in her arm, Hurley let the tears come as Libby breathed her last breath before dying. He held her hand, not paying Jack attention as he rubbed his shoulder, leaving the room, leaving Hurley alone.

Libby's death seemed like too much to bear, the last straw that broke his spirit. They hadn't known each other for very long, but Libby was kind and beautiful, seeing more to Hurley than his often-mocked size and appetite or his tendency to make light of a situation.

Before the island, people knew Hurley in either one of two ways: his time hospitalized or as the lottery winner, treating him like something fragile that they all wanted a piece of. Here no one knew any of that, and Hurley's life, even in this strange place, had seemed almost normal for a while. He had friends and people liked him and he was losing weight, but above it all, a hot blonde with nice eyes and an easy smile was paying attention to him.

Sure she seemed a little crazy sometimes and Hurley could have sworn that he knew her from somewhere before, but none of that really mattered.

Before the island, Libby would have been too good to be true, and even on the island she still was, but Hurley also believed in curses, believing that he had been teased with something good to result in the pain he now felt. No one had believed in him, but, holding Libby's hand, no longer able to feel the blood flowing under her skin, Hurley knew the curse was real and that he was still being punished.