Author's Note: This was originally done for a Christmas lost-fic challenge, but halfway through it I had no idea where the plot was going, plus I don't write Charlie that well. Here it is, Mother's Day, and finally I finish it. Go figure.

Scorn Me, Hear Me, Believe In Me

By Osiris-Ra

Weirder things have happened...

Sort of.

Charlie pensively scanned the room. It looked like a Christmas-time set out of some catalogue. The tree was fake, white and groaning with ornaments. Small figurines of Hanso and the Dharma symbol clung to every branch. There were also little black horses, polar bears, handguns, and toy airplanes.

Not your usual ornaments, Charlie mused wryly.

The space under the tree was just that. Space. Charlie frowned a bit in disappointment. Where were all the presents? He'd been a good little boy.

"S'that so, Charlie Boy?"

A gruff voice said next to him. Charlie spun around into the face of a Kris Kringle who looked more worse for wear than he did. His beard was sparse and dirty and his red suit looked like it had gone through a paper shredder without much success. Charlie took a slight step back.

"S-Santa?"

"Who else would be stupid enough to wear red in mosquito weather?" Santa grumbled and with a pronounced limp, hobbled over to a couch. He plopped down with a pained grunt and kicked up the foot rest.

Charlie stared.

"Right. Well, no offense...just...I was kind of expecting you to be a little different."

"What - rosy cheeks? Effervescent joll? Inner glow? Ho Ho Ho? Not that kind of Santa."

Santa snorted.

"Look around you, boy! You're not exactly in Kansas anymore. So kick the warm and fuzzies out of your cocaine riddled brain, ok?"

"Uh...I don't – I don't do drugs anymore Santa. I thought you'd know that."

Santa blinked then irritably pulled off his mud crusted boots. Charlie glanced longingly at the underside of the tree then back at Santa.

"So, uh, what happened to you anyway?"

"Hell if I know. Last I remember I was heading East when the reindeer got caught up in some helluva a thunder 'n lightning storm. Next thing I knew, I was in the middle of the Pacific using Rudolph as a life raft – god rest his soul – and I got washed up on this island. You know, I thought an island'd be cleaner. Someone's been dumping junk metal out on the beach! Looks like half a freakin' plane."

Charlie chuckled.

"Yeah, I know. You think I'm here on vacation?"

"Oh no kidding? That was your ride? Damn, that looks bad busted up. Had any luck finding a ride outta here?"

"No. You think I'd still be here if I had?"

"No need to be flippant." Santa reclined with a long and loud sigh.

"Say, if you're not s'posed to be here...what's all this for then?"

Charlie motioned to the cheerful holiday display before them. Santa glanced at it with a smug look.

"Ah, that? Ah, that's all in your head, Charlie."

Charlie arched his brows.

"What's that?"

"I said it's all in your head, what are you, deaf?"

"What do you mean..."

"You're high boy! High as kite, higher'n that plane that came crashin' down from the heavens! I don't know what you're thinkin', doing that crack anyway. What's wrong with you?"

Charlie tried to compute. It wasn't working.

"What are you talking about? This isn't real - what is -"

"That's right, I'm not really here either." He rolled his pale yellow eyes. "Geez, try talkin' to a freaking crackhead."

Santa got up laboriously and came towards Charlie. He took him by the shoulders and shook him.

"You're not really here. I am not real. You are in the middle of the forest, higher'n the NASA Space station. And you wonder why there's no loot under there for you."

Charlie was flabbergasted. He walked slowly towards the tree, disbelieving. It all seemed real. Even though, granted, it was strange. He cocked his head in awe. The Hanso figures on the tree seemed to sneer at him, and the little horses began galloping. In fact, the whole tree was alive. He picked off one of the little handguns and stared at it. In inspecting it, he pointed it at himself. Then cocked it. Funny, how could he cock it, he wondered, it being so tiny. But there it was.

I wonder if it works...

Then, just as if it was a real weapon, he pulled the trigger.

"Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown."

Charlie started awake, breathing heavily. His nostrils scorched. His eyes burned. His head spun. He staggered to his feet and tried to get back control of his vision. Suddenly he was scared. He couldn't make heads or tails of where he was. He took a step forward, and promptly tripped. He landed hard, his head hitting something hard and jagged. He reeled back, moaning in pain. As his hands went to his skull, he noticed his hands. There was blood. And something white. A fine powder.

Oh crap.

He tried to make a choice in his diseased head. Should he try to make it back to camp. Or stay here, wait everything off. Hope nothing tried to eat him. He wanted to get up, but his body felt like it was weighed down by a ton of bricks. Fighting this abnormal pull of gravity was quickly draining him. His chest hurt, his head spun. He couldn't take it anymore. He let it pull him down, and hoped help would get there. He closed his eyes, and succumbed to the blackout.

"Looks like the kid got into the candy."

Sawyer smirked as he knelt over Charlie. Charlie came to slowly, groaning and cupping his bleeding head.

"Aw...shi...what happened?"

Sawyer picked up the top portion of the shattered Mary statuette.

"Well, I dunno, you tell me. Huh Charlie?"

Charlie stared at the statuette. It took him 3 seconds to realize what it meant. But even as the truth of what had happened washed over him, he didn't want to believe it. He was clean. He'd sworn he was clean, and clean he'd stayed. He looked at Sawyers smirking expression, locking with the Southerners almost pitying eyes. He pleaded silently with him to listen. They're all there, Sawyer. Go an' count 'em, I swear. They're all there. They're all there...

But Sawyer would have none of it. He was tired of listening to liars, much less looking at them. He shook his head and dropped the broken piece of statue.

"Sawyer...wait...Sawyer...you need to listen. Sawyer, you need to listen to me."

Sawyer was already gone.

Charlie laid flat on the ground and closed his eyes. There was no one to unjustly judge him in the darkness.

Someone was staring at him. Crouched on the ground, considering him with dark, curious eyes. Charlie raised his head slightly and pushed himself up.

It made sense that Ana Lucia would be out here, this place the halfway ground to the middle of nowhere. She'd never seemed entirely comfortable on the beach, so wasn't seen around there much. Except in the later parts of the day and at night at her tent. At the moment, Charlie wondered if perhaps the intimidating Hispanic was staring at what she perceived as an unwelcome person in her day-time territory.

He didn't care. He wasn't going anywhere, no matter how long she stared at him. He didn't want to go back to the beach just yet, and he had no plans of going further into the jungle and getting lost. So, he'd stay here. She could stare till her eyes bled for all he cared.

"What do you want?" He finally said irritably. He noticed her eyes had gone to the shattered remains of the Mary statuette that was lying at his feet. He shifted a bit, moving his foot slightly away from the offensive object as if to disassociate himself from the product. It was too late however, as her eyes had the same pitying glint as Sawyer's had had. Perhaps he imagined it, but unlike Sawyer, however, this one seemed willing to listen.

"Do you think I'm self destructive?"

Ana frowned slightly. Charlie laughed.

"Of course how would you know, you don't know me, do you? I guess some would say...I would say...maybe. My brother was. In the end, he got his. A wife. A family. A life. Where's mine? Where's mine?"

Charlie had managed to get to his feet and stay vertical long enough to make his way to the side of the beach where Eko was hard at work with his church. Charlie always felt better around the diligent priest. There was a sense of forward motion in life wherever the Priest was. He'd always have something positive to say, or at least have a positive aura. For the moment, Charlie stood there, watching the large African use brute strength to knit together the strong, firm poles of wood with sturdy bamboo threads. Even as splinters of bamboo pierced his skin, the Priest never slowed in his work, except to water himself quickly then return to his work. What could drive him, Charlie wondered. What could keep the Priest going on in an environment such as this? How could he work to build this structure in a place devoid of kinship or safety? Did he hope to create some kind of beacon for those things? Charlie breathed a soft laugh as he started to cyinicallywonder...who would come on Sunday?

Eko, mindful of Charlie's presence for the whole while finally paused, leaning against his work-table and looked up at Charlie. He flashed a welcoming smile and nodded his acknowledgment of Charlie.

"Hello, Charlie."

He approached the bath of water and scooped a cupful out with his hands. When he was refreshed, he continued his work.

"Would you like to help me some more, Charlie?"

Charlie was quiet for awhile, which Eko didn't seem to mind. He finally went towards the work table and helped Eko by holding down the end of a log of wood which Eko was sawing to some precise angle.

"When it's finished, Eko, what will you preach?"

Eko didn't look up. He smiled slightly then replied thoughtfully.

"Hope."

"Hope." Charlie repeated his brow furrowing. "How do you do that? How do you preach hope to people who have none?"

"They have hope, Charlie. One is never really without it."

Charlie was quiet again. Eko looked at Charlie, then said confidently, in a soft voice: "You'll get yours Charlie. That's why you're here. Believe that."

The two worked diligently for a good portion of the day.