The Little Things

There were forty-something survivors, right? And some of them were girls.

Yet, there was not one hairbrush to be found.

What kind of people were they, anyway?

Didn't anyone care about personal hygiene anymore?

Claire, for one, didn't want to spend her days with tangled hair that looked like one big blonde bird's nest on top of her head.

Okay, so she believed that some of the girls around her wouldn't care about their hair being straight and pretty.

But Shannon? Shannon had to care. She looked like the type of girl Claire had grown up with. The type who used her feminine wiles to get anything she wanted out of a bloke. The type who wouldn't be caught dead, lost on an island, without a hairbrush.

She was tired of searching through bag after bag and seeing the types of people she'd never get the chance to meet. It was exhausting, feeling sad all the time. She just wanted a brush. That was all. It wouldn't fix everything, and it wouldn't transport her home, but for the moment, it'd make things bearable. Her hair was the one thing she could control, and she intended to do just that.

Claire stumbled slowly to her feet, a palm pressed protectively against her swollen stomach. If she thought it was hard to get up off a sofa back home, it was about eighteen hundred times harder getting up off the beach.

She padded through the sand, her feet sinking just a bit with every step, over to where Shannon was laying out in the sun, an arm slung across her eyes.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Claire spun around at the sound of his voice. He was standing behind her, smiling that smile of his that was actually, almost, better than a hairbrush. At that moment, anyway.

"Why not?" She asked, squinting at him through the blinding sunlight.

Charlie motioned to Shannon and leaned toward Claire conspiringly. "She's a bit of a wench, that one."

In spite of herself, Claire laughed. She'd noticed that about Shannon as well. She was surprised, however, that Charlie (being a guy) had.

"I was looking for a hairbrush," Claire explained, turning her back on Shannon and raising a hand up to shield her eyes so she could see Charlie properly.

Charlie grinned and tipped his head to the side. "I can help you with that."

Claire blinked. "Really?"

Of course. He was attractive (read: hot). He would have a hairbrush. He obviously cared about his outward appearance. Thank God there was someone normal there, lost with her.

Charlie nodded happily and started walking across the sand; Claire followed without being told. There was some sort of unspoken bond between them. She didn't understand it, but she felt it.

He didn't have to say anything. She just knew.

Or thought she did, at least.

"Here you go," Charlie said pleasantly, holding a comb out to her and then zipping up his bag again.

Claire smiled brightly at him. "Thanks, Charlie. You're a lifesaver."

Charlie laughed and ruffled up his hair. "Not really."

She shook her head in amusement and began tackling her matted hair. Charlie watched for a moment and then focused his attention out at the ocean, something they all seemed to do at random moments.

Maybe for something better to look at. Or maybe there was still that tiny hope shining within them that they'd see something out there.

"You wouldn't have any shampoo in there, would you?" Claire asked after a moment; she'd always been good at diverting people's attention from the bad. She often taught people how to focus on the good, and she grew up knowing that was her true talent.

Charlie looked back at her, smirking. "Of course I do." He reached into his bag and held up a bottle of V05.

Claire nearly cried with happiness. She hadn't packed shampoo, hadn't thought she'd need it. She figured she'd just pick some up when they landed, but obviously plans change.

It's amazing how happy the little things can make you. When there's next to no hope, and an awful lot of desperation, something like being able to wash your hair nearly sent you into hysterics because you were so excited.

"Rock stars don't leave home without it, eh?" Claire asked, smiling.

Charlie didn't answer right away as Claire lowered herself to the sand beside him.

"If I'd have thought, I wouldn't have left home without my bass," he said, fingering the ring on his hand. "I'm going mad."

Claire reached out and gently touched his arm. Her face was serious, and sincere and he felt himself sigh. "Maybe you could make one out of a tree trunk."

Tipping his head back, he laughed loudly, and freely, for the first time in six days.

Claire smiled to herself. Maybe, if they were there long enough, they could learn how to construct a bass guitar out of a few coconut shells.