The night was silent for everyone in the camp, except for the most distressed soul on the beach. Desmond just kept tossing and turning on the sand, for no matter how exhausted he felt, he just couldn't get any sleep. Every time he closed his eyes, those flashes about Charlie's death would come back and haunt him.

Such a curse. Such a terrible fate.

"Ye know, th'fate has a way of course-correcting..."

Aye, course-correcting, of course. Except for the fact fate hadn't ever corrected anything, it was just playing with him, with everybody; leaving baits, so Desmond would believe he'd got clues that were nothing but traps.

He'd had enough. It was time to do something about it, for he had to save Charlie, he had to bloody move and stop pretending that fate was alright to accept!

Suddenly, Desmond stood up so fast, he felt dizzy. Something inside him said Charlie was in great danger at that same moment, and when he tottered outside the tent, his eyes focused on that image: Charlie was already pushing the boat towards the ocean, all alone, in the dark.

"Charlie!" he shouted in vain, for the distance was way too large for his voice to reach Charlie.

No time to waste.

Desmond quickly ran towards him and reached the Brit by the moment he had his feet inside the shallow parts of the ocean.

"Charlie!" he called once more, his lungs gasping for air, for his body wasn't ready for such a run in the middle of the night.

Charlie was clearly ignoring him and seemed to be really pissed off, his hands insisting on pushing the boat more and more into the deep water.

"Charlie! Charlie, please, brotha!"

At last, Charlie didn't listen at all, but Des held the boat with strength enough to make him stop, although the Brit insisted on the duty for a while. Obviously, he had no chances, since Desmond was much stronger and quicker than his fragile and tired body.

"Ye won't stop trying to kill yourself, will ye?" Desmond implied ironically, still holding the boat.

"What do you want, Desmond?" he whispered, avoiding the eye contact.

"To join ye, of course! Since you're clearly trying to murder yourself, Ah began to wonder if there ain't another place for me in this boat, brotha".

Those words seemed to wound him, as Charlie gave up on the pushing and lifted those blue eyes to the Scotsman. The vision made Desmond wobble, for although Charlie's eyes didn't express anything but anger, the swelling around them didn't lie at all. That Brit had been crying for the last hours, that's for sure.

"Piss off, mate" Charlie replied, the voice trembling. "Don't you remember your own words?"

"What words?"

"I'm sorry, brotha, but this time ye have to die" he said, imitating the Scottish accent. "You said it today, Desmond. So, you tell me now, what's the difference between sailing this boat in the morning or right now, brother? If my role in this bloody rescue is to die anyway, can't I choose the proper moment?"

If there existed any answer for that, it certainly wasn't inside Desmond's brain, 'cause every piece of his tired mind was filled with blank spaces after that. He gulped in hesitation, but as Charlie started muttering while showing intentions of pushing the boat once more, Desmond recovered his consciousness.

"Awright... Awright, Charlie... Bloody hell, Charlie. I'm sorry, alright? Ah didn't mean..." and gasped once more before recovering. "Ah mean..."

"It's alright, mate" he whispered. "Just let me..."

"No, just listen to me. A've had another vision."

Charlie's eyes widened and blazed in his direction.

"What vision?" he replied, nervous.

Desmond looked around, holding his breath, shrugging. The ocean was quite calm, but it was dark, and he was alone with Charlie, far away from the shore. He didn't even know what to answer, since he just came up with that sentence to stop Charlie from pushing. A'm needin' some more time, he thought. Some more time tae figure out whit tae say next.

"Can we get back to th' shore, pal?"

"What vision, Desmond?" Charlie insisted, staring as if he knew it was a lie. "Spit it out!"

"It's just..." suddenly, the brilliant idea rose in his mind, his voice now confident. "You're daein' it wrong. You're not supposed to die at night, Charlie. Ye must die while daylight".

"Daylight?"

"Aye."

Charlie thought for a while, nodding in agreement, despite his face didn't express much convincing.

"You're such a bad liar, Des" he replied, turning around, now pushing the boat back to the shore. "Whatever, brother".

Desmond didn't answer at all, for now he was afraid Charlie could change his mind. Together, they pushed the boat back to beach, and after reaching the sand, they glanced at each other for a while.

"Hope you're happy, Des. You've just ruined my only chance of having a useful death to this camp."

Oh, well done, Desmond thought to himself, now he's even more pissed off.

However, as he kept on listening to the Brit's complaint, a tiny little smile was formed on Desmond's lips. Although they hadn't dived in the ocean, the salty humidity remained on their clothes and hair, and the sea breeze made Charlie look even more adorable than usual.

"Even more... what?"

Bloody hell, what was happening to Desmond's poor and distressed mind?

"Any other brilliant visions concerning my perfect death? Maybe I should shave, brother?"

Oh, for God's sake, it had nothing to do with his mind! Charlie was just too bloody adorable, that was the damn truth.

"Aye, shave", Desmond muttered, looking away with a tremulous smile.

At least for that night, Charlie was safe.

For a moment, they walked their separate ways, but Desmond only got back to his tent to grab some blankets that he threw on the shore. He obviously wasn't getting any sleep, so the best option was to stay on the beach, eventually observing Charlie's movements, just to make sure he wouldn't join another suicidal mission.

All Charlie did for the rest of the night was play his lonely guitar, not so far away from Des. That sensitive boy was quite illegible for Desmond's simple manners, but deep inside his heart, the Scotsman felt something was wrong with the Brit. Just as if death wasn't enough matter to worry about, there was something else, something hidden inside those deep-blue eyes that made Charlie look even more broken.

But what could it be?

Despite the pure and true curiosity, Desmond couldn't get anywhere with those thoughts. He simply fell asleep, having a calm and dreamless night for the first time in a while, probably because of the sweet melody that was now caressing his ears.