Lost Fic: Closing the Circle (Charles/Ellie, Richard)
General spoilers for S5, set in 1954, shortly after what we saw in 5x03 - Jughead. Ever wonder how Charles and Ellie got together in the first place?
Approximately 1970 words, light R. Thanks to jenthegypsy for betaing.
Closing the Circle
A nice little piece, he thought, coming back to himself. Likely to profess her great love for him after her sighs and moans during the last quarter hour. Good. Getting what he wanted would be that much easier.
In all honesty, he was quite pleased with her compact, athletic body. He didn't need it, mind you, but it was senseless not to accept something so willingly offered. Now, however, was the time for delicacy and diplomacy. Not his highest skill areas, but tact was essential or his chance might be lost, his efforts might be squandered, this strategic advantage wasted. He needed to get at the information inside her head while making her think the sharing was as much her idea as their recent coupling. But how was he to introduce the subject?
She shifted her hips to roll onto her side, settled her head against his shoulder, and began tracing circles around his navel with a gentle fingertip. Charles let his mind continue its wanderings, certain her movements prefaced her confession of ardor.
"What do you think happened to them?" she asked without preamble. Her businesslike tone was so at odds with what her hand was doing that the question seemed to make no sense.
"Who?" He clenched his jaw, biting down hard on nothing and tensing momentarily. The question could not be snatched back, and he was annoyed that he might have lost control of the conversation.
"That group we captured." She licked his neck while her fingers danced lower on his belly, leading his attention away from her words. "The ones who said they were scientists."
"What else could they be?" He fought to keep his mind on her words though his twitching cock had other ideas. "They certainly weren't military." His right hand stroked the delightfully pleasant curve of her arse and she responded by focusing more attention on his neck, licking and nibbling up the curve until she encountered his earlobe, which she drew into her mouth and began to suck in earnest, humming slightly as her lips and tongue worked. Gods, did she have any idea what havoc that wreaked on his thinking?
Ellie disengaged. "Their leader claimed they were from the future."
He clamped his tongue between his teeth to prevent a knee-jerk retort and was considering how to respond when she continued. "The other man's reaction was what made it seem believable. That, and the way they've all disappeared."
"Did you tell Richard about this?"
"No, I ..." words and motion stalled while she regrouped. "I was too embarrassed to say anything because their ruse worked so well. That Daniel sounded like a nutter, talking about burying the bomb and the island being perfect fifty years from now, but it made the other one angry. I was focused on the men and their story when the woman knocked me out." Ellie's hand slid slowly over the back of her head, probably feeling a knot, as she described hearing the strangers' voices when she came to, then quickly scrambling into the jungle only to see the three of them disappear while she watched.
"But that's impossible," Ellie finished, her chuff of laughter somewhat strained. Charles was too excited to notice her apparent discomfort and he was suddenly anxious to return to his own tent. But Ellie was still talking. "She must've hit me harder than I thought because people don't simply wink out of existence. I'm certain I blacked out again."
Their clothing lay scattered across the tent floor like a drift of autumn leaves. Charles found his trousers which, fortunately, appeared to be right side out. He rammed his feet through the legs and yanked the garment up over his hips as he stood. Scooping up his boots and one of the shirts, and holding the fly of his pants together, he mumbled something about joining her in the mess tent later, tossing the words over his shoulder while he ducked under the tent flap.
The canvas quickly settled back into place. In his haste to be elsewhere, Charles missed the sly smile that bloomed across Ellie's face as she stretched.
* * * * *
Richard used his thumbnail to remove a brown splatter from the glass surface, but his mind strayed, wandering through the past.
"I'm due out on the next patrol..."
"This won't take long." He motioned toward the chair. "Sit down, Charles. I need you to look at these things. Think about them and tell me which ones are yours."
"I don't understand what you're on about. None of those things came from my locker."
"That's not what I mean, Charles," Richard kept his voice low, his tone soothing. "Look at them and think about them. Touch them if you want to." He paused, making certain to catch the young man's eyes. His own gaze was intense and unyielding, and after a few moments, Widmore looked back down at the items on the table.
"Which ones are yours, Charles?"
Widmore inhaled deeply and released the breath in a measured fashion. After another moment, he reached out slowly and then with increased momentum, as if mutual attraction drew his hand to the item. "This is mine," he said, voice firm yet tinged with wonder as he displayed a small box filled with earth. "And this," an old book, worn from use, the word Legis tooled into its leather cover.
"Anything else? Take your time."
Once more the hand reached out toward the items on the table, slowly describing an arc, fingertips somehow sensing without contact as they pointed toward each object in turn. Then, "this!" No doubt, no hesitation, the word was filled with exaltation as Widmore's hand closed around the brass rifle shell. When his eyes returned to meet Richard's gaze, there was a new strength visible in their depths.
Richard relaxed, smiling. He found great comfort in knowing that one capable of leading was already here among them. Especially reassuring was the knowledge that Widmore had both the strength and the will to defend the Island from its adversaries. "Thank you, Charles. Find your team and head out on that patrol now."
He turned the compass over to look at the back with a detached curiosity about his own movements, knowing it was a different tool entirely and the marks would not be there. He wondered how this particular compass had made its way to him and what had become of the one so carefully packed away with the other talismans. Initially, he'd been skeptical when John Locke had introduced himself, but the truth of his story was inarguable. Quite a few of the Island's current inhabitants were only indirectly aware of Jacob's existence; he certainly was not a subject of day-to-day conversation. Yet Locke appeared and dropped the name as casually as if the two of them had just had tea together.
There was also the manner of his departure. The odd flickering of daylight and noise just on the edge of hearing had left an itch inside Richard's skull, but John's reaction to the phenomena indicated knowledge born of prior experience. His agitation increased rapidly until he was frantic, begging to know how to leave the island even as he curled inward around his own belly, hands striving to block what was apparently an overwhelming, crushing sound. And then he'd contracted to a pinpoint of bright white light and disappeared.
Richard never doubted the power he'd been entrusted to guard, yet the raw evidence of that power as displayed in the encounter with Locke - and the likely reasons such a display had become necessary - left him more uneasy than he'd been in several normal lifetimes.
*****
The morning was beautifully clear. Richard had climbed the ridge before dawn to take in his favorite view and to contemplate the future. Ellie's report from last evening's patrol was disturbing, enough so that it might necessitate a change to the current plan(ned succession), and he needed some time away from the camp, time alone to settle his thoughts. Her team had come across Fred's body (strange how difficult it was now to think of him as having an identity other than Cunningham, the name on the uniform he'd appropriated) and considering the partially decomposed state of the remains, had elected to bury their fallen comarade rather than return him to camp. Offhand, Ellie mentioned how surprised she was that one of the travelers had both the strength and the specialized knowledge needed to snap an opponent's neck so cleanly. While the man with the dimples surely had the strength, clearly he was all smooth words, reassuring smiles and implied promises. The blond woman was likely ruthless enough but lacked the strength required to make up for the discrepancy in height.
What Ellie hadn't bothered to point out was that every patrol leader and most seconds knew a score of ways to dispatch an enemy bare-handed. Clever girl ... subtle. Richard expected she was aware that her information completely contradicted Widmore's report about the killing. Though Charles had not specifically stated that one of Locke's group had stuck a knife between Cunningham's ribs, it was now obvious his words had been carefully chosen to make that conclusion inescapable.
The nagging feeling that he ought to test the girl had grown to inescapable proportions as he thought about Widmore's skills ... and weaknesses. Yes, he would take care of that soon; best to be prepared.
Richard watched stirrings below as the camp awakened, the sun having cleared the crest of the hill and crept partway down the slope. Getting to his feet, he brushed a few stray blades of grass from his slacks and turned his back on the cluster of tents, soon gaining the jungle's shelter. He was not yet ready to give up the solitude gained by his pre-dawn ascent, and he moved deeper into the vegetation, making no sound and disturbing nothing but the scattered puddles of sunlight.
Steadfast obedience to ancient tenets and unwavering adherence to the charted course had their time and place, but the current circumstances, including the recent military invasion, called for different qualities. This time, he'd been instructed to look for strength. Charles had that in abundance, as well as a zealot's desire to protect the Island from enemies in the outside world. Was Widmore perhaps a bit too bloodthirsty? His ambition seemed limitless, but surely Richard wouldn't always feel as if Charles needed a choke chain. Surely the boy would grow into the role.
Still...
The thought of a visit to Tustin, California, during the spring two years hence eeled its way into his awareness. He'd had so little time to talk with Locke. What a pity the man hadn't thought to mention when he'd actually become the leader. Yet the idea that the outcome of one search, at least, might already be determined, was nearly intoxicating. Foreknowledge was incredibly seductive, a sultry harlot worthy of Babylon. Yet he must be wary about placing his faith; bewitching whores had been known to slit a man's throat.
Richard slowed, looking around the clearing he'd just entered. His feet had chosen the path without input or direction from his conscious mind, and now that he became aware of his surroundings, he was mildly surprised to find that he stood before his own monument to burdens and sacrifice. One side of his mouth quirked up in a sad smile as he accepted the reminder.
Decaying timber, rusting shackles and their grisly burden were an unlikely source of comfort, yet standing before the rotting hulk of the old ship, his hand on the hull reawakening ancient memories, Richard thought about how effect had a disconcerting habit of spiraling back to set cause in motion, closing the circle.
>^..^<
Approximately 1970 words, light R. Thanks to jenthegypsy for betaing.
Closing the Circle
A nice little piece, he thought, coming back to himself. Likely to profess her great love for him after her sighs and moans during the last quarter hour. Good. Getting what he wanted would be that much easier.
In all honesty, he was quite pleased with her compact, athletic body. He didn't need it, mind you, but it was senseless not to accept something so willingly offered. Now, however, was the time for delicacy and diplomacy. Not his highest skill areas, but tact was essential or his chance might be lost, his efforts might be squandered, this strategic advantage wasted. He needed to get at the information inside her head while making her think the sharing was as much her idea as their recent coupling. But how was he to introduce the subject?
She shifted her hips to roll onto her side, settled her head against his shoulder, and began tracing circles around his navel with a gentle fingertip. Charles let his mind continue its wanderings, certain her movements prefaced her confession of ardor.
"What do you think happened to them?" she asked without preamble. Her businesslike tone was so at odds with what her hand was doing that the question seemed to make no sense.
"Who?" He clenched his jaw, biting down hard on nothing and tensing momentarily. The question could not be snatched back, and he was annoyed that he might have lost control of the conversation.
"That group we captured." She licked his neck while her fingers danced lower on his belly, leading his attention away from her words. "The ones who said they were scientists."
"What else could they be?" He fought to keep his mind on her words though his twitching cock had other ideas. "They certainly weren't military." His right hand stroked the delightfully pleasant curve of her arse and she responded by focusing more attention on his neck, licking and nibbling up the curve until she encountered his earlobe, which she drew into her mouth and began to suck in earnest, humming slightly as her lips and tongue worked. Gods, did she have any idea what havoc that wreaked on his thinking?
Ellie disengaged. "Their leader claimed they were from the future."
He clamped his tongue between his teeth to prevent a knee-jerk retort and was considering how to respond when she continued. "The other man's reaction was what made it seem believable. That, and the way they've all disappeared."
"Did you tell Richard about this?"
"No, I ..." words and motion stalled while she regrouped. "I was too embarrassed to say anything because their ruse worked so well. That Daniel sounded like a nutter, talking about burying the bomb and the island being perfect fifty years from now, but it made the other one angry. I was focused on the men and their story when the woman knocked me out." Ellie's hand slid slowly over the back of her head, probably feeling a knot, as she described hearing the strangers' voices when she came to, then quickly scrambling into the jungle only to see the three of them disappear while she watched.
"But that's impossible," Ellie finished, her chuff of laughter somewhat strained. Charles was too excited to notice her apparent discomfort and he was suddenly anxious to return to his own tent. But Ellie was still talking. "She must've hit me harder than I thought because people don't simply wink out of existence. I'm certain I blacked out again."
Their clothing lay scattered across the tent floor like a drift of autumn leaves. Charles found his trousers which, fortunately, appeared to be right side out. He rammed his feet through the legs and yanked the garment up over his hips as he stood. Scooping up his boots and one of the shirts, and holding the fly of his pants together, he mumbled something about joining her in the mess tent later, tossing the words over his shoulder while he ducked under the tent flap.
The canvas quickly settled back into place. In his haste to be elsewhere, Charles missed the sly smile that bloomed across Ellie's face as she stretched.
* * * * *
Richard used his thumbnail to remove a brown splatter from the glass surface, but his mind strayed, wandering through the past.
"I'm due out on the next patrol..."
"This won't take long." He motioned toward the chair. "Sit down, Charles. I need you to look at these things. Think about them and tell me which ones are yours."
"I don't understand what you're on about. None of those things came from my locker."
"That's not what I mean, Charles," Richard kept his voice low, his tone soothing. "Look at them and think about them. Touch them if you want to." He paused, making certain to catch the young man's eyes. His own gaze was intense and unyielding, and after a few moments, Widmore looked back down at the items on the table.
"Which ones are yours, Charles?"
Widmore inhaled deeply and released the breath in a measured fashion. After another moment, he reached out slowly and then with increased momentum, as if mutual attraction drew his hand to the item. "This is mine," he said, voice firm yet tinged with wonder as he displayed a small box filled with earth. "And this," an old book, worn from use, the word Legis tooled into its leather cover.
"Anything else? Take your time."
Once more the hand reached out toward the items on the table, slowly describing an arc, fingertips somehow sensing without contact as they pointed toward each object in turn. Then, "this!" No doubt, no hesitation, the word was filled with exaltation as Widmore's hand closed around the brass rifle shell. When his eyes returned to meet Richard's gaze, there was a new strength visible in their depths.
Richard relaxed, smiling. He found great comfort in knowing that one capable of leading was already here among them. Especially reassuring was the knowledge that Widmore had both the strength and the will to defend the Island from its adversaries. "Thank you, Charles. Find your team and head out on that patrol now."
He turned the compass over to look at the back with a detached curiosity about his own movements, knowing it was a different tool entirely and the marks would not be there. He wondered how this particular compass had made its way to him and what had become of the one so carefully packed away with the other talismans. Initially, he'd been skeptical when John Locke had introduced himself, but the truth of his story was inarguable. Quite a few of the Island's current inhabitants were only indirectly aware of Jacob's existence; he certainly was not a subject of day-to-day conversation. Yet Locke appeared and dropped the name as casually as if the two of them had just had tea together.
There was also the manner of his departure. The odd flickering of daylight and noise just on the edge of hearing had left an itch inside Richard's skull, but John's reaction to the phenomena indicated knowledge born of prior experience. His agitation increased rapidly until he was frantic, begging to know how to leave the island even as he curled inward around his own belly, hands striving to block what was apparently an overwhelming, crushing sound. And then he'd contracted to a pinpoint of bright white light and disappeared.
Richard never doubted the power he'd been entrusted to guard, yet the raw evidence of that power as displayed in the encounter with Locke - and the likely reasons such a display had become necessary - left him more uneasy than he'd been in several normal lifetimes.
*****
The morning was beautifully clear. Richard had climbed the ridge before dawn to take in his favorite view and to contemplate the future. Ellie's report from last evening's patrol was disturbing, enough so that it might necessitate a change to the current plan(ned succession), and he needed some time away from the camp, time alone to settle his thoughts. Her team had come across Fred's body (strange how difficult it was now to think of him as having an identity other than Cunningham, the name on the uniform he'd appropriated) and considering the partially decomposed state of the remains, had elected to bury their fallen comarade rather than return him to camp. Offhand, Ellie mentioned how surprised she was that one of the travelers had both the strength and the specialized knowledge needed to snap an opponent's neck so cleanly. While the man with the dimples surely had the strength, clearly he was all smooth words, reassuring smiles and implied promises. The blond woman was likely ruthless enough but lacked the strength required to make up for the discrepancy in height.
What Ellie hadn't bothered to point out was that every patrol leader and most seconds knew a score of ways to dispatch an enemy bare-handed. Clever girl ... subtle. Richard expected she was aware that her information completely contradicted Widmore's report about the killing. Though Charles had not specifically stated that one of Locke's group had stuck a knife between Cunningham's ribs, it was now obvious his words had been carefully chosen to make that conclusion inescapable.
The nagging feeling that he ought to test the girl had grown to inescapable proportions as he thought about Widmore's skills ... and weaknesses. Yes, he would take care of that soon; best to be prepared.
Richard watched stirrings below as the camp awakened, the sun having cleared the crest of the hill and crept partway down the slope. Getting to his feet, he brushed a few stray blades of grass from his slacks and turned his back on the cluster of tents, soon gaining the jungle's shelter. He was not yet ready to give up the solitude gained by his pre-dawn ascent, and he moved deeper into the vegetation, making no sound and disturbing nothing but the scattered puddles of sunlight.
Steadfast obedience to ancient tenets and unwavering adherence to the charted course had their time and place, but the current circumstances, including the recent military invasion, called for different qualities. This time, he'd been instructed to look for strength. Charles had that in abundance, as well as a zealot's desire to protect the Island from enemies in the outside world. Was Widmore perhaps a bit too bloodthirsty? His ambition seemed limitless, but surely Richard wouldn't always feel as if Charles needed a choke chain. Surely the boy would grow into the role.
Still...
The thought of a visit to Tustin, California, during the spring two years hence eeled its way into his awareness. He'd had so little time to talk with Locke. What a pity the man hadn't thought to mention when he'd actually become the leader. Yet the idea that the outcome of one search, at least, might already be determined, was nearly intoxicating. Foreknowledge was incredibly seductive, a sultry harlot worthy of Babylon. Yet he must be wary about placing his faith; bewitching whores had been known to slit a man's throat.
Richard slowed, looking around the clearing he'd just entered. His feet had chosen the path without input or direction from his conscious mind, and now that he became aware of his surroundings, he was mildly surprised to find that he stood before his own monument to burdens and sacrifice. One side of his mouth quirked up in a sad smile as he accepted the reminder.
Decaying timber, rusting shackles and their grisly burden were an unlikely source of comfort, yet standing before the rotting hulk of the old ship, his hand on the hull reawakening ancient memories, Richard thought about how effect had a disconcerting habit of spiraling back to set cause in motion, closing the circle.
>^..^<