The night crept steadily onwards, going by far too slowly for the survivors. No one slept that night, except perhaps for Claire's son, and that was only after the woman retrieved him from Sayid and held him close to her heart, rubbing his back with a circular motion. The others sat on the beach around the still blazing memorial fire, talking in soft voices. Some recounted snippets of their misadventures on the island, while others were content to dream aloud with each other about what they would do once they got back to the real world. Very few of them were quiet that night. Everyone was far too excited to keep still for long. Even the normally quiet Charlie and cryptic Locke could not stay quiet and went from person to person, exchanging words or stories.
Slowly the blackness of the night gave way to a pale dawn. Slowly the sun rose in the cloudless azure sky. Still the survivors remained awake, not trusting to sleep when rescue was not far off. The sun rose higher, fierce and hot, and still all eyes remained on the skies. Noon came and passed without much to mark it, except for a light meal that they shared together, each one of them hoping in their hearts that this meal would be the last that they would share on the island. It would perhaps have been a better meal had any among them put his or her effort into gathering more food, for the supplies that they had brought from the caves were painfully sparse.
Sunset was fast approaching when the sound of engines was next heard. Again it was Locke who heard them first, but now instead of remaining distant and faint, they came closer and more distinct. There was a moment of searching, of squinting against the gold rays of sun, before they saw the planes come into view, the silver metal of them both ablaze with the orange light, glowing with promise. The pair of airplanes began to drop in altitude until they touched down in the ocean, for they were sea planes. From each, a small raft was released, two uniformed men to each one. Gas powered motors sped the bright orange boats to shore.
On the island, every tongue was held in a reverent silence, as if words had some power to shatter the dream-like vision playing out before their waking eyes. Every breath was held in anticipation for the moment the first boat would touch the sand. The rafts came closer and the men at the motors cut the speed down to avoid damaging the boats when they landed. At length, the first of the boats touched the sandy shores and one of the uniformed men stood and jumped neatly to the island. Still not a word was uttered; it was as if each of them had been struck with a sudden dumbness. They stood merely looking at the man, their rescuer. Now the second boat landed and one of the two gentlemen from that vessel came up alongside the first.
At last, Charlie spoke, for he had been eying the first of the men who had jumped to the shore. "Scott? Scott Rawlins?"
The officer's eyes immediately shot away from his companion and sought the source of the voice that had called out his name. It simply could not be. His mind had to be playing tricks on him. Disbelief and an unwillingness to hope flooded his green eyes. There was a sharp intake of breath as he caught sight of Charlie.
"Jesus Christ! Charlie? Is that you?" The man's face was pale as he spoke, for it seemed to him that he must be speaking to, or at least seeing, a ghost. He shook his head. "It can't be."
A smile passed over Charlie's face. "You know," he said, crossing the distance between himself and the man called Scott Rawlins, "after four years, you'd think I'd get a little bit warmer of a hello. Then again, you were always a bit of an ass."
Scott did not have the chance to reply before Sawyer cut in. "You know this guy, Strings?" he asked Charlie, running his fingers through his long blonde locks. 'Strings' had become his nickname for the former rock star, for Charlie was forever playing with his guitar, strumming the chords to one tune or another.
Charlie nodded enthusiastically. "He's been my best mate since preschool."
"Well now, ain't that sweet. Any chance that you two love birds can hold off this little reunion until after we get on the planes? Some of us wanna get the hell off this damn island before we grow old and die here."
"The boats can only transport four or five of you at a time," Scott said, regaining his composure and addressing the survivors for the first time. "There's two planes, each with medical doctors on board to examine you and tend to any wounds you might have. Women and children will be escorted over first."
The women and children of the group (and really that only included Walt and Adam) climbed up into the boats and Scott waved on the drivers. He would stay on the island with the rest of the survivors. As the boat pulled away on the first of its trips, Scott looked over the ragged group of half starved survivors, still not wholly trusting his eyes at what he was seeing. These were the survivors from the ill fated Flight 815, Sydney to Los Angeles. That flight had mysteriously vanished less than halfway into its run and was believed to have gone down. The tracking equipment had been thought to have been broken in the crash, for no signal had ever been able to be found to track the plane with. In the early days of the crash, search parties had been sent out to look for survivors but none ever came back with even the smallest telltale sign that any were alive. So, after a few months, the searching grew less and less, until it altogether stopped and all aboard the plane had been presumed dead. That was the same plane that he knew Charlie had been on and now to see the man standing before him looking a little worse for wear but otherwise healthy, it was almost beyond belief.
The boats came back to shore after the first groups had been dropped off. Charlie did not make a move, but was content to remain on the shore, waiting until the last of them were to be shuttled over to the planes. He was the last of the survivors to leave the island, carefully choosing his boat so that he could remain on the plane with Claire and Scott. A cold knot formed in the pit of Charlie's stomach as they came closer to the planes, as sudden vivid memories of the crash came flooding back to him. Next to him, Scott felt the man tense.
"It's okay Charlie-boy. Nothing'll happen to you on this flight, I promise," he said reassuringly.
Onboard, each person was carefully checked over by doctors who stood readily by and the planes took off on their homeward journey. The initial prognosis of the doctors was very encouraging. Aside from a few scratches here and there and a general diagnosis of being underweight, none of the survivors seemed to have anything life threatening.
After his examination, Charlie pulled his threadbare shirt back over his head and pulled it down, careful not to damage any more of the material. The last thing he needed was to tear a hole in the last remaining shirt that he had, at least not before he got back to the real world. It was bad enough that a few small holes had begun to form in the chest and that the ends of the material were frayed. He made his way over to a window and looked out at the island as they flew overheard. His last image of it was just as the last rays of sunlight hit it, gilding the deceptively quiet jungle with gold. He turned away from the window and stretched out on the blanket covered floor of the plane. There were not enough seats in the mostly empty plane for everyone to use, but even as he looked around, he could tell that everyone had made themselves comfortable on the floor, which allowed them to stretch out to sleep. He noticed with some dismay that Sawyer and Locke were not on the plane with him; they had been ushered to the other one. In the four years they had been on the island, he had become friends with those two men. A heaviness covered Charlie's eyes as he settled down on the floor and sleep took him.
He awoke only a few short hours later. The cabin was dark and quiet, the only sounds he could hear being the droning of the engines and the familiar sounds of his friends' breaths as they all slept. Only a few dim overhead lights shone in the darkness. Charlie stood and rubbed his neck with his left hand, working out a kink that had formed while he had slept. Across the way he could see Scott sitting alone. Carefully and quietly, Charlie picked his way over the sleeping bodies that littered the floor and came up alongside of his friend. It was a full minute before the man felt Charlie's eyes on him and he turned to speak with his friend.
"What's the matter? Can't sleep?"
"On the contrary, I've just had the best sleep of my life. I'd forgotten what it was like to sleep without having to keep one eye open all the time," Charlie quipped, though he meant every word.
"Four years, Charlie. Four bloody years. Everyone thought you were dead," Scott said quietly.
"I know," Charlie said. "How did Liam take it?"
"Not well," Scott admitted. "He was a real wreck after he heard about the crash. He went into a depression. Everyone was afraid that he might, you know, go back to the drugs or something. He spent so much damn time poring over maps and newspaper clippings about the crash. I think that there was some part of him that believed that if he concentrated hard enough, you'd be found. This didn't mix to well with his marriage, but maybe I'm not the right one to talk to about this. Maybe Liam should be the one to fill you in."
"Right then. What can you tell me about the outside world? Like you said mate, it's been four years. I mean, hell, when did you join the force?" Charlie asked, eyeing the uniform that the other wore.
"Right after you disappeared. The thought was always in the back of my mind to do this, but it wasn't until after the crash that I got guts enough to do it."
Charlie nodded his head. When it became clear to him that Scott would say no more, he ventured another question. "What about everyone else? What have they all been up to?"
Scott smiled. "Tess and Mike finally got married last year. I haven't seen 'em much, but I hear they're expecting a little one soon. Bob opened a restaurant where the old general store used to be."
"He talked about that for so long," Charlie said, smiling. "What about Tommy?"
"Tommy's dead, Charlie."
"What? How? When?"
"A year and a half ago. He overdosed. We hadn't seen him in a few days and I went over to check on him. The front door was unlocked and I found him on the couch. He was already dead for two days when I came across him."
"But," Charlie tried to say, not quite able to finish his statement.
"Charlie, you know as well as I do that he was a worse junkie than you and Liam combined."
"Jesus," was all Charlie could say before another silence fell between the two, and Charlie could feel that the man sitting across from him was a stranger. He wondered if seeing Liam would be so awkward.
LOST…LOST…LOST…LOST…LOST….LOST…
The flight from the island to Los Angeles was the longest that Charlie ever remembered being on in his entire life. Ever since his talk with Scott during the night, a growing knot had formed in Charlie's stomach until he felt sick. What if he had been out of the real world for so long that he couldn't make the adjustment back? Then there was the question of Liam. Charlie could not help but to feel nervous as he thought about his older brother. They had not exactly parted on the best of terms before the crash. Charlie had too often relived their last conversation over in his mind. He'd been such an ass to blame Liam for the way he was, for his drug addiction. What if his brother harbored a grudge against him for that?
Charlie steeled himself as best he could as he crossed the threshold where the gangway to the plane met the open airport terminal. It was like stepping onto the surface of an alien planet. There were things there that were so familiar to Charlie, but after being away from them for so long, they were at the same time utterly foreign to him. The bright fluorescent lights and white painted walls seemed harsh to his eyes at first, but he immediately sought out familiar faces that could be there to greet him. Before him, he heard the others shouting the names of loved ones as they ran towards them. He scanned the crowd again and his heart dropped a little. So Liam had not come. It was as he had feared. His eyes began to burn with heartbroken tears. He turned away, slipping his guitar from where it had been slung over his shoulder, and putting it down on the floor for the moment. He figured that he would wait out his emotions and then bid farewell to the other survivors. Claire and Adam, perhaps, would be all the family that he would need.
"Charlie!" cut in a sudden familiar voice, just as the man turned his head away, not wanting any one to see him cry.
Charlie's head snapped up and the tears in his eyes turned from those of sorrow into those of joy. "Liam? Liam!" he called out, knowing the voice immediately.
A moment later, Liam burst through the crowd of reuniting relatives. He speed to Charlie and embraced the younger man in the tightest hug he could muster. Charlie hugged him back, wanting to never let go and let his pent up tears flow.
"I'm so sorry I was late. I wanted to be here the moment you stepped off that plane. I just," he started to apologize.
"It doesn't matter," Charlie said. "All that matters is you're here. I was afraid that after the way we left off, that you might not want to see me again."
Liam smiled. "Are you kidding me? You come back from the presumed dead after four years and you're worried that I'm gonna abandon you because of a stupid fight? I'm hurt," he said, mock pain in his voice as he put a dramatic hand to his heart. He eyed his brother, taking in his full state of being before he spoke again. "Four goddamn years." He shook his head in disbelief.
"I know," Charlie agreed. "It's weird, Liam. It's like I've been living in a dream all this time and I'm only just waking up. I've seen more than I care to recall, been through more than I'd like to admit. I've killed wild boars for supper, come face to face with polar bears, buried friends that became so close that they were family."
"You killed what?"
"Yeah, I'm serious. That man over there, John Locke," he said, pointing out man that he spoke of, "he taught me how to hunt. That's how we survived, killing boars to skin and eat, polar bears on the rare occasion. I mean, that's aside from eating fruits and stuff."
"Unbelievable. My baby brother hunting down bears!" Liam's goofy grin matched the one that Charlie usually wore. He shook his head again.
"Liam, with Locke's help, I kicked the drugs too."
"I always knew that you could do it," Liam said, genuine pride in his voice. "This calls for a celebration."
"Not just yet. My world fell apart when we crashed on that island. Everything that I've ever known became unimportant. It was like of those weird ongoing dreams were you can't believe that you're really doing half of what you're doing. But somewhere along the way, the lines get blurred and the dream becomes your reality. But when you finally wake up, what do you do? What do you do when dreaming ends?"
"You do your best to go on with life, Charlie," said Liam. "It's not easy but somehow you do it. Four years is a long time I know, but I'm here for you, every step of the way."
"Thanks."
"Charlie!" called Jack, as he made his way over to where he and Liam were talking. "Once we're all cleaned up and everything, Locke thought it might be a good idea if we all had dinner together. You know, a sort of last supper to share. We've been together so long, it's like a family being pulled apart. It shouldn't be that we all get to LA and vanish into the crowd."
Charlie nodded. "Agreed. But I swear if dinner consists of boar and coconuts, I'm leaving," he joked.
"Hey Strings!" called Sawyer, waving. "See ya at dinner later!"
"Ok, later man," Charlie called out. He eyed Liam again and took a deep breath. Maybe going home wasn't going to be so terrible after all.
