Across Enemy Lines

by Dreamality

Disclaimer: Lost and all related characters, settings, plots, etc. belong to J.J. Abrams and ABC. I claim no ownership and make no money from this venture.

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Chapter Two:

Finding his way back to the beach camp proved harder than Charlie had anticipated. He didn't want to follow any paths that had been beaten by past hikers for fear of meeting Sawyer, or any of the others from the beach camp, on his way. His body had been weakened by the stress of crashing on the island and running out of heroin, and Charlie had no doubt that the redneck could take him on with no trouble at all.

So Charlie beat his own path, or tried to, in the general direction of the beach. Now that he was actually concentrating on where he was going rather than relying on instinct, as he had the previous night, he found that he doubted himself at every turn. He kept doubling back to try a different way and confusing himself. Just when he thought he would never reach his destination, he caught a glimpse of the glittering blue ocean between the trees and hurried towards it.

Peering out from behind his hiding place, which consisted of a few bushes with large leaves, Charlie discovered that he had ended up at the far end of the camp, away from the main area. That was good. At first he didn't see anyone, which was both a worry and a relief. Then Claire came into view from behind a piece of the plane and Charlie's throat closed up. He watched her silently as she walked along the beach and waded into the calm ocean. She dipped the shirt she carried in her hands into the ocean and then wrung it out.

Charlie waited until she left the ocean and sat down heavily on the shore to make his presence known. He cleared his throat as loudly as he could and rustled the bush slightly. Claire jumped and looked around in fear until her eyes landed on the face of a young man amongst the bushes. He was beckoning to her, so she rose and went to him, her face awash with relief.

"Hello, Charlie," she greeted. "Sleepwalking again, are you?"

Charlie laughed a little, though it was a hollow laugh. "Are you busy just now, Claire?"

The woman shrugged. "Nope. There's not much around here for a woman like me to do."

"Can you come with me, then?" Charlie asked hopefully. Claire agreed and he led her just a little way into the jungle until they reached a small clearing. He helped her sit down against a tree with a somewhat smooth trunk then sat across from her against the rougher trunk of a palm tree. Now that he was actually at his destination and with Claire, he wasn't sure how to begin, or even what he had come here looking for. Lucky for him, Claire opened the conversation.

"Are you really all right, Charlie? You worried me last night. And you're so pale now. You're sure you're not ill?" Claire asked, reaching forward without thinking to feel his forehead.

The anger flashed up before Charlie could stop it. Scowling, he jerked back and snarled, "I'm not ill!"

Just for an instant, Claire looked hurt. Then her forehead smoothed and her smile returned. "Sorry. It's these blasted maternal instincts, ya know? Anyway, I suppose with someone like Jack around, it'd be hard to get sick, huh?"

Charlie sighed. Suddenly he was disgusted with himself for bringing this upon Claire, for introducing her to even more evil. He knew he should just get up and walk away, but he found himself opening his big fat mouth anyway.

"Claire, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry," Charlie said. Claire looked at him in surprise and bewilderment.

"For what, Charlie?"

"For bothering you," Charlie answered, his voice tight with pain and self-loathing. "I didn't want to bring you into this." He paused and closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. When his eyes reopened, Claire was struck by the force in them. "There are a lot of things in my life I didn't want to do and did anyway."

"Charlie," Claire said softly, and he looked at her with an expression so forlorn she thought her heart might break. "I don't know very much about you, but I do know that you're a good person–"

Charlie laughed bitterly. "It's nice of you to think so, Claire. I hate to burst your sweet little bubble, but if you knew the truth… you would be afraid to be alone with me."

Claire said nothing. She looked at Charlie with an expressionless face, waiting for him to explain. Charlie looked at her innocent face and felt his black, withered heart give a strange twinge, as if it were capable of feeling something other than pain again. Before he knew what he was doing, Charlie had taken a deep breath and plunged into the whole story, spilling everything out to Claire.

He told her about Drive Shaft and was only vaguely disappointed that she didn't recognize the name. Fame no longer mattered on a deserted island. She listened to him intently as he described their transgression from garage band to kings of rock, then their sudden and rapid decline in popularity. The petty arguments and constant fights made Charlie and most of the other members of the band look for release elsewhere. For Charlie, it was the nightclubs where drugs were passed out freely. Heroin became his new best friend, and rather than the natural rush of adrenaline he got on stage, Charlie lived on the artificial rush his new friend gave him.

Then there was the island and the constant fear of running out. Trading Locke his drugs for his guitar had seemed, at the moment, the perfect way to escape the fear. He had forgotten the effects of withdrawal he had witnessed in his own friends. When it began –the puking, the sleeplessness, the constant cravings– he nearly killed Locke just to get the drugs back. When Locke "accidentally" dropped the bag and the heroin mixed into the sand, Charlie had snorted dirt in desperation.

"It hurts, Claire. All the time," Charlie admitted. His eyes were closed again, and Claire suspected he wasn't totally aware of what he was doing or where he was. She was surprised he remembered her name, because at that moment he seemed so far into the recesses of his mind Claire felt he might never return. His foot twitched out spasmodically, as if he were kicking something, every few moments. His flesh was raised in goose bumps, yet his skin was soaked with sweat.

The person that sat before Claire was not the sweet, funny man who had sat by her when she was dying of thirst. He was not the charming man who'd leapt up to help her carry a heavy load. This man was only a shadow of the other Charlie. A broken image, as if Claire were looking into a cracked mirror at his reflection. It hurt her to look at him, yet it drew her to him. With only some difficulty, Claire slid on the sand until she was beside Charlie rather than across. Her hand reached out to take his. It was cold and clammy, and he did not react to the touch.

"Are you cold, Charlie?" Claire asked when he shivered slightly. Charlie turned his head away, his face contorted in a grimace of pain.

"I can feel it now. Beneath my muscles. Inside my bones. It just… hurts." Charlie's voice was low and rough and he almost sounded choked. His eyes were squeezed shut tightly to ward off the tears that had somehow snuck up on him.

"Isn't there anything that can help you? Anything to lessen the pain?" Claire asked softly.

"My guitar, sometimes. When my hands aren't shaking too badly to play it. But it gets worst at night, and I can't play when everyone's asleep. Locke helps me, he listens to me, but he's so… out there. I just can't connect with him," Charlie answered.

"What about Jack? Boone? Kate? Isn't there anyone you can turn to?" Claire pressed.

Charlie raised his head and looked her in the eyes. One word fell from his lips, hitting Claire so hard even the baby inside of her jumped. "You." With a sigh, he added, "But you live here. And I live there."

"Well then, I'll just have to go back with you," Claire stated simply, as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. Charlie looked at her, his eyes sad and doubtful.

"I'm sorry, love, but I just don't think that would be a good idea. It's a long way for someone in your condition to walk," Charlie said. Claire's gaze hardened and for the first time since Charlie had met her, a frown crossed her face. Charlie's leg kicked out again and the ache inside him intensified.

"You don't think I can make it?" she asked defensively. "Charlie, I want to help you. I don't like to see you hurting so badly. I want to make it better."

Charlie shook his head. "I know you can. I just can't ask you to. This place is dangerous, Claire. There's something out there that isn't too friendly. If it ever came across us, I can run, but you… Claire, if something ever happened to you and it was my fault… you're just safer here."

"Safe," Claire repeated with a little laugh that suggested she doubted the validity of the word. "I thought Australia was safe. I was wrong. I thought I would be safe on the plane. I was wrong. I thought staying on the beach would be safe. Now I'm not so sure. When the baby comes, who'll be here to help me?"

Charlie's eyes fell on her stomach, where her hands rested. He recalled her previous words about being a "time bomb of responsibility" and worried that her words would ring true in too short a time. Charlie looked back at her face and said, "But you'll be fine, won't you, Claire? I mean, women give birth to babies in their homes, and before hospitals it was all sort of a natural process, right? Why should there be any problems?"

Claire sensed his need for reassurance and his sudden, desperate worry. Even though she was tired of being positive and bubbly, Claire forced a smile onto her face for Charlie. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so. I'll be fine." There was a pause, then she said, "Charlie, if the jungle is so dangerous, you shouldn't come back and forth like this."

"Sometimes, like last night, I couldn't help it," Charlie admitted. With a small smile, he said, "Are you trying to get rid of me?"

"No!" Claire exclaimed a little too passionately. Charlie frowned and she sighed. "Sorry. It's these hormones. Make me a little loopy, if you know what I mean."

Charlie wasn't so sure he did know. There was something beneath her outcry that Claire wasn't sharing. A silence fell over the two of them, with nothing but the rustling of leaves and the lapping of the waves against the shore to be heard. Claire began to relax and leaned against Charlie a little bit, resting her head against the tree behind them. He envied her for her ability to relax while his nerves made him tense and agitated.

Claire suddenly gasped and sat up, her hands pressing to the sides of her stomach. Charlie sat up, too, looking at her fearfully until she laughed and leaned back on the tree again.

"I can tell you're going to be a football fan, just like your father," she said to her stomach. "Do I have a little David Beckham, Jr. in there?"

"Claire…" She looked at him expectantly. Charlie hesitated a moment, then asked the question burning through his mind. "If you don't mind my asking… where's the father?"

Claire was used to such questions, and had actually been expecting someone to ask long before this. Her lips pursed and she exhaled sharply before looking at Charlie. "He's back in Australia."

"You're so far along, why would you leave for America?" Charlie asked. He cursed himself for being nosy, but Claire didn't seem to mind.

"I was running away," she admitted. "I fell in love with Thomas, that's the father's name, when I was very young. He was dating another girl, and when they broke up I stepped in to help him. We didn't plan this pregnancy, but when it happened he was very supportive. At first."

Claire paused, taking a moment to collect herself before continuing. The pain was fresh in her mind, and it was evident to Charlie that telling her story was difficult. He admired her courage and wondered why she trusted him, of all people, to tell it to.

"Then the other girl, the one he'd dated before me, came back. Thomas was torn. She was his first love, and now I was the mother of his child. He didn't know what to do at first, but I knew what he was going to decide as soon as she came back into his life. Thomas was a very nice man, very gentlemanly, and he was very opposed to going back to her when I first suggested it. But I insisted, and off he went. We parted as friends; there was no bad blood between us. But it still hurt me to see him. We were in a small town and I would see them whenever I went to the store or just out of my house, it seemed. So I decided to leave."

"Why America?" Charlie asked. "Especially LA, of all places. It's not the most welcoming place in the world."

"I know. My sister went there when she decided to become an actress. She didn't have much luck acting, but she does all right modeling, and she invited me to move in with her," Claire replied.

"What did Thomas think when he found out you were leaving?" Charlie asked. He was intrigued by this woman and her story, and concentrating on her gave him reason to ignore the cravings and the pain. Even for just these few precious moments, he could feel normal and free from the drugs.

"I never told him," Claire confessed. "I sent him a letter the day I left, giving him my sister's address. Now he probably thinks me –and his baby– are dead."

"You miss him, don't you?" Charlie asked quietly.

"Of course. I loved him. But I realize he could never let go of his first girlfriend, and no matter what he could never love me as he loved her," Claire whispered sadly.

"He must have been a crazy git, then," Charlie said. Claire looked at him and smiled. He grinned in response, and for a moment their eyes locked and Charlie felt as though he might stay there forever.

"Claire!"

Their moment was interrupted by the shout. They both looked up quickly, surprised. Motioning for her to stay put, Charlie crawled forward to the edge of the jungle where he looked for the source of the voice. Sayid was on the beach, walking along and calling her name every few steps. Charlie went back to Claire and helped her up, urging her to go.

"Will I see you again soon?" Claire asked hopefully.

"I'll try. I'll come tomorrow, at the same time and at the same place," Charlie answered.

"Be careful, Charlie. Get straight back to your own camp, and if it's not safe, don't try to come back," Claire said quietly, holding on to Charlie's hands tightly. He nodded, giving her an unspoken promise.

"Go on. I'll be fine," he assured her. She looked at him for a moment more, then let go of his hands and walked through the trees towards the beach, following Sayid's voice.

"Yes? I'm here, Sayid," she called. Sayid turned around quickly and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her.

"Claire. There you are. The camp was worried when we noticed you were missing. We thought something had happened. Are you all right?" he asked.

"Yes, I'm fine," Claire answered quickly. "I just went for a little walk to try to settle the baby down."

"In the jungle? Claire, that is not especially wise when you can't move very fast…" Sayid began.

"Sayid, have you ever been pregnant?" Claire interrupted.

Sayid stopped, startled by the question. "Of course not. Why would you ask…?"

"Well then allow me to explain something. Babies like to kick and move around, my baby especially. Sometimes he kicks certain things in my body that send me running off into the jungle to take care of business. Shall I tell you every time that happens so you don't worry about me, or shall we just agree that I can take care of myself as long as I stay close to the beach?" Claire asked, a little bit sarcastically.

Sayid laughed. "I'm sorry, Claire. You are right. Forgive me for seeming so protective. Now, a few of the men have caught some fish. If you're hungry, you can come help yourself to some."

Claire followed Sayid down the main part of camp, staying a step or two behind him. When his eyes were focused elsewhere, she snuck a glance back towards the jungle where she had just left Charlie. She thought she saw a pair of eyes looking at her and perhaps a glimpse of dark blonde hair, but when she blinked it was gone, so she couldn't be sure. Claire sent up a silent prayer for Charlie's safety and went with Sayid to get a bite to eat.

Charlie hurried through the jungle, taking no certain path. Now that Claire was gone, now that he was alone with himself and his addiction, the demons were back. They overpowered his thoughts, making him think only of heroin and the sweet release it brought him from pain and suffering. His body called for it, his mind needed it. His chest felt tight, and he knew if he could just get his drugs back he would be able to breathe easy again.

Every few feet, Charlie had to stop to catch his breath. His legs hurt so badly he wasn't sure if he would be able to make it back to the camp by the caves. His arms ached, too, as did his head, his stomach, and his back. When a small, unseen creature ran through the bushes behind Charlie, he sprinted forward until he tripped and fell onto the ground. His stomach turned and he vomited onto the jungle floor. For a moment his whole body felt as though it were on fire, until it switched suddenly to being colder than ice.

Charlie couldn't remember where he was going anymore. He had pushed the craving away for too long, and now it was back tenfold. He didn't want to get up, but something in the back of his mind told him he had to. There was somewhere he needed to be, some promise he had to keep, he just couldn't remember what it was.

As he lay there on the jungle floor, vomit dribbling off his chin and a sick smell in the air, a gentle voice floated to him. He thought it must be a hallucination; perhaps another side effect of withdrawal was insanity, but when the words were clearer, they calmed him and gave him the strength to stand up.

"Charlie, I want to help you. I don't like to see you hurting so badly. I want to make it better…"

"Be careful, Charlie. Get straight back to your own camp."

"Okay," Charlie said to the pretty voice. He started walking again, even though he just wanted to curl up and die. When bile rose in his throat again he had to pause to throw up, and as soon as he was done he continued again. He walked for days, he walked for weeks, he walked for an eternity and he never found the place he had promised to go to.

The last thing Charlie saw before everything went dark was a pretty face framed by soft blonde waves and lighted by a bright, white smile.

"Charlie, you need to get up now."

Locke was kneeling beside Charlie. When his eyelids lifted to reveal glazed-over blue eyes, Locke smiled. After helping Charlie sit up, he lifted a bottle to the younger man's lips and let him drink a few sips of cold, fresh water.

"Did you find her?" Locke asked.

Charlie's lips curled upward in a smile. "Yeah."

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To Be Continued…

Author's Note: Thank you to all who have been so kind as to review my story. Personal replies can be found in the review section.

For those interested: I pulled this off the Internet:

"Withdrawal, which in regular abusers may occur as early as a few hours after the last administration, produces drug craving, restlessness, muscle and bone pain, insomnia, diarrhea and vomiting, cold flashes with goose bumps ("cold turkey"), kicking movements ("kicking the habit"), and other symptoms. Major withdrawal symptoms peak between 48 and 72 hours after the last dose and subside after about a week. Sudden withdrawal by heavily dependent users who are in poor health is occasionally fatal, although heroin withdrawal is considered less dangerous than alcohol or barbiturate withdrawal." –National Institute on Drug Abuse, drugabuse "dot" gov

I tried to be as accurate as possible, but artistic license allows for some dramatization or inaccuracies.