Charlotte never liked to use the term 'nutcase' lightly. It always seemed like the kind of name you would call the 50-year-old pedophile senator from New York, or your next-door neighbor who liked to take his beloved miniature poodle for a walk in a leather Harley-Davidson jacket.

Not Daniel Faraday.

Sure, he wasn't all there. He liked to talk about things that made no sense to anyone but him. He spoke quietly and quickly. He constantly found wonder in things Charlotte couldn't see, or couldn't realize. Still, in her opinion, 'nutcase' was too strong a word.

Until now, she thought vindictively as she ran, the wind blowing huge droplets of rain at her face and shoulders. "Dan!" she shouted at the surrounding trees. "Dan!"

The storm whirled overhead, loud and raucous. The leaves roared above her head at an intense volume; thunder, when it came, seemed to shake the ground; flashes of lightning came erratically and often. Charlotte's auburn hair was now plastered to her face and neck, and she pushed it away irritably. Where could that idiot have gone—in the middle of a tropical storm? At the first clap of thunder he had vanished into the forests, and as the sky got blacker, Charlotte had slowly given up hope of finding him.

"Dan!" she cried again, slowing her run to a walk. The only response she received was a crack of thunder that nearly made her fall to her knees with its strength.

She swore vehemently, moving on. "Daniel!"

Only a few minutes later, she was rewarded with a sight that both relieved and terrified her. There was Dan. Standing a hundred yards away.

In the middle of a clearing.

With his arms wide open to the skies, his head tilted back, his eyes closed.

…In the middle of a tropical storm.

"DAN!" she screamed, sprinting towards him. The storm was too loud—he couldn't hear her. His eyes remained closed. His expression was strangely peaceful, almost…accepting. As if he was waiting for something wonderful to come.

She clamped one hand on his arm, the other around his shoulder. He came to with a start; she caught one glance of the shocked look in his eyes, then she promptly hurried him back to the safety of the trees.

"Charlotte?" he asked wonderingly as they made it past the treeline. "What are you doing?"

She stared at him, open-mouthed.

"What am I doing? What am I doing? Daniel, are you insane?"

He was still looking at her as if she was some sort of dream, as if she wasn't really there. As if he didn't honestly believe that she was real.

"I was just testing something—"

"Testing something?" Her voice had leapt several octaves, and she didn't like it. Furious for a reason unbeknownst to her, she pushed Dan against a tree and leaned in close. His gaze had turned from wondering to intimidated, and she found she didn't care. "Dan, for the love of God," she pleaded, in as soft a voice as she could beneath the howling winds. "Don't scare me like that, okay? Please."

His expression softened. "I'm sorry," he said quietly back, laying a hand on the one she had placed on his chest. "I just thought—"

"Let's get back to camp before this gets any worse," Charlotte interrupted, taking him by the wrist and leading him back through the jungle. She didn't want to hear what he had been thinking. She didn't want to hear one of his theories, one of his crazy ideas. She just wanted to curl up on her pallet, knowing that he was safe and sound only 50 yards away.

But things don't always go the way you want them to.

At the beach, things were much, much worse. They could hardly see with the whipping rain and the roaring waves that nearly reached to the camp itself. Charlotte tried to blink the water and wind out of her eyes to no avail—she let Daniel take her by the shoulders and lead her down the beach a little way, pushing her into a tent.

She fell forward with a gasp, surprised to be out of the wind so quickly. It was almost quiet in Daniel's tent, excepting the pounding rain against the sides. But they were no longer being attacked by gusts of hurricane wind, and for that she was grateful. He came in right behind her, fastening the tent closed with several holes in the tarp and pieces of twine.

"Well, that was exciting," he said conversationally, finishing the last knot. "You can stay here until the storm is over."

"Exciting" was one word for it, certainly.

Charlotte pushed her sopping wet hair away from her face, looking up at him from where she had fallen. "Is it hurricane season? I thought it was still autumn."

"It is."

It was that vague sort of answer that she knew was only a small part of the big picture. Daniel was like that. Sometimes he wanted nothing more than to ramble about things you couldn't understand—other times he assumed you wouldn't understand, and then proceeded to say nothing at all, leaving you in the dark.

Then it suddenly occurred to her that perhaps he believed that she would think he was crazy.

A nutcase.

He pulled some towels out of a supply bag in the corner, handing three of them to her and only keeping one for himself. "Thanks," she said sincerely, beginning to squeeze out her hair and rub her clothes dry. Daniel only gave her that small, hidden half-smile he always did, and walked back over to his makeshift desk.

It was obvious he used it a lot. Remnants of meals and food and empty cups littered the surface of the desk (which was a crate he had commandeered for his needs), while all his papers lay tied up in a tarp to keep them safe and dry. But when he opened the tarp, Charlotte noticed that none of them were facing the same direction, and there seemed to be no organization at all. Despite this, he immediately shuffled them all into arranged spaces on the desk, and set to writing.

She had no idea what he was writing. None at all. He would scribble madly, look up to refer to some papers, then start scribbling again. She just watched him from behind, observing his every move.

It was strange, how you notice the little things. How he would tap his lips with the end of his pen when he thought, how he frowned slightly whenever he wrote, how he held the pen between his middle and ring fingers…

She also noticed the steady drip, drip, drip of rainwater onto his paper, from the hair that he hadn't even attempted to dry.

She stood, her own towels draped over her shoulders. "Dan…"

"Hm?" His pen never stopped. His eyes never glanced up.

"You're still soaking."

"Hm. I know. I just need to…to get this down…" He still hadn't looked at her. He still hadn't stopped writing.

Charlotte watched him for a few moments more, some unknown feeling warming her heart. What was it about him? Was it his dreamy manner, how he never seemed to notice the important things (and yet the unimportant things meant so much to him)? Was it the way he often threw her that half-smile that always made her feel like he had done it just for her?

She picked up his towel—discarded on the corner of his "desk"—and gently tousled his hair with it. "At least dry your hair, so that you don't drip on your writing," she said, trying to keep her tone business-like. He ducked his head slightly as she rubbed the rain out of his hair, but she didn't let up. She felt like a mother, forced to baby her child because he never thought of himself.

"There," she said proudly, draping the towel over his neck and shoulders. "Should feel a bit lighter, yeah?"

Then, miracle of all miracles:

The pen stopped. He glanced up.

That wonderful half-smile.

"Yeah, thank you Charlotte," he said sincerely, wrapping the towel tighter around his shoulders. She smiled in return.

"You're welcome."

-x-x-

When Charlotte woke up at last, it was much colder. The remaining water on her skin had made her face feel exceptionally chilled—

--but someone had given her two blankets to keep warm.

They were the airplane survival-type blankets that were thick and soft and very comforting. She rubbed a corner of one of them against her cheek, trying to warm her skin. Why was it so cold all of the sudden?

She glanced up to see Daniel, still writing by the light of a flashlight he had salvaged from someone somewhere. Even in that faint, dim light she could see him shivering.

That warm feeling entered her chest again.

She rose from the sleeping pallet—his bed, now slightly damp from her clothes (as she realized with a pang of guilt)—and walked over to him. She laid a hand on his shoulder, making him jump and look up.

"Do you have any more blankets, Dan?"

His tiny smile was a little more half-hearted this time, not so full. Not so contented. Almost wry, in a way. "No, I only have two."

"Why did you give me both?"

"I don't need them," he said vaguely with a wave of his hand, breaking away from her gaze. "You were shivering."

"So are you."

"It isn't too bad. I'll survive."

Her only response was to take one of the blankets and wrap it around his shoulders. He looked at her and opened his mouth to speak—but she held up a finger.

"Don't you dare take that blanket off, Daniel Faraday. Don't you dare."

Perhaps he had seen something dangerous and very mother-bear-like in her gaze, or perhaps he had just finally realized how cold he was. Either way, he closed his mouth, smiled a little at her, and turned back to his work. "Thank you," he said without looking up. "I appreciate it."

Charlotte crouched down beside him, looking over his shoulder. "What are you working so hard on? I haven't seen you move for hours."

He glanced at her sideways for a moment, then showed her the paper he was writing on and the book he was referring to. "I was thinking about this storm, and how it came on so suddenly and so out-of-season," he began, speaking in his quick and eager way. "So I thought I might see if anything had triggered it. I looked in my log from the past few days, and I found a few things that I thought might be connected to the storm—a few actions taken by some of the oceanic survivors, and some things we heard about the boat—"

"Like the doctor washing ashore," Charlotte cut in the realization dawning on her. "You think this storm was caused by the actions of the people on this island? Wouldn't that imply intelligence?"

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards. "See, this is where I got my 'nutcase' title," he said wryly. "I believe…I believe there is something…special… about this place." She raised an eyebrow. "Something…not natural. This island is…separate from the rest of the world. Separate from the rest of time."

"You lost me."

His expression looked bemused, but she could see the disappointment fall behind his eyes. "Yeah, that's where I lose most people," he said quietly.

He looked so dejected, so depressed. Had he really hoped she would understand, she would believe? She laid a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Dan." He looked up. "You aren't a nutcase. You know more about this place than probably anybody on this island. Hell, you probably know more about this island than the island does." He laughed at that. (She hadn't really heard him laugh before…it was nice.) "So don't get down on yourself, okay? What you're doing has never been done before, and we don't know if it'll be done again. So take this chance; it might make you famous one day." It was no longer a half-smile—he was now grinning at her, holding the edges of the blanket close to his chest as he kept it wrapped tight around his shoulders.

"Thanks, Charlotte."

She grinned in return.

"You're welcome. Now, get up."

"What?"

"Get up, and go lie down."

"But—I don't—I mean—"

She calmed him by simply touching his cheek, making him look up at her. "Dan," she began, smiling softly. "You need to take a break."

He seemed to search her eyes for a moment—looking for something, perhaps—then he sighed and nodded.

"I suppose it'll do me good. At least until the storm passes."

She smiled victoriously, offering a hand to help him to his feet (which he took gratefully). She guided him over to the pallet, then backed away to sit in the sand. She watched over him as he laid on it, rolled over, and fell asleep right away.

The sight made her smile.

Charlotte sat there for a while, her knees tucked into her chest, trying to make the most of the one blanket she had. It wasn't doing too much for her. As soft and thick as it was, it wasn't very big. And, surprisingly, it wasn't as warm as she had thought it would be.

Two of them together was so much warmer.

The idea that immediately came to mind seemed ridiculous at first, and she batted it away like a fly. No, that would be strange and weird. She would never do it. It would be too…bizarre.

Would it? Wouldn't she appreciate being next to someone when it was so cold out?

No, she told herself firmly, hugging her knees even tighter. I'll survive.

Wasn't that what Daniel had said? And she had simply given him the blanket without another word.

She glanced over at Daniel, who hadn't moved an inch since he had fallen asleep. He had been exhausted, apparently (that warm feeling rose in her chest again, making her feel a bit less cold). She had the sudden urge to pull that blanket up to his chin—or at least straighten it, so that it wasn't thrown over him in a heap.

Charlotte moved closer, with the intent of straightening his blanket. But as she reached for it, her hands hovering over his shoulder, something struck her.

Daniel was shivering. Again.

She sighed, leaning back on her heels. One blanket wasn't enough for one person, not in this strange, supernatural storm—or whatever the hell you would call it. She hated to see him shivering like that, cold and pathetic. But to hand over her own blanket…impossible. She couldn't do it.

The decision was made in an instant.

There was room left on the pallet, so she took it, snuggling up against Daniel's back. Then she took their blankets, spread them over both of them, and turned so that she was facing the back of Daniel's neck.

He made some noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, turning his neck to look at her blearily. "What's wrong?" he slurred, obviously less than half-awake.

"I'm just cold, that's all," she said quietly. "And so are you. Go back to sleep, Dan."

Without another word, he obeyed.

Charlotte let out a breath, resting her forehead between his shoulder blades. It was warmer…she had to admit. Much warmer. Not only did she have two blankets, but she was also lying next to another source of heat. A source of heat who still smelled like rain.

She wondered whether he always smelled like that.

-x-x-

Bernard was angry. Not only had they lost a fair amount of supplies in the storm, but those two imposters had run off while everyone was scrambling for shelter! They had vanished without a trace! And by the time they had realized it, it would have been suicide to go looking for them.

He wrenched open the tent flaps, peering inside at the dark interior.

And there they were, side-by-side. Charlotte lay facing the opposite wall, her expression peaceful and her eyes closed, while Daniel's head rested comfortably in the space between her shoulder and her neck and his hand lay on her upper arm. They both looked very much at ease, and very much asleep.

His anger cooled significantly, and he pulled the tent flap closed again. He wouldn't disturb them. They could be interrogated later.

AN: I left this open. :) I think it's fun to imagine how they would both react once they woke up.

Who would wake up first? xD

Danlotte is love.