Convolution
Title: Convolution
Characters/Pairings: Daniel/Charlotte; minor Miles, Frank, Naomi, Juliet, Eloise, Richard
Summary: "He's plied his trade in time -- in how it can be shaped and folded; bent, manipulated -- so the irony stabs him, cruel and deep, as he wipes more blood from her chin, of how little they have together left." Fifty moments between Daniel Faraday and Charlotte Lewis.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mentions of character death.
Spoilers: Up until 5x15.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Written for 1sentence challenge table, theme set Epsilon. Thanks to
angela_weber for being such a great cheerleader with this.
----
def.: a mathematical operation of two functions, producing a third function that is typically viewed as a modified version of one of the original functions; to loop, spiral.
----
#01 - Motion
It's the motion of the boat, the rocking, shifting lull, that first really brings them together -- hanging over the railing, Charlotte laughs and admits she's never actually seen someone turn green before; Dan grimaces out a smile and gratefully accepts her offering of tea and Dramamine.
#02 - Cool
They fall a bit behind the others stopping to refill their canteens in the creek, and Daniel almost stumbles backwards into the cool water streaming around their ankles when Charlotte leans forward, suddenly, impulsively, and brushes her lips against his, blue eyes bright and full of understanding and reflecting the words -- because I'm in love with the woman sitting next to me -- his stuttered declaration issued only (hours? days?) before.
#03 - Young
"God, I was so stupid," she mumbles, sheepish, laughing at her own creeping blush and half-hiding behind her coffee mug, recounting her almost-engagement to some corporate law student that lasted all of three weeks; Dan's thoughts drift back to Theresa, sallow-skinned and skirting between life and death, and "yeah," he sighs, voice catching, "me too."
#04 - Last
Of course he's the last to board, taxi screeching into the harbour and Naomi shuffling him onto the ship with more than a slight air of annoyance, and Dan already forgets what the boat's called or how long they'll be at sea, but the woman who helps him with his bags -- Charlotte; he already likes the sound of her name rolling around his tongue -- well, he doesn't need a note in his journal to help him remember that.
#05 - Wrong
The rain's coming down in sheets and they're drenched, his dress shirt soaked through and puckered against his skin, and they huddle under a tree, trying to wait out the storm and struggling with a damp map that should be pointing them towards the Tempest; "I think we're, uh, lost; took a wrong turn or something," he stammers, squinting into the darkness, and this is where most people give up, wash their hands of poor, baffled Daniel Faraday, but instead Charlotte smiles and nods, settling in against the rough bark with a look that says to take his time (it's more than just a vote of confidence, her silent understanding).
#06 - Gentle
He traces light fingers over the bruising -- an ugly, swollen mass of purple and green -- trailing a path up to her collarbone as he inspects the injury (he thinks he may kill Ben Linus if he ever lays eyes on him, or at least die trying), her skin slick and soft against his, and pretends not to notice both of them holding their breath.
#07 - One
Desmond is their one hope, her one hope; Daniel knows this, too well, and prays he hasn't misplaced his faith.
#08 - Thousand
Five minutes or five thousand years is what he tells them, when to expect the next flash, but what he doesn't add is how the latter would be just fine with him if she were there too.
#09 - King
Charlotte flips over the last card and he's gotten it completely wrong -- different colour, another suit, the lines of ink around the character's crown like a taunt -- Dan puffs out a breath in frustration, face dark, and Charlotte (not for the first time) can't decide whether a smack or a kiss would better bring him to his senses (she settles on neither).
#10 - Learn
Naomi manages to clear a space below decks for close-quarters combat training ("I can't be watching your asses every second," she grumbles in explanation), scours some exercise mats from somewhere; within 10 minutes Frank manages to accidentally sock Miles upside the head and Charlotte wastes no time flipping Dan onto his back, offering a grin and a breezy "I'll teach you that one" as she hauls him upright.
#11 - Blur
His years at Oxford are a blur -- a mishmash of experiments and dusty laboratories and scratching up research papers with red pen -- but he thinks, maybe, he remembers that feeling from before, the one that squeezes his insides when Charlotte moves past him in the ship's corridor or throws him one of those smiles; her eyes shine, teasing, but she's noncommittal about the past, the quirk of her lips and arch of her brow issuing a challenge, find the clues, and it's not the first time he's damned his failing mind but he's willing (christ, is he) to try and figure it out.
#12 - Wait
They decide to hold off until sunrise before picking up their journey towards the Orchid, flashing twice more into another storm before Locke builds a small, smoky fire from damp wood scattered just within the treeline; Charlotte isn't startled when Daniel sits down next to her and loops his arms around her waist, loose and gangly, whispers sleep against her temple, but she does and that's the biggest surprise.
#13 - Change
It's important, the work they're doing -- the work he's doing -- she tells him one night after a frustrating day pouring over equations (bearings still just a few numbers off and why can't he get this right?), while they're escaping the thick, stuffy stench of the cabins with the sky an expanse of twinkling stars above them, and there's enough power, enough passion in her voice, Dan thinks, for the both of them.
#14 - Command
"Sod off, Keamy," Charlotte almost growls at him -- Daniel half a step behind her, still flinching at the mercenary's rounded fist, dangerously close to his face -- but he backs off eventually, face twisting into a grimace, because five inches and at least 70 pounds of muscle are no match for the fire in her gaze.
#15 - Hold
He wakes up with dried tears creasing his lashes, Charlotte curled next to him in the sand, one hand resting on his chest -- "sorry," she murmurs at him, sleepily (rubbing her eyes and, he swears, scooting closer) "you were having a nightmare, and nothing else seemed to work."
#16 - Need
The countdown's over but he's still breathing hard, heart thrumming against his ribcage and adrenaline shot straight through his veins, and Charlotte, pulling away the safety jumpsuit like a second skin, tousles his hair ("way to go, Dan") in a friendly, rumpled kind of way; her touch lingers at the back of his neck, hip grazing his, and if he weren't such a coward -- imagines hands anchored under hips and the weight of her knees around his waist and ragged, thready breath against his throat -- but he is and that's all there is to it.
#17 - Vision
The Dharma cot creaks and groans under his weight as he sleeps, dreams in shades of primary colours -- red hair and blue eyes and white, white skin -- and every dawn's break is more painful than the last.
#18 - Attention
They've been on the freighter less than two weeks when Miles explodes at them one night -- "Are both of you too stupid or just scared?" he sneers, words laced with spite, rising above their playful banter -- and stomps out of the room with all the grace of a temper-tantrumed five-year-old, leaving a thoroughly befuddled Dan and Charlotte, along with a half-finished card game, in his wake.
#19 - Soul
Daniel's never been sure what he believes (his mother turning her nose up at church and spiritualism a big blank of a spot growing up), always fell back to the comforting familiarity of empiricism, his own logic, but Charlotte's talking about one of her excavations again as she lays back on her bunk and smiles, wistful, at the ceiling, and he thinks there has to be a measure of something sacrosanct in the light on her hair and her voice lacing through his thoughts.
#20 - Picture
A creased photograph slips out of her luggage while she searches for a sweater -- something to ward off the chill that's slid across the ocean -- and he can't help but spare it a quick glance (three redhead girls, all young, in party dresses and flanked on each side by smiling parents) before wordlessly tucking it back into her bag.
#21 - Fool
He presses a kiss to her forehead as soon as the others are gone to the well, then one to her lips, the blood there like a cool, tinny balm; "I'm sorry," he gasps against her skin while she grits out another shuddering sob, salty wetness prickling his cheeks, and he can't tell whose tears they are anymore -- I'm so sorry.
#22 - Mad
"You're bloody mad, Daniel," Charlotte spits at him as he bundles up against the thunderstorm, rain lashing their tent; he's single-minded, focused with intensity on the ripe opportunity for experimentation the weather brings, but he still doesn't miss the edge of worry behind her angry words.
#23 - Child
There's everything in front of her and nothing at all; a prisoner, he thinks as he scans the pathway, watches her scramble on wobbly legs past her mother -- of the island, of fate, of the future.
#24 - Now
It's now, but it's not, with her mother and then Henry, that git, and one of her colleagues from Oxford; she feels the tug of the past pulling at every inch of her -- and then it's just Dan, crouched beside her against a background of green, and this, this is where she wants to stay.
#25 - Shadow
He looks haunted when she asks whether he left a girlfriend or anyone else back home; their light, easy conversation turns stilted and eventually he slips out of her cabin with barely a word, the silent shadows of past mistakes still clinging to him.
#26 - Goodbye
"Nothing's forever," Charlotte smirks at him, eyes mirroring the ocean behind her and pushing back a handful of curls from her face, trying for nonchalance and just falling short; "but it could be" is what echoes, useless, through his mind, words dying on his lips as he turns in the sand and leaves anyway.
#27 - Hide
He just nods when one of the other DI recruits slaps him on the back, laughs off his latest weak excuse for skipping after-work beers at the on-campus pub -- "missing someone back on the island, Faraday?" -- because it's not that simple, because it's just easier not to bother, because something's broken down in this equation and for the first time ever he doesn't have any way to find the solution.
#28 - Fortune
She grabs his hand, palms side-by-side, squinting at their life lines in the dying firelight ("my sister loves this sort of thing, tea leaves and astrology, all that nonsense," she explains, running a fingertip along the creases in his flesh) and then pulling an absent shrug; "they're both so short."
#29 - Safe
Dan fumbles for the safety and wheels around, gun -- clumsy, awkward in his hand, shaking almost imperceptibly -- trained on the inky black length of jungle before them, whispers filtering through the trees, and though he doesn't have a hope in hell of fighting whatever might come, Charlotte can't say she minds the misplaced gallantry, or the feel of his body pressed back against hers.
#30 - Ghost
He finds the spot -- that tree, those bushes, he'll never forget -- and falls to his knees, Miles following suit, seeking hands splayed out and running along the grass; "she's not here," he eventually sighs, weary, cracking one eye open and shaking his head, and this time Dan's tears taste more bitter than before.
#31 - Book
They trade personal quirks and tastes like currency, tossing questions back and forth as idle time chugs along with the freighter, like where did you grow up? and didn't you see that movie?; it's the favourite book one that stumps Charlotte, makes her pause and turns her eyes a stormy grey, though she appears in Dan's doorway later that night bearing a well-thumbed copy of Where The Sidewalk Ends with a scrawled inscription from her father, and he feels like maybe one more puzzle piece has fallen into place.
#32 - Eye
His mother eyes him from the corner of the tent -- quick and sharp and always suspicious -- and Richard waits, bordering on impatience, impertinence, for an answer, but it's Charlotte who rattles through his brain like always, and he can almost feel Miles' eyeroll of epic proportions as he offers his love, his feelings as proof of good intentions (and for once -- for once -- it's enough).
#33 - Never
All the nevers, they're his one constant after she's gone; it's the masochist in him, he considers, to get lost in idle thoughts -- drifting, aimless fantasies -- about the dinners and late nights and moments never shared, about the ways he never got to see her (twisted in sheets and body beaded with sweat, mouth against his), about the words he never got to hear in reply, if he would have ever heard them at all.
#34 - Sing
She hears him sing, just one time -- humming something she vaguely recognizes as an old Broadway tune (something about rainbows) while he's fidgeting with one of his gadgets -- but the question makes his eyes turn soft and sad, mumble a non-answer, and she doesn't ask again.
#35 - Sudden
He's not in love with her until he stumbles back to the island, dragging the zodiac through wet sand -- well, that's not exactly true; he feels like he was always in love with her, as much as he can, and maybe that's why 10 years passed alongside Theresa with the future always waved off in conversation, and why he first gripped Charlotte's hand on the Kahana with a sense of finally, you're here -- but he still trips over the knowledge, suddenly, admits it to himself as he strides up the beach with salt clinging to his skin and sees her smile, a beacon of relief guiding him back.
#36 - Stop
"Stop," he says, gently, voice breaking the still silence of the jungle's unbearable heat, reaching out to stop her mid-step; Dan pauses on the path and cranes his neck towards the sky, face upturned and eyes wide, wondering -- "It's just ... we're here," he shrugs, bashful. "Let's just, be here, for a second, if that's okay." -- and Charlotte nods quick to hide her delight, joining him in a slow, lazy circle to stare up past the treetops.
#37 - Time
He's plied his trade in time -- in how it can be shaped and folded; bent, manipulated -- so the irony stabs him, cruel and deep, as he wipes more blood from her chin, of how little they have together left.
#38 - Wash
The evening sky is a wash of pinks and reds through the window, halved by the ocean, as the sun dips lower; "can't say it's not beautiful," Charlotte grins at him, arms wrapped around herself and leaning back on one of the galley benches, and he holds her gaze just a little too long before he answers with a soft, "absolutely."
#39 - Torn
Juliet appears out of nowhere, in the wake of that brilliant burst of white light -- "he'll be back," she murmurs, half a smile cracking her expression and rum bottle still dangling from her fingers -- and joins Charlotte at the shore, a silent vigil out towards the never-ending stretch of blue, the empty horizon reflecting back her own words ("I'm going to stay; for now, anyway") and nothing more than a cruel reminder.
#40 - History
A desire to tell him everything -- spill out her entire life history, every ridiculous ounce of it -- grabs hold of Charlotte one night and won't let go, so she whispers his name into the pitch-black of the tent and a snore is all she gets in reply; maybe, she thinks as she rolls back over (something flickering dimmer inside), it's better that way.
#41 - Power
They press down on all sides, voices raised and accusations sharp, a half-circle of grim faces, anger lying in wait; Charlotte's planted in the sand and standing her ground, expression impassive and haughty -- more likely to pistol-whip one of them than play diplomat -- and the timing's not great but Dan's never thought her more beautiful.
#42 - Bother
Frank sighs -- a terse, put-on sound -- and tosses a wrench back in the toolbox on the chopper's floor, the clattering of metal on metal waking Daniel from his back-and-forth visual patrol of the ship's decks, screwdriver hanging limp and useless in his hands; "I think I've got it covered from here, Dan -- now scram and go find her," the older man intones, weary sarcasm flying right past his failed would-be mechanic, who brightens, nods and scurries after the glimpse of red curls they both spotted earlier.
#43 - God
One strange, funny-sounding man leaves and another -- this one taller, Charlotte thinks, and not so sad-looking -- takes his place; she smiles up at her new companion, shyly offering a piece of her chocolate bar, but he just pats her hand and tell her to be good before disappearing into the crowd.
#44 - Wall
It doesn't take long for the survivors to dig in and grip hard to Dan's sympathies, taking root in his good intentions and blossoming with a word of advice there, a helpful hand here (whether it's surgical instruments or a broken sat phone, he seems to do it all); "they're good people -- you should give them a chance," he chides her one night as they make a water run, surprising her with his frankness, and all Charlotte manages is a grumbled "whatever" -- because what he doesn't get is that his trust mirrors her instincts; she just wants to keep him, them safe -- as she treks through the trees.
#45 - Naked
The women's shower breaks three days out of Fiji, so when he wanders in to the washroom, mind still lingering on his latest calculations, he doesn't even notice her at first -- "Dan!" she yelps, clawing for the nearest towel and heaving the door shut -- and then he can't do anything but laugh, leaning against the door frame, listening to the echo of the same coming from the other side.
#46 - Drive
Her father -- step-father, she self-corrects -- never understood her furious push through school, sisters waved off her academic ambitions and turned back to their wealthy husbands and wealthier lives, mother despised each degree more than the last (though she wouldn't ever admit why), but then green hills peak over the horizon, Dan fidgeting with excitement at her elbow, and Charlotte knows everything, it was so, so worth it.
#47 - Harm
Jin disappears back into the shadows, swallowed by the darkness, and it takes the sharp bite of her own nails buried deep in her palms to realize how tight her fists are clenched, his threat pulsing through her veins and where did he bloody get off bringing Daniel into it?; she doesn't think much about it, that sweep of pounding rage, after, but clasps her hand around Dan's -- ignoring his dumbstruck look -- while they sit together later that night just the same.
#48 - Precious
This is what he'll always remember -- parted lips at his cheek and a soft touch on his shoulder and her fingers skimming his as she flips over the last of the cards; this is all he has to hold on to.
#49 - Hunger
"They've got cereal of all things," Charlotte laughs, finished rifling through the beach camp's makeshift kitchen and wagging a utilitarian-looking black and white box at him; Dan chuckles in reply, thinking it incredible that breakfast food is what brings that kind of smile to her face (and that it's something, definitely, he wouldn't mind seeing again).
#50 - Believe
The power of prayer across most cultures, Charlotte had explained to him, comes purely from conviction that it works -- men healed and lives restored without scientific explanation otherwise -- though she'd smirked and rolled her eyes at the tail-end of her words; three years gone and so much blood and and it's a whispered chant on his tongue as Richard and his mother grow dimmer above him, a desperate plea mumbled from cracked lips as he fumbles through his memories for the weight of her hair between his hands, her breath in his ear, for passage to something better than what came before, for her --
-- I believe, I believe, I believe.
Characters/Pairings: Daniel/Charlotte; minor Miles, Frank, Naomi, Juliet, Eloise, Richard
Summary: "He's plied his trade in time -- in how it can be shaped and folded; bent, manipulated -- so the irony stabs him, cruel and deep, as he wipes more blood from her chin, of how little they have together left." Fifty moments between Daniel Faraday and Charlotte Lewis.
Rating: PG
Warnings: Mentions of character death.
Spoilers: Up until 5x15.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Written for 1sentence challenge table, theme set Epsilon. Thanks to
angela_weber for being such a great cheerleader with this.
----
def.: a mathematical operation of two functions, producing a third function that is typically viewed as a modified version of one of the original functions; to loop, spiral.
----
#01 - Motion
It's the motion of the boat, the rocking, shifting lull, that first really brings them together -- hanging over the railing, Charlotte laughs and admits she's never actually seen someone turn green before; Dan grimaces out a smile and gratefully accepts her offering of tea and Dramamine.
#02 - Cool
They fall a bit behind the others stopping to refill their canteens in the creek, and Daniel almost stumbles backwards into the cool water streaming around their ankles when Charlotte leans forward, suddenly, impulsively, and brushes her lips against his, blue eyes bright and full of understanding and reflecting the words -- because I'm in love with the woman sitting next to me -- his stuttered declaration issued only (hours? days?) before.
#03 - Young
"God, I was so stupid," she mumbles, sheepish, laughing at her own creeping blush and half-hiding behind her coffee mug, recounting her almost-engagement to some corporate law student that lasted all of three weeks; Dan's thoughts drift back to Theresa, sallow-skinned and skirting between life and death, and "yeah," he sighs, voice catching, "me too."
#04 - Last
Of course he's the last to board, taxi screeching into the harbour and Naomi shuffling him onto the ship with more than a slight air of annoyance, and Dan already forgets what the boat's called or how long they'll be at sea, but the woman who helps him with his bags -- Charlotte; he already likes the sound of her name rolling around his tongue -- well, he doesn't need a note in his journal to help him remember that.
#05 - Wrong
The rain's coming down in sheets and they're drenched, his dress shirt soaked through and puckered against his skin, and they huddle under a tree, trying to wait out the storm and struggling with a damp map that should be pointing them towards the Tempest; "I think we're, uh, lost; took a wrong turn or something," he stammers, squinting into the darkness, and this is where most people give up, wash their hands of poor, baffled Daniel Faraday, but instead Charlotte smiles and nods, settling in against the rough bark with a look that says to take his time (it's more than just a vote of confidence, her silent understanding).
#06 - Gentle
He traces light fingers over the bruising -- an ugly, swollen mass of purple and green -- trailing a path up to her collarbone as he inspects the injury (he thinks he may kill Ben Linus if he ever lays eyes on him, or at least die trying), her skin slick and soft against his, and pretends not to notice both of them holding their breath.
#07 - One
Desmond is their one hope, her one hope; Daniel knows this, too well, and prays he hasn't misplaced his faith.
#08 - Thousand
Five minutes or five thousand years is what he tells them, when to expect the next flash, but what he doesn't add is how the latter would be just fine with him if she were there too.
#09 - King
Charlotte flips over the last card and he's gotten it completely wrong -- different colour, another suit, the lines of ink around the character's crown like a taunt -- Dan puffs out a breath in frustration, face dark, and Charlotte (not for the first time) can't decide whether a smack or a kiss would better bring him to his senses (she settles on neither).
#10 - Learn
Naomi manages to clear a space below decks for close-quarters combat training ("I can't be watching your asses every second," she grumbles in explanation), scours some exercise mats from somewhere; within 10 minutes Frank manages to accidentally sock Miles upside the head and Charlotte wastes no time flipping Dan onto his back, offering a grin and a breezy "I'll teach you that one" as she hauls him upright.
#11 - Blur
His years at Oxford are a blur -- a mishmash of experiments and dusty laboratories and scratching up research papers with red pen -- but he thinks, maybe, he remembers that feeling from before, the one that squeezes his insides when Charlotte moves past him in the ship's corridor or throws him one of those smiles; her eyes shine, teasing, but she's noncommittal about the past, the quirk of her lips and arch of her brow issuing a challenge, find the clues, and it's not the first time he's damned his failing mind but he's willing (christ, is he) to try and figure it out.
#12 - Wait
They decide to hold off until sunrise before picking up their journey towards the Orchid, flashing twice more into another storm before Locke builds a small, smoky fire from damp wood scattered just within the treeline; Charlotte isn't startled when Daniel sits down next to her and loops his arms around her waist, loose and gangly, whispers sleep against her temple, but she does and that's the biggest surprise.
#13 - Change
It's important, the work they're doing -- the work he's doing -- she tells him one night after a frustrating day pouring over equations (bearings still just a few numbers off and why can't he get this right?), while they're escaping the thick, stuffy stench of the cabins with the sky an expanse of twinkling stars above them, and there's enough power, enough passion in her voice, Dan thinks, for the both of them.
#14 - Command
"Sod off, Keamy," Charlotte almost growls at him -- Daniel half a step behind her, still flinching at the mercenary's rounded fist, dangerously close to his face -- but he backs off eventually, face twisting into a grimace, because five inches and at least 70 pounds of muscle are no match for the fire in her gaze.
#15 - Hold
He wakes up with dried tears creasing his lashes, Charlotte curled next to him in the sand, one hand resting on his chest -- "sorry," she murmurs at him, sleepily (rubbing her eyes and, he swears, scooting closer) "you were having a nightmare, and nothing else seemed to work."
#16 - Need
The countdown's over but he's still breathing hard, heart thrumming against his ribcage and adrenaline shot straight through his veins, and Charlotte, pulling away the safety jumpsuit like a second skin, tousles his hair ("way to go, Dan") in a friendly, rumpled kind of way; her touch lingers at the back of his neck, hip grazing his, and if he weren't such a coward -- imagines hands anchored under hips and the weight of her knees around his waist and ragged, thready breath against his throat -- but he is and that's all there is to it.
#17 - Vision
The Dharma cot creaks and groans under his weight as he sleeps, dreams in shades of primary colours -- red hair and blue eyes and white, white skin -- and every dawn's break is more painful than the last.
#18 - Attention
They've been on the freighter less than two weeks when Miles explodes at them one night -- "Are both of you too stupid or just scared?" he sneers, words laced with spite, rising above their playful banter -- and stomps out of the room with all the grace of a temper-tantrumed five-year-old, leaving a thoroughly befuddled Dan and Charlotte, along with a half-finished card game, in his wake.
#19 - Soul
Daniel's never been sure what he believes (his mother turning her nose up at church and spiritualism a big blank of a spot growing up), always fell back to the comforting familiarity of empiricism, his own logic, but Charlotte's talking about one of her excavations again as she lays back on her bunk and smiles, wistful, at the ceiling, and he thinks there has to be a measure of something sacrosanct in the light on her hair and her voice lacing through his thoughts.
#20 - Picture
A creased photograph slips out of her luggage while she searches for a sweater -- something to ward off the chill that's slid across the ocean -- and he can't help but spare it a quick glance (three redhead girls, all young, in party dresses and flanked on each side by smiling parents) before wordlessly tucking it back into her bag.
#21 - Fool
He presses a kiss to her forehead as soon as the others are gone to the well, then one to her lips, the blood there like a cool, tinny balm; "I'm sorry," he gasps against her skin while she grits out another shuddering sob, salty wetness prickling his cheeks, and he can't tell whose tears they are anymore -- I'm so sorry.
#22 - Mad
"You're bloody mad, Daniel," Charlotte spits at him as he bundles up against the thunderstorm, rain lashing their tent; he's single-minded, focused with intensity on the ripe opportunity for experimentation the weather brings, but he still doesn't miss the edge of worry behind her angry words.
#23 - Child
There's everything in front of her and nothing at all; a prisoner, he thinks as he scans the pathway, watches her scramble on wobbly legs past her mother -- of the island, of fate, of the future.
#24 - Now
It's now, but it's not, with her mother and then Henry, that git, and one of her colleagues from Oxford; she feels the tug of the past pulling at every inch of her -- and then it's just Dan, crouched beside her against a background of green, and this, this is where she wants to stay.
#25 - Shadow
He looks haunted when she asks whether he left a girlfriend or anyone else back home; their light, easy conversation turns stilted and eventually he slips out of her cabin with barely a word, the silent shadows of past mistakes still clinging to him.
#26 - Goodbye
"Nothing's forever," Charlotte smirks at him, eyes mirroring the ocean behind her and pushing back a handful of curls from her face, trying for nonchalance and just falling short; "but it could be" is what echoes, useless, through his mind, words dying on his lips as he turns in the sand and leaves anyway.
#27 - Hide
He just nods when one of the other DI recruits slaps him on the back, laughs off his latest weak excuse for skipping after-work beers at the on-campus pub -- "missing someone back on the island, Faraday?" -- because it's not that simple, because it's just easier not to bother, because something's broken down in this equation and for the first time ever he doesn't have any way to find the solution.
#28 - Fortune
She grabs his hand, palms side-by-side, squinting at their life lines in the dying firelight ("my sister loves this sort of thing, tea leaves and astrology, all that nonsense," she explains, running a fingertip along the creases in his flesh) and then pulling an absent shrug; "they're both so short."
#29 - Safe
Dan fumbles for the safety and wheels around, gun -- clumsy, awkward in his hand, shaking almost imperceptibly -- trained on the inky black length of jungle before them, whispers filtering through the trees, and though he doesn't have a hope in hell of fighting whatever might come, Charlotte can't say she minds the misplaced gallantry, or the feel of his body pressed back against hers.
#30 - Ghost
He finds the spot -- that tree, those bushes, he'll never forget -- and falls to his knees, Miles following suit, seeking hands splayed out and running along the grass; "she's not here," he eventually sighs, weary, cracking one eye open and shaking his head, and this time Dan's tears taste more bitter than before.
#31 - Book
They trade personal quirks and tastes like currency, tossing questions back and forth as idle time chugs along with the freighter, like where did you grow up? and didn't you see that movie?; it's the favourite book one that stumps Charlotte, makes her pause and turns her eyes a stormy grey, though she appears in Dan's doorway later that night bearing a well-thumbed copy of Where The Sidewalk Ends with a scrawled inscription from her father, and he feels like maybe one more puzzle piece has fallen into place.
#32 - Eye
His mother eyes him from the corner of the tent -- quick and sharp and always suspicious -- and Richard waits, bordering on impatience, impertinence, for an answer, but it's Charlotte who rattles through his brain like always, and he can almost feel Miles' eyeroll of epic proportions as he offers his love, his feelings as proof of good intentions (and for once -- for once -- it's enough).
#33 - Never
All the nevers, they're his one constant after she's gone; it's the masochist in him, he considers, to get lost in idle thoughts -- drifting, aimless fantasies -- about the dinners and late nights and moments never shared, about the ways he never got to see her (twisted in sheets and body beaded with sweat, mouth against his), about the words he never got to hear in reply, if he would have ever heard them at all.
#34 - Sing
She hears him sing, just one time -- humming something she vaguely recognizes as an old Broadway tune (something about rainbows) while he's fidgeting with one of his gadgets -- but the question makes his eyes turn soft and sad, mumble a non-answer, and she doesn't ask again.
#35 - Sudden
He's not in love with her until he stumbles back to the island, dragging the zodiac through wet sand -- well, that's not exactly true; he feels like he was always in love with her, as much as he can, and maybe that's why 10 years passed alongside Theresa with the future always waved off in conversation, and why he first gripped Charlotte's hand on the Kahana with a sense of finally, you're here -- but he still trips over the knowledge, suddenly, admits it to himself as he strides up the beach with salt clinging to his skin and sees her smile, a beacon of relief guiding him back.
#36 - Stop
"Stop," he says, gently, voice breaking the still silence of the jungle's unbearable heat, reaching out to stop her mid-step; Dan pauses on the path and cranes his neck towards the sky, face upturned and eyes wide, wondering -- "It's just ... we're here," he shrugs, bashful. "Let's just, be here, for a second, if that's okay." -- and Charlotte nods quick to hide her delight, joining him in a slow, lazy circle to stare up past the treetops.
#37 - Time
He's plied his trade in time -- in how it can be shaped and folded; bent, manipulated -- so the irony stabs him, cruel and deep, as he wipes more blood from her chin, of how little they have together left.
#38 - Wash
The evening sky is a wash of pinks and reds through the window, halved by the ocean, as the sun dips lower; "can't say it's not beautiful," Charlotte grins at him, arms wrapped around herself and leaning back on one of the galley benches, and he holds her gaze just a little too long before he answers with a soft, "absolutely."
#39 - Torn
Juliet appears out of nowhere, in the wake of that brilliant burst of white light -- "he'll be back," she murmurs, half a smile cracking her expression and rum bottle still dangling from her fingers -- and joins Charlotte at the shore, a silent vigil out towards the never-ending stretch of blue, the empty horizon reflecting back her own words ("I'm going to stay; for now, anyway") and nothing more than a cruel reminder.
#40 - History
A desire to tell him everything -- spill out her entire life history, every ridiculous ounce of it -- grabs hold of Charlotte one night and won't let go, so she whispers his name into the pitch-black of the tent and a snore is all she gets in reply; maybe, she thinks as she rolls back over (something flickering dimmer inside), it's better that way.
#41 - Power
They press down on all sides, voices raised and accusations sharp, a half-circle of grim faces, anger lying in wait; Charlotte's planted in the sand and standing her ground, expression impassive and haughty -- more likely to pistol-whip one of them than play diplomat -- and the timing's not great but Dan's never thought her more beautiful.
#42 - Bother
Frank sighs -- a terse, put-on sound -- and tosses a wrench back in the toolbox on the chopper's floor, the clattering of metal on metal waking Daniel from his back-and-forth visual patrol of the ship's decks, screwdriver hanging limp and useless in his hands; "I think I've got it covered from here, Dan -- now scram and go find her," the older man intones, weary sarcasm flying right past his failed would-be mechanic, who brightens, nods and scurries after the glimpse of red curls they both spotted earlier.
#43 - God
One strange, funny-sounding man leaves and another -- this one taller, Charlotte thinks, and not so sad-looking -- takes his place; she smiles up at her new companion, shyly offering a piece of her chocolate bar, but he just pats her hand and tell her to be good before disappearing into the crowd.
#44 - Wall
It doesn't take long for the survivors to dig in and grip hard to Dan's sympathies, taking root in his good intentions and blossoming with a word of advice there, a helpful hand here (whether it's surgical instruments or a broken sat phone, he seems to do it all); "they're good people -- you should give them a chance," he chides her one night as they make a water run, surprising her with his frankness, and all Charlotte manages is a grumbled "whatever" -- because what he doesn't get is that his trust mirrors her instincts; she just wants to keep him, them safe -- as she treks through the trees.
#45 - Naked
The women's shower breaks three days out of Fiji, so when he wanders in to the washroom, mind still lingering on his latest calculations, he doesn't even notice her at first -- "Dan!" she yelps, clawing for the nearest towel and heaving the door shut -- and then he can't do anything but laugh, leaning against the door frame, listening to the echo of the same coming from the other side.
#46 - Drive
Her father -- step-father, she self-corrects -- never understood her furious push through school, sisters waved off her academic ambitions and turned back to their wealthy husbands and wealthier lives, mother despised each degree more than the last (though she wouldn't ever admit why), but then green hills peak over the horizon, Dan fidgeting with excitement at her elbow, and Charlotte knows everything, it was so, so worth it.
#47 - Harm
Jin disappears back into the shadows, swallowed by the darkness, and it takes the sharp bite of her own nails buried deep in her palms to realize how tight her fists are clenched, his threat pulsing through her veins and where did he bloody get off bringing Daniel into it?; she doesn't think much about it, that sweep of pounding rage, after, but clasps her hand around Dan's -- ignoring his dumbstruck look -- while they sit together later that night just the same.
#48 - Precious
This is what he'll always remember -- parted lips at his cheek and a soft touch on his shoulder and her fingers skimming his as she flips over the last of the cards; this is all he has to hold on to.
#49 - Hunger
"They've got cereal of all things," Charlotte laughs, finished rifling through the beach camp's makeshift kitchen and wagging a utilitarian-looking black and white box at him; Dan chuckles in reply, thinking it incredible that breakfast food is what brings that kind of smile to her face (and that it's something, definitely, he wouldn't mind seeing again).
#50 - Believe
The power of prayer across most cultures, Charlotte had explained to him, comes purely from conviction that it works -- men healed and lives restored without scientific explanation otherwise -- though she'd smirked and rolled her eyes at the tail-end of her words; three years gone and so much blood and and it's a whispered chant on his tongue as Richard and his mother grow dimmer above him, a desperate plea mumbled from cracked lips as he fumbles through his memories for the weight of her hair between his hands, her breath in his ear, for passage to something better than what came before, for her --
-- I believe, I believe, I believe.