Five Adventures in Other Fanons
Summary: This is a series of five Charlie stories written for the charlielives challenge fanon as canon. They are based on fanfics by five of my favourite Lost fic writers. The first three are set in fanons of S1, S2 and S3 respectively. The 1st is an AU story where Ethan interviews a brainwashed Charlie, the 2nd involves a night when Claire bakes cookies in the Swan hatch and the 3rd fic features the death of Charlie's beloved guitar, Ethel. The last two stories are set post-S3. The 4th is an afterlife fic featuring all 'dead but here' characters on the day of Alex's killing. The 5th is set in a Charlielives verse where the Looking Glass is a portal and Charlie is saved from drowning by Penny. The original fics can all be linked to in the LJ community charlielives.
Characters: Charlie, Ethan, Sayid, Sawyer, Claire, Hurley, Desmond, Ethel the acoustic electric, Boone, Alex, Penny and more!
Rating: PG/PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost and these fanons were created by toestastegood, sapphirechild, elliotsmelliot, janie tangerine and pacejunkie.
S1 Based
Fanon: 'Homecoming' by toestastegood
Quote: Ethan came towards him with a needle. Ethan's hands were gentle, surprisingly so, as he searched for the vein. He took so long that Charlie wanted to snatch the needle from him and do it himself – wasn't like he'd never shot up before. "Thank you," Ethan said after he'd finished. He wiped a cotton swab over Charlie's arm but Charlie wasn't paying too much attention anymore. His head felt so light that it was like he was floating, right up in the cosmos. He laughed and held onto Ethan tightly, going flying with him.
Everything Changes
It was two weeks after the Others raid on their camp and the abduction of six of their people that Sayid found the small cassette player in the jungle. It had been left very deliberately on the surface of a log that Sayid passed by every day on his walk between the beach and the caves to collect water. The little black machine was wrapped in a cellophane bag to protect it from the weather. That morning Sayid had been intending to make another trek out into the jungle in search of a trail that would lead him to where his friends were being held captive. But after making this discovery, he turned on his heels and marched back towards the beach camp.
There were roughly thirty of them left now; those in the camp who hadn't been killed or kidnapped in that night of fire and wailing. Morale was severely low with the loss of their doctor and their hunter. Sayid took the tape player to Sawyer's shelter first. He and the conman had formed an uneasy alliance since the raid, realising that they were the only stalwart leader figures remaining to the camp in this time for fear and crisis. When Sawyer had woken, they sat together under his tarpaulin, staring at the black machine and the tiny cassette held in its jaws.
Sawyer was the first to move. He let out a grunt of frustration and slammed his finger down on the play button. For the next few minutes they listened to its recorded message; the voices of two men that they recognised. In the uneventful afternoon that followed Sayid would sit in his own tent and carefully transcribe their conversation only to shake his head despairingly and place the transcript among his growing collection of notations that he had no idea what to do with...
(Tape begins)
Ethan: Okay. Okay, it's recording us now.
Charlie: I don't understand. What's this for again?
Ethan: Charlie, I just explained it to you. Please try to listen when people are talking to you. This is a message we are sending back to your friends on the beach. It's just a little message to let them know that you and the others are alive, that we are treating you well and that they should stop trying to find you.
Charlie: They…they've been looking for us?
Ethan: (pause) That's not what I brought you here to discuss.
Charlie: I don't see why you have to be so secretive. Why can't the rest of them people at the beach come and join us, eh? We could all go to this village you keep talking about together…
Ethan: They weren't on the list, Charlie. They aren't good people. You, Claire, Jack, Locke, Kate and Walt are the ones we have chosen. Besides…even if we wanted to bring your other friends along, our facilities are very limited. You know that. Now, why don't you tell them how you've been these last two weeks?
Charlie: Two weeks…has...has it really been that long?
Ethan: Yes, Charlie. You must try to concentrate.
Charlie: Sorry…I'm sorry...well, those first few days were horrible. You…you hit me. You knocked me out! There was a big lump on the back of my head. And then there was your friend with the beard. He didn't like me, Ethan. He was angry that you brought me here. He dragged me down to that room where it says 'Quarantine' on the door. He had a gun on his belt. He would have shot me, if you hadn't come…
Ethan: Charlie, stop being dramatic! He wasn't going to shoot you. It was a simple misunderstanding. He thought that you were sick. He didn't want you to infect anyone else. If you had only been honest about your drug problem from the start we wouldn't have misread your symptoms, now would we? Charlie…Charlie, sit down! Calm down. Let's not have another temper tantrum from you today.
Charlie: I just don't trust that bearded guy! But wait…I'll be good! I'll cooperate. Please. Please don't take me back to the room again…
Ethan: Charlie, I just want you to sit down. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to shout.
Charlie: Fine. Whatever. I'm calm. So what do you want me to say?
Ethan: (pause) Why not tell your friends how I've been taking care of you?
Charlie: Um…yeah…I suppose so. My heroin withdrawal…it wasn't so bad after you started giving me those injections. Cheers for that.
Ethan: Well, I want for you to make a full recovery before you join the rest of your friends at the village. And you want to get better, don't you?
Charlie: Yeah, I want to be better. A change for the better. Everything changes…
Ethan: That's right, Charlie. We are helping you to change your bad habits. Say, why don't you tell your friends about last night? When I took you to visit Claire?
Charlie: Claire? You…you took me to see Claire?
Ethan: Yes Charlie. Surely you remember that? Oh dear, those drugs really have taken their toll on you, haven't they? I took you up to Claire's room.
Charlie: (pause) I remember a room. There was a room with a screen. There were straps on the chair. I remember. Colours. Shapes. Pretty flowers…I couldn't look away. It wouldn't stop. It wouldn't ever stop!!
Ethan: Charlie. Charlie, it's okay. Just breathe. Nice and easy. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to confuse you. It's okay if you don't remember. You've been having some bad dreams. It is all part of your withdrawal, I'm afraid. Here, drink some of this. There now. Don't upset yourself again. I'll help you with your memories.
Charlie: Okay…thank you, Ethan...
Ethan: Claire was very happy to see you when I took you to visit her. She's been asking after you nearly every day. Her baby will be coming very soon. She showed you the little socks that she has been knitting for him and the mobile hanging above his crib. Then you two just sat together on her bed and tried to pick a baby name. (pause) I gotta tell you, Charlie…you make the most adorable young couple. I can't help feeling a little jealous sometimes. I know you aren't the real father, but well…we can't help seeing you as a little family…the islands first family... (long pause) Are you okay? Charlie, you mustn't retreat now. Please tell me what you're thinking?
Charlie: An airplane...was there an airplane in the mobile?
Ethan: Yes Charlie! I knew you'd remember. Well done. Hey, do you remember our talk afterwards when I was walking you back to your room? Remember how I told you that you could go back to the beach if you wanted?
Charlie: You…you were going to let me go?
Ethan: Well, the offer was there. We were considering releasing you as a sign of good will towards your friends. We wanted to show them that we aren't the bad guys. But you told me that you didn't want to go back, remember? You said that you wanted to be here for Claire when the baby arrives…
Charlie: Yeah! Yeah, that's what I want. I want us to be a family. I don't want them to rescue me. You won't let them, will you Ethan?
Ethan: Of course not, Charlie. Don't worry. Jack, Kate and Locke feel the same way. I think Jack would be very proud of you. It won't be much longer now. We've picked out a lovely little cottage for you, Claire and the baby to live in.
Charlie: Good. Good, that's what I want. I have to think about my life. If you plant a good seed then you will gather up joyful fruit...
Ethan: Yes Charlie. Right, I'm going to stop the tape now…
Charlie: …God loves you as He loved Jacob…
Ethan: Charlie. That's enough.
(Tape ends)
S2 Based
Fanon: 'Unwound' by elliotsmelliot
Quote: Claire comes around to everyone with a plate of cookies she's made. Jack has no idea where she got the ingredients and by their mushy consistency it appears she had to improvise, however, they taste just as good as they smell; rich and buttery with a hint of ginger. Jack can't remember anything ever tasting so good. Claire basks in the compliments Sawyer and Jack shower on her and she slips them each an extra one. Jack's savouring his second cookie when Sawyer stops Charlie on his way by. He's holding his own cookie in front of him like a prize, a blissful expression painted on his face from being included in Claire allocation, despite his recent behaviour.
Wallflowers
Claire hadn't eaten any of the cookies herself. She was too busy savouring in the achievement and the sweetness of the compliments that she was receiving from everyone. After serving up the last of her batch to Locke who sat alone in the computer room, she left the plate in the dining booth, retrieved Aaron from Rose's cradling arms and then slipped through the throng of people who were huddling around the ping pong table. Anticipation was brewing for the next match. This was the one they had all been waiting for...the clash of the titans.
Jack and Sawyer faced each other across the netting, their mouths curved in aggressive smiles that revealed how much they both cherished this rivalry. Jack was in a playful mood tonight which was causing a fair few raised eyebrows and even more satisfied smiles around the room. Seeing their leader so relaxed, even mildly inebriated, had relieved them of their worries over the oppressive weather. Sawyer meanwhile was rolling the ball around in his palm. He was dressed in a grey boiler suit which he was handsome enough to make look like evening wear. Two days earlier Sawyer had conned and swindled the entire camp, but his roguish charm had melted away their grudges. He soon had a bustle of supporters placing bets on him, especially after the initial rounds suggested he was a stronger player than the doctor.
Claire had been happily enjoying the game and feeling pleasantly surprised by how calmly Aaron was responding to this noisy night down in a congested bunker. Then in a flash Claire remembered the sticky bowls and greased baking trays that she had left cluttering the kitchen area. She wasn't even sure she had turned the oven off.
Wincing, Claire turned and pushed her way through the crowd.
With everyone clustering in the recreation area the kitchen was empty and shadowed. There was only one person who was occupying its space and Claire didn't raise her head to see him until she had already rounded the counter. Charlie stood with his wrists in a sink full of dishes, cold water and no bubbles. Raising his head to see Claire approaching, he quickly wiped his hands on his t-shirt and bowed his head, like she had caught him up to no good.
"I…I was going to do those..." Claire blurted, startled by his presence.
Charlie cringed, his eyes darting to the kitchen counter. The cookie Claire had given him was resting there on a folded napkin. It hadn't been touched, not even nibbled. Claire knew right away that Charlie wasn't snubbing her cookie. He was preserving it, he was clinging to it and, God, she wished he would just eat the damn thing and stop being so precious about it. It wasn't like the cookie meant she had forgiven him. It just meant she wasn't such a bitch she would exclude him from her offering. It was a simple courtesy. It wasn't anything special. She was just treating Charlie like everyone else.
Only…only that wasn't entirely true. When Claire had taken the cookies out of the oven she had noticed that one of them had more chocolate chips than the rest. And yes, Claire had made sure this was the cookie she had handed to Charlie. She hadn't managed to meet his eyes when she had bestowed it to him, but maybe in her silly girlish way she had hoped Charlie would understand her secret code of the extra chocolate chips. Maybe he would come over to her, whisper that he was sorry and this time she would take his hand to show she was prepared to forgive him. Then maybe…well, Claire had been watching those couples on the dance floor all evening...knowing that there was only one person who she wanted for her partner.
But no; Charlie hadn't eaten her cookie or asked her to dance. Instead he crept into the kitchen and set about doing her chores for her. It made her want to scream.
"I can do my own washing up, Charlie," she told him sternly.
Her voice emerged in harsher tones than she had intended. She felt a little ridiculous; scolding Charlie for the heinous crime of tidying up the mess that she had created. But even as Charlie nodded and slumped his shoulders, Claire felt she knew what he was doing. He was trying to worm his way back into her affections in the worst possible way. He was trying to recreate that domestic rut of a relationship that she really didn't want. He was trying to get a 'thank you' out of her that she wasn't prepared to give. Claire knew his little ways. She was still scowling as Charlie picked up his cookie and held it before his chest like a very small buttery shield.
"Sorry…" he murmured. "I just…I needed something to do."
Claire wasn't surprised to hear this. Charlie had spent the night floating around like a dead fly in a glass of bubbling champagne. For the most part he had lingered by the record player, swapping occasional words with Sayid who was among the few people that were still talking to him. Claire had watched Charlie out of the corner of her eye, partly out of wariness, partly out of vague concern and yes, partly…because she liked him. Earlier on that night she had overheard Sawyer asking Charlie to find him and Jack a bottle of wine. She had turned her head once again when Charlie had returned from his quest, mumbling his apologies and then shuffling away from the two men who had been laughing at some private joke. Claire had swallowed, wondering why Charlie hadn't brought Jack and Sawyer an empty wine bottle and pretended that it was full. What…what had happened to his spark? Had she snuffed it out? Had she beaten it into the ground?
Claire dared to raise her eyes and look Charlie in the face for a full two seconds. In that time she squinted at the little row of stitches beneath his left eye. His cheek was still bruised and swollen. Claire felt strangely like she had been the one who had hit him. This was ridiculous, of course. It was Locke who had done it. Claire had never asked Locke to rough Charlie up on her behalf. But still…it wasn't like she asked him to stop either. Now Charlie was standing here before her; cleaning up her dishes, her battered housewife, too desperately loyal to turn aside, even though his devotion to her earned him nothing but pain and suffering.
Claire's mouth hung open but no words came to her lips. Charlie was sneaking little glances down the corridor that led to the Swan's door. Maybe he was quietly considering whether the typhoon might be less abrasive than her company. Claire's eyes fell on the cooker and she was now feeling pretty certain that she had left the gas on after all. It could be that Charlie had saved them from burning to death in this underground station. Not that he had mentioned it. Claire didn't imagine that anyone would be impressed or thankful if he did speak up.
The awkward silence was finally broken by Aaron, who let out a squeal and stretched a hand in Charlie's direction.
"What is it, big guy?" said Charlie, answering the baby's cry on impulse. "Do…do you want my biscuit?"
Charlie held out the crumbling cookie in his hand, but Aaron was still making the little pining noise in his throat and making it clear to both of them that he didn't want Charlie's biscuit. Aaron wanted Charlie to hold him. He wanted Charlie to pull funny faces for him and sing little lullabies to him like he used to. Aaron didn't know how very inappropriate it would be for his mummy to pass him to Charlie now after Charlie had taken him without her permission; the same Charlie who had once sworn he wasn't going to let anyone take her baby away from her...
Claire drew back hoping that Aaron wasn't about to burst into tears.
"He's just…I better…um…" she stammered.
Claire never managed to finish that sentence. She turned her back, hurriedly retreating to the recreation area and joining Jack's group of supporters. She quickly found that she couldn't concentrate on the ping pong. Her eyes were flicking to the kitchen, waiting to see if Charlie emerged from its shadows. After a few more minutes Charlie stepped away from the sink and shuffled over to the rowdy huddle that were backing Sawyer. Neither Charlie nor Claire placed any bets on the game and nobody seemed to notice that they were the only ones not cheering.
When Sawyer scored his winning point the room erupted in wild exclaimations. Jack doubled over laughing, taking his defeat remarkably well. Sawyer slammed his paddle down on the tabletop, lifting his hands in the air and whooping with triumph. Then without warning, Sawyer slung an arm around Charlie's shoulder, pulling him into a headlock and ruffling his hair with his knuckles. The gesture was somewhere between affectionate and bullyish, but Charlie smiled as if he was simply pleased by somebody acknowledging his presence. Claire felt herself smiling too. She hadn't seen Charlie's face light up in a long time, maybe not since their midnight feast on the beach. She missed that taste of sweetness in her mouth.
Sawyer kept his arm around Charlie for a moment longer as if it suited him to share his victory with the camp outcast. He only released Charlie from this hold when Hurley waved him over to collect his stake in the winnings. Charlie lifted a shaky hand and combed his hair back into place. Then he raised his head and locked eyes with Claire.
Their smiles faded instantly, but they managed to hold each other's stares. Claire looked at Charlie long enough to let him know that she still noticed him. She still thought about him. She still, well…you know…cared.
Charlie's eyes brightened, his chest rising and falling. He was the first to look away but as he did so Claire caught his tiny nod of compliance. A little nod that said; Okay…I'll give you space, I'll give you time…
And so it was settled without a word.
S3 Based
Fanon: 'My Baby' (and Ethel verse) by sapphire child
Quote: "We are gathered here today to mourn the loss of Charlie's guitar," Locke glanced around at the small assembly. Charlie, Claire, Aaron, Rose, Bernard and Hurley, all of them staring solemnly at the 'body' which was propped up against a tree, wreathed in flowers – Claire's handiwork. "It was a good guitar, a good friend of Charlie's and often we could hear it playing here on the island – something to remind us of home." Claire squeezed Charlie's arm gently in reassurance and he smiled faintly. "I'm sure that Charlie's guitar will always be remembered and that our memories of … her?" Charlie nodded and Locke gave a small cough before continuing. "Our memories of her will always be...remembered. Or something to that effect anyway..." Everyone grinned a little but then their serious faces were back in place as Locke gestured at the guitar.
Swan Song
Charlie stepped into the clearing, carrying the broken guitar in his arms.
It had been a long bloody night; the second night in a row that they'd had bugger all sleep and soon they would be setting off on the eight mile trek back to the beach camp. Charlie had excused himself for a call of nature, but really he just needed to escape from his companions for a moment. He needed a break from Jin's one-word sentences and Hurley's endless comicbook babblings. He especially needed some space from Desmond. Oh, it wasn't that Charlie disliked Desmond. Not at all. They were fine friends, brothers even, and did you know that Desmond had saved his life on several occasions? Yes, the bearded wonder was ever so modest about that feat. No really, there was no beef between him and Dessie. It was just that these constant predictions of his impending death and the sneaky attempts to sacrifice him with impaling arrows, were beginning to get on top of Charlie, what with the lack of sleep and all. Not that Charlie really craved sleep. Pretty soon he would be getting a good deal more rest than he wanted. Sod it, he thought, I'll keep awake while I can.
Charlie drew to a halt inside the circle of trees. He lowered his stare and carassed the body of his guitar; feeling over her delicate fibers and her scarred fret board like it was braille. The others couldn't care less about the damage that she had suffered. They were all too busy fusing over the mystery woman with the punctured lung, who would apparently be in perfect health again in a days time. Well, that was more than Charlie could say for his poor friend Ethel. He pressed his fingers down gently on her remaining strings, as if he was feeling for a pulse. He closed his eyes and strummed a tentative chord.
The note emerged in an agonised squeal...the musical equivalent of a death rattle...
Charlie swallowed a whimper. He supposed it had been too much to hope for that she would still be playable. Ethel had an arrowhead imbedded in her neck, an arrow that had been meant for his own throat. Oh Ethel, Charlie thought in a sorrowful prayer, You are my life safer, girl. Not that lying Scottish bastard. And now his faithful heroine was mortally wounded. The island's healing powers would not lend its grace to her. Ethel was done for.
Hey, I know how you feel, darling... Charlie comforted her telepathically. ...you're really playing my song now...
Charlie felt himself growing a little hysterical as he reflected on his memories of this guitar. When Locke had found Ethel she had been hanging from a tree. Well, Charlie knew a few things about hanging from trees himself. He knew it wasn't nice to be hung from a tree. Death generally isn't a thing anyone would wish to experience when they are still young...when they have so many songs that they would like to write and share with the world. But what did it matter what he or Ethel wished for? The world didn't want them anymore. All Charlie could do for Ethel now was put the old girl out of her misery. Give her one last bloody song to go out on. Charlie smiled fiendishly. He began to strum again...forcing her strings to pant in harsh tuneless breaths...
Hurley wandered into the clearing, hiking a thumb over his shoulder.
"Hey man..." he began. "Have you finished peeing or...whatever you're doing over here. Desmond's getting itchy feet. He really wants to get the parachute lady back to the camp...like now."
"Don't you want to hear my new song, Hurley?" Charlie asked pleasantly.
He swallowed. "Err…not really, dude. No offense, but...your guitar sounds horrible."
Charlie rolled his eyes, increasing his tempo to a more rigorous rhythm. "I haven't started the song yet, Hurley. This is just the intro. The overture. Aren't you gonna ask me what my new song is called?"
Charlie was glancing around him at the circle of trees. If he was being honest he was looking for a tree that reminded him of Desmond. Ah yes, there was one on the left side of the clearing. The one with the dark twisted roots, the miserable bedragged branches and the dead fruits at its base. That was Desmond as a tree alright.
"Okay…" Hurley sighed, "...what's the name of your horrible song, Charlie?"
Charlie didn't answer. He clasped Ethel by her neck and raised her above his head. Then charging up to the tree he slammed her body hard against its trunk. In a flurry of movement he beat her frontways and sideways, her strings twanging and severing with every blow, her body fracturing into shards of metal, wire and splintered wood. Charlie had never broken an instrument before. Liam had broken them, of course. In the glare of the spotlight his crazy brother couldn't resist smashing a few guitars against amplifiers or putting his feet through the skins of several drum kits. Charlie had always been the one to lecture Liam, telling him that their equipment was expensive and he should stop being so immature. But deep down there had been a part of Charlie that had envied Liam. The same part of him that had always wanted to drift into that dizzy world of sex, drugs and wild parties that Liam had experienced long before Charlie gave into it.
Ethel had been holding back all these years too. She didn't want to die as a wimpish folk guitar. Ethel was a punk guitar at heart. She wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. She wanted to rock-n-roll...
"Dude! Take it easy…" Hurley blurted in a panicked voice.
Hurley wrenched the broken strut of her neck out of Charlie's hand and pulled him away from the tree. Jin and Desmond came bounding into the clearing, summoned by the sound of Ethel's dying music. Jin was blinking and frowning, perplexed as ever by the erratic behaviour of his english speaking companions, but Desmond's expression was solemn and regretful as his eyes fell on the brutalised remains of the guitar at the foot of the tree. Charlie shrugged off Hurley's hands. He was breathless, perspiring and exhilarated. He spread his arms wide, lifting them high above his head and grinning manically at his audience of three.
"I call it The Death of Ethel…" he proclaimed.
Afterlife Based
Fanon: 'Dead but also Here' by janie tangerine
Quote: They aren't alive, but they have a body. Whether it's their own or whether it isn't, they don't know, but fact is, they do have it. They can touch each other and their skin feels exactly as it felt before; they have a beating heart but their blood doesn't flow and their wounds last barely for seconds. Their nails don't grow but Shannon's skin tans and their hair grows if they cut it. No one tries to find some reason for this. It's not like they care.
Mercy for Pawns
Boone had known it was coming. He couldn't say he felt it in his bones, for being dead he no longer had bones or feeling, but in this form of his ever living consciousness he had sensed it. Ever since Charlie had arrived here Boone had been waiting for it. Charlie's death had been like the leak in the dam, the teardrop from heaven, the beginning of the end. Now it was the time of the flood…
The newly dead came stumbling in from the tide, breaking like waves on the shore, twisting in dazed circles on the sand. They appeared in droves of two or three at a time. Doctor Arzt was trying gather them together like wayward children on a school outing. Libby was speaking softly to the French woman and the boy who had been the first to arrive this morning. Neither of them had registered their own deaths yet. They were more concerned for the one they had left behind. All the victims were clutching parts of their bodies; their chests, their stomachs, sometimes their heads. Those wounds hadn't followed them into this world, but the memory of their indiscriminate killings still lingered…and pained them.
This was why Boone didn't believe in guns.
Charlie was standing by his side, his face pinched and his eyes wide as saucers. Boone knew what he was thinking. He too had noticed that these people were all members of Locke's camp. He knew that Charlie was now waiting with dread anticipation to see if Claire or Hurley or God forbid the baby appeared next on the beach.
To doom one human life it is to doom us all, Boone reflected sombrely. He had once scrawled this message in chalk on the pavement at an Amnesty rally that he had attended in his teenage years. At the time it may have only been the sentimental daubing of a young peacenik, but the words still rung true for him. They had come into his mind the day that Charlie had lost his long battle with fate and they echoed through his being again now...
…now as he looked to the far end of the beach and saw the girl.
Amidst the chaos nobody had noticed their latest arrival. Boone had been expecting her. He had known her chances of her survival were slim, but his heart still sank when she appeared in the sand. She was lying facedown, trembling all over, her shoulders heaving and her face hidden behind a curtain of walnut hair. With a shaky hand she brushed the dark tangles from her eyes. Boone could see that she was very young, little more than a child. Many of those who had come to this beach in the last few months had been young. Boone had been young himself when death had taken him. But he didn't feel young any more. Age was a concept that had drifted beyond his understanding the longer he remained dead but here.
Boone touched Charlie's arm, nudging him out of his trance and inclining his head towards the girl in the sand. Charlie's face crumpled with dismay once more. Likely he was wondering why his brave sacrifice had not achieved salvation for these people as destiny had promised. Fate had skipped on their bargain. Now those people who Charlie had given his life for were tumbling into the afterworld like pawns being swept off a chessboard. Yeah, they were all pawns here, though Boone couldn't imagine that any of them wished to hear it. Not Charlie and certainly not that poor girl who lay trembling in the sand. Boone couldn't deny it, but he would have comforted them by saying that when this cruel game was over they would be purer and freer in their souls than the ruthless players who had sacrificed them.
Boone and Charlie began moving down the beach, but before either of them could reach the girl, they were overtaken by Karl.
"Alex! Alex!" he called, his voice giddy and frantic. "Alex, you're here!"
Karl skidded to his knees in front of her. With two grappling hands he took her by the shoulders, trying to raise her up from the sand. Alex looked into his animated face and let out a scream, shaking off his grasp and scrambling away from him. The last time Alex had seen her boyfriend he had been shot through the chest. She had seen his eyes rolling back in his skull and the blood trickling from his lips. She hadn't thought she would ever see him again. Not in such a place as this.
"Give her some space," Boone advised, pulling Karl away from her. "She's scared and shaken up naturally. She'll be okay though, man. We're all here for her…"
Boone smiled reassuringly at the boy. His clumsy eagerness reminded him very much of himself when he was younger and alive. Karl nodded weakly in consent.
"One of us needs to talk to her, Boone…"
He turned to see Libby approaching and Danielle leaning against her arm. The French woman was almost buckling at this sight of Alex which must surely have wounded her more deeply than the bullet that had killed her. Her face was a mask of agony and despair.
"My daughter…" she choked out, taking a step forwards.
"No…please Rousseau…" said Boone, laying a tentative hand on her arm. "You're not the right person to handle this."
"She…she's my daughter," Danielle repeated, brokenly.
"Please listen to him," Libby said in soothing tones. "Boone has been here longer than any of us. He knows what's best."
Boone felt strengthened by Libby's words. They treated him like a leader here. On the island Boone had often tried to take the initiative. He had tried to save lives. He had tried to establish a sense of democracy. But for all his trying the island had chosen him as its first sacrifice. He supposed with its appetite for wars, purges and slaughter the island had little use for a pacifist liberal. No, the island didn't need a humanitarian. But God they needed one here.
"I think Charlie should be the one to talk to her…" Boone said considerately.
Boone sensed that this was right based on the fate that Alex had suffered. There were different ways of experiencing death. For Danielle and Karl it had come so suddenly they barely had time to notice. It had been a quick bound between worlds; a death that's relatively painless and free of trauma. That's very different from being made to wait for death. They didn't know how it felt to have death's shadow creeping over them with slow excruciating inevitability. Boone had spent a long day and an even longer night waiting for death to close its fist on him. Libby had suffered through a similar ordeal. But neither of them could claim to know more about waiting and preparing for death than Charlie did.
"Oh, cheers Boone, thanks a lot..." Charlie muttered under his breath.
Boone smiled grimly. He had an instinctive faith in Charlie. They hadn't been close on the island, but he remembered that Charlie had been there the night he had died. In those brief moments when he had been slipping between states of shock and muddied-consciousness he could recall hearing Charlie's panicked voice bouncing off the cave walls as he asked everyone he could corner for their blood type. He had stayed at his bedside until Jin had arrived and told them that Claire was having her baby. Charlie had left then and Boone didn't blame him. He knew now there was more to fear for those being birthed into the world than those passing away from it.
Charlie was still looking at Boone uncertainly, wondering why he had been chosen to speak with the girl. He was a novice when it came to dealing newcomers, but Boone knew he needed to get through this. It would help Charlie to come to terms with his death too. This was a barrier they all had to cross. Dutifully Charlie crouched in the sand before Alex. She was sitting there like a bird that had been knocked from the sky and was now lying wounded in a heap of its own feathers. The girl sniffed, narrowing her eyes on him.
"I…I remember you…" Alex stammered.
"You do?" Charlie frowned. "How do you know me?"
"You were the one they hung from the tree," she told him, bluntly. "You were the one who was with Claire the day we took her to the Staff."
"Ah, I see," said Charlie, shifting uncomfortably. "You were with the group that took us then? I don't, erm...I don't exactly remember that day too well myself."
Boone remembered that day. He remembered he had been so desperate to make a worthy contribution to the camp. He knew that people thought he was a joke; him and his sister. He hadn't joined the hunting trips or the fishing because he hadn't liked the thought of killing an animal. He had failed to save Joanna and had suffered the indignity of being rescued himself by Jack. He had tried to recover Shannon's asthma medicine only to be beaten to a bloody pulp by Sawyer. So when Boone had heard about the man called Ethan Rom who wasn't on the plane and who had seemingly kidnapped Charlie and Claire, he had quickly and assertively volunteered to be one of the rescue party.
Boone winced remorsefully as he remembered how the two trails had divided in the jungle. Often he wished that he hadn't chosen to follow Locke. If he had only gone with Jack and Kate then he could have been there when they had saved Charlie. He could have helped and contributed the way he wanted to. Instead he had taken the path with Locke, who was probably more interested in meeting the island's inhabitants than rescuing the captives. That was the day they had found the hatch door and Boone had been drawn into his conspiracy with the old hunter; a secret pact which had ended with Locke choosing to sacrifice him at the island's demanding.
Boone didn't care about the island. He never had. Saving innocent lives, that was something that he cared about. Ever since he was a kid he had felt troubled when watching news reports about hostages who were taken in the Middle East and other war-torn areas of the world. Harmless civilians, who were imprisoned, tortured or sometimes executed for things they had nothing to do with. After seeing too many news reports of this kind, Boone had started with his marches, his petitions, his letters to the government and his plans to join the Peace Corps. There was something deep inside him that couldn't stomach the idea of innocents being killed in somebody else's feud. It was the reason he had wanted to help Charlie and Claire that day. It was the reason his soul burned for Alex now.
"I remember…" Alex said to Charlie after a pause, retreating into these ugly memories because maybe they were preferable to considering her present situation. "I remember you were kneeling on the ground. You were crying into your blindfold. And when Ethan said we were going to have to kill you…you wet your pants…"
Charlie swallowed. "Err...yeah...that sounds about right."
Alex cringed, her eyes misting over. Her hands reached down to her own crotch, feeling for the wetness there too. She looked so ashamed. Boone wanted to tell her it was okay. Most of them had lost control of their bodies when the end had come. He could still remember his degradation as he lay helpless on the airline cushions, sweating and trembling, his body jerking out of control, screams tearing from his mouth and blood gurgling up from his throat. He too remembered the squirmy wetness between his legs that had made him feel vulnerable as an infant again. They had all been through it. It was nothing to be ashamed of. Your body can't be brave when it knows it is shutting down. You can only find courage in your soul.
Alex's hands reached for her head now. She sat rocking and cradling her skull as if she could still feel the gunshot ringing in her ears and her hair growing sticky with blood. Charlie clasped hold of her shoulder.
"You're not wet and you're not bleeding…" he assured her in desperate ragged words. "I know it was horrible, but…it's over now, Alex. It's done with."
"I…I'm sorry…" she stuttered to Charlie.
"Hey...you've no reason to apologise to me, love."
Alex shook her head. "I heard my dad say it," she explained. "I heard him when he told Mikhail to kill you. He told him to kill Bonnie and Greta too. They were on our side. He always said we weren't killers…but I heard him give the order."
Charlie stroked her shoulder. There was no judgement in his face.
"Forget it..." he said. "Forget him..."
"I never told anyone," Alex continued regardless. "Locke and Sawyer, they were mad and they…they wanted to kill him. I knew if I told anyone my dad had ordered Mikhail to kill you it would have just made them madder. And I didn't want him killed. I know that he isn't a good man. I know he's killed a lot of people, though he lies about it. I really hated him sometimes, but…but he….he was the only father that I…"
Alex screwed her face up, pinching her eyes closed.
"He…he didn't save me," she said quietly. "He wouldn't come out. He said I was just a pawn. He said I meant nothing to him." Her voice grew strangled and hoarse. "My daddy said I meant nothing..."
Charlie took her by the shoulders then, looking her in the eyes with sternness, but also a fierce compassion. Boone had often seen Charlie look at Claire this way. He hoped that Charlie could make Alex feel secure again.
"Listen to me, Alex. Come on!" said Charlie, snapping her into focus. "That man was not your father. And you are ten times the person that he is. Ben took you away from your real family. But they're here for you now. They care about you, Alex. They're just waiting to show you how much they care."
Alex blinked, raising her head to look into the yearning eyes of Danielle and Karl who were being gently restrained by Libby. She rose slowly to her feet and made her way towards them. She was wobbly and unbalanced like a newborn fowl learning to walk. That's what a bullet to the head will do for you. Boone caught her by the arm as she stumbled, almost falling. He looked the girl in the face. She really was beautiful. No, more than beautiful; she was radiant. Boone wondered if Alex had been this beautiful when she was alive. Perhaps not. He remembered seeing a difference in Charlie when he had arrived on this beach. He was like an ugly ducking transformed into a swan. In life the body doesn't always reflect the person it holds inside, but here…here people looked the way they are. And Alex looked beautiful.
Boone gave her courteous nod that was almost a small bow. He wanted Alex to know that she was respected here; she was valued. Boone wouldn't allow anyone in this world to make Alex think that she was worth nothing. He watched the girl as she crossed the sand towards her mother and boyfriend in whose awaiting arms Alex found the thing she had recently been pleading for and had not received. Mercy.
"Alexandra…" he heard Danielle whispering into her hair.
Boone looked away, turning his attention back to Charlie. His friend's eyes were shining with something like tears, but there were no tears in this world either. Charlie was still thinking like a living person. Boone would have to shake him out of that habit. But for now he simply wrapped an arm around Charlie's shoulders and led him to the tree where his guitar lay in the shade. Then Charlie sat strumming while Boone meditated, trying to find a sense of peace for both of them.
I know how feel, man, Boone whispered to Charlie in a telepathy that drifted over his music. I know because when I was clinging to that radio and the floor of that plane was shaking beneath me, I thought I could be the hero too. Sure, I knew the plane might fall and I could end up hurt or dead, but if it had gotten everyone rescued, that's something I was prepared to die for. I know you were trying to do the same thing. I know you feel used by that stinking island and your sacrifice has been ripped off. But you've got to let it go, man. You need to realise that the real game isn't even about who wins or who stays on the board the longest. We may not have changed the state of play the way we wanted to, but we still changed ourselves into the people we always hoped we could be. That's what matters, man...
Charlie stopped his playing for a moment. He kept his eyes settled on the rippling ocean, but at the same time he stretched out a hand, which Boone quickly clasped in his own.
I know, Charlie replied. I just...I wish it was enough...
Charlielives Based
Fanon: 'To the Ends of the Earth' by pacejunkie
Quote: Penny looked back into the chamber and there he was…and then he wasn't. Like a television with poor reception Charlie kept flickering in and out. She held her breath. Even if they managed to transport him he could be nothing but a corpse. The body that was fluctuating upright in the chamber before her was clearly unconscious, suspended in mid air as though he were still in water. He looked as if he were hanging on an invisible rope.
Isaac
Penny couldn't stop looking at him.
She hadn't been able to wrench her eyes away from the screen. She had watched as the water rose swiftly above his head, lifting his feet off the floor and transforming the darkened control room into an aquarium. She had seen his body floating upwards and then vanishing without a trace only to reappear in the chamber beside her. The portal...that wormhole in time and space, had transported Charlie back into the world...in more ways than one.
Keans had said that she could have him. During the ride to the hotel, Penny had cradled his head in her lap, combing the grains of salt from his hair. She had kept her eyes fixed on his still face, waiting for him to wake and praying that his mind had not been damaged by the teleportation. Her fingers had strayed to the torn seams of his ragged T-shirt. Moments ago Charlie had been with Desmond. Penny couldn't help searching for some trace of Desmond still hanging on his clothing. Yes, she could feel it. She had saved Charlie Pace from the island. If she had saved him, she could save Desmond too. She could save all those who were lost and thought to be dead. She could bring them back to life.
Now Penny was staring at Charlie as she lent against the door of the hotel bathroom suite. His hair was damp and his cheeks flushing after his recent shower. The fluffy white dressing gown was wrapped tightly around his thin bruised body. She watched Charlie brushing his teeth for the first time in three months; his mouth grimacing against the cold burn of fluoride. When he spat into the sink, the white foam was tinged with blood.
"It um…it looks like you've been in the wars…" Penny said wincing and feeling a little guilty for the clean perfect set of teeth that she held in her own jaws.
Charlie smirked, fingering his bleeding gums, checking which of his teeth were loose. "I was beaten up by a girl," he declared. "It wasn't a fair fight though. She had me tied to a chair."
Following this rather flippant remark, Charlie tipped his head to one side and wiggled a finger in his ear. It seemed there was still some ocean water there that he was trying to dislodge. Penny blinked and struggled to form an adequate response.
"Well…when we find the location of this island rest assured I'll have this woman up on changes of assault and false imprisonment," she said boldly, trying to offer him some civil compensation.
Charlie's smile tightened. "It's a bit late for that, love," he murmured. "She's dead. She was shot in the back by one of her own team. Poor sodding girl. I felt sorry for her in the end." He raised an eyebrow. "Anyway, if you're gonna start laying down the law over what's been happening on that island, I reckon most of us are gonna end up behind bars. Including me…"
Charlie shrugged unappologetically, then wandered through to bedroom and opened the mini fridge. Penny waited patiently while he took out a cold beer and a bar of chocolate before making himself comfortable on the bed.
"What…what about Desmond?" she asked him hesitantly.
"Dessy?" Charlie narrowed his eyes, swigging his beer. "Well, he tried to strangle me in a drunken rage one night…then there was the time he almost led me straight into a death trap in the jungle…on purpose." Charlie shrugged again and treated her to a wink. "Generally I would say he's one of the more upstanding moral citizens on the island."
Charlie seemed to have misunderstood her question and his answer only filled her with foreboding.
"He went mad, didn't he?" Penny blurted, her voice falling like a lead weight.
"No...no. Of course not," Charlie insisted. His smile twitched and his pupils danced. He wasn't the best of liars. "We're great mates, me and Des. We'd stay up talking round the signal fire most nights. He spoke about you constantly. He taught me some classy drinking songs too. Have you heard the one about the girl with one leg and a heart of gold?"
Charlie sung her few clumsy snatches, then shook his head wistfully. He broke off a line from his chocolate bar and placed it into her palm. In spite of her anxiety, Penny returned his smile. She was simply grateful that she was no longer alone on this mission. It was like Charlie had popped out of a magical door in the universe; a wise little elfin creature who was going to help her on her quest to rescue her lost love from this mysterious island. It made Penny feel like she was the heroine of a children's fairytale and if that was the case, then she must be inching closer to her happy ending.
Penny shook her head, dispelling these thoughts. She wasn't going to get all romantic and drippy now. She knew that there were no guarantees when it came to this story.
"Charlie...I would rather know the truth about Desmond," she said, bracing herself. "I get the feeling that there's something you're not telling me.."
"He's not crazy," Charlie answered firmly. "Seriously. He's been holding it together very well under the circumstances. It's just that…sometimes…Desmond gets visions. Flashes we called them. They were these little picture puzzles in his head of things that were going to happen in the future. You know…premonitions. I didn't believe him at first. I thought he was crazy. But he was right, Penny. He was right about everything."
"Visions…" she frowned. "Visions about what?"
"Me," Charlie answered sheepishly. "Visions about me...dying."
Penny blinked, her mouth falling ajar, her stomach plummetting a little further.
"Desmond would see a flash of me dying every couple of days," Charlie continued. "He always tried to stop it, but we both knew he couldn't hold it off forever. That's why I swam down to the Looking Glass station. I knew it was a suicide mission, but what the hell? I was done for anyway." He snorted. "I'm not sure why I'm still here to be honest with you. Desmond told me I would drown in that station. I'm not supposed to be alive..."
Penny closed her eyes. She was struggling to hold herself together now. She was remembering a time when the words "not supposed to be..." had ripped her heart in two. Her hands twitched in her lap. Part of her would have liked to slap Desmond again on Charlie's behalf. After all these years...had Desmond not changed? Was he still lost in these imaginings of doomed futures? Was he still the coward who had run out on their chance of happiness? While all these thoughts came crashing down around her, Charlie shuffled closer on the mattress and tried to catch her eye.
"Do you believe in miracles?" he asked, curiously. "I'm a bit of lapsed Catholic boy myself, but I tried to find my faith again on the island. I got the feeling that Desmond was a religious bloke too. One day he said to me that all these visions might be a test. Like God tested Abraham, you know? So when I swam down to that station, part of me was thinking...maybe if I prove my faith, God will spare me like he spared Isaac. At the moment of his sacrifice God sent an angel to intervene. Remember? Well, I knew it was a long shot...but I needed something to hope for..." Charlie's eyes brightened as he smiled wonderingly. "So maybe I was right after all, hey? Maybe God did chose to save me."
Penny shifted uncomfortably beside him. She raised a cynical eyebrow.
"I'm not meaning to blow my own trumpet here Charlie...but I'm the one that saved you."
God had nothing to do with it, she finished in her thoughts. Penny's interest in religion only went so far as her liking for the wine that she purchased regularly from the monks of the Moriah Vineyards, though she agreed with Desmond that she didn't like their choice of name. As for God, Penny had decided long ago that if there was a God in the sky controlling her fate, then that God was as cruel and corrupt as the father she had down here on earth and she was likewise determined to defy him. If she did manage to find Desmond, if all these long years of searching eventually paid off, then Penny wanted to say that it was her accomplishment. She didn't want to be told that it was "supposed to be" and that destiny had done all the work for her. She had put her career aside for this quest. She had put her own life on hold for it. The search had left her exhausted and heartsick. She had almost driven herself crazy with the futility of it all.
Don't tell me I'm your bloody angel, Charlie, she brooded to herself. I'm just an ordinary woman who's been fighting for something I care about. I'll be damned if I'm going to let fate take the credit... "What if Desmond hadn't seen any of those visions?" Penny asked him pointedly, finding her voice again. "Would you have swam down to that station anyway? Would you have tried to get your people rescued?"
Charlie blinked, considering. "I...I don't know. I suppose I might have..."
He nibbled the corner of his chocolate bar, his face tensed with uncertainty. Penny was beginning to realise that beneath his light cordial exterior Charlie was rather crippled by his fears, his doubts and his low self-esteem. Well, Penny had once known a man like that. She supposed that both Charlie and Desmond needed to cling to this notion of destiny just to believe that they could rise to some percieved level of greatness. They reminded her of the little elephant in the disney film who thought he needed a feather to make him fly. Destiny was their magic feather.
Penny placed a hand on Charlie's shoulder, resisting the urge to cup his face and turn his eyes back to her as she had often done with Desmond when she had felt him drifting away from her.
"You're alive," she told him frankly.
Penny said this because she felt like Charlie needed to hear it. It seemed that his fate had been so drilled into him that his mind had skipped ahead into a realm where he was already dead and he saw no future for himself. It felt like he was still floating underwater and needed a helping hand to pull himself back to the surface. Penny needed to hear the words too. She wanted to place her hopes in this young man who had been saved from a seemingly certain doom. A man whose life Desmond had been fighting to save, even though he wasn't supposed to. Charlie had flown between the two of them like some bloody-nosed cupid bearing the blows of their wounded love. He had transcended their great divide and brought them closer than ever before. And he was still breathing. And there was still hope...
Charlie's eyes were straining with tears as Penny squeezed his shoulder once more.
"You're alive..." she whispered to him again.
She said it because it was right. She said it because it was true.
The End.