Lost fiction, 'Faith' (Charlie/Claire)
Nov. 29th, 2004 03:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ciirceeSince the voting is over at the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
ccficchallenge I feel free to post this to my journal. Don't know how it happens, but my italics get eaten when going from the 'reply' to the entry screen. Boo. Eventually I'll probably put 'deep' here as well (though everything I write is listed in the memories).
Off I go! I have a character who needs to be killed.
For now, I leave you with Faith
Faith
Charlie sat in the de-facto medical tent outside the caves. It was thrown together from a piece of canvas taken from the beach, the remains of the plane’s emergency exit slide, a stack of luggage, and one wall of the caves. Jack had said it would be used mainly for quarantine and surgery. Charlie used it as a place away from the eyes of the others.
“Hey, Charlie,” Claire called merrily as she made her way into the tent. “I…” she trailed off, her customary smile fading rapidly.
“You…?” Charlie prompted, tilting her a small, puzzled smile.
Claire’s gaze, directed at his hands, was guarded. “What are you doing?” she asked cautiously.
Charlie looked down at the six-inch, serrated blade of the hunting knife he held. He didn’t say a word.
“What are you doing?” she repeated, her voice horrified.
Belatedly, Charlie realized that he should say something, do something, put the knife down maybe. “No, it’s not that,” he said, his eyes moving between her and the smooth gleam of metal. “Really.”
“If it isn’t, then give it to me,” Claire ordered. He looked at the knife, not looking up as she closed the distance between them to stand in front of him; he offered it to her before she could even hold out her hands for it. She threw it across the tent to clatter against the rocks.
Charlie looked after it mildly and then at her. “Well,” he said “Locke’s not going to be very pleased by that.”
“Shut up!” Claire said vehemently. “Don’t you ever,”
“I wasn’t!” Charlie cut her off, alarmed by the tears he saw welling in her eyes. “Really, Claire, I wasn’t. I swear!” He hastily slid over, making room for her on the stack of cases he was using as a seat. “Sit down, come on. Off your feet.” He caught on of her hands and tugged.
She took half a step before stopping, her blue eyes going wary again. “Is this…aren’t these Mr. Locke’s knife cases?”
Charlie glanced around himself, at what he was sitting on. “And his knives,” he confirmed. “Most of the collection,” he offered after a few seconds of silent staring. He tugged on Claire’s hand again. She still didn’t move and he sighed. “I’m a junkie,” he said. “Or was, until very recently. Heroin.” Her eyes went wide with surprise and Charlie maneuvered her into sitting down beside him.
“I didn’t know,” she said softly.
“We managed to keep it pretty quiet, Jack, Locke and me,” Charlie shrugged. “The withdrawal is nearly through. Get the shakes now and again, and I don’t really want to eat much yet. Still sort of sick feeling.”
Claire shoved him off the cases. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded. “I could have done something,” she continued angrily. “I could have been here, at least!”
Shifting, making himself comfortable on the hard-packed ground, Charlie grinned at her. He propped his elbows on the edge of what had been his seat and rested his chin in his hands. “You’re really pretty when you’re cross,” he told her. The sheer outrage on her face made him laugh. “No, no,” he warded her off. “I think I had to do it alone,” he said sincerely, “or very nearly alone.” He considered her carefully for a minute. “I used to have total belief in Fate,” he said at last, “in God’s plan. But in the band, I lost that. For a long time I thought that I wasn’t anything without Drive Shaft.”
“That’s rubbish,” she interrupted hotly. Charlie grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly.
“Today Locke asked me to move these,” he nodded at the knives “in here. When I finished with the lot I looked at them. Opened each case and had a peep,” he confessed. “And I thought ‘washed-up, has-been, ex-junkie…shouldn’t I want to put paid to myself?’ But I didn’t. Even when I took the one out, I didn’t.” He shook his head, a small smile of wonder making its way across his face. “I might not know who or what I am, but I think I’ve found my faith again.”
“I know what you are, Charlie,” Claire whispered. “I know who you are.” She turned their joined hands over.
Charlie watched her watching her fingers tracing over the lines on his palm. “One day I’ll let you tell me,” he promised her.
ccficchallenge I feel free to post this to my journal. Don't know how it happens, but my italics get eaten when going from the 'reply' to the entry screen. Boo. Eventually I'll probably put 'deep' here as well (though everything I write is listed in the memories). Off I go! I have a character who needs to be killed.
For now, I leave you with Faith
Faith
Charlie sat in the de-facto medical tent outside the caves. It was thrown together from a piece of canvas taken from the beach, the remains of the plane’s emergency exit slide, a stack of luggage, and one wall of the caves. Jack had said it would be used mainly for quarantine and surgery. Charlie used it as a place away from the eyes of the others.
“Hey, Charlie,” Claire called merrily as she made her way into the tent. “I…” she trailed off, her customary smile fading rapidly.
“You…?” Charlie prompted, tilting her a small, puzzled smile.
Claire’s gaze, directed at his hands, was guarded. “What are you doing?” she asked cautiously.
Charlie looked down at the six-inch, serrated blade of the hunting knife he held. He didn’t say a word.
“What are you doing?” she repeated, her voice horrified.
Belatedly, Charlie realized that he should say something, do something, put the knife down maybe. “No, it’s not that,” he said, his eyes moving between her and the smooth gleam of metal. “Really.”
“If it isn’t, then give it to me,” Claire ordered. He looked at the knife, not looking up as she closed the distance between them to stand in front of him; he offered it to her before she could even hold out her hands for it. She threw it across the tent to clatter against the rocks.
Charlie looked after it mildly and then at her. “Well,” he said “Locke’s not going to be very pleased by that.”
“Shut up!” Claire said vehemently. “Don’t you ever,”
“I wasn’t!” Charlie cut her off, alarmed by the tears he saw welling in her eyes. “Really, Claire, I wasn’t. I swear!” He hastily slid over, making room for her on the stack of cases he was using as a seat. “Sit down, come on. Off your feet.” He caught on of her hands and tugged.
She took half a step before stopping, her blue eyes going wary again. “Is this…aren’t these Mr. Locke’s knife cases?”
Charlie glanced around himself, at what he was sitting on. “And his knives,” he confirmed. “Most of the collection,” he offered after a few seconds of silent staring. He tugged on Claire’s hand again. She still didn’t move and he sighed. “I’m a junkie,” he said. “Or was, until very recently. Heroin.” Her eyes went wide with surprise and Charlie maneuvered her into sitting down beside him.
“I didn’t know,” she said softly.
“We managed to keep it pretty quiet, Jack, Locke and me,” Charlie shrugged. “The withdrawal is nearly through. Get the shakes now and again, and I don’t really want to eat much yet. Still sort of sick feeling.”
Claire shoved him off the cases. “Why didn’t you tell me?” she demanded. “I could have done something,” she continued angrily. “I could have been here, at least!”
Shifting, making himself comfortable on the hard-packed ground, Charlie grinned at her. He propped his elbows on the edge of what had been his seat and rested his chin in his hands. “You’re really pretty when you’re cross,” he told her. The sheer outrage on her face made him laugh. “No, no,” he warded her off. “I think I had to do it alone,” he said sincerely, “or very nearly alone.” He considered her carefully for a minute. “I used to have total belief in Fate,” he said at last, “in God’s plan. But in the band, I lost that. For a long time I thought that I wasn’t anything without Drive Shaft.”
“That’s rubbish,” she interrupted hotly. Charlie grabbed her hand and squeezed it tightly.
“Today Locke asked me to move these,” he nodded at the knives “in here. When I finished with the lot I looked at them. Opened each case and had a peep,” he confessed. “And I thought ‘washed-up, has-been, ex-junkie…shouldn’t I want to put paid to myself?’ But I didn’t. Even when I took the one out, I didn’t.” He shook his head, a small smile of wonder making its way across his face. “I might not know who or what I am, but I think I’ve found my faith again.”
“I know what you are, Charlie,” Claire whispered. “I know who you are.” She turned their joined hands over.
Charlie watched her watching her fingers tracing over the lines on his palm. “One day I’ll let you tell me,” he promised her.
