![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
dustyirish2003.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
ficinabottleTitle: Symphony 1/1 (Pt. 1 of series)
Author: Jen
Pairing: Charlie/Hurley (just)
Rating: PG-13 for language and drug talk, hint of m/m
Summary: Charlie and Hurley find music
Warnings: None except language and drug discussion
Disclaimer: ABC owns Lost, I'm making absolutely no profit from this silliness
Feedback: Would absolutely adore it
A/N: Well, I'm on a roll. Michael last night and Hurley tonight. I have a sneaking suspicion that Sawyer's next. ; ) I also have a sneaking suspicion that there may be more to this story in the future- I don't think Hurley's quite had his say yet. Oh well, gotta love him! : )
Charlie reappeared from the copse of trees lining the beach. The hit had hardly even helped this time- he had to be so sparing with it now, use just enough to keep himself from going mad. Where he had once felt a rush of pure bliss, there was now only an emptiness. He gazed up towards the stars with a sigh, not even knowing what he was looking for, only sure that he'd never find it. Not here.
It was quiet tonight, the beach was almost deserted, but there was one other soul sharing it with him. Hurley was sitting by a small bonfire a little farther up the sand, listening to his ever-present music, staring off into space. Charlie knew the look on his face even though he was too far away to make it out. Hurley always had the same look- eager, wanting to please, but behind that, a deep well of sadness and mistrust. And a terrible loneliness. It dawned on Charlie that, despite being such a large chap, Hurley was all but invisible. Nobody *saw* him, not really, he passed through their line of sight quickly and was just as quickly forgotten.
Charlie had seen the way he looked at Claire, like he wanted to comfort her, protect her. He couldn't find the words to tell her this, and they would most likely have no effect anyway, so he did the only thing he could- stayed close by and sheltered her when she wasn't looking. Like a boulder or a mountain, Hurley was just *there*, never moving, always solid and strong. And completely taken for bloody granted. Then there was Shannon. Charlie caught the glances Hurley threw her, when she was unaware, he looked upon her as a dying man looks upon a mirage of an oasis in the desert. The bloke *knew* that the image was a trick of his mind, knew he would get up to the shimmering, cool water only to find burning, unrelenting sand. But despite that knowledge, he salivated over the vision all the same, kept pressing on towards it till he dropped from exhaustion. If Shannon ever noticed, she would shoot Hurley a look of disgust, perhaps even make some snide, biting comment. She would be cruel, because it was the only way she knew how to be. Claire would not be cruel, but she would also not be able to give Hurley what he needed. Even she, kind heart and all, wouldn't be able to completely see past the flesh. Charlie knew the truth- the birds around here were missing out. Hurley would treat them better, love them more openly and wholly, than any other bloke on this island. Sad thing was, he'd never get that chance. It would never even occur to the women to give it to him.
He closed in a little on the fire; he could finally see Hurley's face, and all of the things he had expected were written on it, along with one thing he had *not* expected. A thin trail of tears.
"Hey there, Hurley. What's wrong?"
Hurley looked up in surprise, tugging the headphones from his ears quickly, turning the machine off and putting it back in his lap. He brushed at his cheeks ashamedly, almost angrily, knowing that he was too late. Charlie had already seen. His voice was low, embarrassed, hurt. "Dude, it doesn't matter. Just go away. Please."
Charlie paid him no mind, just settled next to him on the sand, arms wrapped around his knees, gazing at him questioningly. "Why doesn't it matter, mate? Matters to me."
It suddenly occurred to Charlie that he liked Hurley, liked him a lot. Charlie remembered that day fishing, flopping around in the waves like tossers, laughing together. For those few moments everything had seemed all right, normal. It was the first time he had felt that since the plane fell out of the sky. As bloody ridiculous as it sounded, he felt *safe* with Hurley.
"What were you listening to there?"
Hurley didn't answer at first, just looked down at his lap and absently fingered the headphones- his one anchor of sanity in a world that had turned upside down. All of his other comforts had been taken away; the music was the only thing left. He had been using the Walkman very sparingly, desperately trying to conserve the batteries, but all too soon they would die and even that comfort would be gone. Hurley didn't like to think what would become of him when that happened.
He knew Charlie was in a band, they had talked about it briefly. He'd heard the Brit singing snatches of songs under his breath, not even aware he was doing it. His voice was sad, but sweet. So sweet. Sometimes, when the nights grew long, Hurley had the urge to ask Charlie to sing to him. Wouldn't matter what, just some song, anything to break through the strange silence of this island. But he could never do that; Charlie would laugh, or look at him like he'd lost his fucking mind, and Hurley's heart would break. The same as it had a thousand times before.
He finally spoke. "Garth Brooks."
Charlie gave a short nod, then cut to the chase. "Wanna talk about it, mate? I'm a good listener."
Over his lifetime, Hurley had learned to hide in the shadows, had found an unsettled sort of contentment by just watching others go about their lives. Watching others belong. The shadows were lonely, but they were safe. Yet he had a weird feeling that maybe Charlie knew about the shadows, too. Maybe Charlie could even chase some of the shadows away. And just like that, he *did* want to talk, found his secret tumbling over his lips in a rush of words.
"I like to eat. A lot. A *whole* lot, man. I always have. Sweet shit, mostly, but it doesn't really matter. I eat when I'm sad, I eat when I'm happy. I scarf down shit when I don't even know I'm fucking doing it. There's nothing here to eat, *nothing*, and it scares me to fucking death, dude." He gasped in a quick shuddering breath and continued. "I like Ring Dings. I *love* Ho-Ho's. Twinkies are my absolute favorites, though. I miss those the most, dude. Sometimes I wake up and think I can taste them." A few more hot tears leaked out before he could stop them, and he looked down to the ground, ashamed, waiting for the hammer to fall, waiting for Charlie to get up and walk away, shaking his head, chuckling to himself.
But Charlie just gaped at him, at an utter loss for words. *Twinkies??* Here he was, about to go through one of the most painful detoxes on earth, and this bloke's biggest worry was missing out on his Hostess snack cakes?! A wild bray of laughter started to push it's way out of Charlie's throat, but it died halfway to the surface, replaced by something more akin to a sob. When Hurley had first admitted his weakness, it had seemed ludicrous, hilarious. But was it, really? Was it really that different from the fear that kept Charlie awake nights? They both had their drugs- Hurley had lost his already and Charlie was next-door to being out. When you really considered it, there wasn't one goddamned funny thing about it.
"'m sorry, man. Truly.", he finally whispered.
Hurley looked up warily; despite the kind voice, despite all his hopes, he was afraid he'd see the laughter lurking in Charlie's eyes. Instead, he saw the last thing in the world he expected- compassion and understanding. Hurley didn't know how it was possible, but somehow this dude *got* it. He knew. Hurley fell a little bit in love with Charlie in that moment.
Before he could think twice about it, Charlie reached into his back pocket. He held up the baggie, still speaking very quietly. "This is *my* Twinkie, mate."
Hurley peered at the bag; at first he had a wild notion that it contained brown sugar, but couldn't figure why in the world the Brit would be carrying *that* around. He realized pretty quickly, however, that it had to be some kind of drug. "What *is* that, man?"
"Heroin."
"Du-uude.", Hurley blurted, in awe.
"Precisely.", Charlie agreed.
Hurley thought about it for a moment and it occurred to him that being stoned in this crazy place might not be so bad at all. Might be easier to just float through the long days, blissfully ignorant. Maybe Charlie was the lucky one. Then, with something like horror, he suddenly realized the problem with this scenario. There wasn't much left in the baggie, not much at all. And it wasn't like there was a drug dealer lurking behind the next palm tree. Even that hillbilly asshole Sawyer, who seemed to have a little bit of everything, wouldn't have *that* shit stuffed somewhere in his cache of goodies. Heroin was not something the average Joe toted around with him in his carry-on, next to the sticks of Juicy Fruit and the Dean Koontz paperback. In other words, Charlie was in some serious shit. He was gonna crash soon, and he was gonna crash hard.
He stared at Charlie, his heart hurting. "Not gonna be pretty, is it?"
"Dude, it's gonna be the ugliest thing you'll probably ever see." Charlie said softly, with a resigned sigh.
Hurley nodded glumly; he had feared as much. And now he saw it- the way Charlie's hands were jittering in the firelight, the way his tongue darted out to lick at his dry lips, almost obsessively, the look of utter helplessness and hopelessness behind his eyes. How had he not noticed before? Maybe he hadn't seen it because he didn't *want* to see it. It was a whole hell of a lot easier to look away. Except he couldn't, not now. Not with Charlie. He still hoped to hear him sing.
"I'm sorry, man. I'll help, you know, any way I can, dude. I know that's not much comfort..."
"Yeah, it *is*, mate. It is." Charlie's voice broke on the last word, and he looked down quickly. It was more comfort than he had gotten from anyone else in this place. A strange thought came to Charlie then- maybe it wasn't only the birds that were missing out. Just maybe he himself had been missing out as well.
Hurley realized that Charlie was on the verge of tears, and nearly panicked. It was bad enough to see the sweet, funny Brit shaking and desperate; Hurley didn't think he could handle watching him cry. That would be just too much. That would make everything just a little too real. Hurley did the only thing he could think of for distraction- he quickly picked up his Walkman, hit Play, and plopped the headphones over Charlie's ears.
Charlie jumped a little at first before he realized what was going on. Once he did, he just settled back and listened, closing his eyes. There was some shite Country twang blaring out of the speakers- something about a bloody dog and a truck and the road less traveled- but that wasn't important in the least. The important thing was the bloke sitting next to him- him of the 'dudes' and the Ho-Ho's and the humongous heart. And the clumsy but kind hand that now shyly brushed against his own.
And sitting there in the darkness, letting his own trembling hand 'accidentally' brush back, Charlie suddenly remembered a truth he had known once and somehow lost along the way.
The name of the song didn't matter as long as you could dance to the beat.
End.
Author: Jen
Pairing: Charlie/Hurley (just)
Rating: PG-13 for language and drug talk, hint of m/m
Summary: Charlie and Hurley find music
Warnings: None except language and drug discussion
Disclaimer: ABC owns Lost, I'm making absolutely no profit from this silliness
Feedback: Would absolutely adore it
A/N: Well, I'm on a roll.
Charlie reappeared from the copse of trees lining the beach. The hit had hardly even helped this time- he had to be so sparing with it now, use just enough to keep himself from going mad. Where he had once felt a rush of pure bliss, there was now only an emptiness. He gazed up towards the stars with a sigh, not even knowing what he was looking for, only sure that he'd never find it. Not here.
It was quiet tonight, the beach was almost deserted, but there was one other soul sharing it with him. Hurley was sitting by a small bonfire a little farther up the sand, listening to his ever-present music, staring off into space. Charlie knew the look on his face even though he was too far away to make it out. Hurley always had the same look- eager, wanting to please, but behind that, a deep well of sadness and mistrust. And a terrible loneliness. It dawned on Charlie that, despite being such a large chap, Hurley was all but invisible. Nobody *saw* him, not really, he passed through their line of sight quickly and was just as quickly forgotten.
Charlie had seen the way he looked at Claire, like he wanted to comfort her, protect her. He couldn't find the words to tell her this, and they would most likely have no effect anyway, so he did the only thing he could- stayed close by and sheltered her when she wasn't looking. Like a boulder or a mountain, Hurley was just *there*, never moving, always solid and strong. And completely taken for bloody granted. Then there was Shannon. Charlie caught the glances Hurley threw her, when she was unaware, he looked upon her as a dying man looks upon a mirage of an oasis in the desert. The bloke *knew* that the image was a trick of his mind, knew he would get up to the shimmering, cool water only to find burning, unrelenting sand. But despite that knowledge, he salivated over the vision all the same, kept pressing on towards it till he dropped from exhaustion. If Shannon ever noticed, she would shoot Hurley a look of disgust, perhaps even make some snide, biting comment. She would be cruel, because it was the only way she knew how to be. Claire would not be cruel, but she would also not be able to give Hurley what he needed. Even she, kind heart and all, wouldn't be able to completely see past the flesh. Charlie knew the truth- the birds around here were missing out. Hurley would treat them better, love them more openly and wholly, than any other bloke on this island. Sad thing was, he'd never get that chance. It would never even occur to the women to give it to him.
He closed in a little on the fire; he could finally see Hurley's face, and all of the things he had expected were written on it, along with one thing he had *not* expected. A thin trail of tears.
"Hey there, Hurley. What's wrong?"
Hurley looked up in surprise, tugging the headphones from his ears quickly, turning the machine off and putting it back in his lap. He brushed at his cheeks ashamedly, almost angrily, knowing that he was too late. Charlie had already seen. His voice was low, embarrassed, hurt. "Dude, it doesn't matter. Just go away. Please."
Charlie paid him no mind, just settled next to him on the sand, arms wrapped around his knees, gazing at him questioningly. "Why doesn't it matter, mate? Matters to me."
It suddenly occurred to Charlie that he liked Hurley, liked him a lot. Charlie remembered that day fishing, flopping around in the waves like tossers, laughing together. For those few moments everything had seemed all right, normal. It was the first time he had felt that since the plane fell out of the sky. As bloody ridiculous as it sounded, he felt *safe* with Hurley.
"What were you listening to there?"
Hurley didn't answer at first, just looked down at his lap and absently fingered the headphones- his one anchor of sanity in a world that had turned upside down. All of his other comforts had been taken away; the music was the only thing left. He had been using the Walkman very sparingly, desperately trying to conserve the batteries, but all too soon they would die and even that comfort would be gone. Hurley didn't like to think what would become of him when that happened.
He knew Charlie was in a band, they had talked about it briefly. He'd heard the Brit singing snatches of songs under his breath, not even aware he was doing it. His voice was sad, but sweet. So sweet. Sometimes, when the nights grew long, Hurley had the urge to ask Charlie to sing to him. Wouldn't matter what, just some song, anything to break through the strange silence of this island. But he could never do that; Charlie would laugh, or look at him like he'd lost his fucking mind, and Hurley's heart would break. The same as it had a thousand times before.
He finally spoke. "Garth Brooks."
Charlie gave a short nod, then cut to the chase. "Wanna talk about it, mate? I'm a good listener."
Over his lifetime, Hurley had learned to hide in the shadows, had found an unsettled sort of contentment by just watching others go about their lives. Watching others belong. The shadows were lonely, but they were safe. Yet he had a weird feeling that maybe Charlie knew about the shadows, too. Maybe Charlie could even chase some of the shadows away. And just like that, he *did* want to talk, found his secret tumbling over his lips in a rush of words.
"I like to eat. A lot. A *whole* lot, man. I always have. Sweet shit, mostly, but it doesn't really matter. I eat when I'm sad, I eat when I'm happy. I scarf down shit when I don't even know I'm fucking doing it. There's nothing here to eat, *nothing*, and it scares me to fucking death, dude." He gasped in a quick shuddering breath and continued. "I like Ring Dings. I *love* Ho-Ho's. Twinkies are my absolute favorites, though. I miss those the most, dude. Sometimes I wake up and think I can taste them." A few more hot tears leaked out before he could stop them, and he looked down to the ground, ashamed, waiting for the hammer to fall, waiting for Charlie to get up and walk away, shaking his head, chuckling to himself.
But Charlie just gaped at him, at an utter loss for words. *Twinkies??* Here he was, about to go through one of the most painful detoxes on earth, and this bloke's biggest worry was missing out on his Hostess snack cakes?! A wild bray of laughter started to push it's way out of Charlie's throat, but it died halfway to the surface, replaced by something more akin to a sob. When Hurley had first admitted his weakness, it had seemed ludicrous, hilarious. But was it, really? Was it really that different from the fear that kept Charlie awake nights? They both had their drugs- Hurley had lost his already and Charlie was next-door to being out. When you really considered it, there wasn't one goddamned funny thing about it.
"'m sorry, man. Truly.", he finally whispered.
Hurley looked up warily; despite the kind voice, despite all his hopes, he was afraid he'd see the laughter lurking in Charlie's eyes. Instead, he saw the last thing in the world he expected- compassion and understanding. Hurley didn't know how it was possible, but somehow this dude *got* it. He knew. Hurley fell a little bit in love with Charlie in that moment.
Before he could think twice about it, Charlie reached into his back pocket. He held up the baggie, still speaking very quietly. "This is *my* Twinkie, mate."
Hurley peered at the bag; at first he had a wild notion that it contained brown sugar, but couldn't figure why in the world the Brit would be carrying *that* around. He realized pretty quickly, however, that it had to be some kind of drug. "What *is* that, man?"
"Heroin."
"Du-uude.", Hurley blurted, in awe.
"Precisely.", Charlie agreed.
Hurley thought about it for a moment and it occurred to him that being stoned in this crazy place might not be so bad at all. Might be easier to just float through the long days, blissfully ignorant. Maybe Charlie was the lucky one. Then, with something like horror, he suddenly realized the problem with this scenario. There wasn't much left in the baggie, not much at all. And it wasn't like there was a drug dealer lurking behind the next palm tree. Even that hillbilly asshole Sawyer, who seemed to have a little bit of everything, wouldn't have *that* shit stuffed somewhere in his cache of goodies. Heroin was not something the average Joe toted around with him in his carry-on, next to the sticks of Juicy Fruit and the Dean Koontz paperback. In other words, Charlie was in some serious shit. He was gonna crash soon, and he was gonna crash hard.
He stared at Charlie, his heart hurting. "Not gonna be pretty, is it?"
"Dude, it's gonna be the ugliest thing you'll probably ever see." Charlie said softly, with a resigned sigh.
Hurley nodded glumly; he had feared as much. And now he saw it- the way Charlie's hands were jittering in the firelight, the way his tongue darted out to lick at his dry lips, almost obsessively, the look of utter helplessness and hopelessness behind his eyes. How had he not noticed before? Maybe he hadn't seen it because he didn't *want* to see it. It was a whole hell of a lot easier to look away. Except he couldn't, not now. Not with Charlie. He still hoped to hear him sing.
"I'm sorry, man. I'll help, you know, any way I can, dude. I know that's not much comfort..."
"Yeah, it *is*, mate. It is." Charlie's voice broke on the last word, and he looked down quickly. It was more comfort than he had gotten from anyone else in this place. A strange thought came to Charlie then- maybe it wasn't only the birds that were missing out. Just maybe he himself had been missing out as well.
Hurley realized that Charlie was on the verge of tears, and nearly panicked. It was bad enough to see the sweet, funny Brit shaking and desperate; Hurley didn't think he could handle watching him cry. That would be just too much. That would make everything just a little too real. Hurley did the only thing he could think of for distraction- he quickly picked up his Walkman, hit Play, and plopped the headphones over Charlie's ears.
Charlie jumped a little at first before he realized what was going on. Once he did, he just settled back and listened, closing his eyes. There was some shite Country twang blaring out of the speakers- something about a bloody dog and a truck and the road less traveled- but that wasn't important in the least. The important thing was the bloke sitting next to him- him of the 'dudes' and the Ho-Ho's and the humongous heart. And the clumsy but kind hand that now shyly brushed against his own.
And sitting there in the darkness, letting his own trembling hand 'accidentally' brush back, Charlie suddenly remembered a truth he had known once and somehow lost along the way.
The name of the song didn't matter as long as you could dance to the beat.
End.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-10-30 11:14 pm (UTC)I do believe you've made me cry. The characterizations and the interactions are just perfect. I loved seeing each one from the other's eyes, seeing them both so eager to help each other...
We as writers are missing out on Hurley, too; we go straight to slashing the pretty boys, do not pass Go, do not stop to think about the other characters. Thank you for writing a beautiful fic and making me consider a very underappreciated character in a new light.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-03 10:34 pm (UTC)I completely agree that we're missing out on Hurley; I think he's got a whole lot to offer we writers. I sure have enjoyed writing him- he's kind of gotten into my soul, somehow.
Thank you once again!
no subject
Date: 2004-10-31 11:24 am (UTC)Lovely, dude. Very touching, quiet and all those nice things, and you do a great job of capturing their dynamic. And thanks for writing this pairing! It is so underused, along with Hurley himself, who rocks.
no subject
Date: 2004-11-03 10:35 pm (UTC)DUU-UUUDE!!!!
I'm gonna run over to the second part of this but just wanted to thank you for posting this. Your Hurley is cool, man. (And you already know how I feel about your Chahlie. ;-))
Re: DUU-UUUDE!!!!
Date: 2004-11-03 10:37 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-04 02:16 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-09-04 03:01 am (UTC)Thank you so, so much for your kind review of this! I agree, Charlie and Hurley's status as buddies can't be beat. They were just so wonderful in that role. : ) I'm so happy you enjoyed this!