Claire knew what she had to do, and she told herself that it had nothing to do with Desmond.
She only half believed herself, though.
Her time with him… well , her time with him had made her feel many things, but it had made her realize one thing.
She was using Charlie.
She didn't love him, or need him. She felt gratitude for him, and affection. She had even felt admiration, before, but that had been declining as time went by. Sometimes she thought that he loved her, and the thought broke her heart with guilt (although it had taken her a while to get over the initial rush of surprised pride at the idea of inspiring such devotion). Other times, she thought that he didn't know her at all. He loved the idea of her—the innocent, abandoned single mother with an adorable baby, just waiting to be protected and helped. He loved the role he filled with her, but he didn't love or understand the specifics of her at all.
When she came to the first conclusion, she told herself that she was being dramatic and conceited.
When she came to the second, she told herself that she was being too skeptical, and that she was making excuses for what she wanted to do.
She wanted to be with Desmond.
She told herself that it was impossible. He was in love with another woman, and the fact that he hadn't seen her in at least three years and that she was nowhere near this island didn't make it any less useless to pine over him.
Well, maybe a little less useless. But still wrong. Still ridiculous.
But it was still happening.
He was so mysterious, so confident, so kind. He was the kind of man that she would never even expect to talk to her. Look at her, maybe. Men liked looking at her well enough. But they knew, and she knew, that she was nothing special. Back in the real world, she had barely graduated high school. The only jobs she had ever had involved frying things or washing other people's floors. She partied too much. She moved in with a useless boyfriend. She got pregnant by accident, and got abandoned. She was insignificant. Desmond was older, worldly and handsome. The way she saw it, he never should have wasted more time on her than the time it took to check her out.
But he had. He hadn't just seen the pretty girl, or the young mother. He talked to her like she was a mystery to be discovered, like she had something to say.
He looked at her like she was precious.
These were the thoughts that spun through her head as she waited for Charlie. He had taken Aaron for a walk, considerate as ever, and she was feeling horribly guilty because of the fact that she was waiting for his return to tell him that she didn't love him, didn't want to depend on him, and didn't want to live in their little domestic arrangement anymore.
She didn't know what he would say.
When he finally arrived, she smiled and nodded as he talked about gossip that Hurley had just told him. She waited for a break in his stream of chatter before she began her speech. She had been planning it carefully.
"Charlie," she said, taking a deep breath. "I've been thinking, and I—"
She was cut off by loud footsteps coming toward them. She and Charlie both turned to look and saw Desmond striding toward them. He didn't stop until he was right next to the spot where they were sitting.
"Excuse me, Charlie, I need to talk to Claire." His were burning with intensity; she felt her skin warm when his gaze passed over it.
"Huh? What's going on?" Charlie was instantly on his guard, instantly annoyed.
"I need to talk to Claire alone," Desmond said, unfazed.
Charlie turned to look at Claire, and his eyes sent a chill of fear over her that cancelled out the warmth that Desmond's arrival had brought. "What's going on between you and him?" he demanded, his voice slightly lower, but still harsh.
"Something," she blurted out. "Definitely… something." She felt kind of like laughing. She thought it might be a touch of hysteria.
"What, do you mean…" Charlie was catching the drift immediately, and she wondered if it was because it was obvious or because he was always suspicious.
"Look, brotha, just give us a few minutes and we'll explain everything," Desmond interrupted. He laid his hand on Claire's shoulder, and Charlie's eyes narrowed.
"Please, Charlie." Claire felt both guilty and relieved when her plea softened him.
"Fine. A few minutes. I'll be right over there." He strode off irritably, Aaron still clasped in his arms.
Claire regathered her courage and looked up at Desmond. "So what do you have to say?" Her heart pounded in her ears as she remembered reprimanding him to come get her if he wanted her. Was he doing it now?
He sat down next to her, leaning forward in the pose he often took, earnest and intense. "I want to explain how I… feel about you."
Claire thought that the way he had kissed her had seemed clear enough, but she nodded for him to continue.
"I know that I couldlove you," he began, and Claire felt an almost physical wave of surprised, aching happiness.
"I mean somehow, if things were different, if it wasn't for Penny, or if I knew that she… was really gone, or if I had met you a long time ago… though I suppose you would have been quite young then." A wry half-smile flitted across his face. "If I was a free man, Claire, nothing could keep me away from you." His hand, strong and rough, found her smaller one and grasped it, and she squeezed back, thinking of how it seemed that she had always wanted to be touched by hands like his. "But I'm not. I need to stay away from you." He looked down and let out a sound that was half-chuckle, half-sigh. "If I don't stay away from you, I'm not sure what I'll do."
Claire's mind was a tangle of delight at the fact that he cared for her and sorrow because he was rejecting her, pushing her away in every way he could. It hurt worse to know that he wanted her. It made it seem more possible that something could happen, while he said over and over again that it couldn't. She wanted to disappear or bury herself in the sand, hiding from the humiliation of pain and disappointment, but she settled for covering her face with her hands.
"So, maybe Charlie won't kill me now, yeah?" Desmond said, clearly trying to make a joke, but seemingly unable to muster an amused tone.
"I'm still leaving Charlie," Claire said from behind her shield of fingers. "I know that I need to."
"I'm glad, if that's what you want."
She nodded, daring to lower her hands slowly.
He smiled a wistful smile. "I love your eyes."
"Don't tell me that, please." She felt tears brimming in her aforementioned eyes, rising up at the thought of all the things that would never happen. All the things she had secretly been waiting for. A real talk. A third kiss. A life that had him in it.
"I'm sorry. I won't say things like that anymore."
That just made her want to cry harder. "You should go," she gasped, trying to keep her voice sounding normal.
"All right." He moved as though to stand, then paused. "I'm so sorry. You have to know how sorry I am that I've put you through this."
A flame of anger evaporated her tears. "I'm not sorry about anything that happened except for this conversation. I don't take anything back." The anger gave her courage. "You need to know that I could have loved you back. No conditional statements." She looked him straight in his eyes, and saw the pain and shame in them.
"I guess there's nothing else to say," she finished. She rose, leaving him behind just like he was doing to her, and went to speak to Charlie.
Nothing that happened after this could hurt quite as badly.
That night she settled down to sleep with no one particularly nearby, except for Aaron in his cradle, of course. Although she was trying to feel independent and calm, she couldn't help but be a little unsettled. She had gotten used to having either Charlie or Locke sleeping close to her. Not with her, really, but near enough to make her feel safe.
She supposed that she would have to learn to make herself feel safe.
The night passed slowly to her restless mind, as she rolled around on her sandy bed, trying to find a comfortable position, and trying not to jump at every sound in the jungle.
Then, after what seemed like hours of miserable wakefulness, she heard footsteps coming toward her. She half-rose from her bed and looked up to see Desmond approaching.
A sheepish expression crossed his face when he saw that she was awake and looking at him.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, crushing down the little bit of hope that had leapt up at his arrival and letting annoyance sound in her voice.
"I was worried about you." He sat down just under the edge of her roof.
"Why? You said that you thought I could take care of myself."
"I do, but the island is a strange place. I couldn't help but worry.
"Be careful, you're starting to sound like you actually care about me," she said sarcastically.
"Claire." His gaze found hers, even in the dark. "You know I do. That's why I want to stay away." He paused and looked away. "I decided that worrying about something happening to you was more painful than worrying about falling in love with you."
Claire felt the urge to hide her face again, to hide her smile at his words and her fear in case he took them back, but instead she let herself smile at him, hoping that it wasn't light enough for him to notice.
"Besides," he added, his voice almost a whisper. "Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is yours."
Claire felt like she was slowly coming alive. "Would it be wrong," she blurted out, "if I asked you to stay with me… to forget the past, and the future, and just be here now?"
"It may be wrong." Her heart sank as he paused. "But you'll never know how much I want it."
"Then let me know." She felt giddy with anticipation, drunk on hope.
Then he was under the roof, right next to her, lying down with her, gathering her into his arms. She pressed her face into his neck and let herself relax for the first time that night. She sighed as she felt their bodies fit against one another. He seemed just the right size, his arms the perfect length to envelop her.
"I'm sorry," he mumbled into her hair.
"I'm not," she whispered against his skin.
He sighed, but didn't let go.
Eventually, after just lying against him for a sweet stretch of time, Claire drifted into sleep. She was awakened when it was almost dawn, and she felt Desmond stirring next to her. She tilted her head back and saw that his eyes were open, his face startled.
"What's wrong?" she asked, wondering if they were about to be attacked by Charlie or an island monster.
"Nothing's wrong, exactly." He smoothed her hair down absentmindedly.
"What are you thinking about?"
"The future."
"I thought we were going to forget about it?" she said. Then she remembered the previous times when Desmond was "thinking" of the future.
"What are you thinking about it?" she ventured.
"I'm thinking… I could get used to this," he answered, his voice hoarse with sleep and emotion.
She smiled and pressed kisses along his jaw, wherever her mouth could reach, and he pulled her back into his comforting embrace. She let herself slip back into dreams by imagining a future where she would fall asleep like this every night.
It wasn't hard to imagine at all.