bloody rock god

"I have something for you," says Jack. He bends to give Georgia a quick kiss in her play gym. She squeals and makes PapaPapaPapa grabby hands, so Jack scoops her up.

"Oh?" says Charlie absently--he's concentrating on getting cheese layered evenly in a burrito casserole.

"Yes. Should I be worried that you're doing your cooking experiments on us?"

"Oi, I'm just trying to keep up with Darien. He's a good cook--I'm just a good follower of recipes." He dusts off his hands and grins at Georgia, who is pointing at him and babbling to Jack. "So what you got? It's not payday."

"Nope, but it is your birthday." He gets a small wrapped package from his satchel and gives it to Charlie. "Happy birthday."

"Oh, Jack--" Charlie says, embarrassed. "You didn't have to."

"I know. That's why I like to. Go ahead, open it."

Charlie tears the cheerful blue paper off the package and smiles uncertainly at the gift inside. "What is this?"

"It's the new Beatles album. Well, it's a remixed-remastered thing but it's really incredible. You'll love it."

"Thank you," Charlie says and hugs him, and kisses Georgia's hair. "And thank you too, baby girl." She pats his cheeks and makes the noise that they have decided means CharlieCharlieCharlie.

"It's from all of us--me and Gil and Georgie and Little No-Name."

"I won't kiss Gil--I don't think he'd appreciate it. Can hardly wait to meet Little No-Name. That'll be interesting--two babies." He shakes his head as he puts the CD into his backpack.

"Are you all right?" Jack says gently.

"Yeah, of course. Just, two babies--two divine babies, yet. I feel like I finally need to learn to juggle so I can handle the household."

"You can do it," Jack says. "You're great at it. Though really, once Gil makes his retirement final I'm giving the business to Thomas and we're heading home to England."

"Oh," Charlie says quietly. "Yeah. I'd forgot about that."

Jack looks at him a moment, and says casually, "Well, you can still nanny for us if you really want to, but given the spare time you'll have you might prefer spending it making music again."

"Ah," says Charlie.

"Yes," says Jack. "Isn't that the first thing you tell everyone? 'I'm Charlie Pace, I'm a musician'? Though you haven't been making much music lately."

Charlie shrugs into his jacket. "Maybe I ran out of things to say."

"I doubt that very much. What is it really, Charlie?"

Charlie shrugs again. "It's nothing. It's--I'm happy. I'm contented. There is nothing I would change about my life."

"Nothing?"

"Maybe one thing, but there's nothing I can do about that. He grew up without me and--"

"Charlie," Jack says gently and Charlie closes his mouth and sighs. "I know you're still afraid, but it's not about Seth anymore. I mean, whenever you go back to the island there's Aaron--who does need you. But you're not his father, either."

"Is this supposed to make me feel better?"

"No. Did you want it to?"

"Some fatherly wisdom would not be out of place right now."

Jack nods to the couch. "Come on. Let's sit." Charlie sits cross-legged in one corner and leans his head on his hand, and when Jack sits Georgia crawls to Charlie and pats his leg. Charlie gathers her up and kisses her hair.

He says slowly, "Darien once said I'd just have to trust him. And I do. I do. I know he's never going to run away or abandon me for somebody else. I trust him absolutely. But I think about us being parents and everything inside me just freezes."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I don't know, why do you think that is? Talk to me like a bloody therapist . . ."

Jack smiles. "I'm just listening, Charlie."

"Well, the listening isn't helping. Tell me something. Tell me anything. Make it better, Jack--isn't that what gods do?"

Jack reaches over and plays with Georgia's hair. "No. We don't make it better. We just make it bearable."

Charlie huffs and says in a desperate voice, "Then make it bearable, Jack."

Jack moves closer and pulls Charlie's head to his shoulder. He strokes his hair and says gently, "If you trust Darien, then trust him. Not the insecurities and the doubts--they don't tell you the truth. And the truth is, the two of you are a family. Whether you have children or not, no matter how the island interferes with your life, no matter what happens with him and the Agency--the two of you are a family. You know that in your heart, don't you."

Charlie nods.

"Okay, then."

Charlie sniffles. "Okay, then, what?"

"Okay, then, what are you going to do next?"

Charlie sniffles again. "I'm going to go home and celebrate my birthday with my husband." At Jack's look he amends it to, "With my family." He gets up from the couch and picks up his backpack.

"Trust yourself a little, too, Charlie," says Jack, standing to see him out. "You're more ready than you know."

Charlie nods and gives Georgia a quick kiss, smiling when she pats his face. "We'll see," he says simply and leaves the house for the Bar.

Home.

Charlie's on the couch with his guitar, and there's tea on the coffee table.

There's also a Darien around here somewhere . . . hm . . . where could he be?

He lays Darien carefully on the bed and goes back to the bar for ice, returning in moments. He gets a towel from the bathroom and fills it with ice, and sits on the edge of the bed, stroking Darien's hair a moment.

"Ready?"

[ooc: Post getting rid of Simon and recovery.]

The funny part is, he knows he should know he's dreaming.

He's walking down the aisle at the church in Manchester, a schoolboy again, an alter boy, and the priest is saying St. Sebastian brought food and comfort to imprisioned Christians during Diocletian's reign . . . and there's a portrait of St. Sebastian, pierced with a hundred arrows, on the wall. Charlie looks away.

Look! the priest orders and his voice sounds like Charlie's father's. You have to look!

Don't want to, Charlie protests but looks anyway, and the portrait is terrifying--the artist took great glee in portraying the saint's pain, and the arrows keep on flying and flying and Charlie exclaims I know that face! and he tries to climb up the wall and the priest--or his father dressed as a priest--says That's what you get, that's what you get, that's what you get over and over--

And then there's no more church and no more priest, but there's still St. Sebastian tied to a tree.

Only it's a tree in the forest of Milliways and it's not the saint, it's Darien, and his blood is silvery as it runs down his skin. And Charlie babbles I'll help you, I'll untie you and Darien whispers save me and the arrows never stop coming, never stop piercing him, and there's so much blood.

And his father says you can't save him, Charlie and Charlie's weeping and his hands are fumbling at the knots and Darien's dying and the arrows never stop.

Give up, Charlie, you've never saved anyone says his father and Charlie shakes him and shakes him and shakes him--only it's not his father anymore, it's Charlie, Charlie with silver eyes--

--and then he's awake.

In Darien's apartment, in his sweatpants, his hands wrapped around the edges of Darien's mirror. His body is dripping with sweat and it takes him a moment to realize that it's only his reflection.

He lets go of the mirror and sinks down to the floor a moment, and wipes his face with shaking hands.

When he's got his breath back he makes his way to Darien's bed and crawls beneath the sheets, wrapping himself around Darien's warm body.

Only after he's checked Darien for wounds can he relax enough to sleep.

Clothing appears in silvery piles on the bedroom floor and there's the soft sound of laughter. Pasta can wait.

"Bed's that way," says Charlie from nowhere.


[ooc: blah blah blah boysmutcakes.]

Las Vegas.

At certain times of day the Strip appears nearly deserted; at others, cars move a crawl and the sidewalks are packed with people looking for an endless variety of a good time.

It's never cold in Las Vegas--it's just varying degrees of hot. The grand hotels cast shadows and there are fountains up and down the Strip, though few are intended to cool off the tourists as much as amuse them. There are few places to just sit and watch the city go past: the intention is to bring you inside, to gamble and shop and take in a show or two.

It's a strange city, of long nights and slow days, and there's a nervy sort of energy brought by vast amounts of money changing hands, of celebrities getting away for a wild night, of lives changing with a roll of the dice.

It's a perfect city, though, for a pair of dreamers to celebrate each other. Whether they take the High Octane option of Charlie's plans or the Lazy Day option, it's good just to be here, together.

[ooc: millitimed to morning. boysmut. YAYPR0N!]

Mornings are becoming Charlie's favorite time of day.

He wakes up slowly, warm to his bones, his nose pressed to Darien's back. He moves his lips slowly across Darien's shoulders and kisses his arm. "Y'awake?"

It's never goodbye sex.

It's "don't forget me" sex. "Believe I need you" sex. "You matter to me" sex.

"Make me glad I'm alive" sex.


[ooc: yup. smut.]

Clothing abuse is a terrible thing. Buttons flying, collars tearing, shirts and jeans crumpled in piles on the floor--it's a disgrace.

But sometimes a bloke just wants to get his lover naked, you know?


[ooc: boysmut. yuppers.]