it's nothing but time and a face that you lose {daniel/charlotte}
Title: It's Nothing But Time And A Face That You Lose
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Daniel/Charlotte -- sort of
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 945
Author's Note: I am so out of practice with Lost fic these days...
Summary: Spoilers for Season 5, spec after that. There are rules to this, and Daniel's about to break them.
2001
It’s the oddest feeling in the world.
There’d been something familiar about him. She knew it the second she laid eyes on him, felt it when she smiled and shook his hand.
“Cute, right?” Her friend had whispered in her ear, as he excused himself to go look for someone he’d
apparently promised to meet up with. He’d be back, he promised, and his eyes lingered on her for a bit too long for her to feel entirely comfortable.
So she waits. Against her better judgment, just inside the doorway that led to a rather sizeable living room that had been divested of most of its furniture, save for the chairs and couches, paintings still hung on the wall, in order to make room for guests. It’s too close to the foyer, and every time someone else arrives she can feel the draft of cool air float in. It’s far too close to winter for the dress she’s wearing, and Charlotte curses her friend for telling her wear it just as she curses her for making her come here. She has very little interest in mingling with these people, whether or not they were all highly intelligent, as had been emphasized many times.
It’s a good hour. She makes sure she has enough alcohol in her to ensure that she doesn’t slap the next drunken imbecile who attempts to hit on her, or asks whose date she is, since she can’t possibly posses a brain herself, being both a woman and fairly attractive, and when even that isn’t working she finds her friend in the din of the crowd, weaving through people and almost knocking a champagne flute out of one woman’s hand.
“This just isn’t my thing.” It’s a predictable excuse, but it’s the truth, and her friend only has enough time to shoot a brief, disapproving frown in her direction before she’s wrapped up in conversation with some guy Charlotte’s fairly sure she should know the name of. She doesn’t. And she doesn’t care.
She hadn’t realized it was raining until she stepped outside and her heel sunk in the now muddied ground. Pulling it out, she spots the taxi by the curb, along with the back of a man whom she can’t quite see clearly in the dark. It’s only when she’s come up behind him, asking, “Is there room for two in there?”
The man turns and that’s when she recognizes him as the man from earlier in the evening, the one she’d been waiting for. He smiles, holds the door open for her, as he says, “It’s all yours.”
She shakes her head, taking a step back. “I can wait.”
“It’s raining,” he points out, like she can’t feel it soaking through her light jacket.
“All the more reason you should get in with me.” She replies. Really, she’s just curious if she’s met him before, because she feels like she has, and she thinks if she stares long and hard enough maybe she’ll remember. Otherwise it will only bug her for the remainder of the night. Charlotte gives him a smile that makes him look away, just a little, as she adds, “Unless you want to stand here and argue about it, because that’s an option too.”
He sighs, a bit too heavily, and she wonders just why he’s hesitating so much. “Fine,” he tells her, and she gets in; he slides in a second later and closes the door firmly, glancing at her before dropping his eyes again.
There’s something about that glint in his eye, the way he smiles, looks at her like she’s someone to be treasured, someone he treasures. It’s impossible; she thinks she’d remember someone who looked at her like that. At least their name.
“Have we met?” Charlotte finally inquires, once she’s determined that she’s not going to be able to figure it out on her own.
“No,” he tells her, “I’m fairly sure we haven’t.”
She isn’t sure she quite believes him, but he locks eyes with her when he says it and she figures that means he’s probably telling the truth. Or he’s a good liar. She still feels like she’s known him for years. “I must be confusing you for someone else,” she says, a last ditch attempt to get him to spill if he is indeed lying.
“Maybe,” is all he says.
Just the alcohol then, she decides, and she waits with her hands folded in her lap like the good girl and tries not to notice the fact that he keeps looking at her.
---
Daniel can’t quite let himself relax until the driver has deposited her at her flat and he can see her retreating back disappear behind the doors.
He never should’ve gotten in the taxi with her. He should know better than this. You can’t alter history, aren’t supposed to interact with people you don’t yet know - who knows the damage you could do. It’s not like he doesn’t know this, can’t hide behind ignorance. Time has become nothing more than a word, lost its meaning, with all the jumping around he’s been doing lately. The island, the past - he’s still waiting for the future, wonders if that’s even achievable -- he’s been all over and it leaves his head spinning.
But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help it because who knew when his next chance would be. There was a finite limit on the amount of time he had with her.
He certainly doesn’t have anymore of that on the island.
(A little over four years from now and she’s nothing but another body without a proper burial, and his heart aches)
Fandom: Lost
Characters/Pairings: Daniel/Charlotte -- sort of
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 945
Author's Note: I am so out of practice with Lost fic these days...
Summary: Spoilers for Season 5, spec after that. There are rules to this, and Daniel's about to break them.
2001
It’s the oddest feeling in the world.
There’d been something familiar about him. She knew it the second she laid eyes on him, felt it when she smiled and shook his hand.
“Cute, right?” Her friend had whispered in her ear, as he excused himself to go look for someone he’d
apparently promised to meet up with. He’d be back, he promised, and his eyes lingered on her for a bit too long for her to feel entirely comfortable.
So she waits. Against her better judgment, just inside the doorway that led to a rather sizeable living room that had been divested of most of its furniture, save for the chairs and couches, paintings still hung on the wall, in order to make room for guests. It’s too close to the foyer, and every time someone else arrives she can feel the draft of cool air float in. It’s far too close to winter for the dress she’s wearing, and Charlotte curses her friend for telling her wear it just as she curses her for making her come here. She has very little interest in mingling with these people, whether or not they were all highly intelligent, as had been emphasized many times.
It’s a good hour. She makes sure she has enough alcohol in her to ensure that she doesn’t slap the next drunken imbecile who attempts to hit on her, or asks whose date she is, since she can’t possibly posses a brain herself, being both a woman and fairly attractive, and when even that isn’t working she finds her friend in the din of the crowd, weaving through people and almost knocking a champagne flute out of one woman’s hand.
“This just isn’t my thing.” It’s a predictable excuse, but it’s the truth, and her friend only has enough time to shoot a brief, disapproving frown in her direction before she’s wrapped up in conversation with some guy Charlotte’s fairly sure she should know the name of. She doesn’t. And she doesn’t care.
She hadn’t realized it was raining until she stepped outside and her heel sunk in the now muddied ground. Pulling it out, she spots the taxi by the curb, along with the back of a man whom she can’t quite see clearly in the dark. It’s only when she’s come up behind him, asking, “Is there room for two in there?”
The man turns and that’s when she recognizes him as the man from earlier in the evening, the one she’d been waiting for. He smiles, holds the door open for her, as he says, “It’s all yours.”
She shakes her head, taking a step back. “I can wait.”
“It’s raining,” he points out, like she can’t feel it soaking through her light jacket.
“All the more reason you should get in with me.” She replies. Really, she’s just curious if she’s met him before, because she feels like she has, and she thinks if she stares long and hard enough maybe she’ll remember. Otherwise it will only bug her for the remainder of the night. Charlotte gives him a smile that makes him look away, just a little, as she adds, “Unless you want to stand here and argue about it, because that’s an option too.”
He sighs, a bit too heavily, and she wonders just why he’s hesitating so much. “Fine,” he tells her, and she gets in; he slides in a second later and closes the door firmly, glancing at her before dropping his eyes again.
There’s something about that glint in his eye, the way he smiles, looks at her like she’s someone to be treasured, someone he treasures. It’s impossible; she thinks she’d remember someone who looked at her like that. At least their name.
“Have we met?” Charlotte finally inquires, once she’s determined that she’s not going to be able to figure it out on her own.
“No,” he tells her, “I’m fairly sure we haven’t.”
She isn’t sure she quite believes him, but he locks eyes with her when he says it and she figures that means he’s probably telling the truth. Or he’s a good liar. She still feels like she’s known him for years. “I must be confusing you for someone else,” she says, a last ditch attempt to get him to spill if he is indeed lying.
“Maybe,” is all he says.
Just the alcohol then, she decides, and she waits with her hands folded in her lap like the good girl and tries not to notice the fact that he keeps looking at her.
---
Daniel can’t quite let himself relax until the driver has deposited her at her flat and he can see her retreating back disappear behind the doors.
He never should’ve gotten in the taxi with her. He should know better than this. You can’t alter history, aren’t supposed to interact with people you don’t yet know - who knows the damage you could do. It’s not like he doesn’t know this, can’t hide behind ignorance. Time has become nothing more than a word, lost its meaning, with all the jumping around he’s been doing lately. The island, the past - he’s still waiting for the future, wonders if that’s even achievable -- he’s been all over and it leaves his head spinning.
But he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t help it because who knew when his next chance would be. There was a finite limit on the amount of time he had with her.
He certainly doesn’t have anymore of that on the island.
(A little over four years from now and she’s nothing but another body without a proper burial, and his heart aches)