Same disclaimer. These lyrics are from the Damien Rice song "Accidental Babies." It seems like I got the idea from the song, but I don't think that I did! It suited very well, haha.

Well I know I make you cry

And I know sometimes you wanna die

But do you really feel alive without me?

If so, be free

If not, leave him for me

Before one of us has accidental babies

Claire stayed away for a week. It was a lonely week that dragged on like his time in the hatch used to do. He went for runs around his neighborhood and cooked meals for himself in his kitchen. He tried to begin writing up his memoirs of his time on the island, but every draft he tried to form began with Penny and ended with Claire, and he didn't want to think about either of them.

After the week of silence, she called him and asked him to come to a party two nights later—a farewell and good luck party for Charlie before he went on tour. He accepted, trying to analyze every nuance of Claire's voice to see if she sounded strange. Like she hated him. Or loved him. Either one.

The party was fun. He brought wine and a plate of oranges from his tree, which was thriving. The former islanders and a crowd of Charlie's "music biz" friends filled out the house and overflowed into the backyard. There was impromptu swimming, and embarrassing drinking games, and many other things that made Desmond feel like an old fogey. He began to worry a little less over his situation with Claire; she came up to him throughout the night, checking on him to make sure he was OK, though she wouldn't admit it. She would introduce him to someone, or tease him, and he would relax a little. By the end of the night, however, he began to notice that she seemed a little strained or worried.

"Are you alright?" he whispered in her ear as she came over to offer him an hors d'oeuvre. She nodded and smiled tightly.

"I'm fine, Desmond."

He studied her for a moment longer. "I don't believe you. What's wrong?"

"Stop. It's nothing."

"So there is an 'it', then?" He knew that he was being annoying, but he worried for her. It was only right, seeing how she wasted so much worry on him.

"Please, stop asking," she finally said.

He couldn't deny an outright request. "All right. I'm sorry. But if you need to talk or anything…"

"I know. Don't you think I know, Des?" She gave him a more genuine, if smaller, smile, squeezed his arm, and walked off to mingle with other guests.

When she showed up at ten the next morning, he was shocked. He had only returned from the party six hours ago and was still in bed when she rang his doorbell, then pounded on the door when he didn't come quickly enough.

He saw her worried face through the little window next to the door and threw it open immediately. "Claire! What is it?"

She just gasped, choked out his name, and burst into tears. Instead of explaining, she held out a small object. He looked closer.

It was a pregnancy test.

"Claire?" he asked again, hesitantly. "What's happened?" He cautiously put his arm around her and led her into the house. He felt his heart breaking at her unhappiness, and sinking at the realization that he may have accidentally made a move on a woman pregnant with someone else's child.

"I thought I was pregnant. And I'm not." She spoke in small bursts of sentences, as though they were hard to get out.

"So you're unhappy?"

"No! I'm glad! And that's why I'm crying!"

For a moment he thought she was being sarcastic, and he gaped in surprise. Then he realized that she was telling the truth.

"Charlie would be so happy if I were. You know he would be. He would probably dedicate an album to it. He loves Aaron, but you know he would want his own baby more. He would have been so glad." A fresh wave of sobs racked her small frame. "And I would have been so miserable!"

"Oh, Claire," Desmond sighed helplessly. He had no idea what to say to all this. He wasn't even accustomed to normal human conversation.

So he didn't speak. He just touched her, something that was distressingly easy to do. He stroked her hair, and laid his arm across her shoulders, and her crying softened a little. Then, by instinct, he reached up to cup her face in his hands and stroked the tears away with his thumb.

His heart pounded as he remembered the last time he had done that—when he saw Penny outside the stadium. The last time he ever saw her.

This was getting way too complicated.

He was distracted from this worry by Claire beginning to speak again.

"I can't trust him, Des," she whispered. "I love him—really, I do—but I can't trust him." She laid her face against his shoulder, hiding her eyes, and continued to speak. "Did you know he used to be a heroin addict? I mean, he's not now, he wouldn't do anything like that, but still. And he's gone all day, and half the night, and I don't think he would ever cheat or anything, but do you realize…"

"What?

"I'm completely dependent on him. I'm not working. I live in his house. I'm in a foreign country, and my family hadn't done anything for me for years before I left Australia anyway. If things ever go bad with us, I won't have anything. Aaron won't have anything. How could I have not thought of this before?" She burrowed into his shoulder, and he put an arm around her to pull her closer.

"I can't handle having another baby right now. I just couldn't. I bet soon Charlie will want to. I wonder if he wants to get married. I bet he thinks we already, like, count as married. But he's still kind of Catholic. He would probably want to get married. But I'm not pregnant." She sighed. "I was so afraid."

"Is that what was wrong last night?"

"Yes. I hated that you could tell. I thought I was doing a good job of hiding it."

"I think we must have a talent for recognizing each other's misery." He kissed the top of her head. (That was a platonic gesture, right?) "And you have a talent for healing it."

"You, too." He felt her breath against his neck when she spoke. He wished she would speak a little more, and stay a long longer.

"What should I do about Charlie?" she sighed. "I care about him, but I don't think that it's right that I rely on him so much. And I don't know if… I mean, I hope but I can't be sure… you never know if these things will last." Her head popped up from his shoulder. "Not that I want to break up with him. Not at all. I'm just speaking generally."

"I know. It's allowed."

"I'm sorry that I dumped all of this on you. I could have told Sun, but she's so happy about her baby. I didn't want to bring her down. She's watching Aaron right now. Charlie left a few hours ago." She pushed her tangled hair back from her face. "I'm sorry for thinking I can just come over and rant at you like this.'

"It's fine. It's always fine. You've done so much for me. I just wish I could help you more."

"What do you think of Charlie?"

Desmond considered this. He tried to eliminate any jealousy over the fact that Charlie had Claire… that is to say, a wonderful woman, or animosity since Charlie had indirectly caused Claire's tears.

"I think he's a good man, and he loves you. But I can see why you would worry. He is gone a lot. And has a past." He paused, feeling hypocritical. "But we all have a past, really." He realized he was rambling. "The point is, it doesn't really matter what I think of Charlie. It matters if you want to be with him, or not."

Claire laid her head against his shoulder again. "I know. I guess I just wanted help. Well, help's the wrong word. I guess I wanted comfort." She smiled, a real Claire smile—weak, and clouded by tears, but still there.

"Did I provide it?" He hoped so much that he had.

"Yes. Definitely. Always."

His eyebrows raised in surprise. "Always?"

"When I need it."

Her voice was low and husky, and she was still pressed up next to him. He felt his heart begin to pound and his mind begin to spin. He knew that he shouldn't feel this way, but the moment was so perfect. He wanted to keep it forever, divorced from past and future, an eternal embrace.

But it ended all too soon, when Claire got to her feet, picked up her purse, and wiped away the last hint of tears. She talked like she always had, like they were old friends. He let her drift toward the door, and followed her.

"Oh, wait, I just remembered," she said as she was about to exit. "I'm going to the beach tomorrow with Sun. Do you want to go? I mean, I know we spent more than seven months on an island, but I hear L.A. beaches are different. It should be fun, at least."

"Sure. I'll go. Are you OK to drive home?"

"Yeah, I'm all better now." She leaned close to speak into his ear. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Think nothing of it."

It was an unfortunate choice of words, considering that he would think of it all night. He closed the door behind her, then put his hand up to scratch an itch on his ear.

It wasn't an itch—it was Claire's last tear. He wished momentarily that he had a way of saving it, but he shook off the thought and the drop of water and went about the business of his lonely day.