Miles to Go
"He was alive, and she chose to believe." Claire POV post-"Special", Lost
My first bit of Lost fic ever, and it's unbetaed, so be gentle.
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Claire had spent two whole days fighting her way through the jungle, with nothing guiding her but some foggy navigational skills and the need to get away. She'd walked for two days, post-labor, without food or water, and she was still standing. She hadn't let herself give in to the fatigue and the residual pain and the fear - oh, god, they have my baby - that threatened to overtake her. Two days and she was still standing. She'd wanted to collapse with relief when Locke and Boone came rushing to her in the jungle, asking her frantic questions and checking her for injuries. She'd let them support her back to the cave camp, Locke's arm across her back and Boone's hand encasing her own. But still, she walked on her own two feet, refusing to collapse until she knew she was somewhere safe.
It wasn't until she entered the camp and saw Charlie laid out, asleep, by the fire that she fell to her knees and started shuddering. She couldn't cry, not yet - the memories of Charlie hanging from that tree and Ethan holding her son, keeping him from her, were still too fresh - but she coughed out silent sobs as Jack and Kate ran over to her side. Kate pressed a bottle of water to her lips, and Jack just kept saying her name over and over, trying to get her attention. Claire! Claire, what happened? But her name didn't sound like her own, not coming from Jack. There was only one voice she wanted to hear, the voice that she'd been hearing in her head for the past six days, seven hours, and twenty-three minutes. A voice she'd never expected to hear again, not in this life.
She pushed Kate away and struggled to get to her feet. Jack tried to help, but Claire shrugged him away as well. This was something she needed to do, needed to see, on her own. She half stumbled, half crawled across the rocky floor until she stood directly over Charlie's sleeping form. She knew better than ever what this island could do, how it could make her see what she wanted. This couldn't be real. Charlie was dead. He wasn't lying here, breathing in and out, his chest rising and falling with the motion. This wasn't real.
But she didn't care. She'd take this fucking illusion over nothing at all.
She collapsed next to Charlie - notCharliehe'sdeadnotCharlie - and tugged her knees to her flattened stomach. "I'm sorry," she said brokenly to the image of Charlie in front of her. "You didn't deserve this, you were just trying to protect me, it's my fault, and oh, God, Charlie, I'm so sorry." She pressed her face into her knees and breathed raggedly, whispering her litany of apologies as she rocked slightly. She wanted to cry for Charlie, for all that she'd lost, but she felt too numb still--
"Claire?"
At the sound of her name, the first tear slid down Claire's cheek. That wasn't fair. Ghosts shouldn't be allowed to talk.
"Claire," he said again, his voice raspy. She lifted her head, unprepared to see Charlie sitting up in front of her. He couldn't be real - but he had bruises around his neck. Could ghosts have bruises?
"Claire, you--you're back?" he said disbelievingly, his hands coming up to smooth the hair back from her face. Claire flinched.
"You're dead," she said woodenly, staring straight into the ghost's face. "You're not really here."
"What? No, Claire, it's me. It's Charlie. God, I am so bloody happy to see you," he said, his voice shaking, as he brushed her tear away with his thumb.
"No," she said, shaking her head. "You died. I saw it happen." Her eyes welled up with tears. "You died," she repeated with less vehemence.
His voice was soft but a little rough, full of emotion. "You're right. I did. But I guess the island had other plans, yeah?" And even though he looked near tears himself, he shrugged and smiled that crooked little half-smile that she'd come to associate with him. It was too much for Claire. Two days in the jungle, alone, and it was that stupid Charlie smile that was her final undoing.
She closed the space between them, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face into his shoulder. Between sobs she choked out what she could about her son, and Ethan, and watching Charlie be torn away from her. Charlie could only reply "I said I'd protect you, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," and they both cried until their voices ran ragged and the fire dimmed to red, glowing ashes. No one interrupted them. Sun lay three water bottles next to Charlie's pallet, and Jack fetched an extra blanket to drape across the two of them when they finally lay down to rest, arms wrapped around each other, but no one said a word. The camp gradually grew silent and still as the other castaways went to sleep. Claire's swollen eyes were drifting shut when she heard Charlie's voice, just above her ear.
"We'll find him. We'll find your son. I swear it, Claire."
Her only response was to hold him tighter and press a featherlight kiss to his cheek. A promise was nothing but empty words, but in the darkness, Charlie's arms around her, she chose to believe the words he spoke.
After all, people don't return from the dead unless they have something to live for, some purpose to fulfill. And Charlie had bruises around his neck, a haunted look in his eyes - but he was alive.
He was alive, and she chose to believe.
end
Posted by Carrie on 02:23 PM