Desmond woke up with a bunch of sand on his face. As his eyes adapted to the midday sunlight, he realized someone had placed some blankets on an improvised wood structure over his head, so that the brightness wouldn't hit him directly on the face.

"Yey! He's alive! You owe me thirty more dollars!" Hurley's voice sounded somewhere near Desmond's location.

What in hell was happening there? The Scotsman quickly sat on the sand, trying to figure out how in godforsaken earth he could had slept until mid-bloody-day. He rubbed his eyes while having some hangover symptoms, although he couldn't recall any drinks from last night.

Hurley was laughing and Sawyer was looking at Desmond with a very disappointed expression on his face.

"Whatever, Jabba", Sawyer replied, an evil smile forming on his lips. "The Scotty over there won't last anyway, so you'd better keep my money at hand".

Hurley rolled his eyes and came towards Desmond, a gentle smile on his face.

"Hey, Desmundo... I'm sorry, man. I wouldn't bet if I really thought you were dead, you know..."

Desmond had some hard time while trying to stand up, but he finally did so. He passed his hands again and again on the trousers that were ruined by the sandy night.

"Wha' happened? How come I..." but as the memory lightened inside his mind, Desmond stared at Hurley with worry.

Charlie.

Desmond had been with Charlie last night and he was pushing a boat into the deep sea and...

"Hey, hey, calm down, Desmond, man!" Hurley said, his hands shaking the Scotsman's shoulder as if he tried to bring disturbed Desmond back to earth. "It's alright, you know, you just overslept, but you kinda needed that, so..."

"Charlie" he stammered, his eyes still looking for the other Brit in the camp. "Where's Charlie?"

Hurley seemed confused, his eyebrows now lowered.

"Huh... He was right here and just went somewhere else, but..."

"Right here, mate" Charlie's voice replied.

Both Hurley and Desmond looked around, and there was Charlie showing up on the shore, coming back from Claire's tent. Desmond knew he was worried about that Brit, but the feeling that took place inside his chest was so profound, he asked himself for a while what was the bloody meaning of such a worry.

Despite he didn't want to overreact and seem more of a lunatic than everybody already thought he was, Desmond just couldn't avoid a smile from taking place on his own face. Hurley suddenly disappeared and he didn't even notice which side he went.

"Hi, mate" Charlie said. "Finally got the rest you needed? After sleeping for three years in that stupid hatch, you deserve to get some sleep after all."

The rest he needed...?

Oh, no, Desmond didn't get the rest he needed, not at all. It's true he had overslept, but with that image of the Brit-boy showing up just to ask him about how his night had been... Bad. That was actually really bad, but Des finally realized the rest he needed wasn't only related to a good night's sleep.

It was also related to...

"Aye, brotha. Ready for another three years in another bloody hatch."

That acid sense of humor! Charlie laughed at him for a while, just sharing the nice moment he also needed to experience himself.

"So, any dreams this time?", Charlie asked, his tone of voice expressing a little concern. But he didn't wait for the answer. "Bloody hell!", he shouted, running into the poor wood structure that had protected Desmond from the sunlight.

The wind was blowing really fast and the blankets that had been arranged in the woods were now trickling away on the shore.

"That yours?", Desmond asked, suddenly running to help him gather all those things once more. They finished the task in a few seconds. "Sorry, brotha, Ah didn't know that was yours. Someone placed that stuff over my head and..."

Oh, for God's sake. What was Desmond saying? What was he trying to explain?

He looked at the Brit with his eyes widen, as he had just realized there was a tiny miserable possibility that Charlie had placed those things himself over Des' head, to protect him from the midday sun.

Suddenly, Charlie pulled the blankets out of Desmond's hands, blushing. Oh, God, was he really blushing with that sulky expression once more?

"Don't know who placed his there" he explained, embarrassed. "These bastards are always getting my stuff..."

A nervous smile formed on the Scot's face, as he felt a pumping inside his own trousers. The tension dried his throat, his heart beating so loudly, that a sudden fear of Charlie being able to hear it rose inside his mind.

It was so wrong, so bloody wrong... Penny was waiting for him, Claire was counting on Charlie, but still...

No, it had to be an impression, just an impression. Of course it was only his heavy dirty mind playing tricks on him away, getting its revenge for being isolated for three years in a bloody dark and cold hatch, placed in the underground of a cursed island, in the middle of godforsaken nowhere...

"Well, I... I have to go and help Claire with Aaron."

"Aye... Sure..."

"See you later then."

Desmond nodded with that stupid expression on his face, gazing at Charlie while the Brit walked to Claire's tent once more. And despite the Scot didn't want to admit not even for himself, he instinctively scanned the whole tiny body that belonged to Charlie, and for some reason he felt a...

"Watch your head, Scotty!" Sawyer's voice shouted, but it was already too late, as the table tennis ball accidentally hit Desmond on his face.

So distracted. Such a shame...

Desmond finally shook his head and threw the ball back to Sawyer.

He had to figure out what was going on with himself, and more than that, he had to figure out if it was also happening with Charlie. He had to figure out, before those thoughts drove him mad.