Fic: Home
Right, I'm going to do this before I chicken out.
I haven't written any fanfiction in months, and so in school today I decided to write a little one-shot as a warm up before I jump back in. God knows why I decided to write for a ship, let alone a fandom, that I've never written for before, but whatever. dark_willow89 has ordered me to post this, so I'm just going to do this before I delete it. It's unedited, un beta'd, because it was just supposed to be a little exercise... but I'll shut up now, and just post it before I clog up everyone's flists.
Home by Dallyra
"What do you think?"
Claire smiled as her eyes swept over the room, trying to take in her surroundings. It was nothing fancy - a couple of mismatched chairs, a coffee table that was definitely second hand, a small television tucked up in the corner and a roughly woven rug by the hearth - but compared with where they had been living for the past few years, it was a palace. In fact, it was more than that. It wasn't just a palace. It was home.
Home. There was a word that Claire hadn't thought about in a long time. It had lost all meaning during her long stay on that island. To begin with, it had been all she had thought about - a shining beacon that kept her strong, no matter how bad things got. Eventually, though, she had given up on the idea, pushed it into a corner of her mind where it could never be found. She had held onto the hope of rescue long after some of the others had, but even she had given in to the despair. She knew there was no going back, just looking forward to the future, to the life on the island. And now, just when the island was starting to feel like home for her, they had been rescued. She was 'home' again.
"It's perfect," she said, turning back to face Charlie and planting a small kiss on his cheek. "Thank you." He smiled, and Claire moved carefully away from him, the soft carpet feeling alien underneath her feet after years of walking on earth and sand. She settled into the nearest armchair, a dark green one made of slightly worn velvet and said, "Jamie's going to love it."
"Do you think so?" Claire looked up, hearing the uncertainty in his voice. The question hung unspoken in the air for only a moment, before Charlie elaborated. "It's just... it's not much, and he's never lived in a house before - he might not like it - and he's going to be lonely not seeing Hurley or Jack or any of the others every day, and...."
Halfway through his panicked ramble, Claire had got to her feet. She moved quickly towards him, and, as the worry in his voice took on a stronger tone, she leaned forwards and kissed him lightly on the lips. He stopped talking instantly.
"He'll love it," she said firmly. "I promise." He nodded slowly, smiling at her, and she added, "Now, why don't you show me the rest of it?"
"Well, there isn't really much else to show..." Charlie began, but he took her hand anyway and led her towards a door at the other end of the room.
The tour was brief, as Charlie was right in saying that there wasn't really much to see, but Claire didn't care. After living in cramped caves for so long, she found that she preferred something cosy, and Charlie really couldn't have picked a more perfect house for that. There was a small room for herself and Charlie, and an even smaller but bright and sunny room next door for Jamie. The bathroom seemed like absolute luxury to her eyes, and the long thin corridor that connected all the rooms made her feel as though she was back in the tunnel of caves again. The tour ended in an old-fashioned kitchen at the back of the house, where a rough wooden table stood proudly on the earthen floor. All around the walls were little cupboards, and an ancient looking stove sat squat in the corner.
Claire walked slowly across the uneven floor, her shoes quietly clacking with every step. Not that she could really call them 'her shoes', of course. Nothing that she was wearing was hers. The rescue team had thrown everything away, replacing it with things that were shiny and new, but Claire wished that they hadn't. After the casual comfort of the island, her shoes pinched at her feet, and the new 'stylish' clothes felt foreign against her skin. The moment she had set foot off that island, everyone had tried to throw out her life there, like they had her clothes, had acted like the events there had just been a bad dream. Just something to forget. Was she really just supposed to return to her old life? Forget all her new friends, her new family, and slip back into life in Australia as though nothing had happened? She couldn't. That life felt more foreign to her than anything else now. Jamie was her life. Charlie.
This was going to be her favourite room, she decided, as she settled down in a chair and beckoned for Charlie to join her. The rough edges, the unfinished look, reminded her of their living conditions on the island, and no matter how many horrible things had happened there, she never wanted to forget a moment of it. Not again.
"Are you hungry?" Charlie asked, bringing her out of her thoughts.
"A little," she admitted, "but I'll be all right. I can wait until we get some food in."
He grinned at her, and she knew instantly that he was up to something. "Well..." he said slowly, "I did manage to get one thing for you." He gestured towards a cupboard hanging slightly crookedly from the wall, and, curious, Claire moved over to it. The door creaked as she pulled it open, and she peered into the gloomy shelves to see a single jar standing there.
"You didn't...!" she said, as she slowly reached out and closed her palm around it.
"I did," Charlie said, and she could practically hear the grin in his voice.
As Claire pulled the peanut butter out of the cupboard, she couldn't help a grin spreading across her face too.
"Of course," Charlie continued, as she walked back towards the table and sat down, "I expect the favour to be returned with banoffee pie as soon as is possible."
"Of course," Claire agreed. She unscrewed the lid with a slow precision, and then peered hungrily down at the thick, creamy substance inside.
"You're not going to eat it with your fingers, are you?" Charlie said as she did just that, dipping her finger into the goo and scraping out a large dollop. "We're not savages any more! We need to be sophisticated. Proper. Teach that son of ours some table manners."
Claire shook her head. "I prefer it this way." Closing her eyes in preparation for the bliss that was to come, she stuck her finger deep into her mouth and licked the peanut butter clean away. It was....
Wrong. Totally and utterly wrong. It was supposed to be heaven, the best thing she'd ever tasted after spending so long without it, but... nothing.
She tried to hide her disappointment, but it had obviously shown through to Charlie, as he said, "What's the matter?"
She sighed and opened her eyes, seeing a slight sadness in his as they locked gazes. She knew there was no point in lying - he knew her too well for that - so she said slowly, "It's... not the same." Charlie's face fell, and she added quickly, "No, no, it's good! It's great, even. It's just not as good as our peanut butter." She grinned at him as comprehension spread across his features. "I guess once you've had Pace Peanut Butter, you never go back."
"Well, I'm sorry for ruining it for you," he said, although he didn't sound sorry at all, "but I'm sure I can convince them to go into production in L.A. too. Just for you, of course."
"Of course," Claire said, moving away from the rigidness of the chair to settle into his lap instead. His arms moved comfortably around her waist, where they had lay so many times before, and he said into her ear, "I can go and get some now, if you want."
"No," Claire said quietly, closing her eyes and resting back against his chest. "That's OK."
She had just realised the one thing that she had never realised before, the thing that had made her give up on rescue and live happily on the island, the same thing that would let her live just as happily here.
Charlie was home, and, no matter what happened, he always would be.