Of Small Mercies//Lost//Daniel&Charlotte//PG
Title: Of Small Mercies
Fandom: Lost
Rating: PG
Pairing: Daniel/Charlotte
Warning: Character death. Season 4. Post-island.
Summary: He doesn't want Charlotte to be another lost memory, another breakfast forgotten, another name and purpose dying on his tongue.
A/N: Written for lostfichallenge's prompt Beginnings and Endings.
The Boston Globe, October 5, 2005
MISSING ANTHROPOLOGIST FINALLY FOUND
SPECIAL TO THE GLOBE
Charlotte Staples Lewis, twenty-six, renowned cultural anthropologist, was finally found dead after having been missing for three weeks. According to police reports, Miss Lewis had apparently been dead for several days before she was found. The released cause of death was several gun shot wounds to the torso. Authorities are still on the lookout for any information regarding Miss Lewis' whereabouts during the three weeks that she was missing. No further details on the murder of the young anthropologist have been released yet.
Miss Lewis was originally from Worcestershire, England, having moved recently to the States. She did her undergraduate studies at the University of Kent and received a Ph.D. in Cultural Anthropology from Oxford University. She was involved in various archaeological finds, the most recent one in Tunisia, North Africa. A highly esteemed member of the close-knit anthropological circuit, her colleagues have expressed their deepest condolences and assurances that she will be missed. Neither parents, Mr. David Lewis or Mrs. Jeanette Lewis, however, were available for comment.
The funeral will be held in Essex at the First Union Baptist Church on Saturday. All family members and friends of Miss Lewis are welcome to attend.
Anyone with information about this case is asked to contact the Essex Police Department at (351) 270-1979.
- - -
He's clutching the article so tightly in his hands that his knuckles are going white. His vision is blurry from the tears he can't cry and he can't make out many of the words on the page, but he sees enough. Silenced cries rise up in his throat alongside bile. He feels sick. He wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants to do something. But he can't. He can only sit there and stare at the page with an uncomprehending gaze. The gaze of a broken man who knows he has lost something but can't remember what that something is. Was.
Daniel doesn't remember Charlotte. To him, right now, this woman is just a name and a stranger's face on a newspaper page. But he's hurting anyway. And he doesn't know why. And he thinks and he thinks and he thinks. And he tries to remember. But he can't. He just can't. He rereads the article in hopes of finding the answer but it's just a bunch of words on a page. A bunch of black letters against a dirty white page. And there's the woman's picture.
She's beautiful. With long, wavy red hair and a vibrant smile. She's holding an award of some sort and she looks happy. And for a moment, Daniel feels happy. And then he remembers that he shouldn't feel happy. Because the woman is dead, and she's no longer happy. He thinks, You can't be happy when you're dead. Because death is a bad thing--it is a bad thing and no one is ever happy about it. Especially not the dead person.
He runs his fingers along the side of the woman's face in the picture, as if he could almost touch her. And there's a brief flash of something in his mind. And he almost remembers something. Almost. But not quite. Why can't he remember? For once in his life, he prays that the powers that be will have mercy on him and grant him one last memory. He remembers that he knows this woman, but he doesn't know how he knows her.
Was she important to him once? Was she someone he cared about? By his rather vehement reaction to the article, he can only assume that she was. That's the most maddening part about his degenerative memory loss--he never can remember. His short term memory was the first to go; it started with him forgetting small things, what he was doing or what he was about to say. And gradually, he started forgetting more important things. His knowledge of physics and of time stayed intact for the most part, but save for that, everything else was lost to the recesses of his radiation-fried brain.
He wondered if she was sad when he finally forgot her. If she cared about him like he must have cared about her...did it hurt her when he could no longer recall her name? Had she looked at him and willed him to try and remember who she was? Did she cry? Or did she just accept the inevitable end and leave, forgetting about him as he'd forgotten about her? He didn't know. He wished he did. Oh, how he wished he did.
"Charlotte," he whispers into the darkness. The darkness does not whisper anything in response. It is silent.
There's a part of him that believes that if he says her name, he will remember. The doctors had told him that it's possible that certain things will trigger his memories. Or, at least, that's what he remembers them saying. He might have imagined it...He can't remember. But he clings to that hope, anyway, regardless of whether or not it's false. Without hope, he has nothing. He needs something.
He needs someone.
"Charlotte," he says again, his voice cracks this time. The hot tears are trailing down his pallid cheeks, their destination being her picture on the page along with the article about her death. His tears fall silently onto the picture, darkening it some but not distorting it any.
She's still beautiful to him. Even though he can't remember what she was like. Was she nice to him? He imagines she must have been or he would not have liked her. Did he love her? He doesn't know. Did she love him? Again, he can't answer.
His breaths come out in short, shallow gasps. He's trying not to cry now. It's really hard because he hasn't felt like this in a long time--naturally, he can't remember the last time. In fact, he hasn't felt anything in a long time. Daniel has been in a constant state of numb...but he just realises it now. His heart hurts, it aches and he doesn't know what to do to stop it. He feels and suddenly he doesn't really want to anymore. He wants to be numb again. Things didn't hurt when he was numb and forgetful.
No, no. That's not true. Daniel doesn't want to hurt but he doesn't want to be numb again, either. He just wants to remember. He wants to remember what he had for breakfast yesterday, what his plans for today had been, what kind of presents he got from his parents for his sixteenth birthday.
But most of all, he wants to remember her.
And he can't.
And it's torture.
But he tries anyway. He refuses to give up. To give up would to be admitting defeat, to be releasing his tight grip on hope, and on reality. His doctors have told him that it's futile to try so hard to remember and that oh! there are some pills that he can take that will make him feel better. And Daniel almost considers taking them. But that would just prove how far he'd fallen from the once brilliant man that he'd been...And he's not ready to admit that either.
He finally looks up from where he's sitting. The TV is still on; he forgot to turn it off. The weather woman on it is predicting rain for today, Saturday the 8th. That's fine with him. Daniel likes the rain. He doesn't know why, but he does and that's good enough for him. It's good enough because it has to be good enough since he can't remember the reason why he likes the rain.
An island. It flashes in his head. Rain. Lots of rain. And red hair. Charlotte?
He blinks, the image is gone like that. The memory was there. He knew it was there. If he could just--just access it. But no. He can't. There's no way. The doctors said...
The doctors are wrong. He has to keep trying. Would Charlotte have wanted him to keep trying? What good would it be? She's dead now and any memories would just make him miss her more. Daniel keeps trying to remember anyway. The dead should be remembered. The dead should be remembered! And they should be missed, and mourned. He doesn't want Charlotte to be another lost memory, another breakfast forgotten, another name and purpose dying on his tongue.
She deserves to be remembered. If he loved her like he thinks that he did--would he be crying if he didn't?--then she deserves to have him remember her. If only for one last time.
"...going to be a wet weekend, Joe..."
His eyes turn back to the weather woman on the TV. Rain. Possible chance of thunderstorms. Saturday. Saturday? It's Saturday! The day of the week rings a bell and his eyes fall to the article that he's still clutching close to him. He unfolds it a little as it's gotten wrinkly from how tightly he's been holding it. He scans the meaningless words until the end, which reads: The funeral will be held in Essex at the First Union Baptist Church on Saturday. All family members and friends of Miss Lewis are welcome to attend.
He knows where that church is. It's Saturday. He was a friend...he thinks. Would he be welcome to attend? Would anyone there know him? Would they whisper amongst themselves, There's that Faraday man. You know, the crazy one. Or maybe they wouldn't know him at all anymore. Maybe he would have been forgotten just as he has forgotten everyone else. He's not sure whether he likes that idea or not.
He's already dressed in his usual formal clothing so he doesn't need to change. He grabs his keys and a jacket and leaves the apartment. He remembers to lock the door this time but he forgets to turn off the TV again. His electric bill is going to be through the roof this month but he doesn't care. He'll forget about how much it cost after he pays it anyway.
Daniel isn't a good driver. But it doesn't matter. He doesn't like taking cabs or the bus either--people look at him weird, they make him uncomfortable. But he has to get to the funeral somehow so he drives despite his lack of skill. He's not sure when the funeral starts and when it gets over--the paper didn't say--but he hopes he won't be too early or, worse, too late.
His fears are unfounded as he arrives just in time. He thinks, Thank the Lord for small mercies. Even though he doesn't believe in God. He has to thank someone.
He enters the church.
An island. Rain. Lots of rain. And red hair. A small smile. She's smiling at him. It lights up her eyes. She has beautiful eyes, too, the colour of the ocean. It smells of salt-water in the air--they must be close to the ocean.
His eyes are instantly drawn to the coffin at the far end of the church. The building is full of silence, but only a few people are here. He supposes most of her friends are back in England. He remembered reading that in the article.
Daniel takes a few awkward steps forward, suddenly unsure if he should be here. Though he's quiet, somehow the three people sitting up in the front pews (an old man and an old woman, and a man who looks Middle-eastern) hear him and turn to stare. He stops dead in his tracks. He thinks about turning around and leaving. But he doesn't. He needs to be here. He knows he does. Charlotte would have wanted that...wouldn't she?
Her lips are soft when she presses them against his own. He's surprised at first but he doesn't mind. The sensation is pleasant. He feels warm, loved.
The memories are coming back fast and rampant now. He wants to clutch his head but he fears that will stop them and he doesn't want that. He wants to remember. And so he continues forward until he's standing in front of the coffin. Three pairs of eyes are on him, but he no longer cares.
He places a hand against the coffin.
Daniel, she says. His name sounds nice when she says it. Charlotte, he whispers back. He's never been very eloquent. And words would just ruin the moment. She doesn't have to say anything else. He knows. He doesn't have to say anything either. She knows. They've known for a long time.
And he suddenly remembers.
Everything.
And he weeps.
He sags against the coffin and weeps and cries Charlotte's name because he remembers her. And he remembers that he loved her. But most importantly, he remembers that she loved him, too. And now she's gone. And he feels like a little part of him is gone, too.
The old man and the old woman watch him--understanding reaches both of their eyes. The old woman comes forward and kneels beside him, touching his hair in a motherly fashion.
"You're Daniel," she says.
How she knows his name is beyond him but he nods all the same. He can't stop crying long enough to answer her.
The old woman doesn't say anything else but she gives him a hug and he feels loved again. He can see Charlotte in the old woman, in her faded blue eyes and graying red hair. This is her mother, he's sure.
He remains in that state for some time, although he's moved to one of the pews now. The woman he loves is dead. It repeats like a mantra in his head and he hurts. The old man and old woman, her parents, finally leave...and Daniel's suddenly alone in the church with Charlotte and the Iraqi man. The pastor that had performed the service has left the room, deciding to give them a few more moments to be with Charlotte, Daniel supposes.
The unknown man gets up and moves, taking a seat beside Daniel. Daniel doesn't notice until he speaks.
"Do you know who I am?" the man asks, his accent would have revealed his heritage if his physical appearance hadn't.
Daniel shakes his head, untrusting of his voice. He remains silent.
"I am Sayid Jarrah," he says as if it is important.
It's not important to Daniel. Nothing seems to be anymore. But, politely, in a small and broken voice, he replies, "Daniel Faraday."
Sayid nods. "I know."
Daniel stands up. He doesn't feel much in the mood for company anymore, despite having longed for it for so long. He wants to go home.
No.
He wants to go back to the Island.
He's walking towards the door of the church when Sayid speaks again. "I'm sorry, Daniel," he says.
A gunshot rings out. Daniel's eyes widen a fraction as he turns around to face the man. He looks down, notices the circle of blood on his shirt, gradually growing larger. He's been shot. And he knows it should hurt, but it hardly does. And then he's falling backwards, onto the soft carpet of the church. Fitting place to die, he thinks.
Daniel doesn't know that Sayid is working for Benjamin Linus. He doesn't know that it was Ben who ordered Sayid to kill Charlotte...and now Daniel as well. He might have been able to piece it together if he'd remembered about Frank and Miles' mysterious deaths...but he hadn't remembered.
But he thinks that's sort of okay, as he lies there dying, because now he's going to get to see Charlotte again.
Sayid kneels beside Daniel and watches as the life slips from him. He doesn't like this job, but he does it. To protect his friends back on the Island. Ben has told him that this is the only way. He has no choice. He moves his hand over Daniel's eyes, closing his eyelids.
Daniel, she says when she sees him. There's life in her eyes and in her smile again.
Charlotte, he replies.
You remembered, she says with a sort of wry smirk.
Daniel smiles back and says, How could I forget?
Fandom: Lost
Rating: PG
Pairing: Daniel/Charlotte
Warning: Character death. Season 4. Post-island.
Summary: He doesn't want Charlotte to be another lost memory, another breakfast forgotten, another name and purpose dying on his tongue.
A/N: Written for lostfichallenge's prompt Beginnings and Endings.
The Boston Globe, October 5, 2005
MISSING ANTHROPOLOGIST FINALLY FOUND
SPECIAL TO THE GLOBE
Charlotte Staples Lewis, twenty-six, renowned cultural anthropologist, was finally found dead after having been missing for three weeks. According to police reports, Miss Lewis had apparently been dead for several days before she was found. The released cause of death was several gun shot wounds to the torso. Authorities are still on the lookout for any information regarding Miss Lewis' whereabouts during the three weeks that she was missing. No further details on the murder of the young anthropologist have been released yet.
Miss Lewis was originally from Worcestershire, England, having moved recently to the States. She did her undergraduate studies at the University of Kent and received a Ph.D. in Cultural Anthropology from Oxford University. She was involved in various archaeological finds, the most recent one in Tunisia, North Africa. A highly esteemed member of the close-knit anthropological circuit, her colleagues have expressed their deepest condolences and assurances that she will be missed. Neither parents, Mr. David Lewis or Mrs. Jeanette Lewis, however, were available for comment.
The funeral will be held in Essex at the First Union Baptist Church on Saturday. All family members and friends of Miss Lewis are welcome to attend.
Anyone with information about this case is asked to contact the Essex Police Department at (351) 270-1979.
- - -
He's clutching the article so tightly in his hands that his knuckles are going white. His vision is blurry from the tears he can't cry and he can't make out many of the words on the page, but he sees enough. Silenced cries rise up in his throat alongside bile. He feels sick. He wants to scream, he wants to cry, he wants to do something. But he can't. He can only sit there and stare at the page with an uncomprehending gaze. The gaze of a broken man who knows he has lost something but can't remember what that something is. Was.
Daniel doesn't remember Charlotte. To him, right now, this woman is just a name and a stranger's face on a newspaper page. But he's hurting anyway. And he doesn't know why. And he thinks and he thinks and he thinks. And he tries to remember. But he can't. He just can't. He rereads the article in hopes of finding the answer but it's just a bunch of words on a page. A bunch of black letters against a dirty white page. And there's the woman's picture.
She's beautiful. With long, wavy red hair and a vibrant smile. She's holding an award of some sort and she looks happy. And for a moment, Daniel feels happy. And then he remembers that he shouldn't feel happy. Because the woman is dead, and she's no longer happy. He thinks, You can't be happy when you're dead. Because death is a bad thing--it is a bad thing and no one is ever happy about it. Especially not the dead person.
He runs his fingers along the side of the woman's face in the picture, as if he could almost touch her. And there's a brief flash of something in his mind. And he almost remembers something. Almost. But not quite. Why can't he remember? For once in his life, he prays that the powers that be will have mercy on him and grant him one last memory. He remembers that he knows this woman, but he doesn't know how he knows her.
Was she important to him once? Was she someone he cared about? By his rather vehement reaction to the article, he can only assume that she was. That's the most maddening part about his degenerative memory loss--he never can remember. His short term memory was the first to go; it started with him forgetting small things, what he was doing or what he was about to say. And gradually, he started forgetting more important things. His knowledge of physics and of time stayed intact for the most part, but save for that, everything else was lost to the recesses of his radiation-fried brain.
He wondered if she was sad when he finally forgot her. If she cared about him like he must have cared about her...did it hurt her when he could no longer recall her name? Had she looked at him and willed him to try and remember who she was? Did she cry? Or did she just accept the inevitable end and leave, forgetting about him as he'd forgotten about her? He didn't know. He wished he did. Oh, how he wished he did.
"Charlotte," he whispers into the darkness. The darkness does not whisper anything in response. It is silent.
There's a part of him that believes that if he says her name, he will remember. The doctors had told him that it's possible that certain things will trigger his memories. Or, at least, that's what he remembers them saying. He might have imagined it...He can't remember. But he clings to that hope, anyway, regardless of whether or not it's false. Without hope, he has nothing. He needs something.
He needs someone.
"Charlotte," he says again, his voice cracks this time. The hot tears are trailing down his pallid cheeks, their destination being her picture on the page along with the article about her death. His tears fall silently onto the picture, darkening it some but not distorting it any.
She's still beautiful to him. Even though he can't remember what she was like. Was she nice to him? He imagines she must have been or he would not have liked her. Did he love her? He doesn't know. Did she love him? Again, he can't answer.
His breaths come out in short, shallow gasps. He's trying not to cry now. It's really hard because he hasn't felt like this in a long time--naturally, he can't remember the last time. In fact, he hasn't felt anything in a long time. Daniel has been in a constant state of numb...but he just realises it now. His heart hurts, it aches and he doesn't know what to do to stop it. He feels and suddenly he doesn't really want to anymore. He wants to be numb again. Things didn't hurt when he was numb and forgetful.
No, no. That's not true. Daniel doesn't want to hurt but he doesn't want to be numb again, either. He just wants to remember. He wants to remember what he had for breakfast yesterday, what his plans for today had been, what kind of presents he got from his parents for his sixteenth birthday.
But most of all, he wants to remember her.
And he can't.
And it's torture.
But he tries anyway. He refuses to give up. To give up would to be admitting defeat, to be releasing his tight grip on hope, and on reality. His doctors have told him that it's futile to try so hard to remember and that oh! there are some pills that he can take that will make him feel better. And Daniel almost considers taking them. But that would just prove how far he'd fallen from the once brilliant man that he'd been...And he's not ready to admit that either.
He finally looks up from where he's sitting. The TV is still on; he forgot to turn it off. The weather woman on it is predicting rain for today, Saturday the 8th. That's fine with him. Daniel likes the rain. He doesn't know why, but he does and that's good enough for him. It's good enough because it has to be good enough since he can't remember the reason why he likes the rain.
An island. It flashes in his head. Rain. Lots of rain. And red hair. Charlotte?
He blinks, the image is gone like that. The memory was there. He knew it was there. If he could just--just access it. But no. He can't. There's no way. The doctors said...
The doctors are wrong. He has to keep trying. Would Charlotte have wanted him to keep trying? What good would it be? She's dead now and any memories would just make him miss her more. Daniel keeps trying to remember anyway. The dead should be remembered. The dead should be remembered! And they should be missed, and mourned. He doesn't want Charlotte to be another lost memory, another breakfast forgotten, another name and purpose dying on his tongue.
She deserves to be remembered. If he loved her like he thinks that he did--would he be crying if he didn't?--then she deserves to have him remember her. If only for one last time.
"...going to be a wet weekend, Joe..."
His eyes turn back to the weather woman on the TV. Rain. Possible chance of thunderstorms. Saturday. Saturday? It's Saturday! The day of the week rings a bell and his eyes fall to the article that he's still clutching close to him. He unfolds it a little as it's gotten wrinkly from how tightly he's been holding it. He scans the meaningless words until the end, which reads: The funeral will be held in Essex at the First Union Baptist Church on Saturday. All family members and friends of Miss Lewis are welcome to attend.
He knows where that church is. It's Saturday. He was a friend...he thinks. Would he be welcome to attend? Would anyone there know him? Would they whisper amongst themselves, There's that Faraday man. You know, the crazy one. Or maybe they wouldn't know him at all anymore. Maybe he would have been forgotten just as he has forgotten everyone else. He's not sure whether he likes that idea or not.
He's already dressed in his usual formal clothing so he doesn't need to change. He grabs his keys and a jacket and leaves the apartment. He remembers to lock the door this time but he forgets to turn off the TV again. His electric bill is going to be through the roof this month but he doesn't care. He'll forget about how much it cost after he pays it anyway.
Daniel isn't a good driver. But it doesn't matter. He doesn't like taking cabs or the bus either--people look at him weird, they make him uncomfortable. But he has to get to the funeral somehow so he drives despite his lack of skill. He's not sure when the funeral starts and when it gets over--the paper didn't say--but he hopes he won't be too early or, worse, too late.
His fears are unfounded as he arrives just in time. He thinks, Thank the Lord for small mercies. Even though he doesn't believe in God. He has to thank someone.
He enters the church.
An island. Rain. Lots of rain. And red hair. A small smile. She's smiling at him. It lights up her eyes. She has beautiful eyes, too, the colour of the ocean. It smells of salt-water in the air--they must be close to the ocean.
His eyes are instantly drawn to the coffin at the far end of the church. The building is full of silence, but only a few people are here. He supposes most of her friends are back in England. He remembered reading that in the article.
Daniel takes a few awkward steps forward, suddenly unsure if he should be here. Though he's quiet, somehow the three people sitting up in the front pews (an old man and an old woman, and a man who looks Middle-eastern) hear him and turn to stare. He stops dead in his tracks. He thinks about turning around and leaving. But he doesn't. He needs to be here. He knows he does. Charlotte would have wanted that...wouldn't she?
Her lips are soft when she presses them against his own. He's surprised at first but he doesn't mind. The sensation is pleasant. He feels warm, loved.
The memories are coming back fast and rampant now. He wants to clutch his head but he fears that will stop them and he doesn't want that. He wants to remember. And so he continues forward until he's standing in front of the coffin. Three pairs of eyes are on him, but he no longer cares.
He places a hand against the coffin.
Daniel, she says. His name sounds nice when she says it. Charlotte, he whispers back. He's never been very eloquent. And words would just ruin the moment. She doesn't have to say anything else. He knows. He doesn't have to say anything either. She knows. They've known for a long time.
And he suddenly remembers.
Everything.
And he weeps.
He sags against the coffin and weeps and cries Charlotte's name because he remembers her. And he remembers that he loved her. But most importantly, he remembers that she loved him, too. And now she's gone. And he feels like a little part of him is gone, too.
The old man and the old woman watch him--understanding reaches both of their eyes. The old woman comes forward and kneels beside him, touching his hair in a motherly fashion.
"You're Daniel," she says.
How she knows his name is beyond him but he nods all the same. He can't stop crying long enough to answer her.
The old woman doesn't say anything else but she gives him a hug and he feels loved again. He can see Charlotte in the old woman, in her faded blue eyes and graying red hair. This is her mother, he's sure.
He remains in that state for some time, although he's moved to one of the pews now. The woman he loves is dead. It repeats like a mantra in his head and he hurts. The old man and old woman, her parents, finally leave...and Daniel's suddenly alone in the church with Charlotte and the Iraqi man. The pastor that had performed the service has left the room, deciding to give them a few more moments to be with Charlotte, Daniel supposes.
The unknown man gets up and moves, taking a seat beside Daniel. Daniel doesn't notice until he speaks.
"Do you know who I am?" the man asks, his accent would have revealed his heritage if his physical appearance hadn't.
Daniel shakes his head, untrusting of his voice. He remains silent.
"I am Sayid Jarrah," he says as if it is important.
It's not important to Daniel. Nothing seems to be anymore. But, politely, in a small and broken voice, he replies, "Daniel Faraday."
Sayid nods. "I know."
Daniel stands up. He doesn't feel much in the mood for company anymore, despite having longed for it for so long. He wants to go home.
No.
He wants to go back to the Island.
He's walking towards the door of the church when Sayid speaks again. "I'm sorry, Daniel," he says.
A gunshot rings out. Daniel's eyes widen a fraction as he turns around to face the man. He looks down, notices the circle of blood on his shirt, gradually growing larger. He's been shot. And he knows it should hurt, but it hardly does. And then he's falling backwards, onto the soft carpet of the church. Fitting place to die, he thinks.
Daniel doesn't know that Sayid is working for Benjamin Linus. He doesn't know that it was Ben who ordered Sayid to kill Charlotte...and now Daniel as well. He might have been able to piece it together if he'd remembered about Frank and Miles' mysterious deaths...but he hadn't remembered.
But he thinks that's sort of okay, as he lies there dying, because now he's going to get to see Charlotte again.
Sayid kneels beside Daniel and watches as the life slips from him. He doesn't like this job, but he does it. To protect his friends back on the Island. Ben has told him that this is the only way. He has no choice. He moves his hand over Daniel's eyes, closing his eyelids.
Daniel, she says when she sees him. There's life in her eyes and in her smile again.
Charlotte, he replies.
You remembered, she says with a sort of wry smirk.
Daniel smiles back and says, How could I forget?