And Ever - Lost - Charlie/Claire
Title: And After
Pairing: Charlie/Claire
Word Count: 995
Rating: PG
A/N: Queen hopelessfangirl requested Charlie/Claire for her day. Spoilers for S4.
Summary: She wakes in a sun-filled room, her thoughts instantly filled with the worries of the day: Aaron, the freighter, the commune, Locke, Miles.
She wakes in a sun-filled room, her thoughts instantly filled with the worries of the day: Aaron, the freighter, the commune, Locke, Miles. These days it feels like one worry follows after the other. No sooner has she dealt with one mess than the next one strikes (and one disaster, nameless, still looms in her mind no matter how fast she turns away from it). She rolls over onto her front and wishes for a few more minutes of sleep.
Rolls over and discovers that these are not the bed sheets she fell asleep in.
These don't have the same 70s floral spread: they're plain white and flawlessly clean. She sits up sharply and they pool elegantly around her waist. Too elegant, too smooth, too photogenic. She looks down at them in surprise. She isn't wearing what she went to sleep in either. No oversized shirt stolen from Sawyer's cottage. The material is silk and it flows over her body like it's supposed to be there, a dark red colour framed by black lace.
I am not going to panic, she tells herself as she throws the covers back and slides from underneath. Her legs are tanned, smooth and free from stubble. She feels like she belongs in a movie: her hair is already perfectly under control without her having to wrestle with it. Her skin is effortlessly flawless.
The varnished wooden floor isn't cold when her bare foot touches it. Where am I? she thinks. She's woken up in places she doesn't know more times than she's comfortable with. She hears footsteps outside the door and she's not afraid, can't be afraid, won't let herself be afraid.
The door opens.
The door opens and an impossibility walks in holding a breakfast tray.
"…Charlie?" Claire says.
"Aw, bugger. I wanted to get here before you woke up," Charlie says. His hair is shorter than it was just days ago and he's wearing different clothes. He looks different too, polished off and perfect. "You're okay, right? I know it's a bit jarring, waking up here."
"What do you mean?" she asks. It's hard to think right now, too overcome with the mind-melting joy of seeing him again. "What is this place?"
"Ah," Charlie says. He winces a little and sits down on the pristine bed, waving Claire over so that she'll sit beside him. The breakfast tray separates them - she can see peanut butter spread over toast just for her - and though she finds herself hungry she can't take her eyes from Charlie for long enough to eat. He's supposed to be dead. "You don't remember?"
"Remember what?" she asks, before she frowns… He's supposed to have drowned and she's not a big believer in zombies. "Am I dead too?"
Charlie reaches for her hand: he feels warm and real. Solid. "I'm so sorry, Claire."
And he is, she can hear that. He lifts her hand and presses his lips against the back of it: she can feel tears in her eyes, blurring the beautiful room around them. "Is this heaven?" she asks. If he's here with her then she thinks it must be.
"Not quite," Charlie says, "though I'm flattered you thought so." He winks - actually winks like this is normal and he can carry on teasing her - and moves further onto the bed so that he can lie down on it. "We're not ready for that, Claire. The island's still got work for us to do."
She shuffles along the bed, picking up a slice of toast as she goes, and finds her place by his side. His arm curls around her shoulders and she takes a bite from her toast. Salty. "What does that mean?" she asks.
"It means that you've got to go back. Not yet. Soon. Eat your breakfast first. We've got to make sure that Aaron's okay, don't we?"
"God, Aaron…" Claire murmurs.
"Don't worry - he's gonna be fine. We've just got to get Kate to take care of him for a bit."
"Kate?"
"Yeah, Kate." He kisses the top of her head. "Trust me on this. It'll all work out."
"How do you know that?" Claire asks - but she does trust him. She shouldn't. She really shouldn't. He's lied to her so many times during their short life on the island: he didn't even tell her that he was going solemnly to his death. He didn't… She could slap him when she thinks about that, but being around him now leaves her too soft and peaceful.
He chuckles. "I'll show you sometime," he promises. "Not today."
"Why not?"
"'cause," he says - and he kisses her for real this time, lips against hers. She must taste of peanut butter but he doesn't seem to mind at all. His hand brushes against the side of her neck and he rests his forehead against hers when their lips part. "We're not worrying about that kind of thing today."
"We're not?"
"Definitely not." He grins, warm and lopsided. She'd locked away her longing for him since he'd died: now it rushes forth in a burst of memories. She doesn't want to let him out of her sight, not ever. "Today you're going to get thoroughly pampered."
Her own smile grows and blooms. "Really?"
"Really. Then you'll have to take a short trip back to the barracks, back to the moment you… left. Once Aaron's safe with Kate - well, with Sawyer first - you can come home."
"And you'll be here?" She scowls and raises a stern finger. "You promise?"
"Promise. Cross my heart and hope to-"
"Don't even think about saying that, mister." She rests against him, warm and smiling as he chuckles and presses his lips to her bare shoulder. The light feel of his short stubble grazes her skin and causes a shiver.
"Missed you," he whispers.
Her hand holds his tightly. "Missed you too."
She rests and eats her way through the breakfast he's brought for her, relaxed and unconcerned - she'd never thought she'd only be at her happiest once she was finally dead.
Pairing: Charlie/Claire
Word Count: 995
Rating: PG
A/N: Queen hopelessfangirl requested Charlie/Claire for her day. Spoilers for S4.
Summary: She wakes in a sun-filled room, her thoughts instantly filled with the worries of the day: Aaron, the freighter, the commune, Locke, Miles.
She wakes in a sun-filled room, her thoughts instantly filled with the worries of the day: Aaron, the freighter, the commune, Locke, Miles. These days it feels like one worry follows after the other. No sooner has she dealt with one mess than the next one strikes (and one disaster, nameless, still looms in her mind no matter how fast she turns away from it). She rolls over onto her front and wishes for a few more minutes of sleep.
Rolls over and discovers that these are not the bed sheets she fell asleep in.
These don't have the same 70s floral spread: they're plain white and flawlessly clean. She sits up sharply and they pool elegantly around her waist. Too elegant, too smooth, too photogenic. She looks down at them in surprise. She isn't wearing what she went to sleep in either. No oversized shirt stolen from Sawyer's cottage. The material is silk and it flows over her body like it's supposed to be there, a dark red colour framed by black lace.
I am not going to panic, she tells herself as she throws the covers back and slides from underneath. Her legs are tanned, smooth and free from stubble. She feels like she belongs in a movie: her hair is already perfectly under control without her having to wrestle with it. Her skin is effortlessly flawless.
The varnished wooden floor isn't cold when her bare foot touches it. Where am I? she thinks. She's woken up in places she doesn't know more times than she's comfortable with. She hears footsteps outside the door and she's not afraid, can't be afraid, won't let herself be afraid.
The door opens.
The door opens and an impossibility walks in holding a breakfast tray.
"…Charlie?" Claire says.
"Aw, bugger. I wanted to get here before you woke up," Charlie says. His hair is shorter than it was just days ago and he's wearing different clothes. He looks different too, polished off and perfect. "You're okay, right? I know it's a bit jarring, waking up here."
"What do you mean?" she asks. It's hard to think right now, too overcome with the mind-melting joy of seeing him again. "What is this place?"
"Ah," Charlie says. He winces a little and sits down on the pristine bed, waving Claire over so that she'll sit beside him. The breakfast tray separates them - she can see peanut butter spread over toast just for her - and though she finds herself hungry she can't take her eyes from Charlie for long enough to eat. He's supposed to be dead. "You don't remember?"
"Remember what?" she asks, before she frowns… He's supposed to have drowned and she's not a big believer in zombies. "Am I dead too?"
Charlie reaches for her hand: he feels warm and real. Solid. "I'm so sorry, Claire."
And he is, she can hear that. He lifts her hand and presses his lips against the back of it: she can feel tears in her eyes, blurring the beautiful room around them. "Is this heaven?" she asks. If he's here with her then she thinks it must be.
"Not quite," Charlie says, "though I'm flattered you thought so." He winks - actually winks like this is normal and he can carry on teasing her - and moves further onto the bed so that he can lie down on it. "We're not ready for that, Claire. The island's still got work for us to do."
She shuffles along the bed, picking up a slice of toast as she goes, and finds her place by his side. His arm curls around her shoulders and she takes a bite from her toast. Salty. "What does that mean?" she asks.
"It means that you've got to go back. Not yet. Soon. Eat your breakfast first. We've got to make sure that Aaron's okay, don't we?"
"God, Aaron…" Claire murmurs.
"Don't worry - he's gonna be fine. We've just got to get Kate to take care of him for a bit."
"Kate?"
"Yeah, Kate." He kisses the top of her head. "Trust me on this. It'll all work out."
"How do you know that?" Claire asks - but she does trust him. She shouldn't. She really shouldn't. He's lied to her so many times during their short life on the island: he didn't even tell her that he was going solemnly to his death. He didn't… She could slap him when she thinks about that, but being around him now leaves her too soft and peaceful.
He chuckles. "I'll show you sometime," he promises. "Not today."
"Why not?"
"'cause," he says - and he kisses her for real this time, lips against hers. She must taste of peanut butter but he doesn't seem to mind at all. His hand brushes against the side of her neck and he rests his forehead against hers when their lips part. "We're not worrying about that kind of thing today."
"We're not?"
"Definitely not." He grins, warm and lopsided. She'd locked away her longing for him since he'd died: now it rushes forth in a burst of memories. She doesn't want to let him out of her sight, not ever. "Today you're going to get thoroughly pampered."
Her own smile grows and blooms. "Really?"
"Really. Then you'll have to take a short trip back to the barracks, back to the moment you… left. Once Aaron's safe with Kate - well, with Sawyer first - you can come home."
"And you'll be here?" She scowls and raises a stern finger. "You promise?"
"Promise. Cross my heart and hope to-"
"Don't even think about saying that, mister." She rests against him, warm and smiling as he chuckles and presses his lips to her bare shoulder. The light feel of his short stubble grazes her skin and causes a shiver.
"Missed you," he whispers.
Her hand holds his tightly. "Missed you too."
She rests and eats her way through the breakfast he's brought for her, relaxed and unconcerned - she'd never thought she'd only be at her happiest once she was finally dead.