Author's Note: My writing muses have been pretty much non-existent of late; so I finally decided to take stab at something else and see what happens. So I hope you enjoy the experiment that is my first "Lost" Fan Fic.

"Thus Men, extending their Enquiries beyond their Capacities, and letting their Thoughts wander into those depths where they can find no sure Footing; 'tis no Wonder, that they raise Questions and multiply Disputes, which never coming to any clear Resolution, are proper to only continue and increase their Doubts, and to confirm them at last in a perfect Skepticism." – John Locke from "An Essay Concerning Human Understanding"

He watched her sitting there; just staring into the fire, as day bled into night. Darkness descended quickly on the island. Then again, Charlie thought, things seemed to happen rapidly here on Mystery Isle. He could no longer laugh at the nickname he'd given the island. After that first horrific night – the crash, the inhuman sounds coming from the jungle, all of it – he had to find a way to make light of the situation. It was the only way he'd be able to deal with it.

So that night, sitting before the fire he helped build, he wrote the word "Fate" on his fingers. It figured. Just when Drive Shaft was primed for a comeback his wanker brother would fail him, leaving him alone, a castaway on an unforgiving island. And if that hadn't bad enough he started craving a fix. The drugs he first reviled had become his refuge, and finally his addiction.

Charlie knew he wasn't the type of person to fight his desires. Even when he had the conviction of faith behind him a pretty girl would catch his fancy or a beer would be placed in his hands. Then came the heroin. He loved his drug as much as he hated them, still he would never deny himself the need. Whatever he jones for, be it drugs or women, he answered it as fast as humanly possible.

Words like moderation had mystified Charlie. There was such little time. Why not dive in and take it all, as much as you could possible stand, and then some? The island forced him to change. It hadn't been easy change nor a wanted one for that matter. Charlie still wasn't even certain if it would be a permanent metamorphosis.

He could still remember the venomous anger he felt towards Locke when the man forced him to fork over what little he had left of his stash. There were few times he felt that true and awful hatred in his heart for another human being, and normally that dark emotion was reserved for his brother, Liam. But that feeling had bubbled up within him when Locke refused his desperate requests.

Thinking back on it now Charlie felt shame. Locke had reached out him. He saw when no one else could, not even – he physically shook when his thoughts turned to Claire. Bright, beautiful, golden Claire. The one shining spot in his current existence, "Hell," he muttered, in all of his existence. With a single smile, so pure and sweet, Claire brought forth feelings that only music had been able to inspire in him before. And he needed music. It was his purpose in life.

And on this bloody island Claire had become his purpose. Every moment in her company was a comfort. Every smile a joy. More then the drug, even more then the music, he wanted Claire. It was hard coming to terms with that desire because of her condition. Having those kind of feelings for a pregnant woman felt dishonorable, not that he could remember his last honorable moment. Claire stirred a need in him; to be more, to be better – for her and for himself. His purpose was gone now. Snatched from his very arms and Charlie had never felt so useless or helpless in his life.

He gasped for breath as he fought back the panic and sorrow. He never missed a person the way he missed Claire. He never longed for something the way he longed for her.

"No," he said low under his breath finally moving from his secluded spot on the beach. Charlie made his way towards Rose. Since his "experience," as everyone insisted on calling it, in the jungle the ebony-skinned woman had been the only one to challenge him. She forced him to speak when he had no words he wanted to share. She pushed him to move when he was weary with heartache. It seemed to Charlie that he lived only because Rose. She saw her own pain and fear echoing within him and reached out. Unbeknownst to even himself, he'd been drowning, and Rose offered him the lifeline he needed.

As the days wore on and there was no sign of Claire, Charlie needed more. He hoped fervently that Rose would be able to provide him with that more.

The sand gave under his feet with each step. For a brief moment Charlie wished that he would walk into a patch of quicksand, then the island could devour him into its void as well. Yet with each rise and fall movement of his feet he moved successfully closer to Rose. She was alone, as it seemed she preferred, by the fire. It danced before her merrily and he actually resented the flames for a moment.

Shaking his head at his foolishness Charlie paused next to Rose. She didn't look up at him, so he took a final moment to try and get control of his feelings before he sat down next to her. Charlie wasn't sure where his words game from, but he found himself saying: "Your husband was in the tail section of the plane."

Rose didn't bother to look at him when she answered. "Yes, he was. But he'll be back." He studied her for a second. She sounded so sure. He desperately wanted that kind of confidence. "You think he's still alive?" he inquired.

"I know he is," she replied still gazing into the fire.

The odds were near impossible, even though he wasn't a mathematically inclined Charlie knew that. "How?"

Finally she looked at him and he welcomed the feel of her dark eyes on him. "I just do," she said clasping the ring on the end of her gold chain.

It was hard facing her faith so he dropped her gaze and looked into the fire. To have such conviction. Charlie could remember the way his belief use to fill and sustain him. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Rose smile. Then he pictured Claire smiling and the façade shattered.

Emotions and tears that he'd been holding back since he'd come out of the jungle with Jack and Kate pressed down on him. In a fitful burst the hot tears poured out from him. Anger and pain mixed with fear and sorrow; Charlie knew he was broken. "Help me," he choked out, his voice harsh with emotion.

He felt the warmth of Rose's arm going around him. Then she took his hand. He wanted to fall into her, to have her hold him as a mother would hold her hurting child. "Baby …" she said her voice soft, yet strong, "I'm not the one that can help you."

He wanted to deny her statement. She could help. She had helped. His crying jag continued making it impossible for him to reply. Through his tears he watched as Rose's gaze shifted upwards. Though he'd been disavowing it for years, Charlie knew in his heart of hearts that there something greater in the world. He was up there.

Rose began to speak again, her clear voice washing over him. "Heavenly Father, we thank you. We thank you for bringing us together tonight and we ask that you show Charlie the path …"

THE END