Lost Fiction, "Gone" (Charlie)
Nov. 26th, 2004 12:05 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ciirceeSo tired. Worked a thirteen-hour shift on Thanksgiving. *wants to be asleep* Then, when I finally find the fortitude to go on-line, I find a challenge. A Charlie/Claire challenge. I am the worlds biggest Challenge Wh0re. Damnit!
Un-beta'd. Written in forty-five minutes. Possibly I will play around and 'remix' this fic at a later date. There was stuff I wanted to explore, but would have changed it too much to meet the challenge. I think. *can't think*
Disclaimer: Dudes, if I owned Lost or was, in any way, affiliated with the money-making skills of said show, I would NOT be writing fanfiction.
Dedication: To![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
literarylemming for issuing the Charlie/Claire tearjerker challenge, which you can be found here: http://www.livejournal.com/community/charlie_claire/60827.html?view=475803#t475803
Warning: Well, character death.
Gone
“No!” Charlie shouted. He whirled on Jack, so violent in his fury that the others in the room, the strangers, backed away. “You tell them this is not on. It's not on!”
Jack put his hands on Charlie’s shoulders. “They tried, Charlie.”
Charlie threw him off. “No! No they didn’t! They aren’t! They don’t know her, Jack, they don’t love her.” His eyes were frantic, like a hunted animal’s might be when it finds itself cornered. “You go to her,” he said suddenly, hope kindling as a dangerous, fevered fire in his eyes. “They…there are tools here, yeah? Medicine?”
“It’s too late. It’s just too late,” Jack said sadly, going to him again and once more taking hold. “I’m sorry, Charlie.”
But Charlie was shaking his head, words tumbling out of his mouth so fast that it was doubtful he even knew what he was saying. “That’s what you said you needed. Fresh medicine and tools. They have it. You do it, Jack. You.”
“Charlie…”
“Save her, Jack!” Charlie screamed, stopping the muted babble of voices drifting in from the corridor outside the room.
“Dude,” Hurley said quietly, moving from the corner of the room he’d been sitting in, trying not to cry in. “He almost killed himself trying.” He shifted Jack to the side and wrapped his arms around Charlie and held him, unashamedly tender. “And he’d have done that, too, if he thought it would have worked.”
“No.” Charlie’s shoulders were shaking. He shoved Hurly away. “No! She doesn’t die! We don’t get rescued so that she can die. She isn’t dead! She isn’t, isn’t, isn’t!” He turned in a circle, frenzied and searching. There were tearful faces and an echoing sadness. “Don’t you cry,” he warned them all, his voice high and desperate.
“Charlie?” Sayid’s voice was calm, deep, and unexpected. The door clicked open just a second later. “See, there he is,” he said quietly to the child in his arms. He looked up and met Charlie’s eyes steadily. “I’m sorry. He wanted to find you.”
The tiny face staring back at him did the one thing nothing else could have: it made him reign in his emotions and hold them in check. “Jeremy,” he said, reaching out for his son. “I thought Sayid was showing you the telly.”
His son clung to him, wrapping his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck. “Uh-huh,” he said agreeably, smiling a dear, familiar, sunny smile. “But then I wanted you and Mommy. Where’s Mommy?”
“Charlie, man,” Michael spoke up suddenly, before Charlie could answer the question. “Remember what you asked me the morning he was born? What I told you that you should never, ever do to your kid?”
Eyes closing, Charlie nodded. When he opened them a moment later they were wet. “Do you remember why we brought Mummy here, Jeremy?”
“She was sick and Uncle Jack couldn’t make her better,” Jeremy answered instantly. He patted his father’s face, rubbing at the smooth cheek. “Your beard is all gone. Why’s your beard gone?”
“I fancied a shave,” Charlie laughed, a real laugh for all the pain that laced it. “But you’re right. Jack couldn’t make Mummy better. And the doctors here tried and tried and tried, but they couldn’t make her better either and she died.”
“Oh. Like Walt’s mommy died?”
It was heartbreaking that so small a child understood death so well. But he’d lived six years on an island where death was a clear and present guest. The doctors and nurses, the hospital psychologist, all looked on and pitied without understanding. They were the type of people who would say things such as 'I never knew tropical rain could be cold' and mean it.
“Yes, like Walt’s mum.”
Charlie patted his son’s back, soothing them both though his son’s face was stoic. After a long moment Jeremy nodded. “Oh. Can we go home now?”
Home was the island. “I don’t think I can live there without your Mummy, Jeremy. Would you mind living here for a little while?”
“Here?” Jeremy looked skeptically around the packed little room.
Kate laughed first, the others joining in at Jeremy’s affronted look. “No, honey,” Kate said, holding onto her smile as Charlie buried his face briefly against his son’s neck. “Not here in the hospital. A house, maybe, with a garden and…and a swing set. That would be nice, wouldn't it?”
“Maybe we’ll stay with your Uncle Liam,” Charlie said quietly. “You haven’t met him, but he lives here with your Aunt Karen and your cousin, Megan.”
“Hmmm.” Jeremy stroked his father’s cheek. “I don’t know. I like it at home.”
“That’s because you haven’t had any ice cream. Or cake. Or fizzie drinks. There are lots of goodies here that we didn’t have at home.”
“Like peanut butter? Mommy said if we ever got rescued—what’s that mean, rescued?—then I could have peanut butter every, every, every day!”
“Yes, yes they have that here. And yes, you may have some. Mummy promised you, after all. Sayid,” he turned, shifting his body to offer out the boy clinging to him. “Will you take Jeremy to the cafeteria for some peanut butter?” His voice cracked hopelessly on the last word.
“Of course,” Sayid was already wrapping the child in his strong embrace, bouncing him to make him giggle, another sound that was familiar for too many reasons, his face a mask of reassurance and strength with sad, sad eyes. “Come, Jeremy, I will let you practice your reading and map skills. You will lead us to the cafeteria.”
“Me too, man,” Hurley said, obviously working hard to keep his composure. He plucked Jeremy away from Sayid and set him on the floor. “Let the man walk, dude,” he said, stepping into the hallway. “And you've got to spell stuff. How often has he seen the word ‘cafeteria’ on the island? It goes like this: c-a-f…” the door closed behind them.
The survivors, the castaways, the family-by-force, surrounded Charlie as he cried, giving him all of their love that they could and knowing that it would never equal the one that he’d lost.
Un-beta'd. Written in forty-five minutes. Possibly I will play around and 'remix' this fic at a later date. There was stuff I wanted to explore, but would have changed it too much to meet the challenge. I think. *can't think*
Disclaimer: Dudes, if I owned Lost or was, in any way, affiliated with the money-making skills of said show, I would NOT be writing fanfiction.
Dedication: To
literarylemming for issuing the Charlie/Claire tearjerker challenge, which you can be found here: http://www.livejournal.com/community/charlie_claire/60827.html?view=475803#t475803Warning: Well, character death.
Gone
“No!” Charlie shouted. He whirled on Jack, so violent in his fury that the others in the room, the strangers, backed away. “You tell them this is not on. It's not on!”
Jack put his hands on Charlie’s shoulders. “They tried, Charlie.”
Charlie threw him off. “No! No they didn’t! They aren’t! They don’t know her, Jack, they don’t love her.” His eyes were frantic, like a hunted animal’s might be when it finds itself cornered. “You go to her,” he said suddenly, hope kindling as a dangerous, fevered fire in his eyes. “They…there are tools here, yeah? Medicine?”
“It’s too late. It’s just too late,” Jack said sadly, going to him again and once more taking hold. “I’m sorry, Charlie.”
But Charlie was shaking his head, words tumbling out of his mouth so fast that it was doubtful he even knew what he was saying. “That’s what you said you needed. Fresh medicine and tools. They have it. You do it, Jack. You.”
“Charlie…”
“Save her, Jack!” Charlie screamed, stopping the muted babble of voices drifting in from the corridor outside the room.
“Dude,” Hurley said quietly, moving from the corner of the room he’d been sitting in, trying not to cry in. “He almost killed himself trying.” He shifted Jack to the side and wrapped his arms around Charlie and held him, unashamedly tender. “And he’d have done that, too, if he thought it would have worked.”
“No.” Charlie’s shoulders were shaking. He shoved Hurly away. “No! She doesn’t die! We don’t get rescued so that she can die. She isn’t dead! She isn’t, isn’t, isn’t!” He turned in a circle, frenzied and searching. There were tearful faces and an echoing sadness. “Don’t you cry,” he warned them all, his voice high and desperate.
“Charlie?” Sayid’s voice was calm, deep, and unexpected. The door clicked open just a second later. “See, there he is,” he said quietly to the child in his arms. He looked up and met Charlie’s eyes steadily. “I’m sorry. He wanted to find you.”
The tiny face staring back at him did the one thing nothing else could have: it made him reign in his emotions and hold them in check. “Jeremy,” he said, reaching out for his son. “I thought Sayid was showing you the telly.”
His son clung to him, wrapping his legs around his waist and his arms around his neck. “Uh-huh,” he said agreeably, smiling a dear, familiar, sunny smile. “But then I wanted you and Mommy. Where’s Mommy?”
“Charlie, man,” Michael spoke up suddenly, before Charlie could answer the question. “Remember what you asked me the morning he was born? What I told you that you should never, ever do to your kid?”
Eyes closing, Charlie nodded. When he opened them a moment later they were wet. “Do you remember why we brought Mummy here, Jeremy?”
“She was sick and Uncle Jack couldn’t make her better,” Jeremy answered instantly. He patted his father’s face, rubbing at the smooth cheek. “Your beard is all gone. Why’s your beard gone?”
“I fancied a shave,” Charlie laughed, a real laugh for all the pain that laced it. “But you’re right. Jack couldn’t make Mummy better. And the doctors here tried and tried and tried, but they couldn’t make her better either and she died.”
“Oh. Like Walt’s mommy died?”
It was heartbreaking that so small a child understood death so well. But he’d lived six years on an island where death was a clear and present guest. The doctors and nurses, the hospital psychologist, all looked on and pitied without understanding. They were the type of people who would say things such as 'I never knew tropical rain could be cold' and mean it.
“Yes, like Walt’s mum.”
Charlie patted his son’s back, soothing them both though his son’s face was stoic. After a long moment Jeremy nodded. “Oh. Can we go home now?”
Home was the island. “I don’t think I can live there without your Mummy, Jeremy. Would you mind living here for a little while?”
“Here?” Jeremy looked skeptically around the packed little room.
Kate laughed first, the others joining in at Jeremy’s affronted look. “No, honey,” Kate said, holding onto her smile as Charlie buried his face briefly against his son’s neck. “Not here in the hospital. A house, maybe, with a garden and…and a swing set. That would be nice, wouldn't it?”
“Maybe we’ll stay with your Uncle Liam,” Charlie said quietly. “You haven’t met him, but he lives here with your Aunt Karen and your cousin, Megan.”
“Hmmm.” Jeremy stroked his father’s cheek. “I don’t know. I like it at home.”
“That’s because you haven’t had any ice cream. Or cake. Or fizzie drinks. There are lots of goodies here that we didn’t have at home.”
“Like peanut butter? Mommy said if we ever got rescued—what’s that mean, rescued?—then I could have peanut butter every, every, every day!”
“Yes, yes they have that here. And yes, you may have some. Mummy promised you, after all. Sayid,” he turned, shifting his body to offer out the boy clinging to him. “Will you take Jeremy to the cafeteria for some peanut butter?” His voice cracked hopelessly on the last word.
“Of course,” Sayid was already wrapping the child in his strong embrace, bouncing him to make him giggle, another sound that was familiar for too many reasons, his face a mask of reassurance and strength with sad, sad eyes. “Come, Jeremy, I will let you practice your reading and map skills. You will lead us to the cafeteria.”
“Me too, man,” Hurley said, obviously working hard to keep his composure. He plucked Jeremy away from Sayid and set him on the floor. “Let the man walk, dude,” he said, stepping into the hallway. “And you've got to spell stuff. How often has he seen the word ‘cafeteria’ on the island? It goes like this: c-a-f…” the door closed behind them.
The survivors, the castaways, the family-by-force, surrounded Charlie as he cried, giving him all of their love that they could and knowing that it would never equal the one that he’d lost.
