Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with these fandoms. Neither is my toy box and I’m merely playing.
Warning: Spoilers up to the end of Lost S1. Canon char death, touches upon drug addiction.
A/N: Written for the August-Fic-a-Day Challenge.
Even without Sayid as a guide through the forest Oz was sure he’d have found the beach craft that had been Boone’s end. The smell of death lingered, both old and new. He stilled as the edge of the trees, allowing Sayid to walk ahead.
There were drugs too.
“Heroin?” he asked.
Sayid turned, nodded.
Oz’s tilted his head, almost smiled because Sayid was one of the few survivors that respected his quiet nature. Many of his fellow castaways tried to fill in the gaps that his silences brought.
“How did you know?” Sayid asked, “Isn’t this your first time out here?”
Oz shrugged. He couldn’t exactly say he smelled the drugs.
“It was said to be a drug runner’s plane,” Oz pointed out.
“But not what type of drug.”
Sayid’s look was still questioning.
“We should keep Charlie away from this,” Oz deflected as he moved closer to the plane, his eyebrow quirked at the statues.
“I’ve already shown it to Charlie.”
Oz frowned, “What exactly did you show him?”
“The plane, the statues and how the drugs were hidden,” Sayid answered as he took in Oz’s frown, “Why is this important?”
Oz ran his hands over the plane and turned to look at Sayid before he frowned at the plane, “Mystery island.”
“I’m not quite sure I understand.”
“Charlie is a recovering heroin addict,” Oz stated, then turned and amended, “A Catholic recovering heroin addict and now there’s this plane…”
“With temptation inside the Virgin Mary,” Sayid finished, then swore.
Oz’s lips quirked and then he froze. He sat at the opening of the plane and touched the spot where Boone had landed, where Boone had started his slow night towards death.
“What should we do?”
“Damage’s already done,” Oz pointed out, “His choice.”
“And what was Boone’s choice?”
“To follow Locke,” Oz answered simply, closing his eyes against the pain as the death seemed to suddenly linger strongly within his nose.
“Did you even give him a choice?” Sayid asked.
Oz considered his answer, the few pieces he could reveal. He tilted his head so he was looking up towards the other man, “I’m not safe.”
“Are any of us?”
“Here, no. Me, not as much as everyone assumes I am.” Oz answered.
“That much is obvious,” Sayid told him, “With you or following Locke should’ve been Boone’s choice. Oz, why did you have me bring you out here?”
“To say goodbye, to mourn.”
Sayid sat next to him, “That’s generally what the funeral is for.”
“I kissed him,” Oz admitted. He should’ve been stronger, shouldn’t have fallen, not when he didn’t know how long his precarious hold on his wolf would last…how long it would be before he lost control and Locke or one of the others would be forced to put him down.
“And he still followed Locke?”
“Then he was a fool.”
In truth he and Boone had shared more than one kiss.
“No need to placate,” Oz told him.
“I’d like to be alone.”
Sayid nodded, reassured the both of them that Oz could find his way back to the caves and then left. Oz waited till he could no longer hear him, no longer smell him. Oz held silently tense, waiting till he was sure that he was alone, and then he cried.