Title: An Unending Quiet
Author: Edith
Part: 3/?
Rating: This chapter is rated R. :)
Pairing: Charlie/Claire, with implied Shannon/Sawyer and Jack/Kate
Summary: Claire comes back broken and Charlie will do anything to keep her and the baby safe... even if it means leaving the island.
Spoilers: Up to "All The Best..." and then it's just speculation.
Disclaimer: Sadly, not mine. Otherwise, Lost would have a lot more sex. ;) Also borrowed the song "I Wish I Had Someone To Love Me" by The Masterless Men.

Part Three: I'm Weary Of Being Alone

Charlie and Claire didn't learn sign language so much as they invented it. Time stretched before them endlessly and Charlie figured this was a good thing because things like grammar were a bloody bitch to turn into movement.

Their language was surprisingly simple, nothing more than a group of familiar gestures. Some of them doubled for each other, out of necessity. A thumbs up, for example, could be used to state when something was good, fair, alright, or anything positive. They had no use for words like "it" and skipped them entirely while speaking. The sex of a person could be demonstrated merely through pointing, or personal indication.

Names were harder. It started off simple enough, with Claire miming the first letter of each, only they had repeats. Then second letters were brought in and, if that still wasn't enough, third.

It was the sign for Charlie that was his personal favourite. It had been Claire's idea. Sitting by the fire, she had glanced at him with a sweet shyness, formed a heart out of both of her hands, and had then laid them gently against her left breast. Charlie had blushed so red that his ears had been discoloured for what felt like hours. He had shaken his head and looked at his feet, dismissing it with a humbled appreciation, but that night the music he'd played around the fire had been lighter and softer. They had exchanged a look across the flame and her gentle smile seemed imprinted on his mind.

Their language was their own, however. Out of necessity, Claire had taught basic words to Jack, with Charlie's help, and Kate as an afterthought. Short of holding a big meeting around the fire, showing everybody else seemed little more than a bother.

Plus, it was rapidly turning out that Claire's silence had its benefits. While everybody had first been apprehensive of her, the camp soon found her an excellent talking companion, mainly because all she could do was listen. This annoyed Claire at first, but she had never been one to pass up the chance to hear some good gossip.

Kate had come to her first, mainly to check on her and the baby, or so she said. After fussing over James for a few minutes, she had confessed to having found herself in a bit of confusion over Sayid and Jack. Claire could only nod, understanding the situation just fine. She would have had to been blind not to notice that both men were attractive. She would have to have been dumb to note how little their conventional good looks effected her.

Sun had been next and Claire enjoyed her immensely. They had both sat in companionable silence, comfortable in the quiet. Sun had shown her techniques to comfort James and had left her with some herbs she indicated could brew a tasty tea. Claire had shared them with Charlie that night over supper.

Despite her initial unfriendliness, it was Shannon who became her most frequent visitor and, surprisingly, not just to talk. She seemed to harbour a genuine affection for James and could play with him happily for hours. Under Claire's questioning and slightly shocked look, Shannon had confessed to having a great love of children. "Wasn't always a bitch, you know," she'd laughed, blushing a little.

But it was Charlie who Claire liked to hear the most. He would come and sit with her once everybody else was asleep, cuddling in her cave for a late night visit. She wanted him to stay there; couldn't see the point in him coming in to talk with her at all hours of the night only to leave to sleep twenty feet away, but she didn't have the signs- or apparently the guts- to ask him herself.

He would talk until she slept, personal stories told in his familiar deep and scratchy voice. She loved his accent; had always been partial to English tones. In the darkness, he didn't hold back. Any initial fear he might have had over her reaction to his past disappeared in light of everything they'd been through.

She talked back as best she could, letting him read bits of her journal when words failed her. It was through this simple method that she came to know Charlie Pace and vice versa.

Slowly, tentatively, Claire found happiness again, even though it was tainted by the never ending fear that it was, quite simply, too good to be true.

If there was one thing that Charlie hated about being stuck on an island (and it was hard to pick one thing, almost impossibly so) it was gathering fronds to stuff into the bedding. Normally, this could be done quite simply by one person who would scavenge around gathering fallen leaves, but today, Hurley had decided it would be more prudent to climb up the palm trees and get them by hand. Now, Charlie was sure this was prudent if one was the lucky bugger catching them as they fell, but he couldn't see anything useful at all if one happened to be the person climbing the palm tree.

Locking his thighs and his free arm tightly around the trunk of the tree, he leaned out precariously and began to hack at a frond with the knife he had clenched in his free hand. After a few minutes, his whole body was aching with the strain of clinging to the tree and the bloody branch wasn't even half chopped off.

"Hurley!" Charlie shouted down, "This is quite possibly the worst idea you've ever had! For future reference, leave the planning stuff to Jack. You're much better at amusing everybody than coming up with logical ideas."

Hurley, who had been leisurely surveying the beach, smirked up at him. "Dude, not to disagree with you or anything, but I am amused."

"Ha bloody ha," Charlie sniped, swinging again at the branch. He lost his footing a little and lurched forward, legs tightening further still. He felt the rough bark against his bare skin where his pants must have bunched up and grimaced. Amusing indeed.

Before he could open his mouth to comment further, a rustling in the trees interrupted him and Claire emerged, baby tucked safely in her arms, followed by Sawyer and Shannon, of all people. A little thrill began in his stomach at seeing her, out and about and tentatively happy.

"Enter the lady love," Hurley commented dryly, snapping his fingers to catch Charlie's attention, "Don't think you're off the hook now. Keep chopping."

He rolled his eyes at this but began again, adding a whole new vigor to his product. He caught Claire's gaze once and nearly chopped off his hand. He gave her a little wave with his knife and she waved back, making James waggle his arm as well. Charlie smiled again, pleased to be caught doing something as manly as hacking up trees. Humming "Another One Bites the Dust" under his breath, he took a couple more swings and brought down not one but two fronds.

"That's good enough," he decided, shimmying down the tree. When Hurley looked up in surprise, he added, "We're getting them off the ground now. Your idea just isn't sound, mate."

Together, they continued this awhile until it became very clear to Hurley that Charlie was spending twice as much time watching Claire as he was actually working.

"A little help?" he reminded.

"Eh?" Charlie echoed, distracted, "She's really something, isn't she, Hurl?"

"Don't know what she's doing hanging out with the Queen Bitch."

Charlie shrugged at this. "Shannon comes and sees her a lot. They're practically best mates."

Hurley thought Claire could do better but kept mum on the idea. Standing up, he gave Charlie a slight shove in their direction and said, "Dude, go to her."

Charlie didn't have to be told twice. Smiling thankfully at his friend, he loped across the beach, feet sliding in the sand as he went. When he reached their spot where they were sitting in the shade, he called out a hearty, "Hello, ladies!"

Hello, Charlie, Claire signed and he felt a wonderful constriction in his throat at the gesture. They smiled at each other for what seemed like forever, until Shannon interrupted it by standing up and kissing James loudly on the head.

"Well, I'm off," she said, "Can tell when I'm not wanted. I'm going to go see where Sawyer wandered off to. Want me to come get you when I go back to the caves?"

Claire shook her head and pointed at Charlie. Shannon sighed good-naturedly and then she was gone, hips swaying as she moved. Charlie watched, innocently wondering why the sight did so little for him, until Claire poked his arm. Something akin to jealousy flashed in her eyes but then she was smiling at him again.

We came out for sun, she told him.

"It is a nice day," he said, "Even better if I wasn't being used for slave labour."

She snorted at this. Then, Shannon likes Sawyer.

Charlie's weakness for gossip was just as large as hers, even if he would never admit it. Leaning forward, he scooped the baby out of her arms and said, "No!" on a whoosh of breath. Claire nodded solemnly.

"She told you?" he asked, laughing, "Doesn't seem like the sort of bird to advertise."

No. She tried to say that Shannon had hinted but gestures failed her. Instead, she signed Sawyer and batted her eyes like crazy, leaning towards him so that her upper arms pushed her breasts together. Charlie swallowed at the sight of so much creamy cleavage and he felt his hand begin to twitch under the weight of her son's head. Claire noticed the direction of his gaze and blushed prettily, smiling even as she tugged up her tank top.

"Don't let anybody ever tell you that pregnancy doesn't have its advantages," he said wisely, refusing to shift his gaze until he saw her hands move in dialogue.

A baby? she guessed.

"Well, of course, but I meant more so in the bosom department."

She snorted but humoured him by moving forward again. This time she wiggled her shoulders a little in a move a friend at home had taught her from belly dancing and dissolved into soundless giggles when his eyes grew wide. So obvious was her Charlie, but so wonderful too. When she sat back normally, she sat straighter and the smile she sent him was flattered.

"Didn't know you could dance, love."

She nodded, making her hair bounce. Feeling giddy for the first time in days, she stood up in the sand and proceeded to run through a quick tap routine she'd learned years ago. Tap had never been her forte (she had taken it almost entirely as a ditch effort to please her mum) and the sand worked against her, making even the best of her ball changes awkward.

Charlie chuckled at her, clapping his hand against his leg for music, until she motioned for him to put James down and join her. He did just that, jumping up and catching her hands. Together, they destroyed the polka before moving on to massacre the waltz.

Pulling her close to him, he hummed loudly as his hand settled against her lower back. She was shaking with suppressed laughter but somehow her hand found his shoulder. He felt warm from the sun and he smelt like work but together it culminated in the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen: life. The way the light worked in his eyes, the angle of his mouth as he smiled…

Claire wasn't aware she'd stopped moving until Charlie tripped on her feet. He stopped as well, observing her as she had him. Her eyes were lined from lack of sleep but they were shining for the first time in weeks. Her grin was so pure, so beautiful, so meant for him and…

The feel of her hand on his cheek gave him pause. Gently, her fingertips explored his cheeks, brushing along the stubble they found there. She traced his lips softly and then ran the tips of her nails over his cheekbones. He sucked in a breath. So did she.

Time stood still. The need for words fell away. He became aware gradually that Claire was learning him with her fingers, lest they ever be separated again, and he couldn't help but join her. Tangling his left hand in her hair, his right found the curve of her waist; traced slowly up to her neck. He could feel her pulse beating there, steady and firm against his palm, and it was too much.

"Claire," he murmured but she was shaking her head at him, an incessant no, no, no. "No, what?"

No words, she thought, trapped without a way to express it. And then she found one, presented to her as clear as day. Smiling a little, she placed both of her hands on his cheeks and then she kissed him.

Charlie was so surprised he forgot to kiss her back for a good few seconds. Her lips, however, were too warm and supple for that to be a problem for long. When he came to his senses and wrapped his arms around her, she sighed a little into his mouth, all yielding and precious. He took advantage of this, allowing himself to taste her at last. He was not disappointed because Claire tasted like home.

Her kiss was timid but generous and she was quick to learn that Charlie had picked up a few things while being a rock god. To deny his skill would be pure stupidity, and she was not stupid. His tongue found hers and twined with it deftly and she found herself sighing again, while pressing herself closer.

A loud ahem from behind them drove them apart. Jumping away from Charlie, Claire felt her cheeks light up. She left Charlie to greet whoever it was on his own, choosing to make a big fuss about picking her son up.

Their untimely visitor turned out to be Rose, who looked just as awkward as Claire felt. Charlie didn't feel uncomfortable at all. He was too annoyed by their interruption to be embarrassed. In fact, he wanted Rose to hurry up and leave, baby in tow, mainly so he could drag Claire off into the woods and have his merry way with her.

"Hey, Rose," he said, trying not to sound as irritated as he felt. Sighing, he ran a hand through his hair.

Rose had a twinkle in her eye when she said, "Jack wanted to see Claire but I think he can wait. Looks like the two of you were having more fun here."

Charlie laughed and Claire made an embarrassed little noise that wasn't quite a moan. Reaching for her, he told Rose, "As a matter of a fact, we were having a good bit of fun. If you wouldn't mind telling Jack-"

But Claire was shaking her head no again, only this time it wasn't in a kiss me, you fool kind of way.

Later, she mimed, before taking Charlie's hand and pulling him across the sand in the direction of the path. Because it seemed natural to do so, Charlie once again took her son and, with him cuddled against his shoulder, followed Claire.

Later indeed. If later meant the exact second that she finished with Jack.

Claire was still shaking her head as she walked, so flustered that at first she hardly noticed it. She looked at Charlie and Rose but both of them seemed unbothered. Warily now, she glanced about her into the trees, trying to see whatever it was that was giving her this feeling.

Nothing gazed back at her but tropical forest. She told herself there was nothing foreboding; that everything facing her was beautiful. She replayed the kiss in her head but the nagging feeling of being watched wouldn't go away. Tugging at Charlie's hand, she tried to hurry his pace, both dismayed and scared as the light of her afternoon fizzled before going out.

The cot beneath her back was hard and unyielding, completely unfit for a woman as pregnant as she. Claire knew it was homemade, constructed from materials They had found on the island, and the very fact that They had fashioned it made her want to burn it.

Ethan was sitting across the room, watching her. There was nothing new in this, nor in the way that the now familiar shivers ran up and down her back. She panicked but this wasn't any different either. The bonds still held her wrists and ankles in place and all of her struggles against them had proved to be fruitless thus far.

In keeping with tradition, Claire asked, "Where's Charlie? What have you done with Charlie?"

Ethan merely smiled at her, that empty horrible expression that turned her stomach and made the bile rise in her throat. Panic rose up in her again, this time very real. It overpowered everything in her, even her fear at giving birth here in this strange place with these evil people.

"Where's Charlie?" and this time it was a shout.

"You're impatient, Claire," Ethan said, his voice so level and even that it made Claire want to scream even more, "I told you. You'll see Charlie again, after you give us the baby."

"NO!" she screamed, thrashing against her bonds again. She wanted to put her hands on her stomach, to comfort the child, but first she wanted to kill him. She'd snap this bloody bed into pieces and ram one straight through his hurt before they'd touch her baby- before they'd hurt Charlie. She knew the baby would come soon and, through sheer willpower, she tried to stop it.

"Oh, but the answer is yes, Claire."

Anger welled up inside of her. Bitter hate flooded through her veins. In the only defense she could think of, she pulled back her head and spit at him. It landed against his cheek with a sickening plop and she knew a moment's satisfaction as she watched him wipe at it.

The slap across her face ended that and then Ethan was smiling again. Leaning so close that his breath tickled foully against her cheek, he murmured, "You want to know what happened to Charlie, you impudent bitch?"

Suddenly she didn't. Clamping her eyes shut, she bit her lip so hard she tasted blood.

He shook her chin until she opened them again and then coolly told her, "We hung him. Left him tangling for your friends to find."

She whimpered, "No."

"Oh yes, Claire. And it wasn't quick. He died for you, alright, but his neck didn't snap. I'd say it took a good half an hour for your friend to die. You should have heard him moan!"

It didn't take half an hour for Claire to die. Her death came within seconds. The bitterness inside of her exploded, leaving nothing in its wake but a cool and empty certainty. Her eyes didn't flood and she didn't cry out. Instead, everything left within her withered and disappeared until she was a vacant shell.

The last statement she managed to say before her voice went as well was a softly whispered, "I hate you."

She awoke with a start and, in her panic, could not separate dream from reality. She knew somewhere in her tangled jargon of thought that Charlie was by the fire, probably sleeping, but all she could hear was Ethan and-

Oh God, Charlie!

She tried to stand but her feet caught up in her blanket and she came down hard. On her hands and knees, she crawled to the exit of her nook, mewling like a wild thing. From his cozy pile of blankets, James joined in the cacophony of her creation but Claire did not hear him. She knew he was fine and it was Charlie she had to get to.

Jack appeared at the entrance to her hovel, awoken as much by the bang of her fall as the horrible death keen she was making, and was immediately at her side.

"Claire! Claire! What's wrong?" he shouted over her hysteria, "What happened? Are you alright?"

She clawed his hands off of her shoulders and formed the sign for Charlie. She tried and tried, making her fingers shape a heart almost violently, until she realized that somehow she had forgotten to teach him that sign. She tried to speak, forcing out hiccups of air that made her lungs burn. Her tears turned bitter and, desperate, she pointed at the exit, urging him to go to fire and save Charlie.

And then he was there, pushing past Jack to kneel before her. Roughly, he cupped her face and forced her to look at him.

"Claire!" he shouted, panic rising in his voice, "Claire! Claire, love, it's me! It's Charlie!"

She did not believe it. Ethan had told her, she had heard, and yet-

His hands felt so warm. His eyes looked real, worried and damp, but familiar all the same.

Gasping for air, she brought her own hands up, felt the moisture on his cheeks against her palm.

She fell apart. Moaning, she flung herself at him. He caught her and pulled her to him tightly.

"I've got her, Jack," he said roughly. Then, sincerely, "Thanks."

Claire did not notice him leave. Her mind barely registered her son's now sleepy silence. Her eyes lit on the scarring on his neck and she pressed her mouth there, tongue darting out to flicker against his pulse point. He was so alive and he tasted like the moonlight and like Charlie.

She felt him shudder and murmur her name in confusion, but she was tired of words. She wanted actions, emotions, and him. Their kiss on the beach paled in comparison to what she wanted. She was desperate. She was needy. She was mad for him.

Breathing heavily, Claire lavished his jaw line with kisses; pushed at the material of his shirt with a frantic greediness.

Whatever she felt, he was right there with her. He let her remove his shirt and made quick work of hers. Pulling back a little, he examined her in the darkness of the caves. She was perfection, he thought, a canvas of pale beauty. He watched her breasts rise and fall in time with her anxious breathing, so high and delightfully rounded. He raised his thumb to trace against the moonlit trail across her nipple and then down over the softness of her stomach.

Charlie did not see her stretch marks. He did not see how thin she'd gotten living off the island.Charlie looked at Claire and saw life. Redemption.

Love.

He was not sure which one of them moved but they were together again, the force of their embrace toppling them over backwards. Charlie softened their fall by stopping his weight with his hands. Gently, he lowered himself over her, moaning a little as bare skin met bare skin. Finding his weight a welcome press, Claire sighed too, pulling back enough so that she could speak to him.

She forget everything when his eyes met hers. Weakly, she signed, Charlie.

He leaned his forehead against hers and murmured, "Claire."

Then he was kissing her and she knew he had spent weeks wondering if she was dead as well by its sheer intensity. The emotions behind it caused tears to prick at her eyelids and she clung to him, trying to get closer. She rubbed his back and pushed with her palms, rejoicing simply in the feel of him.

His hands found her breasts as his mouth melded with hers. He covered them; possessed them. Tentatively, he tested their weight and then his talented fingers were dancing in circles over her nipples. She sucked in a gasp as the calluses on the tips of his fingers scratched against the smoothness of her skin and, if she could have found her voice, she knew she would be muttering his name.

Desperately, she wrapped her legs around him, trapping his body between her thighs. Gasping, she moved wantonly against him. She felt him respond to her; heard him groan her name, his voice hoarse with the effort to be quiet.

His hands left her breasts, leaving a burning trail down her stomach as they moved lower. He caught the hem of her pajamas and her pants were gone in one tug. Still he traveled lower and when he arrived, they shared a moan.

He caught her gasp in his mouth and Claire was lost. He touched her reverently, played her like the finest instrument as he brushed his fingers teasingly over where she wanted him to touch her the most.

"You feel so good," he whispered against her hair, "So bloody good to me, Claire."

If she felt good to him, he felt amazing to her. A familiar coil had begun to twist in her belly, low, warm, and utterly delicious. Only it wasn't nearly enough. She didn't want it to happen like this, so separate and apart from him. She wanted him inside of her- needed him to be a part of her. Biting her lip against the rising tide of pleasure, she pushed him back enough so that she could attack the buttons on his pants; to make her intentions clear lest he have any doubt. Moving up to his knees, he gawked down at her, his eyes comically wide and bright against the darkness.

"Claire," he began, wondering what sort of prat would actually protest this, "We don't have to do this. I know you're in a bit of a-a state right now and there are other ways. Lots and lots of other ways."

He would die if she denied him, he thought, shifting a little uncomfortably.

Claire shook her head almost violently, leaning up enough to rain kisses down his torso. She stopped at the dark line of hair that tapered mysteriously down into his unbuttoned pants. Catching her fingers in his belt loops, she grinned impishly up at him.

Charlie swallowed and met her gaze. His mouth went dry. He fought to get a grip on himself. He was a rock god! Hundreds of perfect women had kneeled before him- beautiful birds with a lot more experience than Claire. None, however, had had such a dazzling smile. None of them had smelled like sunshine and survival. He was used to seeing adoration and drunken lust but he had never seen love. Funny how he could still recognize it.

"Claire," he said, his voice strangled.

Sighing a little, she fell away.

Charlie, her hands said, and that sign was almost his undoing, so much more enticing when she was naked. He swallowed. What's wrong?

What was wrong? He sat down beside her and pulled her up against his side. She went willingly, even though her bravado was beginning to give way to a hurt sort of confusion. Of course Charlie, the bassist of bloody DriveShaft, didn't want her as much as she wanted him. No surprise, really. Why would the celebrity want the walking stretch mark? She'd seen it coming, even.

God, though, but it still hurt.

It's okay, she said bravely, I see and it's okay. I want to sleep now.

Charlie gawked at her; stared at her like she was the worst kind of fool. Her pride took the hit directly. Then he had the nerve to bark out a laugh. Her eyes flooded.

Not funny! she cried, No laughing! I see!

He realized his blunder all at once and caught her hands mid sentence.

"Claire! Claire, what's all this, then? I don't think you do see."

She looked confused. He felt himself blush; knew he was probably lighting up the whole sodding cave. In a voice so low she almost missed it, he muttered, "I've never done this like this before."

Then she was gawking in disbelief. And he was babbling.

"Well, I mean, I have. Hundreds of times, with lots and lots of girls. I am practically sex on legs, really!" He laughed, all high pitched and unnatural, before jumping right back into his tirade. "I've got me some funny stories even. There was this one time, I did some acid, right, and I met two girls-"

A squeak from Claire shut him up. Oh God, but wasn't he an arse.

"Alright, never mind that, then. It's a bad story, really." He cleared his throat, loudly. "But, it is my first time like this. I've done a lot of things, Claire, but love isn't one of them and I just don't want to fuck this up."

Apparently, he was a nancy boy as well as an arse. He wondered if their resident monster was up and about, wandering around with a healthy appetite.

The smile that graced her mouth was slow and soft. Blue eyes filled with tears. Trying at humour, she winked at him and said, I'll be gentle.

Then her mouth found his and she was gentle, indeed. Slowly, she coaxed his lips apart and then he took the lead, tangling his tongue with hers as he lowered her beneath him again.

The fire within them burned just as quickly when rekindled and, while they tried to take it slow, their need for each other worked against them. When his fingers brushed against the apex of her thighs, Claire almost came undone. When her own found him, he groaned almost painfully and had to use everything within him not to end it there and then in a most unsatisfactory way.

Now, Charlie, she urged with her mind, and it seemed as though he heard her. Gazing down into her eyes, he raised her legs so that her thighs once again circled him, and then, in one fluid motion, made him hers.

The pleasure that hit her gave her pause and she felt her eyes grow damp again. Claire was obviously in no way a virgin but, as Charlie rocked tenderly back and forth, she found herself in awe of this one time. Everything about Charlie was different than Thomas, rougher around the edges but genuine at the same time. Her hands fluttered against his back and she pushed her heels into his thighs, loathe to have him leave her.

Charlie was lost and he didn't care if he ever was found. This was Heaven, he decided, pure unadulterated bliss. She was so warm and life giving and his. His world was crumbling around him and he had a feeling that picking up the pieces would be the most important experience of his life.

Cupping her face, he whispered all these things to her, watching adoringly as her eyes misted. His own felt teary as well and-

Claire was gasping; mouthing his name as her nails scoured his back and her heels pushed hard against him. She pulled him closer with her arms so that all of her sighs tickled his cheek. Up and up she rose on the tide that was Charlie and then she was falling, softly and wonderfully, back to earth.

Charlie's own climax caught him by surprise and came much sooner than he'd expected. No longer caring about the other residents of the cave, he shouted her name and buried his face in her hair, losing himself inside of her as the scent of hoarded shampoo tickled at his nose.

They laid together for a long time, nose to nose and hand in hand, each struggling to regain their breath. It was Claire who recovered first, laughing soundlessly. Tenderly, she touched at his face and rose up enough to place a kiss on his nose.

He chuckled too and kissing her cheek, said what he'd wanted to say since she'd returned.

"Claire?" he murmured. When she looked at him, he smiled slowly and said, "I love you."

The tears in her eyes flooded over and she was laughing again. Without words, she pushed her palm over his heart and then over her own, again and again until they were both laughing and he was repeating it like a mantra.

She fell asleep listening to it and she knew that Charlie would be there when she woke up. Knew that him coming to stay in her nook was no longer a question of who could get up enough nerve to ask. Her last thought before sleeping as the unequivocal knowledge that now, at least, things were alright.