"Song for You" is copyright Alexi Murdoch.
Claire was lying on her back, her fingers tentatively drawing circles around the globe of her stomach, her eyebrows knitted with worry. She couldn't sleep at night anymore. It was too uncomfortable with her stomach, and her thoughts and trepidations were making it even more uncomfortable.
She had always been a little flighty—this was something that she couldn't get out of. As uncomfortable as it was to have this life moving inside her, constantly consuming her, she was even more worried about it coming out.
Claire sighed. She wasn't ready for this shit. She hadn't been ready for it back home, and she certainly wasn't ready for it here.
Looking to the side, Claire could see Charlie coming only a few footsteps away, guitar in hand. She sighed, not sure if she wanted to talk to him now, not with all this going on in her head. Charlie just complicated the other fifty million decisions that she was going to have to make soon.
"Hey Claire." he said, sitting down next to her. Charlie checked a moment to see that no one else was around, and began tuning his guitar, with the tenderness of someone holding a child. Claire could understand his care in the process. Those strings were going to have to last him awhile.
"Hey Charlie." she said without much enthusiasm. "What's up?"
She simply didn't have the energy right now. After giving Hurley his present, she had felt a wave of excitement, but that had been battered down by her sudden fatigue in the short walk that it took to get back to the caves.
"Well, Claire, my friend," he said in a mischievous tone. "I need to give you your Christmas present."
Claire smiled.
"That's great Charlie, but can you give it to me a little later? I'm trying to work some stuff out right now."
Charlie looked at her very sincerely. "I know you are. That's why I came over here now. I wanna help." Wonderful, lovable Charlie, always there for her.
"Trust me—this'll make you feel better," he said, giving her hand a squeeze.
"What did you do?" Claire said, laughing softly, taking the bait. Charlie smiled sheepishly.
"I wrote you a song—don't take all of it literally or anything—" I do, but you don't need that sort of confusion right now, he thought. ". . .but by the time I finished it, I realized that, on the whole, it really fit you."
Even in the emotional slump she found herself in, Claire felt a small spring begin to gush up within her at hearing him say that. Wow, she thought. Someone wrote a song for me. Just knowing that she held enough meaning in someone's life that they would do that for her was enough to rebuild few bricks of her life back up to some sense of strength. The spring inside her began to shoot up even more, welling up into her throat and making it difficult for her to speak.
Charlie was looking at her quizzically.
"S'alright if I play it now?" he asked, and Claire realized she was still gripping onto his hand. Still unable to speak, she just nodded, letting go of his fingers.
Charlie cleared his throat and looked around again for anyone popping in to ruin the moment. There wasn't really any perfect way to begin this without it being a little awkward. . . might as well just get on with it.
Slowly, Charlie's calloused fingers began to caress the strings, and all too soon he had stopped looking nervously at Claire, and became a part of his own rhythm.
So today, I wrote a song for you,
Because a day can get so long,
and I know, it's hard to make it through
when you say, there's something wrong. . .
Claire closed her eyes to hear it better, smiling a little to herself.
So I'm trying to put it right, cause I want
to love you with my heart—
Claire flashed her eyes open and looked at him a moment, but Charlie was looking down towards the smooth wood of the guitar as his fingers flew like rain over the frets in soft melody. Relax, she told herself. He said not to take it literally.
But a small part of her wanted to.
All this trying, has made me tight
and I don't know even where to start. . .
Charlie looked up at her face full of serenity with her eyes closed smiling.
Maybe that's a start. . .
He smiled to himself to see her smiling, and to know that he'd put it there.
Cause you know, it's a simple game
that you play, filling up your head with rain,
and you know, you were hiding from your pain
in the way, in the way you say your name.
Claire had never heard anything from Driveshaft, but she was pretty sure that this was drastically different. The song was blue, soft and slow, left her feeling carved out hollow inside, and anxious to either cave in or fill the void.
Charlie continued, smooth hushed and soft.
And I see you, hiding your face in your hands
flying, so you won't land—
you think no one understands;
no one understands.
He had been right, Claire thought. The song fit her with frightening accuracy.
So you hunch your shoulders
and you shake your head and your throat
is aching but you swear, no one hurts you,
nothing could be said,
anyway, you're not here enough to care.
And you're so tired, you don't sleep at night
as your heart is trying to mend
you keep it quiet, but you think you might
disappear before the end.
The spring that had welled up deep within her was on the verge of pouring out onto her cheek. Here she'd been smiling this entire time, trying as best as she could to not make any sort of a big deal about her insecurities—yet Charlie, it seems, had seen all of them, and was writing them all out onto a beautifully decorated chalkboard right in front of her.
And it's strange that you cannot find
any strength to even try to find a voice
to speak your mind, when you do,
all you wanna do is cry. . .
Claire just stared at him in fascination. A hitch in her throat was beginning to form.
Maybe you should cry.
Charlie stared back at her from his guitar intently, understanding.
And I see you, hiding your face in your hands. . .
Talking 'bout faraway lands.
You think no one understands—
listen to my hands.
Charlie's fingers lovingly stroked the strings, and swirls of melody enveloped Claire in their softness. For the first time in forever, she felt a little safer.
And all of this life,
moves around you.
For all that you claim,
you're standing still—
You are moving too.
Charlie continued to watch her from within the melody.
You are moving too.
She was crying.
You are moving too.
And looking at him a little differently.
I will move you.
Without a word, Charlie carefully set down the guitar and entwined his fingers with hers.
They sat there in silence for a long time, Charlie holding onto her hand while she cried.
"Charlie?" she said finally.
"Yeah?"
Claire reached over and hugged him, holding him tightly like at any moment this all would be snatched away. Claire still wasn't so sure if it wouldn't be gone the instant she turned her back.
Softly, Charlie gathered her up in his arms, murmuring comfort whispers in her ear.
"Shhh. . ." he said softly. "It'll be okay."
Claire looked up at him. Slowly, he raised his hands to her face and began one by one wiping the tears off of her cheek, brushing them off as tenderly as he'd brushed the strings of his guitar minutes earlier. The space between them was so miniscule, and yet so huge.
Claire closed her eyes, and an instant later, felt the touch of Charlie's lips brush her own. Claire smiled softly, and hugged him closer.
"Thanks, Charlie."