Let's have a talk, just you and me. Man to man. Or man to boy. Man to baby, actually. But now that we finally have a moment to ourselves, I think we should talk. Get to know each other. I feel like I hardly know you-- besides the fact you weren't born a month ago. Maybe give you a chance to know a little bit about me.

You go first.

No? All right, well, you don't have to give me the cold shoulder. Oh, you can't talk yet can you? Silly me.

My name's Charlie. Uncle Charlie to you. If I'm lucky, maybe Papa, or Daddy or some such thing. But for now, let's keep it safe at Uncle Charlie. I was there when you were born, you know. Your looks have greatly improved, I must say. You don't have to tell me what your name is, although it took your mother long enough to pick one. Aaron. Good fine, strong name. Not as good as Charlie, but seeing as it was already taken, I'm sure Aaron was the second best name available. Aaron Littleton just seems to click, doesn't it? Although it doesn't have quite the ring that Aaron Pace does. Shh, that's another one of our little secrets.

If you haven't figured out by now, your mum and me have gotten quite close. She takes care of you, I take care of her, we're all happy. Especially happy. I can't speak for Claire-- that's Mum to you-- but sometimes she gets this glow on her face when she looks at you. Like you're the only thing that matters to her anymore. And I think that's the way all mothers should think about their children, although I wouldn't mind a little "Charlie Time" every once and a while, if you get me. I don't think jealousy is the right word, because a chap has to be pretty low to be jealous of a baby. Not to insult you, understand. No, you're far too handsome to be insulted. Did I mention that you look just like me?

I suppose I should give you a little look around your home, shouldn't I? A temporary home, we hope. I'm sure that when we get off this hell-hole-- 'scuse me, heck-hole-- of an island, your mum will pick out a fine little house in Los Angeles. Maybe a pink one with little pinwheels in the yard. Or flamingoes, those are the best. Maybe, just if you two can't find a spot to settle down in, I might let you room with me for a spell. No free room and board, mind you. You'd have to earn your share, Turniphead. Did you know I called you Turniphead?

Over there is the Spring of Eternal Life, or so I like to call it. The good old Doctor went traipsing off into the jungle one evening and found this place. That's him over there with the skinny brunette. Don't worry about waving. It'd take ten of Mr. Locke to pry that boy's eyes away from her. Oh, her name? Kate. Something strange about her that I can't put my finger on. Hey, you're round and adorable-- why don't you ask her? No? Didn't think so.

Hurley, the large-ish chap sitting there by the Spring, is my equivalent of a best friend out here. I lost all my friends when the plane went down. I suppose all of us did. But this big fellow was always good to everyone. Makes a mad funny joke too. You could learn a thing or two from him, Turniphead. When you're old enough to learn, I suppose. Maybe when you're old enough I could teach you a few licks on my guitar. I'm in a band you know: Driveshaft. We were big-- still are! We're making a comeback. You can play with us on our next big tour. Our number one single "Monster Eats the Pilot" featuring Aaron "Turniphead" Littleton on lead vocal! The crowd loves you!

Now that you're a bit more oriented, I think it's time we sat down and had our chat. Now, don't give me that look. I've seen worse from your mother, and she sure knows how to melt a chap's insides. I'm going to ask you some questions, and I expect real answers out of you. I know how to tell when someone's lying.

By now it's probably easy to tell that I have quite a lot of feelings for your mum. I'm not really sure exactly what I feel myself, but that's natural Charlie for you. Question for you, my good lad, is... You think she feels anything, anything, similar for me? No, take your time, I'm not in a hurry. Just nod, shake your head, something... Fine, I'll let that question stew in your little pint-sized brain for the moment.

Question number two: you like me, don't you Turniphead? Hah, yeah, I got a smile from you that time! That's one down and one to go for Uncle Charlie.

Back to your mum. Have you decided whether she likes me or not? It'll be purely confidential. She'll never know you told me, honest to God. And I'm a man of faith-- or used to be at least. I'm going to take that coy little burble you just made as a yes. A tentative yes. A could-be yes with a hint of promise. Thanks, Turniphead; you've been a real pal.

Oh, look, here comes your mum back from the beach. And look at that haul! Three fish between the three of us? I can see one for you and one for me, but do you think she can handle that beast all by her lonesome? I didn't think so either. We might have to help her out with that. Oh, you don't have teeth yet? Pity. I'll just have to sample your share for you. Don't give me those puppy-eyes! I was the little brother; I know all about the puppy-eyes.

Looks like she's gone to see Mr. Locke about cutting and cleaning them. If you ask me, he's the one to see on just about anything on this bloody island. Oh, who's Mr. Locke you ask? He's that bald chap with the hunting knife in his teeth. Don't worry, he knows what he's doing-- I think. He's a good man, Locke. Helped me kick my drugs.


You don't know about that do you?

Long story. It had something to do with music at one point. It stopped being about the music. You don't know much about what music is, do you? I'll have to play something for you sometime. Not "You All Everybody." I think I'm done with "You All Everybody." Trust me, you're better off not knowing. Maybe I can make something up, just for you. You and your mum of course. She's beautiful isn't she?

Of course it's a hypothetical question, Turniphead! I wouldn't want you thinking about your mum that way! Just unnatural! Not even a month old and your mind's already in the gutter. We'll have to clean you up, chap.

Here comes Claire-- Mum to you-- with the fish. Just a bit of roasting in the fire and dinner will be complete. 'Course you'll be having your dinner too, but it won't be fish. Don't make me think about it, Turniphead. I don't want my mind in the gutter too. Now, remember, today's little talk is between you and me. No snitching. I won't tell her you think she's beautiful. Deal?


"Charlie, who are you talking to?"

"Oh, just this young fellow. He's quite the chatterer-- took me this whole time just to shut him up. You wouldn't believe some of the wild things he comes up with."

AN: Okay. Indulge me. I wanted to write a short, one-shot fic for Lost because it'd been a while since I wrote one. And it seems that all I can write is Charlie/Claire. This is a new style of writing for me, however, and I hope that I get at least one positive review. Although CC doesn't seem to be as popular as, oh, I don't know, everything else. I hope y'all enjoy, and happy reading!