"It's just a dream, only a dream." Claire murmured as she tossed and turned in bed. Dreams were almost real these days. She couldn't tell anymore, when she was asleep, if she was dreaming or not. It was all muddled together in her mind, different times and places, people she knew and people she had never met before, all together in a jumbled mess between dreams and reality, tangled webs of past, present, and possible future. Sometimes she had messages for them, messages that she didn't understand. She would say these things without thinking—they just came—and when she had finished, whoever she had been speaking to would disappear.
She spent most of her time with the Others these days and they generally accepted her. Despite their seemingly open friendliness towards her, Claire kept mostly to herself, rarely speaking openly, and when she did, she never said much at all. She left them alone and they left her alone. No one seemed to have a problem with that.
When she wasn't with them, she was in the cabin, and the general pastimes there were writing in her diary, reading, crying, or simply staring at the wall. She felt so empty now, only a shell of what she had been in the early weeks on the Island—and the biggest reason why she was here instead of with the remaining survivors of 815 was because she thought the reminders and memories they would bring would only give her more pain than she already carried.
The cabin was small, only one room, and its furnishings consisted of a cot, a desk, two chairs, a lantern, and a few uninteresting paintings that hung on three of the walls. It was lonely, but Claire almost didn't mind. She was lonely and mourning… no one else could have shared her sorrow and she wouldn't have appreciated their comfort.
Sometimes there was someone else in the cabin when she woke up, usually her father, working at his desk; but normally she was alone. She never went out of sight of the cabin without someone at her side though—they said she was too weak, and she felt like it, too. None of it made sense, but she had given up trying to understand a long time ago. Her questions were rarely answered, and when they were, they always brought more questions. How long had it been this way? She couldn't tell. Time was irrelevant.
"Claire? Claire wake up!" Gentle hands attempted to rouse her from her sleep, but she wouldn't open her eyes. She only rolled over, pulled the blankets over her head and murmured "Not now, Charlie, it's late. Go to sleep." Her eyes flew open as soon as she said it. Charlie? It wasn't possible. He was dead… they said he was dead. She slowly pulled the covers down, away from her face so that she could see.
The lantern glowed dimly and all she could make out was a silhouette in the shadows. "Charlie?"
He came back to the bedside and knelt so that she could see him better.
"Am—am I dreaming?" she whispered, reaching for his hand.
"Well…" Charlie took her hand between his own and was silent for a while. He had waited so long for this moment, waited so long to see her. How long? Months or years… it all depended on who you asked. It seemed like a lifetime to him. "Sort of" he said quietly. "I'll be a dream when you wake up tomorrow morning."
"What?" she hissed with a sudden fierceness that only came when nothing made sense, "This isn't possible, you're—they said" she struggled for the right words "you—you died months ago. I don't know how long it's been." She said helplessly as she pulled herself up on her side.
"That all depends on who you talk to, Love." Charlie leaned forward and kissed her, sweet and soft, just for a moment, "Is that alive enough for you?" He asked, his eyes twinkling mischievously.
Life, she could feel it in his kiss. His eyes were laughing at her; he was never serious when she wanted him to be. But did she want him to be serious now? No, she realized, she didn't. "Sure," she finally answered, a small smile making its way to her lips, "For now."
"You haven't smiled that way in a long time." Charlie whispered with a tone that was barely audible. An unusual solemnness crept into his eyes and he seemed to stare straight through her, as though he saw someone or something else in the shadows. "Not in a very long time."
"What?" Claire immediately frowned again, "Charlie, what's going on? You're scaring me. What happened to you out there?"
"Hmm?" Charlie blinked twice and the images in the shadows disappeared. "Oh, nothing." He smiled again, but the sparkle that had been there before was lost. "What were you saying?"
Her brow rose but Claire said nothing as she swung her legs over the edge of the bed and sat up. "Come here." She commanded gently, patting the spot next to her. "Tell me everything you remember, from the beginning."
"Right," Charlie said, rising from his kneeling position and then sitting where she indicated, "From the beginning." He put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her head down to rest on his own shoulder. "From the beginning…" he repeated quietly, and then he hesitated before continuing. It wasn't easy, explaining all of this, because he knew how many questions she would have… and how many of them he didn't have the answers to. "Well," he finally began, "The last thing I remember from the station was thinking that the end had finally come. I said a prayer… and that was that. Hours later, maybe days later, I woke up in this room—a cross between a prison and a hospital—and there was this man in there running tests and scans and things. He never said anything not that I could speak at the moment, myself, but he just kept working and working for days. He'd go look over his charts for a few hours, make notes, and come back, without ever saying a word. Drove me nutty. Then one day, all of a sudden, he leads me to the door and says 'Go. You will know what you're to do when the time comes. You'll be led.' And then he just walked back down the hall. That was it. He didn't explain himself or anything. So there I was, bloody confused, and the only part about his directions that I understood was 'Go' so, I went, I opened the door, went for a little stroll down the street, and found that I was in Los Angeles. What the hell was I doing in Los Angeles? I didn't know, but it didn't take me too long to find out, either."
Charlie paused for a few moments, giving himself a chance to breathe. They would be coming soon. His time was running out. "Any questions so far?"
Claire shook her head. "No, keep going, please." She had plenty of questions, of course, but she wanted him to finish first.
So Charlie continued: "To make a long story short, I found out that only six of us were rescued—it was all over the headlines for the longest time, even though by the time I'd arrived it had already been months since the press conferences. Jack was even working at the hospital again. He was the easiest to find, and I went to him first. But, uh, he couldn't see me. So I stopped following him. And then I decided I'd track Hurley down, because… well, I had a hunch, that's all. He could see me, but he didn't want to believe it. I was finally able to speak with him though… I just had to show up every day for a week before he would give me a chance to explain myself. Took him long enough, but he listened to me in the end. They're coming back, Claire. Well, the rest of them need a little convincing yet, and it'll be a while, but we're working on that. They're coming back. And that's my story, beginning to end." He finished with a cheerful note, but he said it more than he felt it, and he hoped that she wouldn't pick up on that. "Questions?"
Claire was silent for a while, pondering everything he had said. It was hard to take in, as far as the realm of possibility stretched. But, she supposed, stranger things had happened since the crash of Oceanic 815. Yes, stranger things had happened, but of all of them, this situation had to be one of the least explainable. It was impossible to comprehend, if you listened to reason. Her thoughts were far from scientific reason and explanation though; she had more important issues to dwell upon. Aaron, for example—the one question she wanted answered most was the one she could not bring herself to ask—nothing was more important, and nothing more difficult and painful to bear.
Charlie wondered at her silence and then realized that he knew exactly why she hadn't said a word. The tears in her eyes that she was struggling to hide told him everything. The last thing he had wanted to do was make her cry. "Hey now…" His voice was steady and calming as he rubbed her shoulder gently. "Aaron's fine, okay? He's doing great. And Kate's, well," he paused a moment, choosing his words carefully, "She isn't you, but she's doing her best."
"But Charlie, what if…" Claire couldn't bring herself to finish—and he wouldn't let her, either.
"'If,' nothing. Trust me, okay, Claire? He'll be fine. Nobody is going to hurt him. Nobody." He said firmly. "He'll be back here before you know it and you'll be together. We'll be a family."
"All of us?" She didn't quite believe it, but she wanted to hear him say it anyway. It gave her something to hold on to.
"All of us." He affirmed quietly. "Every single one of us. I promise." He would do whatever it took to keep that promise. He had already proven that much—to himself and to everyone else. But now… now his time here was coming to an end. Even now he could feel it. They were coming closer; they'd be here any minute, and when they came, he would already be gone. That was they way it worked in most cases.
"Charlie…" Claire changed her tone and the subject rather abruptly, "You're fading. I can—I can feel it."
"Yeah… it happens." Charlie shrugged it off. He wanted to make the most of these last few minutes—and explaining his sudden near-transparency wasn't on the agenda. He still had something more that he needed to say. "Claire, look at me. I need you to do something for me…"
Claire looked up, her eyes meeting his with a question, prompting him to continue.
"It's very important, so listen carefully." He instructed before explaining "I died, or I would have died for you that day in the hatch. I would have, because…" his voice cracked as he continued, "Because I love you. That's really all that it comes down to, Claire, I love you."
She was really crying now, and she would have said something, but Charlie stopped her.
"Let me finish first. There's just one thing I need you to do. It's the most important thing in the entire world. If you love me, live for me. Hiding out here—this isn't living. I'll be back, but in the meantime, I need you to live." He was urging as hard as his voice would let him, "Be alive."
Claire could only nod vigorously "I will, I will. And Charlie," she reached for his hand and squeezed it tightly; "I love you too."
Charlie opened her hand and dropped a small object onto her palm and closed her fingers around it. "I have to go now." He was fading quickly; the shadows were pulling him back in, swallowing him. "I'm everywhere." It was the last thing he could say, and he could only hope that she understood what he meant as he disappeared.
"Morning, Claire-Bear." Christian Shephard cheerfully announced his presence with a knock on the door and let himself in. "You sleep alright?" Nothing in Claire's mood had changed for the better in the past few weeks, and he hardly expected a change now. Still, a father could hope.
Claire opened her eyes and had to squint at the bright rays that were peaking through the open door and the cracks in the walls. Charlie was gone, and for a moment she doubted and wondered if he had been there at all. She sat up, forgetting she was still holding the object Charlie had left, and she dropped it. "Morning." She said, quickly picking up the item. She didn't dare look at it, but she didn't have to now. She knew exactly what it was—his Driveshaft ring. One of Charlie's most prized possessions, second only to his guitar. She would never doubt his being there again.
She slipped the ring over her finger and hoped that she hadn't drawn attention to her hands as she did so. "I don't think I've slept better in my life." She said brightly. And she meant it—she hadn't felt this refreshed, so full of life, in a long time. "You?"
"Fine, fine." Christian said absentmindedly. He was at his desk, flipping through a stack of papers. He didn't notice the change in her voice—his thoughts were elsewhere.
"Daddy," Claire began as she climbed out of bed and made her way around the desk, "I want to go back to the beach or, back to wherever it is that my-my friends are."
"Not now, Claire," he replied without looking up. "You're not well enough."
She was behind him now and she leaned forward, slipping her arms around his neck. It was the closest thing to a hug she'd ever given him, and the only sign of affection. She was absolutely determined to command his attention.
Christian stopped what he was doing, his attention finally where it was supposed to be. "Claire?"
"I don't belong here." Claire said firmly, quietly, "You know it as well as I do. I belong with them. I've been blind and maybe a little selfish not to have seen it earlier, but this isn't where I am supposed to be." It would be hard at first, and probably more than a little awkward on all sides, but she had to do it. She had to carry on. She had promised.
She wasn't asking for his permission, or even for his help, Christian realized this right away. He had known for some time that this was coming. He didn't ask what had brought this sudden change of heart and mind. He only said "We'll go tomorrow."
After she had recovered from her surprise at his almost-instant submission, Claire really did hug him. "Thank you." She whispered.
Charlie would be everywhere, just like he said. He would be in the eyes of his friends. He would be in their laughter; he would be in their shadows. The ocean and the wind would work together to keep his voice alive. The memories each of these things held would no longer pain her and, one day, Charlie would come back…alive. Alive and well. They'd be together, a family.
Yes, the next few weeks or even months would be hard, but she truly believed that, in the end, they would be well worth it. She would spend them with people she knew and trusted; friends who would share her new-found hope and help to keep it alive… because hope is a very, very dangerous thing to lose.