Note: This is my first ever posted fanfic anywhere... Hope you like it. Please comment...Also, written and takes place just after One of Them

Disclaimer: No matter how much I'd like to, I'll never own Lost or its characters or its beautifully crafted plotline...

Summary: Another survivor of flight 815 is found... watch the rest unfold. (Also, I've written this so it'll parallel the show. With each new episode, I'll have fresh ideas and more info to know what's going on, so yeah...)

Claire had another of her dreams; so vivid and real when she was experiencing it, but on reflection completely nonsensical and insane. In this one, the psychic came to her and told her that she had to be with Charlie. She reasoned with him that Charlie was a drug addict, that Charlie had nearly drowned the baby, that Charlie couldn't be a part of Aaron's life anymore. The psychic gave her a number of great reasons why Charlie would be a suitable father, but as Claire woke to the sound of her crying baby, they escaped her recollection.

It was early night. The light of stars and numerous torches lit the beach. She quickly got herself composed and went to the baby. She picked him up. Aaron was wet. For a tick she thought she would have to get up and make him a clean diaper, but she quickly recalled the pile that Charlie had left.

Why did he have to make it so hard for her to forget him? Charlie wasn't allowed to see the baby or in actuality even Claire for that matter, but he still every so often made nappies for Aaron and left them by Claire's place when she wasn't looking.

Claire glanced over to where Charlie had parked himself. Since the episode with the baby, Charlie had spent most of his time sitting on the sand, not quite in the water and watching the waves roll in and out of the shoreline.

Claire wondered if he was still using. He had discarded all of the heroin that was inside the figurine. But how could she know that that was the last of it? He knew what was within the statue before it was shattered - there had to be more of them. He most likely had a few of them stashed somewhere.

Claire felt like she should hate Charlie. For what he did to the baby. For being mendacious. For lying to her. But she couldn't hate him, no matter how much she tried. He tried to look after her, yes, but he failed at even that. He made her laugh so hard sometimes, but it seemed to be something to hide his own insecurity, to conceal his habit and his past. He was a drug-addict, a loser, and she suspected him of setting the camp ablaze to make a distraction while he took the baby. But there was something about him that made her want to hold on to him and forgive him for everything he did. She felt like a loon for clinging to him still.

Charlie was like that song, "He's Evil" by the Kinks. It wasn't a particularly good song, the lyrics weren't great, the music wasn't anything out of the ordinary. But you loved it all the same, maybe because it made you laugh or because just hearing it put you in high spirits for some baffling, unexplained reason.

She longed to remember her first two weeks on the island. In her subconscious, there had to be knowledge about Charlie locked away. She felt that if she could remember, her inexplicable fondness -even love- for Charlie would be explained.

The Claire that had written the diary seemed a lot surer about trusting Charlie than the Claire that was now changing Aaron's nappy. She wondered if that Claire had known about the drugs. One of the few things she remembered was Charlie mentioning his addiction. But she also dredged up a nervous "I'm clean now" following the statement.

Claire was still staring at Charlie when Aaron cried out. Charlie turned, concerned, and caught a glimpse of Claire looking at him before she turned away. Claire didn't want Charlie to know. It would only make matters more difficult. Charlie started to get up, then thought better of it and stayed put. Claire needed space. He respected that, as much as he didn't like it. He got back to staring blankly at the crashing waves.

"Everybody, make way!" Jack and Kate carried a girl in from the jungle. She was wearing a blue jacket and jeans, and was shoeless. And she wasn't one of the 48 survivors from the fuselage or one of the tailies. No one recognized her.

"Oh, man, she's not one of the Others?" Hurley asked, hoping it wasn't. Only a few were in on the fact that just recently one of them had been captured. As this idea swept over, the crowd grew anxious. Sayid was especially uneasy. He didn't want to torture a teenage girl without prior questioning and proof that she knew anything. That she was really an Other. Jack gave her some water to drink and brought her around.

Jin was yelling something, repeating it. Everyone wondered what he was saying.

She opened her eyes. She looked around, nervous. But she didn't panic. "Where am I? Who are you?" She again scanned her surroundings.

"You're on an island, somewhere in the south Pacific. Where did you come from?" Jack questioned.

"I…I'm from Tustin, California. In Orange County. I… I was in Sydney, by myself, I went to go see this band… I was getting on a plane to LAX tomorrow. "

"Do you know what flight it was?"

"Um… 185 … No it was 815… I'm pretty sure."

Sayid huddled next to Jack. "The Others… they know our flight number. They could have planted this girl- their last attempt failed. They think that we won't fall for it, a teenage girl with a broken memory. But they are wrong. Something about this girl is strange."

"We can't be so sure, Sayid. We can't know that she's not telling the truth."

Charlie overheard them, then glanced at the girl and suddenly remembered something. "No," he said softly, but loud enough so that everyone heard. "Wait, she… you were sitting near me. On the plane. I remember." He moved his glance from the girl to the ground. "She's not one of them."

The girl looked at the man who spoke out for her. "Charlie?" Charlie kept his vision directed at the soft sand under his shoes.

"How do you know Charlie's name?" Jack interrogated as Claire came up to the back of the small crowd that was gathering around Jack, Kate, and the girl who were at the centre.

She looked at Charlie, for some reason, with a hurt expression on her face. "He's Charlie. From Driveshaft. The genius behind it all." She gave a wry smile. Charlie kept his glance at his feet. Just about all and sundry noticed the look of shame on his face.