Lost Ficathon fiction "Then, Now, Always" (Charlie/Claire)

[ciircee]

This is for southern_tiger as part of the Charlie/Claire ficathon (for more details, see my memories of 'Lost Fiction, Ficathon for Lendolyn' etc) brought to us by teffy. A late entry because the person to whom this request was originally assigned was unable to complete it.

Please bear in mind that I wrote this quickly, as the ficathon ended a month ago and Libby is probably wondering if she'll EVER get a fic. Well, the answer is yes and I hope that it's at least part of what she wanted.



Disclaimer: I am not a Bad Robot.

Dedication: This is for southern_tiger as part of the Lost, Snuggly-OTP ficathon. The person originally assigned to this story did not, for some reason, deliver and I was called to step in. Happy to do so! I hope that Libby likes it. The Request: Future fic (on or off the island) at least a year in the future.

Thank You: To Jules (b4zookajules) for the quickie opinion and for the beautiful suggestion. I cannot convey my gratitude.

Author’s Note: Yes, I have been told I’m on some sort of crack!

Then, Now, Always

Jeremy could hear raised voices the second he stepped in the front door. “Uh-oh,” he muttered, glancing over his shoulder as his two best friends, Max and Jenna.

The new kid in school, Terrance, fidgeted. “Problem?”

“Mom and Dad are fighting again,” he explained, jerking his head in the direction of the sunny, yellow kitchen only partially visible from where they stood.

“They don’t fight like this all the time.” Max said reassuringly as the voices grew louder.

“No,” Jeremy agreed. “Well…sometimes it seems like they do. I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it.” He hitched his backpack higher on his shoulder and shook his head. “Let’s get to my room before they see us.”

“…stuck in here like a housekeeper!” his mother’s voice rang out, echoing slightly.

Jenna was staring down the hall, not moving. “I can’t believe they fought on the island like this.”

Jeremy groaned. “I told you; I don’t want to think about it.” He grabbed the newel post and bounced up the first few stairs stopping only when Jenna didn’t follow. “Jen. Jenna.” He looked at Max, who shrugged, and then at Terrance, who stared at him with wide eyes. He glared at Jenna. “It wasn’t like this, okay. It was different. Okay? Can we…” ‘go now’ he’d been about to say, when a spatula flew down the hall and clattered to a stop at the base of the stairs. “Great,” he moaned.

In seconds his father appeared, striding angrily toward them though he was still shouting back at the kitchen. “And I suppose you think that this solves everything!” he bellowed. “But try selling that song to the burnt—”

“Hi, Dad,” Jeremy sighed, just to get it out of the way.

His father stopped dead, one foot lifted in step. “Jeremy?” he asked slowly, his head turning in increments. “Max. Jenna.”

“Yeah,” Jeremy agreed. “Transportation project, remember?” Desperately he pulled Terrance in front of himself like a shield. “This is Terrance. He’s the new kid that I told you about. He’s going to be working with us.”

“Of course, right,” his father smiled cheerfully, nodding frantically. “It’s just…ah…” he scooped up the dispatched spatula and bobbed on the balls of his feet. “Well, it’s just that…”

“Charlie?”

Jeremy passed a hand over his eyes as his mother, disheveled and flushed, stepped in to view. “Hi, Mom,” he said loudly.

“Jeremy?”

“Transportation,” he reminded her as she took the kitchen utensil from his father. He pointed. “This is Terrance. He’s new at school. He’s working on the project with me and Max and Jenna.”

His father was grinning again. “Claire, our son and his friends are here to work on their school project,” he said as he draped an arm around her shoulders. Jeremy looked away.

Still not looking at his parents he adjusted his backpack and studied the ceiling just above the kitchen sink. “Is there actually food cooking or was this just…something else?” he asked, trying to sound like this was a question any fourteen–year-old might ask his parents.

“Roast,” his mother answered and he could see her out the corner of his eye, tucking hair behind her ear in a ‘back to business’ habit. He dropped his books on the stairs, knowing that he and his friends were stuck with his parents.

“Pork?” he asked hopefully. By the way his parents shuddered, he guessed not.

“Beef,” his father corrected. “In fact, it should be ready.” Jeremy had his father’s other arm hook around his shoulders.

Before they could be lead off to the kitchen, Terrance asked curiously, “I thought it was burnt?”

Jeremy dropped his head on to his chest. “No,” he said morosely.

“Oh,” he said. A moment later, just as he’d feared, he heard Terrance whisper to Jenna, the big mouth. “What’s up?”

“Oh! Jeremy’s parents are weird,” he heard her whisper back. “They do this…” he heard Max thump her on the arm. “…thing,” she finished lamely.

“Yeah,” Jeremy shook his father off in a belated attempt to keep some of his dignity intact. He made for the kitchen as though it were the last rescue ship on the ocean. “Do we have any bananas?”

“We’re all out,” he heard his mother reply.

Then he heard his father’s amused whisper. “You forgot to call his school, love.”

“I did not,” his mother hissed. “You were supposed to call while I started dinner.”

“You were supposed to call while I was upstairs making the bed.”

“You weren’t making the bed!”

“That’s right, I wasn’t.”

Knowing it was a mistake even as he did it, Jeremy turned at the sound of his father’s husky, laughing murmur. His mother was gazing up at his father, her eyes half closed as his father stroked two fingers down her neck. A quick glanced revealed that his friends were witnessing the same display he was; a full cast to his own, personal nightmare. “Oh, gross,” he said, ducking his head into the oven and peeking into the roaster. “Where are Tim and Rosie?” he asked in a louder voice, hoping the thought of his younger brother and sister might make his parents quit touching each other in front of everybody.

“At Uncle Liam’s, helping with his new boat,” his mother answered distractedly.

Fishing out a carrot with a nearby slotted spoon, Jeremy crammed it into his mouth with an angry huff. “Can’t you two be normal?” he demanded.

Max nodded supportively. “At least in front of the new kids.”

“Um,” said Terrance, looking around anxiously.

Jenna smiled at him. “Jeremy’s parents were stranded on an island together. It was very romantic. They fell in love and they never wanted to fall out of love, right, Mrs. Pace?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Jenna!”

“So they staged fights, to make sure that they’d know how to live a normal life in case they were ever rescued. So they could be prepared. That’s what I meant by that ‘thing’ they do sometimes. Isn’t that sweet?”

Jeremy flung his hands up. “It’s so sweet that I’m sure he wants to barf, just before running away to tell everybody just how weird my parents are and how weird my best friends are, too!” He turned to Terrance. “I’m sorry,” he said, mortified.

But Terrance grinned. “I’ve heard worse. My parents are psychologist and they…” he mimed a shudder. “You’d think they’d get sick of talking about their emotions all the time. They’d probably say that your parents are pretty healthy.”

More than slightly mollified, Jeremy shook his head. “No they wouldn’t; this was my Uncle Hurley’s idea.

His father perked up, sneaking a carrot of his own. “No it wasn’t. I thought it up all on my own.” He seemed to be proud of himself.

“Oh my god!” Jenna exclaimed.

Max thumped her on the arm again, muttering, “Shut up, you’re making it worse.”

Burying his face in his hands, Jeremy muttered, “Nothing could possibly be worse.”

“Sure it could,” Terrance said from somewhere off to his left. “They could still be fighting right in front of us.”

“Oh, my god,” Jeremy whispered, looking up to stare at his parents in trepidation.

“They could also,” Terrance continued, “role play to relieve stress, the way my parents do. All ‘me Tarzan, you Jane’.”

Mouthing a silent ‘o’ of horror, Jeremy suddenly recalled a moment from before the boat had come to the island. ‘Me Tarzan’ had lead to ‘you Hot Jungle Girl’. He shuddered hard. “Mom, Dad, we’re just…we’re…” he floundered.

“We can work on the project at my house,” Max stepped in.

“Or tomorrow,” Jenna added, finally helpful, “since Mega-Mutant Space Busters Three just opened at the multiplex and my Dad gave me four free passes that nobody picked up from the radio station.”

“You don’t have to…” his father started. He fell silent before Jeremy could glare at him, because his mother was…reaching…

“Mom!” Jeremy protested. “Oh…um…” he muttered when she came up with his dad’s wallet and handed him a twenty.

His mother smiled and ruffled his hair. “Buy the snacks and save your reputation,” she advised him, giggling. He smiled at her, grateful and relieved.

“Yeah, Mom, thanks. Thanks, Dad,” he added, rounding up his friends by eye contact. “We’ll be back whenever.” He chose to ignore the murmured chorus of ‘all right’ that reached him as he stepped out the door and back into the late-spring sunshine. He also tried hard to shut his ears to his mother’s quiet ‘so, the bed isn’t made again’ comment. “I’m not going home until I know it’s safe again,” Jeremy announced as they set off up the block to the movie theater.

“I’ve got money to get pizza, after,” Terrance said, digging into his pockets. “And you could probably stay the night, if you wanted. My parents were hoping I could finally make friends,” he said by way of explanation, “since I tend to lose all of mine when everybody finds out they're psychos.”

Max grinned. “They couldn’t be worse than Jeremy’s.”

“We’re surprised he’s even got us for friends, sometimes. His parents are that weird,” Jenna chimed in.

Jeremy shoved her into Max. “Shut up,” he said companionably. Looking at Terrance, he shrugged. “They’re really embarrassing. They’ve got this deal with peanut butter. I swear, they act like it is oysters or worth gold or something; we’ve got a whole cupboard full of the stuff.”

“His dad imports it from London,” Max confirmed.

“Something about ‘extra smooth’,” Jenna clarified.

Jeremy, who knew why it was that 'extra smooth' was so important but never told anybody, nodded. “Today was seriously typical for them. Your parents couldn’t possibly be worse.”

“Maybe. Maybe not,” Terrance said. “Mine don’t usually bother to pull the kitchen shade when they’re making out.”

“Oh, gross,” Jeremy said, feeling immensely cheered. He looked back at the drawn curtains of his house and grinned.