Title: Mates
Author: Schala
Fandom: Lost
Rating: R (language)
Spoilers: Pilot thru Tabula Rasa are fair game, after that it's possible this is AU.
Warnings: Language. Slash, but blink and you'll miss it. Drug use.
Pairing: meant as Charlie/Sayid but can be Charlie/Claire or Sayid/Sawyer if you want it
Archive: My site, my LJ, and ffnet. If for some reason you want this, just ask.
Disclaimer: Please, I barely know what's going on in the show, do you honestly think I have some creative or monetary input in it?
Summary: Charlie's lost count of the days somewhere along the line.
Notes: Yes, another Charlie-in-withdrawal fic. Hopefully I've somehow managed to make it different than others (maybe from the overwhelming amount of cheese in it). Since I have no real knowledge of whatever it is that Charlie's taking, I've left it vague enough to fill in your own blanks. Unbetaed.

"Everyone falls/But not everyone rises/Why don't you get up/And rise again for me"
-"Perfect" by Maren Ord

Charlie's lost count of the days somewhere along the line. Not that they've been stranded here for all that long, but it's something with the whole sudden day into night thing that's messing with his head. Gets hard to tell the difference between "night" and just "dark." He knows it's been long enough that it's starting to get weird that Claire hasn't popped out the kid yet. Long enough that even Shannon's starting to give up on the rescue boat coming anytime soon. Long enough that groups have started forming, no matter how much Jack'd like them all to stick together like some big, deranged, happy family.

Long enough that he still can't keep his hands from shaking.

He's sitting by the fire that's been burning every since he and Sayid started it the first day. Some of the survivors have started setting up their shelters away from there, but most have stuck around. Scary how quick wreckage from a plane crash can become comforting or something. He supposes if he was sappy enough he could think it was 'cause it's the closest thing they've got to a home out here. Most likely it's just 'cause the rescue boat's got an easier time finding the hunk of metal on the beach than the little shelters they've managed to make. Then again, it's not like they're coming any time soon. And here he thought they were late before...

Picking at the tape around his knuckles unfortunately reminds him of the main reason he can't be sure of the date. He'd changed the word on them again after the terrific disaster he caused that let loose his little contribution to the party. A way of reminding himself what would happen if he fucked up again.

Sayid had asked him to join him on some search for... something or other, he didn't remember now. Food, probably. He'd agreed of course. He agreed to go on every trek or hunt or whatever little task that needed to be done in some pathetic attempt to prove he was useful so they wouldn't all leave him on his own when his little safety blanket of a baggie ran empty. Really fucked that up spectacularly, didn't he?

He'd been rationing out the stuff, counting on the slim hope that Shannon was right and they were on their way and he'd never have to deal with the "not having any more" part. But when Sayid had left his side for a bit, he couldn't take waiting for another hit. Really shouldn't have been surprised when he heard the... thing, the whatever it is, right when the drugs kicked in.

Next thing he remembered was pain. Twisted his leg and knocked himself unconscious, Jack'd told him, right before he started laying into him, going on and on and on about how stupid he was acting and how he was going to get somebody killed, 'til he'd just tuned him out. Focused instead on the finger shaped bruises on his wrist that hadn't been there before. Like somebody'd make if they were dragging him behind them. Wondered how they got there. Wondered how long exactly he was out of it. Didn't want to know badly enough to risk asking Jack about it, though.

When Sayid came by the fire that night, he hadn't looked up, just waited for another lecture on how badly he'd fucked up. But, unlike with Jack, he actually cared what Sayid thought about him. Sayid and Claire were the only ones that didn't completely tune him out when he talked, and he really wasn't ready for the "being on his own" part of this trip, 'specially since he knew what was coming after his little bag ran out. But there hadn't been a lecture and, when he'd finally looked up, there wasn't the expected disgust or disappointment or, worse yet, pity in Sayid's eyes. No, Sayid's eyes had just been sad, and that hurt more than he would've guessed. So, when Sayid had silently put out his hand, he'd handed over the bag without saying a word. Didn't really matter. The thing was practically empty anyway. And hey, if things got too bad, he could just persuade Sayid to give it back to him, like he'd always been able to get his so-called mates to do back home.

Turned out he'd overestimated his persuasion abilities a bit when it came to Sayid. When the withdrawal kicked in, he'd begged, pleaded, threatened, and, at the end, even offered to blow him if he'd just give back the fuckin' bag. But Sayid's eyes had gone sad again at that and he stopped asking.

He knows Sayid hasn't told anyone. But Jack said he wouldn't tell, and that of course meant that everybody knows he's not only Charlie the coward but Charlie the druggie too. Not that it really matters, what with nobody really being all that interested enough to notice the drugged out rock star when they're all trying to stick to staying alive. He doesn't bother trying to convince anybody that it makes him special anymore, just tries to stick to the little routine he's made now that the safety-net's gone. When he's not helping find supplies, he's sitting by the fire, knowing that soon enough Sayid'll be right next to him, not saying much but still managing to distract him from his shaking hands. And when Sayid's too busy fighting with Sawyer, when he knows they really just want to be fucking each other, he goes and finds Claire, talking about God knows what, trying to get that gorgeous smile on her face and her mind off freaking out about the kid.

Mate. He figures it should really say mates, but he doesn't have enough tape for another finger and it would mess with the whole thing he's got going anyway. He supposes it says something about him when it takes a plane crash and the end of the fuckin' world to find his first real mates, though he's not exactly sure what exactly that something is. He stops worrying about it though when he feels a blanket hung over his shoulders and sees a dark hand put on top of his shaking ones. Just leans into the body that makes him feel so much warmer than the fire ever does. Doesn't really mind what or if the others think about him when he feels like this. Let them think whatever the fuck they wanted. It's not like they don't have they're own little oddities they never wanted a bunch of strangers judging them on. It'll be somebody else's turn next and if he were sappy enough, he'd hope they had mates like he does to help them. But he doesn't really give a damn anymore; just rests his head on Sayid's shoulder and stares out into the fire.

"Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends/Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends/Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends"
– "With a Little Help from my Friends" by The Beatles