Disclaimer: No matter how much I'd like to, I'll never own Lost or its characters or its beautifully crafted plotline...
Note: Written and takes place just after One of Them
Charlie looked out the window at the wispy clouds surrounding the plane. He needed a fix. Now. He noticed a girl to his far right. She was staring at him. He wondered if she noticed his shakiness, or if she was staring at him because of the incessant drumbeat he was making with his ring against the armrest, or if she had actually recognized him.
It'd been a while since anyone had. Especially someone as young as her. But for now, he was too concerned with his own matters to really pay the girl any attention. He got uneasy glances from the other passengers and passing flight attendants. He kept tapping. Metal against metal. Tap. Tap. Tap.
He needed his fix. He needed it right now. But maybe not. Maybe he could hold out for a few moments longer. All he had to do was get up, go to the toilet, do some quick, then get back to his seat. That wasn't suspicious. People went to the loo on planes all the time. He had made the whole ride from Manchester to Sydney fine. This trip was half the distance. He didn't know what was wrong with him. He could hold out for a bit longer. He had to be able to. He could control himself.
As the tapping continued, more people began to stare. The expressions of annoyance on the other passengers turned to ones of anxiety. It was getting worse. He needed it more and more. Finally he couldn't wait any longer.
He began to get up, but a girl and approached him. In her hand were a battered photograph and a Sharpie.
"Excuse me… Charlie Pace?"
"Charlie had to get up. He needed his fix. "Yeah?" He finally replied, voice shaky. He settled himself back down. The tapping continued. He began to perspire.
"Well, hi. My name's Daphne Scholtz. You know, D.S. Like Driveshaft? You know, it's as if I was meant to meet you here. It's fate. Because you know, I had this picture taken and I couldn't get anything signed because you were in a hurry and I had to get it developed and could you please sign this for me maybe?" she said, rushed and nervous, but smiling.
She held out the photo. Oddly enough, he recognized it immediately. It had been taken about 4 years previously at an arena near Disneyland. In it, Liam and Charlie stood behind a girl of about 12. It was before Charlie realized his brother was an addict. Before Charlie developed into an addict. He remembered happier times. But looking back, he saw that Liam's addiction was apparent. He looked haggard, worn. Pretty much how Charlie himself looked right now.
The girl saw how he was acting. She detected his anxiety, the tapping, his nervous movement. He held out an unsteady hand to accept the snapshot.
"It's true, isn't it?" she said, voice quavering, visibly upset, staring at the photo. "You're all just junkies. The rumors… they're true. You didn't break up so your brother could spend time with his daughter, did you? You did it because of the drugs." She was sobbing gently now, and jerked her unsigned photo back and chucked the marker at him.
"Sod off" he said, his nerves affected by the intrusive lass. He wasn't angry, just a little irritated, but he sounded furious. He was just somewhat touchy. He needed to get up. But after that incident, he had called too much attention to himself. He would have to wait even longer.
He cursed himself under his breath and tried to relax. He pocketed the black Sharpie, not really thinking of it for the moment. He didn't have time right now to feel bad. He needed a fix. He could hear the girl crying softly from her seat. Deep down he felt terrible. Remorseful. But the main thing on his mind was when he would be able to get up and put himself right and whether or not he could safely keep his stash hidden once he had done so.