Charlie fic!
Dec. 29th, 2004 07:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
auntiemeeshRight, well, a couple of weeks ago I promised ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pipspebble some Charlie!fic and it's finally done. There are spoilers in it for episodes 7, 10 and 11 as well as a little bit for 12 (as in, I saw a two sentence blurb at LOST-TV and allowed that to influence part of the fic). It's a bit of over-the-top angst with some h/c thrown in for good measure.
Aftermath
Betaed bypipspebble
First there was darkness.
Then an irregular thumping and rushing in his ears as he took in a great, rasping, ragged breath. Or at least, that’s what he tried to do, but his throat, inexplicably dry and tight, didn’t cooperate, seizing up with each indrawn breath and setting him to coughing and gasping as he tried desperately to fill his lungs.
Then the feel of fabric under his spasmodically clutching hands. Cloth caught in his fingers and he realized that someone was holding him, telling him to breathe. What the bloody hell do you think I’m trying to do, he wanted to shout, but there wasn’t enough air in his lungs to produce any sound other than the horrible, painfully hoarse wheezing he was already making.
Then sight returned. Blurry, vague, but better than the darkness. Infinitely better than the darkness. He shied away from that thought, trying already to forget that the darkness had ever been. Jack. That was Jack supporting him, looking paler and more ghostly than normal but solid, nonetheless. And Kate, holding onto his hand as if for dear life, face red and blotchy, tears streaming from swollen eyes.
His breathing was beginning to ease, just a little. Just enough to allow his awareness to expand far enough to encompass pain. A whole world of pain. The breathing and the pain seemed to go hand in hand. His lungs, his chest, his throat. God, his throat. It was like every sore throat he’d ever had, all rolled into one and multiplied by ten. By a hundred, maybe. A thousand.
He was tired. So very tired and he was tempted to close his eyes and sleep, but the darkness was there, and he wasn’t ready to face it again, just yet. Maybe never. So he kept his eyes wide open instead, staring ahead blankly. Soon, he told himself, soon the nightmare would fade and he could sleep again.
But then they were pulling him to his feet, insisting that he walk with them. His legs felt distant, almost not a part of him at all. He could barely feel his feet and they slipped and slid over the slick, muddy ground, skating off in random directions. They looped his arms over their shoulders and made him walk with them. Who were they? What did they want? He blinked, clearing his sight enough to see. Oh yes, Jack and Kate. Jack on his right and Kate on his left. He allowed his head to hang down, finding it too much effort to stay alert. He moved his feet in the correct motions, but left it to the others to find the way.
He walked like this for an endless amount of time, measured only in pain. Pain which grew worse with each step he was forced to take. He was walking away from something, he knew dimly. Away from something terribly important, and it wasn’t right. He should go back. But the very thought of turning around – even if he’d been able to – filled him with such horror that it nearly froze his heart. His feet stopped of their own accord and his knees buckled as the darkness rose up to engulf him.
***
Charlie put his arm protectively around Claire as Ethan stared at them. The intensity of the other man’s stare was clearly frightening Claire and it unnerved Charlie as well.
“Claire,” Ethan spoke after a long moment, “Jack wasn’t able to come, there’s a crisis at the caves as well. He asked me to help you back.”
The tension didn’t leave Claire as Ethan spoke, and she looked at Charlie searchingly.
“It’s okay, Claire,” he said, putting as much reassurance in his voice as he could and squeezing her shoulders briefly, “I’ll stay with you.”
Even as Claire made to respond, however, Charlie found himself under attack. Ethan charged into him, his face twisted insanely. One hand pushed at Charlie’s face, twisting it to the side, even as a foot snaked around behind his leg and deftly knocked him down. Charlie scrambled to fight back even as he fell, but as the ground rose up behind him, the side of his head slammed hard into something unyielding and his body went limp. Stunned and fighting to remain conscious, the last thing he saw before darkness overwhelmed him was Claire, hands covering her belly protectively, eyes wide in stunned confusion and an awakening awareness of her own danger.
Consciousness returned slowly as he found himself moving across uneven ground. It was dark and he blinked, trying to clear his eyes, to no avail. He tried to bring his hands to his eyes and realized belatedly that someone was holding onto his wrists, dragging his body. Even as he began struggling, trying to free himself, he was dropped to the ground.
“Enough!” a harsh, unfamiliar voice barked. “We have the girl and if you want to help her, you will do exactly as you are told.”
Charlie forced himself to stop fighting. “Claire?” he called out tentatively, fear twisting his gut. There was no response. His hands were free now, and he moved them to his eyes, encountering a swath of rough cloth bound around his head and he tried to pull it off, desperate to know what was going on.
“Stop!” the voice growled. Rough hands grabbed his wrists again, pulling his arms behind his back and binding his hands tightly.
“Get to your feet.”
Charlie attempted to comply, but it was difficult without his hands. His head swam and he felt dizzy. It took three tries before he managed to pull himself upright. As soon as he was on his feet, a hand clamped around his upper arm and he found himself being tugged along. The ground was rough and uneven, with many tripping hazards which his captors made little effort to guide him around. He was soon bruised and aching from many falls and encounters with unyielding objects.
***
Somehow they had made it back to the caves, although Charlie didn’t remember the walk at all. He sat now on a log, staring unblinking into the fire. Kate had draped a blanket over his shoulders and was rubbing his back soothingly, but for the moment Charlie ignored her. Jack lightly probed the abrasions on his neck, asking stupid questions like, “does that hurt?” Charlie ignored him, as well. All of his attention was needed elsewhere, holding back the horrors of the day. He had only the vaguest memories of most of the day, flashes of color and brief snatches of sound, followed by a long period of muffled darkness, interspersed with harsh voices and pain. Each time he approached one of those memories, a rushing sounded in his ears and dizziness threatened to overwhelm him.
But Jack persisted, forcing himself into Charlie’s awareness when he said Claire’s name.
“I didn’t see anything, hear anything,” Charlie finally said, voice low and filled with a mix of emotions, anger, sorrow and resignation overlaid with a determination to make Jack leave him alone. “I don’t remember,” he insisted painfully, “anything.”
Even as he said the words, he knew they were a lie. He did remember something. The strangely intense look Ethan had directed at Claire when they met him on the path, and the look of almost comprehension in Claire’s eyes as his head struck the ground.
“Claire,” he muttered, barely aware of Jack’s sudden attention. “That’s all they wanted. All they wanted was Claire.”
Hurley brought him some food then, a bowl of some soup-like substance and a cup of tea, but Charlie made no effort to take the food, or even look up. Hurley sighed and set it down next to the log, then moved silently away, leaving Charlie to return to his inner battle.
***
He must have fallen asleep at some point, for he came awake gasping and coughing, trying desperately to breathe. God, he felt bloody awful. He didn’t remember having anything to drink, but he had an absolutely rotten hangover, and he needed a fix in the worst way, could practically taste the drug on his tongue. He automatically reached into his pocket and froze when his hand found nothing but lint and sand. Where was it?
Charlie bit back a moan as memory crashed down on him. Wrapping his arms about his legs, he rocked back and forth. It hadn’t been a dream, at all. Claire was still out there somewhere, with those people, those same people who had – no! He ruthlessly cut off that train of thought and made an effort to pull himself together. He vaguely remembered Jack saying something about going out to search for Claire at first light. Looking around, he saw that it was still dark, but the camp was stirring and the air had that peculiar hush and stillness that comes just before dawn.
Pushing himself to his feet, he stumbled over to where Jack was sorting through his backpack, beside one of the fire pits.
“Right,” he said loudly, trying to sound stronger than he felt, “when’re we leaving?” The idea of facing...them...again made his stomach churn, but better that than abandoning Claire.
Jack’s hands stilled for an instant before resuming their job of placing water bottles, food, bandages and other medical supplies carefully into the pack. “We’ll be leaving in a few minutes, as soon as it’s light enough to see where we’re going. But Charlie, you’re not coming with us.”
Anger flared up in him, stronger than the dual senses of reprieve and shame that also sprang up at Jack’s words. “Look,” he started heatedly, “you may think I’m a useless git, but there’s no way I’m going to just sit here and leave Claire in the hands of those...people. I want – I need to help.”
Jack shook his head, “We’ve been through this before, Charlie. I don’t think you’re a ‘useless git’, and you know it. I do think that you haven’t had more than an hour’s worth of sleep, you’re feverish, and your breathing is still rough. You would not be able to help us. In fact, you would hamper us. You would slow us down.”
The anger drained from Charlie as quickly as it had come, leaving him feeling sick and weak. He sank down on a log near the fire, staring despondently at the dirt between his feet. Jack was right, of course, harsh as his words had been, and the part of Charlie that was terrified of the prospect of going back out into the jungle was relieved beyond words at having that choice taken away from him. None of that made him any happier. He should be out there finding Claire. He’d promised her that he would protect her and instead he was going to sit nice and cozy in front of a roaring fire while she was out there somewhere, terrified and possibly being tortured or...or God knew what.
Absorbed by his thoughts, Charlie barely felt the hand that rested for a moment on his shoulder, although he vaguely sensed that Jack meant it to be a comforting gesture. He sat, huddled in misery, for a long time, ignoring everyone around him. He only came out of it when he found himself reaching, once again, into his pocket for a stash that was no longer there. His hands were twitching and he was covered in sweat. He suddenly felt overwhelmingly hot and a surge of nausea almost overcame him. Staggering to his feet, he abruptly moved away from the fire, grabbing a water bottle and trying to drown the queasiness in his stomach.
“Dude, are you okay?” Hurley looked up from where he’d been sitting, concern written across his face.
“I’m fine,” Charlie answered shortly, “I just – I’m feeling a bit restless. I think I’ll walk down to the beach.”
Hurley eyed him dubiously. “Dude, Jack said you should rest. Are you sure you’re up to a walk?”
Charlie glared at the big man, who shrugged but refused to back down. “I’m fine,” Charlie repeated. “I just can’t sit here and wait. I need to do something, even if it’s just gathering driftwood for the signal fire.”
“Okay,” Hurley conceded, “but I’m coming with you. I was going to make a water run anyway.”
“I don’t need a nursemaid, Hurley,” Charlie protested, “I can take the water down, myself. There’s no need for you to come.”
Hurley just stared at Charlie with one eyebrow cocked and Charlie found himself relenting. “Fine,” he muttered wearily, “do what you want. I’m going now.”
Refilling his water bottle, he picked up a backpack heavy with filled bottles and headed for the path to the beach, striding quickly and purposefully, with Hurley a few steps behind. He managed to walk at this pace for a full five minutes before his knees buckled again and he was forced to sit down rather abruptly while he caught his breath, but he didn’t allow himself to rest long. The need to move was worse than the painful rasp of the air in his lungs and as soon as he could breathe again he pushed himself up from the rock and continued.
Hurley said nothing, though he did relieve Charlie of the heavy backpack and took the lead, setting a maddeningly slow pace. Charlie fumed but soon found that, slow as they were moving, it was about as fast as he could go. At the pace Hurley set, it took over half an hour to make their way through the jungle, and Charlie’d had to stop twice more to catch his breath. Arriving at the beach, Hurley moved to the makeshift bin which stored the water bottles, emptying the packs of the full ones and refilling them with empties.
Charlie took advantage of Hurley’s distraction to move down the beach, away from everyone. He wanted to be alone, needed to be alone. God, how he longed for a fix. Something to soothe his mind and ease his fears, just enough to take the edge off, make things a little more bearable. There was no hope of that though. He’d burned that bridge quite thoroughly and now he didn’t know what to do. Normally, he would have sought solace in his music, but today there was no music in his soul and he hadn’t even wanted to try playing his guitar. He needed activity, something that would wear him out to the point where he could no longer think.
Looking around for several minutes, he finally spied the axe, off to one side by a pile of cut wood. That would do. Taking the axe, he went back a little way into the jungle until he came across some dead wood. Swinging the axe viciously, he began chopping at the fallen tree trunk. It worked, for a time. He was able to sink himself into the task and focus on it to the exclusion of all else, but it didn’t take very long at all for him to wear himself out and soon his arms were trembling too much to continue swinging the axe.
Flopping to the ground, covered in sweat, dirt and wood dust, he panted hoarsely, only now realizing he’d left his water bottle behind, somewhere.
“Here, you should drink something.”
The voice startled him and he jerked to full awareness, sudden fear trying to make him bolt, but his body was too tired to respond. Looking up, he realized the voice belonged to a woman he’d spoken with briefly at the airport in Sidney, and the adrenaline left him as quickly as it had come.
“Drink,” she urged again, handing him a bottle of water.
With a trembling hand, he accepted the water and took a long drink, feeling marginally better afterwards. “Thanks,” he muttered thickly.
“I’m Rose,” she answered.
“Charlie,” he gasped, still trying to get his breath back.
“It’s nice to meet you, Charlie.”
Rose fell silent for a while, and Charlie lay back, closing his eyes. He didn’t feel up to conversation, but as long as the woman didn’t mind silence, he found that her presence was rather soothing. He drifted for a while, neither awake nor asleep, before giving in to his exhaustion and falling off the edge into real sleep.
He had the same nightmare again, of not being able to breathe, and woke in a panic, thrashing about as he tried to catch his breath. He felt warm arms around him then, cradling him, holding him as he hadn’t been held since he was a small boy.
“Shh,” Rose soothed, rocking him gently, “it’s over. You’re awake now, it’s alright.”
“No, it’s not,” he choked and suddenly he was crying, great heaving sobs that shook his whole frame. Rose’s arms tightened about him, holding him safe and secure, letting him get it out of his system. After what felt like forever, but was probably only a short while, the storm abated and he pulled away from Rose’s arms. He had never cried in the arms of a stranger before and he was feeling acutely uncomfortable now.
Clearly sensing his discomfort, Rose gave him a moment to gather himself before speaking. “My husband,” she began with a sad smile, “always says there’s nothing like a good cry to wash the cobwebs out of your mind. Not that he would ever let me catch him crying,” she added with another smile. “Don’t be embarrassed, or ashamed. A good cry can be very healing, if you don’t fight against it.”
Oddly enough, Charlie understood what she meant. He hadn’t cried like that in years. Even when he’d had that horrible fight with Liam that broke up the band, his tears had been quieter, more restrained. And in one way, at least, he did feel somewhat better. True, his throat hurt worse than ever, his head throbbed and his eyes felt as though he’d been rubbing sand in them, but the tight, hard knot of need in his chest had loosened. Not gone away, entirely, but eased enough to be borne without feeling as if he was going insane. He felt ready to return to the caves now. He knew that was where Jack would return, whether he found Claire or not, and Charlie needed to be there.
Lurching to his feet, he swayed for a minute before finding his balance. It was going to be a long walk back, he thought. He wondered if Hurley was still around. Only one way to find out, he knew.
“Come,” Rose said, “I’ll walk you back to the signal fire. I think Hurley said he would wait for you there.”
“Thank you, Rose,” he told her, grateful for her kindness, “you’re a good woman.” Wearily he began to trudge down the length of the beach, ready to offer an apology to Hurley and then find his way back to the caves and some desperately needed rest.
pipspebble some Charlie!fic and it's finally done. There are spoilers in it for episodes 7, 10 and 11 as well as a little bit for 12 (as in, I saw a two sentence blurb at LOST-TV and allowed that to influence part of the fic). It's a bit of over-the-top angst with some h/c thrown in for good measure.Aftermath
Betaed by
pipspebbleFirst there was darkness.
Then an irregular thumping and rushing in his ears as he took in a great, rasping, ragged breath. Or at least, that’s what he tried to do, but his throat, inexplicably dry and tight, didn’t cooperate, seizing up with each indrawn breath and setting him to coughing and gasping as he tried desperately to fill his lungs.
Then the feel of fabric under his spasmodically clutching hands. Cloth caught in his fingers and he realized that someone was holding him, telling him to breathe. What the bloody hell do you think I’m trying to do, he wanted to shout, but there wasn’t enough air in his lungs to produce any sound other than the horrible, painfully hoarse wheezing he was already making.
Then sight returned. Blurry, vague, but better than the darkness. Infinitely better than the darkness. He shied away from that thought, trying already to forget that the darkness had ever been. Jack. That was Jack supporting him, looking paler and more ghostly than normal but solid, nonetheless. And Kate, holding onto his hand as if for dear life, face red and blotchy, tears streaming from swollen eyes.
His breathing was beginning to ease, just a little. Just enough to allow his awareness to expand far enough to encompass pain. A whole world of pain. The breathing and the pain seemed to go hand in hand. His lungs, his chest, his throat. God, his throat. It was like every sore throat he’d ever had, all rolled into one and multiplied by ten. By a hundred, maybe. A thousand.
He was tired. So very tired and he was tempted to close his eyes and sleep, but the darkness was there, and he wasn’t ready to face it again, just yet. Maybe never. So he kept his eyes wide open instead, staring ahead blankly. Soon, he told himself, soon the nightmare would fade and he could sleep again.
But then they were pulling him to his feet, insisting that he walk with them. His legs felt distant, almost not a part of him at all. He could barely feel his feet and they slipped and slid over the slick, muddy ground, skating off in random directions. They looped his arms over their shoulders and made him walk with them. Who were they? What did they want? He blinked, clearing his sight enough to see. Oh yes, Jack and Kate. Jack on his right and Kate on his left. He allowed his head to hang down, finding it too much effort to stay alert. He moved his feet in the correct motions, but left it to the others to find the way.
He walked like this for an endless amount of time, measured only in pain. Pain which grew worse with each step he was forced to take. He was walking away from something, he knew dimly. Away from something terribly important, and it wasn’t right. He should go back. But the very thought of turning around – even if he’d been able to – filled him with such horror that it nearly froze his heart. His feet stopped of their own accord and his knees buckled as the darkness rose up to engulf him.
***
Charlie put his arm protectively around Claire as Ethan stared at them. The intensity of the other man’s stare was clearly frightening Claire and it unnerved Charlie as well.
“Claire,” Ethan spoke after a long moment, “Jack wasn’t able to come, there’s a crisis at the caves as well. He asked me to help you back.”
The tension didn’t leave Claire as Ethan spoke, and she looked at Charlie searchingly.
“It’s okay, Claire,” he said, putting as much reassurance in his voice as he could and squeezing her shoulders briefly, “I’ll stay with you.”
Even as Claire made to respond, however, Charlie found himself under attack. Ethan charged into him, his face twisted insanely. One hand pushed at Charlie’s face, twisting it to the side, even as a foot snaked around behind his leg and deftly knocked him down. Charlie scrambled to fight back even as he fell, but as the ground rose up behind him, the side of his head slammed hard into something unyielding and his body went limp. Stunned and fighting to remain conscious, the last thing he saw before darkness overwhelmed him was Claire, hands covering her belly protectively, eyes wide in stunned confusion and an awakening awareness of her own danger.
Consciousness returned slowly as he found himself moving across uneven ground. It was dark and he blinked, trying to clear his eyes, to no avail. He tried to bring his hands to his eyes and realized belatedly that someone was holding onto his wrists, dragging his body. Even as he began struggling, trying to free himself, he was dropped to the ground.
“Enough!” a harsh, unfamiliar voice barked. “We have the girl and if you want to help her, you will do exactly as you are told.”
Charlie forced himself to stop fighting. “Claire?” he called out tentatively, fear twisting his gut. There was no response. His hands were free now, and he moved them to his eyes, encountering a swath of rough cloth bound around his head and he tried to pull it off, desperate to know what was going on.
“Stop!” the voice growled. Rough hands grabbed his wrists again, pulling his arms behind his back and binding his hands tightly.
“Get to your feet.”
Charlie attempted to comply, but it was difficult without his hands. His head swam and he felt dizzy. It took three tries before he managed to pull himself upright. As soon as he was on his feet, a hand clamped around his upper arm and he found himself being tugged along. The ground was rough and uneven, with many tripping hazards which his captors made little effort to guide him around. He was soon bruised and aching from many falls and encounters with unyielding objects.
***
Somehow they had made it back to the caves, although Charlie didn’t remember the walk at all. He sat now on a log, staring unblinking into the fire. Kate had draped a blanket over his shoulders and was rubbing his back soothingly, but for the moment Charlie ignored her. Jack lightly probed the abrasions on his neck, asking stupid questions like, “does that hurt?” Charlie ignored him, as well. All of his attention was needed elsewhere, holding back the horrors of the day. He had only the vaguest memories of most of the day, flashes of color and brief snatches of sound, followed by a long period of muffled darkness, interspersed with harsh voices and pain. Each time he approached one of those memories, a rushing sounded in his ears and dizziness threatened to overwhelm him.
But Jack persisted, forcing himself into Charlie’s awareness when he said Claire’s name.
“I didn’t see anything, hear anything,” Charlie finally said, voice low and filled with a mix of emotions, anger, sorrow and resignation overlaid with a determination to make Jack leave him alone. “I don’t remember,” he insisted painfully, “anything.”
Even as he said the words, he knew they were a lie. He did remember something. The strangely intense look Ethan had directed at Claire when they met him on the path, and the look of almost comprehension in Claire’s eyes as his head struck the ground.
“Claire,” he muttered, barely aware of Jack’s sudden attention. “That’s all they wanted. All they wanted was Claire.”
Hurley brought him some food then, a bowl of some soup-like substance and a cup of tea, but Charlie made no effort to take the food, or even look up. Hurley sighed and set it down next to the log, then moved silently away, leaving Charlie to return to his inner battle.
***
He must have fallen asleep at some point, for he came awake gasping and coughing, trying desperately to breathe. God, he felt bloody awful. He didn’t remember having anything to drink, but he had an absolutely rotten hangover, and he needed a fix in the worst way, could practically taste the drug on his tongue. He automatically reached into his pocket and froze when his hand found nothing but lint and sand. Where was it?
Charlie bit back a moan as memory crashed down on him. Wrapping his arms about his legs, he rocked back and forth. It hadn’t been a dream, at all. Claire was still out there somewhere, with those people, those same people who had – no! He ruthlessly cut off that train of thought and made an effort to pull himself together. He vaguely remembered Jack saying something about going out to search for Claire at first light. Looking around, he saw that it was still dark, but the camp was stirring and the air had that peculiar hush and stillness that comes just before dawn.
Pushing himself to his feet, he stumbled over to where Jack was sorting through his backpack, beside one of the fire pits.
“Right,” he said loudly, trying to sound stronger than he felt, “when’re we leaving?” The idea of facing...them...again made his stomach churn, but better that than abandoning Claire.
Jack’s hands stilled for an instant before resuming their job of placing water bottles, food, bandages and other medical supplies carefully into the pack. “We’ll be leaving in a few minutes, as soon as it’s light enough to see where we’re going. But Charlie, you’re not coming with us.”
Anger flared up in him, stronger than the dual senses of reprieve and shame that also sprang up at Jack’s words. “Look,” he started heatedly, “you may think I’m a useless git, but there’s no way I’m going to just sit here and leave Claire in the hands of those...people. I want – I need to help.”
Jack shook his head, “We’ve been through this before, Charlie. I don’t think you’re a ‘useless git’, and you know it. I do think that you haven’t had more than an hour’s worth of sleep, you’re feverish, and your breathing is still rough. You would not be able to help us. In fact, you would hamper us. You would slow us down.”
The anger drained from Charlie as quickly as it had come, leaving him feeling sick and weak. He sank down on a log near the fire, staring despondently at the dirt between his feet. Jack was right, of course, harsh as his words had been, and the part of Charlie that was terrified of the prospect of going back out into the jungle was relieved beyond words at having that choice taken away from him. None of that made him any happier. He should be out there finding Claire. He’d promised her that he would protect her and instead he was going to sit nice and cozy in front of a roaring fire while she was out there somewhere, terrified and possibly being tortured or...or God knew what.
Absorbed by his thoughts, Charlie barely felt the hand that rested for a moment on his shoulder, although he vaguely sensed that Jack meant it to be a comforting gesture. He sat, huddled in misery, for a long time, ignoring everyone around him. He only came out of it when he found himself reaching, once again, into his pocket for a stash that was no longer there. His hands were twitching and he was covered in sweat. He suddenly felt overwhelmingly hot and a surge of nausea almost overcame him. Staggering to his feet, he abruptly moved away from the fire, grabbing a water bottle and trying to drown the queasiness in his stomach.
“Dude, are you okay?” Hurley looked up from where he’d been sitting, concern written across his face.
“I’m fine,” Charlie answered shortly, “I just – I’m feeling a bit restless. I think I’ll walk down to the beach.”
Hurley eyed him dubiously. “Dude, Jack said you should rest. Are you sure you’re up to a walk?”
Charlie glared at the big man, who shrugged but refused to back down. “I’m fine,” Charlie repeated. “I just can’t sit here and wait. I need to do something, even if it’s just gathering driftwood for the signal fire.”
“Okay,” Hurley conceded, “but I’m coming with you. I was going to make a water run anyway.”
“I don’t need a nursemaid, Hurley,” Charlie protested, “I can take the water down, myself. There’s no need for you to come.”
Hurley just stared at Charlie with one eyebrow cocked and Charlie found himself relenting. “Fine,” he muttered wearily, “do what you want. I’m going now.”
Refilling his water bottle, he picked up a backpack heavy with filled bottles and headed for the path to the beach, striding quickly and purposefully, with Hurley a few steps behind. He managed to walk at this pace for a full five minutes before his knees buckled again and he was forced to sit down rather abruptly while he caught his breath, but he didn’t allow himself to rest long. The need to move was worse than the painful rasp of the air in his lungs and as soon as he could breathe again he pushed himself up from the rock and continued.
Hurley said nothing, though he did relieve Charlie of the heavy backpack and took the lead, setting a maddeningly slow pace. Charlie fumed but soon found that, slow as they were moving, it was about as fast as he could go. At the pace Hurley set, it took over half an hour to make their way through the jungle, and Charlie’d had to stop twice more to catch his breath. Arriving at the beach, Hurley moved to the makeshift bin which stored the water bottles, emptying the packs of the full ones and refilling them with empties.
Charlie took advantage of Hurley’s distraction to move down the beach, away from everyone. He wanted to be alone, needed to be alone. God, how he longed for a fix. Something to soothe his mind and ease his fears, just enough to take the edge off, make things a little more bearable. There was no hope of that though. He’d burned that bridge quite thoroughly and now he didn’t know what to do. Normally, he would have sought solace in his music, but today there was no music in his soul and he hadn’t even wanted to try playing his guitar. He needed activity, something that would wear him out to the point where he could no longer think.
Looking around for several minutes, he finally spied the axe, off to one side by a pile of cut wood. That would do. Taking the axe, he went back a little way into the jungle until he came across some dead wood. Swinging the axe viciously, he began chopping at the fallen tree trunk. It worked, for a time. He was able to sink himself into the task and focus on it to the exclusion of all else, but it didn’t take very long at all for him to wear himself out and soon his arms were trembling too much to continue swinging the axe.
Flopping to the ground, covered in sweat, dirt and wood dust, he panted hoarsely, only now realizing he’d left his water bottle behind, somewhere.
“Here, you should drink something.”
The voice startled him and he jerked to full awareness, sudden fear trying to make him bolt, but his body was too tired to respond. Looking up, he realized the voice belonged to a woman he’d spoken with briefly at the airport in Sidney, and the adrenaline left him as quickly as it had come.
“Drink,” she urged again, handing him a bottle of water.
With a trembling hand, he accepted the water and took a long drink, feeling marginally better afterwards. “Thanks,” he muttered thickly.
“I’m Rose,” she answered.
“Charlie,” he gasped, still trying to get his breath back.
“It’s nice to meet you, Charlie.”
Rose fell silent for a while, and Charlie lay back, closing his eyes. He didn’t feel up to conversation, but as long as the woman didn’t mind silence, he found that her presence was rather soothing. He drifted for a while, neither awake nor asleep, before giving in to his exhaustion and falling off the edge into real sleep.
He had the same nightmare again, of not being able to breathe, and woke in a panic, thrashing about as he tried to catch his breath. He felt warm arms around him then, cradling him, holding him as he hadn’t been held since he was a small boy.
“Shh,” Rose soothed, rocking him gently, “it’s over. You’re awake now, it’s alright.”
“No, it’s not,” he choked and suddenly he was crying, great heaving sobs that shook his whole frame. Rose’s arms tightened about him, holding him safe and secure, letting him get it out of his system. After what felt like forever, but was probably only a short while, the storm abated and he pulled away from Rose’s arms. He had never cried in the arms of a stranger before and he was feeling acutely uncomfortable now.
Clearly sensing his discomfort, Rose gave him a moment to gather himself before speaking. “My husband,” she began with a sad smile, “always says there’s nothing like a good cry to wash the cobwebs out of your mind. Not that he would ever let me catch him crying,” she added with another smile. “Don’t be embarrassed, or ashamed. A good cry can be very healing, if you don’t fight against it.”
Oddly enough, Charlie understood what she meant. He hadn’t cried like that in years. Even when he’d had that horrible fight with Liam that broke up the band, his tears had been quieter, more restrained. And in one way, at least, he did feel somewhat better. True, his throat hurt worse than ever, his head throbbed and his eyes felt as though he’d been rubbing sand in them, but the tight, hard knot of need in his chest had loosened. Not gone away, entirely, but eased enough to be borne without feeling as if he was going insane. He felt ready to return to the caves now. He knew that was where Jack would return, whether he found Claire or not, and Charlie needed to be there.
Lurching to his feet, he swayed for a minute before finding his balance. It was going to be a long walk back, he thought. He wondered if Hurley was still around. Only one way to find out, he knew.
“Come,” Rose said, “I’ll walk you back to the signal fire. I think Hurley said he would wait for you there.”
“Thank you, Rose,” he told her, grateful for her kindness, “you’re a good woman.” Wearily he began to trudge down the length of the beach, ready to offer an apology to Hurley and then find his way back to the caves and some desperately needed rest.
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Date: 2004-12-29 04:46 pm (UTC)Love this!
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Date: 2004-12-29 05:03 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-29 05:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-29 06:19 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-12-29 07:26 pm (UTC)