From This Christmas On

Note:This was written for the Christmas Challenge on Livejournal. Enjoy!

In Britain, Christmas just came with snow, no questions asked. The streets and sidewalks of the cities always had a layer to coat it like a blanket. Scarves and hats were a must, cheeks were naturally blushed, and the girls loved to wear their new fur-lined boots.

Christmas on the Island was like a summer in the Bahamas times thirty. The sun was beating down on the already scalding sand and the only relief was the sea breeze that hit you just right if you stood close enough to the water.

But Charlie didn’t like the water.

He stayed in his tent these days, strumming his guitar that was crumbling by the day. Claire, Hurley and Desmond were his regular visitors, but he didn’t really like to talk to anyone else much. Claire would eat every meal with him. Hurley was constantly reminding Charlie how much he loved him. He regretted smirking and rolling his eyes when Charlie had told him the same thing. That could’ve very easily been the last time he saw or spoke to him. So Hurley was constantly repeating those words, paranoid about losing his best friend.

Luckily, at the last moment, Charlie had ran out of the control room as he slammed the door behind him. The relieved look on Desmond’s face and Claire and Hurley’s reaction when they saw him come back in the boat was enough to make him not regret his choice.

Just the thought of dying in that cold water was enough to make him avoid the ocean all together.

Charlie opened his composition notebook to the page he had been marking down all the dates so he could keep track of how slowly time crept on the Island. He had recently stopped writing them down. The dates stopped on the night Desmond had told him about the flashes. After that night was when things started to get hectic and keeping track of time was the last thing on his mind. Keeping track of it was like numbering his days. When he was living on borrowed time, he wanted time to be endless.

Counting on his fingers and doing some quick calculations, he realized it was Christmas morning.

A smile crept on his face and he tossed the notebook aside. He had no gifts for anyone, but surely they weren’t expecting anything.

That’s where he was wrong.

Kate brought him flowers. Jack had found guitar picks in an unclaimed suitcase. Rose and Bernard gave him a Bible. Even Sawyer found it somewhere in his heart to give Charlie a John Lennon biography he had no interest in reading. By the end of the morning, he had several odds and ends of things and nothing to give in return. People told him not to worry about it - he had already done enough.

He wandered out of his tent to sit at the beach alone. He thought back to past Christmases. He remembered getting his piano. It had been so long ago, but it had always been his favorite Christmas gift.

He grabbed a stick and started stabbing at the sand with it. Glancing behind him, he saw the camp all congregated together - laughing and talking and having a good time like normal people did on Christmas. He just looked away. He had nothing for them, and he feared his attitude would only bring them down.

It wasn’t that he was depressed. Charlie was more than happy to be alive. But the reality of it all, now that the visions had passed, was finally dawning on him. He had been so close to dying…no one but he and Desmond could understand that.

“Merry Christmas, Charlie! Stop looking so sad!”

Charlie smiled slightly and glanced up at Hurley as he walked over to him. His eyes widened when he saw what Hurley was carrying with him.

“Hurley!” he exclaimed, standing up. “Is that my guitar?!”

Hurley grinned at him nervously. He was clinging to the neck of Charlie’s guitar, which was now painted with bright colors and had signatures scribbled all over it. Looking at it more closely, Charlie saw that it wasn’t just painted with random colors - it was a collage with designs and carefully detailed pictures.

Hurley feared for a moment that Charlie would have a panic attack and scream at him for touching his beloved instrument. “Look - it’s probably still playable. Remember how I was talking about my basket weaving class and that’s how I knew how to make the mats? Well, I took a few art classes too…and since you’re artistic and stuff…I thought…”

Charlie grinned and threw his arms around Hurley, hugging him tightly. Hurley sighed with relief. Charlie took the guitar from Hurley and turned it over in his hands, reading over everyone’s signature and notes.

“Merry Christmas, Charlie,” Hurley smiled. “A little memoir from the Island - for when we get rescued. And you can always think about us.” Hurley turned to leave, not expecting Charlie to give him anything in return.

“Wait, Hurley!” Charlie said, setting the guitar down carefully and pulling out a notebook from his backpack. “Hang on a moment…”

Hurley turned back around as Charlie ripped out a page in his notebook and handed it over to Hurley. “Here - it’s a song I wrote.”

Hurley glanced it over. “And you’re giving it to me because…?”

“Because it’s about friendship.”

Hurley just smiled and folded it carefully. “I thought you wanted to make some CD with all your songs you wrote here. Won’t you need this?”

“Keep it.”

“They floated up when you dove under,” Desmond said as he sat down next to Charlie by the beach, placing the shoes next to Charlie’s bag. “I pulled them out for you.”

Charlie smiled at him thankfully and slipped the shoes onto his bare feet. “Thank you, Des. But you know you’ve already done enough. I’m thinking the gift of life is enough,” he joked lightly.

Desmond just smiled. He then noticed Charlie’s notebook lying open in the sand, his marker resting in the spine of it. There was writing on one of the pages.

“What’s that?” Desmond asked, gesturing at the notebook.

“Oh, this…” Charlie picked it up and folded back the cover, handing the notebook to Desmond.

#1 YOU TOLD ME THE TRUTH ABOUT THE VISIONS.

#2 YOU STAYED WITH ME EVEN WHEN YOU SAID IT WAS HOPELESS.

#3 WE GOT DRUNK.

#4 YOU OFFERED TO TAKE MY PLACE.

#5 YOU SAVED ME.

Desmond looked up from the list, his eyes softening when he looked at Charlie.

“Thought you deserved one, too,” Charlie said quietly, smiling. “Happy Christmas, Des.”

But she didn’t seem to care much - she didn’t have anything for him, either.

They just sat together for the remainder of the day, talking and playing with Aaron. Charlie told her about how he missed the snow and Claire told him about how she missed Christmas with her family. Because even though they had their problems, Christmas always brought Claire and her mother together.

“It doesn’t matter that we don’t have gifts,” Claire assured him, kissing his cheek lightly and making him blush. “Right now, I’ve got more than I could ever ask for.”

“So cliché,” Charlie teased her gently. “I’m sure you wantsome kind of gift.”

“Nope.”

Charlie laughed and Claire smiled at him brightly. She hadn’t seen him this happy for a long while.

“Promise me you won’t look so sad tomorrow,” Claire said suddenly. “Just tell me you’re not acting like this just because it’s Christmas.”

“I’m not,” Charlie said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. Just this morning, he had been moping on the beach. By just a little turn of events and a painted guitar, his day had brightened.

Claire smiled and slipped Charlie’s ring off her thumb. Her fingers were too slender. Charlie frowned when he saw her slip it off and he touched her hand.

“No - you keep it.”

“It’s yours - and you’re back now…”

“Claire, I’m telling you…keep it.”

“You gave it to me because you thought you were dying.”

“And now I’m giving it to you because I know I’m not going anywhere without you. If you’re here, it’s here.”

Claire just shook her head and smiled, slipping it back on her thumb.

“You know it’s for Aaron…” Charlie said after a moment. “It was my Christmas present from Liam a couple years back…runs in the family…”

Claire just smiled. “I bet it’ll fit when he’s all grown.”

Charlie nodded. “Of course it will. It fit me, Liam, and everyone else before. It’ll fit him.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Charlie drew pictures into the sand with his finger and Claire watched him absently. Claire then grabbed the hand he had been drawing with and squeezed it tightly. She had been so close to losing him. So close to not having this hand to hold…

“Don’t you leave. Ever. I want every Christmas to be with you.”

-Happy Christmas!-