Lost Video Island

[torrie]

Disclaimer: I don’t claim any rights to anything connected to the tv show, Lost. If I had any, where d’ya think I’d be – sitting at my computer or on a tropical island, in the sun with Jack, Charlie & co? Exactly. Any new characters cropping up will be entirely my own creations though, in an example of creative license at the whim of the author.

Notes: There’s only so much I can really say without giving everything away, so I’ll just mention that this is my first Lost fanfic and it's Charlie-centric, kind of dealing with why he’s so close to Claire and protective of her and her baby. As a by-the-by, at the time of starting this, I’ve only seen three episodes as I’m watching the show on British tv and we’re way behind – any apparent inaccuracies will be down to lack of knowledge, although I have heard some US spoilers. Anyways, feedback of any kind would be much appreciated - thanks for reading and hope you like it!


Getting Lost


Prologue

Sweat beaded on his forehead, he passed his forearm over his face to wipe it away and then stayed perfectly still. Listening, praying. Silence … No, wait – there it was again. Left, this time. Or was it right? It was hard to tell and a mistake would be costly. Deadly.

It took all the willpower he had to stay put, but then he knew a lot about willpower. He could have done without the added test though, that was for sure. What a choice – stay and hope he was well enough hidden or make a run for it and hope he was fast enough. Fast enough for what, that was the question – where could he run to? So far they had associated the jungle with hidden danger and the beach with safety, but who was to say that would be the case? If he made it as far as the golden sand … what then? Would It – whatever It was – stay under cover or simply continue the chase until it’s undoubtedly gruesome conclusion? Would he escape or unwittingly put the others in danger?

Too late.

The choice was made for him and he had to run. And run as if his life depended on it, for it did. He may not understand what’s going on in this place, but that he knows as well as he knows his own name so Charlie Pace did what any self-respecting rock god would do in the face of certain death – legged it. Sharpish.

Fighting for breath, he ran and ran, forcing his way through the tangled undergrowth. And when he thought his lungs would burst in his chest, he put his head down and ran some more. Tripping over fallen branches, hidden rocks and long grasses, he fled, looking back over his shoulder in terror that the next glance would reveal It right on his tail. Twigs caught in his clothes, his hair, tore at his face and his arms flailed to clear a path, desperation threatening to overwhelm him.

Convinced It would only have to reach out and It would have him, he forced himself to somehow find the strength to put on one last burst of speed but, before he could go much further, a treacherous tree root caught his trainer-clad foot and sent him crashing to the ground with a yelp of pain. Trying to scramble to his feet was easier said than done when the ground was still slick with mud in places – a result of the latest downpour – and Charlie ended up twisting onto his back as a shadow loomed over him, a horror-fuelled scream tearing from his throat …

That scream was still ringing in his ears when he jerked upright, almost falling off the edge of his bed in his panic. His head snapped from side to side, haunted eyes taking in his surroundings first with fear, then suspicion, then sheer relief as his heart still pounded and his breathing came in ragged gasps.

The jungle – gone. The … thing – gone, thank God. The sweat pouring down his face – oh, that was real all right and no wonder. A nightmare … Just a nightmare, but the most vivid he’d ever had. Bar none. Unless you counted the fact that he’d had the same dream three times – and that was just this week …

“Bloody hell.” he managed, collapsing back against the pillows with a groan and wondering – not for the first time, but with perhaps the most serious consideration in a long time – if it was all worth it. If all the trappings of the rock-and-roll lifestyle were really worth it. Sex, drugs and rock-n-roll – sounded good until you had to seriously question whether or not it was driving you out of your mind.

Something certainly was …

*

To be continued…
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[torrie]

1.

Certain he was heading straight for a premature stroke or something, Charlie lay back in the hotel bed and fought to calm his shattered nerves and racing heartbeat. Breathe in … Breathe out … Sounded simple enough in the cold light of day though, becoming more aware of exactly what was going on, he raised a hand so he could see it and closed his eyes again in near defeat.

The shakes.

Could he really be at the stage he had always claimed would never befall him? He was so different from all the rest, wasn’t he? He was in a rock band, for Christ’s sake – a rising star, making a name for himself and the band, enjoying himself.

Rock god … Had a ring to it. Addict … Not so much.

That was what he was though, whether he chose to admit it or not. However much he tried to deny it, deep down, he already knew it was true. What had once been something to add to the buzz of it all, a little edge, was now a dependency. An addiction. And if he had reached the point, as it appeared he had, where he couldn’t get a night’s sleep without a fix … Well, he had a bigger problem than he cared to think about.

Telling himself this was it, this was as bad as he could let it get, he flung his arm over his eyes – though what it was exactly that he wanted to block out was still up for debate. There were certainly plenty of options – including, but not limited to, the state of his hotel room, littered as it was with discarded clothes, empty beer bottles and overflowing ashtrays; the headache that had to be at least a nine on the Richter scale of hangovers; and the knowledge that all he had to do to make this all go away was reach into his jacket pocket and grab the little baggie hidden there …

He rubbed his eyes wearily and forced himself to get up, pulling a pair of battered jeans on over his boxers as he surveyed the room – must have been a hell of night after the gig. Shame he couldn’t remember much … He made his way into the bathroom, fighting the urge to head straight for his stash and instead splashing cold water on his face. No longer surprised by what he saw, he stared at himself in the mirrored door of the cabinet above the sink and took in the bleary eyes staring right back – no wonder he was wearing his sunglasses a lot more these days. People might put it down to the old “not-wanting-to-be-recognised” routine or part of competing in the rock star style stakes but really, they just hid a multitude of sins.

Putting his head down to try the cold water again, hoping it would revive him a little more, he straightened up again in a hurry at a noise from behind him, almost cracking his head off the cabinet.

“Tad jumpy there, Charlie – didn’t forget I was here, did you?” came a wry female voice, causing him to turn around. “If you’re not careful, you’ll have me thinking you only see me as another groupie.”

Normally he’d have made some flirty wisecrack at that – Charlie Pace was not the kind of guy to give up flirting just because he’d gotten what he wanted. He’d flirt with anyone, anytime, and the rest of the band had finally, after much debate on the subject, come to the conclusion that he genuinely didn’t know he was doing it half the time. Now, however, he simply took a deep breath, turned, and forced a smile.

“Tasha …”

“You expecting someone else?” she said as she leaned against the doorframe, watching him.

“Course not! I just didn’t expect you to be creeping up behind me in the bathroom!” he said, a little defensively.

“What can I say? You were bent over the sink – I couldn’t help admiring the view.” she returned and even he had to grin in response to that, his eyebrows raised questioningly over eyes that regained some of their old twinkle as he leaned back against said sink, a look of challenge on his face.

“Yeah? In that case, how about you come over here and get a closer look …” he suggested, momentarily distracted enough to let his usual stage confidence shine through and forget about finding his next fix – no mean feat on her part, though she was making it look easy right then. Who wouldn’t be distracted when faced with five and a half feet of gorgeous, clad only in a worn DriveSHAFT t-shirt that barely reached mid-thigh? Good job he didn’t have those sunglasses on now or they’d be steaming up … Not to mention obstructing his view.

After cocking her head on one side thoughtfully, as if considering his proposal, she straightened up and moved away from the door, strolling casually towards him with her usual easy grace. A soft smile tugged at her lips as he reached out until his hands rested on her hips, and she ran a teasing finger down his bare chest until she reached the waistband of his jeans. Slowly, she leaned in, as if to press kisses along his jawline, but she then turned her head slightly to whisper in his ear.

“How about …” she began, her tone low and seductive, “No.”

Having allowed his eyes to close in anticipation, they flew open again at that and he gaped at her, caught unawares by her unexpected knockback. Yet, after a split second of doubt, he smiled knowingly as if he’d caught on to what she was doing.

“Tease.” he grinned, moving to kiss her but, finding she just pushed him away, his confusion and disappointment quickly returned. “Tash?”

“I said no.”

“You what?”

“Hearing problems, Charlie? Not good news for a musician …”

“I heard you all right, I just can’t figure out what the hell you’re playing at.”

“Oh, I’m not the one playing here – or if I am, it’s only ‘cos I must have learned from the master!” she snapped and, for the first time, the hurt and anger were clear in her voice.

“Listen, love,” he said in concern, “If I’ve done something to upset you … Well, I’m sorry, but you’re gonna have to spell it out to me ‘cos I’m definitely in the dark here.”

“Hmm, interesting turn of phrase there. Done … What could you have done to upset me? Something you could be doing to upset me? I dunno – why don’t you tell me? What are you doing, Charlie?” she asked coldly and he sighed as it all fell into place. “What is it this time? Crack? Heroin? Come on, Charlie – you reckon I’m the one playing games, so why don’t you tell me yours and maybe we’ll both play!”

“Tash … love …”

“Don’t you ‘love’ me, Charlie Pace, you lying git!” she exclaimed, her composure finally giving way, having threatened to and yet held out for so long. “You promised me!”

“I trusted you!”

For a split second, his vision seemed to haze and her voice seemed to be coming to him from a great distance, her London accent distorted and sounding … almost Australian. Her hair was gently whipped around her face as if by a gentle breeze and the pale blonde over black streaks dye-job faded into a tangle of honey-blonde waves and back again before he had time to blink.

“Charlie?” she said unsurely, the look on his face enough to throw her and hold her anger at bay – at least for the moment. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost …”

“I … I’m fine.” he stammered, pressing a shaky hand to his head.

“You don’t look it.” she said, but she couldn’t quite bring herself to keep up any further attempt at a steely resolve and just cupped his cheek gently, his stubble rough under her fingers. “Look at you … Look at you, Charlie – at what you’re doing to yourself.”

“I’m fine.” he repeated stubbornly, though he looked anything but. “I’m fine.”

“Well, I’m not. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t sit around and watch you crash and burn …” she said, her gaze dropping to her feet just in time to miss him flinch at her words for reasons even he didn’t understand.

“I know what you’re saying, Tasha, but you’re getting all wound up over nothing.” he said, hoping he could convince her better than he could convince himself. “Though it’s not as if I’m not trying – I know how you feel and I am trying …”

“Two words, Charlie,” she said simply, as she turned on her heel. “Try harder.”

*

To be continued...
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[torrie]

2.

Try harder …

The words echoed in his mind as he stared into the distance, lost in his thoughts and oblivious to his surroundings, spectacular as they were. Under different circumstances … Wow, what a place to be. Had he not been so distracted, even he would have had to admire the scene spread out before him – clear blue water as far as the eye could see, golden sands beneath him, lush green jungle behind and all bathed in the soft twilight glow of the setting sun. He had tuned it out, or was at least trying to, but all around him were the sounds of the island preparing for another night. The survivors were bustling about, lighting fires and trying to keep a stream of light-hearted chatter going; no doubt telling themselves the fire was for light and heat only, not admitting the more obvious role of protection – an attempt to ward off … well, who knew what could be lurking?

Sitting there by the waters edge, listening only to the rhythmic lap of the waves as they broke on the shore, idly running his fingers through the sand and feeling the gentle breeze on his face, it seemed impossible that such tranquillity could hide something so sinister. Yet they had, if not seen it with their own eyes, then certainly felt its effects, having fled through the undergrowth in fear of their lives. Having seen the fate of the pilot. Having heard that transmission.

They’re all dead … It killed them all …

According to that blonde, Shannon, anyway – though if she paid as much attention in French class as she did to her own appearance, she could hardly be wrong …

However, incomprehensible as their situation was and though he knew survival and just getting through this should be his priorities, nothing could have been further from his mind. For now, the present was of little consequence – it wasn’t like there was really anything they could do except wait it out anyway – and it was the past which played on his mind.

Usually he was only too keen to try to block it out, but now … now, he was quite happy to wallow in all his old sorrows. Not so much drowning them this time as drowning in them. Maybe they were the reason he was here in the first place – they do say everything happens for a reason … He had his reservations on that theory though. He knew better than most that sometimes things happen for which there could be no justification, terrible things. To think that everything he had gone through back home had all been part of some great scheme, engineered by some higher power – no wonder he’d allowed his faith to take a back seat. How could he put his trust in a god who allowed such things to happen, who mapped them out …

And yet he couldn’t help wondering if there was truth in that notion; it did seem that maybe now he was paying for what he had done … And he could handle that thought – being punished. In his eyes, he deserved this. And worse. Perhaps there was worse to come …

His gaze drifted down to his hands and he focused on the tape wrapped around his fingers. FATE spelled out across one hand.

Maybe it was. Maybe his whole life was already spelled out for him … Running through the jungle – he had already seen that without understanding what it meant and now here he was. At best, it was a hell of a coincidence – at worse … Well, he was still working on that one.

The letters blurred before him and he rubbed at his eyes with his other hand, fighting back unshed tears. Fate – could it really be so cruel as to give him so much, only to snatch it back from him? He knew he deserved everything he got, but did his punishment really have to drag others down with him?

“Charlie?”

He started at the soft voice, thinking for a moment that his mind was playing tricks on him again until it continued, the lilting Australian accent growing more apparent.

“Aren’t you coming over to the fire? It’s not so warm now the sun’s going down …”

“Maybe in a little bit.” he said, forcing himself to smile for her benefit. “Just thought I’d … clear my head, you know?”

“Yeah, it can get a bit … intense.” she nodded, “Mind if I …?”

Not wanting to hurt this girl’s feelings when she had been nothing but nice to him, Charlie made a little gesture of consent and then, almost as an afterthought, jumped up to take her arm and help her ease herself down onto the now cooling sand.

“Thanks.” she said gratefully as he sat back down beside her.

“So how are you?” he asked, casting a concerned eye over her and noticing how drained she looked.

“Oh, you know.” she sighed wearily, running a hand over her swollen stomach. “Still pregnant. Still tired. Still stuck here like everyone else.”

“Same old.” he smiled sympathetically, getting a nod in response.

“How about you? You looked miles away just now.” the young woman said, grinning as he gave a wry laugh. “If only, huh?”

“Yeah … I guess I can’t complain though – I’m okay, all things considered. You seen Jack lately – made sure everything’s okay with the little one?” Charlie asked, keen to divert the focus from himself.

“Yes, Mom!” she teased, “Everything’s fine. And it seems like I’ve got a real little footie player in the making in here - he’s been kicking me all day!”

“You just make sure he ends up playing for Man U – none of your Aussie Rules nonsense!” he grinned, making her giggle and feign an offended look. “So you’re sure it’s a boy then?”

“Pretty sure. Dunno why really, but I’ve just got a feeling – it must sound silly …”

“Course not – if anyone should know it’s you. You are lugging the little tyke about twenty-four/seven.”

“Don’t I know it!” she agreed, “Oh, here we go again - quick, feel!”

“I dunno …” he started to stammer, a little taken aback by her enthusiasm to include him but, before he could react further, she had already grabbed his hand and pressed it to her stomach.

“Did you feel that? That’s a foot! And again!” she beamed happily and he couldn’t help but smile back, though there was a look in his blue eyes she couldn’t quite read.

“That’s great, Claire.” he said sincerely, remembering her fear right after the crash when she had to confess that she hadn’t felt the baby move.

“Isn’t it?” she agreed, “I mean, it’s weird to think of a little person in there and the moving about might keep me awake but at least this way I know he’s alright. And in there’s probably the best place for him – the thought of giving birth out here … I know we’ve got Jack and we’re lucky to have him, but … this isn’t how I imagined it would be. I kinda wanted a natural birth, no drugs or anything, but this is a bit too natural …”

No drugs …

Claire chatted on, caught up in thinking about her baby and finding it a relief to have someone she could tell all her concerns too – and there was something about the British rock star that just seemed to make him an excellent, if slightly unlikely, sounding board for her – too much of a relief for her to notice he wasn’t exactly paying close attention as something she said struck a particular chord.

No drugs …

“What do you want me to do, Tasha?” Charlie asked, realising that she really was reaching breaking point with him as he followed her out onto the balcony of the hotel room and found her leaning heavily on the railing, staring out over the cityscape below.

“What’s the point, Charlie?” she asked wearily, not turning around.

“I don’t want it to be like this between us.” he said, “We’re good together – you know we are. Tell me what you want me to do.”

“You already know!” she snapped, “I’ve asked you over and over and you kept fobbing me off, telling me you had it all in control. And when you did promise me, did you keep that promise? No! Because you couldn’t. Or wouldn’t.”

“I’ve said I’m sorry …”

“I know, but you still do it so sorry doesn’t really mean much, does it? If you were really sorry, you wouldn’t keep doing this to me … To yourself.” she said, but he could tell her anger was rapidly fading into resignation and knew that wasn’t a good sign – it felt like she was giving up on him.

“Tash …” he said softly, faltering as he approached her, not knowing what else there was to say. “I never meant to hurt you …”

His words were met only with silence and he reached out, running his hands down her bare arms as he stood behind her, leaning down to press a kiss to her shoulder. “Look at me …”

Reluctantly, she turned and found herself in his arms, gazing up into blue eyes which, though still heavy from the night before, still spoke volumes.

“Talk to me.” he whispered, his forehead resting lightly against hers and his hand coming up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“Get clean, Charlie.” she said simply and, though her tone was even, the look on her face told a different story – her desperation plain to see. “No broken promises, no lies … no drugs.”

“You make it sound so easy – like it’s something I can do while you pop out for a pint of milk. It doesn’t work that way, love.”

“I’m not expecting it to be easy.” Tasha said, “But I’m saying I’ll help you – I’ll be there for you …”

“But you won’t if I don’t do this? Is that what this is – an ultimatum?” he asked, letting go of her abruptly.

She dropped her gaze and, for a second, he was sure she would back down rather than press the issue. But slowly her eyes met his and, although even he could see how much it was hurting her and how much she was struggling with this, she nodded.

“I think it has to be.”

“ … it has to be.”

Claire was still talking to him, even though he’d barely heard a word and had just about managed to make all the right noises in all the right places.

“I mean, it is crazy, right? It has to be – I must be crazy! No drugs? Sure, it sounds good, like it’d be all better for the baby and everything, but the pain must be something else – I’d probably last all of five minutes! I just hope it doesn’t come to that … We have to be rescued before then – the last thing anyone needs is me screaming my head off for drugs we don’t have and I swore I wouldn’t use anyway and …” Something in his manner caught her attention and she stopped herself mid-sentence with a self-conscious little laugh. “And I’m yakking on to a rock star about giving birth – you so do not need to hear this. Sorry. God, you probably wanted some peace and quiet and then I come along and start going on about breathing exercises and epidurals – I get a bit carried away at times … Don’t know when to shut up. You should have told me to shut up … And I’m doing it again. I’ll go …”

Mentally giving himself a little shake, Charlie turned to her and tried to reassure her. “Hey, breathe before you turn blue, love!” he joked, “Get in some practise for when Junior makes an arrival.”

“I just … Sorry I went on. It’s being stuck here, I think – kinda gets to you …” she said sheepishly, “That’s my excuse anyway.”

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. It’s understandable you’d be worried, girl in your condition. But it’s gonna be fine and any time you need to talk, I’m here – it’s not like I’m going anywhere, now am I?”

“Thanks, Charlie.” she said, her smile resurfacing. “You really think it’s going to be okay?”

“It has to be …” he said, a more serious look than he had intended on his face. “It has to be.”

*

To be continued...
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[torrie]

3.

Sitting there on the beach in the near darkness, a companionable silence descended and two pairs of eyes gazed out to sea instead of one, both seeming lost in thought. In spite of whatever turmoil might have existed under the surface, the outward serenity was only broken when Charlie shot a sidelong glance at Claire as she shifted uncomfortably.

“You okay, love?” he asked in concern, already half on his feet as he spotted the look on her face and the hand pressed to her temple. “You want me to get Jack?”

She shook her head weakly, “No … No, I’m good – honest. Just … tired, I guess.”

“You’re bound to need your rest – how about we get you back over to the fire?” Charlie suggested, getting up and taking her arm, carefully helping her climb to her feet before staying close so she could lean on him. “You been getting much sleep?”

“Not really.” Claire admitted ruefully, “A bit when I’m just too far gone to keep my eyes open, but …”

“But?”

“The baby.” she said quickly, perhaps a little too quickly. “Hard to get comfortable. Or to ignore the kicking …”

He nodded in understanding but, after a moment’s pause, showed that her answer didn’t wash with him. “So that’s the only thing keeping you awake?”

“What makes you ask that?” she asked suspiciously, stopping in her tracks.

“Nothing. It just seems like … there’s more to it than that.” he shrugged, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stick my nose in.”

Thinking it was best to drop it rather than risk upsetting her, Charlie thought she would do the same and they continued across the sand without a word. However, Claire stopped again before they reached the fire, purposely keeping them out of earshot of the others as she turned to him unsurely.

“I’ve been having … dreams.” she said, her gaze flitting around self-consciously instead of meeting his eyes. “Well, nightmares really. Not making me too keen to doze off – I know it’s silly. I’m hardly a little kid …”

But if she thought Charlie would judge her or think her childish for being frightened by something she knew couldn’t possibly be real, she was very much mistaken – he’d had his fair share of sleepless nights in his time and knew all too well what it was like to wake in a cold sweat, scared to close your eyes again for fear of what your mind might conjure up to haunt you.

“It’s not silly.” he said gently, “Maybe Jack could give you something …”

“I’d rather not mention it to anyone else. He’s got enough to deal with without me blowing some silly little dream out of proportion and I hate everyone treading on eggshells around me as it is – I’m not Claire to most people round here, I’m just ‘that pregnant girl’. I’m like a … a … walking timebomb!”

“No one thinks that …” he began, thought he knew she wasn’t convinced. “I don’t.”

She acknowledged that much was true with a little nod and grateful smile. “I guess not … It’s not like I blame the others though – I kinda feel the same myself.”

“You just need to take it easy for a bit – you’re still in shock from the crash, so it’s only natural you’d feel a bit off. This has thrown us all for a loop.”

“It’s hard to explain, but it’s like I’m sooo tired, but I’m too … wound up. I just can’t relax and god knows I’ve tried. It must be this place – knowing there’s nowhere to go. I just feel …”

“Trapped.”

“Yeah.” she agreed with a faint look of surprise at how easily he seemed to understand and how perfectly he summed it up. “Trapped – that’s exactly it. I want to get away and I can’t – I have to sit here, doing nothing. I can’t have this baby here, Charlie – I need to get away …”

“… need to get away.”

“I need to get away, Charlie, or … or … I don’t know what, but I know it’s not going to be good.”

“It’s the band – getting all the attention from the press and everything, it’s more than a little claustrophobic …” he said, eager to find an excuse. “Maybe we could lie low for a while – have a bit of a break …”

Realising he had misunderstood her, she shook her head and then pushed past him to go back inside the hotel room and get dressed. “From you – I need a break from you.” she sighed, pulling on a short faded denim skirt and then hunting for the top that would replace the DriveSHAFT t-shirt she was currently wearing.

“You’re leaving me?”

The hurt was palpable and she knew if she turned to face those intense blue eyes and the little-boy-lost look they could hold, her resolve would disappear in an instant. He’d always had that effect on her, that power over her, from the moment they’d met.

“Don’t make me the bad guy in this, Charlie.” she said, sitting down heavily on the edge of the bed and staring at her feet. “I just … I don’t know how much longer I can do this without cracking up.”

“You knew what I was when you got involved with me …” he said accusingly, “You know first-hand the kind of pressure …”

“Don’t trip out that old excuse – I’d expect that from Liam, but not you. We’re not talking drinking too much or getting high on pot. Heroin, for Christ’s sake, Charlie – heroin! And being in the band is no excuse, there are plenty of musicians out there who don’t resort to that. And even if that was an excuse, DriveSHAFT are really going places now – you’re just risking throwing it all away! If my band was getting the chances you’re getting now …”

“They will – it’ll happen for you too …”

“If this is what it’s going to do to us, then maybe I’d rather it didn’t! I swear to God, I’ll pack it all in before I let this happen …”

“You say that now, but …”

“No buts, Charlie. You know how much music means to me but nothing, nothing, is worth this.”

Distracted by every inch of his body crying out or another fix, Charlie rubbed wearily at his eyes and fought to think of something to say to convince her she was the one making a mistake now. He knew himself how close he was to hitting rock bottom and if she left … he wouldn’t have far to fall. Selfish as he knew it sounded, as he knew it was, he needed her.

And yet, seeing as if for the first time the dark circles beneath her eyes, the dejected slump of her shoulders and the absence of the sparkle he knew those green eyes could hold, it suddenly struck him that all he was doing was pulling her down with him. When they had first met, he had been the big star while she was struggling to find paying gigs of any kind for her band, Aura, but now … regardless of Tash often feeling they were getting nowhere, Aura was on the verge of making it and DriveSHAFT was …

What was it?

For Charlie himself, the band was a crutch – the music was one of the few things keeping him sane; on stage, he could lose himself in playing his guitar and, for a few short hours, nothing else mattered. But Liam, their supposed frontman, could rarely be bothered to show up for rehearsals or sound checks anymore. Oh, he loved the limelight, the groupies, the lifestyle, but he didn’t want to put in the effort behind the scenes. And Pat and Sinjin, God bless them, they’d have been happy to bask in the reflected glow from the higher profile Pace brothers, content to be making music and going with the flow – they never imagined the rivalry that would threaten to rip the band apart. How could they have when it was such an unlikely scenario?

Always looking up to his big brother and following in his shadow, Charlie had no designs on being the “star” – he wrote lyrics, composed melodies, played his beloved guitar. He joined the band for the simple reason that Liam asked him to. It would just never have occurred to him otherwise and, even when they started getting gigs, he never dreamt how big they would become. Liam was always the one with the plans, the go-getter, and with DriveSHAFT, he got everything he wanted and more. But it still wasn’t enough for him. He got greedy.

Maybe they all did.

And now they were falling apart. Charlie hated to admit it, but the band he’d come to love was on the point of self-destruct. Just like him.

Just as DriveSHAFT was beginning its fall from grace, Aura was gaining the potential to soar. It was tough trying to get a break in this business, something that depended as much on moving in the right circles and on luck as it did on having the talent. But Aura had talent, Charlie could see that – that was why he’d convinced the others that they should open for them on one of their tours. That and of course the fact that it meant Tash coming on tour with them. With him. The tabloids had definitely had a field day with that one.

Aura could not yet boast the high profile of many bands, DriveSHAFT included, but they were already creating a stir within the business and Tash Donahue was fast becoming a name that would sell; the newspapers and TV stations already taking an interest in the “next big thing” and joining the race to bring “exclusive” stories to the public. Already the music was becoming secondary to the gossip and scandal and, if none existed, someone was always ready to make it up. Aura’s drummer, Johnny Delaney, had already suffered at the hands of two of his ex-girlfriends, their over-active imaginations and the pound signs that must have flashed in front of their eyes when they found out how much they would be paid for their kiss-and-tell stories. Speculation then arose over just how close he and bassist, Olivia Page, were – resulting in fabricated stories that left Olivia’s fiancé none too happy. But, that aside, the other band members had succeeded in keeping a fairly low profile, with the exception of Tash herself. She was finding herself at the centre of a media frenzy over the possibility that she was involved with none other than Charlie Pace – no stranger to the gossip columns himself thanks to rumours of drug abuse, a drink problem and altogether hedonistic lifestyle – particularly noteworthy in a practising Catholic.

None of them wanted to be known more for their so-called private lives than for their music, so both Charlie and Tash had settle for the old “deny, deny, deny” routine, regardless of the grainy pictures the papers continued to publish as “evidence” of their relationship. It was no one’s business but theirs and it was staying that way.

Now though, Charlie couldn’t help but wonder if she was ashamed of him. Not that he’d blame her. Since he’d joined the band, he had interest from girls who wouldn’t have looked twice at him before but none of them could even hold a candle to Tasha, so what did that say for his chances at holding onto her? Especially now everything he’d had going for him was slowly but steadily being destroyed? Maybe he wasn’t being fair to her … Who was he kidding? There was no maybe about it.

“You deserve better than this.” he said in a low tone.

“Don’t talk like that …” she began gently, but he cut her off.

“No, it’s true. And if you want to go, I won’t stop you. Just … Just …” he trailed off, not finishing his sentence and instead changing tack completely, trying to put a brave face on it. “Just don’t go out the front – after last night, the whole place’ll be swarming with paparazzi.”

“I’ve already seen today’s papers … Room service left them outside the door – probably some smartarse thinking he’s funny …”

“Not good news, I take it?”

Tash shook her head ruefully. “Put it this way, they didn’t get your best side.” she tried to joke and they shared an awkward laugh, Charlie sinking down beside her on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

“Oh, Charlie …” she sighed, reaching out to run a hand through his tousled hair and then cupping his cheek as he looked up at her. “You do know how I feel, don’t you? If I didn’t care about you, I could walk away without a second thought, but …”

“You don’t have to explain.” he said, covering her hand with his. “I’ve got no one to blame but myself …”

“That bloody brother of yours comes a close second though!” Tash said darkly.

“Liam’ll bounce back – he always does.”

“And where does that leave you?”

But Charlie could only shrug – if only he knew. He laced his fingers through hers, drawing her hand from his cheek and kissing her knuckles lightly, glad when she smiled instead of pulling away as he half feared she might. He knew he was pushing his luck now, but he couldn’t help it – not when he didn’t know how this was going to play out, not when he knew she was about to walk out of the door and perhaps out of his life for good …

He leaned in slowly, grazing her lips with his, pleasantly surprised when she didn’t push him away and prepared to leave it at that rather than risk rejection. There were tears glistening in her eyes but, in spite of that – or perhaps because of it – she kept her hand in his and moved to kiss him again. This time everything they had ever felt for each other came rushing to the surface and they were in each other’s arms in a second, the passion in their kisses almost lost under sheer desperation to just be together, for things to just be as simple as they once were. Charlie found himself lifting her onto his lap to hold her close as her arms wrapped around his shoulders. With one arm tight around her waist, his free hand was buried in her long hair and he strove to kiss away the few tears that managed to escape her efforts to hold them back.

“I’m sorry … I’m so sorry …” he whispered over and over as he held her, certain that, no matter what it meant, he could no longer stand in her way and keep putting her through this. “I’m sorry, love, honest to God I am. I’m sorry …”

“… sorry.”

“I’m sorry …”

“Huh? What for?” Charlie asked, transferring his attention from the flickering flames of the fire to the young woman sitting beside him.

“Going on about me and my problems all the time – bet you’re wondering how you managed to get stuck with me!” Claire said.

“Course not – the company’s one of the few things being stuck here has going for it.” he smiled.

“Oh, sure – when I dream of lazing in the sun on a tropical island, I’m always surrounded by a bunch of strangers who can’t seem to agree on anything.” she grinned wryly, making him laugh.

“I didn’t say it didn’t have its downsides – and of course, there’s the not so small matter of an unknown something or other lurking in the bushes, waiting to eat us all …” he continued, before seeing her look and hastily changing the subject. “But let’s not think about that …”

“Let’s not.” she agreed, a protective hand on her bump. “So … how about you tell me about you for change?” she said, realising that, with the exception of his numerous mentions of his band, he never really spoke about his life back home. “You were on the plane on your own, weren’t you?”

He nodded, but offered no further comment.

“There must be loads of people missing you back home – family, friends … girlfriend …?”

“Not really.” he said said, forcing himself to brighten up quickly and correct himself, “I mean, the band and the fans, of course … Don’t see family much – on the road too much, you know. Touring. There’s Liam though … My brother – he’s in the band. Sings. Lead singer …”

He fell silent again and Claire looked away awkwardly, getting the distinct impression she had overstepped some kind of boundary and maybe brought up something that was painful for him to talk about, though she had no idea what that might be.

“Sorry …” she offered, realising too late that perhaps he was, in spite of his claim to fame, a private person and not the open-your-mouth-think-later, tell-your-life-story-to-a-stranger type person that she could often be.

Regretting making this young woman feel she had done something wrong, Charlie considered her apology as he smiled at her, trying to show it was unnecessary. Sorry – what did she have to be sorry for? It came so easily to her and yet with such sincerity … He envied that. Of course, he’d said it himself over and over, but that had only served to rob it of all meaning. A true apology from him required more than words – it needed action. And actions spoke a thousand words …

He knew that much was true – of all the exchanges they had shared, all the rows, all the making up, the one thing that had struck home to him hadn’t required a single word. As long as he lived, he’d never get the image out of his head of Tash and that look in her eyes. She’d sat up in bed, wrapped in the tangled sheets, her hopes for the future and her trust in him written clearly on her face. She was already picturing a fresh start. Or at least she was until she realised she had caught him red-handed.

From the way it had slowly dawned on her, he could tell that at first she hadn’t caught on to what he was doing but, as she watched him rifle through his pockets, too engrossed in his search to even notice she was awake, her suspicions must have rose. He could practically see her thinking, trying to process this latest twist. She didn’t want to believe it … Surely he wouldn’t – couldn’t. Not after everything he had said, not after he had begged her to stay with him … Not after he had reminded her of how good things could be between them and they had fallen back into bed together …

But, the baggie between his fingers, he had looked up triumphantly and their eyes met. No way out of this one. Trapped.

In silence, she had dressed. In silence, she had gathered her belongings. His pleading, his excuses, made no difference. That look – it said it all and with a bang of the door, she had left.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” he told Claire, his voice low. Sorry? She didn’t know the half of it.

*

to be continued...
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[torrie]

A/N: Thought I might as well continue with this ...

4.

“So, a band, huh? That must be fun.” Claire said, trying to break the silence and lighten the mood. While the Brit had initially seemed like a bit of a joker to her, she could already tell there was much more to him than that and if anything, that side of him just seemed like a pretty effective smokescreen for a much more vulnerable person altogether. “How famous are you back home? On a scale of one to ten.” She paused before noticing the tattoo on his upper arm and smiling, “Or one to The Beatles.”

At least that drew a grin from him.

“You like The Beatles?”

“Isn’t there some kind of law against not liking them?” she returned.

“If there’s not, there should be.” he said firmly. “No one matches them though – not even Driveshaft. They’re definitely an eleven – we could be a ten though. Right up there with Oasis and The Stone Roses.”

She laughed at his confidence and nodded. “Okay. I’m guessing you’re from Manchester then?”

“Can’t you tell from the accent?”

“Not really.” she admitted, “I’m afraid an English accent is just an English accent to me – just like all Australian accents probably sound the same to you.”

“They are all the same!” he joked, acknowledging that she was right. “At least tell me you didn’t take me for a southerner.”

“Is that bad?”

“It is if you’re a northerner!” he winked, bumping her companionably with his shoulder and laughing.

Glad to see him looking more cheerful, she leaned back and regarded him thoughtfully, brushing her long blonde hair back from her face with one hand.

“What?” Charlie asked curiously, seeing her watching him.

“Sorry,” she smiled, looking a little embarrassed to have been caught staring at him. “I was just trying to imagine you on stage …”

“And? Do you reckon I’m any good?” he chuckled.

“Yeah, I think you probably are …” she said, cocking her head on one side as if considering. “If we ever get off this island, I’ll have to check out one of your gigs. Think I could blag some freebie tickets?”

Charlie paused for a second, wondering why he was still making out to be some hotshot rock star when in reality everything he’d ever achieved was caving in around him. The big question was whether there still even was a band and if there was, whether he could really afford to go back to that kind of lifestyle …

“I’ll see what I can do.” he said softly.

“It must be great …” she continued, “Travelling the world, being on stage, having fans singing your songs and screaming your name … I could never do something like that though – being in front of all those people …”

“It’s no big deal.” he shrugged casually, and he meant it. Performing had never been an obstacle for him, it just came naturally. It was all the other stuff that proved to be his downfall.

“Do you ever wonder what it’d be like to watch yourself? To see your band like the fans do?”

He turned to her in surprise, struck by that question. “D’you know, that’s a very good question. I thought the fans and the press could come up with some good ones, but wow … I’ve never been asked that. Hmm … I’ve seen footage of us and stuff, but it’s not the same – to actually have the whole fan experience … That’d be something else. I suppose the closest you get is watching another band at a gig, from the audience instead of backstage – you see the fans and their reactions and realise the same thing happens at your own gigs. It’s pretty surreal …”

“What was the last band you saw?”

He stared into the flickering flames of the campfire, playing distractedly with a silver ring he was wearing on his thumb.

“I don’t remember.”

A lie. And a blatant one at that – as if he could ever forget the answer to that question. It was an experience imprinted on his mind so vividly he could practically still feel the crowd jostling around him, hear the excited screams …

The club was packed to capacity and they were still turning people away at the doors, the night already declared an unexpected success before it had even really started. There had been a lot of speculation as to the final line-up, but it was no real surprise to anyone when Driveshaft had been pulled from the billing at the last minute. By now, their problems were well documented – a veritable open secret – and it would probably have been more of a shock if they had actually turned up. The real coup for the organisers, however, was the replacement act, unconfirmed pretty much until they had showed up for the soundcheck and the real reason so many people had fought to get tickets – Aura had finally hit the big time but, in a move that would take them back to their roots, they had agreed to make an appearance.

The rumour that they would appear had been leaked to the press a week or so beforehand and, while ticket sales had previously been slow, the news sparked a frenzy and the gig sold out within an hour. By the time the evening of the gig actually rolled around, tickets were like gold dust, available only for extortionate prices from touts prowling the streets outside the venue. Even Charlie had trouble getting in – turned out his name wasn’t quite the door-opener it had once been …

But there he was, in ripped jeans and a retro t-shirt, a baseball cap pulled on over his blonde and red streaked hair – just another face in the crowd. Tonight, he didn’t want to be recognised – not as Driveshaft’s bassist, not as the rocker turned alleged druggie, not as Liam Pace’s little brother, or any of the other labels they cared to give him. He had only one reason for being there and the lower profile his mission, the better. Of course, that was never going to be easy – hats, glasses, that stuff never fooled anyone – he should know, he’d tried and seen it fail often enough and tonight was no different …

“Do you get recognised a lot?” Claire was asking him and he snapped back to attention for a second.

“At home I do.”

“Doesn’t it get annoying?”

“Depends – it’s cool seeing fans get excited. And everyone likes to hear the good stuff, the compliments, the positive reviews … It’s all the other stuff that’s hard to take – the bad press …”

“I thought there was no such thing as bad publicity – isn’t that what they say?”

“That’s what people who’ve never had any say.” he said, a touch of bitterness creeping into his voice.

“Spoken like the voice of experience.” said Claire softly.

“You have no idea …” he sighed. And he hoped she never had to find out. The fickleness of fame was something many people dreamt of, whether realistically or not, but it was something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

“You have no idea ...”

“You have no idea how much trouble I’d get in, mate.” said the security man guarding the way through to the backstage area, shaking his head at Charlie’s request. “It’d be more than my job’s worth.”

“C’mon, it’s not like you don’t know me – how many times have I played at this place?”

“Sorry, but the rules are the rules and no pass means no entry. I’m just doing my job.”

Swearing below his breath, Charlie couldn’t see how he was going to get round this one and he slammed the palm of his hand against the wall in frustration.

“Listen, maybe if you tell me who you need to see, I could go get them – I could let you through on their say-so …” the guy offered, trying to be helpful.

For a moment, the name was on the tip of his tongue, but Charlie bit it back – that would be all he’d need, a nice bit of gossip to add fuel to the fire the press was so keen on stoking. So this bloke seemed like he was trying to help, but who was to say he wouldn’t be selling his story to the first tabloid he could contact? Not that he’d have much of a story, but that hadn’t stopped anyone else so why should he be any different?

A sudden flash of inspiration and Charlie’s face lit up hopefully. “Johnny! Get Johnny Delaney out here – he’s Aura’s drummer …”

“I know who he is.” the security guard said with a bemused smile, “There’s not a person in here who doesn’t – in the whole city, for that matter. I just don’t fancy your chances much at getting hold of him – they’re due on stage soon.”

“Tell him it’s urgent, tell him it’s life or death, tell him whatever you bloody want – just get him out here.”

Waiting anxiously, barely able to keep still, Charlie surveyed the scene closer to the stage. The warm-up act was certainly living up to the name – they were really on fire that night, not quite on the same level as the headliners but the crowd were appreciative nonetheless. The heat was incredible and the noise even more so, the music so loud he could feel it throbbing in his chest …

“Charlie, what the fuck are you doing here, man?” came the greeting and he turned to see Johnny stride towards him, drumsticks in hand, ordering security to let him through. “Follow me.”

And Charlie followed, the sight of the chaos backstage serving as a harsh reminder of his former glory. Everything he was missing out on, everything he was glad to leave behind. And some things he couldn’t escape.

“Well, no need to ask what you’re doing here.” Johnny said when they were in his changing room, the door firmly closed behind them. “The only question is – are you out of your mind?”

“I need to talk to her, Johnny.”

“And you figured right before a high profile gig was the best time? I’d defend you when she called you a selfish bastard – bit of male solidarity, you know - but I’m starting to see her point …”

“Do you know when I last got to speak to her, huh?” he snapped.

“To the hour, mate.” the drummer shot back, sitting down and swinging his legs up to rest on the table in front of him. “I’m probably more familiar with the ups and downs of your relationship than you are – seeing how I wasn’t off my face for most of it.”

Charlie bristled defensively at that, but it wasn’t like there was any point in denying it – he was well aware how close Aura’s members were and he could hardly expect Johnny to back anyone other than Tash. If he was honest, he was glad she’d at least had that support. God knows she must have needed it after everything he put her through.

“Listen, for what it’s worth, Charlie, I don’t think you meant to hurt her. But that doesn’t change the fact that you did – big time. Give the girl a break – don’t put her through this now. This gig’s important and if she finds out you’re here … The last thing we need is our lead singer cracking up.”

“I just want to see her …” he pleaded desperately, “Five sodding minutes!”

“I’m not letting you wreck this for her!” Johnny insisted, jumping to his feet. “Haven’t you done enough?”

“Haven’t you done enough?”

“What?”

“I said – haven’t you had enough?” Claire repeated, “You don’t have to keep me company all night, you know. If you want to get some rest …”

“I don’t think I could sleep anyway.” he said quietly. He had too much on his mind for that.

*

to be continued...
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