Author's note: I was writing this and accidentally erased the end and had to rewrite it! I was so mad. But I rewrote it with some making out, so I hope you enjoy! Sorry for the long wait. Lyrics are from "Amie" by Damien Rice.

Disclaimer: I still don't own Lost or its characters.

You know when you've found it,

There's something I've learned

'Cause you feel it when they take it away

Desmond wanted someone to talk to, someone to tell him what to do, to sort him out. He thought of his father, gone so long ago, giving fatherly advice and remonstration from the chair next to his table full of ashtrays and books.

But as he woke up each morning alone, he realized more and more that no one could quite understand his feelings, and even more than that, no one else could tell him what to do.

So he talked to himself.

Not aloud, lunatic fashion, but on paper, tapping out his thoughts on an antique typewriter. He began with writing whatever passed through his head, but soon he was trying to orient himself, trying to do that task that had been so impossible on the island. Living in a timeless, airless bottle, full of visions and empty of hope. He typed out all that he remembered, a map of his life. He made a story-shaped chart, beginning with a little boy in Scotland and moving through love, fear, work, weapons, and visions. He named every star that had been his compass throughout his life—Father, Mother, Ruth, God, Penny, honor, the button, Claire (oh, Claire).

He wrote a book.

He finished it in less than two weeks, his work interrupted only by food, sleep, and solitary strolls around his neighborhood. He didn't live in L.A. for those two weeks. He lived inside himself, navigating his own coasts and waters and marking his way.

When he finished, he read Our Mutual Friend. Now he knew that he could only plot his life out backwards. He should save nothing for the future. The future was imaginary, the past was finished and dissected and useless. Only today was his.

This realization made him uncomfortably realize that he hadn't talked to Claire in more than two weeks and that he had no idea how she was, or even where she was living. His new position on living in the present seemed like it would impel him to go to her, because he didn't want to spend any more time without her, but what would it change? She knew he loved her. What could he do but wait?

The day after he completed his book, he realized what he could do. He could send it to her, let her be the first in the world to see it, let her read his factual history and his unforgettable feelings, and then he would know, no matter what she decided, that she had judged him for what he really was and known him truly, as he'd wished to be known for so long. ("I don't even like red," he thought.

He printed out his book on ordinary computer paper and bound it together haphazardly with string poked through holes gouged out by scissors. He was going to give it to her in person, but he decided against it. He didn't want to see her until he knew she would truly see him—all of him. He mailed it instead, sending it with her name and Jin and Sun's address in case she was still there. (Maybe he was being falsely hopeful.)

It was seven days later when she appeared, and it had seemed an appropriately long time to wait, an expanse of time so long that he could easily believe the world had been created in it.

She drove up alone in Sun's car. Aaron's baby seat was in the backseat, but empty. She emerged slowly, her purse over her shoulder and his manuscript in her hands. He was watching her through the window, and he abandoned the pretense of waiting casually by opening the door before she rang the bell.

When she saw him, she dropped the book, and he jumped, but it was only so that she could grab his hands.

"Please let me talk before I forget everything I have to say," she whispered.

"Of course." Blood rushed through his veins to get into his hands, closer to her.

She took a deep breath before she spoke. "I've been thinking about leaving Charlie for a long time. Partly because of you, but not only because of you. I've been wondering if stranded on an island, all pregnant and alone is really the best way to meet someone and decide to be together. I mean, it started out so uneven, like he was giving me everything." She looked down, then bravely met his eyes again. "And it was wonderful because I felt all alone there until he came to me." A sad smile. "But, you know, it's like that became our whole life, Charlie giving me things and me taking them and me needing him and him loving to be needed. It was always, 'Oh, let me do that, Claire' or 'Don't worry, I'll take care of it' and him giving gifts and helping out and me just taking it all in, and it was nice, but it was like I was waiting for something to happen. I guess I was waiting for him to change, to stop giving me all of his attention, and he did… but that might be my fault. Maybe I couldn't trust his love enough to let it keep on like that. I don't think I could ever trust him, and I don't know if that's his fault or mine, but I know it hurt us. It's not just about the drugs, it's because I never got over the first time I found out he wasn't what I had thought he was."

Desmond squeezed her hand, brushed away her tears, almost forgetting that she was telling him all about her love affair with another man at the sight of her hurt.

"But see, you gave me something so wonderful because when you were so hurt… when we were rescued, you know, and you found out about Penny… you needed me. I did things for you and I was the one who was strong and helpful and it felt good. But it wasn't that simple, because when I was scared that I was pregnant, I came to you, like I needed you. It was like we couldn't help but tell the truth to each other. I've never wanted someone to be with me when I'm sad. That's usually when I push people away, you know, 'Don't bother, I'm fine, it's nothing.' I try to do that to you and it never works."

"I can't hide things from you, either. Not well enough." He felt like his heart was aching with relief even as it burst with anticipation.

"So anyway, the point is… for weeks I've been thinking about what I should do about Charlie, and I've been making this pro-con list in my head, and sort of trying to compare options… like if I leave him, will the relief be better than the pain of having to change everything? If I stay, will the stress and the loneliness and… and being the one always taking everything… will it be worth the love he gives me? Because I know he loves me. I know I… would miss him." The tears flowed again in earnest, but she stifled them to continue. "Then one day I thought of this comparison—'If I stay with him, will it be worth never being with Desmond again?' Because I can't be with you and still be with him… things can't stay the way they have been. I had been imagining all these scenarios and going back and forth between them, but when I thought about never seeing you, I just thought I can't. I imagined never talking to you again and never seeing you again and I felt like I was going to throw up. I felt like I couldn't even really imagine what it would be like."

She smiled, looking relieved and unburdened. "I got your book and it was amazing, because you hadn't told me some of the things in it, but it was like they all fit into the way I thought of you, filling in missing pieces, but you were the same person I loved, but now I know you more." She laughed a little, her eyes still unnaturally bright. "Are you sure you want to love me? You still don't know some of the things that would be in my book."

"I'm very sure." He felt frightened of the emotions welling up in him, too big for his body, too big even for his book. He realized he was squeezing her hands, and that she was squeezing back. It took only a little tug to have her in his arms, in the present at last.

"Oh, I meant to tell you." Her voice was muffled against his chest. "I moved out. I mean, I moved into my own apartment. I used the money from the Oceanic lawsuit, but I'm going to get some kind of a job soon. Maybe at a daycare so I can take Aaron. Or I could find a piercing studio that likes babies."

He laughed into her hair. You could move in with me, he thought, but didn't say. He knew her more now. He knew that she had mapped out her past and figured out where she wanted to be—standing on her own two feet, and standing with him. He tugged at her hair to tip her face back and answered her good news with a long kiss. Her hands were clinging too his collar, wanting, pulling him closer, and he remembered holding her limp, drowning body in her arms, and bringing her back to life. He remembered her shining in the sun on two different beaches, crying in his house, holding an orange tree. He remembered the path that had brought them here.

She finally broke the kiss when they were both gasping, their chests heaving in tandem against one another. "You," she sighed.

"Yes?" His smiled seemed fixed to his face.

"You need to do something with your book. It's wonderful. I've never read anything like it. Reading it was like… it was like being inside you."

He cupped her cheek and ran his thumb along her cheekbone. "You're already inside me."

She leaned into his touch. "I want to stay."

A/N: This is not the very end… I think I will have to write an epilogue. Please tell me what you think!