Title: Destiny
Summary: Charlie and Desmond commiserate over being separated from their loves. Angst.
Rating: PG
Characters: Charlie, Desmond
Word Count: 981
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost, Lost owns me.
"You can't go near her, Charlie. I'm sorry, but if you do, you'll die."
Desmond's words may have carried the weight of prophecy but he was no prophet. God wasn't speaking through Desmond; on the contrary he felt like the devil himself. Charlie and Claire had nothing on this island but each other to cling to, that and Claire's small child that Charlie loved as his own. Who was he to destroy their happiness? Yet, it was the only way he could see to save him.
Now they sat side by side like tombstones. Charlie's face was pale; with his knees drawn up he stared out at the ocean, wasted and empty. When Desmond had come upon him he knew that Charlie had been crying, but the younger man swiped at his eyes when he saw him approach. Desmond thought it ironic that Charlie hadn't reacted this way to news of his own impending death; it was when he had told Charlie that he had to leave Claire that he fell apart.
Claire didn't understand. With Charlie's consent Desmond explained it to her because at first she had accused Charlie of abandoning her -- a charge that Charlie later said tore further at his heart. He had wanted Claire to know that it wasn't his choice. Claire cried as he left her tent with his things, while Charlie saved his tears for later.
Desmond mourned for them both.
He didn't know what the couple had been through in their time here but he could tell they had bonded closely over some shared experience. Being separated was like a death for both of them, and Desmond held the bloody knife. He wondered if it would have been better if he had said nothing.
He indulged in another swig of the whiskey he had taken to carrying with him and handed Charlie the bottle.
"A drink, brother?" he asked.
Charlie ignored the spirit. He hadn't spoken since Desmond joined him so Desmond was surprised when after a moment small, frail words escaped his lips while his face remained expressionless.
"I don't drink," he said.
Desmond couldn't imagine ever being so down that he couldn't drink.
"Maybe it's time you started," Desmond joked.
"I mean I can't," said Charlie. "I'm an addict. Or, I was. Heroin mostly, but I would do right to stay away from anything."
It was an admission that made Desmond realise how little he knew Charlie. As a couple he and Claire seemed so innocent, almost childlike, yet he knew that Charlie wasn't the father of Claire's child, and that the real father had run off. Apparently they had both been put through the wringer of life.
Desmond dropped the bottle down into the sand and tried to think of the proper response to Charlie's disturbing confession. Before he could formulate it, Charlie was speaking again.
"It's a real kick in the teeth isn't it?" he said.
"What is?" asked Desmond.
"I always seem to be attracted to the thing that could kill me. After kicking drugs, getting healthy, after all Claire and I have been through and to come through it all, only to be forced apart in the end and for the very same reason," he said.
"Aye," said Desmond. "I'm sorry. Maybe some people are just destined to go through life alone."
Charlie looked at him, surprised by Desmond's bluntness.
"Thanks, Cheerful," he said.
Desmond shrugged, "I've thought about it myself." He reached into his pocket and took out the folded photograph he carried with him. He held it out and Charlie glanced at it. "Penny and I," he explained, "fate always seemed to be working against us as well. Well, that and her father. I thought I could change it, that I could choose my own path, but whatever road I took, it kept leading me to the same place."
"Maybe we've both been deemed unworthy," said Charlie. "I know I deserve it, anyway."
"I didn't think I deserved her either," said Desmond. "I went off and enlisted in the bloody army to try and prove something, but that only made things worse. When I entered the sailing race she accused me of running away. She was right, of course."
They fell silent again, both men drowning in their darkest thoughts.
Charlie sighed, resting his chin on his knees. "It'd be so much easier if I didn't love her."
"Of course it would," said Desmond.
Desmond should have been feeling like a hero. He had saved Charlie's life half a dozen times over by now, yet he loathed himself more each time. He looked out at the crystal blue waves and felt the impact from his own kick in the teeth – that he should inflict the same damage on another couple that he had done to himself and to Penny.
Charlie turned to him in a moment of clarity, a voice more confident, but laced with anger. "Why are you doing this for me Desmond? You don't even know me. Why are you trying so hard to keep me alive?"
Desmond considered the question. It was a fair one, and yet he hadn't taken the time to articulate it to Charlie since this entire mess began, although it had never escaped his thoughts.
"Because it's the right thing to do," he responded, "and because if I can do it, if I can save you, then there's still a chance for Penny and me. I haven't destroyed it for all time. If I can change it, there's a chance for us all if we ever get off this bloody island."
Charlie thought, working through the implications of Desmond's words, searching for any hope that may be hiding inside them.
"Then maybe I can still have a future with Claire," he said.
Desmond put a hand on Charlie's shoulder and smiled. "That part will be up to you."