AN: I love Lost. And Charlie and Claire have always been my favorite couple, and will remain so through the world of fanfiction. A little thing like Charlie's death won't stop that. The way they dealt with said death was not good enough for me. Claire cried for a minute and that was it? Sorry, but that doesn't sway with me. :) So I'm writing this. Read and enjoy. A review would be a bonus.

Title: Good-Bye
Rating: K
Author: MadiWillow
Summary: She didn't even get to say good-bye.
Genre: Tragedy
Chapter: OneShot

They had done nothing but walk for nearly two days. Her feet were aching and her legs were almost numb from the constant one-after-the-other motion of walking. Her arms hurt from carrying Aaron nonstop for so long and she found herself trailing near the back with Hurley.

So much had happened since making contact at the radio tower that it felt like it had been many weeks, not days. Naomi dying, the separation of the survivors, the arrival of the freighter people... Charlie dying...

She choked on her breath and pushed the thought far from her mind. Now was not the time to dwell on tragedy. Their lives might be in danger, according to John. She couldn't worry about the past.

"Hey, Locke, man, can we rest for a few minutes?" called Hurley to the front of the group. "I'm tired."

"Come on, Hugo," Sawyer sneered. "Keep up."

John interrupted. "Sure, Hugo, we can take a break," he conceded, sitting down on a rock and taking a drink from his water jug.

Claire held tightly onto Aaron. Even though her legs felt like gelatin, and they were begging, pleading for her to support her weight on something else, she announced, "I'm gonna go for a walk." A few heads turned her away, suspicious. "I need to feed Aaron," she continued, lying through her teeth.

Nodding, John said, "Okay, Claire, but don't go too far or stay away for too long. We wanna get moving again soon."

Claire nodded to show her understanding. She strayed off the path and into the jungle, expertly ducking branches and sidestepping tree roots. Three months ago she was stumbling through the trees and bushes as if she had two left feet; it scared her at how well she could walk through it now, as if she'd lived on the island her entire life. What would it be like when she got home? Would she constantly walk as if she was dodging foliage?

When she got home... but wasn't that exactly what she was avoiding? The return to civilization? Hadn't she gone with John so she wouldn't get rescued?

She stopped walking, feeling all of a sudden light-headed and overwhelmed, and sat down heavily on a boulder. Aaron whimpered and she wrapped him up tighter in his blanket. For a very brief second, she forgot where she was, and asked herself when Charlie was going to come by to take Aaron for a little walk.

Her throat tightened and her heart rate increased. "Charlie..." she said quietly, blinking, and tear drops got stuck in her eyelashes. She blinked again, and a couple droplets trailed down her cheeks, leaving tracks. She took a deep breath, tasting salt, and her hands started to shake.

She held Aaron up to her chest and buried her face in his blanket, weeping. When Hurley first told her about Charlie, she'd cried, but only for a few moments. She told herself that she had to worry about her son, above everything. But the grief held inside was wearing her down, causing her to move slower and making her heart heavy with strain. She knew she had to let it out.

"Claire."

She squeezed her eyes shut tighter and clenched her teeth as more tears leaked onto Aaron's blanket. She could still hear his voice, clear as day, in her mind, and it made everything harder. She had to let go. Many people had died on the island and her fellow survivors had to get over them quickly; it was just the way things went. Hurley got over Libby; Sayid over Shannon. They moved on. They didn't let their grief take them over. Why was she so different? Why was she so much weaker?

"Claire."

The voice sounded so vivid and lifelike that she looked up subconsciously, and hitched her breath when she saw none other than Charlie Pace standing before her. She gaped, staring at him, taking in every feature that she'd taken for granted before; his round, button nose; his small, dark eyes; his unusually circular ears; the way the ends of his hair fell right at his eyebrows.

She stood up, as if in a trance, and took a step toward him.

"Ch-Charlie?" she stammered, and he gave a very tiny half-smile. She reached out to touch him but suddenly drew back; he was dead. He's not there. She kept the previously outstretched hand close to her chest, as if holding something very dear to her. "No," she said, more to herself. "No. You're dead. You're not here." She stopped and stared at him, her heart thumping in her throat. "Right?" she croaked. "You're dead... right?"

"Yes," he said simply, and more tears leaked down her face. She knew he was dead, but she kept holding out some hope that maybe, just maybe, Desmond had been wrong. Maybe.

"Then h-how are you...?" she asked thickly.

He took a step forward. "To see you," Charlie said. However, she took two steps back.

"No, you can't," she pleaded. "You have to go so I can..."

"Can what?" he asked softly. "Forget about me?"

She shook her head, coughing a sob. "Not forget," she choked. "I just have to let you go. I can't... cry forever."

"You have to cry sometime," he said gently, reaching forward, but she recoiled.

"You can't touch me, you're dead!" she cried. Aaron, sensing something was wrong, began to whine. Claire immediately looked down to comfort him, and Charlie closed the distance between the two of them. He reached out to caress Aaron's head, and Claire stared.

"How can you..." she stammered, "I mean, you're... you're touching him?"

He nodded. "I'm dead, Claire, but I'm still here."

Her eyes went wide and she stepped back again. "Don't."

His face fell. "Claire --"

"Charlie, you're dead," she said, her voice wavering. "You can't just come here like a-a ghost and talk to me like you're gonna be here tomorrow."

Charlie frowned. "I didn't want to go, Claire. But I had to."

She knew what he meant, and her watery eyes widened even more. She forgot to breathe for a few seconds, and when she finally did, she let out a loud scoff. "You knew?" she reiterated, stunned. "You knew you were going to die when you went down there? That's why you kissed me, isn't it?" She clenched her jaw, waiting for his answer.

He opened his mouth a couple times, his voice seemingly gone, before saying, "I... yes."

"Why didn't you tell me?" she wailed, her knees beginning to wobble. "Why did you do it, Charlie? We could have figured something out. You didn't have to die. You didn't have to-to leave me."

"I had to, Claire," he said quietly.

"No, you didn't!" she exploded, yelling so loudly that Aaron stopped fussing. "You didn't have to! You don't have to be a hero, Charlie! You don't have to be one of those people that goes out and saves everyone. You're just supposed to stay here, with me, and with Aaron."

He shook his head slowly, which annoyed her even more. "I died for you and Aaron," he told her.

The statement was so atrocious that she stopped crying and stared. "You what?" she stuttered.

"Desmond..." Charlie began slowly. "You remember what I told you, about his visions?" She nodded, her eyes not leaving him. "He told me that if I died down there, you and Aaron would get off the island." Her narrowed eyes rounded again. "But if I lived, you wouldn't."

She gaped at him in shock and he watched her apprehensively. And suddenly, she reared her arm back and slapped him on the arm. He yelped and jumped back. "What was that for?"

"Don't pretend like it hurt, because you're dead," she growled in a voice she'd never used before. The tears came pouring again, getting caught in her throat and causing her to sputter. "Why would you do that? How could you make a decision like that without consulting me?"

"It's my life, Claire," he retorted.

She frowned deeply and shook her head slowly. "But it's not just your life," she whispered, "because you're part of mine. And Aaron's." They both glanced simultaneously down at the baby, who had calmed down since Clarie's yell and was playing with the wet fabric of his blanket. "You practically raised him with me, Charlie. You've done so much for him, and me. You... you've been like his father," she trailed off quietly. After a brief pause, she continued, "How am I supposed to explain to him the impact you had on our lives?" Tears welled up again.

"I was always worried about explaining Thomas to him, but... how can I talk about you and do you justice? You're like his father," she said again. "You... were."

"I'm sorry, Claire," he said. "I am. But you were going to get off this island. You are going to get off the island."

"You know that I would rather spend my entire life on this island," she said in a low voice, "than live off of it without you."

He shook his head. "You say that now, Claire. But in the future – maybe the not-so-near future, but someday – you would have regretted it."

She mimicked his movement and shook her head furiously. "No!" she said again. "I wouldn't have, because even if I do get off, I'll always think of you, Charlie, and wish you were with me to see Aaron grow up."

"You'd rather raise Aaron on an island all his life?" he asked rhetorically. "You'd rather your son live here forever, and not in the real world?"

"I'd rather raise Aaron with you!" she exclaimed.

He smiled sadly. "You can't have both, Claire," he said in a quiet voice.

"Why not?" Claire asked tearfully, slowly sinking to the ground near the boulder she'd been sitting on earlier.

Charlie bent down, balancing on the balls of his feet. "I don't know," he murmured.

"It's not fair," she mumbled, not looking at Charlie but instead on the baby in her arms. "It's not fair."

They were silent for a while; when she thought he wasn't looking, Claire would glance up quickly to make sure that his spirit – his ghost – or whatever the hell it was, was still there. And even if he noticed, he was nice enough to pretend not to. The wind rustled the leaves of the trees above them as they sat together, like the family they'd been a mere three days earlier, before fate had intervened.

"I realize you're probably mad at me right now," began Charlie, "and I understand why. But in the long run, I know that this will all work out for the best. I care about you, Claire, and I wouldn't have done this unless I knew what I was doing." She finally met his gaze to find him watching her. "I turned this over about a hundred times before I did it. Desmond even offered to do it for me. But I knew it had to be me. I had to."

She bit her lip and nodded, a couple annoying strands of hair flying in the wind. "I know," she said in a voice barely a decibel above a whisper. "I trust you."

"Claire?"

Jumping out of her skin, Claire whipped her hair around at the sound of Hurley's voice. "I'm coming!" she called back, turning around to face Charlie – but he was gone.

Panicking slightly, she scrambled to her feet and looked around wildly. "Char --" she began to ask, before stopping herself. He was gone, and for good this time. He came back to say a proper farewell, but now he was moving on.

And it was time for her to as well.

She stepped forward, standing on the very same patch of grass he has stood on minutes earlier, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply through her nose, as if to smell him. If she concentrated hard enough, it was almost as if she detect his scent in the air. He may not have really been there, but he'd still been there, in one way or another. Exhaling, she placed a hand on Aaron's soft head where Charlie had touched it, and tried to imagine her hand on his.

"Good-bye, Charlie," she whispered, before turning around and disappearing inside the jungle.