Part III

"Charlie's jealous," Desmond says without preamble, sitting down heavily next to me on the makeshift 'couch' that's really someone's hard sided suitcase with an airline blanket thrown over top. "It doesn't take a physic to see that."

"Well, hello to you too," I say, marking my place in the book Sawyer lent me and stowing it next to the couch. "Jealous of what?"

"Of the time you spend in my company," Desmond says, forking a hand through his messy brown hair. "We should stop."

"Stop being friends?"

"Stop before it develops further," he says, motioning at the space between him and me. "Us. It has to stop."

"It didn't know it even started."

Desmond scowls, obviously hoping I'd make this easy on him. "Perhaps I'm not making myself clear, Claire. It will be very difficult to remain 'just friends.' I am putting a stop to whatever is building before it even starts." He motions at the space between us again. "This will not work. I won't let it. You deserve better."

"I can make my own decisions, Desmond."

He shakes his head. "Not in this matter. I'm making it for you. You deserve better."

"What's better than you?" I challenge.

"There are a million choices better than me."

"Name one."

He shakes his head again. "Let's just leave it at 'you deserve better.'"

"What I deserve and what I choose, rarely go hand in hand," I point out. "Aaron deserves a father but I chose a scared little boy who ran off on us. You insist that I deserve someone better, but I choose not to listen." I give him one of my tight, determined little smiles. "Something inside you, Desmond, is scared. Of what, I don't know, but let me help you."

He reaches out as if to caress m cheek or brush back my hair but stops himself at the last minute, hand dropping uselessly to his side. "You're so very good, Claire. So light. I would be lying if I said I didn't find that attractive, but I'm not meant for that For you. I'm dark. Dangerous."

"That's ridiculous, Desmond," I say, trying to see into his downcast eyes. "Don't you know everyone gets second chances here?"

"Aye," he sighs, standing. "But I've already used up my second, third, and fourth chances. How many will the island allow?"

"As many as it takes," I insist, trying to reach for his hand but he steps out reach.

"I'll warn you again, Claire. I'm not for the likes of you. Make nice with Charlie. He can handle the light."

"It can't be as bad as all that," I say. "Let me help you, Desmond."

He shakes his head, turning away. "You can't help me, Claire. No one can."