fic, Lost: It'll Wash Away (Boone/Charlie), PG
Title: It'll Wash Away
Rating: PG
Pairing: dead!Boone/dead!Charlie
Words: 1058
Summary: “I’m the only one who remembers, but you all… arrive like this. Anyway, your name is Charlie Pace and you were with me in a plane crash.”
Spoilers: er, up to the S3 finale?
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine, duh. They wouldn't have died.
A/N: originally written for the lostsquee fic battle, using amnesia for a prompt. I'm pretty sure the title was sorta stolen from Steve Earle.
He had sort of hoped that with Charlie it would be different.
He doesn’t even know why Charlie should have been special, but it’s not like it matters. He isn’t.
“Excuse me, who are you?”
Of course, Boone thinks bitterly, they all forget as soon as they arrive here. He’s the only one who remembers who he is and where they are and why he’s here; maybe because this godforsaken island needs a PR to tell everyone that sorry, they’re dead, and it really isn’t anything personal.
Who am I, actually? and what am I doing here? follow. Right. Like a damn book. Boone could write a guide by this point. How to become Craphole Island’s perfect spirit guide in 100 steps, by Boone Carlyle, only a limited number of copies, only for Mindfuck Editions, all rights reserved.
He doubts it would sell a copy.
“Sorry to break it to you, man, but… it’s… we’re dead. You and me both.”
Charlie barely raises an eyebrow and his hand reaches his heart (not beating, Boone knows already).
“Jesus. Seems like you’re right. But why can’t I…”
“Wish I knew. I’m the only one who remembers, but you all… arrive like this. Anyway, your name is Charlie Pace and you were with me in a plane crash.”
“Oh. We died in the plane crash, then?”
“No. We survived the plane crash. But we crashed on an island and we died there. Me first. You… well, just now.”
“Charlie. Right. Sounds kind of fitting so I guess I’ll keep it. And how did I die, just to know?”
“I don’t have an idea,” Boone lies. “You weren’t where I was. I didn’t see it. Sorry.”
He knows exactly every single thing about the circumstances of Charlie’s death, he was there actually, but he won’t share. Charlie doesn’t really need to know, at this point. Also, if it goes like it went with everyone else…
“So we knew each other?” Charlie asks, and Boone is sort of surprised. Usually, they leave by this point, not wanting to know anything else; he’s almost used to it.
“Yeah. Yeah, we did. Sort of.”
Charlie shrugs and takes a step closer, casting glances around.
“Smashing. At least seems like I do know someone, even if I can’t really remember you. Sorry, mate, it’s just blank. So, what does one do?”
“What… what do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said…?”
Boone blinks, taken completely by surprise. “I… usually the others don’t stick. I don’t know what they do. I’ve just seen them enough time to tell them who they were and that they’re dead. Then… they leave.”
“And you just hang out here alone waiting for the next bastard who’s going to kick the bloody bucket?”
“… yes.”
“Mate, that sucks.”
Boone lets out a snort. “Don’t you tell me.”
--
“So, what did I do? In real life, I mean.”
“You were in some band. Driveshaft.”
“Doesn’t tell me anything. What did I do?”
“You wrote the songs. I think you played bass or something.”
“Songs, huh? Like? Tell me one title?”
“Er, You, All, Everybody?”
Charlie looks at Boone like he’s crazy. “Really? It’s… er, kind of really bad, for a title. How did it go?”
“You want me to sing?”
“Well, it’s not a contest.”
“Like I even remember it… well, okay, just the chorus though. Er, you all, everybody, you all everybody, acting like your stupid people, you all… and it was all like this.”
Charlie looks physically pained. “Mate, that’s sodding awful.”
“Your song, not mine.”
“You aren’t making fun of me, are you?”
“And why would I make fun of the first person in three months who has been talking to me?”
“… you have your point.”
--
“Anyway, it’s not like it’s a hardship, you know?”
“What?” Boone asks, not believing that he hasn’t been left alone for two days. Not that he minds. Charlie’s chattering is fucking music to his ears, even if he doesn’t remember anything still.
“Talking to you. I mean, when you said everyone just left I assumed you’d be boring as fuck, but you aren’t.”
“Why, I’m touched.”
“Right, the way I put it wasn’t good. I mean, uh, I don’t get why they’d avoid you. You’re not so bad.”
Boone doesn’t say anything but doesn’t fight the smile threatening to form on his lips.
--
“OhGod, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”
Boone’s lips are still tingling, they have been since that sorry excuse for a kiss Charlie gave him earlier, and it’s such a great feeling. The bare fact that it’s a feeling would be enough to make Boone cry, but it’s good too and he won’t complain at all.
“Hey. It’s fine. Just, why did you do it?”
Charlie stubbornly doesn’t look at him and starts to answer. Feeling pretty damn embarrassed, or so it seems. “Well, you’re not really so bad to the eye. All the contrary, actually. And you’re pretty cool and definitely not crazy enough, for having been, you know, dead and not talking to anyone for three months. And even if I can’t sodding remember anything and I really wish I did I think I like you, sort of, and well, I’m bloody dead, I’ve got nothing to lose. Have I?”
Boone’s bare feet brush away sand as he comes closer, and for some strange reason he thinks that if he was alive his heart would be beating so hard he could actually hear it; he feels a lump in his throat along with a feeling of gratefulness which is so much that his equilibrium falters for a second.
“Charlie?”
“What?”
“Shut up. You aren’t so bad yourself.”
And then he leans forward and kisses Charlie again, seriously this time, not that lousy attempt, and there’s no resistance as he finds heat beneath his tongue, and if it wasn’t for the stillness of their chests and the fact that neither of them is breathing it’d be almost easy for him to forget where they are and why they’re here; and well, he can’t forget and he won’t and he’s okay with it, but if Charlie keeps on kissing him back like he is, enthusiastic and forceful and sort of really carefully at the same time, it might be more bearable. Boone thinks he’d like it.
End.
Rating: PG
Pairing: dead!Boone/dead!Charlie
Words: 1058
Summary: “I’m the only one who remembers, but you all… arrive like this. Anyway, your name is Charlie Pace and you were with me in a plane crash.”
Spoilers: er, up to the S3 finale?
Disclaimer: Lost isn't mine, duh. They wouldn't have died.
A/N: originally written for the lostsquee fic battle, using amnesia for a prompt. I'm pretty sure the title was sorta stolen from Steve Earle.
He had sort of hoped that with Charlie it would be different.
He doesn’t even know why Charlie should have been special, but it’s not like it matters. He isn’t.
“Excuse me, who are you?”
Of course, Boone thinks bitterly, they all forget as soon as they arrive here. He’s the only one who remembers who he is and where they are and why he’s here; maybe because this godforsaken island needs a PR to tell everyone that sorry, they’re dead, and it really isn’t anything personal.
Who am I, actually? and what am I doing here? follow. Right. Like a damn book. Boone could write a guide by this point. How to become Craphole Island’s perfect spirit guide in 100 steps, by Boone Carlyle, only a limited number of copies, only for Mindfuck Editions, all rights reserved.
He doubts it would sell a copy.
“Sorry to break it to you, man, but… it’s… we’re dead. You and me both.”
Charlie barely raises an eyebrow and his hand reaches his heart (not beating, Boone knows already).
“Jesus. Seems like you’re right. But why can’t I…”
“Wish I knew. I’m the only one who remembers, but you all… arrive like this. Anyway, your name is Charlie Pace and you were with me in a plane crash.”
“Oh. We died in the plane crash, then?”
“No. We survived the plane crash. But we crashed on an island and we died there. Me first. You… well, just now.”
“Charlie. Right. Sounds kind of fitting so I guess I’ll keep it. And how did I die, just to know?”
“I don’t have an idea,” Boone lies. “You weren’t where I was. I didn’t see it. Sorry.”
He knows exactly every single thing about the circumstances of Charlie’s death, he was there actually, but he won’t share. Charlie doesn’t really need to know, at this point. Also, if it goes like it went with everyone else…
“So we knew each other?” Charlie asks, and Boone is sort of surprised. Usually, they leave by this point, not wanting to know anything else; he’s almost used to it.
“Yeah. Yeah, we did. Sort of.”
Charlie shrugs and takes a step closer, casting glances around.
“Smashing. At least seems like I do know someone, even if I can’t really remember you. Sorry, mate, it’s just blank. So, what does one do?”
“What… what do you mean?”
“Exactly what I said…?”
Boone blinks, taken completely by surprise. “I… usually the others don’t stick. I don’t know what they do. I’ve just seen them enough time to tell them who they were and that they’re dead. Then… they leave.”
“And you just hang out here alone waiting for the next bastard who’s going to kick the bloody bucket?”
“… yes.”
“Mate, that sucks.”
Boone lets out a snort. “Don’t you tell me.”
--
“So, what did I do? In real life, I mean.”
“You were in some band. Driveshaft.”
“Doesn’t tell me anything. What did I do?”
“You wrote the songs. I think you played bass or something.”
“Songs, huh? Like? Tell me one title?”
“Er, You, All, Everybody?”
Charlie looks at Boone like he’s crazy. “Really? It’s… er, kind of really bad, for a title. How did it go?”
“You want me to sing?”
“Well, it’s not a contest.”
“Like I even remember it… well, okay, just the chorus though. Er, you all, everybody, you all everybody, acting like your stupid people, you all… and it was all like this.”
Charlie looks physically pained. “Mate, that’s sodding awful.”
“Your song, not mine.”
“You aren’t making fun of me, are you?”
“And why would I make fun of the first person in three months who has been talking to me?”
“… you have your point.”
--
“Anyway, it’s not like it’s a hardship, you know?”
“What?” Boone asks, not believing that he hasn’t been left alone for two days. Not that he minds. Charlie’s chattering is fucking music to his ears, even if he doesn’t remember anything still.
“Talking to you. I mean, when you said everyone just left I assumed you’d be boring as fuck, but you aren’t.”
“Why, I’m touched.”
“Right, the way I put it wasn’t good. I mean, uh, I don’t get why they’d avoid you. You’re not so bad.”
Boone doesn’t say anything but doesn’t fight the smile threatening to form on his lips.
--
“OhGod, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…”
Boone’s lips are still tingling, they have been since that sorry excuse for a kiss Charlie gave him earlier, and it’s such a great feeling. The bare fact that it’s a feeling would be enough to make Boone cry, but it’s good too and he won’t complain at all.
“Hey. It’s fine. Just, why did you do it?”
Charlie stubbornly doesn’t look at him and starts to answer. Feeling pretty damn embarrassed, or so it seems. “Well, you’re not really so bad to the eye. All the contrary, actually. And you’re pretty cool and definitely not crazy enough, for having been, you know, dead and not talking to anyone for three months. And even if I can’t sodding remember anything and I really wish I did I think I like you, sort of, and well, I’m bloody dead, I’ve got nothing to lose. Have I?”
Boone’s bare feet brush away sand as he comes closer, and for some strange reason he thinks that if he was alive his heart would be beating so hard he could actually hear it; he feels a lump in his throat along with a feeling of gratefulness which is so much that his equilibrium falters for a second.
“Charlie?”
“What?”
“Shut up. You aren’t so bad yourself.”
And then he leans forward and kisses Charlie again, seriously this time, not that lousy attempt, and there’s no resistance as he finds heat beneath his tongue, and if it wasn’t for the stillness of their chests and the fact that neither of them is breathing it’d be almost easy for him to forget where they are and why they’re here; and well, he can’t forget and he won’t and he’s okay with it, but if Charlie keeps on kissing him back like he is, enthusiastic and forceful and sort of really carefully at the same time, it might be more bearable. Boone thinks he’d like it.
End.