"You can't go, Claire." Desmond's accent was thick as he argued with her. He couldn't let her do this, she was mad to think that she could go off like this.

"I have to." Claire said softly, so softly that she could have been talking to herself. She refused to even look at Desmond--and she had every right to be furious with him.

It was nearly three weeks since they had heard that Charlie was dead. And Desmond had personally claimed the responsibility of his death. There could have been another way, Charlie didn't have to die. But no... Charlie was dead.
Claire had ordered him out of her sight, telling him to never speak to her again. But here Desmond was, of all people, arguing with her over her decision.

"But you can't!" His voice grew more urgent. "You can't just leave, Claire. What about Aaron?"
Desmond paced back and forth outside her open tent. It was late night now; there were only a few people still awake. And they were on watch.

"I can't? I can't leave?" Claire's tone became defensive and she finally looked up at him. "Who are you Desmond, to say who stays and who goes, who lives and who dies?"
She rose angrily and walked out of the tent, stopping him in his path. "Who the hell do you think you are to make those decisions?"

"I don't decide Claire. It's... it's..."
He stopped, she wouldn't understand. Or if she did, she wouldn't listen.

"It's what? Flashes again?" She said with obvious disdain. "Can't get past the voices in your head?" Her voice was growing louder now. "They are the reason why Charlie is dead Desmond. Don't you forget that."
The distant firelight reflected in her eyes. Claire was glaring at him, daring him to answer.

"You don't think I know that?" Desmond snapped. "That every day I'm not haunted by the fact that another man's blood is on my hands?" He was inches away from her now, his voice low and angry.
"How, how could I forget?"

Claire remained visibly unmoved by this outburst. It was everything she could do to hold her ground.

Desmond turned away from her now and he spoke quietly.
"It was fate, Claire."

This startled her.
"Excuse me!?"

"Charlie's death. It was the destiny that he chose."

"It was the destiny that he chose because you gave him no other choice!" She exclaimed bitterly. "You told him that he would die saving us all, getting us rescued. But he died for nothing, didn't he. He died for nothing..."

"He didn't die for nothing, Claire." Desmond said gently, he reached out to comfort her.
She shrugged him off.

"Really?"
She was sarcastic.

"He died for you, you and Aaron both."

"Don't you dare" Claire stepped back, trembling slightly "Don't you dare put it on me. I didn't ask Charlie to die..."
She grabbed the nearest pole that was holding up the tent to steady herself. Claire suddenly felt like she would be sick. Why the hell was she even discussing this with him? It was his fault. She wouldn't be blamed. Charlie wouldn't be blamed, she would not tolerate it.

"No one asked Charlie to die" Desmond was growing desperate now. Whatever happened, she couldn't go. But she would, he knew, unless he could somehow convince her to stay. He was running out of options too quickly. "He chose his own fate."

"Will you two please be quiet?"
Sun's voice came sleepily from behind. "Some of us are trying to get some sleep tonight."

Claire turned around quickly, forgetting that she felt lightheaded. "Oh! Sun, I'm so sorry. We weren't thinking."

"Is everything alright, Claire?" Sun asked, concerned. She eyed Desmond briefly and noted that Claire didn't look so good.

"Yeah Sun, everything's fine. Really." She glanced at Desmond "We were just finishing here. Go on back to bed, we won't disturb you again."

"Alright."
Sun shot a questioning look at Claire but got no response, so she went back to her tent mumbling a "Goodnight" as she walked away.

"You were saying, Desmond?"
Claire hissed, once she was sure that Sun was really gone.

"Charlie chose his own fa-"
Desmond stopped mid-sentence.
Claire had put her hand up to silence him--he obeyed.

She looked to the stars, still gripping the pole for support.
Claire was silent for several moments as she watched the sky. Astrology.. the stars. Fate, chance, destiny. A God? Hell, even life. What did she believe in now? She didn't know... and the thought was numbing.

"I-I don't believe in fate."
She whispered finally, still looking upwards.

Now it was Desmond's turn to be perplexed.
"Come again?"

"I don't believe in fate" Claire repeated firmly.

"Charlie did."
It was out before he thought about it--and he instantly regretted it. "Claire I-"

Claire shook her head, her eyes blazing.
"Don't. Don't even try to apologize. You're right, Charlie did believe in fate. To a certain degree."
She let it sink in before she continued "But not enough to go and get himself killed for it." She choked "He wouldn't have chosen death."

"But he did, Claire. Don't you see that? Charlie knew what he was doing when he went down there. He knew exactly what he was doing."
Desmond was still forceful and urgent, though he tried now not to be.

"No." Claire shook her head. "No.. he never would have gone if he really knew that he was going to die. You can't tell me that he knew."
She looked up, there eyes met. Hers were glistening with tears that could barely be seen in the dimming firelight. "Why didn't you save him, Desmond? Just, just one more time. Couldn't you have rescued him?"

"Oh Claire" Desmond wrapped his arms around her and this time she didn't push him away. "Claire I tried to save him. I did everything that I could do. But Charlie..." He had not spoken of how Charlie had knocked him senseless on the boat. Nor of how he had sealed the door when the chamber was going to fill.
"Charlie believed that it was his time. I can show you..."

Gentle sobs shook her body, and the tears that she had thought dry ran freely.
"Show me what?" Claire finally whispered, though she dreaded his answer. She gripped his arm so tightly that it hurt a little. He first thought it was in anger but quickly realized that it wasn't--Claire had little strength left to stand. She was shaking so violently.

"Here let's sit down a moment, you aren't well."
He helped her sit down and then handed her a bottle of water.
Claire opened the bottle but never put it to her lips.
"Show me what, Des?" She asked weakly. "What is it?"

"I, er, Charlie.." Desmond hesitated, putting his hand into his breast pocket, he pulled out a letter. A letter that he had not read. "He asked me to give this to you." He handed it to her and she took it gingerly.

"Three weeks? You've had this for three weeks and you didn't say anything?" She questioned slowly, brow raised. "Why not?"

He shrugged. "You were not ready for it."

Claire shook her head yet again and thumbed the letter open.
Dear Claire
The letter began in what was clearly Charlie's handwriting. Claire had been written first and he had squished the letters together to put "Dear" in.

If you are reading this now then I am probably gone. Dead. Don't blame Desmond, it's not his fault. No one's really.

Claire's stomach betrayed her and she had to turn away, vomiting.

"Claire..."
Desmond began, but Claire made a motion with her hand to silence him.

"Dude. Claire are you okay?"
It was Hurley. He was on watch tonight, making his bi-hourly rounds through the camp. "Des what's wrong with her?"

"She is sick, mate." Desmond replied with some exasperation.

"Well what happened?"

"I don't know. I gave her a letter and then..."
He gestured toward with his hands.

"She got sick?"
Hurley asked with some doubt.
"Who was the letter from?"

Desmond was silent. That was a question that he did not want to have to answer.

Hurley was persistent though, he would get the answer one way or another.
"Who's it from, Desmond?"

"It's... it's from Charlie."
Desmond finally replied.

"Ohh. You mean that thing he was writing when-"

Desmond nodded. "That's it."

"Dude, you should like, leave her alone now."
Hurley said quietly so that Claire could not hear.
"I mean no offense, but I don't think that she's in the right state of mind to see you. And you might just make things worse."

"I-I already have, Brotha." Desmond said grimly. "I already have."

He turned and walked away slowly, but Hurley lingered by Claire's tent until Desmond was out of sight.

"Hey Claire?" Hurley began awkwardly "You okay?"

Claire waited until she was sure that her stomach had settled before she replied.
"Yeah I-I-I-I'm fine." She looked up and smiled weakly. "Thanks, Hurley."

"Uhh. You don't look 'fine' Claire. I think you should go see Jack." Hurley said skeptically. "Like right now."

Claire shook her head. "No, really I'm fine. I don't need a doctor. And besides..." She whispered "I'm not sick with anything that he could cure."

"Yes you do, Claire." Hurley insisted. "And I'm going to go get him."

"Don't!" Claire exclaimed fiercely. "Please don't. There is no sense in waking him. Jack doesn't get enough sleep as it is."

"But you need him." Hurley was resolved. Claire needed to talk to someone. And Jack was the best person he could think of. He was their leader.

"Alright, alright!" She finally relented, only so that he would leave her alone. "I'll see Jack first thing in the morning. Not before then."

"You promise?"

Claire sighed. "Yes, Hurley. I promise."
Geez.
"Now if you don't mind, I'd like to get some sleep... tomorrow is going to be one hell of a day."

"Oh. Right, I'm sorry. Uhh.. see you in the morning, Claire."
He turned to walk away.

"Hurley wait."
Claire stopped him. "Take this with you."
She held out the letter. "I- I can't read it. Not now. Please take it."

Hurley stepped back with an expression on his face that suggested he was afraid the thing would bite him if he touched it.
"Dude I can't. Charlie, he wanted you to have that."
He said gently. "Put it under your pillow or something, save it until you can read it. But I can't take it."

"Hurley please.." Claire pleaded though she sensed it was pointless.

"Uh-uh. Night, Claire."
Hurley walked away, leaving her alone.

"Damn it."
Claire swore to herself. Why were they doing this? They couldn't honestly believe that they could change her mind. Could they?

She finally made her way to bed, it took some time.
Claire was weak from crying so much- and she had eaten very little in the past few weeks. She had no appetite.

"Good God, what am I doing?"
She whispered into the dark. "What the hell am I doing?"

Claire had not said a prayer since she was five years old. Twenty or so years ago, when she had not had to wonder about so many things. A faith that only a child could have.
She wasn't sure now what she believed. If there was a God out there. Who or what they were.
The stars had made more sense to her. But now, lately, they didn't say anything. It was as though she had completely drawn a blank.
Desperate times call for desperate measures, right?
And besides, Charlie had believed in a God. The least she could do was respect that.

"Well um, God? If you're out there somewhere?"
Wow did that sound stupid. Why was this so hard?
"I... I don't want to remember. I don't want to remember any of this, anything that has to do with Charlie. Please just make it all go away."

She finished with a broken sob. And once again... Claire cried herself to sleep.