They met at a county fair in Wisconsin, America's Dairy land. Driveshaft still wasn't as popular in America as they were becoming in England and the rest of Europe and as a result the gigs they had managed to procure for their American tour weren't the best.

The opening act, however, made up for it. She was an up and coming singer/songwriter and Liam had quailed at the thought of her opening for them, Driveshaft being hard rock and a totally different style. His protestations did no good, as her agent was part of the same agency that Drivshaft's belonged to. So they were stuck.

Charlie, though. Charlie hadn't cared. Not one bit. Not after he heard her sing. He liked to tease her about it, long after the fact, that it was her voice that made him fall in love. Wasn't love at first sight, he'd say. Love at first sound. She'd giggle and playfully smack him and their innocent tussling would usually end up slightly less innocent and a lot sweatier.

They'd bonded instantly, sharing everything from day to day worries to childhood stories, hopes, dreams, insecurities, a mutual love for football (not that American shit, REAL football) and Monty Python. Everything.

She'd told him all about her mother uprooting her at the age of ten from her native Australia to move her to Georgia to be with a man who promised her mother the world and only delivered a run-down house and two more children she didn't want. Shared with him that music was what got her through all the hard times growing up, that Stevie Nicks had become her idol and by the time she was fourteen, knew that she wanted to be just like her and make music her career, her life's ambition. She told him of how she'd run away at seventeen and worked as a waitress during the day and worked on her music at night, finally catching the interest of her current agent at a singer/songwriter's showcase in Charleston, South Carolina. Sixth months later and her CD was due to be released anytime now, with critical acclaim and gigs bound to follow. Which couldn't have thrilled her more. Charlie had smiled and kissed her beautiful pink lips.

He hadn't thought it possible to ever feel this way.

Charlie had confided in her about his music, his brother and the fact that he felt he'd sacrificed his faith for them both. How he was worried about Liam and the downward spiral he appeared to be in. About the booze, the girls and, most recently, the drugs. How he felt like sometimes the band was the only thing holding him together and it felt the more famous they became, the farther apart they drifted. The more Charlie felt lost. Told her that the most alive he'd felt in ages was when he was with her, just with her, just in the same room. She'd turned a becoming shade of pink and had chuckled and let out a soft 'Oh, Charlie' before cupping his scruffy face and kissing him.

He'd fallen even more in love the night of his birthday when she'd sang him her own acoustic version of the Beatles 'All You Need Is Love.' He can still remember watching her sing, wrapped up in cheap hotel sheets and her long blonde hair and nothing else, singing for him. Just for him. About love.

They'd spent the rest of that night wrapped around each other.

He'd returned the favor one night, not for any special occasion or reason. Just because. Did (in his opinion) an awful rendition of 'Leather and Lace' as an encore one night after a show in some club in Massachusetts. Most of the people had looked confused at the change of styles but not her. She'd stood in the back with her hands over her mouth and tears in her eyes.

They'd made love that night till the sky turned gray and the birds started to sing. He'd left her in the room, exhausted and made a run across the street to the little diner that sold unbelievably bad coffee and worse food. When he'd come back to the room and she'd stirred at the ruckus he'd made by slamming his foot into the dresser, sitting up and pushing her hair over her shoulder, he knew he'd never seen anyone more beautiful.

Their food and coffee had grown cold and it was noon before they left the room that day.

Then the American tour had ended and Charlie was on his way back to England and away from someone whom he knew was the love of his life. They'd shared a long, tearful good bye at JFK in New York. She was off to LA to meet with more record execs and he was going to Germany to kick off the European leg of their tour. She'd hugged him so tight he was sure he'd end up with bruises and cracked ribs and he just didn't care. Nothing could hurt more than the separation they were about to experience. There were promises to visit and call and Charlie knew he'd be flying at every available opportunity to wherever she was. Just to see her. Even if it was just for a few hours.

They'd separated finally, when the final boarding call for Charlie's flight was announced. He'd held her hand to the last possible minute and when he finally had to let go, it actually felt like a physical tear, a rip, appeared in his soul.

It felt over and that scared Charlie more than anything.

******************************************************

They'd seen each other a month after that, in New York, at her very fist gig as a headliner. Charlie had never been prouder, could even push the fight he'd had with Liam about coming to the US out of his mind when he'd seen her up on stage, singing and playing and absolutely shining.

He'd taken her a dozen roses back stage and they'd spent the night wrapped up in her hotel room sheets and each other. He was back on a flight and in Paris for a gig of his own that night but not even Liam's silence could dampen his spirits.

Even though he knew it would be a long time before he saw her again, he felt lighter somehow. Like even though they were separated they would still be able to make it.

For the first time since they'd left each other in New York four weeks ago, Charlie had hope.

******************************************************

Three weeks after seeing her, Charlie's life went to hell in a hand basket. He and Liam had a huge row; one that Charlie was sure ended the band. It hadn't but Charlie still ended up royally fucking himself and his life up that night.

He'd ended up turning to drugs in one of the darkest hours of his life instead of turning to her like he knew he should have.

He forgot to call her the next day. And for four days after that.

She'd called him frantic, five days after his life went to shit. He'd glossed over the whole incident and hadn't mentioned anything about drugs. She could tell by his voice that there was something wrong but didn't press the issue.

She told him she could get away but not for another month and a half when she had a gig in London. Would he be all right until then?

He assured her he would. Told her he loved her and hung up the phone.

He was high ten minutes later.

********************************************************

They didn't talk for another two weeks after that. There was another three weeks in between phone calls after that one. He knew she was getting suspicious, suspected him of doing exactly what he had been.

And then it was four days before she was coming and Charlie realized that in the month and a half since she'd first told him she was coming to England, he had become a junkie.

He knew, as he got high in some random guy's apartment, someone he hadn't known more than three hours, that he didn't deserve her and that the two or three days she would be in England could very well be the last he ever spent around her. Because there was no way he'd be able to hide it, to lie to her. And she wouldn't be able to look at him, let alone love him, once she knew the truth.

Charlie spent the next few days in a drug-induced haze.

****************************************************************

Charlie arrived at Heathrow hours before Claire's flight was to arrive.

He'd woken up that morning.. Or was it afternoon? Charlie could barely tell anymore... in a seedy apartment he hadn't recognized, a naked girl draped across his equally naked form and the sudden realization that Claire was due to arrive that day from the States.

He'd found his clothes from the show the night before crumpled up beside the mattress and he threw them on, wrinkling his nose at the smell and knowing that he'd have to go to pick Claire up looking and smelling like he'd went on a bender and ended up in bed with some random groupie whose name he didn't even know.

Which is exactly what had happened but Charlie didn't want Claire to find out. She couldn't. She was the only good and pure and right thing in his life and he'd be damned if he'd fuck this up anymore than he already had.

So he'd found a taxi and made his way to the airport, furtively trying to remember what time her flight was due in from Atlanta. He'd nervously tapped out the bass line from one of their new songs and whispered 'Come on, come on' over and over until he was inside the airport, scanning the arrival screen for hers.

He'd found it after five minutes of gut-wrenching anxiety and realized he was at least three hours early. Knowing that traffic in London was going to be absolute shit at that time of day, he'd decided to just stay put and greet Claire smelling like day old beer, stale cigarettes and god only knew what else.

Charlie spotted a cafe close to her gate and grabbed a cappuccino to help rid himself of the cobwebs that seemed to be hanging around in his head. He had about three, waiting and sitting and pacing and Jesus, had it only been an hour?

He sat down on the horrible uncomfortable plastic chair again and took out his ever-present Sharpie and ended up with half a song on his arm before he knew it.

Check the watch again. Hour to go. Charlie let his head hit the wall with a hollow thunk, closing his eyes with a wince and before he knew it and in spite of the caffeine he'd had, he dozed off.

He dreamt about Claire. He did that quite often, especially when he wasn't coming down off of anything.

She was wearing her ruby red boots, the one she'd had on the last time he'd seen her. Three weeks ago after a gig in New York and she'd been in rare form, awing the audience and critics alike with her gorgeous lyrics and haunting voice, more folk rock than his hard but that didn't matter to him. She was touted as the Stevie Nicks of her generation and tried her best to live up to her mentor's image. Her style of dress was something she called Earth Mother Whore and he laughed every time she called it that.

In his dream, Claire was wearing one of her floaty tops... what did she call them? Peasant blouses? Yeah. And a flowing skirt, looking every inch the fallen angel she had to be. She was backlit by a brilliant white light and was whispering his name...

The whispering got louder and louder until...

Charlie woke with a start and realized she wasn't a dream and she was standing above him wearing a peasant blouse and an amused grin.

Rough night, she'd asked as he'd picked up her guitar case after she'd hugged him and gotten a good whiff of his clothes. You might say, he answered as he slung one arm around her slim shoulders.

He leaned down then to whisper in her ear, wicked things, erotic things that he hadn't been able to do for far too long. She giggled and playfully smacked his chest, but the reprimand turned into a caress.

There were some things she hadn't been able to do for a long time, either.

**********************************************************

hey'd gone to Claire's hotel long enough for her to check in and give her agent a quick call, letting him know she'd made it in safe and sound. Charlie took a quick shower and threw the same clothes back on when he came back out.

"Isn't that defeating the purpose of a shower," she'd asked, delicate ash blonde eyebrow raised.

"I feel cleaner, though," he'd answered, trademark smirk in place. She shook her head and continued to unpack.

"You wanna grab a bite to eat," he asked, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind.

"Sure," she said, placing the last item of clothing in the bureau drawer and they'd left to go to a small place that Charlie knew of that he swore made the best fish and chips ever.

They'd left the hotel in the late afternoon sunlight holding hands and laughing.

Charlie started to believe that things could go back to the way the used to be.

**********************************************************

They'd met up with some friends of Charlie's at the pub they ended up at.

Claire didn't care for them on sight.

When Charlie excused himself to go outside for a 'breath of fresh air' with his friend, Kirk, Claire felt her stomach start to churn.

Her worst fears were coming to life before her eyes.

**********************************************************

They fucked hard and fast that night after they got back, till Charlie exhausted himself and passed out tangled in the sweat stained sheets. Claire waited, making sure he wasn't going to stir and then got up, scrounging around beside the bed for something, anything to cover herself with.

She'd never felt so naked in her entire life.

She got up and made her way to the balcony doors, pushing the wispy curtain aside to reveal the twinkling lights of London. Charlie stirred and rolled over, drawing her gaze momentarily away from the city beneath them. He started snoring again almost immediately and Claire went back to her troubled thoughts.

This wasn't the Charlie she knew. Wasn't the one who she fell in love with on tour in the States. The man laying in the five hundred thread count sheets three feet away from her wasn't the man who had kept her up all night in Kansas City singing Beatles tunes after a marathon lovemaking session. Because that's what it had been then. Making love. Not fucking, not one person using the other simply for gratification, the scratching of an itch.

He wasn't the Charlie that had woken her up before dawn one morning in Norfolk to usher her, half awake and still in her night clothes, to the shore. She had had a particularly hard night the night before, an argument with her mother who had shown up unexpectedly, and he had known it, had witnessed it with his own eyes. He'd covered her eyes once they got to shore and held them there for a good ten minutes, not moving them no matter how much she had begged. He'd lifted them away just in time for her to see the sun break over the horizon, the rays hitting the water and everything sparkled, dazzled and shimmered around them as he kissed her temple. Wrapped his arms around her waist and reminded her that she wasn't alone.

Claire wrapped her own arms around her waist and made a decision that night, while she waited, alone, for the cold sun to come up over the horizon.

**********************************************************

She was gone by the time Charlie woke up from his booze and heroin induced stupor the next afternoon. He'd searched the room frantically for a note, a letter, her clothes, something, anything and finding nothing.

He dressed in the clothes he'd been wearing for three days now and looked at the clock on top the television.

Two hours till the doors opened at the club she was to play tonight. If he made it there in time, he might be able to talk to her, explain, beg, plead, anything.

As he practically ran down the hotel corridor, one thought played over and over in his head.... He couldn't lose her.

**********************************************************

e hadn't been allowed to see her, had been barred from the back stage area by her sniveling snot of an agent (God how he loathed that sleazy Boone) and her oversized ex-Iraqi soldier bodyguard. No amount of pleading or cajoling had worked. All he knew was he had to talk to Claire. Charlie had gone outside and tried to regroup, come up with a plan.

He'd ended up getting high instead. When he went back in to try and get back stage once more, he'd seen her being led out a side door, hand in hand, by Boone.

Then he'd seen nothing but red.

He was told later he'd gone a little crazy, punching out Boone and breaking a chair over her body guard's head before the police came and carted him off. He woke up the next morning in jail, with a hangover and bruised knuckles. He'd been bailed out by an old --mutual -- friend from the States, an ex-Drive Shaft roadie and Hurley was the one he'd learned all the details of the previous night from.

Luckily, Claire had convinced Boone and her bodyguard -- turned out his name was Sayid -- to not press charges. But she had sent a letter via Hurley that Charlie was to get.

He was not to contact her again. Not while he was still using. If he ever cleaned up, maybe, maybe she'd decide to talk to him.

Charlie sat down on Hurley's sofa after reading her letter for the fourteenth time and wept.

He'd lost her.

**********************************************************

She had wind chimes on her front porch.

Charlie smiled as he made his way nervously to the door. That seemed like a very Claire thing. Wooden wind chimes that made a wonderful sound in the spring breeze.

Claire had settled in Sydney, the city of her birth, buying a home after her tour of Europe was finished. Charlie hadn't seen or heard from her ever since that fateful night and he only knew as much as he did because he was able to bribe Hurley with Star Wars figurines and Ho Ho's imported from the States -- his two biggest weaknesses.

He took a deep breath when he reached her front door, removing his sunglasses and patting his hair down on his head, trying his best to make himself look presentable. He hadn't seen her in over a year but so much had changed.

He'd gotten clean and he planned to stay that way. Because he knew he couldn't afford to lose her again.

Charlie raised his hand to knock when the door was suddenly opened from the inside and then... there she was. Wearing a pair of capri pants and a blue tank top that matched the color of her eyes and... holding a baby?

His mind reeled and he hastily put two and two together. Of course she hadn't waited for him, why should she? She hadn't known, couldn't have known about all those painful months... detox and rehab and counseling. Leaving the band and Liam behind for good to make sure he stayed clean.

He heard himself mumbling a half-assed apology and turned to walk back down her petunia-lined sidewalk. He felt his throat close and his heart clench at the thought of Claire loving another.

When, suddenly, he felt a gentle touch on his arm and he was turned. Staring into her aquamarine eyes and a pair of curious gray eyes. Eyes that looked suspiciously like the ones that stared back at him in the mirror every morning.

Claire laughed at Charlie's dumbfounded expression, waited a few seconds for realization to dawn.

She'd known he was coming, had kept in touch with Hurley herself. Knew what he'd put himself through to make sure he was worthy of her.

So when realization did spread across her Charlie's beautiful face, she had no qualms about introducing him to his four-month-old daughter.

Or finally welcoming him home.