Fic: Lullaby for Aaron (Charlie/Claire)
Title: Lullaby for Aaron
Rating: PG
Summary: Charlie used to write her notes, leave them where he had known she would find them. And when she’d seen him later that day, they would smile at each other like they were sharing some kind of secret.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: For lostpicksix, prompt #016: love letters.
There’s a shoebox underneath Claire’s bed. She doesn’t pull it out often, doesn’t open it very much. She’s comfortable - maybe that’s not quite the right word - knowing that it’s there. That’s enough.
Sometimes.
The other times, the times when it’s not, she sits on her hardwood floor, at the side of her bed, with the box open in the middle of her crossed legs, and the lid discarded on the floor.
At the bottom of the box, there are all the Driveshaft CDs ever made, including the greatest hits album that had been released shortly after the crash. The ring is there too, the one that she had found in her son’s crib, on the beach, the day that they were rescued.
But mostly, there are little squares of paper, with Charlie’s scrawl on them. Some of them weren’t meant for her. They had musical notes written on them, chords she was learning to play on the old guitar of Charlie’s that Liam had given her last Christmas.
But on the others, short little notes are written.
Went to get fish. Back with lunch.
I wrote a new song. I’ll play it for you later.
I think I need a haircut. Please?
I’m sorry.
I miss you.
I love you.
Charlie used to write her notes, leave them where he had known she would find them. And when she’d seen him later that day, they would smile at each other like they were sharing some kind of secret. Even when they’d been apart, when she was overcome by anger and disappointment, she had kept them. She’d wanted to rip them up, to stay angry. But she hadn’t. She’d tucked them away, hidden from everyone. Even herself.
She flips through them now, again, looks down at the chronicle of her life with him, of a man that she had loved. The ring, the guitar, they had belonged to Charlie. But the notes, the words, they were Charlie. She supposed that was what made them so hard to look at, why she had to hide them under the bed.
“Mommy, I’m sleepy.” Claire looks up and Aaron is standing in the doorway, rubbing his tired eyes. She does the same, wiping away tears before her son can see them.
“Mommy will be right there sweetheart,” she tells him, and he pads away toward his room. Claire neatly stacks the notes and places them back in the box. All but three.
She picks up the guitar, and the three square notes, and walks down the hall toward her son’s bedroom. In her hands, she holds three cards with chords written across them, fitting together to make one song.
Written along the backs of all of them, in Charlie’s unmistakable scrawl is: Lullaby for Aaron.
Rating: PG
Summary: Charlie used to write her notes, leave them where he had known she would find them. And when she’d seen him later that day, they would smile at each other like they were sharing some kind of secret.
Disclaimer: I do not own Lost. At all. I wish but alas...
Author's Note: For lostpicksix, prompt #016: love letters.
There’s a shoebox underneath Claire’s bed. She doesn’t pull it out often, doesn’t open it very much. She’s comfortable - maybe that’s not quite the right word - knowing that it’s there. That’s enough.
Sometimes.
The other times, the times when it’s not, she sits on her hardwood floor, at the side of her bed, with the box open in the middle of her crossed legs, and the lid discarded on the floor.
At the bottom of the box, there are all the Driveshaft CDs ever made, including the greatest hits album that had been released shortly after the crash. The ring is there too, the one that she had found in her son’s crib, on the beach, the day that they were rescued.
But mostly, there are little squares of paper, with Charlie’s scrawl on them. Some of them weren’t meant for her. They had musical notes written on them, chords she was learning to play on the old guitar of Charlie’s that Liam had given her last Christmas.
But on the others, short little notes are written.
Went to get fish. Back with lunch.
I wrote a new song. I’ll play it for you later.
I think I need a haircut. Please?
I’m sorry.
I miss you.
I love you.
Charlie used to write her notes, leave them where he had known she would find them. And when she’d seen him later that day, they would smile at each other like they were sharing some kind of secret. Even when they’d been apart, when she was overcome by anger and disappointment, she had kept them. She’d wanted to rip them up, to stay angry. But she hadn’t. She’d tucked them away, hidden from everyone. Even herself.
She flips through them now, again, looks down at the chronicle of her life with him, of a man that she had loved. The ring, the guitar, they had belonged to Charlie. But the notes, the words, they were Charlie. She supposed that was what made them so hard to look at, why she had to hide them under the bed.
“Mommy, I’m sleepy.” Claire looks up and Aaron is standing in the doorway, rubbing his tired eyes. She does the same, wiping away tears before her son can see them.
“Mommy will be right there sweetheart,” she tells him, and he pads away toward his room. Claire neatly stacks the notes and places them back in the box. All but three.
She picks up the guitar, and the three square notes, and walks down the hall toward her son’s bedroom. In her hands, she holds three cards with chords written across them, fitting together to make one song.
Written along the backs of all of them, in Charlie’s unmistakable scrawl is: Lullaby for Aaron.