wish (upon a starfish)
Summary: Charlotte is completely different. Drabble- Lewis (Charlotte) (Cleo). (Sometimes, Lewis just...)
Warning: Lewis isn't stupid. If he's going out with Charlotte, she can't be completely bad. (Doesn't mean we have to like her, right?)
Set: During season 2.
Disclaimer: Standards apply.
So... yeah. I have no excuse except i) that I'm finally getting around to watching the entire series (only 10 years late, I guess), and that ii) I just love Cleo and Lewis together. Jep, that's actually an excuse.
Lewis had it.
Really, really, he'd had enough. He wouldn't take it anymore. He'd just…
Well, he'd decide what to do once it actually came around, he supposed, because of course he was too cowardly to actually do something. Say something, even. In hindsight, that was what had brought him here, hadn't it, and he still had no clue how to get himself out of it again.
One slept in the beds one made oneself, he supposed. And stuff.
"You're really stupid, bro."
Zane was already in scuba diving gear, the oxygen tank on his back. Lewis stumbled over the limp leg of the suit. The boat rocked softly. Somewhere below them was a shipwreck with a treasure on board.
"What did you just call me?"
The other guy just waved him off with a gesture that was far too much like Zane to get any other reaction out of Lewis than a flash of white, blindingly hot anger.
"Why do you let her play you like that? You should just force her to see the truth."
"Oh yeah, bro? And what's that, the truth?"
"Don't ever call me that." Zane checked his gear and then walked over to check Lewis'. "The truth is, she is in love with you. She just doesn't want to see it."
"So what?" Lewis tore at his zipper with more strength than was necessary. "So I change her mind by force, like you did with Rikki? Not cool, man."
Zane shrugged, with that arrogance that made Lewis teeth ache. "Your call. But, you know? Rikki and I are together. What about you and Cleo?"
Lewis was still fuming when they went overboard, diving into the cool waters around Mako Island.
Sometimes, Lewis just…
"What would you wish for, if we had more time?" Cleo had asked, all bronze skin and chestnut hair and the scent of honey and vanilla and ocean. While, outside of the JuiceNet, Emma and Rikki were keeping the Winfred and his hastily assembled camera crew distracted, while Lewis' trembling hands unscrewed the slimy glass vial, while his eyes were glued to Cleo's brown ones, warm and of the color of chocolate. The world was ending – business as usual – and they were running out of time and he had messed up again, and now she was looking at him from the floor, something and everything in her eyes and denial. And he had no words. No words, always and forever, and wasn't that hilarious? Because he could talk himself to the moon and back, usually, and had no qualms taking anyone with him. Because Lewis believed in the power of speech. Science was the foundation of understanding the world, and it was built upon explanations. Upon words. There was nothing in the world that couldn't be explained.
Except for –
What do you wish for?
"I think you know what that would be," he told her, finally feeling the vial crack open in his surprisingly steady hands. His heart, on the other hand…
Her eyes told him a myriad and one stories and he could read every single word in them.
For you, for you, for you, his battered, love-sick heart sang. I only want you.
Her skin under his fingers was familiar and soft. The slimy cream that would grant him a wish painted vivid green onto her cheek. And, all the while, she never took her eyes off him for even a second. He swallowed, painfully.
Cleo, Cleo, Cleo –
And then Lewis closed his eyes tightly, curled his hand into a fist (to a) forget the feeling of her skin on his finger tips, b) to stop himself from shaking, or c) to steel himself, or freakin' d) all of the above and nothing and so much more and he couldn't take it, really, why, why, why –) and made a wish he knew would come true.
I wish that everything in the café is the same as before again and that this horrid experiment disappears without a trace.
When he opened his eyes again Cleo was back to her human form, her smile just so off, and even the smell of rotting algae that had hung over them for the past hours had vanished without a trace.
"Someplace romantic!"
Charlotte was…
Well.
Lewis had been brought up by his grandmother, and she had taught him to be polite. And yes, Charlotte was a handful. She pushed. She prodded. She had a nasty streak – that flour incident had totally not been accidental; it had been so obvious he'd been surprised none of the adults had noticed. (But, to be completely honest here, Cleo gave as good as she got, too.) She jerked his line – always wanting to know where he was, and when, and with whom. She forced him out of his shell – he'd hung on to Saturday morning fishing trips by the tips of his fingers, because really, if he couldn't even do that he'd die. She made him try out stuff, made him get to know other things (and people). She nagged and she nosed around until he'd had it, was so fed up he just wanted to storm off.
And then she smiled, and laughed at his jokes, and he was abruptly reminded why he had talked himself into going out with her in the first place.
Because there was more to Charlotte than everyone around him got to see.
Because she was funny, and cute, and because her nose crinkled adorably when she laughed. Because he liked the way the sun and the wind played with her hair. Because she was nice – even if the girls would disagree. She was unfailingly nice to children and seniors and even to people their age. Emma, Cleo and Rikki seemed to be a special case, and it was very much mutual. Because Charlotte looked at him – saw him, really him – and didn't have any qualms telling him that, same as she didn't mind telling him whenever she was annoyed with him. She was forthright, out-spoken, and she went directly for what she wanted.
It was… nice.
A change, something… unusual. Refreshing. So different from – no. Lewis firmly shook his mind off that particular, traitorous thought.
Because being with Charlotte had its own, special kind of fun and relaxation. Learning new things was good, after all, and if he, incidentally and simultaneously, also learned how to not think of chocolate eyes and vanilla-and-salt scent and smooth, toned skin and how her voice sounded when she was laughing inwardly and didn't want to show it, well, then that was only hitting two birds with one stone, wasn't it?
(Because Cleo wasn't interested anymore.)
"I had fun yesterday."
For a second, he wondered whether Emma and Rikki were hiding below the pier, somewhere, because the feeling of both being doused in ice water, then heated up until it disappeared in a cloud of steam at the same time was something he could very well imagine them being able to do with their powers.
Or, you know, it could be due to the fact that Cleo had just smiled at him before she turned around and walked off and had left him with all kinds of weirdnesses boiling in his stomach, and that, at the same time, Charlotte turned to him and stared with a mix of something that might result from catching him kicking a puppy and being said puppy, at the same time.
Girls.
Lewis sighed and ignored the little dance his heart was performing, one that left a jittery, glowing feeling behind that very much sounded like a chant.
Cleo. Oh, Cleo.
"But you're with me now, right?" Charlotte said.
Oh, yes. That.
"Right."
Nightmares. He'd had them.
He hated them.
They returned, as if they felt how much he loathed them, how much he tried to evade sleep out of fear of encountering them. In those dreams – the same, always, terrifying and heart-stopping – and Lewis apologized, again and again. And Cleo smiled.
And then they came to take her away.
(And Lewis would shoot up, sweat-soaked, terrified, the echo of her fear ringing in his ears.)
Charlotte's face was thunderous.
"Hey, I'm not late today."
"Where you with Cleo and the others?"
"No. I was fishing. Really, Charlotte, don't you trust me?"
She sighed. "I'm sorry. I do. I don't want to be paranoid."
"It's okay. I'm sorry, too. I know it's hard for you."
Her hand curled and uncurled again. "Thank you. For understanding."
"Hey." Lewis laughed. "We're both not perfect, aren't we?"
She perked up. "Do you want to go to my place? My mother prepared some snacks yesterday."
"Your mother, the chef, prepared some snacks?"
"What, you like her food better than mine?" Charlotte laughed, like a ray of sun falling onto the sea at midday.
And Lewis made himself relax, taking her hand (strong, a painter's hands) and feeling the pressure and anxiety slip away.
"Did I mention that your mother is a chef? I love everything you cook, though."
She kissed his cheek, still smiling.
"You're always honest, aren't you?"
(Cleo's was a moonbeam smile.)
The sun sank. The air smelled like ocean and like Charlotte's sweet perfume, and he did not think about anyone else.
Sometimes, Lewis just wished.