Is it just me,
or am I all on my own again?
You're in the Vatican,
and I'm in the Yemen,
and it feels like the end.

-The Darkness, Is It Just Me?

"Is it just me, am I all on my own again. . ."

He saw Charlie, sitting high off the ground again, this time on a cliff. Then he realized, while everyone had been busy pitying Charlie, hating Charlie, ignoring Charlie, or trying hard not to humour Charlie, none of them had talked to Charlie. And it was in this moment he remembered why his friends back at Santa Rosa had called him "Shrink".

"And do you think of me, while we're growing old? 'Til death do us part, to have and to hold–"

"Dude." Charlie stopped playing and singing and turned around to see Hurley standing behind him. "That's beautiful."

"Frankie always said he'd rewrite it," Charlie said, looking back down at his one pick, one set of strings and away from his one friend. "Too sentimental."

"Wow," Hurley said. "That guy's a dumbass."

"You do realize he also wrote a worldwide smash hit?" Charlie said, looking back up at Hurley.

Hurley scoffed. "I prolly never heard it." Charlie proceeded to play an all-too-familiar opening chord progression as Hurley cringed. "Oh, dude, no WAY he wrote that."

"They credited the entire first album to the whole band," Charlie explained. "But yeah, he wrote it."

"Dude." Hurley sat down beside Charlie and dangled his feet off the cliff. "So, what's up?"

"Nothing really." Charlie gave a small chuckle. "How about you?"

"Nothin'." The two guys sat together for a while staring at the jungle around them.

"So, I was sure you thought I was a druggie," Charlie said after a moment. "That you thought I was delusional. That you thought I was purposefully trying to destroy the camp and drown Claire's baby. That you were sure I was using until Locke rightfully right-hooked me into the surf."

"Yeah," Hurley said, "I'm pretty sure you're an idiot for thinking that. Dude, you weren't trying to hurt anyone. And babies don't drown. I'm pretty sure you woulda dropped some water on the kid's head, said some words, put him back and that was that."

"Yeah." Charlie had a hitch in his voice and couldn't bear to look back over at Hurley.

"And you know what?" Hurley added. "I'm as sure as the weight I have not lost that you weren't using. Detox does some funny things to people, and this island does some funny things to people. The combination, it was probably hell. Knowing you had to do something and no one would believe you when you said you had to do it."

"Yeah." Charlie looked over the cliff to the stream below. "Where's your walking stick?"

"Over there, leaning on a tree."

"And how's the blonde clinical psychologist?"

"She found this really hot strappy purple top in the luggage. . ." Hurley said wistfully. "Dude, I sound really, really gay. . ."

"I assume you want to rip it off of her more than you want to wear it?" Charlie said, laughing at Hurley.

"Yeah." Hurley grinned. "Not so gay, huh?"

"Nah." Charlie laughed with Hurley. "It's good to have you back, man."

"Actually, I came out here to–"

"Oh, sorry, I'll sod off then," Charlie said, deflating and getting up to leave.

"No, dude, let me finish." Hurley turned around to the big bag he'd been carrying. "After the feast I pulled off," he said slowly unzipping the bag, "I had a little left over. So, ranch?"

Charlie looked back over at Hurley and he was now holding an industrial sized container of Ranch Dressing. As he was sitting back down, he asked "So, what else is in the bag, Dad?"

"Salad, chocolate bars, ketchup no names, Japanese twinkies–Have you ever seen a Japanese twinkie?" He passed a pack of four tiny, twinkie coloured pastries to Charlie as he put his guitar down. "I also got a couple cartons of UHT–who wants milk as their comfort food?–and some processed juice. You know, that ranch goes really well with raw noodles. . ."

Charlie gave him the international look of "?"

"I found a couple packs of Mr. Noodle. Course, I love that stuff like a fat guy in his mid-twenties loves Mr. Noodle, so I only took a couple packs out for the feast. Both gone." Hurley looked at Charlie to hand him a pack of Mr. Noodle Chicken. "Dude, are you feeling alright?"

"It's been a while since anyone just. . ." Charlie looked around for the right word. "Shot the shit with me, as you Yanks say it."

"Dude, don't worry about it." Hurley opened a pack of noodles, took the top off the ranch dressing and started messily munching away.

"I'm gunna skip the dressing," Charlie said cautiously, pouring the seasoning into the noodle pack and shaking.

"Dude, you're missing out," Hurley said, taking another dip.

"Dude," Charlie said, the word falling out of his mouth as gracefully as a duck with no wings and a giant, disproportionate orange head, "No thank you."

"Dude, you just said dude."

"I know."

Then, together, "Duuuuuuude. . ."

"And it sounds so funny, cos you got that accent!"

"I know, eh?"

A couple hours later found Hurley at sunset. He was walking along the beach, towards Claire's tent, praying that she'd be alone, that Locke wouldn't be there to fuck things up. He'd already passed on watching the sun set with Libby.

"Hey, Hurley," she'd said.

Oh dear god, she's wearing that purple strappy thing, he'd thought. Worse, she knows it. . .

"I thought maybe we could. . ." she'd said, dripping hesitation off of every word. "Watch the sun set. . . together. . . alone."

Oh, SHIT, dude! "Uhh, I would love to, but, I kinda got somewhere to be right now," he'd said.

"Oh. . ." she'd deflated.

"How about," he'd began. "Well, I wake up early anyway, so. . . maybe, we could watch the sun rise?"

"Yeah, but you gotta walk a quarter way across the island to catch that," she'd replied. "Or up a really tall mountain."

"Or a tree," he'd said.

"You know just the spot, don't you." It wasn't even a question.

"Yeah. . ."

"See you before the sun comes up, Food-maestro."

Hurley stopped in his tracks. Dude, what is with this island and mad flashbacks? He rounded the corner and saw Claire's tent. No Locke. Go-time.

"Hey, Claire," Hurley said, walking over to Aaron's crib.

"Hey yourself, Hurley," she replied, folding laundry and grinning. As was her custom. Prepare to die. . . Hurley chuckled to himself. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing, just–Wayne's World."

Claire nodded and took a breath in. "Hm, never did see that. . . It any good?"

"Hilarious." Hurley took a deep breath and stood up a bit straighter. "Uh, that's. . . that's not why I'm here."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. . ."

"So, why are you here?" Claire said, looking over her shoulder at Hurley.

"I-uh. . . I have something for you." Hurley stood sheepishly behind her as she turned around to look at him.

Oh god, Claire thought. He's here cos Charlie's gone. . . oh, does this mean I have to let him off easy? Oh, god this is awkward. . . "So, what is it?"

"It's. . . uhh. . ." He rummaged around in his pack for the jar he'd kept. The jar he'd kept for Charlie if he was ever in the doghouse. He'd thought his friend might need a Hurley-vote of confidence when the time came. And the time had come. "It's this."

Claire watched as he pulled out an unopened, yellow jar of peanut butter. "Uh, Hurley, this is flattering, but–"

"Oh, no! It's not from me," Hurley clarified. "Charlie said you two'd run out the night I came out with all the food. And he said he'd always regretted thinking that he should ask for another jar, thinking it was selfish, or that other people out of all of us might like a little peanutty goodness now and then. So, I kept a jar for him."

"Hurley, that's great, but I'm not sure I can forgi–"

"Dude, he's not asking for forgiveness. He wants you to know he never used, that he never meant to hurt anyone, and that the worst he would have done to Aaron on the best day is drop a couple drops of water on his head and say some funny words while you weren't looking."

Hurley had dropped his head to his feet while he was saying this, and looked back up at Claire. He was surprised to see that she'd been crying silently all that time. "Look," he added, "it's not like he expects you to feel like you did before. But he lied. . . he lied because he didn't want to disappoint you. He lied because he didn't want to hurt you, and because he wanted to see Aaron." Hurley took a chance to pause and hold back his emotions.

"Dude, you meant a lot more to him than he thinks he meant to you. And he never wanted to lose that. Yeah, he's a bastard, yeah, Locke says he's a useless junkie who tried to drown your kid. Yeah, I found him halfway to nowhere with your baby in hand, staring at the sea. But he also went all the way to nowhere for your baby against an armed chick who'd been living alone for sixteen years. He fell asleep down the beach from you every other night, checking to see if you were okay.

"It doesn't even matter if you slept with him," he said, shocking Claire with the knowledge that anyone but the silent and the dead knew about that. "What matters is, he's off in the jungle, alone, staring at the same forty foot drop every day. What matters is, he cared about you enough to die for you and kill for you. And did I mention the armed French chick?" Claire and Hurley both laughed through their tears.

"All I'm saying is," Hurley finished. "He needs someone. And it ain't me." With that, he reached out and handed Claire the unopened jar of peanut butter. He started to walk back to his hut in the gathering darkness, when he turned back to Claire and called, "And don't think it's you, either!"

Claire held the jar in her hand. She looked around to see if Locke was anywhere nearby. Then, she tucked it into her travel bag, took Aaron out of his crib (swaddled and asleep) and rocked him in her arms.

"So," she asked the sleeping baby. "How would you like to see your daddy again?"