A Prayer for Charlie Pace (Part 1)
A Prayer for Charlie Pace
Name: Falafel
Title: A Prayer for Charlie Pace.
Summary: An AU story in two parts. Desmond saves Charlie from drowning in the Looking Glass, but when Charlie falls gravely ill Desmond fears that he may have made a mistake in robbing him of his destiny.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Desmond, Charlie, Hurley, Sawyer, Sayid, Juliet, Jin and Bernard.
Word Count: 1957
Warnings: Morbid themes and sickness.
Author's Notes: A bright spark pointed out to me that in a pressurized underwater station the water flooding into the coms room would have only risen to just above the porthole. There should have been a substantial air pocket between the window and the ceiling. Example! I thought I'd use this as the basis of an AU fic in which Charlie escapes drowning.
Part 1: The Air Pocket
Charlie’s hand slipped from the glass...his face disappeared behind a stream of bubbles as he released his last breath...
Desmond turned away from the door. He didn’t wish to intrude on Charlie’s final moments. He could no longer stand to watch. He fell to his knees, gasping and whimpering, his blood running cold. Then in numb movements he rose to his feet and began climbing into the diving gear. He couldn’t stay in this place. He could not linger here while his friend was drowning in the next room. His head span and tears blurred his vision as he wondered if Charlie’s heart had stopped beating yet or whether he was still writing songs in his head...
He staggered over to the brink of the moon pool, glancing over the blood-stained floor and the blankets covering the bodies of the two hostiles who had bound Charlie to a chair and beaten him. His stomach lurched. He looked back at the door to the communication room. I can’t just leave him down here, his mind insisted. The least he could do was to recover Charlie’s body so he could be given a funeral service and a burial.
Desmond plunged into the water and swam around the station walls searching for the porthole window. On his way he noticed a disembodied arm slowly sinking through the water. He supposed it belonged to the man with the eye-patch. The man who had killed Charlie. Desmond’s stomach turned once more as he remembered having that bastard at gunpoint in the jungle. Charlie had been the one who warned him this man would be back...that Desmond should have killed him when he had the chance. Desmond wished that he had listened.
Desmond located the porthole and swam through. He was shocked when his head broke the surface of the water. There was an air pocket between the window and the ceiling. Of course. The station was pressurized. The sea level would only rise as high as these openings. Desmond tore the snorkel away from his face and squinted through the shadows of the flooded chamber.
Charlie was floating in a corner. His chin was resting above the lapping water. His eyes were closed. He was shuddering and bracing himself. Desmond could see clouds of chilled breath seeping through his lips and nostrils.
He’s alive, he thought. He’s still bloody alive!
“Oh Jesus…” Desmond murmured, shakily. “Are you alright, brother?”
Charlie’s eyes fluttered open. He blinked in confusion.
“What are you doing, Des?” he asked, a hint of alarm in his voice.
“I…I came round to get you. Come on, mate. I’ll help you swim back up to the boat. You can take the snorkel. Come on, let’s go…”
Desmond held out his hand, but Charlie recoiled, backing further into the corner.
“You’re changing things!” Charlie protested. “If things don’t happen the way you saw them, the vision will change! There won’t be a rescue…”
“Listen brother...” Desmond faltered. “How could it possibly change things? Your friends are up in the hills and the sunlight. We are down here in the cold and dark. How can we effect what happens to them? We can’t! So come on will you...”
Charlie wasn’t convinced. “You said I have to die…you told me that…”
“Well now I’m telling you that you don’t!” Desmond snapped, growing impatient. “Christ! You can’t expect me to just leave you here!”
Charlie’s eyes were wide and blazing. Desmond saw in this moment that Charlie desperately wanted to live, but his desperation to protect Claire and Aaron was far greater. He loved them more than life itself.
“It’s my destiny…” Charlie said simply, his voice numb with acceptance. “…I have to die so they can be saved…I need to…”
“What you need to do, brother…” Desmond interrupted, “…is get back to the beach camp and tell your friends about this!”
He seized Charlie’s wrist and pointed at the inky blur on his palm. Charlie tried to wrench himself free from Desmond. He shoved against his chest, but his arms were weak and feeble. Desmond was much quicker and stronger. Without thinking, he rammed his fist into Charlie’s face. His head slammed against the metal wall and he slumped, unconscious. Desmond caught him around his waist, holding him above the water. He regretted hitting him, but it seemed knocking Charlie senseless was the only way to settle this. Charlie of all people would understand. Desmond’s cheek was still smarting where he had been struck with the paddle.
Desmond strapped the snorkel over Charlie’s head, forcing the mouthpiece between his lips. Then taking several gulping breaths from the clammy air in the flooded room, Desmond ducked underwater and swam through the porthole, dragging Charlie with him. Once they were out of the station, Desmond started kicking frantically, one arm reaching up for the light that hung above the surface of the ocean. It was a good thing that Charlie wasn’t a heavy guy. The combined weight of their jeans made the swim taxing enough. His body ached for oxygen. He knew that he could breathe much sooner if he just let Charlie go. But he wasn’t going to do that.
Desmond’s face burst through the waves. He sucked the salted air into his lungs and squeezed his eyes shut against the dazzling sun. He was still clutching Charlie to his chest. He treaded water and pressed his fingers to his friend’s neck. There was still a pulse. It was slow and faint, but it was still there…
~*~
After Desmond had pulled the outrigger into land, he hauled Charlie out onto the beach and shook him into wakefulness. Charlie took one look at Desmond and then rolled over onto his side, moaning like a wounded animal. Desmond grasped his arm, coiled it around his neck and yanked him to his feet.
“Come on, Charlie…” Desmond insisted, forcing him to walk. “We have to get you back to camp and show your friends that you’re alright. Then you can rest, okay? Just a wee bit further, brother…”
Charlie’s head and arms hung limp like a puppet whose strings had been severed. He stumbled along reluctantly at Desmond’s side.
“You should’ve left me...” he said in a dull whisper.
Desmond hissed through his teeth in mounting frustration. “Charlie, if I could bring myself to stand back and let you die then we wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place, now would we?”
“It’s just gonna keep happening again and again,” Charlie reasoned, making an annoying habit of using Desmond’s words against him. “You can’t stop it forever…”
“Well, I can try,” said Desmond, attempting to sound cocky. “I’m in a routine now, Charlie. If we get rescued you and me will have to be neighbours. That way I’ll be close enough to save your life whenever I need to.”
Desmond forced a smile, but his attempts at cheering Charlie’s spirits were falling flat. He quietened and concentrated on the walk. After a few more yards, Charlie’s knees buckled and he collapsed in the sand, wheezing and retching. A spurt of red foam shot from his mouth. Desmond realised with alarm that he had swallowed a lot of blood and seawater. He was also chilled to the bone. Desmond gingerly reached down to touch one of his bare feet. He was dismayed to find it was cold as a slab of ice.
This was bad. Charlie was showing symptoms of hypothermia and frostbite. Hardly surprising after he had spent the night tied to a chair in wet clothing. Desmond wondered if he should run to camp and call for help, but he was paranoid about leaving Charlie. Instead he mustered up his last reserves of strength and lifted his friend in his arms, determining to carry him the rest of the way.
Now Desmond feared that he had made the wrong decision. It felt as though he had saved Charlie for his own sake. He started to realise that Charlie had been prepared for his death. He had made his peace and resigned himself. It was Desmond who couldn’t accept it, who could not face it. He had dragged Charlie away from that station and up onto dry land, because it was much easier for him than going back alone with a damning sense of survivors guilt and nothing but a drenched list of memories to return to Claire. Apart from anything else Charlie was his closest friend on the island. Desmond wasn’t ready to deal with those feelings of loss and loneliness again.
Desmond squinted ahead of him. In the distance, he saw Hurley, Sayid and Sawyer standing on the beach together; the three of them huddled around a radio. Desmond lowered Charlie onto his feet and urged him to walk. For some sentimental reason Desmond wanted Charlie to walk back into their camp, to hold his head up high and to meet his friends as a returning hero. But Charlie’s eyes were hollow, his footsteps were leaden and he couldn’t stop his weary limbs from shaking.
Hurley lifted his head to see them approaching. His big cheery face broke into a delighted smile. He rushed towards them as fast as he could.
“Charlie! Desmundo!” he exclaimed. “Are you guys okay?”
“Well, what do you know?” said Sawyer, smirking and following after Hurley. “Looks like Shelly Winters lives to dive another day...”
Their smiles faded when they caught sight of the vivid bruises on Charlie’s pale skin, the cuts that were bleeding afresh and the raised rope-burns that scored his arms. This together with the empty look on Charlie face was enough to tell them their mission had not gone smoothly.
“What happened?” Sayid asked immediately.
“Hurley…” said Desmond, handing Charlie over to his best friend. “Get him into some dry clothes. Wrap his feet up and have him lie down under some blankets. I’ll be with you in a moment, brother...”
Hurley nodded rapidly, his face pinched with concern. He took hold of Charlie’s arm and helped him towards the tents. Sayid and Sawyer remained with Desmond, their expressions grave and pensive.
“Who messed him up?” Sawyer asked gruffly.
Desmond sighed. “The station wasn’t flooded. There were two hostiles down there. They caught Charlie on his way in, tied him to a chair and beat him. Then this Ben character sent the one-eyed man along to kill everyone - his own people as well as us. It all got a wee bit messy. But Charlie still managed to switch off the jamming device. Only…only we may have another problem…”
Sayid rolled his eyes. “What now?”
“Can I borrow the walkie, brother? I need to talk to Jack. It’s about that Naomi girl. I don’t think she’s been entirely honest with us.”
Sayid shook his head. “We’ve lost reception. As far as we know Jack is on course for the radio tower. He should have made contact with the rescue boat by now.”
He swallowed. “Let's hope it is a rescue boat then…”
Desmond watched the two men’s faces darken with a familiar feeling of dread. After all that had been fought for and sacrificed this day it now looked like victory might be cruelly snatched away from them. Desmond’s eyes looked beyond them to see Hurley and Bernard helping Charlie to lie down in Claire’s tent. They were calling for Juliet to help them, seeming very distressed by their friend’s condition. Now Desmond had the crushing sense that he had dragged Charlie away from his hero’s death only for him to die an invalid shivering in his sickbed.
Desmond closed his eyes. He remembered seeing a glimpse of Penny’s face on the screen in the coms room. He remembered Charlie’s hand pressed up against the window with the message ‘Not Penny’s boat’ scrawled across his palm in black letters.
He sensed that fate was laughing at him...
( Part 2: The Vigil )