LOST: Charlie/Claire - Charlie-cakes
Title::..Charlie-cakes
Rating::..G
Spoilers::..The Beginning of the End
Genre::..Fluff
Characters::..Charlie, Claire and Aaron
Author’s Note::..Another fluffy story of Charlie and Claire living at the barracks, so this is what if Charlie hadn’t died at the end of season 3 and had made it to the barracks with Claire and Aaron. I really have no idea where this idea came from, I was watching the start of season 6 and for some reason the idea of Charlie making pancakes popped into my mind and this fic was written very shortly afterward.
Summary::..Charlie prepares his ‘world-famous’ pancakes for Claire one peaceful morning.
The kitchen was alive with activity; Charlie’s worn-down Vans squeaking on the linoleum and the near-constant clatter of his equipment. Making breakfast was serious business for the Brit. His path of destruction was marked out clearly, batter splashed onto the counter by his overzealous mixing technique. He went about his task with the utmost concentration, as if there had never been anything more important than this meal.
Out of harm’s way Aaron watched with great curiosity. Sitting in his high chair Charlie’s frantic work was very interesting, he watched Charlie zipping back-and-forth with wide eyes. He didn’t make a single sound, fully entertained. Charlie had managed to kill two birds with one stone.
Claire hadn’t slept very well. She was often visited by nightmares, waking up in tears. Charlie would hold her as she was consumed by thoughts of what she had lost. He figured that after this drama she needed a nice morning and so decided he would make her pancakes.
Contrary to what Claire thought, a kitchen wasn’t an entirely foreign setting for Charlie. She usually dominated the cooking duties and this had suited him fine. But Charlie knew his way around a stove. Cooking was something he enjoyed.
His parents had been very traditional in the sense that his mother had done all of the cooking, Charlie could count on three fingers all of the times he had witnessed his father preparing a meal. His mum had been an absolute genius in the kitchen, bringing together seemingly random ingredients to create mouth-watering delights. No matter the occasion she would prepare a suited feast, making Charlie feel richer than their middle-class standing. From cookies to roast pork, she was a master of it all.
She had shared these skills with her youngest son. He had been restless as a child; ‘hyperactive’ was the word his teachers loved to use. It had been an exhaustive search for activities to keep him occupied. Music was guaranteed to get his attention and cooking proved to fascinate him almost as much. He would shadow her in the kitchen, watching as she created. She would show him how to get the consistency just right. She taught him the technique of how to crack an egg without getting little pieces of shell in the mixture. It was a hobby that required concentration and patience, but somehow it had suited him perfectly.
Liam had always been a gigantic attention seeker, demanding everyone notice him. It was rare for Charlie to get to be alone with his mum. He had treasured these bonding sessions, to learn from her and make her proud. They had made magic together. It didn’t matter how much Liam teased that the pastime made Charlie a ‘nancy boy’, he always looked forward to his mum asking for his assistance.
After her passing Charlie had used cooking for comfort - bringing a whole new meaning to the term ‘comfort eating’. It had taken his mind off of the loss. When eating her unique recipe of meatloaf it had felt as if she were with him.
He hadn’t found many people to share his talent with. It had seemed a very romantic gesture, to prepare a meal for a woman he was wooing. But there hadn’t been many chances; his relationships usually fell apart before they could reach that level of intimacy. He wanted to take care of a woman, provide for her and cook for her, sharing one of his greatest passions with the perfect girl was a fantasy of his.
He wanted to show Claire he could take care of her. He had messed up a lot in the past and she was his chance to get it right. He wanted to demonstrate that he could lift her back up when she was down.
Claire was the kind of woman who deserved everything. He was yet to happen across any diamonds on this island, which was what he really wanted to give her. The songs he wrote were a poor substitute, but she seemed to enjoy them, never complaining about how bare her earlobes were. He could only hope she liked the pancakes just as well.
He felt optimistic of the results; his mum had taught him how to cook only quality things. A nice, neat stack of pancakes was amassing. He whistled merrily to himself as he poured more batter into the pan. He thought he should cook for Claire more often, this was fun. He scraped one of the pancakes from the bottom of the pan and managed to send it into a little flip in mid-air, grinning proudly.
“Good morni- oh Charlie, what is all of this? Did a cyclone come through the kitchen?” She asked, immediately noticing all of the mess she would have to put right.
“I’m making you breakfast.” He offered as an explanation.
She smiled, already on the path to forgiving him. “You are?”
“Yeah, so go sit down and I’ll bring you some orange juice. It’s nearly ready.” He instructed.
She went over to Aaron’s high chair. Their matching eyes meeting and any curiosity of the upcoming meal disappeared. Claire’s face lit up and Aaron started reaching for her. “Hi sweetheart.” She picked him up and covered his head in kisses. As she bounced her son it seemed all of her problems vanished, nothing to cry over.
Aaron was the perfect distraction, keeping Claire occupied and allowing Charlie time to plate up. He didn’t rush the presentation. He dusted the best two with icing sugar and placed a sliced strawberry on top. It had to look perfect. He was worse than a woman applying makeup, considering it obsessively from every angle.
Eventually he relinquished control in the fears of the dish getting cold before Claire could experience a single bite. He held his breath as he carried the plate over to where she sat at the table.
“Pancakes.” She was still smiling, so far so good.
“Not just any pancakes. These are my famous Charlie-cakes.” He bragged, unfolding a cloth napkin. She leant back, allowing him to place it across her lap. “World famous. Everything you thought you knew about pancakes will be revolutionised in this one sitting.”
“And what makes them so famous?” She enquired.
“Take a bite and you tell me.” He replied, tipping her a wink. He sat at the table opposite her, propping his chin up on his fist, eagerly awaiting her feedback.
She gripped her fork, still a safe distance from the plate. She smiled unsurely to him. “They look really great.” She didn’t have any faith in his cooking and she was clearly wary of the potential assault she was about to unleash on her tastebuds. He enjoyed the challenge, even more excited for her reaction now.
Hesitantly she brought a portion toward her mouth. As she chewed the cloud of anxiety cleared from her face. A (relieved) smile appeared and he could tell he had made her day.
“Wow, that’s lovely, absolutely delicious.” She marvelled. “I had no idea you could cook.”
“I’m full of surprises.” He said.
“You really are.” She agreed, shovelling more into her mouth.
She showed the pancakes no mercy, quickly devouring them. Charlie fed some of the strawberries to an equally hungry Aaron. While they were enjoying the food it was as if they weren’t trapped on this supernatural island. They were a typical family, sharing breakfast. It was worth all of the effort to come later when Charlie cleared the messy kitchen.
Charlie replenished Claire’s supply before helping himself to a serving. He didn’t want to brag but he had truly outdone himself with the Charlie-cakes. It had been a long time since he’d attempted the recipe and he had worried of losing his touch. He realised now it had all been in vain.
“I’m sorry about last night.” Claire said, her head bowed and she looked through her lashes at him, traces of embarrassment lingering.
“What are you apologising for?” He returned.
“I woke you up in the middle of the night, screaming and crying, you were sleeping just fine before I had my fit. How could I not say sorry?” She said.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked hesitantly.
She was still slightly mortified, her jaw set and she closed herself off. “There’s nothing to talk about. I had a flashback of Rousseau taking Aaron and it was like I was back there and it was happening all over again. It’s just a stupid dream.”
“It’s not stupid. It’s a natural mothering instinct to worry about your child.” He reassured her, picking up her hand. “You’ve been through a lot; you can’t expect to just be automatically fine. You’re allowed to have your scars and feel scared of them from time-to-time.”
She softened again, squeezing his hand. “Thanks for taking care of me; you’re so good at it.”
“It’s my infinite pleasure.” He said, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, holding her eye. He was relieved to see her smile.
The morning progressed at a leisurely pace. There were no reasons to rush, no crazy expeditions to be led into the jungle for. They were content in this setting, not wanting to squander the tranquil time. He recalled when they hadn’t been able to experience a single second of this calm.
Nowadays they had the luxury of lazing about and admiring the sunny weather. It was peaceful without the sensation of impending doom lingering around the corner. Charlie stood at the kitchen sink, washing the dishes without any worries to cloud up his day.
“Those Charlie-cakes were absolutely delicious.” Claire marvelled. “I can see now why they’re so world famous.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed them.” He was practically glowing with pride.
“Maybe when Aaron’s older you could teach him how to make them.” She proposed.
He turned to where she sat, holding the gurgling baby. “I’d love to.” He smiled at the thought and she smiled back.
The End.
Rating::..G
Spoilers::..The Beginning of the End
Genre::..Fluff
Characters::..Charlie, Claire and Aaron
Author’s Note::..Another fluffy story of Charlie and Claire living at the barracks, so this is what if Charlie hadn’t died at the end of season 3 and had made it to the barracks with Claire and Aaron. I really have no idea where this idea came from, I was watching the start of season 6 and for some reason the idea of Charlie making pancakes popped into my mind and this fic was written very shortly afterward.
Summary::..Charlie prepares his ‘world-famous’ pancakes for Claire one peaceful morning.
The kitchen was alive with activity; Charlie’s worn-down Vans squeaking on the linoleum and the near-constant clatter of his equipment. Making breakfast was serious business for the Brit. His path of destruction was marked out clearly, batter splashed onto the counter by his overzealous mixing technique. He went about his task with the utmost concentration, as if there had never been anything more important than this meal.
Out of harm’s way Aaron watched with great curiosity. Sitting in his high chair Charlie’s frantic work was very interesting, he watched Charlie zipping back-and-forth with wide eyes. He didn’t make a single sound, fully entertained. Charlie had managed to kill two birds with one stone.
Claire hadn’t slept very well. She was often visited by nightmares, waking up in tears. Charlie would hold her as she was consumed by thoughts of what she had lost. He figured that after this drama she needed a nice morning and so decided he would make her pancakes.
Contrary to what Claire thought, a kitchen wasn’t an entirely foreign setting for Charlie. She usually dominated the cooking duties and this had suited him fine. But Charlie knew his way around a stove. Cooking was something he enjoyed.
His parents had been very traditional in the sense that his mother had done all of the cooking, Charlie could count on three fingers all of the times he had witnessed his father preparing a meal. His mum had been an absolute genius in the kitchen, bringing together seemingly random ingredients to create mouth-watering delights. No matter the occasion she would prepare a suited feast, making Charlie feel richer than their middle-class standing. From cookies to roast pork, she was a master of it all.
She had shared these skills with her youngest son. He had been restless as a child; ‘hyperactive’ was the word his teachers loved to use. It had been an exhaustive search for activities to keep him occupied. Music was guaranteed to get his attention and cooking proved to fascinate him almost as much. He would shadow her in the kitchen, watching as she created. She would show him how to get the consistency just right. She taught him the technique of how to crack an egg without getting little pieces of shell in the mixture. It was a hobby that required concentration and patience, but somehow it had suited him perfectly.
Liam had always been a gigantic attention seeker, demanding everyone notice him. It was rare for Charlie to get to be alone with his mum. He had treasured these bonding sessions, to learn from her and make her proud. They had made magic together. It didn’t matter how much Liam teased that the pastime made Charlie a ‘nancy boy’, he always looked forward to his mum asking for his assistance.
After her passing Charlie had used cooking for comfort - bringing a whole new meaning to the term ‘comfort eating’. It had taken his mind off of the loss. When eating her unique recipe of meatloaf it had felt as if she were with him.
He hadn’t found many people to share his talent with. It had seemed a very romantic gesture, to prepare a meal for a woman he was wooing. But there hadn’t been many chances; his relationships usually fell apart before they could reach that level of intimacy. He wanted to take care of a woman, provide for her and cook for her, sharing one of his greatest passions with the perfect girl was a fantasy of his.
He wanted to show Claire he could take care of her. He had messed up a lot in the past and she was his chance to get it right. He wanted to demonstrate that he could lift her back up when she was down.
Claire was the kind of woman who deserved everything. He was yet to happen across any diamonds on this island, which was what he really wanted to give her. The songs he wrote were a poor substitute, but she seemed to enjoy them, never complaining about how bare her earlobes were. He could only hope she liked the pancakes just as well.
He felt optimistic of the results; his mum had taught him how to cook only quality things. A nice, neat stack of pancakes was amassing. He whistled merrily to himself as he poured more batter into the pan. He thought he should cook for Claire more often, this was fun. He scraped one of the pancakes from the bottom of the pan and managed to send it into a little flip in mid-air, grinning proudly.
“Good morni- oh Charlie, what is all of this? Did a cyclone come through the kitchen?” She asked, immediately noticing all of the mess she would have to put right.
“I’m making you breakfast.” He offered as an explanation.
She smiled, already on the path to forgiving him. “You are?”
“Yeah, so go sit down and I’ll bring you some orange juice. It’s nearly ready.” He instructed.
She went over to Aaron’s high chair. Their matching eyes meeting and any curiosity of the upcoming meal disappeared. Claire’s face lit up and Aaron started reaching for her. “Hi sweetheart.” She picked him up and covered his head in kisses. As she bounced her son it seemed all of her problems vanished, nothing to cry over.
Aaron was the perfect distraction, keeping Claire occupied and allowing Charlie time to plate up. He didn’t rush the presentation. He dusted the best two with icing sugar and placed a sliced strawberry on top. It had to look perfect. He was worse than a woman applying makeup, considering it obsessively from every angle.
Eventually he relinquished control in the fears of the dish getting cold before Claire could experience a single bite. He held his breath as he carried the plate over to where she sat at the table.
“Pancakes.” She was still smiling, so far so good.
“Not just any pancakes. These are my famous Charlie-cakes.” He bragged, unfolding a cloth napkin. She leant back, allowing him to place it across her lap. “World famous. Everything you thought you knew about pancakes will be revolutionised in this one sitting.”
“And what makes them so famous?” She enquired.
“Take a bite and you tell me.” He replied, tipping her a wink. He sat at the table opposite her, propping his chin up on his fist, eagerly awaiting her feedback.
She gripped her fork, still a safe distance from the plate. She smiled unsurely to him. “They look really great.” She didn’t have any faith in his cooking and she was clearly wary of the potential assault she was about to unleash on her tastebuds. He enjoyed the challenge, even more excited for her reaction now.
Hesitantly she brought a portion toward her mouth. As she chewed the cloud of anxiety cleared from her face. A (relieved) smile appeared and he could tell he had made her day.
“Wow, that’s lovely, absolutely delicious.” She marvelled. “I had no idea you could cook.”
“I’m full of surprises.” He said.
“You really are.” She agreed, shovelling more into her mouth.
She showed the pancakes no mercy, quickly devouring them. Charlie fed some of the strawberries to an equally hungry Aaron. While they were enjoying the food it was as if they weren’t trapped on this supernatural island. They were a typical family, sharing breakfast. It was worth all of the effort to come later when Charlie cleared the messy kitchen.
Charlie replenished Claire’s supply before helping himself to a serving. He didn’t want to brag but he had truly outdone himself with the Charlie-cakes. It had been a long time since he’d attempted the recipe and he had worried of losing his touch. He realised now it had all been in vain.
“I’m sorry about last night.” Claire said, her head bowed and she looked through her lashes at him, traces of embarrassment lingering.
“What are you apologising for?” He returned.
“I woke you up in the middle of the night, screaming and crying, you were sleeping just fine before I had my fit. How could I not say sorry?” She said.
“Do you wanna talk about it?” He asked hesitantly.
She was still slightly mortified, her jaw set and she closed herself off. “There’s nothing to talk about. I had a flashback of Rousseau taking Aaron and it was like I was back there and it was happening all over again. It’s just a stupid dream.”
“It’s not stupid. It’s a natural mothering instinct to worry about your child.” He reassured her, picking up her hand. “You’ve been through a lot; you can’t expect to just be automatically fine. You’re allowed to have your scars and feel scared of them from time-to-time.”
She softened again, squeezing his hand. “Thanks for taking care of me; you’re so good at it.”
“It’s my infinite pleasure.” He said, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, holding her eye. He was relieved to see her smile.
The morning progressed at a leisurely pace. There were no reasons to rush, no crazy expeditions to be led into the jungle for. They were content in this setting, not wanting to squander the tranquil time. He recalled when they hadn’t been able to experience a single second of this calm.
Nowadays they had the luxury of lazing about and admiring the sunny weather. It was peaceful without the sensation of impending doom lingering around the corner. Charlie stood at the kitchen sink, washing the dishes without any worries to cloud up his day.
“Those Charlie-cakes were absolutely delicious.” Claire marvelled. “I can see now why they’re so world famous.”
“I’m glad you enjoyed them.” He was practically glowing with pride.
“Maybe when Aaron’s older you could teach him how to make them.” She proposed.
He turned to where she sat, holding the gurgling baby. “I’d love to.” He smiled at the thought and she smiled back.
The End.