eko/charlie
eko/charlie
PG-13
appx 650 words
yes, there is a slash there, and not a comma
i know-i was as surprised as you are
(and, also, the requisite warning for religious stuff)
He wonders how it could've happened to someone like him, who abhors violence now even as he feels overwhelmed by it, who abhors weakness just as much, hating it in himself and hating the way it made others' lives crumble in his hands. But being around Charlie defies those things, and in ways that make him wholly uncertain that he can finish building this house of God with him.
He knows he would protect him with his life, go back on his private vow to live peacefully, renounce it without really renouncing it because to protect Charlie is the right thing to do. Charlie is not able to protect himself. And yet he's got his own strength, the kind that baffles Eko. He used to watch the people scatter like ants when he crashed into their villages, or even worse: when he strode in slowly and confidently, knowing they would bend just the same to his will. It sickened him to watch them, but the ones that made him the sickest were the ones he had to kill, usually because they were foolhardy, because they challenged him, because they didn't understand how their own lives were always out of their control. Just as his is now.
But Eko remembers that there were a few who were strong in their weakness without stepping over a line he wouldn't allow them to cross. They didn't stare him down; they stared into the distance, like he often does now, as if in silent prayer to a force bigger than a band of thugs. He didn't often kill them; he thought they were the saddest of all-and he still pities them, because they know better than anyone how wretched they are-but now he knows he hated them because he was almost one of them. Almost his brother. Is his brother. Now.
Charlie used to do the very drugs he trafficked in. Eko believes God has a vindictive sense of humor, putting this weak one in his hands, to be broken or saved, whole like the statue of the virgin or shattered like the heroin spilling out onto the sand. Charlie is the most foolish sort of weak man because he had the audacity to challenge the universe and stop taking drugs. He swings an axe and makes himself sweat to do something good with his hands, and Eko believes it is all a waste of effort. Doesn't he? Isn't everything they're doing just an empty blow against a cruel fate, a ceremonial bow before a vengeful God?
Usually, though, Eko doesn't let his thoughts go down this dark path. That is the most dangerous thing about Charlie. He smiles, and it makes Eko think of smiling. It makes him think he deserves to smile. It makes him know he needs this small, confused man in ways he wouldn't comprehend, because he thinks Eko's there to save him. Eko thinks Charlie's there to save him, and that's why this feeling mystifies him. The ways of God are mystical, but surely not this?
A brother for a brother, he thought. This one is simply strange and earnest and funny and white. He can protect a brother, just as he protects his sister Ana. It's not, however, all about souls and hearts. Charlie has tender skin, easily broken, and he has pale, liquid eyes that see much more than people realize. He thinks they see him, so one day they will see the way he looks at him as he raises a beam on the church roof, weak man with strong arms and determined gaze that occasionally makes Eko feel flushed and exposed. He wants to pull him close, taste the salt from his skin, somehow build a wall with his body against all of Charlie's demons. He's relatively sure, though, that he might be just such a demon, so he stays on the other side of the building, across a beam of wood, framing up this desire because wanting and not having is his penance.
PG-13
appx 650 words
yes, there is a slash there, and not a comma
i know-i was as surprised as you are
(and, also, the requisite warning for religious stuff)
He wonders how it could've happened to someone like him, who abhors violence now even as he feels overwhelmed by it, who abhors weakness just as much, hating it in himself and hating the way it made others' lives crumble in his hands. But being around Charlie defies those things, and in ways that make him wholly uncertain that he can finish building this house of God with him.
He knows he would protect him with his life, go back on his private vow to live peacefully, renounce it without really renouncing it because to protect Charlie is the right thing to do. Charlie is not able to protect himself. And yet he's got his own strength, the kind that baffles Eko. He used to watch the people scatter like ants when he crashed into their villages, or even worse: when he strode in slowly and confidently, knowing they would bend just the same to his will. It sickened him to watch them, but the ones that made him the sickest were the ones he had to kill, usually because they were foolhardy, because they challenged him, because they didn't understand how their own lives were always out of their control. Just as his is now.
But Eko remembers that there were a few who were strong in their weakness without stepping over a line he wouldn't allow them to cross. They didn't stare him down; they stared into the distance, like he often does now, as if in silent prayer to a force bigger than a band of thugs. He didn't often kill them; he thought they were the saddest of all-and he still pities them, because they know better than anyone how wretched they are-but now he knows he hated them because he was almost one of them. Almost his brother. Is his brother. Now.
Charlie used to do the very drugs he trafficked in. Eko believes God has a vindictive sense of humor, putting this weak one in his hands, to be broken or saved, whole like the statue of the virgin or shattered like the heroin spilling out onto the sand. Charlie is the most foolish sort of weak man because he had the audacity to challenge the universe and stop taking drugs. He swings an axe and makes himself sweat to do something good with his hands, and Eko believes it is all a waste of effort. Doesn't he? Isn't everything they're doing just an empty blow against a cruel fate, a ceremonial bow before a vengeful God?
Usually, though, Eko doesn't let his thoughts go down this dark path. That is the most dangerous thing about Charlie. He smiles, and it makes Eko think of smiling. It makes him think he deserves to smile. It makes him know he needs this small, confused man in ways he wouldn't comprehend, because he thinks Eko's there to save him. Eko thinks Charlie's there to save him, and that's why this feeling mystifies him. The ways of God are mystical, but surely not this?
A brother for a brother, he thought. This one is simply strange and earnest and funny and white. He can protect a brother, just as he protects his sister Ana. It's not, however, all about souls and hearts. Charlie has tender skin, easily broken, and he has pale, liquid eyes that see much more than people realize. He thinks they see him, so one day they will see the way he looks at him as he raises a beam on the church roof, weak man with strong arms and determined gaze that occasionally makes Eko feel flushed and exposed. He wants to pull him close, taste the salt from his skin, somehow build a wall with his body against all of Charlie's demons. He's relatively sure, though, that he might be just such a demon, so he stays on the other side of the building, across a beam of wood, framing up this desire because wanting and not having is his penance.