1Disclaimer: Not mine, making no $... Actually making no money in anything, let alone my writing.
A/N: I didn't plan on posting this as it was written for my enjoyment purposes, but I decided to put it up for others enjoyment purposes also. If it doesn't meet your standards... Sorry.
Charlie was worried about Claire. Ever since the night where she had wandered out of the jungle to Locke and Boone, she had barley spoken. She refused to eat, and drank little. Her flat stomach sent Charlie's mind wild with ideas and scenario's, all of them terrible and negative about the child she had carried. He wished Claire would tell him something as much as everyone else did, but Jack's diagnosis was trauma, and emotional shock. He said she would come around, and that she probably needed him right now. Charlie didn't ask what that was supposed to mean, but he guessed it wasn't an indication to badger her to say something. This , he wouldn't do.
He was sick of gathering firewood. It wasn't exactly one of his favorite pastimes, and he was sick of it. But he still did it, mainly because someone had to and there was a lack of anything else to do. But one evening when he was headed back to the caves with arms full of sticks, he spotted Claire sitting by herself. Why she would even dream of leaving camp and people ever again was beyond Charlie.
"Hey, Claire." He called. She jumped, and looked at him. A ghost of a smile fluttered on her lips, but it did not match the deep pain in her eyes.
Charlie quickly abandoned the firewood and joined her, sitting on a rock. He wished she would say something.
"What are you doing out here, at this time of the day? It's getting dark. And cold." Charlie put his sweatshirt around her shoulders and she bit her lip and nodded, still making no move to get up.
"I was getting some firewood, you should come back and we can make a fire to sit by. It's really much better with a fire." He told her softly, taking her pale hand in his and rubbing his thumb near her wrist. "A fire is light and warmth. Im not saying we're going to toast marsh mellows and make hot chocolate but it will give me an excuse to be near you again. If you'd like that." Another attempted smile from Claire, and eye contact for a brief moment. Ah, he was getting somewhere.
He stood and helped her to her feet. They walked back in silence, Charlie with the wood. Once at camp he started a fire and she watched him, hey blue eyes following his every move. If Charlie had looked up at her, he would have noticed that her mind was doubtlessly elsewhere.
He longed also to converse with her on the more recent matter of her diary, and how he now knew some of the feelings Claire harbored for him. But there was no round-about way Charlie could see in doing this, and he would have to directly state that he had indeed sought, found, and read her Diary, a widely-known word that was understood to be a secret journal only to be seen by the writer's eyes alone, and unless there were two friends giggling at a sleep-over and permitted each other to read select pages of the said diary, it was also understood that it went unread. Charlie not only had trouble bringing up the subject, but felt it was necessary. His thoughts kept straying back to the incident. It reminded him of Poe's eerie "The Tell Tale Heart" in which a murderer entertains guilty thoughts in the company of two policeman, directly on the floor under which he had buried a body of an old man whom he had smothered hours previous. Though Charlie's transgression was nothing of this scale, he felt the same way the author had described the guilt of the murderer. His heart began to beat harder when he thought of reading her diary, and his face heated considerably. His mind raced with explanation and excused he would have no reason to yet make. He was thankful Claire seemed to take no notice of this.
On one casual , innocent occasion, Claire was sound asleep around noontime, and little was going on about her sleeping form. Charlie noticed the bruises on her face, and while he sat beside her, stroked her marred cheek with his forefinger. A butterfly's wing couldn't have been gentler. She stirred slightly, but her eyes remained closed and Charlie wondered if the bruises were inflicted upon her fair skin by the strike from Ethan, or one like him. A smile dashed over his lips as he thought of her diary, and how her penmanship had flawlessly inscribed how secure and safe Charlie made her feel. He thought bitterly for a moment on how he had failed at this, and the corners of his mouth fell. He cut off these pointless musings and regrets and focused on how peaceful in sleep his Claire was, and how he wished never to leave her side again, for fear she might be swept off at any moment. Claire's neutral expression shifted to one of fear and concern in her sleep, and she moaned lightly and her eyes fluttered. Charlie said nothing, as she might drift back into her nap, but it looked as if that were not likely.
"Claire?" He asked.
She started at the sound of his voice and shied away, shrinking towards the wall of the cave they were in, her eyes still blinking sleep away. He touched her wrist, and she flinched and gasped.
"Claire," Charlie's tone was hurt. "Its me, Charlie. Its ok." He held out his palms to show he meant no harm to her, and upon further wakening, she sighed in relief and crumpled. Charlie caught her and supported her she took a few shaky breaths, re-gaining her composure. Charlie noted with pleasure that even once Claire's thoughts were in full order and she no longer trembled, she made no move to remove herself from his strong embrace.
"Sorry about that..." Her breathless voice floated to Charlie's ears.
"No, don't be sorry love. Be .... anything but sorry."
She smiled faintly. Charlie wished he could stay like this a while longer yet, without interruption, but of course, living in such close proximity to thirty-plus people, this would prove difficult. Charlie took the moment and ran with it.
"Claire I-I ... read your diary." He blurted out without thinking.
"What?" She inquired in a whisper.
"You know, the little blue diary you keep... I read a part or..three or so.. Of it. Can you forgive me?" Claire pulled her head away from Charlie's chest to look him in the eyes. His expression was anxious, his brows knit together in nervous anticipation.
"Charlie... In the past several weeks I have boarded a plane, survived an impossible crash with less than a scratch, been kidnaped, seemingly misplaced my child with absolutely no recollection of the incident in which this happened, escaped from being a captive to a very hostile and violent island native," Her hand brushed her bruised face, " and I stumble back into the ' cradle of civilization' which is these god-forsaken caves, back into the arms of my best friend in the world, and he tells me he read my diary while I was away?!" She exclaimed. "How would that make me feel?"
"Like hell. It would make you leave his arms and spit on him and kick him and call him bloody scum and never look him in the eye again..." Charlie said indignantly, hating himself.
"Actually, Charlie. I care very little. I guess you've read what I mentioned about you?" He nodded.
"Good." Charlie's eyes widened considerably when she said this.
"It makes it much easier to let you know how I feel that way." And, sighing, she laid back in his arms. Charlie laughed under his breath in disbelief and hugged her closely.
"Charlie?"
"Yea?"
"Are you hungry? Coz I'm starving."
"Lets get something to eat then."
A/N: Leave a review and I will be forever indebted to your kind services! :)