lost fic; jack + charlie/claire
Aug. 15th, 2007 12:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sapphire_childI claimed Charlie and Claire over on ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
50_darkfics
Title: An Unforgivable Crime
Author: Ellin/![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sapphire_child
Fandom: Lost
Characters: Jack POV with mentions of others
Prompt: 77. Unforgiving
Word Count: 1419
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, dark and creepy and unsettling, character death
Spoilers: Up to and including Through The Looking Glass with some speculation for season four
Summary: When Mikhail and Ben turn up dead after they confess to the killing of a well known 815 Survivor, Jack goes through a mental checklist of prime suspects in order to deduce who their killer was.
~*~
The beach camp was chillingly quiet in the afternoon air and the sand crunching underfoot seemed louder than usual as Jack walked away from the two newly covered graves, shovel in hand.
Mikhail and Ben were both dead.
The weapon was easy enough to procure. It was heavy and smooth, solid and unyielding.
It was going to hurt.
They weren’t buried with their people – they were buried with Ethan, away from Scott and Boone, Shannon and Ana Lucia, Libby and Nikki and Paulo…but most importantly of all, it’s away from the cross that bears the name of Charlie Pace. It would be a supreme insult to his memory to bury any of his killers anywhere near his memorial.
All three of them.
Jack marvels at how many times these people tried and failed to kill Charlie. Who else here has survived as many near death experiences as Charlie did? Jack can count his own on one hand. Everyone else…well he’s not so sure about them but he’d wager all the mangoes the world has to offer that Charlie is the clear winner.
The only problem with winning this particular competition was that, sooner or later, winning meant that Charlie was going to lose.
The world was dark with shadows. The world was in dreamless sleep. The world was in limbo.
Two quiet feet and even quieter breath. Nobody even noticed...
Mikhail had been in bad shape by the time he washed up on shore. Having blown off his own hand when he smashed one of the portholes in the Looking Glass with a grenade would do that though. Or at least that’s what Desmond had said had happened. He’d come running down the beach with the semi-lucid Russian slung across his back and the news that the rescue boat they’d contacted was the wrong one. In the end, it hadn’t mattered, the signal with the boat had been lost and with it, all hope of rescue was gone.
Again.
They were already gagged – too easy. Sleeping whilst tied to a tree wasn’t easy but they had mastered it. The Russian’s eyes snapped open at the approaching footsteps.
Hide. No, don’t hide. Let them see you. Let them see you and know that you’ve come for them at last...
Despite Jack’s best intentions to keep both Mikhail and Ben alive but imprisoned, there came a time when everyone wanted to know exactly what had brought about Charlie’s demise. Desmond refused to speak to the general population about his flashes and Jack finally decided there was only one thing to do – get a confession out of Ben. It was like a war trial, the survivors of Oceanic Flight 815 all gathered around the two men who were trussed up tightly and bound to separate trees.
Ben didn’t even bother to plead his innocence – his voice was completely blank as he admitted that he had been the one to order Mikhail to kill Charlie. Alex had already dobbed him in but it was still a shock to hear the words coming out of his mouth.
‘Why’d you give the order to kill Charlie?’
‘To stop him from unblocking the signal thus allowing you to get off the island,’ Ben repeated, over and over again. ‘I can’t allow anyone to leave this place. Anyone.’
Mikhail’s confession too was short and simple.
‘He killed one of our own,’ he shrugged weakly, slightly delirious from exhaustion and a lack of blood. ‘And I had a job I was ordered to. What other reason would I need to kill him?’
Revenge runs cold through veins – not hot like blood.
Neither of these men – these murderers – will live through the night.
Claire had stood back in the shadows, Aaron in her arms, shaking with a quiet rage. Jack understood her anger – there had been no real need for these men to target Charlie and now he was dead and they were not.
It was an unforgivable crime.
But that did not excuse what happened next.
The noises are haunting – cracks and thuds and muffled groans – but right now they’re not important. Hit swift, sure, hard and strong. Revenge is cold, calculated.
Their skulls are as weak as eggshells beneath the crushing force of the grief that both torments and drives the attacker.
The next morning they were both dead, beaten to death with a large blunt object – probably a piece of spare wood from the unfinished church. Nobody stepped forward when the deaths were discovered but they didn’t need to – Jack already had his suspicions.
He spoke to Hurley first and asked for his help in carrying the bodies from the trees where they had died (trussed up, helpless) to the graveyard. Hurley suggested burying them away from the main gravesite, instead opting for the place where he and Charlie had buried Ethan. As they carried the first body – Mikhail – Desmond chanced past and he cast a rather nauseated look at the mutilated body.
‘What happened to him?’
‘Somebody killed him,’ Jack said shortly. ‘Ben too. You want to go find some shovels? We’re going to go dig a grave for them both over where we buried Ethan.’
At Desmond’s questioning look, Hurley added, ‘Ethan was one of them, one of the Other dudes who kidnapped Claire when she was pregnant. Charlie shot him. Then Charlie and me buried him together.’
There’s blood on the weapon, blood on skin, blood on hands. But they are most definitely dead.
There is no savage rush of pleasure, only a horrible emptiness that threatens to swallow…to swallow…
Desmond went to get the shovels and by the time Jack and Hurley returned with Ben he was well started on the graves. The three of them dug all morning, skin burning and hands blistering. They lowered the bodies in, barely pausing before covering them up again before Desmond and Hurley left without a backwards glance. And so Jack went to find his final suspect.
The hands are washed clean of blood, the weapon is hidden deep in the jungle, and with a scurry of feet the one who wielded it returns home and huddles into their blankets.
Everyone is going to suspect them – they know it. And strangely they don’t care. There’s no sense in covering your tracks when you’re going to get found out anyway...
She was sitting alone in her shelter rocking back and forth, Aaron bundled up in her arms. When Jack sat down beside her she barely even acknowledged his presence but he felt her stiffen slightly beside him.
‘Why’d you kill them?’ he asked bluntly.
‘Because they deserved to die,’ Claire said, quiet but firm. Jack was surprised at the swiftness of her answer but he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and keep quiet in case she had anything else to say for herself.
As he observed her rocking back and forth, Jack was reminded forcibly of Charlie after he had shot and killed Ethan. Claire was giving off the same vibe, the same chilling numbness that Jack knew all too well. Later on perhaps, she would regret what she had done, later Jack would have to deal with the emotional repercussions, but right now, Claire was totally and blissfully blank. She’d had her revenge on the men who had remotely torn her life apart, the two men who had killed the one person she truly cared about on this island.
And the scariest thing was that Jack knew that she was glad for having done it.
‘I wouldn’t have thought that you…’
‘You wouldn’t have thought that I what?’ Claire snapped, turning on him with her teeth bared. ‘That I’d kill two people for a man that I’ve barely known three months? That I’d beat someone around the head with a lump of wood until they were dead?’ Jack winced and Claire scoffed at him. ‘You didn’t think that Charlie would have shot a man to save me either though, did you Jack? You never would have thought that he would sacrifice himself so we could all get rescued – did you?’
Claire stood, her face alive with an inner anger that seemed to radiate outwards. ‘Maybe you’d better stop underestimating people Jack. They’re capable of a lot more than you think.’
And with that, she set off down the beach. As he watched her storm away from him, her shoulders began to shake. From suppressed rage or sobs – Jack couldn’t tell.
Maybe it was both.
The night is cold. Two men are dead.
And revenge never tasted so bittersweet.
50_darkficsTitle: An Unforgivable Crime
Author: Ellin/
sapphire_childFandom: Lost
Characters: Jack POV with mentions of others
Prompt: 77. Unforgiving
Word Count: 1419
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, dark and creepy and unsettling, character death
Spoilers: Up to and including Through The Looking Glass with some speculation for season four
Summary: When Mikhail and Ben turn up dead after they confess to the killing of a well known 815 Survivor, Jack goes through a mental checklist of prime suspects in order to deduce who their killer was.
The beach camp was chillingly quiet in the afternoon air and the sand crunching underfoot seemed louder than usual as Jack walked away from the two newly covered graves, shovel in hand.
Mikhail and Ben were both dead.
It was going to hurt.
They weren’t buried with their people – they were buried with Ethan, away from Scott and Boone, Shannon and Ana Lucia, Libby and Nikki and Paulo…but most importantly of all, it’s away from the cross that bears the name of Charlie Pace. It would be a supreme insult to his memory to bury any of his killers anywhere near his memorial.
All three of them.
Jack marvels at how many times these people tried and failed to kill Charlie. Who else here has survived as many near death experiences as Charlie did? Jack can count his own on one hand. Everyone else…well he’s not so sure about them but he’d wager all the mangoes the world has to offer that Charlie is the clear winner.
The only problem with winning this particular competition was that, sooner or later, winning meant that Charlie was going to lose.
Two quiet feet and even quieter breath. Nobody even noticed...
Mikhail had been in bad shape by the time he washed up on shore. Having blown off his own hand when he smashed one of the portholes in the Looking Glass with a grenade would do that though. Or at least that’s what Desmond had said had happened. He’d come running down the beach with the semi-lucid Russian slung across his back and the news that the rescue boat they’d contacted was the wrong one. In the end, it hadn’t mattered, the signal with the boat had been lost and with it, all hope of rescue was gone.
Again.
Hide. No, don’t hide. Let them see you. Let them see you and know that you’ve come for them at last...
Despite Jack’s best intentions to keep both Mikhail and Ben alive but imprisoned, there came a time when everyone wanted to know exactly what had brought about Charlie’s demise. Desmond refused to speak to the general population about his flashes and Jack finally decided there was only one thing to do – get a confession out of Ben. It was like a war trial, the survivors of Oceanic Flight 815 all gathered around the two men who were trussed up tightly and bound to separate trees.
Ben didn’t even bother to plead his innocence – his voice was completely blank as he admitted that he had been the one to order Mikhail to kill Charlie. Alex had already dobbed him in but it was still a shock to hear the words coming out of his mouth.
‘Why’d you give the order to kill Charlie?’
‘To stop him from unblocking the signal thus allowing you to get off the island,’ Ben repeated, over and over again. ‘I can’t allow anyone to leave this place. Anyone.’
Mikhail’s confession too was short and simple.
‘He killed one of our own,’ he shrugged weakly, slightly delirious from exhaustion and a lack of blood. ‘And I had a job I was ordered to. What other reason would I need to kill him?’
Neither of these men – these murderers – will live through the night.
Claire had stood back in the shadows, Aaron in her arms, shaking with a quiet rage. Jack understood her anger – there had been no real need for these men to target Charlie and now he was dead and they were not.
It was an unforgivable crime.
But that did not excuse what happened next.
Their skulls are as weak as eggshells beneath the crushing force of the grief that both torments and drives the attacker.
The next morning they were both dead, beaten to death with a large blunt object – probably a piece of spare wood from the unfinished church. Nobody stepped forward when the deaths were discovered but they didn’t need to – Jack already had his suspicions.
He spoke to Hurley first and asked for his help in carrying the bodies from the trees where they had died (trussed up, helpless) to the graveyard. Hurley suggested burying them away from the main gravesite, instead opting for the place where he and Charlie had buried Ethan. As they carried the first body – Mikhail – Desmond chanced past and he cast a rather nauseated look at the mutilated body.
‘What happened to him?’
‘Somebody killed him,’ Jack said shortly. ‘Ben too. You want to go find some shovels? We’re going to go dig a grave for them both over where we buried Ethan.’
At Desmond’s questioning look, Hurley added, ‘Ethan was one of them, one of the Other dudes who kidnapped Claire when she was pregnant. Charlie shot him. Then Charlie and me buried him together.’
There is no savage rush of pleasure, only a horrible emptiness that threatens to swallow…to swallow…
Desmond went to get the shovels and by the time Jack and Hurley returned with Ben he was well started on the graves. The three of them dug all morning, skin burning and hands blistering. They lowered the bodies in, barely pausing before covering them up again before Desmond and Hurley left without a backwards glance. And so Jack went to find his final suspect.
Everyone is going to suspect them – they know it. And strangely they don’t care. There’s no sense in covering your tracks when you’re going to get found out anyway...
She was sitting alone in her shelter rocking back and forth, Aaron bundled up in her arms. When Jack sat down beside her she barely even acknowledged his presence but he felt her stiffen slightly beside him.
‘Why’d you kill them?’ he asked bluntly.
‘Because they deserved to die,’ Claire said, quiet but firm. Jack was surprised at the swiftness of her answer but he decided to give her the benefit of the doubt and keep quiet in case she had anything else to say for herself.
As he observed her rocking back and forth, Jack was reminded forcibly of Charlie after he had shot and killed Ethan. Claire was giving off the same vibe, the same chilling numbness that Jack knew all too well. Later on perhaps, she would regret what she had done, later Jack would have to deal with the emotional repercussions, but right now, Claire was totally and blissfully blank. She’d had her revenge on the men who had remotely torn her life apart, the two men who had killed the one person she truly cared about on this island.
And the scariest thing was that Jack knew that she was glad for having done it.
‘I wouldn’t have thought that you…’
‘You wouldn’t have thought that I what?’ Claire snapped, turning on him with her teeth bared. ‘That I’d kill two people for a man that I’ve barely known three months? That I’d beat someone around the head with a lump of wood until they were dead?’ Jack winced and Claire scoffed at him. ‘You didn’t think that Charlie would have shot a man to save me either though, did you Jack? You never would have thought that he would sacrifice himself so we could all get rescued – did you?’
Claire stood, her face alive with an inner anger that seemed to radiate outwards. ‘Maybe you’d better stop underestimating people Jack. They’re capable of a lot more than you think.’
And with that, she set off down the beach. As he watched her storm away from him, her shoulders began to shake. From suppressed rage or sobs – Jack couldn’t tell.
Maybe it was both.
And revenge never tasted so bittersweet.
