Lost Fiction, "Alone" (Claire, Shannon)
Nov. 30th, 2004 07:35 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
ciirceeWell, boo. I am not very happy with this fic. Sadly, neither my beta nor myself can pinpoint what it is that we don't like. However, since it isn't a bad fic...I'm letting it go. Besides, in the initial write I made a few cut-and-paste errors (while trying to decided on Hurley or Boone) and came up with the line 'How do you think Boone and I felt when I lost Hurley'. ^.^ Of course, nothing of this line survives today...still, it was really funny at the time.
Well, go on with you. Read it if you want to.
Disclaimer: I think Lost might belong to Hurley. Just saying.
Dedication: Once more to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
literarylemming for the Tearjerker Challenge. Also, to all the other Charlie/Claire fans. I’m sorry for the angst and death. Sort of.
Alone
It shouldn’t have been a clear night. The winking stars should have been covered over by weeping clouds. The night should have been something mournful and poetic, something to suit the bright soul whose funeral pyre was burning. Something to suit Charlie. Claire wanted to curl into herself, bury her head in her arms and drift back into the sleep that had eluded her the night before. Instead she lifted her chin and looked at the tops of the dancing flames before turning to Jack, beside her.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Jack hugged her briefly. “I hate this job,” he replied. Pulling away he kissed her temple. “I’m sorry, Claire. It’s pretty pitiful, I know, but I’m sorry.”
One by one, in pairs, in groups, the others came to her and held her, kissed her cheeks, or merely touched her skin. They murmured their condolences, their sorrow, the occasional scattered words meant for comfort. Like the fire, this was traditional for a funeral on the island. Even little Audrey, three chubby fingers stuffed into her mouth, was cuddled and whispered to. Claire was proud to see that her daughter, like Charlie, answered every hug with one of her own and said sweet things in return for every word she was given. It wasn’t her first funeral, but it was her first funeral standing at the head of the fire.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Claire murmured when the last person had passed through the line and began the march back to the caves, “let’s get you to bed.”
“Claire?” Shannon stepped out of the shadow of trees into her path. “Hey, squirt,” she greeted Audrey. “Go find Hurley. I need a word with your mom.”
Audrey’s eyes went round and she squealed with pleasure, darting to where the path began a steep drop down. She looked like a statue, pale and smooth in the moonlight as she stopped there at the edge. Then, so much like Charlie, she shouted “Oi, Hurley!” and threw her arms out wide.
He must have been close, Claire mused, as a Hurley-shaped shadow reappeared. “What up, kid?” he asked genially.
“Mommy gotsa talk,” she said. “And,” she added, “I wanna sleepover.”
Hurley shrugged. “’Kay. What’s your mom say?”
Claire tried to draw a breath, but couldn’t. A day ago Hurley would have included the word ‘dad’ in that question. Things had changed so horribly, so suddenly and she couldn’t have answered him even if Shannon hadn’t stepped in.
Shannon made an irritated, shoo-ing gesture. “Yeah, fine,” she said, in tones that said Hurley was stupid for even asking. “Go.” Claire was docile as Shannon pulled her away, back to the fire. She could hear Audrey and Hurley, their voices fading as they walked home. She closed her eyes, listening as hard as she could.
“Carry me!” Audrey demanded.
“No way,” Hurley shot back. “Your legs work and, at three and a half, they probably still need the practice.”
“Hurley!”
“Audrey!”
And they faded beyond her hearing. She opened her eyes and found that Shannon was watching her. She forced a smile and folded her hands in front of her. The fingers of her left hand were digging hard into her right wrist. “Shannon?” she said pleasantly.
“Bitch,” Shannon replied, just as pleasantly. “Oh, not you,” Shannon rolled her eyes impatiently when Claire felt her mouth drop open in shock. “I mean, yeah, you but as a verb.”
Thinking through the shroud of grief that had veiled her mind for the last day was difficult and finally Claire just gave up. “What?”
Shannon heaved a put-upon sigh. “You,” she said slowly, “should blow your top. Now, as opposed to later.”
“Shannon, I…”
“No, don’t feed me the ‘I’m okay’ line you gave Jack and Kate and everybody else who asked. You’re not okay.”
Well, at least somebody had seen through that lie. Claire had thought it was a little more obvious. She let her shoulders slump out of their iron-stiff propriety. “No, maybe not,” she admitted softly. “But I will be.” Audrey needed her to be okay. “I’m not like you, Shannon; I can’t just wear my feelings on my sleeve. I don’t need to…to…wail and moan.”
“Do you think,” Shannon began, her voice scarily quiet, “that I wanted to have a screaming breakdown in the middle of the afternoon, in front of everybody, two months after Boone died?”
Claire shook her head mutely, something inside her stinging like frost.
“You think that it’s enough to cry yourself to sleep. You think that this is as deep as it cuts you just because your mind keeps you up to date with numb, mindless little details and stupid thoughts like ‘I never knew tropical rain could be cold’. It’s not and it isn’t and you can’t even let yourself cry right because you don’t want to scare Audrey.”
“I…”
“No, oh no you don’t. This isn’t about me or Boone or anybody but you and Charlie. You’re going to stay here and get angry at him, or at God, or at the Universe, whatever. You’re going to swear. You’re going to scream because Fate just ripped off the biggest bandage of your life without any warning at all. You’re going to find something heavy and pitch it right into the fire. And you’re going to do it right now Claire, because Audrey is going to drag out that guitar and if you don’t do this now, this feeling is going to catch you then and stomp on your heart all over again.” She paused and sucked in a deep breath. “I’m going back to the caves.”
She stared after Shannon as she left, as casual and carefree seeming as the first day that they’d met. Then she looked back to the fire, where Charlie still burned. She picked her way over to one of the large rocks scattered nearby and sat down, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them tiredly. She waited for something inside herself to break. She waited for the white-hot numbness to leave her. She waited for somebody to circle back to her side and hold her.
Nobody came because he’d already gone.
Pain welled up like black water. It swallowed the light of the moon and the stars, leaving only the fire’s glow. Claire heard the first sob before she felt it shake her. When the screaming started, one voice crashing against the world, she knew that it was hers. She screamed louder, trying to drown out the sound of her voice alone.
It wasn’t a melody of grief. There was no bittersweet harmony. It wasn’t poetic or tragically romantic. It didn’t suit the man who had loved music so. But it was real. And though she hated to think it, it suited the loss of the man she’d loved beyond all others. It suited Charlie.
Well, go on with you. Read it if you want to.
Disclaimer: I think Lost might belong to Hurley. Just saying.
Dedication: Once more to
literarylemming for the Tearjerker Challenge. Also, to all the other Charlie/Claire fans. I’m sorry for the angst and death. Sort of.Alone
It shouldn’t have been a clear night. The winking stars should have been covered over by weeping clouds. The night should have been something mournful and poetic, something to suit the bright soul whose funeral pyre was burning. Something to suit Charlie. Claire wanted to curl into herself, bury her head in her arms and drift back into the sleep that had eluded her the night before. Instead she lifted her chin and looked at the tops of the dancing flames before turning to Jack, beside her.
“Thank you,” she said quietly.
Jack hugged her briefly. “I hate this job,” he replied. Pulling away he kissed her temple. “I’m sorry, Claire. It’s pretty pitiful, I know, but I’m sorry.”
One by one, in pairs, in groups, the others came to her and held her, kissed her cheeks, or merely touched her skin. They murmured their condolences, their sorrow, the occasional scattered words meant for comfort. Like the fire, this was traditional for a funeral on the island. Even little Audrey, three chubby fingers stuffed into her mouth, was cuddled and whispered to. Claire was proud to see that her daughter, like Charlie, answered every hug with one of her own and said sweet things in return for every word she was given. It wasn’t her first funeral, but it was her first funeral standing at the head of the fire.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Claire murmured when the last person had passed through the line and began the march back to the caves, “let’s get you to bed.”
“Claire?” Shannon stepped out of the shadow of trees into her path. “Hey, squirt,” she greeted Audrey. “Go find Hurley. I need a word with your mom.”
Audrey’s eyes went round and she squealed with pleasure, darting to where the path began a steep drop down. She looked like a statue, pale and smooth in the moonlight as she stopped there at the edge. Then, so much like Charlie, she shouted “Oi, Hurley!” and threw her arms out wide.
He must have been close, Claire mused, as a Hurley-shaped shadow reappeared. “What up, kid?” he asked genially.
“Mommy gotsa talk,” she said. “And,” she added, “I wanna sleepover.”
Hurley shrugged. “’Kay. What’s your mom say?”
Claire tried to draw a breath, but couldn’t. A day ago Hurley would have included the word ‘dad’ in that question. Things had changed so horribly, so suddenly and she couldn’t have answered him even if Shannon hadn’t stepped in.
Shannon made an irritated, shoo-ing gesture. “Yeah, fine,” she said, in tones that said Hurley was stupid for even asking. “Go.” Claire was docile as Shannon pulled her away, back to the fire. She could hear Audrey and Hurley, their voices fading as they walked home. She closed her eyes, listening as hard as she could.
“Carry me!” Audrey demanded.
“No way,” Hurley shot back. “Your legs work and, at three and a half, they probably still need the practice.”
“Hurley!”
“Audrey!”
And they faded beyond her hearing. She opened her eyes and found that Shannon was watching her. She forced a smile and folded her hands in front of her. The fingers of her left hand were digging hard into her right wrist. “Shannon?” she said pleasantly.
“Bitch,” Shannon replied, just as pleasantly. “Oh, not you,” Shannon rolled her eyes impatiently when Claire felt her mouth drop open in shock. “I mean, yeah, you but as a verb.”
Thinking through the shroud of grief that had veiled her mind for the last day was difficult and finally Claire just gave up. “What?”
Shannon heaved a put-upon sigh. “You,” she said slowly, “should blow your top. Now, as opposed to later.”
“Shannon, I…”
“No, don’t feed me the ‘I’m okay’ line you gave Jack and Kate and everybody else who asked. You’re not okay.”
Well, at least somebody had seen through that lie. Claire had thought it was a little more obvious. She let her shoulders slump out of their iron-stiff propriety. “No, maybe not,” she admitted softly. “But I will be.” Audrey needed her to be okay. “I’m not like you, Shannon; I can’t just wear my feelings on my sleeve. I don’t need to…to…wail and moan.”
“Do you think,” Shannon began, her voice scarily quiet, “that I wanted to have a screaming breakdown in the middle of the afternoon, in front of everybody, two months after Boone died?”
Claire shook her head mutely, something inside her stinging like frost.
“You think that it’s enough to cry yourself to sleep. You think that this is as deep as it cuts you just because your mind keeps you up to date with numb, mindless little details and stupid thoughts like ‘I never knew tropical rain could be cold’. It’s not and it isn’t and you can’t even let yourself cry right because you don’t want to scare Audrey.”
“I…”
“No, oh no you don’t. This isn’t about me or Boone or anybody but you and Charlie. You’re going to stay here and get angry at him, or at God, or at the Universe, whatever. You’re going to swear. You’re going to scream because Fate just ripped off the biggest bandage of your life without any warning at all. You’re going to find something heavy and pitch it right into the fire. And you’re going to do it right now Claire, because Audrey is going to drag out that guitar and if you don’t do this now, this feeling is going to catch you then and stomp on your heart all over again.” She paused and sucked in a deep breath. “I’m going back to the caves.”
She stared after Shannon as she left, as casual and carefree seeming as the first day that they’d met. Then she looked back to the fire, where Charlie still burned. She picked her way over to one of the large rocks scattered nearby and sat down, drawing her knees up to her chest and resting her chin on them tiredly. She waited for something inside herself to break. She waited for the white-hot numbness to leave her. She waited for somebody to circle back to her side and hold her.
Nobody came because he’d already gone.
Pain welled up like black water. It swallowed the light of the moon and the stars, leaving only the fire’s glow. Claire heard the first sob before she felt it shake her. When the screaming started, one voice crashing against the world, she knew that it was hers. She screamed louder, trying to drown out the sound of her voice alone.
It wasn’t a melody of grief. There was no bittersweet harmony. It wasn’t poetic or tragically romantic. It didn’t suit the man who had loved music so. But it was real. And though she hated to think it, it suited the loss of the man she’d loved beyond all others. It suited Charlie.
