Fic: Dream a Little Dream of Me (Charlie/Claire)
Title: Dream a Little Dream of Me
Rating: PG
Summary: This is a dream, she tells herself. You can’t really trust your dreams to be straightforward or truthful with you.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: Set post-'Through the Looking Glass'.
Claire considers it a small miracle when Aaron finally goes to sleep. He’s been crying for what seems to her like non-stop all day. He’s been that way for days now, and nothing seems to calm him down. She tries everything she knows, and everything fails.
She breathes a sigh of relief at the quiet. She soaks it in, knowing it will, inevitably, be chased away by her son. But for now, she lays back in the grass and peers through the canopy of trees up at the starry night sky.
She wonders if Charlie will be there to meet her on the beach. She doesn’t know where he’d gone, how far away it was, how long it would take him to get back to the beach. She hopes he’ll be there. She really just wants to know that he’s okay. Every moment in between trying to keep her son quiet she’s spent worrying about Charlie.
“Hey, Claire.”
Claire sits up straight, her head darting from side to side. She’s isn’t in the jungle anymore, and Aaron is nowhere to be seen. She doesn’t know where she is, but it looks like the hatch had looked, like a bomb shelter or something.
“Where are we?” she asks Charlie, standing up, because it’s uncomfortable on the cold, hard ground. He’s sitting a few yards away from her in the middle of a rolling desk chair, with his legs crossed.
“It’s not really important,” he answers. Claire screws up her face.
“What do you mean?” she replies. She can’t think of much that’s more important.
“I mean I don’t have a lot of time,” Charlie tells her. “You’re gonna wake up soon.”
She realizes then, that she’s asleep, when he says it. She doesn’t know why she hadn’t realized this was a dream. But she’s still confused, because everything feels so real: the place she’s in, the way she feels, Charlie. It feels too real to be a dream.
“What are you talking about?” she has to ask, because she really doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know why she’s here, or what Charlie is trying to tell her. Not that her dreams have ever made any real kind of sense, but, still...something is different about this one. That much she knows.
“When you get to the beach,” he says, his voice fairly matter-of-fact. “I won’t be there.”
“What?” Claire asks, taking a few dumbfounded steps forward. Charlie sits impassively in his chair, smiles sadly as she takes step after step until she’s standing right in front of him.
“I wanted you to know,” he goes on. “I wanted you to hear it from me.”
“Hear what?” she asks, demands, as if she hadn’t heard him before, as if she doesn’t believe him now.
“I’m not coming back,” he tells her. She’s so stunned her eyes can’t even go wide. She’s so stunned all she does is stand, mutely, without moving. She can’t believe what he’s telling her; it’s not sinking in.
“Why?” When she does speak, her voice is barely above a whisper, above a squeak.
“Because I can’t,” he tells her, and, for the life of her, she can’t imagine how he’s being so calm, how he can sit as still as he’s sitting and speak as straightforwardly as he is. It would be infuriating if it weren’t also the only clear indication Claire had that this was, in fact, a dream.
Charlie would never be this detached, not the Charlie she knew anyway. This Charlie, the Charlie in her dream, makes her feel as though she’s being given a message, as if he’s only the middle-man. It’s possible that this Charlie isn’t her Charlie. It’s possible that her brain is panicking and playing tricks on her.
This is a dream, she tells herself. You can’t really trust your dreams to be straightforward or truthful with you.
And yet, the sinking feeling in her gut persists. It may not feel like it’s Charlie speaking to her, but, somehow, the words feel like his. Somehow, the message is getting across.
“Why?” she asks, again, running on auto-pilot now, just grasping and trying like hell to understand.
He smiles then, leans forward and touches her hands. She stops breathing. His hands a freezing. He makes eye contact for the first time, drawing her in and holding her there. “Because I’m gone,” he tells her.
When Claire jerks awake in the very same jungle, wide eyes pointed up at the very same stars, Aaron is crying. And so is she.
Rating: PG
Summary: This is a dream, she tells herself. You can’t really trust your dreams to be straightforward or truthful with you.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: Set post-'Through the Looking Glass'.
Claire considers it a small miracle when Aaron finally goes to sleep. He’s been crying for what seems to her like non-stop all day. He’s been that way for days now, and nothing seems to calm him down. She tries everything she knows, and everything fails.
She breathes a sigh of relief at the quiet. She soaks it in, knowing it will, inevitably, be chased away by her son. But for now, she lays back in the grass and peers through the canopy of trees up at the starry night sky.
She wonders if Charlie will be there to meet her on the beach. She doesn’t know where he’d gone, how far away it was, how long it would take him to get back to the beach. She hopes he’ll be there. She really just wants to know that he’s okay. Every moment in between trying to keep her son quiet she’s spent worrying about Charlie.
“Hey, Claire.”
Claire sits up straight, her head darting from side to side. She’s isn’t in the jungle anymore, and Aaron is nowhere to be seen. She doesn’t know where she is, but it looks like the hatch had looked, like a bomb shelter or something.
“Where are we?” she asks Charlie, standing up, because it’s uncomfortable on the cold, hard ground. He’s sitting a few yards away from her in the middle of a rolling desk chair, with his legs crossed.
“It’s not really important,” he answers. Claire screws up her face.
“What do you mean?” she replies. She can’t think of much that’s more important.
“I mean I don’t have a lot of time,” Charlie tells her. “You’re gonna wake up soon.”
She realizes then, that she’s asleep, when he says it. She doesn’t know why she hadn’t realized this was a dream. But she’s still confused, because everything feels so real: the place she’s in, the way she feels, Charlie. It feels too real to be a dream.
“What are you talking about?” she has to ask, because she really doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know why she’s here, or what Charlie is trying to tell her. Not that her dreams have ever made any real kind of sense, but, still...something is different about this one. That much she knows.
“When you get to the beach,” he says, his voice fairly matter-of-fact. “I won’t be there.”
“What?” Claire asks, taking a few dumbfounded steps forward. Charlie sits impassively in his chair, smiles sadly as she takes step after step until she’s standing right in front of him.
“I wanted you to know,” he goes on. “I wanted you to hear it from me.”
“Hear what?” she asks, demands, as if she hadn’t heard him before, as if she doesn’t believe him now.
“I’m not coming back,” he tells her. She’s so stunned her eyes can’t even go wide. She’s so stunned all she does is stand, mutely, without moving. She can’t believe what he’s telling her; it’s not sinking in.
“Why?” When she does speak, her voice is barely above a whisper, above a squeak.
“Because I can’t,” he tells her, and, for the life of her, she can’t imagine how he’s being so calm, how he can sit as still as he’s sitting and speak as straightforwardly as he is. It would be infuriating if it weren’t also the only clear indication Claire had that this was, in fact, a dream.
Charlie would never be this detached, not the Charlie she knew anyway. This Charlie, the Charlie in her dream, makes her feel as though she’s being given a message, as if he’s only the middle-man. It’s possible that this Charlie isn’t her Charlie. It’s possible that her brain is panicking and playing tricks on her.
This is a dream, she tells herself. You can’t really trust your dreams to be straightforward or truthful with you.
And yet, the sinking feeling in her gut persists. It may not feel like it’s Charlie speaking to her, but, somehow, the words feel like his. Somehow, the message is getting across.
“Why?” she asks, again, running on auto-pilot now, just grasping and trying like hell to understand.
He smiles then, leans forward and touches her hands. She stops breathing. His hands a freezing. He makes eye contact for the first time, drawing her in and holding her there. “Because I’m gone,” he tells her.
When Claire jerks awake in the very same jungle, wide eyes pointed up at the very same stars, Aaron is crying. And so is she.