Nineteen Days, NC17

[twistedsunday.livejournal.com]

TITLE: Nineteen Days
PAIRINGS: Charlie/Claire, Shannon/Boone, Shannon/Charlie, Boone/Claire (implied)
RATING: NC-17
DISCLAIMER: The characters and plots of Lost are not mine. Simply borrowing.
GENRE: Angst/Drama
WORDS: 4, 299
NOTES: AU from ‘Special’ onwards. Possible spoilers. Completed before Homecoming was aired.




SUMMARY: The first nineteen days of Claire's return prove to be anything but easy.

1.


Shannon didn’t like Locke. More so she didn’t like Boone with Locke. The way they were as thick as thieves, fused at the hip. And the distinct air of secrecy that followed Boone around like a bad smell, Shannon just plain hated that.

She knew Boone; and she knew when he was hiding something. She’d known his biggest secret since forever and she’d had the ability to see through him ever since. Something was going on, but this time, for the first time, her brother was unreadable.

And though Shannon’s curiosity snapped at her heels every time Boone and Locke disappeared into the jungle, she was just relieved when Boone returned unharmed and, more importantly, alive. Not that she’d ever admit that to him, of course.

So when Locke stepped out of the jungle that night, his expression set and grim, Shannon’s stomach gave a violent twist. She stood bolt upright, hovering by the campfire, her eyes trained on the clearing and she listened. She listened and she waited and the sound of the ocean roared in her ears.

Shannon didn’t realise she’d been holding her breath until Boone wandered onto the beach.

Her chest started aching when she saw Claire beside him.




2.


Charlie never felt emotion the way he did when Claire came back. It slammed into him, a sudden blast, just every kind of feeling imaginable. He couldn’t possibly name them all. He wouldn’t want to try.

Claire was back. Claire. After a week that was too damn long to be just a week.

Kate came to get him, found him in the caves with Hurley and Jack, and then he was running; stumbling over shrubbery, battling against branches and foliage with his arms. His lungs burned and his thighs ached, but his mind was screaming at him, she’s alive, she’s alive and nothing else mattered except that.

He didn’t stop until he reached the beach.

And then he saw her.

And it wrenched his heart.

She was worn and bruised and broken. Hell had its way with her and sent her back, damaged and spoiled and nobody knew what to do.

Nobody except Charlie; but before he could reach her, Locke took him aside and broke the news.

Claire didn’t remember. She didn’t remember anyone in the camp. She didn’t remember the kidnapping. She didn’t remember the crash. She just…didn’t.

Charlie straightened his shoulders, defiant, and pointed to himself. “Yeah, well, she’ll remember me.”

Charlie thought he’d felt the worst he possibly could when Claire was kidnapped.

But when he crouched in front of her and realised she didn’t recognise him, that belief was blown out of the water.



3.


When Boone didn’t go back into the jungle with Locke for three days straight, Shannon couldn’t help being thankful. It settled her mind to know he wasn’t about to become the next in line to be kidnapped.

Still, although her brother was nearby, Shannon still didn’t see him around. He spent his time up at the caves, and Shannon knew he was playing rescue ranger to someone else for a change. Incidentally, a heavily pregnant someone.

So it didn’t surprise her when, on the fourth day that Claire was back, Boone told her he was moving his stuff there.

"She shouldn’t be left alone right now," he said, "so, I’m gonna watch out for her."

Boone didn’t ask Shannon to go with him.

For some reason, she just did.




4.


Charlie avoided the caves for the first four days of Claire’s return. He didn’t want to face her, he couldn’t face her, how could he possibly when he knew what he knew. He let her down and that was that. She wrote in her diary that he made her feel safe and he let her down.

She also wrote that she liked him.

But she didn’t remember that.

He kept busy, made himself useful in any way he could; chopping wood, picking fruit, fishing. Anything to keep his mind off of heroin, off of Claire. He just didn’t want to think about the things he didn’t have anymore.

On the fifth day, Jack asked Charlie to try again.

An hour later, he was handing Claire her diary.

"I, uh, I looked after it for you," he whispered, kneeling at her side. "I know; I should have got it back to you sooner, but..."

Claire looked at him, blue eyes dull and blood-shot, one hand on her rounded belly, and, just for a moment, the corner of her mouth lifted. Charlie felt his stomach drop.

He stayed for five minutes in total.

There didn’t seem much point staying any longer.




5.


On the sixth day, Shannon spoke to Claire for the first time since she’d returned. She wasn’t sure why she’d put it off so long; she thought maybe she was scared of saying something she shouldn’t. Or maybe saying something she should, but saying it all wrong. Because that was her way, after all. She knew that much better than anyone; except Boone.

It was in the afternoon, the air sticky and humid, and Shannon hovered around Claire for a good twenty minutes before moving to sit by her. She was propped up on one of the seats retrieved from the plane wreckage, another strategically placed as foot support , with a blanket draped over her rounded belly.

Shannon nervously rubbed her palms against her knees and glanced over to where Boone and Jin were gutting fish. Boone was never far from Claire. Never more than twenty feet, and he always made sure she could see him. Or so that he could see her. Maybe both. The freak who’d kidnapped Claire was still out there, somewhere, and Boone watched her like a hawk.

"I think jungle fever’s settling in," she said finally, turning her head to look at Claire, "I kinda miss vacuum cleaning."

When Claire smiled, Shannon couldn’t help feeling pleased with herself.




6.

Charlie was hunting with Locke when Ethan found them. Locke fell to the ground without warning and when Charlie turned around, there he was. Ethan. Charlie recognized his face immediately and the hanging scars around his neck burned with memory. It was the seventh day and Claire still didn’t remember.

Questions and answers and reasons were superfluous

He threw himself at the kidnapper, at his murderer, and they hit the ground hard.. They grappled and they grabbed and Charlie wondered when he’d gained the sudden strength he had.

Ethan crushed handfuls of leaves and soil against Charlie’s face, clawed at his head, but Charlie didn’t stop. He couldn’t see but he didn’t need his eyes. He needed his hands and his anger and he was winning. He was winning.

He sat astride Ethan’s chest, gripping his throat and with all his weight, he pushed down, squeezing.

And through blurry vision he watched the life squeeze out of the bastard who’d killed him. The bastard who’d destroyed Claire. Watched his eyes bug and his face redden and swell and…

He watched him die.

Ten minutes later, he set the body alight..

And when Locke eventually came round, it was to the stench of burning flesh.




7.

It soon became obvious to Shannon that Boone was the only one Claire really trusted, and she supposed it had something to do with him spending so much time with her. Eight days and they’d barely been apart.

That morning, Locke told Jack and Boone that Ethan was dead. Shannon hid around the corner, listening in on their conversation. Ethan was dead; Locke and Charlie had found him lying in the bottom of a ravine, already rotting.

"Charlie’s a little weary right now," Locke explained, "but he’ll be fine. He just needs some space."

Jack suggested speaking to him, but Locke rebuked the idea, assuring the doctor Charlie just needed alone time to gather his thoughts.

Nobody told Claire about Ethan’s death; there was no reason to when she didn’t even remember ever being taken.

From her area of the cave, Shannon watched Boone go over to Claire.

She wondered if he’d continue sleeping by her now there was no threat.

He did.



8.


Charlie felt his flesh crawling, itching. Armies of ants swarmed his skin and he couldn’t get them off. He didn’t know what it was. Withdrawals, or guilt? He couldn’t decide.

He huddled against the tree, hugging his knees tightly to his chest, rocking himself back and forth. Ethan’s smell clung to him, permeated into his clothes, his hair. He couldn’t remember when he last slept, when he last closed his eyes and didn’t see Ethan’s twisted face staring back at him.

Maybe it was nine days ago, before Claire came back, when Charlie had hope that she was alive and would be found; when there wasn’t even an inkling that she might not remember him.

Chills racked Charlie’s small frame and he reached back to pull his hood over his head.

Claire had been in his life for just over a month.

He’d been in hers a lot less.




9.


Boone was sat with Claire when she felt the baby kick mid-morning. Shannon watched them from her area of the cave, peering over the top of her book. Claire laughed and Boone looked confused and the whole scene played out like television.

It wasn’t until Claire took Boone’s hand and placed it on her belly so he could feel that Shannon felt her own stomach flip. For a moment she thought it might be sympathy pains, but that was ridiculous. Shannon didn’t get sympathy pains for anybody, not even pregnant women whose babies decided to do a river-dance in their belly.

And then she saw Boone grin. Shannon didn’t remember ever seeing him grin like that around her; he only ever looked miserable or exasperated. He never grinned, and he’d been in love with Shannon since their early teens for gods’ sake. But there he was, grinning and laughing with a woman he’d only really known for the past ten days, and Shannon was jealous.

And she would have been the disgusted with herself, but Claire’s waters broke before she had the chance.




10.


It was Sawyer who told Charlie. He spent half the day looking for him, eventually finding him a fair distance from the rest of the survivors and just said it: Claire had given birth.

Charlie hadn’t left his hiding place since settling there on day eight, and now it was day eleven and the climb back to the caves was steeper than he remembered. He and Sawyer didn’t speak throughout the entire ninety minute hike.

When they arrived, they hovered a short distance from Claire’s part of the cave with Hurley and Shannon and Kate. A heap of blood-stained blankets were piled nearby. Charlie didn’t realise a person could bleed so much and not die.

But that was the important thing. Claire wasn’t dead. And neither was the baby. They were in the cave, together, and Jack and Sun and Boone were tending to them in different ways.

Charlie had imagined this moment. He’d imagined Claire with the baby and people fussing over her, and in his imagination, he’d been the one fussing the most. But that was before and this was now and things were different.

Charlie couldn’t even bring himself to ask anybody around him what sex the baby was; if it had a name; if it was going to be okay. He wanted to go in there and hold Claire’s hand but he couldn’t.

There was no place for him in that cave.

So he walked away.




11.


It quickly became obvious that Boone was the only one Claire really trusted with her son; she let Jack near him because he was a doctor, but her reluctance screamed volumes.

Shannon thought her brother looked weird holding a baby, but not in a bad way. He didn’t look embarrassed and awkward like most guys did when they had with a newborn in their arms. He looked strangely content and Shannon wasn’t quite sure what to make of that. She just knew it suited him.

The baby was smaller than she imagined it would be, considering the size of Claire’s stomach. She thought maybe it was because Claire was tiny and pregnancy was going to look massive on her, no matter what size the bump was. Or maybe it was the yellowish tone of the newborns skin. She noticed he didn’t cry much.

She watched Boone standing out in the entrance of the cave, cradling the baby in his arms whilst Claire slept, and her stomach gave another flip. It was day twelve and Boone hadn’t said more than fifteen words to her since they moved to the caves.

She hadn’t seen Sayid since day four.

Loneliness was a bitch.




12.


Charlie carried the burden of murder on his shoulders. And it was murder times two. There was blood on his hands, both corrupted and innocent, and there was nothing Jack could say to make him think otherwise.

He said it was an infection, a typical newborn infection. The chances of survival were always minimal.

But Charlie couldn’t accept that. It was his fault. Claire’s baby died because he’d failed her. If he’d looked after her, protected her like he promised, then she wouldn’t have been taken. And if she hadn’t been taken, she would still have her memory and her body wouldn’t have been under such stress and the baby would’ve been healthier because she’d have been healthier and everything so obviously pointed to him, there might as well have been a sign hanging over his head saying it.

"It’s been thirteen days, Charlie," Jack said, "I know Claire’s... situation... has been hard for you, but, isolating yourself down here like this...it’s not gonna help. It’s not gonna help you or her."

When Jack suggested returning to one of the camps, Charlie drew his limbs in close, curling into himself. He stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched tight and said nothing.

Jack took the hint and left him alone.




13.

The baby’s burial was brief and surreal. Shannon stood off to the side with some of the others whilst Jack took charge of everything. Boone stood with Claire, his arms wrapped around her, letting her cry against his chest and Shannon felt like she was watching TV again.

She couldn’t go back into the caves when it was over. She couldn’t stand around watching Boone comfort Claire while she cried, his hands in her hair, on her face, and she didn’t want to listen to Boone’s whispered words of comfort.

She didn’t time how long she walked for, she didn’t measure how far. She just knew she had to get as far away from that place as possible, away from the eerie emptiness the baby had left behind.

It was when she saw Charlie, huddled against a tree by the stream, she finally realised she’d been walking through the jungle alone.

She toyed with the hem of her shirt, waiting for him to acknowledge her, and when he didn’t, she moved to sit by him. An hour passed before Charlie finally spoke.

"I killed a man," he said. "I killed Ethan."

And for some reason, Shannon wasn’t shocked. It was in fact the first thing that made any sense in the fourteen days Claire had been back and nothing inside her willed her to question it. Locke had lied to protect Charlie. She wondered how hard Charlie had been clinging onto that truth. She wondered how hard it had been for him to let it go.

He started crying, then. Raw emotion. Harsh, violent sobs that sounded like he was choking and Shannon couldn’t remember if she’d ever seen a man cry. Television didn’t count. This was real and it made her heart hurt.

She wrapped her arms around him, holding his head to her shoulder. She pet his hair uneasily, stroked his bearded jaw, and she wondered if she was doing it right. Shannon wasn’t the comforting type. She didn’t soothe and caress and reassure. She was the one who needed all of those things, not the one who offered them.

She pressed her lips to his temple, because that’s what Boone used to do for her. And then she did it again to his cheek, because he did that too. And then his jaw. And his lips.

And then they were kissing. He was kissing her and he tasted bittersweet, like saliva and coconut milk. It was clumsy and hot and awkward and when Shannon pulled Charlie on top of her, she felt his hardness press against her hip.

Hands were everywhere, fumbling, groping, and Shannon reached down, tugging frantically on Charlie’s zipper as he pushed her skirt up over her hips. She wanted him inside her. She wanted to remember. She wanted to feel real again.

She didn’t bother pretending she wasn’t thinking about Boone; she was pretty damn sure Charlie was thinking about Claire.




14.


Sex had many faces and Charlie knew them all. So he knew what pity sex was. And he knew comfort sex.

And Shannon seemed to know, too.

He walked her back to the caves in the dark and there was a fire burning when they arrived. Jack told Shannon to let someone know the next time she decided to take a hike, and Shannon just shrugged. He asked Charlie if he planned on sticking around. Charlie shrugged too.

When Charlie saw the small makeshift cross sticking out of the ground, he knew, instantly, that it was a miniature grave. He ran behind a tree and vomited.

He hung around until sunrise and accompanied Jack on his trek down to the beach. The confession blurted out of him, projectile and sudden, just as it had been with Shannon, and Jack, too, wasn’t surprised.

"I suspected," he said, putting his hand on Charlie’s shoulder, "if you need to talk, Charlie, I’m here. And I mean that as doctor, and as a friend."

Charlie smiled appreciatively, and they fell silent for the rest of the journey.

He washed on the beach, and chatted with Kate, and he ate a decent meal. Or at least as decent a meal he could get on the island. He felt a little lighter, the burden shared with others. They didn’t stare at him with disgust, didn’t condemn him a vile human being. He found solace in that.

It was the fifteenth day and Charlie wondered, if Claire ever were to remember him, would she console him too?




15.

Charlie’s kisses were hard and the scruff around his mouth was prickly and rough against Shannon’s face. But it didn’t bother her. None of the uncomfortable stuff bothered her. The way he held her up, his fingers digging hard into her thighs; the friction of the cold stone on her back, the lack of lubricant. None of it mattered because it made her forget about everything else. Almost.

She saw herself in her minds eye; concealed behind the caves, being fucked against a boulder by a has-been rock star, and Boone was barely a hundred feet away. She imagined him finding them, locking gazes with her over Charlie’s shoulder, instantly hard at the sight of them together. She imagined him walking away, finding a place where he could be alone with the images of her in his head. She imagined his expression, taut and twisted upon climax.

She bit her lip when she came, careful not to shout, and when Charlie’s cock began twitching rhythmically inside her, she clenched herself around him tightly.

Her knees buckled when he eventually let her down.

There was skirt straightening and buckle fastening and when they finally looked at each other, faces flushed, Charlie reached forward to smooth down Shannon’s hair. She smiled, self-conscious, and did the same for him.

"It’s been sixteen days, you know that?" Charlie said, leaning back against their boulder. He shook his head, smiling in sad amusement. "Yeah, I know, how depressing, right? I count the days."

Shannon felt like she should say something. She wanted to. But when nothing automatically came, she turned and headed back to the caves.




16.


The rumours about Claire’s bond with Boone gave Charlie a headache. He’d heard things since he’d rejoined the other survivors, and up until then, he hadn’t realised gossip could hurt so much.

Curiosity got the better of him, luring him to the caves, and he watched them from the trees.

The campfire flickered between them, casting their shadows onto his path, and Claire’s smile didn’t seem real. But it was. Claire was smiling and Charlie smiled too, because that was the effect she had on him. No, not just him. On everyone. Claire had an infectious smile, so it didn’t occur to Charlie to be jealous that Boone was smiling with her.

It wasn’t until he noticed that Boone was holding Claire’s hand that Charlie felt his grasp on the world slip just that little bit more.

They were talking about something, and Charlie strained to hear, but when he heard Boone mention his name and saw Claire’s smile fade, he decided he wasn’t masochistic enough to watch any more.

He went back to the beach and sat with Locke on the shoreline. They gazed out onto the moonlit ocean.

"I take it you’re ready, Charlie." Locke said.

Charlie took a deep breath and pulled his knees up to his chest. He nodded thoughtfully.

On day seventeen, he realised it was time to let Claire go.




17.


Shannon moved back to the beach on the eighteenth day. Boone didn’t even bat an eyelid. He was too busy reading to Claire. Shannon didn’t understand it. He was always reading to Claire, the same book, every night. And Claire was always asleep when he did. Where the hell was the point in that?

Shannon had no idea what book it was, couldn’t even make out the story because Boone was so quiet when he read aloud; plus, her brother carried the damn thing around in his back pocket all day, so it wasn’t like Shannon could just pick it up and look at the cover. But, in the end, it didn’t matter what the words were or who it was by, because it was the gross sentimentality that pushed Shannon over the edge.

Hurley helped her carry her stuff down; every now and again making jokes about women and heavy luggage and Shannon wished she found them funny if only to indulge Hurley with the sound of her laugh.

She picked a spot near Sayid; not close enough to be invasive, but close enough to feel safe, and Charlie wasn’t too far away either.

That night, when everybody was sat around the campfire playing truth or dare, Kate asked Shannon why she decided to move back down to the beach.

"My brother," Shannon said with a shrug, "just got sick of him."

And it was more or less true.

She just didn’t mention that she was love-sick.




18.


The mid-morning sun was blazing and the scars on Charlie’s neck were itchy and uncomfortable and it was hell trying not to scratch. It was hell trying not to do a lot of things, but so far, he was doing okay. It was a day by day thing; Charlie simply had to pace himself.

He worked just off the edge of the beach-camp, chopping firewood, and when he saw Shannon enter the jungle, he pretended he didn’t. The temptation to follow her made his muscles twitch. He wanted to clear his mind and following her seemed the most appealing option to do it. Like alcohol. Or heroin. Or making Claire laugh even though darkness was all around. God, he hoped Boone made her laugh.

But Charlie wasn’t supposed to think about that. He wasn’t supposed to think about her anymore, at all, but he couldn’t help it and her voice rang in his head.

"I saw you die, Charlie."

He looked up.

Sharp blue eyes stared at him, wide and shining and tearful, and his grip on the axe fell slack, letting it drop to the ground next to his feet. The voice wasn’t in his head; it was there. She was there. Claire. Right in bloody front of him.

She held up her diary, and explained. She explained everything and her voice trembled around every word.

Charlie didn’t know when he fell to his knees in front of her. And he didn’t know when he wrapped his arms around her hips. But when he felt Claire’s hands threading through his hair, over the scars on his neck, he broke down.

He pressed his face against the loose, worn fabric over her stomach and sobbed.

And he begged for forgiveness.




19.


When Shannon returned from picking fruit in the jungle with Kate, she found Boone waiting for her. He was hovering around her area of the camp, standing on the edge of her towel, and he looked exhausted.

"It’s Claire," he explained when she approached him; “I’ve been reading her diary to her in her sleep every night. I thought it might jog her memory, kinda like subliminal messaging or something, I don’t know.” He shrugged and scratched the back of his head. “It all came flooding back last night…” he sighed and looked at Shannon with tired eyes.

She looked over his shoulder and saw Claire sitting with Charlie by the fire-site.

The ghost of a smile crept onto her face.

Boone didn’t hang around after the explanation. He smiled weakly and walked off, searching for Locke, and Shannon wondered why she didn’t mind.

Maybe it was because she recognised something in his smile. Or maybe it was the way his eyes raked over her form. Whatever it was, she felt like things were beginning to make sense again.

On the nineteenth day, Claire really came back; and for the first time since the crash, it felt like there was hope on the horizon.



x-posted to charlie_claire, ficinabottle, shannon_boone