TITLE: THE BABY

Author: Zeldabel / Zelda Loves Charlie / Orlando Hope

Disclaimer: Naturally, I am not affiliated with Lost. Bummer.

Pairings: Charlie / Claire

Warning: None

Rating: PG

Summary: Charlie has always been coddled. How can he explain that he simply wants to take care of someone? One-shot fic.

THE BABY

Charlie Pace had always been the baby.

To this day, Liam hardly ever called him by his name. It was always "Little Brother," or, more annoyingly, "Baby Brother." Liam only called his little brother by his Christian name when he was annoyed or upset. Or disappointed, like he had been that last day in Sydney. Sighing, Charlie toyed absently with the curls at the nape of his neck, remembering that disastrous afternoon. Charlie had blamed Liam for getting him hooked on drugs, for the band's demise. In truth, Charlie knew he had no one to blame but himself. Yes, Charlie had taken that first dose of dope to keep up with Liam. He hated being left behind. Even worse, he hated Liam disappearing into a world where Charlie couldn't follow, where Baby Brother wouldn't be around to take care of things.

Growing up, Mrs. Pace had always called Charlie "The Baby." When he was small, Charlie had beamed at the endearment. He had liked being his mum's best buddy. As he grew older, however, and Mrs. Pace refused to call him anything else, it grew slightly maddening. Chucking, Charlie remembered a night when he was fourteen, and Mr. Sullivan had caught Charlie sneaking out of young Erin's bedroom window. Mr. Sullivan had hauled Charlie across three streets, a bridge and a major highway. Charlie's earlobe still smarted. When Mrs. Pace had opened the door and seen Mr. Sullivan twisting Charlie's ear—and yelling bloody murder—Mrs. Pace had calmly dried her hands on her apron and said, "Kindly take your hands off The Baby."

Charlie was used to people looking out for him. He pretended he'd been the one keeping an eye on Liam, but, once again, Charlie knew differently. The drugs, music and women had pulled Charlie and Liam in different directions. And Charlie, no matter how much he loved his big brother, had been unable to take care of him.

Just like Charlie had been unable to take care of Lucy. He remembered standing on her front porch, the air thick with disappointment and betrayal, anger and disgust. Charlie had felt all those emotions rolling off Lucy, and he sure felt them about himself as well. He had never hated himself as much as he had at that exact moment, when his need for a high had overridden his need for life. He could have been happy with Lucy, Charlie knew that. He knew she would have given herself to him completely, and expected nothing of him in return. Yet, he had given. He had given her tears and heartache. He had increased his own loneliness tenfold. And he knew he was once again The Baby. As much as he ached to care for another person, to give someone shelter and security, it always ended up being others who took care of him. Others had to make excuses for The Baby. Funny little Charlie, who was unable to care for himself, let alone someone else. Charlie, who was adored by so many, was unable to give love and forgiveness to himself. Just like a baby.

But when he'd seen Claire waddling onto the airplane in Sydney, Charlie had felt his heart skip a beat. He'd essentially blamed the fluttering on the drugs, the fight and flight with Liam, the horrible guacamole he'd eaten in the Sydney airport. Ugh…Charlie got heartburn all over again, just thinking about that oily green dip. He'd burped it for days.

Humph. Damn guacamole. Where was he…ah, Claire. Pretty as an English sunset, glowing with life and warmth. He'd wanted to cuddle her as soon as he saw her. Unfortunately, he'd spent much of his time on the plane hiding from the flight attendants instead of flirting with pretty Claire. As much as Charlie hated to admit it, it was probably a good thing all the flight attendants had been killed in the crash. His past, hopefully, had burned with them. As Locke said, this island, murderous and crazy though it was, gave everyone a chance to start over.

However, he hadn't really made an impression on the island, either. As much as he wanted to protect Claire, he'd allowed her to be kidnapped and tortured into amnesia by Ethan. Charlie wanted to take care of himself, stop being his mum's baby and Liam's moldable little brother, but instead, he'd ended up hanging lifelessly from a tree. Kate and Jack had had to come to Charlie's rescue, take care of the island baby. He could still recall coming back to life in Jack's embrace, Kate holding tight to his hand. Charlie winced, thinking back on the scene. The way Jack had held him, how Kate had sobbed…God, they could have sent out birth announcements.

Absently, Charlie glanced down at his wrist. His cheap watch had stopped working days ago, and now he found himself obsessed with time. He wondered if, somehow, somewhere on this uncanny island, he might inadvertently wander through a time warp and find himself in 1995 New Mexico or 2093 Timbuktu. He wondered what it would be like to arrive in Sydney, Australia, not high on drugs and anticipating a brotherly confrontation, but to spend time with his precious niece. To tell his sister-in-law funny stories of Liam's first attempts to ask a girl out, to sing old American rock 'n' roll hits with Liam, to help Meghan imprison fireflies in Mason jars. Charlie smiled, remembering how he had sobbed one morning to find all this fireflies, so full of life and vitality they couldn't help but glow, smelly and stiff the next morning. He'd been what—three, four? Liam and Mrs. Pace had been very somber when Charlie had told him John, Paul, George and Ringo had died during the night. The entire Pace family had worn black and held a solemn burial in the backyard.

All to please the baby.

"Charlie?" It was Claire, looking excited yet scared. "I think I'm having contractions."

Charlie smiled bemusedly up at her. "That's nice, luv. Let me know how it turns out."

Then there was the fight with Sawyer over Claire's diary. Charlie had told Kate he'd had his share of "manly encounters," but really, he was better on stage (or in bed, he thought modestly) than in a fistfight. Then, for some bizarre reason, guys who wore eyeliner seldom got in fights. To be honest, he'd really wanted to look brave in front of Kate. It was really humiliating to admit she was manlier than he was.

"Um, Charlie?" Claire said again, her voice an octave higher this time. "I think this is it."

"It?" Charlie repeated, dazed.

"The baby?" Claire prompted. "I think the baby is about to be born."

"Baby?" Charlie jumped to his feet, slightly hysterical. He grabbed Claire by the shoulders and stared into her fearful eyes. "Claire, can you read minds? I mean, you know what I've been sitting here thinking, about how I've always been thought of as a baby?" Charlie rambled, his thoughts scattered. "But then, you are into astrology, aren't you? CLAIRE!" He suddenly shouted, shaking her a bit. "You have THE GIFT!"

"CHARLIE!" Claire yelled back, grabbing his own shoulders and shaking him roughly. "I have THE CONTRACTIONS! Can you please get Jock?"

Charlie cocked his head, confused. "Jock? The little scottie from Lady and the Tramp?"

Claire screamed, doubling over as a strong contraction overtook her. "Jock, Jake, John—call him Buttercup for all I care! JUST GET THE DOCTOR!"

"Right!" Charlie spun on his heel, arms pumping as he raced through the jungle. Wait! He suddenly stopped short, remembering what happened the last time he'd left Claire alone as he searched for Jack. Running back to Claire, Charlie swore he wasn't taking any chances this time. Claire was coming with him—he wasn't leaving her again.

Unceremoniously, Charlie bent over and scooped Claire into his arms.

And dropped her only a second later.

Claire immediately balled up, curling her arms around the base of her swollen belly. "Claire!" Charlie cried. "Bloody hell! Claire!"

Claire lay still, her face flushed with heat and excitement. She only moved when Charlie, now desperate and half-crying, struggled to once again lift her into his embrace. Claire's eyes flew open. "No! Don't move me! I like it here. Really!"

"Don't worry about it, Claire. I'll take care of you. Just don't panic. I can panic enough for both of us. Don't worry," he soothed, curling one arm around her neck. "This won't hurt a bit."

"CHARLIE!" Claire roared, her mouth inches from the curve of Charlie's ear. "STOP!"

Her yell knocked Charlie off his feet. He blinked at her, dazed by the sheer power of her voice. "Shite, Claire. I wish I'd we'd met years ago. Drive Shaft could have used a tenor."

Claire stared at him, unsure if he was joking of being adorably quirky. She groaned, shook her head, and ran a protective hand over her belly. "They've stopped," she said.

"Stopped?"

"The contractions. I think it was a false alarm. Again." Claire sighed and turned over onto her back, staring blankly at the darkening sky. "I remember a bit about you, Charlie," she said quietly.

Charlie's face split into a grin. "Ah, you remember how devilishly handsome you thought I was, how witty, how intelligent"

"How modest," Claire interrupted, making Charlie laugh. "That's it. I remember laughing with you. I remember how much I loved your voice, how I'd sometimes focus so intently on your voice I'd forget to hear your words. I remember how the baby would seem to roll over anytime you touched me."

Charlie's eyes popped. "I made the baby roll over? Is that a bad thing?"

Claire laughed. "No, I think it's a good thing. I think, like me, the baby always felt safe with you around."

Charlie snorted, the merriment draining from his eyes. "Safe. Sure. You were with me when Ethan…" he stopped, swallowing.

Claire rolled over to face him. She held a hand to his cheek, ran her fingertips over his frown. "It's okay to talk about him, Charlie."

Charlie cleared his throat. "Ethan kidnapped us both. I couldn't protect you. Instead, Jack and Kate had to come rescue me. I can't even take care of myself, let alone…"

"I think that's something else I remember," Claire whispered. "I think if I were to put you on a stage in front of thousands of screaming women, you could sing and dance totally naked and never feel shy or embarrassed. But when it's just one girl," she smiled, pushing a lock of hair behind his ear. "One very pregnant girl, you doubt yourself."

Unconsciously, Charlie curved his body toward Claire's. He wanted so badly to cover the hand on her pregnant belly with his own, to lean in and smell her sunburst hair. How could he explain how incapable he was? How he could sing and play his guitar, but that was about it?

Claire took matters out of his hands. Reaching out with both arms, she drew him loosely against her. Charlie buried his face in her neck, inhaling pure Claire—sea salt and jungle heat mixed with just a touch of jasmine.

Claire smoothed his hair, rocking him in her arms and cooing nonsense in his ear. She held on until his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, when the skin of her neck barely muffled his small snores. She didn't loosen her hold on him in sleep; if anything, she held him tighter. Deep within her, she felt the baby smile.

"Goodnight," she whispered into the night. "Goodnight, my babies."