"When Dreaming Ends"
Rated: R for language and adult themes
Summary: An unexpected rescue takes Charlie off guard, leaving the young man worried about readjusting to the world he left behind.
Author's Note: As you might expect, I do not own any of the following characters. They remain the property of JJ Abrams and ABC. The writer is merely having a bit of fun and makes no profit whatsoever from this story. The only thing I do make is the reviews of you, dear readers, and they keep my muse well fed (and horribly overactive!). So please feed the muse!
LOST….LOST…. LOST….LOST…. LOST….LOST…. LOST….LOST….LOST….LOST…. LOST….LOST….
The pale moon was just beginning its descent from its peak position in the sky when the sound was first heard. It was faint at first, and most of the survivors did not hear it straight away. Any hope of rescue had long since been lost and it was only in the worst times that one of them would lift his or her eyes to the skies, vainly searching for any sign of rescue. So it came as no surprise, when they later looked back on the night, that they had not paid more attention to the world outside of the beach that they had so often called "home." It was Locke who first noticed the sound.
They had gathered at the beach that night, all of the survivors, or at least, those who still lived. They did this each year, or as best as they could figure. Keeping track of time on the island had lost almost all meaning by now. They were gathered to mark the anniversary of the crash that had taken them all out of the world that they knew and loved. They came to remember those who had not made it that day and all of those who had been taken from them by the island. How many had fallen to sickness, accidents in the jungle, and the still unknown creature that roamed the forest? Mentally, Charlie went over the list while Jack read aloud the names from a worn notebook.
Out of the survivors, Scott, Steve, Shannon, Rose, and Jin were dead. Then there was Michael too, the latest of the group to fall, and that was about two months ago. Charlie's heart truly bled for Walt, to lose his father at such a young age. The poor kid was an orphan now. The island had left him with nothing at all, except maybe for Locke, who seemed to take charge of the boy and looked after him.
At length, Jack read the last name and closed the notebook solemnly, passing it back over to Hurley, who had at some point become the "keeper of memory" for the group, recording all of the important events and more importantly, the fates of everyone on the island. People began to drift away from the symbolic fire, which was always built as close to the spot where they had burned the fuselage as they could guess. A few others stood motionless, staring with tear-filled eyes into the dancing flames. No one ventured back to the caves, unwilling to go into the dark jungle alone. Instead, groups stood here and there, lightly talking amongst themselves, remembering the dead. A few people cried softly.
"Hey everyone! Do you hear that?" Locke suddenly called out, loudly enough for everyone to hear him.
He stood up and strode back over to the fire from the place where he had been sitting, staring out into the endless blackness of the night covered ocean. The rest of the survivors murmured questions of "what?" among their own groups.
"Quiet up and listen!" Locke told them, pushing a finger up to his lips to signal for them to be quiet, as if they were noisy children.
A hesitated quiet fell over the group as each one strained their ears to hear whatever it was that had excited Locke. Charlie was the first to speak.
"Engines! It's a bloody plane!"
"Flying low too, most likely," Locke said, nodding his head and smiling. "There's been some pretty thick cloud coverage today."
"What are the chances of them seeing us, you think?" Charlie asked.
"In this darkness, not much. Maybe if we get that fire bigger and quickly, then we might have a chance."
"How much bigger?" Claire asked, coming up alongside Charlie, holding her sleeping son to her.
"A lot. As big as we can make it," Sayid cut in.
"That's going to take some doing," Jack said. "There's not a lot of extra firewood around tonight. Everything we cut went into the fire we already have."
"Guys!" exclaimed Charlie, stepping in front of group as he joined Locke's side. "What about those two palm trees?" He pointed in the darkness to where two lone palm trees grew side by side in the sand. "If we get them lit, that should be bright enough, and we don't have to burn down the entire island either."
"Charlie's got a good idea," said Locke as he began to walk towards the fire. "Everyone, listen up! Grab whatever sticks you can find, thick as you can, and start setting those trees on fire."
Without another word, people began to go in all directions, seeking what they could in order to do as Locke had bidden them.
LOST….LOST…LOST…LOST…
On board the plane, the passengers were wrapped in the most spellbinding game of poker that they had had in months. Straight faced and rigid bodied, they darted their eyes from one to another, trying to weed out those who were bluffing. A tense silence was in the air.
There was only one man in the group that remained unconcerned about the outcome of this hand. He had run out of chips long ago and now stood, arms behind his back, staring out into the darkness. It wasn't that flying made him uneasy, but he was feeling restless. He had been away from home for far too long. It would feel so good once he touched down.
"Uh, sir? Come here for a minute please, sir?" he suddenly called out.
"What is it Rawlins?" came the gravelly voiced reply.
"There's something out here sir. It looks like maybe a fire or something," he said as he picked up a pair of high powered binoculars. "Could be some sort of distress fire."
"Let me see," said the older man as he stood from his seat and made his way to where the young man stood. "Saints alive. I think you may be right. Edwards, tell Mr. Smith to hold our course and radio into headquarters. Tell him to let them know that we've got a distress coming in from this location and to have them prepare a rescue squadron. When that's done, fire the guns."
"Aye sir," the man named Edwards said as he saluted, turned on his heel, and strode to the cockpit.
LOST….LOST…LOST…LOST…
"Do you think they see us?" Claire asked hopefully as she wiped a trickle of sweat from her brow.
"Hard to say," Locke replied. "We can only hope so."
"Uh, dudes, they're, uh, shooting at us," Hurley said as the first round of shots rang out and exploded in the air.
"They're not shooting at us Hurley," Locke said, the smile from earlier returning to his face. "They do see us."
"Alright then, I'll just go pack my bags and wait for them right here on the beach," the heavier man replied.
"There's no rush," Kate said, stopping Hurley's retreat. "Hear that? The engines are getting fainter."
Lock shook his head. "They're probably heading back to their base. They saw us; they'll send help. But Hurley's right. We should go back to the caves and get our things. There's no telling how long or short a wait it'll be before the rescue planes get here. Half of us will go up to the caves and gather our belongings. The others, wait here, keep the fire buring."
"And who's gonna decide who goes back and who stays?" Sawyer asked.
"Does it really matter?" Locke responded. "Look Sawyer, we're all getting out of here one way or another. I'll stay here with whoever wants to stay on the beach. Whoever wants to go back to the caves first, just be careful out there in the dark."
"Whoo boy! Words o' wisdom from our resident wise-man," Sawyer muttered under his breath. "Now I can walk back to the caves without fear."
"Stop being an ass, Sawyer," Kate hissed at him.
"I'll lead the group going to the caves," Jack said, trying to stop the mini-argument before it escalated. "Charlie, Kate, Sawyer, Claire, you're coming with me. Sun, you too," he said, waving at the Korean woman. "Uh, let's see…Boone and Hurley can stay with Walt and Locke. Sayid? You wanna come with us?"
"No. I'll stay here if you don't mind," replied the former Republican Guard. "I'll watch Adam for you, Claire."
"Thanks," the blonde woman said as she handed her precious sleeping son to the man.
"Woo wee! Headin' back to cave town with Sheriff Jack!" Sawyer said as the excited group of survivors made ready to return to the caves where they had been living. "Can't say I'll miss the place. Well, maybe that one little spot. What about you, Freckles?"
Kate rolled her eyes in the darkness. "That night was a mistake, Sawyer."
"Not in my books it wasn't. In my books it's called doin' something right."
It did not take too long before they reached the caves and began to pack the meager supply of items that still remained to them. Mostly they packed what remained sentimental for them, for much of the clothes they had had long since become worn and tattered. For Charlie, this made packing easy, taking only a small notebook filled with scribbled diary entries and ideas for song lyrics, which he shoved into a back pocket of his faded jeans. The only other thing that he took with him was his guitar, though the body had become dirty and scratched over the course of time. As for the knife that Locke had given him, well that always hung from his neck, encased in a makeshift wooden sheath, on a leather strap.
"Hey, Charlie, give me a hand for a sec?" Jack asked, coming alongside him. "We don't know how long our wait is going to be. We should fill up the remaining water bottles while we're still here and bring them with us."
"Sure thing mate," he replied, picking up a beaten plastic bottle and unscrewing the cap.
"I can't believe this is it," Jack said after a moment's silence.
His eyes surveyed the familiar stone of the only home they had known since the crash. Beside him, Charlie did the same, memorizing every detail of the place. As much as he hated to admit it, there was a small part of him that held a kernel of sadness. He had become so accustomed to life on the island, not out of choice, but out of necessity. And now that rescue was not far off, he wondered briefly about the world that he had left behind. The memories brought a lump to his throat and dry tears to his eyes. Home. He had stopped thinking about it long ago; it had always hurt too much. His only choice to get through daily life was by focusing all of his thoughts on his life on the island, with Claire and little Adam. He barely noticed Jack's whispered words as the doctor began to speak once more.
"We're going home, Charlie. After all this time, we're finally going home."