LOST: Charlie/Claire - She's Your Destiny
Title::..She’s Your Destiny
Rating::..M for drug references
Genre::..Romance and supernatural
Characters::..Charlie and Claire
Author’s Note::..The title of this fic is taken from the extraordinary song ‘Lemon’ by U2; it’s one of my personal favourites from the band, so different from their other works, truly unique. In the same vein as that kinda trippy song this is a kinda trippy fic.
Summary::..Claire is seated in the tail section of the plane and dies in the crash, but this isn’t the end of her story with Charlie.
Charlie had been on edge all morning. He was so anxious he could barely sit still. He was anticipating getting kicked off of the plane for disruptive behaviour, a thought that served to make him more nervous, but one which refused to leave him alone.
Charlie had never been a good flyer, he had preferred the days when Drive Shaft was still young with the record company refusing to pay the bill for them to fly from one gig to another. He would take a slow tour bus over a steel coffin hurtling unnaturally through the air any day. His heroin habit helped him combat this fear; it lifted his mind to a far more positive place, allowing him to relax. But today the heroin was adding to his worries. He barely had any left, he would have just enough to get him through the flight and then he would have to immediately link up with one of his dealers upon arriving in Los Angeles.
He always started feeling very paranoid when his dope supplies started getting low. Straight after a purchase he felt on top of the world, invincible and like he could do anything. A lame joke about putting the hero in heroin was usually made. Then as the powder started to disappear he would start to feel worse. It dawned on him how much he had taken and his stomach sunk, he felt like a terrible person, seeing all of the light fade out of the world.
He had to find another way to calm his nerves before the flight and so dragged his guitar case into the airport café. He felt more like a junkie than ever, sweating and feeling dirty as if he hadn’t showered in weeks. He hoped nobody noticed anything strange about him as he tried not to fidget, waiting for his tea to arrive.
He was distracted from his task of searching for a seat when he noticed a beautiful woman sitting on her own. He almost fell over himself he was so caught off guard by her angelic face.
He felt he had seen her before, in a dream. She had long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She reminded him of the angels he had seen painted on the walls at church. She was a fantasy come to life and he felt breathless looking at her.
Despite the swollen stomach she was sporting she was alone at her table, leading Charlie to wonder about her. He wondered where the father of her unborn child was. A woman as stunning as her couldn’t possibly be single. Surely there was a boyfriend, currently preoccupied in the lavatory or booking in their luggage.
Charlie didn’t want to get his hopes up too much. He selected a table that allowed him to keep her in his sights. He tried not to stare, he didn’t wish to be mistaken for a stalker and have security arrive to escort him out of the café. But his curiosity was very powerful. It wasn’t as simple as wanting to look at her; he felt he needed to look at her. He thought he could write a whole song dedicated to her pink lips.
His cup of tea was nearly all gone and still no boyfriend had materialised at her side. Maybe she was waiting for his plane to land, or else catching a plane of her own to meet up with him.
Charlie thought if this woman was his partner he would never leave her side, especially while she was so heavily pregnant. He would gladly carry her heavy bags or provide her with foot massages to keep her comfortable.
Charlie thought if a woman like her were his girlfriend he would be a better man. He would want to be the kind of man she deserved. He would give up his selfish habits in order to be a good father. With a woman like her he could see a future, unlike the other women he spent time with. She reminded him of the portraits of angels he had grown up looking at and, in this same vein; her appearance provided him with the promise of redemption. He would like to take care of himself and prove he was more than a junkie.
She was a calming force. Unlike him, there was nothing frantic about her presence. She sat still, almost like a statue, lost in her own thoughts. He tapped into this vibe, no longer concentrating on his need for a fix as he watched her.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she raised her eyes, looking across the room. Then time froze as her eyes landed upon him. His heart soared into his throat and his mind was blissfully clear. She smiled in a hesitant way. He decided he could write ninety songs about her while spending years staring at her without growing bored. He smiled back, suddenly suffering a crippling case of stage fright. She relaxed a little at this and her smile became more authentic, even more beautiful.
He carried on fantasizing about her, stealing glances at her every few minutes. He was getting together the courage to approach her; making deals with himself that if the boyfriend didn’t appear within x amount of minutes he would go over to the table. He was pondering the best opening line.
But when he looked up she was gone. He turned his head in all directions, desperately trying to find her. It was no use; she had left the café entirely. She had cleared off her table, leaving no traces behind, maybe it had all been a dream. His stomach twisted over this missed opportunity and he mentally beat up on himself for letting her slip through his fingers. His mind moved back to his need for a fix and he shuddered involuntarily. He was going to need a second cup of tea.
When it came time to board the plane to Los Angeles he saw her again. Her golden hair was visible, a few people in front of him in the line of travellers shuffling into the plane. He got very excited over seeing her again. This must be fate. He wanted to call out for her attention, but he couldn’t think of anything interesting or sexy to say. He decided he would talk to her at LAX. He wasn’t going to let her slip through his fingers a second time and this way he had fifteen hours to figure out the perfect thing to say.
She reached the front of the line and the stewardess pointed her toward the tail end of the plane. When it was Charlie’s turn a lump developed in his throat as the flight attendant instructed him that his seat was toward the front.
He was devastated, he wouldn’t get to see the angel for the whole flight - this was going to be unbearable. He didn’t want to move straight away and so remained where he could watch her walking away. He observed her petite figure among the others filling up seats.
He had laid his bulky guitar case aside while he fixated on much more important things. He didn’t acknowledge it as a tripping hazard until a kid almost tumbled to the ground because of it. Charlie’s concentration was broken as he bent to pick it up. The dad was giving him a blasting, deeply annoyed by what could have happened. Charlie apologised, nodding when the disgruntled flight attendant pointed out a compartment for him to store it in for the duration of the flight.
When this kerfuffle was sorted out Charlie glanced down the aisle again. Roused by all of the noise the pretty woman had stopped searching for her seat, looking back for the cause instead.
Charlie’s mood lifted straight away but he kept his wits enough to raise his hand. He gave his hand a merry wave in her direction. Her unforgettable eyes flashed with recognition before she raised her hand in return. She looked uncertain but he still counted their second exchange as a victory.
She went back to looking for her assigned seat and he followed suit.
*
The first week on the island was dedicated to searching for Charlie. To begin with it was the unrelenting need to find his drugs. Then he had gone looking for his guitar - his best mate and his only hope at easing the withdrawals.
During all of this he had been keeping an eye out for the woman from the café. She must have been on the plane when it went down and yet he couldn’t see her anywhere on the beach. Jack spoke of the plane breaking into two during the crash and as it stood they had no idea what had happened to the tail end or the people inside. Some wanted to stay optimistic, believing the tail end was somewhere on this island and if they explored enough they would find the others. Charlie accepted the fact that he would in all likelihood never see the mysterious woman again; luck was never in his favour. He thought this was for the best, he would probably ruin things if ever given a chance with her; he was great at screwing things up.
It was when he accepted this and stopped looking for her that he finally found her, in the most unexpected place.
He had always sworn he would give up drugs; he didn’t want to spend his whole life as a junkie. But going cold turkey on a deserted island with no support system had never been part of his plan. The withdrawals got so bad he began to hallucinate. He bumped into his brother in the jungle and they had long arguments. A confessional had appeared between the trees and he had stepped inside the dark box, telling of his sins to a bodiless priest.
He hated how wretchedly weak the cravings made him feel. The fever refused to leave him alone, he spent every moment sweating and shaking. He could barely maintain a train of thought. It seemed never-ending, now that his limited supply of heroin was gone, he felt destined to spend the rest of his life feeling this way.
His dominant emotion was fear. He was terrified his heart would fail or his inability to keep any food down would lead to him starving to death. Some days he felt closer to death than others. One stupid mistake of experimenting with drugs and now he was going to die because of it. There would be no triumphant comeback. Nor would he find any redemption on this island. He didn’t want to die this way; he didn’t want his last moments to be that of a pathetic loser.
The only relief he got was when he slept. This was where he discovered the woman from the café. She appeared out of the darkness, a figure of pure clarity amongst the fuzziness of the dream world and he never forgot the images when he awoke, they were like scorch marks on his memory.
In the beginning the dreams were always the same. The woman was dressed in robes, a little halo hovering over her blonde head. She looked as flawless as a painting, but she was a million times more beautiful than any painting he had ever seen. She appeared to glow, lit from within by her purity. She was perched upon the sand, the picture of tranquillity. Her eyes sparkled and her long hair played lazily in the breeze.
Seeing her set him at ease and he was lifted to a place above all of the pain. She would speak to him. Her voice was as smooth as silk as she comforted him. In her Australian accent she reassured him that this wasn’t his end, there was more to his life than this. She prophesized that he would die as a hero. He didn’t know where she had gained this information but he had been raised to never question an angel.
There was bravery that she could see in him. She believed he was going to make it out of this darkness and he believed her. When he woke up in the morning he dared to think this day was going to be better than the last. The strength quickly fled him.
He would venture into the forest, to prevent anyone from noticing how peculiar he was acting. The sun didn’t help him to feel any better and his bottle of water always seemed to drain so quickly.
One day he walked too far and lost his footing. He fainted, landing on the ground. His watch had died a couple of days ago and so he had no idea how long he had been sleeping. His vision was blurry as he tried to focus on the too-bright world around him. The first thing he identified was long strands of golden hair. He recovered and soon saw the face of the woman. His head was resting in her lap and she ran her fingers through his hair. He didn’t care that it was only an illusion; this brought him more comfort than any of the strangers on this island could.
He believed she was a hallucination, created by his manic mind as it reeled from the withdrawals. It was the only good part of this horrible situation. He thought she would go away once he got better.
But she stuck around. The dark cloud constantly bringing heavy rain to him had finally cleared. He could wake up in the morning, draw in a deep breath and not feel all of his insides ache. He felt like a normal human for the first time in as long as he could remember. He could contribute to the island community and carry conversations with his fellow prisoners.
No matter how many people he spoke with he couldn’t forget about the woman. She continued to visit him in his dreams, but she had ditched the robes, dressing like an average person, but losing none of her angelic beauty.
In his dreams she was on his side of the island and they were forging a friendship. He brought her cups of tea and they sat in the sand talking. They took walks along the beach together, a fantastical setting as the sun set over the boundless ocean. When the baby inside of her started to kick she would excitedly bring him in to feel the miracle. He brought her jars of peanut butter and prided himself in his ability to make her laugh.
He spent the majority of his waking hours looking forward to these dates in his dreams. He acknowledged that it was only taking place in his mind, but it felt so real at the time. He thought he might be glimpsing into an alternative world, a parallel timeline where the woman was on the same side of the island as him and things were infinitely better. There was no way to prove or disprove this theory. He might have been a little jealous of alternate-Charlie; he was one seriously lucky bugger.
The people from the tail end of the plane walked onto their beach one day and Charlie was forced to acknowledge that the other timeline would be forever beyond his reach. The pregnant woman wasn’t among the small and distressed group. There was a blonde among them, but she was nothing like his angel from the café.
She must have died in the crash. Now Charlie was destined to spend the rest of his life pining after a nameless dead woman.
*
After a while the dreams stopped. But Charlie didn’t mourn this, the woman was already dead, she probably had been all along. Now he was accepting this and moving on from the loss. He returned to dreaming about more normal things.
He kept her in his mind, her image drifting in and inspiring him to write lyrics. Just because she had stopped visiting him in the night didn’t mean she was gone from his life forever. It would have been impossible for him to stop thinking about her altogether. He believed she had, in part, saved him, by giving him the strength to endure through the pain of withdrawals and so it seemed only fair to repay her with the gift of songs.
Her prediction of him dying as a hero returned to his mind as the plan of someone swimming down to the Looking Glass was hatched. If someone could get down to the underwater station and disable the jammer they could get their distress call out to the world. It was their best chance of finally getting off of this island.
It was a risky mission, there was a high danger that whoever went down there wouldn’t come back. Therefore there wasn’t a rush of volunteers stepping forward to offer their services. They stuffed their hands in their pockets and looked awkwardly at the ground.
Then Charlie decided this was his opportunity to prove himself. He didn’t have the courage like Jack or the same helpful skills as Sayid, so his opportunities to contribute to the group didn’t come along very often. But this way his death could mean something, he wouldn’t be struck down by the Others in the jungle or relapse into drugs only to overdose. He could do something truly important, far more important than all of the record sales. He could fulfil the prophecy of dying as a hero.
His expedition to the Looking Glass turned out to be more complicated than he ever could have anticipated. Desmond was there to help but in the end it all came down to Charlie. When the window broke and water came bursting in he immediately realised he would have to sacrifice himself for Desmond to live, he was okay with it. He slammed the door shut; feeling very sure of himself, there was no fear to slow down his actions.
He knew he had done the right thing and felt no regrets. He had saved his friends; there was no better outcome he could have reached. This was a good way to die.
The pressure destroyed his lungs and his heart went into overdrive. It was a pain he had never known before. The withdrawals had only been half of this. It was excruciating. Then he saw the angel from the café and he knew he was going to be okay.
*
Charlie had the sensation of doing things simply for the sake of doing them. There was no real desire to get things done, rather just going through the motions for continuity.
But he was sure there had been something before this because he felt there to be something missing. He had been more than this and he felt the hole inside of him yearning for it. This blankness hadn’t always been his life. He didn’t have any proof of this, only a gut feeling, an idea of lost memories.
There was nothing to fill this emptiness. No matter what he tried these were only fleeting distractions and sometimes they failed altogether. There were visions in dreams, prompting déjà vu, which made him feel spectacularly alive. But this always faded in the morning when it came time to face another pointless day.
He didn’t even know why he was doing this gig. He could recall a time when performing had been his greatest pleasure in life. Now it didn’t satisfy any kind of need inside of him. He didn’t gain any buzz from the crowd. He was always searching the crowds, never quite sure what he was looking for, despite their ecstatic faces he felt nothing. He thought he was dead inside, yet he couldn’t remember what had caused this death.
Looking at the seated audience he felt bored, he wasn’t paying any attention to the words he was singing. He was just waiting for this show to be over so he could drink himself to oblivion.
Then he spotted a beautiful blonde woman among the crowd. He felt a little more interested in the gig now. He admired her profile as she talked to her friends. She looked sweet and wholesome, not the typical kind of girl he made eye contact with during concerts. She was the kind of girl he imagined settling down with. He imagined being a better man for her. He thought his life would vastly improve with a woman like her by his side.
She turned her head, their eyes met and he felt like he had been struck by lightning. His mind flooded with memories, overwhelming him. He saw him and the woman meeting, sitting by a beach campfire surrounded by the wreckage of a plane. He remembered helping her rock her baby to sleep. His heart lifted as he recalled the first time they had kissed following his near-death experience in the hatch implosion. She wasn’t just another face in the crowd; she was his past and his future. She was the thing that had been missing from his life.
She stood up and started walking toward the stage, her unforgettable eyes wide. He stopped playing the guitar, giving up on the rock star façade. He had never experienced such a surreal moment, he was breathless. He felt whole again.
“Charlie.” She said, reaching toward him and he thought he had waited his entire life to be here with her.
Later they were sitting in the church together, with him proudly nursing Aaron. Charlie didn’t think he had ever been this happy. He and Claire were finally together, as they were always meant to be.
The End.
Rating::..M for drug references
Genre::..Romance and supernatural
Characters::..Charlie and Claire
Author’s Note::..The title of this fic is taken from the extraordinary song ‘Lemon’ by U2; it’s one of my personal favourites from the band, so different from their other works, truly unique. In the same vein as that kinda trippy song this is a kinda trippy fic.
Summary::..Claire is seated in the tail section of the plane and dies in the crash, but this isn’t the end of her story with Charlie.
Charlie had been on edge all morning. He was so anxious he could barely sit still. He was anticipating getting kicked off of the plane for disruptive behaviour, a thought that served to make him more nervous, but one which refused to leave him alone.
Charlie had never been a good flyer, he had preferred the days when Drive Shaft was still young with the record company refusing to pay the bill for them to fly from one gig to another. He would take a slow tour bus over a steel coffin hurtling unnaturally through the air any day. His heroin habit helped him combat this fear; it lifted his mind to a far more positive place, allowing him to relax. But today the heroin was adding to his worries. He barely had any left, he would have just enough to get him through the flight and then he would have to immediately link up with one of his dealers upon arriving in Los Angeles.
He always started feeling very paranoid when his dope supplies started getting low. Straight after a purchase he felt on top of the world, invincible and like he could do anything. A lame joke about putting the hero in heroin was usually made. Then as the powder started to disappear he would start to feel worse. It dawned on him how much he had taken and his stomach sunk, he felt like a terrible person, seeing all of the light fade out of the world.
He had to find another way to calm his nerves before the flight and so dragged his guitar case into the airport café. He felt more like a junkie than ever, sweating and feeling dirty as if he hadn’t showered in weeks. He hoped nobody noticed anything strange about him as he tried not to fidget, waiting for his tea to arrive.
He was distracted from his task of searching for a seat when he noticed a beautiful woman sitting on her own. He almost fell over himself he was so caught off guard by her angelic face.
He felt he had seen her before, in a dream. She had long blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She reminded him of the angels he had seen painted on the walls at church. She was a fantasy come to life and he felt breathless looking at her.
Despite the swollen stomach she was sporting she was alone at her table, leading Charlie to wonder about her. He wondered where the father of her unborn child was. A woman as stunning as her couldn’t possibly be single. Surely there was a boyfriend, currently preoccupied in the lavatory or booking in their luggage.
Charlie didn’t want to get his hopes up too much. He selected a table that allowed him to keep her in his sights. He tried not to stare, he didn’t wish to be mistaken for a stalker and have security arrive to escort him out of the café. But his curiosity was very powerful. It wasn’t as simple as wanting to look at her; he felt he needed to look at her. He thought he could write a whole song dedicated to her pink lips.
His cup of tea was nearly all gone and still no boyfriend had materialised at her side. Maybe she was waiting for his plane to land, or else catching a plane of her own to meet up with him.
Charlie thought if this woman was his partner he would never leave her side, especially while she was so heavily pregnant. He would gladly carry her heavy bags or provide her with foot massages to keep her comfortable.
Charlie thought if a woman like her were his girlfriend he would be a better man. He would want to be the kind of man she deserved. He would give up his selfish habits in order to be a good father. With a woman like her he could see a future, unlike the other women he spent time with. She reminded him of the portraits of angels he had grown up looking at and, in this same vein; her appearance provided him with the promise of redemption. He would like to take care of himself and prove he was more than a junkie.
She was a calming force. Unlike him, there was nothing frantic about her presence. She sat still, almost like a statue, lost in her own thoughts. He tapped into this vibe, no longer concentrating on his need for a fix as he watched her.
Everything seemed to move in slow motion as she raised her eyes, looking across the room. Then time froze as her eyes landed upon him. His heart soared into his throat and his mind was blissfully clear. She smiled in a hesitant way. He decided he could write ninety songs about her while spending years staring at her without growing bored. He smiled back, suddenly suffering a crippling case of stage fright. She relaxed a little at this and her smile became more authentic, even more beautiful.
He carried on fantasizing about her, stealing glances at her every few minutes. He was getting together the courage to approach her; making deals with himself that if the boyfriend didn’t appear within x amount of minutes he would go over to the table. He was pondering the best opening line.
But when he looked up she was gone. He turned his head in all directions, desperately trying to find her. It was no use; she had left the café entirely. She had cleared off her table, leaving no traces behind, maybe it had all been a dream. His stomach twisted over this missed opportunity and he mentally beat up on himself for letting her slip through his fingers. His mind moved back to his need for a fix and he shuddered involuntarily. He was going to need a second cup of tea.
When it came time to board the plane to Los Angeles he saw her again. Her golden hair was visible, a few people in front of him in the line of travellers shuffling into the plane. He got very excited over seeing her again. This must be fate. He wanted to call out for her attention, but he couldn’t think of anything interesting or sexy to say. He decided he would talk to her at LAX. He wasn’t going to let her slip through his fingers a second time and this way he had fifteen hours to figure out the perfect thing to say.
She reached the front of the line and the stewardess pointed her toward the tail end of the plane. When it was Charlie’s turn a lump developed in his throat as the flight attendant instructed him that his seat was toward the front.
He was devastated, he wouldn’t get to see the angel for the whole flight - this was going to be unbearable. He didn’t want to move straight away and so remained where he could watch her walking away. He observed her petite figure among the others filling up seats.
He had laid his bulky guitar case aside while he fixated on much more important things. He didn’t acknowledge it as a tripping hazard until a kid almost tumbled to the ground because of it. Charlie’s concentration was broken as he bent to pick it up. The dad was giving him a blasting, deeply annoyed by what could have happened. Charlie apologised, nodding when the disgruntled flight attendant pointed out a compartment for him to store it in for the duration of the flight.
When this kerfuffle was sorted out Charlie glanced down the aisle again. Roused by all of the noise the pretty woman had stopped searching for her seat, looking back for the cause instead.
Charlie’s mood lifted straight away but he kept his wits enough to raise his hand. He gave his hand a merry wave in her direction. Her unforgettable eyes flashed with recognition before she raised her hand in return. She looked uncertain but he still counted their second exchange as a victory.
She went back to looking for her assigned seat and he followed suit.
*
The first week on the island was dedicated to searching for Charlie. To begin with it was the unrelenting need to find his drugs. Then he had gone looking for his guitar - his best mate and his only hope at easing the withdrawals.
During all of this he had been keeping an eye out for the woman from the café. She must have been on the plane when it went down and yet he couldn’t see her anywhere on the beach. Jack spoke of the plane breaking into two during the crash and as it stood they had no idea what had happened to the tail end or the people inside. Some wanted to stay optimistic, believing the tail end was somewhere on this island and if they explored enough they would find the others. Charlie accepted the fact that he would in all likelihood never see the mysterious woman again; luck was never in his favour. He thought this was for the best, he would probably ruin things if ever given a chance with her; he was great at screwing things up.
It was when he accepted this and stopped looking for her that he finally found her, in the most unexpected place.
He had always sworn he would give up drugs; he didn’t want to spend his whole life as a junkie. But going cold turkey on a deserted island with no support system had never been part of his plan. The withdrawals got so bad he began to hallucinate. He bumped into his brother in the jungle and they had long arguments. A confessional had appeared between the trees and he had stepped inside the dark box, telling of his sins to a bodiless priest.
He hated how wretchedly weak the cravings made him feel. The fever refused to leave him alone, he spent every moment sweating and shaking. He could barely maintain a train of thought. It seemed never-ending, now that his limited supply of heroin was gone, he felt destined to spend the rest of his life feeling this way.
His dominant emotion was fear. He was terrified his heart would fail or his inability to keep any food down would lead to him starving to death. Some days he felt closer to death than others. One stupid mistake of experimenting with drugs and now he was going to die because of it. There would be no triumphant comeback. Nor would he find any redemption on this island. He didn’t want to die this way; he didn’t want his last moments to be that of a pathetic loser.
The only relief he got was when he slept. This was where he discovered the woman from the café. She appeared out of the darkness, a figure of pure clarity amongst the fuzziness of the dream world and he never forgot the images when he awoke, they were like scorch marks on his memory.
In the beginning the dreams were always the same. The woman was dressed in robes, a little halo hovering over her blonde head. She looked as flawless as a painting, but she was a million times more beautiful than any painting he had ever seen. She appeared to glow, lit from within by her purity. She was perched upon the sand, the picture of tranquillity. Her eyes sparkled and her long hair played lazily in the breeze.
Seeing her set him at ease and he was lifted to a place above all of the pain. She would speak to him. Her voice was as smooth as silk as she comforted him. In her Australian accent she reassured him that this wasn’t his end, there was more to his life than this. She prophesized that he would die as a hero. He didn’t know where she had gained this information but he had been raised to never question an angel.
There was bravery that she could see in him. She believed he was going to make it out of this darkness and he believed her. When he woke up in the morning he dared to think this day was going to be better than the last. The strength quickly fled him.
He would venture into the forest, to prevent anyone from noticing how peculiar he was acting. The sun didn’t help him to feel any better and his bottle of water always seemed to drain so quickly.
One day he walked too far and lost his footing. He fainted, landing on the ground. His watch had died a couple of days ago and so he had no idea how long he had been sleeping. His vision was blurry as he tried to focus on the too-bright world around him. The first thing he identified was long strands of golden hair. He recovered and soon saw the face of the woman. His head was resting in her lap and she ran her fingers through his hair. He didn’t care that it was only an illusion; this brought him more comfort than any of the strangers on this island could.
He believed she was a hallucination, created by his manic mind as it reeled from the withdrawals. It was the only good part of this horrible situation. He thought she would go away once he got better.
But she stuck around. The dark cloud constantly bringing heavy rain to him had finally cleared. He could wake up in the morning, draw in a deep breath and not feel all of his insides ache. He felt like a normal human for the first time in as long as he could remember. He could contribute to the island community and carry conversations with his fellow prisoners.
No matter how many people he spoke with he couldn’t forget about the woman. She continued to visit him in his dreams, but she had ditched the robes, dressing like an average person, but losing none of her angelic beauty.
In his dreams she was on his side of the island and they were forging a friendship. He brought her cups of tea and they sat in the sand talking. They took walks along the beach together, a fantastical setting as the sun set over the boundless ocean. When the baby inside of her started to kick she would excitedly bring him in to feel the miracle. He brought her jars of peanut butter and prided himself in his ability to make her laugh.
He spent the majority of his waking hours looking forward to these dates in his dreams. He acknowledged that it was only taking place in his mind, but it felt so real at the time. He thought he might be glimpsing into an alternative world, a parallel timeline where the woman was on the same side of the island as him and things were infinitely better. There was no way to prove or disprove this theory. He might have been a little jealous of alternate-Charlie; he was one seriously lucky bugger.
The people from the tail end of the plane walked onto their beach one day and Charlie was forced to acknowledge that the other timeline would be forever beyond his reach. The pregnant woman wasn’t among the small and distressed group. There was a blonde among them, but she was nothing like his angel from the café.
She must have died in the crash. Now Charlie was destined to spend the rest of his life pining after a nameless dead woman.
*
After a while the dreams stopped. But Charlie didn’t mourn this, the woman was already dead, she probably had been all along. Now he was accepting this and moving on from the loss. He returned to dreaming about more normal things.
He kept her in his mind, her image drifting in and inspiring him to write lyrics. Just because she had stopped visiting him in the night didn’t mean she was gone from his life forever. It would have been impossible for him to stop thinking about her altogether. He believed she had, in part, saved him, by giving him the strength to endure through the pain of withdrawals and so it seemed only fair to repay her with the gift of songs.
Her prediction of him dying as a hero returned to his mind as the plan of someone swimming down to the Looking Glass was hatched. If someone could get down to the underwater station and disable the jammer they could get their distress call out to the world. It was their best chance of finally getting off of this island.
It was a risky mission, there was a high danger that whoever went down there wouldn’t come back. Therefore there wasn’t a rush of volunteers stepping forward to offer their services. They stuffed their hands in their pockets and looked awkwardly at the ground.
Then Charlie decided this was his opportunity to prove himself. He didn’t have the courage like Jack or the same helpful skills as Sayid, so his opportunities to contribute to the group didn’t come along very often. But this way his death could mean something, he wouldn’t be struck down by the Others in the jungle or relapse into drugs only to overdose. He could do something truly important, far more important than all of the record sales. He could fulfil the prophecy of dying as a hero.
His expedition to the Looking Glass turned out to be more complicated than he ever could have anticipated. Desmond was there to help but in the end it all came down to Charlie. When the window broke and water came bursting in he immediately realised he would have to sacrifice himself for Desmond to live, he was okay with it. He slammed the door shut; feeling very sure of himself, there was no fear to slow down his actions.
He knew he had done the right thing and felt no regrets. He had saved his friends; there was no better outcome he could have reached. This was a good way to die.
The pressure destroyed his lungs and his heart went into overdrive. It was a pain he had never known before. The withdrawals had only been half of this. It was excruciating. Then he saw the angel from the café and he knew he was going to be okay.
*
Charlie had the sensation of doing things simply for the sake of doing them. There was no real desire to get things done, rather just going through the motions for continuity.
But he was sure there had been something before this because he felt there to be something missing. He had been more than this and he felt the hole inside of him yearning for it. This blankness hadn’t always been his life. He didn’t have any proof of this, only a gut feeling, an idea of lost memories.
There was nothing to fill this emptiness. No matter what he tried these were only fleeting distractions and sometimes they failed altogether. There were visions in dreams, prompting déjà vu, which made him feel spectacularly alive. But this always faded in the morning when it came time to face another pointless day.
He didn’t even know why he was doing this gig. He could recall a time when performing had been his greatest pleasure in life. Now it didn’t satisfy any kind of need inside of him. He didn’t gain any buzz from the crowd. He was always searching the crowds, never quite sure what he was looking for, despite their ecstatic faces he felt nothing. He thought he was dead inside, yet he couldn’t remember what had caused this death.
Looking at the seated audience he felt bored, he wasn’t paying any attention to the words he was singing. He was just waiting for this show to be over so he could drink himself to oblivion.
Then he spotted a beautiful blonde woman among the crowd. He felt a little more interested in the gig now. He admired her profile as she talked to her friends. She looked sweet and wholesome, not the typical kind of girl he made eye contact with during concerts. She was the kind of girl he imagined settling down with. He imagined being a better man for her. He thought his life would vastly improve with a woman like her by his side.
She turned her head, their eyes met and he felt like he had been struck by lightning. His mind flooded with memories, overwhelming him. He saw him and the woman meeting, sitting by a beach campfire surrounded by the wreckage of a plane. He remembered helping her rock her baby to sleep. His heart lifted as he recalled the first time they had kissed following his near-death experience in the hatch implosion. She wasn’t just another face in the crowd; she was his past and his future. She was the thing that had been missing from his life.
She stood up and started walking toward the stage, her unforgettable eyes wide. He stopped playing the guitar, giving up on the rock star façade. He had never experienced such a surreal moment, he was breathless. He felt whole again.
“Charlie.” She said, reaching toward him and he thought he had waited his entire life to be here with her.
Later they were sitting in the church together, with him proudly nursing Aaron. Charlie didn’t think he had ever been this happy. He and Claire were finally together, as they were always meant to be.
The End.