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It had been a very strange turn of events, starting from setting out on this ridiculous quest to try and prove the validity of Henry Gale's story, and on the journey, after the debacle with the gun, the tension between Charlie and Ana was palpable.
Snide remarks were exchanged, ranging from passive aggressive remarks ("It's cute, how you sort of tag along hoping to contribute something useful to this quest." "Really? It's even cuter that you believe you being out there magically erases the fact you killed one of our own.") to full on nasty remarks, all exchanged well out of earshot of a weary Sayid, who seemed akin to that babysitter left with too many children to look after, eager to snatch a break when he could.
The anger built up between them the further they walked, and it wasn't completely easy to see where it even stemmed from. It could've been argued it wasn't really each other they were angry with, just their current situations, but the thing with anger is that we don't take time to find the root of it when it grips us; it just consumes us, driving us to actions we wouldn't normally commit under a calmer mood.
When they'd stopped to make camp for the night, Ana briefly suggested they gather wood for a fire, and immediately offered to go and retrieve it herself.
"Take Charlie with you," was Sayid's response.
She made a face.
"Why? He'll slow me down," she said pointedly, and Charlie was quick to flip her a gesture which conveyed his feelings on that comment.
"Because," here Sayid gave a long drawn out sigh, "if what we're doing proves Henry isn't telling the truth, we're going to have to explain to everyone what's going on, and people will demand answers, answers we cannot stop them from trying to get. We will need to be there to reassure them, to inform them of our next move, and we cannot do that with the two of you at each others' throats. So go. Come back civil, if not as friends."
"But - "
"Just go," Sayid snapped, and even Ana flinched at the hostility driving his voice.
Perhaps she'd underestimated just how broken these people really were. She'd attempted to lord over them all for so long how much worse her band of people had had it, but apparently they were all miserable, all on edge, and she'd tried to gain a monopoly on it, for what reasons she couldn't quite figure out, even in the depths of her own mind.
She gave Charlie a curt nod, gesturing him to come with her.
Her movements were rapid, and she barely acknowledged her companion, briefly smirking at the breathy sounds which left his mouth as he struggled to keep up.
She wasn't really sure what she even had against the guy; if anything, she was just scornful of his presence. Maybe it was the way he swaggered sometimes, bragging about a band she remembered listening to on early morning radio when she'd ended up pulling an all nighter once. What was the point of boasting about mediocrity? It just made you look laughable.
She became consumed by her thoughts, ignoring her basic instincts until they failed to make themselves known at the crucial moment, her foot triggering a trip wire which released a net which swung around her, dragging her upwards.
"Damn it!" she hissed, trying and failing to turn around before she realised she was in close quarters with something....or someone.
"Nice going,Indi-Ana," snickered Charlie, even though he sounded more disgruntled than amused.
"Since when did you become that redneck jackass, Sawyer? One's bad enough, or are you just a classic case of life imitating art, a wannabe trying to copy the greats?" she snarled. "I could do without the commentary."
"When did you become such a closeted bitch? You know it's an instant friend killer, right?"
"Did you ever think I'm this way through intentional design? Maybe I like being alone!"
"No - no, no one likes being alone. They just think it's easier to be that way."
"What, now you're copying psychology 101?" she snorted. "Get real, Chief. This ain't a reality show where we end up sharing our feelings and hugging it out. I don't like you, you don't like me... we're not gonna walk away from this with a shiny new bromance badge on our chests."
Charlie huffed impatiently.
"You're a piece of work, you know that?"
The retort she wanted to throw back at him died on her tongue. She felt inexplicably uncomfortable, left wounded by a fairly tame remark which had somehow settled under her skin. It wasn't the first time she'd been told she was difficult, and it wouldn't be the last, but there were only so many times you could hear the same song before it became annoying to the point where you wanted to erase it from memory.
She let her shoulders sag, an irritable sigh passing through her lips.
"Think I've got a gun in my back pocket..."
"My gun," Charlie interjected.
"Whatever, man." She rolled her eyes. "Either way, I've got a gun. You take it, and you shoot us down, you got it? You hit me, or you miss, I'll save you a bullet and hit you right where the little ones grow, you got me?"
Charlie burst out laughing, and the sound was surprisingly...warm.
"Good one, Spinelli."
"Spinelli? As in that obnoxious little brat from that kids' show Recess?"
"The very same. You know it?"
"Kinda. Caught a few episodes growing up. Weirdly enough, I related more to that Gus kid than Spinelli... I always moved schools, family came from a military background, and I could never fit in anywhere. I never had a niche."
"Are we actually talking about this, is this an actual conversation we're having?"
"Hey, you brought it up!"
"Yeah, but I was under the illusion only I would know what I was talking about." He sighed. "That used to be a show I watched whenever I got high in the states... or shouldn't I be saying that to a cop?"
"I kinda left my handcuffs in my carry on. I'll have to get ya later." Ana, to her surprise, felt herself start to smile. "And, no offence, but living out the whole cliche of the rock 'n' roll lifestyle is kind of lame."
Charlie didn't reply, but she felt his hand slide into her pocket, lingering there for a moment - in that whole let-me-touch-for-as-long-as-I-can-get-away-with-it sense anyway- before he retrieved the gun and took it out.
"You really trusting me with this?" he teased.
"I'm trusting you know what'll happen if you miss," she barked.
"Easy... I'll get us down."
She heard him click the gun into place, and she felt inexplicably nervous by the fact she couldn't see a damn thing. He could turn the gun on her, take revenge for what she did to Shannon, and though she wasn't exactly afraid of dying, she would've preferred to have gone down fighting, not facing away like a victim.
She wasn't a victim anymore; she made sure of that long ago.
But to her eternal relief, he shot down the rope which strung them up, and they detangled themselves from the mess of net, sharing the briefest of smiles before deciding to effectively avoid the cliched conversation which succeeded an event such as this one, and merely walked ahead, ensuring to gather wood at a much more rapid speed, occasionally sharing the odd furtive look, the tension still present, but less palpable.
The encounter proved to have some effect though, as it prompted Ana to make an apology to Sayid, figuring she didn't want to be the hated one all her life. She wasn't going to change for anyone, but she had to start remembering she wasn't the only one with a scarred past.
Sometimes, however, it's easier to be alone in misery than to share it with someone else and admit that you're broken, especially when you don't see every bruise on your skin. Some take longer to surface, but they're there, always there, reminding you that you're not infallible.
Ana fell asleep that night thinking about her scars, and her fingers found their way to her stomach, flexing around the biggest scar of them all, and by acknowledging even a tiny amount of her pain, she slept a little easier that night.