A/N: Thanks especially to ILoveNeil for the lovely (and only) review! You are my star. Hope you guys enjoy this one, even if it is only one person reading. As far as I know. Oops, do I sound bitter? Just joking =) No but seriously, if you're reading this right now, a review would be nice.

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

Time to Let Go:

Claire would have been happy to remain in her lover's arms for all eternity. She sighed contently into Charlie's abdomen, enjoying the feel of his talented (in oh so many ways) fingers sifting through long blonde strands, massaging her scalp to help her relax. It was a perk, and not necessary, because unless one of the two of them were in danger or they were in the middle of a row of some kind, being in Charlie's company was always enjoyable. This time was always used to unwind.

You'd think that, given all the time in the world that they posessed so isolated here on the island, she could feel carefree and lighthearted mostly every moment. But that was was not a fact. Despite her comfortable position practically laying in Charlie's lap and her eyes closed, she was really thinking hard.

Desmond had kissed her today. It wasn't that it hadn't felt nice, because, guiltily, Claire had to admit that it had. But when the butterflies swarming her tummy had turned to numb shock at his boldness, then confusion and heart wrenching guilt for such an incredible betrayal of her man, the good feeling had dissipated entirely. Leaving only fury that the Scot had dared do such a thing he knew was prohibited, knew she didn't want him to, and bitter sorrow that Charlie might think his special role in her life was being replaced.

Because it so wasn't! Claire experienced a fresh wave of anger as she recalled the feel of Desmond's lips on hers, so powerful that she had to lock her jaw to keep from grinding pearly white teeth together. It wasn't that she liked Desmond, in that way or any since she'd discovered he had played a large part in the death of her child (although no greater than her own, she couldn't deny that), but now she couldn't seem to get him out of her mind. He was a rather attractive fellow, yes, if you were into that rugged, barely sane look. However, no one made her heart beat faster like Charlie did, no one could bring her arousal to its highest peak like he could, and that would never change.

The bastard, she thought furiously, nuzzling Charlie to calm herself. I don't even like him. Truly. Why can't I just forget all about him and try to enjoy some quality time with Charlie? But recalling Desmond's stolen kiss filled her with guilt and hatred and humiliation, to the brim, so entirely that she simply could not let the issue go.

"Charlie," she sat up, against him, perched on his knee. "You never did tell me what happened between you and Desmond back when you went to speak to him." It wasn't a question, and Charlie therefore did not feel inclined to answer. At least not directly.

"Didn't I? Thought I all ready had, poppet. Must be going barmy," he went cross eyed, making Claire giggle, but only for a moment. Then she was all business once more.

"You most certainly did not," she informed him primly, looking down her nose in an imitation of high society. She was only teasing, though. However much she may want answers, to know what she had missed out on while fast asleep, keeping the atmosphere light was crucial. Demanding to know what had happened between the two men brusquely would get her nowhere, and only spoil their moods and this moment. No, the trick was to butter Charlie up.

"Sorry," he murmured, his mouth at her ear, breath hot on the back of her neck. "I guess I dropped the ball. My arse isn't constantly in gear the way yours is, you know," this with a little tap to her behind, making Claire laugh once more, however much against her will. Charlie had that effect on her.

"Oh, I know that's true," she shot back, grinning like a half wit and kissing the corner of his mouth chastely. They sat together in companionable silence for a few moments, taking in the sights and sounds and smells of each other like they were never going to see one another again; the soft pound of Charlie's heartbeat, reassuring Claire that he was okay, not like he'd been when it had stopped. His beautiful baby face, with that charming, boyish smile--smooth because, for once, he'd shaved. Not to mention that musky, manly scent of ocean and campfire smoke and sweat that was only him and created an appealing enough medley to dazzle her senseless.

After a while, though, Claire's patience was fading. "Well, are you?" She asked, slowly, like she was trying to communicate with someone from another hemisphere, who spoke a different language. Charlie mussed up her hair, took his time in answering, trying to see just how far he could push her before her brow crinkled in that pout he found so adorable. Unaware that right now, Claire wasn't up for being pushed.

"I suppose so," he told her, just as she'd opened her mouth to prompt him once more. She shut it with a snap, eager to hear what had happened only a little while ago across the beach in Desmond's tent, all ears. "Although I don't see why it matters. What's done is done, Claire, and Desmond knows that unless he says a very sincere sorry to you, and stays far away from then on, I'll finish him."

Claire bit her lip, more upset than she should be at the time it was taking to gather the information she wanted. "Oh, do shut up and tell me what happened!" She cried suddenly, catching the man in whose arms she was settled off guard.

Charlie waggled his eyebrows, laughing mentally at what he guessed to be simply premenstrual syndrome sharpening his beloveds tone. He knew better than to ask her if this was the case, and said instead, "I can't very well tell you what happened if I'm to shut up, can I? You can't have it both ways, love!" and winking at her look of outrage.

Claire refused to take the bait. "Please," she sighed, counting to ten in her head to keep from biting his head off, "tell me what happened, Charlie?" In her moodiness she'd forgotten the knowledge of what it took to make him spill: sweet talk. Why was she so moody, anyway? I need a hit, she realized, shuddering at the sudden need she felt for just that.

Charlie smiled, smugly, like a fool in Claire's opinion. Sometime or another he would have to find out just how many times he was able to make her say please... "That was all you needed to say," he confided, chuckling. And despite her annoyance with him the Aussie couldn't help but find him adorable. She squeezed his hand, let him know she still loved him even if he could be the biggest pain in the arse around.

The blonde settled herself comfortably once more, ready to be let in on the information she craved. "Go ahead," she encouraged, when she caught him scrutinizing her body from toes to torso, felt his gaze on her mouth. "I'm listening," and batted her lashes, dazing him momentarily with the sensuality of her allure.

"The son of a bitch tried to apologize once or twice," he began, feeling at once more at ease in his own skin as Claire fastened an arm 'round his midsection and rested her golden head against his chest, "but that was only after I roughed him up a bit. The jerk had the audacity to threaten us!" A little tremble worked through him, hurt and betrayed anger flaring at the recollection. His hand curled into a fist, unconsciously, and it was not he but Claire who noticed. "'Remember, your lives are in my hands, brother,' he said. I myself would like to kill him with my bare hands."

He had a good reason to be angry, Claire knew. But she didn't like seeing his eyes darken like this, reflecting the aggressiveness he was no doubt feeling inside. She wished she could remove all negativity from his heart, wipe the slate clean, and keep him pure with affection and the loyalty of her love. They could rebuild the church! "That makes two of us," she told him.

But it was not entirely true and more for Charlie's benefit that she said this--she wished more so that the Scotsman would keep out of their lives but to save them, go away, than for any harm to befall him. Her tone was soft, distant; sad, even. And the fact that Charlie didn't notice (or else simply didn't comment) brought her close to tears.

Charlie smiled softly, comforted by her words, and stroked the twenty one year old's hair, not making eye contact. She was so young, and yet ancient, older than half of those they had crashed with or had already been on the island when the survivor's of the crash of flight 815. How could the terrible things that had happened to them have possibly occurred to such a youthful, kindhearted, innocent creature such as herself? He could scarcely believe that God (if there was such a thing, for as of late he had been having his doubts) had let her be hurt the way that she had been. Too bad the knowledge was seared inside him, proving itself by the hurting in his heart & soul for Claire's suffering.

"When I entered his tent he was staring at a picture bawling his eyes out, Des was," he told her. She'd asked for what had happened and so he was not going to leave out anything; though by no means quote what had happened betwen he and his ex friend word for word. "It was of him, and some girl."

"Penny," came Claire's whisper, the photograph reminding her of when she'd been confronted by it. Or, found it, more, when she'd been snooping Desmond's tent, waiting for him to return so that she could speak to him about something of urgent importance. That she was frightened Charlie had started using again, was on drugs. She laughed at herself now, at how far she had come since that moment and place in time. Pitiful, really.

Charlie nodded, glancing into her face with curious surprise. "Yes," he confirmed, "that's what Desmond called her. The photo is obviously incredibly sentimental to him--I ask myself why he would put the moves on you if he's so head over heels for this Penelope."

Claire was glad that her man hadn't asked her how she'd known the woman's name. Not that she had done anything wrong in her little visit to the Scotsman--it was just better that Charlie didn't know. She said nothing in reply, and Charlie mistook her silence as something else, working quickly to correct the situation for fear of upsetting his precious angel.

"Not that you're not completely lust-worthy, love," he told the woman in his embrace, giving her a tight squeeze and smooching her neck. "Any guy would be lucky to have you. I'm lucky to have you."

This had Claire beaming, depression and desperation forgotten, and she chucked him under the chin affectionately for the beautiful words with which he praised her. "Are you kidding? I'm the one overly fortunate to have you." If only things could prove to be fortunate for them entirely, things go smoothly for once, unlike the bad luck they'd been experiencing as of late. The thought crossed through both of their minds, though neither said it. She continued before she could dwell on Aaron's death a moment longer, for fear of dissolving into sobs.

"He loves her infinitely, though," she continued on after only a brief pause during which she dried tears that Charlie shed. They cared not about crying in front of one another, never had. The core of the family they had made may have been lost, but Charlie and Claire were still soulmates, still family. They would take care of one another always. "I can tell, and he definitely does."

She sighed, deeply, the need for substance abuse weighing heavily on her shoulders. "In that way, the fact that he's apart from the girl who's no doubt his other half, makes me feel pity for him."

This hardened the look in Charlie's eyes. "You shouldn't, though," he told her, and his voice was a mix between worry and disappointment. "He's not right in the head, you know that Claire?" He cupped her cheek, staring into her electric blue eyes with his own concerned pale-ish grey ones. It was a sad fact, because Charlie couldn't say that he regretted knowing Desmond even after all that had happened between them. But he still missed how his friend used to be. "A part of me still wants to trust him, too, but I know that's not a good choice." He sighed, now.

The blonde's heart went out to him. "I know," she agreed, wishing the same thing. But it was better this way, better that they knew they could no longer have faith in the Scotsman, that misplaced trust would only result in the two of them getting hurt again. "It's unfortunate that all this had to happen, but... he deserves whatever he gets for his treachery." This she said with stony certainty, her eyes cold all of a sudden. Charlie peppered her face with kisses.

Even though what Claire had lost was greater than what she had gained--whole new experiences in the department of drugs, Heroin, to be exact, and knowledge she never thought she would posess--there was still yet something she had to live for. Someone, and she was never going to let him go. Ever, ever. If Charlie was taken from her, too, she would go absolutely, screaming berserk. Probably kill everyone on the island, or something. She laughed at the thought, but the smile was wiped from her face and replaced by an expression of sick shock at the violence she felt captive in her heart. Maybe Desmond wasn't the only one going mad...

"Claire? Claire-Bear, what's a matter?" Came Charlie's quiet, soothing voice, crooning to her. Despite how comfortable he made her, the arms around her felt restrictive all of a sudden. She slipped out of his grasp, coming to her feet, feeling strange and weirdly off. A fine tremor worked its way through her petite frame.

"I don't--" but it was a good thing she closed her mouth just then. Charlie simply looked scared shitless. He reached for her, but she evaded, needing space and freedom in case she was going to blow chunks. She was crouching on her haunches now, wavering as if unable to maintain balance. Then, the opposite of her previous intentions, she got up in the boy's personal space, patting him profusely for any sign of the release she currently unbelievably needed.

"Claire?" Charlie rose too now, coming to stand beside Claire with an arm around her shoulders, forehead creased with worry. "Hey, are you all right? You don't seem so well. Look at me," as he lifted her chin to more clearly see her face. "You're green."

The faintest of chuckles, not much effort put into it, coming from the mirthlessly smiling mouth of none other than Claire. "That can't be good," but even in her distressed, irrationally anxious state she could tell that Charlie didn't find her very funny at the moment. He smoothed back her hair, which was damp with sweat, trying to keep his calm because something was seriously not right here. "You don't have any on you?" She was demanding, on her knees and hugging his legs with desperation, "you don't have more?" Heroin was what she needed right now, what would make the ill dizziness she was experiencing disappear.

Charlie was kneeling too, overall cradling the girl to his body in his love for her. The pupils of his blue gray eyes were fearful & wide, taking up the irises and making them look almost black. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he was repeating, over and over. "What are you talking about? What's going on? Are you going to be O.K.?"

Tears were streaming and Claire's stomach lurched, surroundings tilting and nausea spasming through her. Withdrawal, she never got the chance to say, but Charlie seemed to have figured this out on his own. "Don't you?" She was sobbing heavily now, and snotting (as unattractive as it might be) as she continued to clutch at his pant legs. "Come on, Charles. There's more in your pockey, don't d-do this to me right now."

Something clicked, and Charlie reached into the front pocket of his jeans. He handed the baggie to her wordlessly, still supporting all her weight as she bent onto him and deciding to resume their position on the bed. "You're not going to puke, are you?"

Claire shook her head no, because that would not be a problem if she could just have her fix right this very second. She reached for her suitcase on the ground, Charlie steadying her by the waist, for a magazine and once it was laying flat in her lap, her still shaking body tucked much more comfortably against his. Emptying the last of the contents of their Ziplocked bag of stash onto it, and quickly grabbing a pen, she formed the dusty powder into a line with the sides of her hands and took apart the writing utensil. Then she brought her clear plastic tube to her nose like it was a straw and sucked for all that she was worth. Just like that it was gone.

After that, Claire calmed noticeably, leaning into Charlie's hard chest and pressing her lips to his cheek. "Thanks," she told him, her blue eyes meeting his stormy ones. Despite his concern for what had just happened he was still thinking about Desmond, she could see. "That was kind and completely selfless of you. That, whatever it was--the feeling of needing something, a substance no less, so badly ... well, it's never happened to me before. Thanks for taking care of me, Charlie," and that came from the heart.

He was just glad that his girlfriend was feeling better now. "I never wanted this for you, you know," he told her, tone serious and gentle at the same time. "But it's all gone now Claire, nothing left, and now our wounds can heal the way they should have in the first place. I'm so sorry that you're going to have to go through what just happened tommorow, too, babe. But we'll go see Jack because this time there will be no way to get out of facing withdrawal."

Her suffering would hurt him, but Charlie could see more than the brightside of the last of the Smack having been used. Things would get better now. If only she could believe that, believe him, now, too. "You mean that's it? All gone?" Claire was on the verge of sounding a little panicked again, sitting forward and head turned to face him.

That's right. "That's it."

A/N: duh duh duh. sorry it took me so long to post this chapter, i'll try to do better! reviews would be so lovely. Thanks for reading.

xox Sacha