March Madness, Day 24, Lost, Charlie+Jack
Fandom: Lost
Pairing: Charlie+Jack
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 517
Notes: More Season 1 stuff. Because magic island or not, heroin withdrawal ain't as pretty as they made it on the show.
Charlie rests his head on his balled up sweatshirt, his eyes squeezed shut, and wishes the world would hold still for one bloody second. The stars are too distant, the sand is too close, and both make him dizzy so he's shutting them out. All he has now is waves licking the beach, the fire at his back, and the persistent aches and shakes in his joints.
Quitting outright was a really shit idea. He could've used what little he had to bring himself down bit by bit. He hears footsteps in the sand and even the sound of their movement past his head makes the earth under his body swing, his stomach tumble. He squeezes his eyes shut harder as if that will stop it all; instead the throbbing in his skull sharpens.
A body plops in the sand behind him, and thank the lord whoever it is has stopped moving.
"How're you feeling?" Jack asks.
Charlie concentrates on each breath, in and out in and out.
"I was, uh, talking to Sawyer. He handed over some Percoset he's been hoarding. Said he thought maybe they would help."
"Thought you weren't going to tell anyone about this."
"I haven't said a word, Charlie. But you gotta figure I can't be the only one who recognizes what you're going through."
Of course, that's just what he needs. Everyone on the island knowing he's just a bloody junkie, some has-been bassist that no one's heard of, no better use than Locke's bait. He can't even wipe the tears off his face for fear the movement will bring on more pain.
"Maybe we should get Sayid to call one of his little island meetings? Tell the whole island. Charlie's a useless addict," he whispers harshly because he doesn't trust his voice.
But Jack is Jack, and Jack doesn’t let him get away with much, so his comment is ignored. Jack rattles the pills a bit before holding them down where Charlie can see them, proof that they exist. "It's not the same, I know, but it's something."
Just looking at the bottle, Charlie feels a slight sense of relief. A few of those and maybe he'd be able to sit up without puking in the sand, maybe walk enough to be able to go take a piss in the forest.
"Thank you," he says softly. It’s all he can manage.
Jack pulls out a bottle of water from his bag and sets it in the sand before twisting the cap off the prescription bottle. “You know this is for the best, Charlie. Out here… you would’ve run out eventually. This way, it’s your own decision. You’re proving to yourself that you--”
“Look, no offense, Jack, but I’m really not in the mood.”
He can see the flash of teeth as Jack grins and says, “Right.”
Jack holds out his palm and in it are three pills. “There aren’t many here so I suggest you go easy. This is all you’ll get til tomorrow afternoon.”
Charlie wants to down all three in one go because maybe just maybe they might actually make a bit of bloody difference then. But he knows Jack is right. He scoops up two of the pills with shaking fingers and swallows them dry. Jack closes his fingers around the last pill but leaves his arm extended toward Charlie.
“Keep it,” Charlie says, laying his head back down on his sweatshirt, “until I ask for it.”
Jack nods once and with a muffled rattle the pill falls back into the bottle.
“You want company?” Jack asks.
“So long as it doesn’t talk or move,” Charlie says, trying to find comfort.
Jack shifts his backpack in the sand and leans back against it as he extends his legs past Charlie’s head toward the fire. As Charlie closes his eyes, he imagines that Jack’s looking at the stars and finding all the hope he can no longer see.
Pairing: Charlie+Jack
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 517
Notes: More Season 1 stuff. Because magic island or not, heroin withdrawal ain't as pretty as they made it on the show.
Charlie rests his head on his balled up sweatshirt, his eyes squeezed shut, and wishes the world would hold still for one bloody second. The stars are too distant, the sand is too close, and both make him dizzy so he's shutting them out. All he has now is waves licking the beach, the fire at his back, and the persistent aches and shakes in his joints.
Quitting outright was a really shit idea. He could've used what little he had to bring himself down bit by bit. He hears footsteps in the sand and even the sound of their movement past his head makes the earth under his body swing, his stomach tumble. He squeezes his eyes shut harder as if that will stop it all; instead the throbbing in his skull sharpens.
A body plops in the sand behind him, and thank the lord whoever it is has stopped moving.
"How're you feeling?" Jack asks.
Charlie concentrates on each breath, in and out in and out.
"I was, uh, talking to Sawyer. He handed over some Percoset he's been hoarding. Said he thought maybe they would help."
"Thought you weren't going to tell anyone about this."
"I haven't said a word, Charlie. But you gotta figure I can't be the only one who recognizes what you're going through."
Of course, that's just what he needs. Everyone on the island knowing he's just a bloody junkie, some has-been bassist that no one's heard of, no better use than Locke's bait. He can't even wipe the tears off his face for fear the movement will bring on more pain.
"Maybe we should get Sayid to call one of his little island meetings? Tell the whole island. Charlie's a useless addict," he whispers harshly because he doesn't trust his voice.
But Jack is Jack, and Jack doesn’t let him get away with much, so his comment is ignored. Jack rattles the pills a bit before holding them down where Charlie can see them, proof that they exist. "It's not the same, I know, but it's something."
Just looking at the bottle, Charlie feels a slight sense of relief. A few of those and maybe he'd be able to sit up without puking in the sand, maybe walk enough to be able to go take a piss in the forest.
"Thank you," he says softly. It’s all he can manage.
Jack pulls out a bottle of water from his bag and sets it in the sand before twisting the cap off the prescription bottle. “You know this is for the best, Charlie. Out here… you would’ve run out eventually. This way, it’s your own decision. You’re proving to yourself that you--”
“Look, no offense, Jack, but I’m really not in the mood.”
He can see the flash of teeth as Jack grins and says, “Right.”
Jack holds out his palm and in it are three pills. “There aren’t many here so I suggest you go easy. This is all you’ll get til tomorrow afternoon.”
Charlie wants to down all three in one go because maybe just maybe they might actually make a bit of bloody difference then. But he knows Jack is right. He scoops up two of the pills with shaking fingers and swallows them dry. Jack closes his fingers around the last pill but leaves his arm extended toward Charlie.
“Keep it,” Charlie says, laying his head back down on his sweatshirt, “until I ask for it.”
Jack nods once and with a muffled rattle the pill falls back into the bottle.
“You want company?” Jack asks.
“So long as it doesn’t talk or move,” Charlie says, trying to find comfort.
Jack shifts his backpack in the sand and leans back against it as he extends his legs past Charlie’s head toward the fire. As Charlie closes his eyes, he imagines that Jack’s looking at the stars and finding all the hope he can no longer see.