A/N: Another chapter! Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, those that did :) hope you enjoy this one. Flashbacks or dreams are in Italics. In this chapter it's a flashback! The flashback is Claire's version of the flashback in chapter eleven: I Know.

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

Time to Let Go:

Charlie had said that everything would be all right from now on? Therefore, that was that. It was difficult to believe, what with everything the two of them had gone through and what was no doubt to come in the future. But more than anything, Claire wanted to feel sure that he was absolutely one hundred percent correct. She trusted him, after all. If he thought himself right then what he had assured her of simply must be true.

Claire was floating in a sort of virtual state, a foggy unreality that felt as if it was permeating her very self and essence. Gone were the symptoms of withdrawal that she so feared and despised, and even though she would undoubtedly have to face them again tomorrow (possibly today, even, but right now she wasn't going to focus on that) for the time being she was just enjoying the moment. Sprawled on her side across the makeshift bed she and Charlie nightly shared, consisting of a few of those smallish blankets and pillows scavenged from the cockpit of the air plane so long ago as well as a ragged red sleeping bag they unzipped and curled up into together every night.

A pale arm, her arm, she realized, trailed in the sand by her head and Claire watched it in fascination, tracing patterns on the smooth skin. You'd think that with all her time in the sun here on the island she'd be tanned but strangely this wasn't the case-she didn't tan, she burned!

Charlie was God knew where. With his absence, however brief it may turn out to be, Claire felt vulnerable, like a piece of her heart was missing. And she worried about his delicate, unhealthy heart. When had she become so dependant on him? Flattered from the first moment they spoke; a cute, kind souled bumpkin of a young man with an obvious childish streak.

More than that, really—though he could behave like an adult when he wished to, more often than not Charlie jumped the gun and brooded like an angst-ridden teen. But how had she actually fallen in love with him, when, at what point? It didn't really matter, especially with the unimportance of time in a motherfucking snow globe. But Claire wanted to recall, if she could. The missing pieces of her fragmented memory still bothered her.

Sometimes they came back to her in the form of dreams, not always good ones. She thought hard through the pleasurable haze that had wrapped itself around her brain, squinting at her own hand on the arm which she then brought up to tuck a stray strand of sunny hair behind her ear.

Her hand was jumping at her! The Aussie drew back, startled, right hand clamped around the wrist of her left to control the action. Surroundings were suddenly blurred and Claire's heart began to palpitate in panic at the absurd, unwelcome motion, before she discovered that when it came to the hand spasms she really didn't care.

More calmly now Claire palmed her knees, noticing unconsciously, though the blond hairs could scarcely be seen, that her legs needed to be shaved. She could remember now the time and place she had first come to terms with the gut wrenching, knee knocking adoration of her love for Charlie. Really, it hadn't been so very long ago...

Today Claire had journeyed out into the jungle, for the single purpose of being alone. Her swollen belly, the babe she was harbouring that had yet to make its way into the world, brought her lots of attention. The thing was, it wasn't necessarily the sort of attention that she liked. You'd think she was a flight risk or a weapon others constantly felt the need to keep an eye on, the worry and sense of duty she seemed to evoke! It wasn't like Claire planned on getting drunk or doing anything to harm the life force growing inside her—shouldn't she be able to be trusted with herself?

It did come to mind that it perhaps it wasn't that Claire wasn't trusted; instead, rather, her fellow castaways were most likely simply concerned for her and her unborn baby's well being. Any notions such as these that came to mind, however, were instantly pushed away, denied the right to linger. It was so much easier to be angry with everyone for stalking her like shadows and driving her mad with lack of access to quiet and peace than admitting that maybe being followed everywhere time and time again was in her best interest, for the best.

No, Claire needed some time away from Jack's medical questions and the rest of the camp's prying eyes. It wasn't like she was a leper or anything of the sort. Hadn't anyone ever seen an effing pregnant lady before? The stares and touches to her stomach were getting to be simply too much. Out here in the wilderness was the only place she could think of, anyway, that she would have been able to get away with the forlorn, half hysterical chuckles leaving her mouth and the current tears pouring down her face.

She hadn't wanted a baby, had never asked God for the gift of a child in her womb. Claire didn't have regrets, per say—that she wished unwed pregnancy had never become a reality for her wasn't something she would say. Mostly because, strange as such a thing would be, she didn't want to hurt her baby's feelings, and because such a phrase would sound to her like blasphemy, more than anything else. But she just wasn't ready to be a mother! Giving birth was going to really, really hurt, and now that since she'd first realized she'd missed a period had been more than eight months ago, there was no turning back!

Lord, what a stupid, stupid girl she had been. Getting pregnant—what a thing to do! More laughter erupted, mixed in with sighs and sobs at recollection of her foolishness. Her ex-boyfriend's foolishness, too. What was she going to do, oh what on earth could she do?

The baby would know she had tried to get rid of it, had never wanted it in the first place. It would hate her and there wouldn't be a thing she'd be able to do about it. Besides try to care for it the best she could, and even that surely wouldn't be enough. Right now if it weren't for the unborn in her stomach, that had grown to be such a part of her over the last eight months, she would hate herself. When the baby finally came, she would love it, of course—she loved it now and she didn't even know if it was a boy or a girl!

But besides that, besides the love of a mother toward her offspring, the only good thing about giving birth would be that people would no longer stare.

"Claire? Claire! What's wrong? Why are you acting so strange?"

Claire hadn't even known he was there, watching. Near crazed laughter that was more a hiccoughing of sobs continued, not as strong, but that were still in progress in a steady stream.

"It's just occurred to me, Charlie, just really sunk in. I'm going to be a mother. A mother. I can barely take care of myself," she cried on, readily. "How on earth am I supposed to raise a child? And on an island no less!"

Charlie gathered her in, into the most intimate embrace they'd ever shared."It will all be okay, Claire. You'll be the best mother in the world."

Claire cringed, knowing inside her that this wouldn't, couldn't possibly be true. "N-no I won't," the words tumbled out of her, just barely distinguishable. "I was going to give him away, Charlie. What kind of a mother gives away her child?"

"That doesn't matter, Claire. All that matters is that you didn't give him up. You could have, but you didn't. You did the right thing!"

"That's not true!" And then not only wails and sobs were making their way out of her; Claire was throwing up, too.

Charlie rubbed her back, being the sweetheart that he was. More than anything at this moment, the Aussie was grateful for his presence here beside her, even if she couldn't rightfully believe any of the reassurances he was trying to make.

"Thanks," she wiped her mouth, looking away from him shamefully. Not only did she look like a crying, raving lunatic fool, she'd just blown chunks very close to where this kind chap had just had his hand.

"Claire, I know you think the crash is the only reason you didn't give your child away, but I know that that's not true. I know you, Claire. I know that you wouldn't have gone through with it."

Claire wiped at her eyes now, which felt like when she looked into the ocean later to peer at her reflection, they would be puffy and red.

"I don't think you know me as well as you think you do."

This seemed to get a rise out of Charlie, because his blueish grey ones bore straight into Claire's sky tinted eyes. He grasped her chin firmly, and yet gently, in his hand, raising her face up to his. For a moment Claire was under the impression that he was going to press his lips to hers in a kiss, and shock and a bright, fiery longing rushed through her. She'd just thrown up though, and if that didn't gross Charlie out, he must not have a good concept of what was and wasn't gross. That, or he was simply a trooper.

"I know more about you than I know about myself, Claire. I know that when you're excited or nervous you bite your lip; I know that you believe in astrology, but you don't live your life from it; I know that you like to tell stories to yourself when you're on one of your walks and you think that no one can hear you. I know that you're a good person, and that you'll be a great mother. Do you want to know how I know so much about you, Claire?"

Claire was dazed, feeling very nearly mute and speechless. "Tell me," she said, aware despite the surprise of all this new information, of Charlie's strong but oddly soothing grip on her face.

Charlie hesitated, but it didn't last long. "Because I care about you. A lot of people care about you. And I don't know what I'd do if you or the baby were ever hurt, so please don't come out into the jungle alone again."

With these last words, Charlie rose to his feet, and it was only then that Claire truly realized how crumpled she lay, on the ground in a heap, and that instead of getting her to have this conversation standing Charlie had thought nothing of joining her to hold her close in her position. He helped her to her feet, as well. That was when Claire did it. She hadn't thought ahead, hadn't planned the action which she then proceeded to enact, just went with impulse. Planted her mouth on the rough stubble of his cheek, heartened when he smiled widely, like it was the best gift he'd even been given.

It was the least she could do—and that wasn't the only reason Claire had done it, either. She had wanted to. Entirely, earnestly, wanted to. The things he'd told her, his arms around her in that embrace, had meant the world to her, and she had felt the need to pay him back somehow. Claire would spend the rest of her life paying him back, if that was, and she thought it just might be, all right with him.

They both blushed and continued forward, looking away from each other shyly and then back again. Neither said a word because they didn't have to. Their feelings were out, hovering around them for each to see, in the air. I think I just might be in love, Claire thought to herself. It was the first time she had ever felt like this, and she never wanted the feeling to depart.

She reached for his hand, grasping it in hers, interlocking his fingers between hers as they walked. Into the future, their future, whatever would come. Come what may. With Charlie by her side, Claire was stronger than she had ever been in her whole life.

So that was how it'd been. Claire hadn't really forgotten—how could she forget such an important part of the destiny she and Charlie shared, had unrolled almost effortlessly together? They had had their setbacks, this was true, when she had found out that he was using Heroin. But with Aaron unfortunately gone, and the drug she'd once hated almost out, too, these things were no longer issues. Claire had a good memory, anyway, most of the time.

Heroin, however, had the power to erase practically all thoughts that didn't revolve around its bittersweet self from the mind. It definitely hurt, to say the least, to think back on times during which Aaron had been, or rather almost been, alive. Gladness came from recalling the moment she and Charlie had first truly connected, for sure! But even so, cringe-worthy sadness and an unwelcome but not unfamiliar grief took over, as well.

Claire resisted the allure of giving in to tears with a disoriented blink, swallowing hard when her breath hitched in her throat. Even with Charlie by her side, how ever was she going to be able to survive the this ever present, looming threat of depression? She'd come this far, it was true; but that had been with Heroin's aid, and without it things would turn out for the worst, she was sure.

No good could come from being separated from that which she had grown to depend on, no good! The very prospect scared Claire to the wits. If she had any left, that was. It was a known fact, one she'd studied in junior high, even, that the Junk she and Charlie liked to use killed brain cells. Too bad a repercussion even as serious as that made quitting, had there been more in amount, worth being a possibility.

She sighed. Claire was just going to have to get over it. It wasn't what she wanted to do, that was for sure. But it was inevitable. They had no more.

Even as the pain and withdrawal that was most assuredly coming had the power of making Claire wince, a little part inside her was glad, all the same. How had she been able to go from being happy and a loving mother to a sad, probably haggard looking drug addict so quickly? Her Mum would cry if she knew. If she was even alive. The Aussie felt a little prick at the back of her eyes, saddened by the concept of her little world of people she loved dying.

Life sucked. The only good thing Claire had in her life right now was Charlie—he was her everything, a blessing to her very being that was never, ever going to let go. She wasn't sure what she would have done over the last few weeks if he hadn't been with her, loving her, the whole time. She wasn't sure if she even would have made it. Claire glanced down at her arm again, the wrist in particular, considering cutting it.

Remembering when, during her goth filled teen years, that was something she used to do. It made the feelings related to your problems feel better, yes, but when the knife didn't make your problems go away you continued, a cycle forming, the pressure you put on the handle becoming more and more severe. Nah, that wasn't something she wanted to start up again. Claire had enough bad habits; or more like, one very horrible one. She would do her best to work through this one that she currently had and then try to stay away from anything that might do anything but improve the mending of her spirit.

I wish Charlie was here, Claire realized. He hadn't been going that long. Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes. But yet during even such scarce amount of time, the category of Claire's moods had changed from one to the other, the happiness she felt at being stoned doing more than just beginning to flicker.

When Charlie was nearby, even when things were devastating as they had been so often lately, her melancholy improved. Even if just slightly, the love they knew that each felt for the other filled her with hope, and him too, she was sure. Hope that tomorrow might not be as bad as the day before had been. Hope that they would get through all of this together. If Charlie had been laying beside her on their makeshift bedding just now, the thought of cutting would never have flashed through her head, she never would ever consider killing herself.

I love him so much, Claire thought, and her face crumpled and she began to cry. It was a physical pain, being away from him. As well as spiritual, psychological, emotional. She wanted him near so that he could wrap his arms around her and sing songs to her beneath his breath, make love to her in the oh so pleasurable, endearing way he had just this afternoon. If she had Charlie, to keep, Claire didn't need anything else; not Aaron (however much she tried to tell herself this wasn't so, no matter how much she may miss him), not civilization, not Heroin.

Or at least, she didn't think so.

A/N: There! So sorry for the long wait, I'm in France right now and I have no internet. This gives me a good amount of time to write, though! Please please review to me, my darlings :) This fanfiction is going to end soon. I guess, say, five more chapter? Six? Less? I don't know, but it will be under ten. Tell me if you have an especially bright idea that would be a fantastic ending, though I already have a pretty good one. But I'm open to inspiration ! Thankks, hope you enjoyed!

xox Sacha