Title: Disconnect the Dots

Pairings: Charlie/Claire(focus of story), Jate, Sun/Michael(slight)

Summary: Claire's sense of stability is threatened when a ghost from her past pops up- and Charlie's demons threaten to make a reappearance as well.

Rating: T (for safety)

Note: This entire story is the second in a series of four (Shannon-centric "A Whiter Shade of Pale" is already up), which can be read alone or together but it makes more sense if you read them all.

Spoilers: Up to Exodus


Claire scanned the isles lined with stacks of brightly colored cans and jars. A familiar staple caught her eye and she plucked the pickled ham up and chuckled to herself. Gagging at the mere thought of ever having any thing resembling pork ever again, Claire quickly set it down and moved on. She felt a slight tug on the hem of her sundress, and she glanced down. Aaron stood google-eyed, looking so tan against the white floors of the grocery. Until landing back on the mainland, Claire doesn't suppose he ever saw the sterile color. By the time he was old enough to register much more than funny looking blobs, all things that once sported the shade had faded into a dingy bastardization of the color.

"What is it baby?' she cooed, crouching down to his level.

He simply held up a chocolate bar and whined, "Wanna!"

"I don't think so, it's almost supper time" Claire reasoned clearly, snatching Aaron up and settling him onto her hip. She set the candy on a near-by self.

"No!" he cried, stretching over to the chocolate and squirming in her embrace.

"Alright honey, but you can't have it until after you eat an actual meal"

"Okay mommy" he agreed. She pecked him on the cheek and set him down.

Toddling along, Aaron scurried ahead. Claire sighed. Being around all these strangers made her nervous. On the island you didn't have to worry about kidnappings. Or at least not from the people you could see. While being ecstatic about not having to worry about crazy French women (or groups who were so mysterious they couldn't even come up with a more descriptive name than "The Others") stealing her child, Claire couldn't help but feel that being back in actual society meant a whole new set of dangers were waiting for them. Trading a common cold for cancer. Or maybe it was the other way around, who knows.

The shopping cart turned easily under her touch as she rounded the corner. Claire was so used to either having to drag things through the sand or them snagging on protruding roots that she had almost forgotten what manning a vehicle with polished wheels on flat floors felt like.

Keeping one eye on Aaron, who seemed to be picking up everything he could reach and smelling it (for who knows what reason), Claire approached the next aisle with what could only be described as caution. She walked slowly and carefully, glancing over her shoulder with every step. By the time she reached the item she was looking for, her hands were sweating and felt oddly clammy. As her fingers closed around small box, steam outlined them on the glossy surface. Her breath hitched in her throat as she traced the letters on the front. Pregnancy Test. By now she had memorized every curve of the print and each detail in the background. God, did she never think she'd be back in the position again, or at least not with this twisty feeling in the pit of her stomach. The last time the stick turned pink she'd sworn she would do it right the next time. But here she was, standing with her arm outstretched, with her thumb gripping the box so tight it crinkled, yet her other fingers nearly afraid to leave any trace at all. She almost wanted to laugh as it occurred to her the irony of the situation. She was pregnant when she'd crashed on the island and pregnant when they were rescued. Claire allowed a small smile to touch at the corners of her lips before dropping the test in the cart and strolling away.