A/N: I don't know where the idea for this came from, it's an AU where Charlie knows how people die, and it deals heavily with themes of suicide. Including one attempted murder and a successful suicide. I'm starting to notice a theme in my fics where they turn into slice of life, and lack and real strong resolution to the conflicts. Hm. Anyway. Enjoy and leave a review if you liked it!
Charlie Davis was four years old when he first found out that he was different. It happened so casually, that it's the first of three miracles he can remember it at all.
"Daddy?" His father was like a giant next to him, with hands so big that they could probably cover the whole of his tiny face.
"Yes Charlie?" He asked, taking another drag of the cigarette that he always seemed to be smoking (It's not until he's seven that he realizes that people smoke multiple cigarettes.)
"You're going to drown someday." His father stares at him, all legs and arms with a mop of curls on top of his small head, before standing, and leaving the room. Charlie regrets saying that for years, maybe if he hadn't, then his father might not have died when he did.
He was six the next time he spoke about it. He and his best friend were sitting in the living room, eating biscuits and juice when his friend Richard makes a joke. They laugh hard, and then Charlie, unable to stop himself, blurts out "You're going to die from a heart attack." Even at nine years old, he knew he was different. The laughter stops, and Richard demands to go home. Charlie screams and cries, pleading for his only friend to stay while his father stares back at him with unrelenting grey eyes that match those of his only son. His friend leaves crying with his mother and she glares at him. He expects to be told off, but that never happens.
When he is seven, his parents provide him with a baby sister. He watches her sleep, until his mother asks him what he thinks of her tiny face and little hands. He tears his eyes away from the sleeping child, just long enough to look up at his mother, and say "She's going to be hit by a car." Looking back, it must have been surreal for her. She must have not known what to say to her son, who just told her that her other child is going to die. She ushers him out of the room, and he's not allowed to see her again.
When he is seven and three months, just that happens. His mother and sister are both his by a car, while they drove to collect him from school. His sister dies on site, his mother, three hours later in a hospital. He never finds out what happened to her, but she has a face at the funeral. He's not allowed to go to his sister's funeral. His father seems unsettled by him. He doesn't understand why.
He first meets his stepmother when he is eight. His father tells him he is going to marry her and he's not to tell stories and frighten her. Being the child he was, he craved his father's attention so he pretends that he doesn't know that she's going to be strangled with her own scarf.
When he is eight and six months, he attends his step mother and father's wedding. He seems excited, so much so that when he goes to the after party, he accidentally tells one of his new cousins "You're going to drown in a pool!" She cries. His father yells at him, and his cries too. Then, his step mother bundles the crying boy up in her warm arms and tells his father to stop it, he's just a little boy, he doesn't know better. They argue, but it seems sorted by the end of the night. Charlie retreats to a corner and makes no more attempts to interact with his new family until his new mother takes his hand when they leave late that night, and drops him at his new grandparents house so she and his father can go on their honeymoon.
When he is nine, his mother gives him a tiny brother. He's never seen something so perfect in his whole life. His mother gives him a stack of books to sit in inside the nursery, and he watches the baby sleep with warm eyes. She puts a hand on his shoulder. "He's going to die an old man." He said, softly. She smiles and kisses his messy curls.
"I should hope so."She said, and he wishes that he was small enough that she could lift him off the ground and hold him close. "Would you like to hold him?" She asked, softly. He nods excitedly. She passes the tiny bundle into his arms, and he watches the sleepy baby fuss for a few moments before settling. He grinned proudly at her.
"He's so small." He whispered.
"I know." She replied.
When he is ten, his father comes to collect him from school. In his black police uniform, Charlie was always so impressed by, he wrapped a brief arm around him before they set off. His father has not hugged him since he was four so he was elated by this. He buzzed with excitement, as they turned into the lake parking lot. He glanced up at his father with a slight frown, "Why are we here?" He asked, quietly.
"A picnic. Just you and me." He said, as he drove past the parking spaces, and kept driving, until the car was in the lake. He screams, and yells, but his father keeps one hand on his chest, holding him in place.
He never quite gets over that, really. When he is ten and eight months, his mother, his brother and himself all attend his father's funeral. Various police men mill about. One with brown eyes and a soft voice helps him find his mother when he is separated from her at the wake. The man will be stabbed in the stomach but Charlie doesn't tell him. His mother holds him tight and promises to look after him. That it wasn't his fault. He knows that's not true, but he never says anything about it.
She gives him another brother when he is twelve. He never knows who this baby's father is. He hangs around some times, but he leaves when his mother tells him they're having a baby. Charlie sits by her side, and holds her hand while she cries and says sorry over and over again. When he recalls this day, he supposes she was worried because she had three children, and each child had different parents.
When he is thirteen, he always makes time for his little brothers. He always makes times to play make believe with them, and to build blocks with them too. They haven't got many toys, but they have each other and that is fine. He makes up stories and tucks them in at night when his mother works late. He always waits up for her. She always tells him she loves him and she's sorry she couldn't do better. He always tells her that he doesn't care he loves their family just the way it is. She asks sometimes, how she will die, but he never tells her.
At least he can do that now.
He has his first girlfriend age thirteen and a half. Her name is Rachel and she has soft blonde hair and always wears red nail paint, even though she's not meant to. She tells him that soldiers all have sweethearts and that he should as well. He has never really thought too much about war. He thinks about it enough to know that the Japanese had their eyes on Brisbane, and that the Americans flooded the streets there. He knows enough to know that most of the men in his street had enlisted. He knows his father didn't, because they needed police men or something. He knows his mother got a telegram a few weeks ago saying that her brother wouldn't be coming home. He doesn't know him, but he thinks about the cousin at the wedding and he wants to cry for her. Rachel tells him all about her brave father, off fighting the Germans. Or as she called, them, the Germs. He doesn't say much in reply to that.
When he is fourteen, Rachel is his only friend. His mother likes her. His brothers like her well enough. He loves her and is unable to imagine living his life without her. He wonders, quite often, if she loves him. He loves her, he does, but that doesn't change that she's going to be crushed by a building. He never tells her, not at first. He doesn't want to scare her away. They steal beer from her step father's fridge and sit in her bedrooms, bottle in hand, and to their lips between their kisses. She tells him that he's strange, but she doesn't mind. He tells her she's beautiful. The more they drink the redder his cheeks turn and the easier the words come to his mouth. Her lips are soft on his and he can taste the alcohol inside her mouth. They whisper promises between their kisses and before he can stop himself he whispers "It won't be forever because you're going to die when a building collapses." Rachel pulls back suddenly, and stares at him for several seconds.
"What the Hell, Charlie?" She asked, her fingers leaving his face.
"Rachel, wait." He said, as she stands suddenly.
"Get out." She orders. "Leave." He looks at her with watery eyes before heading off and away. He goes home to his mother.
She holds him close while he cries and promises that Rachel will come back, she just doesn't understand that he's special. He spends the night in her room, with his youngest brother, his face pressed tightly against her shoulder while she smooths his hair until he falls asleep.
Rachel never comes back. He tries to talk to her at school on Monday, but she just ignores him. So he retreats to being a loner. He passes the time by reading in the libraries, fascinated by the books on forensics and police in the small library.
When he turns seventeen, he gets a telephone call from Richard's mother saying that he has passed away. When he asks how he died, she reveals that he died of a heart attack after a massive heroin overdose. He cries, but he doesn't tell anyone else. He tries hard not to think about how alone he must have felt. For the rest of his life, he wonders if it was his fault. For the first time in months he dreams about his father's hand on his chest as their car went down in the water.
Fate was never kind to Charlie Davis. Took both his parents. His sister. His best friend. His girlfriend. So he stops. He doesn't go out. He never drinks. He gets work after school, and never really makes any friends. His mother tells him to stop working and focus on his studies but he refuses, on the grounds that his brothers need looking after and she can't argue with him, so she stops telling him not too. People at school laugh at him and he sees Rachel with a new boy. But she looks happy, so he never gets too upset over it.
As soon as he is able, he joins the police academy, not sure if it's because he wants to be a police man, or if its because he wants his father to be proud of him. He suspects that it may be both. He sees the brown eyed police man there, giving a demonstration. (he later finds out he was only there that day to see him) he introduces himself as William, and tells him "You're going to go far, Davis." he believes it.
Something in the stars decided he should know Lucien Blake. Something up there, something bigger then him decided that the loner kid with the ability to see death deserved to know Lucien Blake. Looking back, he was grateful.
…
Lucien Blake is like rubbing salt in an open wound.
Charlie thinks that he must be a masochist because there is no way he'd have agreed to move in otherwise. The distaste and mistrust, he's used to. It's the story of his life, really. He tries to make peace with them, to mixed results. Mattie seems to think he's trying to replace Danny (He doesn't even know Danny.) Mrs Beazley dislikes him probably because he accused her son of murder. Lucien Blake, on the other hand, doesn't hate him at all. Not even a little bit. That's the bit he's not used too.
Living amongst death was something he was quite used too. He went to great lengths to prevent the same alienation now, that had happened to him as a child. He never went out for drinks, he never goes to parties (not that he's ever invited), he doesn't go out for a smoke with Hobart (No matter how much he offers) he never drinks with Blake, and he certainly doesn't tell any jokes. Over the years, he'd gotten good at training himself out of humor.
When he is twenty eight, for the first time in over ten years, it happens. After months of asking, he finally caves to Blake's requests, telling himself that if he nurses the same drink long enough then Blake won't notice that he hasn't drunk much. He gets the strong feeling (as he often did) that he's here as some kind of half hearted replacement for Danny, but he pretends he doesn't care. It takes him nearly forty minutes to finish his first drink, and then Blake pours him another. And another. And another.
He hasn't drunk alcohol since he was fourteen, and as a result, it seems that he cannot hold it at all. He's much more drunk then Blake, not that the man seems to mind. "You know." he said, taking a sip from his glass, "You can die from alcohol." Blake scoffs at him.
"Well, more people die from doing things after drinking."
"Maybe..." He replied, with a poorly muffled giggle.
"What are you thinking about?" Blake asked, "Silly things you've done while drunk?" He thinks about Rachel's hand on his neck and her lips on his and he suddenly feels very sober.
"Something like that." He replied, taking another drink, wondering if he can hold out long enough to drink his memories of the forsaken woman away.
"Well I say if it kills me, then it's a good way to go." Charlie muffled a small sound that is most certainly not a burp, and laughed at him.
Blake laughed back.
"You don't have to worry about that." He laughed, "You're going to die in a fire anyway!" Blake stops laughing pretty quickly after that.
He realized what he did a bit too late. He stands rather quickly. "I'll be gone by tomorrow." He tells Blake, rather sharply. Blake stares at him blankly for several moments before following him up the stairs and using his foot to block the door when Charlie tries to close it.
"Why?" He asks. Charlie pauses to wonder why people reacted the way that they did, and finds himself looking at Blake though the crack in the door.
"I'm sorry." He repeats, before pulling his suitcase off the top shelf of his wardrobe, mentally berating himself.
"Charlie!" Blake said, coming in after him. "Talk to me. Tell me why you think I'm going to die in a fire."No one has ever said that to him before. No one ever asked why he thought what he thought or did what he did. They just got mad with him. "Please."
He drops the pile of shits he's holding onto the floor in a very unlike Charlie Davis way, before sitting on the bed. Blake sits next to him. "You're going to think I'm mad."
"I already think that, Charlie." Charlie rolls his eyes at the attempted joke, and looked down at his hands awkwardly.
"I know how people die."
"How?"
"I don't know." He admits, and it feels good to admit that to the world. "But I know I'm never wrong."
"How?"
"When I was eight, I told my best friend, he was going to have a heart attack. When I was fifteen, I get a call, he died of a massive heroin overdose, causing a heart attack."
"Coincidence."
"When I was four, I told my mother my baby sister would die in a car accident. Three months later, both of them die"
"Charlie..." Blake said, after a slight pause.
"When I was four, I told my dad he was going to drown. When I was twelve, he drove our car into a lake."
"Alright. Three out of three."
"But two of those were my fault."
"Your fault?"
"My friend was never the same after I told him. My father told me he drove into the lake because it was destiny."
"He survived?"
"I was in the car with him."
"Oh." Blake replied. "Oh, Charlie. I'm sorry." Charlie just starred at him, for a moment. Charlie gazed at him for several long minutes, and Blake guesses this is the first time that he's ever really talked about it.
"When I get to happy, or excited, it just comes out. I can't stop it." He whispers.
"I take it that people don't take too kindly to you telling them how they're going to die?"
"Yeah. Are you done now?"
"Pardon?"
"Are you done trying to play mentor?"
"I'm not."
"Please." Charlie said, softly. "It's all you do. Try to act like a mentor. Try and teach me, act fatherly, do things like this." He said, softly. "I'm fine on my own. I always have been."
"Is that what you think?"
"Don't." Blake put his hands up in defense, and got to his feet.
"You don't need to move out." He told Charlie, after a moment. "I'll be downstairs if you want to talk, but just before I go, tell me, how do you die?" Charlie looks up, and then away.
"Suicide."
"Well I'd like it if you didn't do that. So please." Charlie just shakes his head and gathers up his dropped clothes.
…
The ground shakes furiously under his feet, throwing him backwards, away from the building. Someone helps him to his feet, and he looks at the building. Someone has a hand on his arm and tells him to calm, someone has gone after his friend. He can't hear anything other then ringing, he hadn't even realized that he was yelling.
He can feel heat on his face and suddenly there is a body in front of him. Blake's. There's so much noise in his ears but he doesn't think twice before he drops heavily to his knees and starts to perform CPR on him. "Not like this." He pleads, as Blake stays unresponsive under his arms. It's no use, part of him says, give up. This is fate. This is destiny.
He doesn't yield. He doesn't stop. His arms hurt, he's not sure how much air he's actually giving Blake because he's crying as well apparently. Which he doesn't even notice until he sees clean patches on Blake's soot stained skin.
The ambulance boys take him away, while he and three others are taken in the other. They say that Blake was the only person in the building close enough to the door to be pulled out, that he should be grateful that he wasn't more injured.
Jean is at the hospital some ten minutes after he is. He saw Mattie rushing around before. One nurse orders him to sit, so he does. He can sort of hear now, at least. Jean sits next to him, and puts one of her clean hands on his soot stained one. He glances up at her with a slightly pinched face. She says nothing, but puts her other hand on top of his unresisting ones. After a moment, she breaks the quiet.
"Do you know you have burns on your arms?" It's not patronizing or rude, just a question. He looks at his arms. One of the nurses that he hasn't even noticed was cutting his blazer away and dabbing at his arm with something.
"No." He replied, after a long moment. "Sorry."
"Don't." She replied. "Do you know anything about Lucien?"
"I know he probably has a cracked sternum from me doing CPR for ten minutes." She nods, and then pats his hand again while the nurse continues working. He thank her when she leaves. He sits there with Jean until someone tells her to go home and Charlie to go lie down now that the people with worse injuries then him have been treated. No one will tell him anything about Blake.
"Dad! No!" He cries, as the car plunges into the water
"Forgive me, Charlie." He said, as he tries to open the door, only to find it locked.
"Why are you doing this?" He demanded as tears started to spill down his face and water started to fill the car.
"Because no one should know what you know, Charlie." He said, "It's not right."
"You don't have to die." He sobs. "Who will look after Mum if you're dead?"
"She's not your mother." He replied. "It's destiny, boy. You told me I was going to drown. And if I do, then I'm taking you with me."
He says nothing else until his father's big hand floats off his chest. His tiny lugs scream for air as he unplugs himself, escapes though the drivers side door and swims to the surface.
When he opens his eyes the next morning, Mattie is sitting in the chair next to his bed, smoking. "I didn't know you smoked." He replied.
"I didn't know you did either."
"Only very rarely."
"I took them out of your pocket."
"Of course." He said rolling his eyes.
"Who's R? And what do they owe you?"
"Her name was Rachel. She doesn't owe me anything anymore." He said, looking at his arm carefully.
"A girl? You had a girlfriend?"
"Don't act so shocked." he replied, rolling his eyes. "Yes, I did."
"What happened?"
"We had a fight. She broke it off. We were fourteen."
"She gave you a lighter when you were fourteen?"
"You don't come from my part of Melbourne." He replied, grimly.
"True." She nods. "How do you feel?"
"Like a train crash."
"You look it too."
"Thanks Mattie. Just tell me what you really think."
"Your eyebrows are uneven, you have a funny bit of cartridge on your ear and one of your teeth overlaps onto the others."
"Thank you, Mattie." He said, before pulling a pillow over his head. After a moment, he takes it off. "How's the doctor?"
"Alive."
"Really?" He asked, looking up with sparkling eyes.
"Thanks to you. Most people wouldn't have kept going with CPR that long."
"Oh."
"Yeah." She replied. "He's in intensive care, but he'll probably make a full recovery."
"That's great news." He said, before pulling the sheets back up.
"Now you need to get up because you're getting soot on everything and I've been told to make you bathe."
…
He's let home a long time before Blake is. His arm heals up well enough that Lawson even lets him come back to work. (Matthew Lawson. An interesting sort. He was going to have a stroke apparently.) He's not allowed to do much actual work, since his ears were still hearing, but that's fine. He just needs something to keep him busy, and if typing up case notes does that then he's happy to do it.
When he's at home, Doctor Mattie insists that he spend all his time on the couch. He's not even allowed to help in the kitchen. Mrs Beazley spent most of her time at the hospital, so he was stuck eating Mattie's cooking for the week. (Six foot tall police man bested by a five foot nurse. What was the world coming too?) but he doesn't really complain because she's nice enough and doesn't seem repelled by him.
It takes him a week to work up the nerve to go see Blake in the hospital. The man is asleep when he enters. The only reason he's been able to turn up alone is Mattie has shuffled Mrs Beazley home to bathe and he's told Lawson he's gone home and Mattie he's staying late so both of his overseers didn't know where he was. He doesn't have a whole lot of time, so he lowers himself into the hard plastic time, and then pulls his knees up to his chest, starring at the man with half lidded grey eyes.
"You're going to die from a heart attack now." He informed Blake. "I didn't know I could change the future." he murmured, his chin tight against his knees. "Maybe I could have saved those other people, but I suppose there's no point in looking backwards." He said, softly. "Do you think sons are destined to end up like their fathers? You did, Lawson did, but will I?" He asked, "Because I don't really want to end up like him." He sighed, quietly. "I'd much rather end up like you." he conferred in the man. "Maybe that's why I shut you out? Because you're everything I never had." he laughed humorlessly, and reached out the hand on the arm that didn't get burned to clutch at Blake's the same way a drowning man might reach for a rope in a tumultuous ocean.
"Mrs Beazley finally went home." He said, quietly. "She says you keep asking after me. I wish I was brave enough to say these things to you when you're awake." He whispered, "I'd tell you about my girlfriend Rachel. I saved her life too, you know. Although it wasn't purposeful with her. When we were fourteen, I told her she was going to be crushed in a building. So from then on, when she didn't feel safe in a building she didn't go in. A house on our street, one that no one lives in, but the kids have parties in, it caved in when she was meant to be inside at one of said parties. I saw her, just before I left to Ballarat. She dies from old age now. Gave me a lighter as a parting gift. You'd love her, Doc." He smiled. "Shes rebellious, funny…." He pauses. "She's really great." he murmured, before realizing what he was doing. "God. I wish I could talk like this when you're awake. I'd be so much more interesting." He sighed. "Anyway, I doubt you'd care about my lost lovers. Shes with someone else, anyway." He dismissed. "You should tell Mrs Beazley that you like her. She likes you, she likes you enough to spend the night at the hospital, you know?" He asked.
"Rachel, huh?" he asks from the bed, voice soft, not opening his eyes.
"You could have told me you were awake before I spilled my guts to you." he said, releasing Blake's hand, but his own doesn't get far before Blake grabs it tightly.
"I could have, but then you wouldn't have spilled your guts, as you put it." Charlie sighed softly.
"How much of that did you hear?"
"Enough to know I'm going to die from a heart attack."
"I doubt I can save you from that."
"I hear you were the one who cracked my sternum."
"Yeah. I was." He replied, with a small smile.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome."
"I liked it better when you thought I was asleep. You were right. You'd be so much more interesting." Charlie rolled his eyes and turned his head sideways on his knees.
"Whatever." He said, softly.
"I also recall you telling me I should talk to Jean. I'll tell you what. I'll tell Jean if you tell Rachel."
"You don't know Rachel."
"I know you."
"You know the last girl I went on a date with ended up being an accessory to murder, right?"
"I recall." Blake laughed, finally opening his eyes and seeking out Charlie's grey ones. "I think you're special, Charlie."
"I wish someone told my dad." He replied.
"Do you want to talk about that?"
"I'm not meant to upset you."
"I am a doctor, Charlie."
"What do you want me to say? He drove our car into a lake. He died. I didn't. There's nothing to say."
"Well I'll be here. When you're ready to talk." Charlie stares at him for a long moment, and gets the feeling he's being genuine.
"Thanks, Doc." He said, after a moment. "You know, I realized something, just now."
"What?"
"Apparently, now I'm going to die from a case on pneumonia rather then suicide."
"And you think I have something to do with it?" He asks. Charlie shrugs half heartedly.
"You did say you didn't want me to kill myself."
"I maintain that statement." Blake replied, tightening his grip on Charlie's hand. He doesn't respond, because Blake just said more to him in that whole statement then his real father said to him in his whole life.