Lost Video Island

[mistojen]

Gotta Make a Living


I wake up the next morning when the alarm goes off and I feel an arm draped lazily over my middle. At first, I think it’s Mason, but then I remember.

Sitting up slowly, I stretch and then reach over and shake Charlie by the shoulder gently. “Hey, get up, we gotta go,” I say loudly.

Charlie’s eyes flutter open and widen upon the sight of me beside him in the bed, hair disheveled from sleep. “What the...?”

“You fell asleep in here,” I tell him.

There’s a moment where Charlie still looks utterly baffled, but then I can practically see the lightbulb in his head go off. “You were awake?”

I nod and get out of bed. “Yeah, Charlie. I was. C’mon, we gotta get to Der Waffle Haus, we only have twenty minutes.”



I decided this evening, after my reap of some kid who thought it’d be a great idea to drink and drive, that I need a job. I don’t want to be dependent on Mason. I hate thinking about this, but the fact of the matter is, Mason has been a reaper for a very, very long time and we don’t know what our quotas are; Mason could be gone at any time and I’d have to fend for myself, anyway. I also decided that I wanted to see what I look like to the living.

There is a Best Buy a few blocks from Der Waffle Haus, so after a quick, late dinner with Mason and Roxy–Charlie was on a reap and Rube was M.I.A.–I say my see-you-laters and I make my way over there. About four teenaged guys whistle at me and one guy that’s old enough to be my dad asks me how he can help such a pretty lady. What the hell? Charlie said I’m not cute.

“I’m looking for a video camera,” I say, “do you have any that are hooked up so that I can see the quality of their picture?”

“Absolutely,” the man says and sweeps his arm in the direction he wants me to go. I do, and he follows. “Right this way,” he says and turns down an aisle where I can see about two dozen digital and video cameras hooked up to televisions.

“Thanks, I’ll take it from here,” I say, and give him a look that tells him to go away.

Frowning slightly and nodding, the man turns and leaves. I look up and down the aisle and, satisfied that I’m alone, I turn one of the cameras so that it’s pointing at me. When I look up at the girl in the television monitor, I suddenly want to throttle Charlie for being a liar.

I look fantastic. I’m even prettier to the living now than I was when I was alive, and that’s really saying something, if I do say so myself... My body is the same, for the most part, but my boobs are a little bit bigger and my waist is a little bit smaller. My hair is, however, a mousy brown, like Charlie said, but as I look at the girl in the TV, I realize that I look a little bit like a mix between Daisy and Kate, from back on the Island. I have Daisy’s perfect skin and wide eyes, but they’re a hazely-brown like Kate’s and I have a light spattering of freckles on my nose that look imperfect enough to be perfect.

Looking up and down the aisle once again and seeing that I’m still alone, I turn to one side and look at my body’s profile. I run one hand down my chest and stomach and see that it really is me, because the TV girl mirrored my exact movement. Jesus Christ, I’m hot!

That’s it, I’ve decided.

I leave Best Buy and walk down the street another block or so and stop in front of a place I pass all the time, but never really thought about until today. A large, neon light shouts, “Deja Vu” at me and I stand at the door for a moment before I remind myself that Mason won’t be able to pay my food expenses forever and then I walk in.

A huge guy, both tall and ridiculously muscular asks me for ID and I hand him the license that says my name is Emily Chamberlain and I was born on September 15, 1980. He looks me up and down as he hands it back to me and gives me a look of approval.

“You should dance,” he says, “you’d make a lot of money, gorgeous.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” I tell him, stepping aside to let a few older men walk in. “I want a job.”

“Well, beautiful,” he says with a smile, “it’s your lucky day. You’ve got about ten minutes to sign up for amateur night. Do you have a costume?”

Frowning, I shake my head. “I’ve never done this before...”

“Jesus...” the guy says, furrowing his brow, “well, that little dress you’re wearing will do for tonight, I suppose, but you’re going to need to get yourself some costumes, if you get hired.”

“If?” I ask, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah,” he says, “you go up and dance for a song and then at the end of the night, we hire the winner, and maybe a couple of others.”

“Oh,” I say softly. “Well, all right, it’s worth a shot. Where do I go?”

“There’s a guy with a sign up sheet just inside those doors,” he says, “you’d better hurry.”

Nodding, I thank him and head inside.

The place is lit dimly with huge black lights and a few colorful spotlights dancing around haphazardly. There are three large platforms–the one in the middle has a pole–with chairs encircling them. On each, there’s a nearly naked woman showing off all her bits and pieces in a rather sleazy fashion. I see the guy with the sign up sheet and I approach him. I tell him that I want to sign up for amateur night and after a little bit of paperwork, he asks what I want my stage name to be.

“Shannon,” I tell him, barely thinking. Hell, I don’t know anyone in Seattle, and anyway, no one in America knows that I’m officially dead, even if I did. Plus, my dancer name is just Shannon, and no one knows that my last name is really Rutherford. There must be a zillion Shannons in the world, so, I figure it’s fine.



About an hour later, I’ve done my hair and makeup and, on the advice of the girls in the dressing room that already work here, approach a large group of young guys in business suits. “Would you mind if I sit here...?” I ask sweetly, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear.

I flirt with these guys and fawn over one in particular that repulses me the least; I manage to get two martinis and a Sex on the Beach out of it, so I’ve loosened up enough when I hear them call my dancer name, inviting me to take my turn and give it a go on stage.



Well, it was about the most humiliating thing that I’ve ever done in my life...nay, unlife...nay, it was about the most humiliating thing I’ve done ever, but I got the job. They want me to work Friday and Saturday nights from nine to three in the morning. I have no idea how I’m going to hide this from Charlie, since we live together, but I’ll have to figure something out. The fact of the matter is, no matter how disgusting what I do now is, I made four hundred and fifty dollars tonight alone. Granted, two hundred of it was for winning the contest, but still, that’s two hundred and fifty dollars that I made hustling, alone. That’s a lot of f***ing money. I could live on tonight’s profit for a week, and I like that. I just...have a feeling Rube would, at the very least, frown upon it, Charlie would be an every night patron, and Mason would be livid. This has to be my little secret...



On Sunday morning, the alarm goes off at nine, screaming at me to wake up and get dressed; time to hit Der Waffle Haus for my daily Post-it. I so don’t want to get up. I’ve only gotten five hours...if that...of sleep, because we had a straggler in the club last night and none of the girls are allowed to leave the dressing room until the last car exits the parking lot. I understand it’s for our personal safety, but f***ing Christ, I’m exhausted!

When I walk into the waffle house, I see that our regular booth is empty, so I sink into the booth and cross my arms on the table, dropping my head onto them heavily, closing my eyes.

“What can I get you, sweetness?” Kiffany asks and when I look up at her she looks as though I’ve slapped her right in the face. “Good Lord, what happened to you?!”

My eyelids feel like they weight a thousand pounds. “Fruit salad and an espresso, please, Kiffany,” I manage.

“All right,” she says, “what happened? Are you all right? You look...terrible...”

“Do I?” I ask sarcastically. “Fruit salad and an espresso, please,” I repeat.

Kiffany nods, realizing she’s being dismissed, and leaves the table.



“Hey. Barbie. Get up,” Rube says, dropping a heavy hand on my shoulder.

“Hmm?” I mutter.

“Wake up; you can’t sleep here, it’s a place of business. Your espresso’s probably getting cold.”

I lift my head and open my eyes, squinting against the morning sun. Jesus, did I fall asleep at the mother f***ing waffle house?! “Sorry,” I say, picking up my spoon and digging into my fruit salad.

“You all right, Shannon?” Charlie asks. Suddenly, I realize that Charlie and Roxy are sitting on the opposite side of the booth, both looking at me with concern.

“Yes,” I snap, looking down again.

“You were out for a while,” Charlie offers.

I look back up at him and glare. “Well why the f*** didn’t you wake me up, idiot?” I spit at him. As soon as I say it, I feel bad; worse when I see the hurt look on his face; but I don’t apologize.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly, furrowing his brow.

“Can I have my Post-it, please?” I ask Rube, looking up at him through my eyelashes.

Rube raises his eyebrows and opens his book, taking out a yellow Post-it and handing it to me. “Boy, you’re a regular ray of sunshine this morning, aren’t you, Barbie?”

“My name is Shannon,” I snap at him, snatching the Post-it from him and getting out of the booth. When I turn quickly and start to walk, I run smack into Mason. I hit him so hard, I fall backward and he has to lunge forward to catch me and stand me up again. “Move,” I grumble, pushing past him.

“Hey, Barbie,” Rube calls out, “Mason’s going with you, so you might as well wait up.”

“What’s the matter with you today? Got a ruddy bug up your arse?” Mason asks.

“Shut up,” I mutter, turning back to the table and dropping myself peevishly back down into the booth.

“Blimey,” Mason breathes, sitting down beside me.

Roxy looks up at Rube and raises her eyebrows. I’d yell at her too, because I see it and it pisses me off, but she intimidates me, so I won’t.

“All right, here you go, Mason,” he says, handing Mason a Post-it. “Try not to f*** up,” he adds.



Mason and I leave Der Waffle Haus together and get into my car.

“Why are you so grumpy?” Mason asks as I start the car and pull out of the parking lot, heading toward the high school.

Sighing, I look over at him when I stop for a stop sign. When I start driving again, I look back at the road and mutter, “I’m not grumpy; I’m tired.”

“All right, why are you tired?” Mason asks.

“Because I didn’t sleep well last night, okay?” This conversation is already pissing me off, because I’m scared to death that I’ll slip up on my secret and tell Mason where I’m working.

“You were tired yesterday morning, too,” he points out.

“So?”

“So, you always sleep like a rock, Shannon.”

I just glare at him and park the car in the parking lot of the local high school. Mason and I don’t talk on our way to the track. We don’t talk when we converse casually with our marks–a couple of guys mowing the football field located inside the track. We don’t talk when we reap their souls and we don’t talk on the way to Mason’s house. We don’t even talk when I idle the car in the driveway and Mason gets out of my car. But then,

“And you haven’t been home at night, either,” Mason says, “at least, according to Charlie.”

I look up at Mason and park the car, but I don’t move to get out. “What is he, my mother, now?”

“If you’re seeing someone, Shan, just f***ing say so,” Mason snaps, “because I could be f***ing around, too, if that’s what we’re going to do. But don’t hold out on me, dammit, because that’s not fair.”

“I’m not seeing anyone, Mason.”

“Then where are you at night?” Mason asks, staring daggers at me.

“It’s none of your f***ing business, okay?” I ask, “did it ever occur to you that maybe I just stay out later than Charlie stays up? The guy falls asleep with his clothes on, on the couch, in front of the television six out of seven nights a week, you know.”

“Fine,” Mason says and turns away from me, disappearing into his house and slamming the door shut behind him.

Fantastic. He hates me already and he doesn’t know what I do at night. Imagine if he found out...
_________________
avatar: Plastic!Winchester Theater by anteka @ LJ; icon by me
sig by AlcoholicPixie

[PsychoCynic]

Nice work! It's really getting interesting now with Shannon being confused about Charlie and Mason. Oh, hell, if I were in her place, I'd be confused too. Both are too tempting to resist!

One little quibble: you mentioned that Charlie told Shannon she wasn't cute. But the reapers see each other the way they looked pre-death. So I'm presuming Shannon was asking him how un-dead Shannon looked like, not alive-Shannon. Get what I mean? It's a little strange to explain.

Oh, and thanks so much for your reviews on my Daisy/Mason fic. It was pretty fluffy, so I'm not sure if you would like it. I'm glad you did!
_________________

[mistojen]

[mistojen]

Dirty Little Secret
A/N: explicit stuff under spoilers just in case.


I nearly fall asleep at the wheel a couple of times, but I manage to make it home unscathed. I’ll sneak past Charlie and go back to bed.

When I walk into the house, though, I don’t hear the television. Thank God; he’s not even here, so I don’t have to sneak.

...that’s when he comes around the corner from the living room. I guess Charlie can be sneaky, too...

“All right, Shannon?” he asks and I want to tell him the truth.

But I don’t. “Yes,” I lie, “it’s just that Mason and I had a fight.”

“What’s wrong, Shannon? Why’re you so bloody tired?” Charlie asks and I can see that he’s worried about me.

Shifting my weight uncomfortably, I shrug at him. “Just haven’t been getting much sleep, that’s all.”

Charlie frowns. “Yeah, I know, because you haven’t been coming home until between three and four in the morning the past two days.”

“Why did you tell Mason?” I ask, “he thinks I’m seeing someone else, so, thanks.”

“I didn’t tell him what time,” Charlie says, “and are you?”

“No,” I snap.

Charlie frowns again. “I worry when you come in so late. I’m worried–”

I cut him off, though. “Charlie, what’s the worst that can happen to me? I’m already dead.”

For a moment, Charlie doesn’t know what to say. Then, he shrugs.

“I got a job, okay?” I finally admit.

Charlie’s frown finally disappears and a bright, relieved smile plays there instead. “Congratulations! Where?”

“Bartending,” I say so confidently that I almost believe it myself. His next question is going to be, “where?”, I know it, so I hastily add, “I’m gonna take a nap. Later, Charlie.”

Before he can answer, I head up the stairs for a much needed nap.





Charlie must’ve told Mason about my job, because, while we’re getting along really well again, he hasn’t offered to pay for anything for me in almost two weeks.

I lent Charlie the money to buy himself a guitar and he actually got a job giving guitar lessons to kids at this center for the arts, downtown.

At Der Waffle Haus, Rube gives us Post-its and Kiffany hands out the checks.

“I got it,” I say to them and only Roxy and Rube look confused; Charlie and Mason smile gratefully and Mason squeezes my hand gently under the table.

Roxy raises her eyebrows a little, but only says, “thanks, Shannon.”

“Thank you, Barbie,” Rube says, a little taken aback. The fact that he called me Barbie doesn’t bug me at all. Today, I’m in a really great mood.

I smile. “You’re welcome, guys,” I say as I set down enough money on the table to pay the bills and leave a fairly generous tip for Kiffany.

“Why in such a good mood?” Rube asks genially as we all file out of the booth.

Because I’m a contractor and I can set my own hours and yesterday I was smart enough to change my schedule from 9-3 to 7-1 and I’ve actually gotten almost my whole eight hours of sleep for the first time in weeks. Oh, and, also, I’m making a s***load of money just to show off my t*ts; I’m in such high demand, I don’t need even have to get completely naked, like the other girls do, to get every chair at my platform filled. Also, I’ve decided that it’s not so bad having some guy sweat gin all over you, so long as he’s giving you twenty dollars every three to five minutes while he's doing it. Best of all, Rube, my friend, not a single God damned one of you has a f***ing clue how I actually make my money. How’s that for an explanation?

“I slept a lot better last night,” I say and grin inwardly.

Rube doesn’t say anything; he just slips an elastic band over his closed book and leaves. Roxy isn’t far behind him.

“Bloody brilliant!” Charlie says with a wide grin as he looks down at his Post-it for the first time.

“What?” Mason asks, leaning over the table to steal a glance at it. Charlie makes sure to hold it at an angle so that I can’t see it. Like I care. “Oi! I’m coming with, mate!”

Charlie’s grin just grows.

“Where is it?” I ask.

“None of your bloody business,” Charlie replies, though genially.

I roll my eyes. “Fine, f*** you, too, then,” I reply in a deadpan.

“Why, thank you, Shannon,” Charlie says sarcastically. “And since I my appointment is late, I think I’ll go schedule some lessons so I can start to pay you back for the guitar.”

I shrug. “See you.”

“Meet you here at half past?” Charlie asks Mason.

“Absolutely,” Mason says with a wicked grin, and Charlie slides out of the booth, walking out the door.

“Whatcha got?” I ask, peering over Mason’s shoulder at his Post-it.

Mason looks at it again and shoves it unceremoniously into his pocket. “Three-thirty,” he says, “you?”

“In an hour,” I reply.

Suddenly, Mason’s s***ty grin makes an appearance.

“What?” I ask, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

The grin widens. “Fancy a shag?”




“Oh, f*** yes!” I hear myself screaming as I throw my head back onto the pillow and rake my fingernails down Mason’s back. Mason’s a really good f***...for a dead guy. Actually, Mason’s just a really good f***.

Spoiler: He pays attention to me to make sure that I have at least a few orgasms before he even tries to come close to his own. Mason’s mouth is expert, I swear. He knows every way to use his tongue. The way that he moves, the way that he tastes...everything about Mason amazes and awes me.

His hands are soft, but not in a girly kind of way. Soft in the sense that they still feel like strong, man hands, but they’re not all callused and rough.

Spoiler: His fingers cross and rotate inside me and I can feel my eyes roll back in my head. He’s really going to town. I’ve had three...

“Oh, God, Mason...”

Spoiler: Make that four orgasms. I shudder pleasurably beneath him and he looks up at me over my stomach and chest, smiling. He backs away slowly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and crawling up on the bed, centering himself over me before plunging himself inside.

“Shannon...” he whispers. The expression on his face is that of ecstacy. I love it when he gets that look on his face. It means I’m doing a good job.

Sex is really different when you’re dead. I know it’s the same actions, and everything, but it feels different. Every sensation is multiplied. It’s easier to focus on the sights and the sounds of sex and still enjoy and focus on every second of the feel of it. Maybe it’s just because you’re dead and you know that under normal circumstances, you wouldn’t ever be having sex again...

Plus, Mason’s been dead for, like, forty years. He was probably in his mid- to late-twenties when he died, so that’s like at least fifty years of practice and the flexible, strong body of a twenty-something. That’s one hell of a lucky girl he’s f***ing.

...that’s one hell of a lucky me, bitches. Try not to be jealous.

F*** you; be jealous. I’m f***ing the God of Sex, and you’re not. Ha!

“Shannon, I’m...” Mason gasps, grimacing slightly.

“Me too,” I tell him.

Spoiler: It’s true, but it’s also my way of giving him permission to have at it and finish the job. It’s his favorite part. I’ve already had mine; no use denying him his any longer. I feel him tighten his grip on me and I rock my hips upward to give him a better angle. We’re both groaning and sweating, holding each other close and forgetting that anything else in the whole world exists, even if just for that very moment in time.

Nothing else matters.

And then, we both relax and the world rushes back at us as Mason rolls off me and lets out a relaxed sigh. He kisses me and closes his eyes.

“Baby, I have to go,” I say softly, looking at the alarm clock on the bed side table. I have twenty minutes. Just enough time for me to get dressed, get the f*** out of the house, and reap, reap, reap some souls. I have two today, at the same time. My guess is a car wreck, since I’ve only been given an intersection instead of an address. I have a feeling I’m going to have to reap them after the wreck, which is unfortunate, but what else can I do?

Mason kisses me one more time, this one longer and more passionate. He does this to me every time we have a quick one before a reap. Makes me want to skip the reap all together. I don’t even want to know the wrath of Rube if I skiv off my duties.

“Mason...” I scold softly.

He sighs and nods. “All right. You know, Shannon, with all our fighting, this was the first time in forever...so I was thinking,” he says slowly, pausing, probably for effect, “would you like to spend the night with me tonight, darling?”

The amused grin that previously played on my lips began to fade away. “I have to work tonight...”

“I can wait up,” Mason says quickly.

I can’t help it. I have to smile again. Nodding, I reply, “okay.”

And sadly...

Hi, ho, hi, ho, it’s off to work I go...
_________________
avatar: Plastic!Winchester Theater by anteka @ LJ; icon by me
sig by AlcoholicPixie

[mistojen]

Appreciation


I am having the worst night. Ever! There are hardly any patrons in to hustle tonight, I’m sore from having sex with Mason this afternoon for the first time in a week or so, and the girls have decided to stop talking to me. I’m pretty sure that they’re jealous of how successful I’ve been in here, but now it’s lonely. I’m also pretty sure this night can’t get any f***ing worse.

Normally right now, I’d be out on the floor hustling and doing private dances. Instead, since it’s a slow day and apparently everybody hates me, I’m in the dressing room trying out a new persona. I bought this naughty school girl outfit (I know it sounds cliche, but believe it or not, none of the girls here use it, so it still looks like I’m being original) and I put my hair in these low pigtails. I hate to admit it, but I got the idea from Daisy...I saw her wearing them once and I guess it popped into my head as appropriate.

Just as I’ve finished putting the finishing touches on my make up and I’m looking myself over once more in the full-length mirror, I hear them call my name over the loud-speaker, announcing me to the center platform. I can’t help but roll my eyes, as I make my way out of the dressing room. They always put me in the center and I hate that platform, because I hate using the f***ing pole. It’s so ridiculous.

I walk into the main show room and I can see that there are four or five people sitting in small groups or singularly spattered throughout the club, three at a platform where one of the girls is already dancing, one at a platform where there is a girl climbing up on the platform to perform, and there are three at my platform. Two are sitting together and one alone. The singular is a girl. I hate that...they tip the best, but it’s not my thing at all, having some girl’s face in my boobs, inhaling my Victoria’s Secret perfume.

“Shannon, center platform! Where is she?” I hear over the speakers.

Sighing and then putting on my best I-love-to-get-naked-and-take-your-money face, I climb up onto the platform, and decide to face the girl and get her done and over with first.

She’s actually kind of pretty and I’m wondering if she’s a lesbian or if she’s a friend of one of the other girls and just hasn’t bothered to move from the center stage. That happens a lot. I wish I had a girl friend that I could have show up at the club and pretend to make out with me...that tends to get the guys’ attention really well. Well, at the very least, maybe the mini-show I put on with this girl for the other two shadows will get me a good tip.

I dance, stripping off the tiny shirt I was wearing, exposing my chest, and shimmy my way down onto my butt in front of her, resting my feet on the bar on either side of her beer and lean down toward her.

“I’m a big fan of yours...you’re so pretty!” she says sweetly.

“Thanks,” I reply with a genuine smile. There it is. I can actually feel her intake of air as she smells me. God, that’s so creepy...

Okay, time to end this. I lift my skirt and pull my thong strap away from my skin, leaving a gap between it and myself in which the girl places a twenty. Not too shabby...

Slowly, I stand again. I’m trying really hard to ignore the pole, but there it f***ing is, in the center of my dancing space, so, I turn toward the other two and hop upward, taking the pole in my hands and wrapping my leg around it, leaning down toward them suspended by one leg and one hand still grasping it.

“Shannon...?”

The lights are too bright and I can’t see, but I think I know that accent. I practically fall off the pole.

“Sh...Shannon?”

Oh s***. I do know that voice; that one is Mason’s...

I have the urge to cover myself, but I know that I’m not allowed. I can’t decide which I’d rather do: cry or throw up.

“I’m not looking, I swear to God.” Charlie’s voice. Well, Mason’s already seen what I’m showing, and if Charlie really isn’t looking...

I get off the pole and approach them as job-casual as I can manage, so that my managers don’t see that there’s something wrong. That’s the last thing I need.

“What are you doing here?” I gasp at Mason. Now that I’m off the pole, I can see their faces. I can’t read Mason’s expression, but Charlie is clearly struggling to keep his head down. When I ask, Charlie looks up at me. Both of us blush furiously and he closes his eyes, grimacing with effort.

“I have a Post-it,” he replies.

“What are you doing here?!” Mason hisses at me.

“What do you think?” I snap.

Charlie starts to shift uncomfortably in his chair.

“This was your job? This is how you got all that money?!” I can tell Mason is pissed off, but somewhere underneath all that, he’s a little confused, surprised, and, I think, maybe, impressed.

Charlie’s bouncing in his chair, rubbing his hands on his face furiously.

“Charlie, what the f***?” I find myself asking. I move from my all-fours position and squat in front of them.

Shaking his head, Charlie is practically convulsing in his seat.

“Oh, for f***’s sake, just look!” Mason mutters, giving Charlie a little shove.

Charlie stops moving, but he doesn’t look. He takes his hands away from his face and looks down with the same grimace of effort from before.

“Just look, Charlie...everyone else does,” I say softly. “But you can’t touch unless you pay,” I add reflexively.

Charlie takes in a quick, hissing intake of air and lets out a soft grunt. He still hasn’t looked.

“Shannon!” Mason hisses at me angrily.

“I’m working Mason; this is what I do! Charlie can do whatever he wants, so long as he f***ing pays for it, when I’m here, all right?”

Mason gets up from the table and shoves his chair in harshly, walking away. I pause for a moment, watching him as he flags down a girl walking past him. She smiles at him and takes his hand, leading him away toward the back room.

“That mother f***er...” I mutter to myself. He’s getting a lap dance from someone else!

“Shannon...?”

“Yes, Charlie, you can look,” I say again, and this time, he does.

“Is it awful if...” Charlie stops and shakes his head.

This is a lot less humiliating than I imagined it in my nightmares. “I’m having a bad night, Charlie...consider whatever you spend right now as going toward pay back for the guitar.”

“But,” he starts, “um...is that fair?”

Blinking slowly, I drop down on my butt on the platform, resting my feet on either side of Charlie’s elbows on the bar, looking down at him through my slightly spread legs. “Look, Charlie, I have to pay a house fee at the end of the night, anyway, and right now, I can’t afford it. I’ll be walking out with negative figures. This is about as close to f***ing me as you’re ever going to get, so...”

When he looks at me, he’s looking into my eyes. He’s torn; should he indulge and help me pay my way out of work tonight, or should he hold to our platonic relationship and respect me?

“Please, Charlie,” I practically whisper. “I need the money.”

Charlie looks down at his Post-it and then at his watch. He must have a little more time on his hands, because he holds up a twenty and when he looks back up from the Post-it, he’s bypassed looking at my chest. “You’re sure?” he asks.

No. I’m not sure. I’m thinking that this is a horrible idea, but I need Charlie’s money...and I need, just for a few minutes, to forget that Mason is having some other girl dry hump him in the back room right now.

“Twenty gets you a lap dance for one song,” I say, leaning down close to him with my lips at his ear so that he can hear me better. I feel him shift a little in his chair when my breasts brush against his shoulder.

“I only have a hundred dollars for the rest of this week,” he says.

“I’ll get you back tomorrow,” I reply.

Charlie shakes his head. “If you’re sure...” he says, shaking the twenty in his hand a little.

“I’m sure,” I lie. The DJ is asking for another round of applause for the three of us on stage and he’s calling for new girls to take our place. “Wait here,” I tell him and I gather my shirt, putting it back on and then when the other girl reaches the steps for the platform, I help her up and she holds my hand until I get to the floor before letting go and starting her own routine.

“Come on,” I say to Charlie, taking his hand and leading him toward the back room.

“Shannon?” he asks, looking down at his watch and Post-it again.

I look at him curiously.

“Do you know their names? The girls? Their real names?” he asks as I lead him into the back room and down the hall, looking for a private stall still open.

“Some of them,” I say, “is one of them going to die tonight?”

Charlie nods and stops walking. He found an open stall before I did. We step into it and I close the curtain. “Q. Marsh,” he says. “In twenty minutes.”

“Quinn...” I say softly, and put my hands on Charlie’s shoulders, easing him down onto the chair. “She’s the only red head in here tonight.”

“Thanks,” Charlie says.

There’s a moment between us when we’re just looking at one another. I suddenly feel simultaneously uncomfortable and weirdly anxious. “Well...” I say softly.

I reach my hand out a little less than tactfully and Charlie gives me the twenty.

A short pause falls between the two of us before I lower myself onto his lap. I can already feel him go hard beneath me. Unpredictably, I feel my stomach flutter a little and my...muscles...contract.

Just a job I tell myself as I untie my shirt and lean forward, hovering my chest closer to his face.

“You smell so good,” Charlie says, “you don’t always smell like this...”

I feel my eyelids closing and reopening slowly as I smile a little. “Yeah, well, it’s my stripper perfume,” I reply with a small giggle.

Charlie looks up at me, into my eyes. “What’s...erm...allowed...?”

“Anything above the waist,” I say slowly, neglecting, I think purposefully, the rule about no kissing.

It’s Charlie’s turn to blink slowly. “God, Shannon, you are so beautiful...”

“Charlie, don’t...”

He puts his hands on my waist and I feel him lift my skirt.

“Charlie...”

But he doesn’t do anything vulgar. He’s pulled the strap of my thong away from me and tucked a bill into it, then taken his hands back out from under my skirt.

“He doesn’t understand you,” Charlie whispers, “or appreciate you...”

My stomach feels like it’s doing somersaults inside me.

“I do, Shannon,” he says, and looks up from my chest and into my eyes.

The song comes to an end. I make to get up, but Charlie opens my right hand and puts another twenty into it, closing my fingers around it.

“Maybe this isn’t a good idea, Charlie,” I say, opening my hand again. “You’re here to do a job.”

“So are you,” Charlie says. “Why are you really here, Shannon?” He takes back the twenty and drops his hands to dangle over the arms of the chair.

“I make good money,” I say.

“Why, really?” Charlie asks.

I look at him, confused. “I make good money and it doesn’t interfere with my reaps.”

“Why am I the only one who appreciates you, Shannon? You clearly don’t, working in a dump like this...and Mason sure as hell doesn’t. You’re never happy.”

“I’m dead, Charlie,” I snap, “happy doesn’t f***ing matter.”

Frowning, Charlie moves a little beneath me and takes off his over-shirt, pulling down over my head. “It bloody well does.”

“I have another hour, Charlie,” I say, starting to lift the shirt back off.

He stops me, taking my hands in his. “Sayid once told me that you used to be a ballerina.”

The mention of Sayid produces a lump in my throat. “So?”

“Did you ever teach?” Charlie asks.

“Yes. For a couple of years, for beginners...”

“Quit this job, Shannon, you’re not happy. Happy does matter,” he says.

I look down. I unintentionally notice that the bulge has gone from Charlie’s lap. I make a conscious effort not to move; I don’t want it to come back to life. The first time was, admittedly, exciting, but if it happened again, it might be weird... “What else am I supposed to do, Charlie? All I know how to do is dance. I’m worthless.”

“You’re not,” Charlie says, and cups my face with one of his hands. “I saw a bulletin at my work...they’re looking for ballet instructors. You could work with me...”

I look up at him and suddenly, all I want to do is kiss him. Mason would never know, so...technically, I could...

“What’s the pay?” I ask quietly, instead.

Charlie’s hand falls away from my face and he smiles. “Considerably less than what you make here, love,” he says with a smile.

Looking down again, I smile. “I’ve got nearly three thousand dollars stashed away,” I admit, “I could handle a pay cut for a while.”

Charlie nods and hands me a wad of bills.

“What...?”

“Pay your fee when I make my reap, and let’s get out of here. Let’s never come back, okay?” Charlie asks.

And then, before I can either agree or protest, Charlie’s lips are on mine. I want to reciprocate the kiss, but before I can even respond, he’s pulled away. It was like the kiss on the couch before. Platonic and caring with little to no spark. Enough to tell me he cares, but that he respects me and doesn’t want to jeopardize either our friendship or my relationship with Mason.

“I’ve got a soul to take. I’ll round up Mason and meet you outside in a few minutes.”

I nod as he lifts me off his lap and stands. He pulls back the curtain and leaves.

“Charlie?” I call out, poking my head out into the hall.

He turns and looks at me, but says nothing.

“Thank you.”

A smile forms on Charlie’s lips and he nods, disappearing out into the main show room.

At this very moment, Mason is the furthest thing from my mind. Charlie is my best friend, I realize; not just my only friend. Charlie doesn’t need or want anything from me in return. Sayid did things for me because he needed someone to fill his void of Nadia. Boone did things for me because he wanted me. Charlie, though...Charlie does things for me...

I smile.

Charlie does things for me because he cares.
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avatar: Plastic!Winchester Theater by anteka @ LJ; icon by me
sig by AlcoholicPixie

[PsychoCynic]

Awww, Charlie IS a good guy. How sweet! I like this platonic relationship you have going between them.

I think Mason is a good guy too, because he was always pretty understanding in the series. But I like that you've written him as less understanding than Charlie here. You made a good point about Mason being nearly 50 years old. Fifty years of reaping, getting high, essentially staying away from the outside world, and always being alone is bound to make him jaded.

Oh, and the DLM Pilot is uploading right now. I started it about 2 hours ago so I should have it up in about another hour and a half. Didn't realize it took SO long!
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[mistojen]

[mistojen]

What Happens Now?
A/N: I've taken this one pretty AU from the DLM storyline, partially because I needed something pivotal, and partially because I was feeling especially creative when I wrote it Hope it isn't too blasphemous...

It’s been a few days since Mason and I made up. We’re in the waffle house, all sitting in the booth–-all but Roxy, that is. Rube doesn’t say much this morning when he gives me my Post-it. I feel my stomach turn uncomfortably. Surely, I’m going to the Island...

When I look down at it, though, there’s a regular address. Puzzled, I look up at Rube. “Thanks...?”

“You just better get going, Barbie. Take Mason with you,” Rube says. His expression is unreadable.

“What about me?” Charlie asks, looking up at Rube.

There is a short pause before Rube holds out a Post-it for Charlie. “You’ve got your own.”

“Bollocks,” Charlie mutters and takes his assignment. “See you at home, Shannon.”

“Yeah, later,” I say and stand. Mason looks confused, too, so I assume he doesn’t know what's up with Rube, either.

“Wonder what all that was about...” Mason mutters as the two of us left Der Waffle Haus on the way to the street listed on my Post-it. I actually don’t think I’ve been on this street before; I’m pretty sure it’s on the opposite side of town.

When we pull up in front at the corner, I park the car and we walk down the street a little ways.

“What’s the name?” Mason asks.

“S. Smith,” I reply. “How boring.”

Mason smiles and wraps an arm around me. We make our way past two houses and I notice that the second house is labeled 106. I look down at the Post-it. Apparently, I need 110. Academy Lane. What a cheesy f***ing name for a street...

The two of us walk for another five minutes and two blocks, passing an elementary school, and another house before I realize that we’ve gone too far.

“What’s the number on that house?” I ask Mason, looking at my watch. Six minutes left and there’s no one in sight. I furrow my brow.

“114,” Mason replies.

“But...” I pause to think. “The school is 110, then? That’s a stupid numbering system,” I groan.

We walk back to the school and stand outside, waiting.

“Five more minutes...” Just as I say it, cars begin whizzing up the street, pulling over to parallel park across from the school and then the bell rings and I’ve never seen so many damn kids in my life. I watch in awe as the children file out of the school.

“There,” Mason says, pointing. I follow his finger with my eyes. A very small boy with brown hair and a pair of broken glasses in one hand is picking himself up off the ground. His backpack has his name, Steven, printed on the back.

I look over at Mason. “How do you know?” I ask, but the sinking feeling in my stomach tells me that he’s right.

As if on cue, another little boy, bigger than Steven, walks up to him. “Later Smitty,” he says nastily, kicking the little boy in the rear, knocking him off kilter and sending him sprawling back down to the ground. One minute to go. Steven picks himself back up and puts his nearly shattered glasses back on.

“No,” I whisper, “he’s just a little boy...” My eyes are welling up with tears already. I can’t do this again...I wont do this again.

Mason looks down. “S. Smith. You have to.”

“I won’t,” I say simply, tears streaming down my face and my cheeks red with anger.

“Shannon, you have to!” Mason shouts at me.

Time is up.

We both look down the street and see a car zooming way too fast down the street and tiny little Steven has just stepped out into the road.

“Shannon!” Mason screams.

“No!” I scream back. “If I don’t take his soul, he can’t die. I won’t do it again!”

Mason’s eyes are wild and I can tell he’s just made a quick decision. “That’s not how it works! You can’t just leave his soul; it’ll rot!” he yells and when I still refuse to move, Mason lunges out toward the kid, knocking him down to the ground and reaping his soul simultaneously. The car barrels over the both of them and I think for a second that I’ve killed Mason, too, by letting him do it.

Then, however, he stands and Steven’s soul stands, too. The little boy’s body lays crumpled and hideously ravaged on the ground as the car stops for a moment, then, speeds off without any acknowledgment of what the driver has done.

Throngs of adults run forward from all directions–-some getting out of their cars, others coming from the school and they form a circle around the body, all yelling, screaming, crying, and ordering someone to call an ambulance; catch that car.

“Mason, you f***ing shit!” I yell at him and rush forward. As Mason takes the little boy’s hand and brings him toward me, a look of shock and fear, staring at the sky, I’ve never seen on his face before causes me to turn around just in time to be hit with a heavy gust of wind. I’m nearly knocked off my feet.

The sky goes black and red with flames and I turn back to Mason and the little boy’s soul and see that the little boy is trembling and crying, cowering against Mason.

“What’s happening?” I ask Mason and even though I’m not sure why, I can feel my arms break out in goosebumps.

“I don’t know...” Mason says, but the look on his face tells me that he has an idea, at least.

Another gust of wind hits us all and the little boy screams so shrilly that I feel a cold chill run down my spine, causing me to shudder. It’s so strange, but...no one else on the street seems to notice what’s happening...

And then...two blood red, smoky hands with the world’s longest arms, shoot out of the blackness and fire rings in the sky, grip Steven’s shirt and with one quick, mighty yank, the little boy goes flailing, screaming, crying into the hole in the sky. A loud thunderous crack echoes in my ears as I fall back against Mason, this time actually knocked over by the wind gust.

The fire rings disappear. The blackness closes up almost comically like a giant bullet-hole being blown into the sky, only in reverse motion. The wind drops off entirely and the sky returns to it’s brilliant, nearly cloudless blue.

“Oh, my God...” Mason whispers. “Oh, God...oh, God...”

“What the f*** was that?!” I gasp at him, turning to face him.

Mason’s eyes are bulging and he’s shaking. I’ve never, ever, seen him like this and it’s terrifying me. “Mason!”

“We broke the rules...” Mason says, his voice cracking. “Oh, God, we broke the rules, Shannon, we broke the rules, we broke the rules...webroketheruleswebroketherules!” As he becomes more frantic, his voice crescendos until he’s shouting shrilly at me.

Mason is freaking out; cracking up. I don’t know what to do, so I swing back one hand and slap him, hard, across the face. “What rules?!”

For a second, Mason stops trembling and touches his face gingerly, looking up at me with, not wild and terrified, but hurt eyes. “He was your mark, and I reaped him...” he whispers, chin quivering.

“So the f*** what?” I ask, confused and still a little scared.

“Death is non-transferable.... He wasn’t mine to reap, Shannon, I think we just...” he stops and actually starts to cry. He never tells me what he thinks; instead, he stands, takes my hand, and leads me back to my car.

“We can never tell,” Mason says in a low, serious voice.

I’m certainly not going to fight him. Whatever those lights were...they weren’t right, and, now, a few minutes after the shock has worn off, I realize that we f***ed up. We f***ed up big time. I shake my head furiously at him. “I’ll never tell,” I reply.

“Ever.”

“Ever,” I repeat. “But...” I pause. I don’t want to ask him. He’s already upset and he looks so small; so scared. I don’t want to add to it.

“But what if Rube finds out? What if he already knows?” Mason asks for me. He shakes his head and closes his eyes. “I don’t want to know,” he whispers.

I swallow hard. “Mason, what happened? What were those lights?”

“I don’t...I don’t bloody know, but this is the second strike. I am...viciously f***ed...and now you...you’re in it, now; I did it, but you’re in it, now. You’re in it now...I did it again...”

“This has happened to you before?” I ask, my voice barely there.

Mason shakes his head, and grasps his forehead with his hand. “Not...this exactly, but I’ve...I interfered before.” He pauses and looks at me with tears in his eyes that he refuses to let fall. “Please don’t hate me when I say this...” he whispers.

I stare at him for a moment, almost afraid to agree to it, but I shake my head that I won’t hate him if he tells me.

“I killed someone once.”

...so? I kill someone every day, Mason... I stare at him blankly.

“I didn’t have a Post-it. No one had a Post-it...this guy attacked Daisy and I was protecting her and...I didn’t mean to...but, I killed him. Rube found out,” he chokes, “but he hated Ray, too...he promised me he’d leave it, but next time...” Mason pauses and swallows hard. “‘But next time, that’s it.’”

“‘That’s it,’ like...what?” I ask. This is my fault. I didn’t do my job and Mason was just trying to help. He wasn’t trying to help me; he was trying to help Steven. Trying to make sure Steven didn’t feel any pain...that he got his lights. Somehow, it went horribly, horribly wrong...and if something happens to Mason, it will be all my fault...

Mason shrugs and, actually...he laughs. It is a humorless, dry laugh and there’s a frown on his face, but...he laughs. “That’s just it, darling...I don’t know and I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you; I don’t want to lose this...any of it. I like being a reaper. I know that’s wrong, but dammit; I do. I’m scared, Shannon. I don’t know what happens now...”

I don’t know what to do and I don’t know what to say. So, I guide Mason’s head to my chest and I hold him, stroking his hair and I let him cry on me. I’m scared, too, but it’s my turn to be the strong one. It’s my turn to be the support beam. For right now, that’s all I can do, so...I do it to the best of my ability, and all the while...

Whatever happens will rest squarely on my shoulders and the ‘lights’ that took Steven...they’re on me. It’s all on me...

I don’t know what I’m going to do, but for right now, the only thing that matters, is that Mason is with me and I’m holding him...and I will never let go.
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avatar: Plastic!Winchester Theater by anteka @ LJ; icon by me
sig by AlcoholicPixie

[PsychoCynic]

Ohhh, looks great so far.

I'm really interested in seeing where this is going now!

Just one thing. Why the hell would Mason bother in doing her reap? We know damn well that when George didn't do her reap, the guy still died, but she was able to take his soul afterwards. I guess Mason didn't want the kid to feel pain? In that case, aww.

Anyway, looking forward to more.
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[mistojen]

[mistojen]

(actually, this one is pretty long, so I'll do another one after you get to read this one)

Forbidden Expedition


“Charlie?” I whisper, hovering over him as he sleeps in the downstairs bedroom. I’m pretty sure this one was Daisy’s; it still smells like potpourri even though a boy lives in it now.

Charlie stirs slightly and rolls over.

“Charlie.” This time I say it in my normal voice.

Still, he doesn’t respond to me. He scratches his head with one lazy hand, but says nothing.

“Charlie!” I yell and he starts, jumping a little and sitting up quickly.

“What? What...? Is...are you okay?” he asks rapidly, his voice strangled with sleep.

“I need you,” I say, sitting down on the edge of the bed. I look away from him. This isn’t fair of me, but I’m going to ask him anyway.

I feel him move and he’s beside me, wrapping an arm around me. “What’s wrong?”

“I have to go home,” I whisper. Tears fall silently down my face and I don’t bother to wipe them away. I don’t care if Charlie sees them and I don’t care if they keep itching their way down my cheeks. I need to cry right now.

“Home?”

A tremor comes over my throat as I breathe in and now I know that Charlie can tell I’m crying. “Home home,” I say suggestively.

“What, the Island?” Charlie asks, confused, “why?”

I look up at him, wiping the tears from under one of my eyes with the heel of my hand. “I just do, okay? Come with me?”

“We’re not allowed, Shannon...” Charlie says.

Say what you want about Charlie, but as big of a f*** up as he can be sometimes, he follows the rules. He’s a f***ing stickler for Rube’s dumb rules whenever he can help it.

“I don’t care,” I mutter, “I have to go back. Please come with me?”

Charlie looks at me for a moment, puzzled. He can’t figure out why I want to go back, I think, because Boone is dead and so is Sayid and both of them have crossed over. I know why I want to go back, though, and even if I told him, he wouldn’t believe me. If he did, he’d think I was crazy.

“Shannon...” he says softly, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, “what time is it?”

“I don’t know, eleven thirty or something?” I reply, not sure why that matters.

Charlie pauses and chews his bottom lip again.

“Please.”

“What if they see us?” he asks, “what if they see us and think we’re Others?” Charlie ventures.

“So the hell what?” I rebut, “what are they going to do? Kill us?” I don’t mean to sound so bitingly sarcastic, but I just want him to take me back and he’s not cooperating.

He ponders this for a moment and nods. “Fair enough. I’ll go...” he says, but holds up a hand to me before I can even begin to react, “but you have to tell me why.”

F***.

When another tear rolls idly down my cheek, Charlie reaches up and wipes it away with his thumb. I melt. “I did something bad today, Charlie. Something really bad...and I need to talk to Walt.”

“Walt?” Charlie asks, dumbfounded. “Shannon, Walt never came back...the Others, they got him...”

“I’ll explain it more on the way, okay, Charlie? Just...please. I need to go home.”




It took another few minutes of coaxing, but Charlie and I are on our way to the Island. I distract the man at the desk where we normally rent the small planes we take to get to the Island for reaps while Charlie sneaks around the back and unlocks the doors for me to come out and for us to steal the one plane left on the lot. When the man at the desk goes into his office to get me some brochures on flying lessons, I slip out the back and Charlie helps me into the plane. I feel a little like we’re Bonnie and Clyde. I never thought I’d ever steal anything, let alone a f***ing airplane...

Charlie pulls out the map to the Island that Rube had given Mason. I swiped it from Mason while he was asleep...before I came to get Charlie up. He hands it to me as he starts the engine.

“I don’t know how to fly this, Shannon,” he whispers, as if he’s afraid that the man will hear us.

“So, wing it. It can’t be that hard if Mason can do it; Jesus, Charlie,” I hiss at him. “Just go, before he hears the engine and calls the police.”

Gulping slightly, Charlie nods and looks around at the seemingly hundreds of buttons, levers, and gadgets. He grins.

“What?” I ask, spying the look on his face.

Charlie grabs a chain of three Post-its stuck together off one of the levers. “Good thing they don’t clean these things out...”

He hands it to me and I look down at it. Mason’s chicken scratch instructs us on how to start the engine, take off, fly, call for help, and even land. “Jackpot! Go!”

Charlie does.




I can see the Island out the window and Charlie, who was looking confident and cool as a cucumber just a moment ago, looks now like he might throw up.

“You okay...?” I ask.

“What if I crash, Shannon? You land it.”

“F*** no, I won’t!” I yell at him, “you won’t crash,” I assure him, waving the Post-it chain at him.

“Shannon, what if I do?” he asks seriously.

I shrug at him. “We can’t die. We’ve crashed on the Island before...won’t be anything new,” I joke feebly.

“Shannon.”

“I don’t know, Charlie, okay? If we crash, Mason will come to get us.” I say it confidently because I whole-heartedly believe it.

Charlie doesn’t look so sure as he slows the engine and figure-eights the plane over the Island. “How will he know where to find us, love?”

“He’ll know,” I say as confidently as before. I know he will. Mason’s stupid, but he’s not a complete idiot.

“We’ll be in so much trouble...” Charlie mutters.

“Just land the plane, okay?” I ask, touching his arm. “It’s going to be fine, Charlie. You’re doing fine.”

Charlie takes a deep breath and nods. I read him the instructions that I can barely read in Mason’s nearly illegible handwriting and, a few minutes later, we’ve landed safely in the middle of the jungle.

When Charlie shuts off the engine he looks over at me. “What now?” he asks. It’s considerably lighter where we are and I wonder, for the first time ever, what time it is on the Island. I wonder if the others are awake. I wonder, also, if the Others are awake...

“Shannon?”

“Let me think for a second, Charlie...” I mutter. I had forgotten about the time change.

“You don’t have a plan?!” Charlie shouts at me. “Blimey, Shannon, are you serious?!”

“If you shut up for like five minutes, I’ll have sex with you, Charlie,” I croon at him. I don’t know if I mean it. I probably don’t, but then again, Charlie being quiet for five straight minutes is something I probably will never witness.

But he quiets. My head is pounding and I suddenly realize, I have no idea how to find Walt. It occurs to me that the only time I ever went after Walt resulted in my death. He always came to me. Also, we don’t have unlimited time, here. We do need to get back at some point and without Mason or Rube noticing our absence, so it needs to be before the daily meeting we have at Der Waffle Haus in the morning. I’m guessing we haven’t got much time at all, actually.

I look down at my watch. Charlie has–wonder of wonders!–fulfilled his five minute requirement, but he’s still quiet and staring at me, waiting for instruction. Waiting for...anything, I guess.

“Okay...um...stay here.”

“I’m not,” Charlie says, “you made me fly you here when I don’t know how to fly a plane...f***, Shannon, you made me steal a bloody airplane for you...and I’m not staying here. Not going to sit and wait for you to come back, so you can just forget that right now.” He’s furrowing his brow and his voice is indignant.

I don’t reply, I just get out of the plane and stand in the middle of the jungle. It’s just before sunrise. I draw in a deep breath as Charlie comes out of the plane, too, and stands beside me. “Walt!” I scream.

“Are you completely mental?!” Charlie hisses at me, clapping a hand over my mouth.

I snatch it away. “WALT!”

“He’s not going to come, Shannon!”

“Shut up,” I snap, “WALT!”

Charlie shakes his head and walks away from me a little ways.

Silence fills the air and then,

“Hello?”

A female voice echoes through the balmy morning and Charlie and I exchange glances.

“I told you,” Charlie grumbles.

“F*** ‘em,” I say. “WALT!” I try again. “WAAAALT!”

“Who’s there?!” a second female voice calls. This one I know...because of the accent. This voice is Claire’s. What in the name of Christ Claire is doing in the jungle at this hour is beyond me, but...

“Claire?” Charlie asks a little too loudly.

“Who...?”

“Charlie!” I hiss at him, “don’t talk to her!”

“But, it’s Claire...” Charlie pleads, his eyes wide.

I shake my head at him. “You’re dead,” I remind him, “Charlie is dead. For all she knows, you’re an Other.”

But then,

“Charlie...?”

“No...” I moan, “oh, God, no...”

Charlie’s eyes are so wide they look in danger of popping out of his head. The voices grow closer still and now I think I might be sick, I’m so nervous. Charlie was right. This was a bad idea.

“It’s not Charlie, Claire...its...” the voice trails off uncertainly. Now the source comes to me. It’s Kate.

“We have to go,” I say quickly. “We can’t...”

“CLAIRE!”

“Charlie, stop!” I plead at him. “Please, just stop!”

“That’s him; that’s Charlie,” the voice says firmly and confidently, still disembodied to us.

I hear a rustle in a thicket of bushes behind us. Charlie and I both whirl toward it as Claire comes running out of it, Kate right on her behind.

“Claire...” Charlie says, his voice nostalgic and broken with emotion. His eyes well up.

Claire stops, though. She gasps and Kate takes her shoulder, pulling her back, her other hand reaching behind her back. Surely Kate has a gun stashed in the back of her jeans. She usually does in expeditions out alone.

Charlie steps forward slowly. “Claire...”

“Stop,” I say under my breath, just for Charlie to hear, “she doesn’t see you.” I take his hand. He yanks away from my grasp harshly. Honestly, it breaks my heart a little.

“Who are you?” Kate asks, eyes narrowing as she steps in front of Claire, hand still behind her back.

“Don’t do it,” I say to him, but he doesn’t listen.

“I’m...” he pauses awkwardly. “I was on...” Again he pauses and I can see him grimace with effort. “This band...I...” He swears under his breath and sighs deeply. “Claire, I was with...I...we...” Charlie turns to look at me for an explanation.

Mason said that when George tried to tell her mother about a memory that only George would know, she couldn’t get it out. He said that she couldn’t even remember what story she was trying to tell her mom. It was, Mason said, like she’d forgotten the memory all together. If that was the case, Charlie couldn’t spit out what he wanted to tell Claire, because his memory was ripped from him to halt the effort. I shrug at him. I don’t want to explain that to him right now; it’ll sound crazy to Claire and Kate. But...

It’s like a lightbulb in my head. Charlie did me a huge favor by coming here with me. Stealing an airplane, flying it to the Island... Maybe he can’t tell her about his memories, but maybe I can, since I wouldn’t be telling her about who I am... Worth a shot...

“Who the hell are you?” Kate demands and Claire is peeking meekly out from behind her. I wonder what Charlie looks like to them. I know what I look like, but I have no idea about him. Maybe he looks creepy...

“Charlie was in this band...” I start and Kate’s eyes widen slightly. Claire looks like I just slapped her and she steps out from behind Kate. I pause. I can’t remember the name of the band. Not because the memory was taken away, but because I never knew to begin with. “Um...”

“Who are you?”

“Not me,” I say, “I can’t tell you about me,” I say, looking at Charlie suggestively. “Charlie used to do drugs. Um, he...was taken away. By the...” I pause. I can’t remember what we called them. The other people on the Island; the ones that were there before us. The ones that took Charlie away.

Did they take someone when they took him? I can’t remember.

“Shannon had a brother,” Charlie says quickly, filling the silence and taking my lead. “His name was...” he trails off. Charlie can’t remember.

“And he was building a church when he died, he was...whatthef***washisname...” I mutter incoherently. I don’t want to forget his name, the man standing beside me. I know that he’s my friend and I know that he’s not alive; I know that he’s a reaper. I think I took his soul. ...I couldn’t have, or...Daisy did. Daisy took his soul...

“And they fought something terrible, the two of them did...” Charlie pauses. The light in his eyes tells me that he has found a loophole to this rule. He turns to me.

“Shannon,” he says, “your brother’s name...” He’s focusing completely on me.

I get it. If we talk to one another and forget that they’re there, maybe we’re not breaking the rules. “Boone. Your band...”

Charlie shakes his head. “Drive...”

“Shaft,” Claire utters softly and I wave her off, annoyed.

“Don’t interrupt,” I snap at her.

“That guy took you. What was his name?” I ask Charlie, tuning Claire out.

“Ethan. He took someone else...”

“Claire,” I say. It’s coming back to me, now, as long as I focus my attention on Charlie.

“You had a nightmare one night. I remember you screaming,” Charlie says, “Sayid said you had a nightmare.”

“It wasn’t a nightmare,” I say, “I saw Walt.”

“And Claire woke the baby to...woke...Aaron,” he spits out the name with a great effort, shaking his head jerkily as if to force it out, “because she thought you sounded like you needed help.”

“No one believed me. I saw Walt,” I told Charlie, and by this point, I think I actually had forgotten that Claire and Kate were standing there listening to us speak babble to one another.

“I played bass,” Charlie said, “in the band. Heroine, it was,” he adds, “the drug.”

“Heroine, yeah...you caught me a fish once. I tricked you...”

“You bitch,” Charlie laughs a little. I think he’s forgotten them, too.

A movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention and I see the Claire is walking forward. She opens her mouth to speak and I hold my hand up at her. I lose focus on Charlie. “Don’t. Don’t ask us. Don’t. We’ll...” I can’t remember what I was about to tell her.

We’ll what? I can’t f***ing remember. My brain is like a radio whose signal can’t seem to come in clear for more than a few minutes at a time. Everything is so fuzzy...

“We have to stop, Charlie,” I say to him quietly, “I don’t want...” I pause, fighting tears. “I don’t want to forget. I don’t want to forget him. My brother...I don’t...”

“Boone,” Charlie reminds me softly. “We’ll stop. Come on...let’s find him.”

“Boone?” I ask stupidly.

Charlie shakes his head. “What you came for.”

“...I don’t know why we’re here,” I whisper. Suddenly, I’m afraid. Where are we...? I feel like my brain is short-circuiting.

“Shannon...” he whispers, “what’s happening to you?”

“Where are we...?” I ask softly, looking around, trying to take it all in. We’re in a jungle. We’re beside an airplane. “Do you have a Post-it?”

“What’s happening?” I hear a female voice with an Australian accent ask.

I look over at her. “Where are we? Who are you?” I ask.

“Shannon, don’t...” Charlie pleads with me. “Please...”

Everything goes blurry in my head. I can see just fine but nothing makes any sense. It’s like my whole mind has gone to mush.

“Shannon...?” the Australian woman asks. She steps forward and I back away a little, recoiling against the man. “I won’t hurt you,” she assures me, and the man doesn’t give way to me, trapping me between his body and this small, pretty blonde approaching me. She is so close I can touch her. She reaches out and touches my face. “Jesus...” she whispers.

“Who is Shannon?” I ask softly, curiously. Who is this woman talking to...? Me or the guy?

“We have to go. I’m sorry...” the guy says looking at her. He turns me away from the women and wraps his arms around me protectively. I don’t know him, but I’ll trust him. He seems to know better what’s going on than I do and he has a gentle face. “We have to go.” And a dignified accent.

“Charlie?” the blonde woman asks. The other woman, the one with the brown hair, just stands there with her mouth wide open. I can’t help but think of something my dad used to say to me when I was little. He used to tell me that if I didn’t shut my mouth, I’d catch a fly. I almost say it to her, but bite my tongue against it.

The guy behind me shakes his head. There are tears in his eyes. I wonder why he’s so sad.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” he says slowly. He guides me into the plane and climbs in after me, slamming the door and starting to cry.

“Hey, uh...are you okay...?” I ask him.

He looks up at me. “Why did you make me come here?” he asks me. “Why would you do this to me, Shannon?” he spits.

This man is clearly angry with me for something, but I can’t figure out what and I don’t know why he keeps calling me Shannon. I wonder, again, who Shannon is. I blink slowly and shake my head a little. Everything is so hazy... “What?” I ask.

The man stops and a tear rolls down his cheek. “Shannon...are you...there?” he asks, waving a hand in front of my face.

“Who are you?” I ask, a little angrily. Who the hell does this guy think he is, anyway? He drags me into some airplane in the middle of some jungle and he’s looking for some girl named Shannon? Stupid idiot.

“Charlie.”

“Charlie...” I repeat the name and pause. I know a Charlie. I work with this guy named Charlie. He looks a lot like this guy, actually.

The guy puts his hands on my shoulders and shakes me harshly. “SHANNON. I’m Charlie,” he says forcefully. “We’re dead. We’re grim reapers. Together...” he says and his voice cracks.

When he lets go of me, something snaps in my head. A white flash like a camera flash seems to go off in front of my eyes and everything is clearing again in my head. When the light goes away and my focus is completely clear again, I look at Charlie and raise an eyebrow.

“Why are we back in the plane?” I ask. “I didn’t find Walt.”

Charlie laughs and throws his arms around me. “Oh, bloody hell...I thought you were...I thought...”

I push him away. “Charlie, come on, I have to find Walt,” I tell him and start to get out of the plane. I can’t figure out why the hell he’d have put me back in here when we came here for a reason and I didn’t get to talk to Walt yet. I need to talk to Walt, because I need him to confess what Mason and I did to little Steven Smith. I need Walt to tell me that I’m not a bad person and I need Walt to assure me that I won’t go to Hell when my last call comes. I need Walt to tell me, because Walt knows things. I don’t know how I know that, but I do.

“We have to leave, Shannon,” Charlie says firmly. “Claire and Kate...”

“You can’t talk to people from here, Charlie,” I tell him, “you’ll forget. Remember what Mason said...”

“You did,” Charlie says. “You talked to them. You forgot. They’re still out there. We have to go.”

“I don’t...” I pause. I forgot what?

Charlie starts the engine of the plane and a few minutes later, takes off.

We don’t speak. Charlie won’t look at me.



When we land the plane at the airport, the two of us sneak out quickly and quietly, sprinting to the Mustang and Charlie gets behind the wheel, peeling out of the parking lot and onto the road. It’s five-thirty in the morning, according to the clock on the radio.

“Shannon, why did you want to talk to Walt?” he asks. It’s the first time he’s spoken to me since we left the Island.

“I did something bad...” I whisper.

“What did you do and what the bloody hell does Walt have to do with anything?” Charlie asks me.

I shake my head and tears are filling my eyes. I’m powerless to stop them as they trickle down my cheeks. “I can’t tell you,” I say. I hate it, but I cant.

“We did something bad, Shannon, because of it, so you bloody well better tell me what you did,” he says angrily.

I take a deep breath. I promised Mason I wouldn’t tell anyone. I promised. But, Charlie’s right. I don’t know what happened on the Island; I don’t remember, but if Charlie’s telling the truth, I broke a major rule. Major. I owe him...

“I didn’t reap him,” I mutter.

“What?”

I sigh and look over at Charlie. “You have to swear to me, Charlie, that as soon as I tell you, you’ll forget what I’ve said. I promised I would never tell...”

Charlie pulls the car over and looks at me as he puts it in park. His eyes are filled with concern. It vaguely occurs to me that Charlie is the only one who looks at me this way; who has ever really looked at me this way. “I swear, love...” he breathes.

“I had a Post-it. When I got there with Mason, I found out it was a little boy. I couldn’t do it again...” I say softly. Tears are welling up in my eyes, but I don’t want to let them fall.

“Again...?”

“I couldn’t do it again. He was just a little boy, Charlie, and I thought that...if I didn’t reap his soul, he wouldn’t die. I just wanted to save him. I just wanted to do for him what I didn’t have the guts to do for Aaron. I couldn’t do it again,” I say. The beginning of this statement was at full volume, but by the time I’m finished, I’m whispering.

“Aaron...” Charlie whispers back. “It was you?”

Now the tears are falling freely and I’m powerless to stop them. I nod slowly. “I was new and I didn’t want to break the rules. Mason made me; he said that I had to do it because it was my Post-it...he wouldn’t do it for me, and I didn’t know what would happen if I didn’t... He said I had to, so I did...” I say softly. I keep having to gasp for air between sobs, “but I couldn’t do it again. This little boy, he was so tiny, Charlie, and I couldn’t do it. I thought if I didn’t reap him, he wouldn’t die, so I didn’t. Mason kept yelling at me that I had to, and I told him that I wouldn’t; not again; and he told me that the kid’s soul would rot and I couldn’t just leave it. But, I wouldn’t do it. So, at the last second, Mason did. Mason took a soul that I was meant to reap...”

“What happened?” Charlie asks. He’s respectfully allowing the Aaron thing to go for right now, but I’m sure that it’ll come back around.

I gulp in air and let out another sob. Charlie puts his arms around me and holds me close. The center console of the Mustang presses a dull ache into my side, but I let him comfort me, anyway. My tears are soaking his shirt and he’s smoothing my wind-blown and sleep-disheveled hair slowly. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly before I try to speak again. “Mason said death is non-transferrable. It was my reap, and Mason took the soul...and when the lights came...” I pause and the memory of the utter terror on Steven Smith’s face as the blood-red smoky hands yank him out of this life and into another flashes in my head. I sob again. I feel so weak... “They weren’t good lights, Charlie,” I whisper as I pull away from him, wiping at my eyes. “There was something wrong with those lights, and Steven wasn’t happy to see them...he was scared...I don’t know what we did, but Mason and I broke the rules...and that little boy had to suffer our consequences.”

Charlie looks at my sympathetically and wipes away a few tears with his thumbs.

I sniffle and look down at my feet. “I wanted to talk to Walt because I think Walt knows things, and I wanted to know...” I pause. It sounds crazy in my own head, now, when before, it seemed so logical. “I wanted Walt to tell me that I’m a good person, even though I made a big mistake. I wanted Walt to tell me that I won’t go to Hell when my last call comes...” I whisper. I look back up at Charlie and I want to cry more, but I have no tears left.

“It’s okay, Shannon. I know it was a bad thing...” he says and there’s a glimmer in Charlie’s eye. “But...” he pauses, grimacing slightly, as though trying to word out what he’s about to say in his head so that it comes out properly. “I believe that God understands. I believe that...God forgives our mistakes. I know that you’re a good person, on the whole, Shannon. Making a mistake, even one like that, doesn’t change who you are inside, and I believe that you’ll go to a set of good lights when the time comes. Whether you think so or not, Shannon...you deserve them.” I realize that his effortful grimace was because he wasn’t sure if I believed in God, or what I believe in, and didn’t know if what he had to say would make me feel any better. I’m not sure I do believe in God...I don’t know what I believe. I do know, though, that what he said, regardless of what either of us believes in for a Higher being...made me feel a little better.

For a moment, I just sit there looking at Charlie. Every time Charlie says things that make me feel unworthy of listening to, something comes over me and I want to kiss him. Charlie is my knight in shining armor, and, what seems like lightyears ago, Boone was right when he told me that I was a sucker for them. I was then, and I am now.

Charlie’s eyes lock with mine and I know that he means what he just said. He touches my face gently and I start to recoil a little. Touching my face means intimacy; I’m not sure I want that with Charlie. But, then, I don’t need to decide, because Charlie decides before me. Charlie, who always sits back and lets me do the talking; Charlie, who always leaves me wondering where the line between friendship and more is actually sketched. Charlie cups my face in his hand and he brings me to him. I feel myself being guided. I know what’s about to happen and I know, especially considering current circumstances, that it’s so wrong...I let him do it.

I close my eyes a second before I feel Charlie’s lips touch mine. I half-expect them to pull away just as quickly and platonically as they always have, but this time, they don’t. I have a brief, guilty thought of the look on Mason’s face if he could see us now, and then I feel Charlie try to deepen the kiss. I don’t stop him, even though I should; I join him in the effort.

A shiver runs down my spine as Charlie’s stubble scratches my face and his tongue slides past my lips. This is so wrong...we shouldn’t be doing this... I think to myself, but I don’t stop it, because it feels good.

Charlie’s kiss is gentle and prodding. Mason’s kisses are hungry and pleasantly forceful. Charlie kisses like Sayid; Mason kisses like Boone. At that thought, I pull away from him.

“No,” I say softly, “Charlie, we can’t.”

When I look up at his face, I see my guilt mirrored in Charlie’s expression. He’s thinking of Claire; I’m sure of it.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly.

I shake my head and lick my lips, dropping myself heavily back against my own seat as I pull away from him completely. “Don’t be. I’m not,” I say, and as I say it to comfort him, I find that I believe it.

A long silence falls between us and Charlie speaks first. “We can forget this whole night ever happened.”

I agree with him, but I’m not entirely sure I actually want to. Truthfully, I kind of want to kiss him again. I don’t, because it’s not fair to Mason and it isn’t fair to Charlie, but I kind of want to, anyway.

Charlie puts the car back into drive and we don’t speak to one another for the rest of the way back to the house. When he parks the car, I touch his hand on the gear shift. Charlie looks up at me.

“We don’t have to forget,” I tell him, “we just have to keep it a secret.”

Charlie nods. “Okay.”

“We can’t do it again,” I say, and now I’m referring solely to the kiss.

Charlie shakes his head.

“Rube doesn’t have to know about our field trip, and Mason doesn’t have to know about our indiscretion. But we don’t have to forget.”

Charlie smiles a little. “Good,” he whispers, taking his hand out from under mine and pulling the keys out of the ignition, “because I don’t want to forget.”

Me either, Charlie, I think, but don’t say, and I return his smile. “I have to go back to bed with Mason,” I tell him. I can see by the look on his face that even though it hurts him, he knows already and he nods at me. “I think Rube will find out about what Mason and I did...I want you to know, if that happens and he sends me away somehow...that I love you and I appreciate everything you do for me, Charlie.”

He looks as though I’ve slapped him when I mention the possibility of being sent away. “Shannon...?”

“Don’t,” I say, “just...leave it. I just needed you to know, just in case,” I tell him and I get out of the car, not waiting for him as I head back into the house.

I hear him coming in as I’m halfway up the stairs, but I don’t look back. I don’t, because now I’ve passed the point of no return and...in both situations that haunt me...there’s no turning back.
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avatar: Plastic!Winchester Theater by anteka @ LJ; icon by me
sig by AlcoholicPixie

[PsychoCynic]

Ohh, I like the reference you made to George and her Mom. I NEVER thought about it like that. I just figured she was nervous. This makes things very interesting! I like the dynamic between Shannon and Charlie; it's sweet since Charlie IS the type of guy willing to help and I think Shannon fell for him for the same reasons she fell (if she fell) for Boone. Keep it up!

Questions for you, not concerning this fic:
1. Well, you know that huge 40 DLM icon post on made on my LJ and here? No one responded to it. I'm ALWAYS looking for constructive criticism on my work (how else can one get better, right?) and I was just wondering what you thought of them? Were they not aesthically pleasing? Were they boring? Were they just poorly made? Sorry to impose on you like this, but I want to know what the hell it is I'm doing wrong, y'know?
2. Your other fic on LVI (SurReality ...), what is it about? Apparently, it's quite popular (4 pages, Jen! ) I want to start reading, but I'm afraid it's an inside joke and I'll just be lost and confused. So, can you clarify?

Thanks!
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[mistojen]

[mistojen]

Purple Post-It

“And...plie,” I instruct. I watch as the seven ten-year-olds bend their knees gracefully and I smile. “Beautiful job, ladies. Okay, now...” I walk down the line of them and stop in front of one girl. “Amy, can you do it again please?” I ask.

The little redhead looks nervous but she does the movement again.

“All right, everyone watch Amy,” I say, “watch how her feet don’t move from first position as she does it. One more time, Amy?”

This time, Amy smiles and takes pride in being the one singled out. She slowly repeats her movement and I smile. “Very nice, Amy! Okay, now everyone try it once more, please? And...plie.”

I started this job about a week ago. Things have calmed down a little. I almost have enough confidence to assume that Rube didn’t find out about what Mason and I did. He hasn’t said anything or acted strangely at all, and neither of us has been sent away, or anything, so, I’m beginning to allow myself to relax.

When Charlie brought me to the Arts Center, I was really skeptical about whether or not I’d be hired. I hadn’t taught ballet in a very, very long time. ...not since just before my father died, actually. That lesson, the day I got the phone call from Sabrina...it was my last. I couldn’t bring myself to go back. Sometimes, it had even been too hard for me to get out of bed, let alone go back to teaching and watching all the pretty little girls skip back to their fathers’ waiting arms at the end of a lesson. But, they hired me on and I make, like, ten dollars an hour, which isn’t so bad. I haven’t really put much of a dent in my savings from Deja Vu, so it doesn’t bother me that much.

“Okay, ladies, last one...first position,” I say and I walk back up the line of small girls in leotards, trying to keep my smile in the midst of the reminders of that horrible day when I found out that my dad had died. “Second position.”

I watch the mirror more than the girls and I see that Charlie has joined us. I smile. I don’t think the girls have noticed, yet, because they’re all looking at their feet to make sure that they’ve got the position right. I’ll work on that next lesson. “Third position,” I instruct and as the girls look up at me, they all see Charlie at the same moment and start to giggle.

Turning from them, I look over at him and I can’t help but giggle, myself. Charlie’s trying, albeit half-assed and silly, to put himself in third position.

“Is that your boyfriend, Miss Shannon?” one of the girls croons and the others giggle wildly. Charlie falls over.

“Oh...” I croon, cutting off my own giggle fit, as the girls break out into full laughter, and starting forward to help him up. “What are you doing here?” I whisper at him, biting my bottom lip to stop myself from laughing at him.

Charlie blushes wildly and helps himself up before I can reach him. “I just wanted to see how you were doing...I’m between lessons,” he replies.

“Miss Shannon has a boyfriend, Miss Shannon has a boyfriend!” one of the girls sings, and the other girls join her.

“Miss Shannon has a boyfriend, Miss Shannon has a boyfriend!”

I turn away from Charlie and look at the girls sternly. All of them bite back their words, but each and every face has a smirk etched upon it. I turn back to Charlie. “You’re disrupting my class,” I say to him firmly, but I can’t stop the smile on my face.

“So sorry, Miss Shannon,” he mocks, winking at me.

“What do you really want?” I ask, raising my eyebrows at him.

“To watch,” he insists, smiling.

I roll my eyes. “Fine, but I’m almost finished, anyway...”

“That’s all right,” Charlie replies, “I’ve just got some time to kill.” He sits down on the piano bench of the piano a few feet away from where I’m standing. We use it when we have the accompanist here just before recitals, or so I’m told.

With a resigned sigh, I turn back to the class. “Okay, now, where were we?”

“Miss Shannon, who is that?” one of the girls asks.

“Miss Shannon...?

“Hey, Miss Shannon, we were at third position,” Amy speaks up, looking slightly annoyed by the fact that none of the other girls are nearly as interested in finishing the class now that Charlie is sitting there watching.

“Ladies...” I say slowly. “Third position, right. Okay...”

“Um...Miss Shannon?” a small blonde girl asks, raising her hand.

“Yes, Emma?”

“Does your boyfriend have to stay and watch...?” she asks, blushing and staring past me at Charlie.

“Charlie’s not my boyfriend,” I reply, “and if you want him to leave...” I slowly turn back and look at Charlie with raised eyebrows, then turn back to Emma, “he will leave.”

“Oi, I just wanted to see what you lovely ladies were up to, today,” Charlie speaks up. “I wanted to see what Miss Shannon has taught you. Don’t you want to show me?”

A few of the girls giggle again, some of them blushing.

“I do,” Amy chirps. She’s one of those little rich kids with a snotty attitude. Hell, if she was blonde, I’d think she was a carbon copy of myself at her age.

“Okay, okay, let’s settle down. We’ll start from the beginning one more time, then, all right?” I ask, looking at the girls questionably. If any of them objects to Charlie watching this time, I really will send him on his way.

No one says anything and I can almost feel Charlie’s smug grin burning into the back of my head. “All right, then. First position.”

I go through all of the positions and then have them each plie down the line as a finish. When I look down at my watch, I see that we’ve gone about five minutes over. Charlie claps and the little girls all look up at me waiting for some sort of praise or constructive criticism. “Thank you for a great class, today, ladies. Great job! I’ll see you tomorrow, same time, same place?”

The little girls all let go of the bar and smile back at me. Some of them respond with mutters of ‘yes’ and others just scuttle past me toward the door.

Choruses of “bye Miss Shannon! Bye Chaaaaaarlie” ring in my ears as they all file out of the room and the door closes behind them, leaving Charlie and I alone.


That was the day that Charlie became a fixture in my class. Every class after that, he would come in just before the end and sit on the piano bench to watch what the girls had learned that day. Today is no different.

“Hi Charlie!” Emma shouts when Charlie walks in today.

“‘ello, Emma, love,” Charlie replies amiably, smiling and taking a seat at the piano.

This time, the girls and I are going to get Charlie back for disrupting our class that day a few weeks ago.

“Third position,” I say and wink at the girls, not looking back at Charlie, even though I know he’s there.

A couple of them let out tell-tale giggles, but they all get into third position and then promptly fall over clumsily, giggling as they land.

“Hey...” Charlie pouts, and when I turn to look at him, he’s grinning.

“Get him, girls,” I instruct, and according to the plan, they do.

The seven leotard-clad ten-year-olds in my class stand up, smirking, giggling, laughing and rush at Charlie. When they get to him, they jump at him, knocking him off the bench and tackling him to the ground. The surprise in Charlie’s eyes is enough to make me wish I had a camera.

“And...tickle,” I say calmly, as if it’s just another every day instruction. When they do, Charlie gasps out, “SHANNON!”

“All right, all right,” I laugh, “thanks for another great class, ladies. You can go now.”

Still giggling wildly, the girls all stand up. Emma, the brazen little thing, plants a sloppy kiss on Charlie’s cheek before scurrying out of the classroom, leaving him looking up at me with the most adorable and utterly confused expression I’ve ever seen.

“What the hell?” he asks, laughing as he stands back up and I approach him.

I shrug. “That was for disrupting our class the first time,” I reply with a grin. “You’re late,” I add, noting that he’d come into my classroom a lot later than he normally did.

Charlie frowns a little. “I had a reap,” he replies. “Some guy trying to clean out his gutters...slipped off his ladder and killed himself.”

I nod understandingly. “Well, I’m done for the day; you?” I ask, referring to classes and not reaps, because I have one of my own in about an hour and a half at a restaurant uptown a little ways.

“I’ve got one more lesson, but it’s not until seven,” he says as we start out the door together.

“Der Waffle Haus?” I ask as my stomach grumbles a little.

Charlie smiles and nods. “I’m starving.”



“How was class today, Barbie?” Rube asks, looking up from his bacon and eggs as Charlie sits down beside him and I take my place on the other side of the booth beside Mason.

“Great,” I say with a smile too large to be ignored.

“She sent those little buggers after me!” Charlie exclaims, eyes wide, looking for sympathy.

Mason grins and takes my hand under the table, giving it a little squeeze and letting go again. “Serves you right for always bugging her class, you wank,” he says with a smile.

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie mutters and raises his hand up in the air. “Oi, Kiffany?” he calls out.

Kiffany approaches and grins down at me. “This job seems to be treating you a little better than that awful bartending gig,” she says with a smile, “you don’t fall asleep at my tables anymore.” She winks.

I laugh and nod. “Yeah, well,” I reply with a shrug, looking down at my get-up. I still haven’t changed out of my leotard. I just pulled on a pair of jeans. It’s a really nice day, today. “Can I have a diet Pepsi and the number 8?” I ask. It’s my favorite. It’s so simple, but it really fills me up. Chicken fingers, french fries galore, and a side of salad.

“Ranch?” Kiffany asks.

I nod.

“And you?” she asks, looking over at Charlie.

“Surprise me,” he replies with a smirk. “But bear in mind I’m starving, Kif.”

Kiffany shakes her head and smiles. “Coming right up,” she says and walks away from the table.

“Post-its,” Rube says and we all look up at him, confused.

“But,” I stammer a little, “I haven’t even done the first reap, yet...”

“There’s a back up...someone in Terminal Diseases f***ed the dog and ‘missed’ their appointment, and now the appointment is at work running a rollercoaster which, I’m sorry to say, will be running off track at about 7:30,” Rube explains, with an air of annoyance.

“But I have a lesson at seven,” Charlie protests.

“You’ve got a job to do,” Rube replies, “figure it out.”

“But...”

“Just reschedule it,” Mason interrupts in a disinterested voice.

Rube hands us each four Post-its. One of mine is purple.

“Purple Post-it...” Mason breathes.

“So?” Charlie asks, looking through his own small stack.

Mason looks up at Rube as my stomach flops uncomfortably. “Purple Post-it,” he repeats. “Run out of yellow, again, Rubey?” he asks, his voice sounding clearly uncomfortable.

“No,” Rube says, looking pointedly at me. “I have more yellow.”

I open my mouth to say something but close it again as Kiffany approaches the table and sets down mine and Charlie’s meals. I’m suddenly not hungry anymore. As Kiffany leaves, I stare at Rube.

“So why give me a purple one?” I ask, trying to remain calm.

“Because, Barbie,” Rube says, sliding into Charlie so that Charlie has to get up and let him out, “you deserve purple.”

Rube leaves and, as Charlie digs into his dinner, I look over at Mason with tears in my eyes. “What’s that mean...?” I ask.

Charlie looks up and drops his fork when he sees the look on my face.

“I don’t know...” Mason replies softly, swallowing so hard that his Adam’s Apple bobs up and down in his throat.

I whirl around in my seat, watching as Rube leaves Der Waffle Haus, the door slamming and entry bell jingling in his wake. I turn back and look down at my food. “Oh...f***...”
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avatar: Plastic!Winchester Theater by anteka @ LJ; icon by me
sig by AlcoholicPixie

[PsychoCynic]

Ohh, how interesting!

I always loved the events that unfolded in "Last Call" with the purple post-it. I'm curious as to what Shannon's will bring.

Update!
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