"What're you doing, dude?"

"I'm trying to devise a calendar." Locke looked up at a confused-looking Hurley with one of his philosophical blue-eyed stares. It took Hurley a moment to figure out how to continue the conversation.

"oh, so you can uh. . . figure out what day it is and stuff—I get it."

"I've already done that bit. I'm mapping out the days after this one." Locke didn't look up.

"Cool. So, uh. . . what's the date?" he asked.

"December 23rd."

Hurley stood there gaping a minute.

"Holy shit. . . it's two days til Christmas!" He said, jumping up. Never one to get excited, Locke simply nodded.

"We gotta do something. . ." Hurley mumbled, running off towards his tent. Locke stood there a moment smiling, then shook his head and hunched over once more.

Kate looked up to hear Hurley shouting in the distance. After all that had happened, she felt a cold pang of fear in her stomach. An automatic reaction. However, Hurley was not being dragged off into the jungle by a polar bear or any other similar tragedy; instead, he had managed to climb on top of the plane wreckage, and was now flapping his arms wildly in the air, calling everyone to gather around. Kate shook her head, wondering how it was possible that he wasn't already fallen face first from the loss of balance. Shaking her head, she abandoned the fishing pole she was building and began walking towards the commotion.

Hurley's fragmented cries formed words as she came closer.

". . . So anyways, upon hearing recent developments, I have learned that today is December 23rd, which means tomorrow is Christmas Eve, which means tomorrow is Christmas." He had to stop to take a breath.

". . . What I propose is that we actually have some fun for once, and have a gift exchange." he finished finally.

"You mean like a Secret Santa?" Shannon asked without much enthusiasm. But then, Kate mused, did she ever have enthusiasm?

"Well, yeah." Hurley said after a moment. "Anybody who wants to can participate, just gimme your names and about twenty minutes to come up with a list. Then we'll draw names, and it'll be good."

Almost everyone came rushing up to him immediately, smiles on their faces. Kate realized she was smiling herself. Hurley was right, she thought; This will be good. Jack walked up to her after a moment.

"Do you think this is a good idea? I mean, we've got fifty million other things that we could be doing to help our survival." Kate just glanced at him a moment and laughed.

"Relax, Jack." she said, giving his shoulder a squeeze, "This is for emotional survival."

He smiled with a crinkle in his eyes, touching her hand on his shoulder. He laughed at himself a moment.

"Yeah, you're right." he smiled again. "It'll be fine."

Looking at her a moment more, he backed away to go put his name on the list. Kate began walking towards Hurley as well, slowly, to let the chaos die down. Looking to her right she suddenly noticed Sawyer, eyes closed, sunning himself in a chair.

"You gonna join in?" she asked. He wasn't sleeping, Kate knew. He wouldn't let himself be that vulnerable so close to other people.

"Freckles," he said, not bothering to open his eyes, "I'm more of a Grinch than a Santa Claus. I think I'll leave the sleigh bells and tinsel to the fat kid."

Kate waited to see what other sarcastic remark he would come up with.

"Although I wouldn't object to mistletoe or some heavily spiked egg nog. . ." He said after a moment.

She hated the way he insulted everyone. But then, she also knew he was just doing it to get a rise out of her. She wasn't stupid enough to take the bait.

"Suit yourself." she said. "I don't see why you wouldn't want to do it though; force someone to give you a present, surprise everyone just by putting in your name. . ."

"Lay off Freckles, nobody'd want to give the island pariah any form of Christmas cheer." Sawyer said, sighing a little bit in frustration at her stubbornness.

"You never know," she said, walking away. "People might surprise you."

Kate began walking towards Hurley once again, and put her name in the hat. She felt the warmth of inward satisfaction as she saw Sawyer stand up and walk towards Hurley, after everyone had dissipated. She knew he would come around.

Five minutes later, Hurley was calling everyone back in, holding out a hoard of paper scraps in a New York Mets hat.

"Now, before everyone starts groping blindly, I want one person," he emphasized the 'one' slowly, "—One-- person, to come up at a time and pick a name from the hat. That person is the one that you must give a gift to. No telling anyone who got who, no trading in for another name. . . Who you get is who you get." Hurley cleared his throat. "Understand?"

Everyone nodded. One by one people began filing up to grab a slip of paper.

Hurley started out the proceedings, opening the paper up between his sand-covered fingers, and immediately wished that he had nixed on the 'no trading' rule. . . . What the Hell was he supposed to get Shannon?

Boone walked up, a little hesitant, and picked his name. A few more passed through grabbing names, then Locke walked up and drew; then Walt; then his son, always a step behind him.

Charlie walked up to Hurley, praying inwardly to whatever god didn't hate him at this point that he'd draw one specific name. He stood there a moment, over the hat, looking at all the little bits of paper. They were the closest thing to snowflakes that they'd get this Christmas.

Hurley noticed his deliberation, and faked a cough.

"Hers is the one with the smudge on the corner." he mumbled under his breath. Charlie smiled and drew it, unfolding it to read the word: Claire.

"Thanks, man."

Smoothing her skirt as she walked, Shannon advanced and hurriedly drew a name, not even pretending to hide her disappointment when she read who it was.

Claire followed Shannon with a smile. Her grin only grew when she saw Hurley's name on the paper.

With weighted confidence, Jack walked up and drew a name, followed by Sayid, and then Kate.

One name remained in the hat. As Sawyer walked up to claim it, people immediately fell silent, not attempting to hide their disdain. Boone began grumbling.

"Jesus Christ Sawyer," he finally burst. "What are you gonna give anyone? A gun to their head?" He burst out angrily.

"It'd be better than his aim last time." Walt added. A few people laughed, but Kate just stared, wondering about Sawyer's reaction. He just smiled at them that same, confident slow smile, paper in hand.

"Glad to see everyone's filled up with Christmas cheer. Wouldn't want any coal in your stocking now would you, kid?" he said, looking Boone in the eye. Boone glared back, full of hatred for the man that had toyed so lightly with his sister's life.

"They should've just left you tied to that tree to die." he said through gritted teeth.

"Maybe they should have." Sawyer said, smile still ironically fixed upon his face.

The two stood there for a moment. No one spoke up for Sawyer. No one spoke at all.

With a wink at Boone, Sawyer turned on his heel in one smooth motion, and walked away to his hole on the edge of the jungle. The crowd immediately began to dissolve as the others began to worry once again about their own gift plans, instead of the morbid entertainment of an impending fight.

Only Kate saw Sawyer crumple and drop the paper in the sand as he walked further away, unopened.

"What do you think you're doing?" Sawyer heard behind him.

It had taken Kate less than a minute to catch up to Sawyer after he had put a wide berth of distance between him and the rest of the group. From this point on the beach, the wreckage seemed nothing more than a dot on the horizon. He had hoped the people surrounding it would stay that small, but apparently Kate had other plans.

Sawyer gave it a little bit of time before answering, just to make it clear that she wouldn't be able to push him.

"I'm taking a walk on the beach." he said, turning around to look at her. "I would think that would be pretty obvious to someone as smart as you." Give her a smile.

Kate glared back.

"You know what I'm talking about, Sawyer. You can't just quit this because some twenty-year old kid hurt your feelings."

"Nobody hurt my feelings Freckles. . ." Jesus, she made everything he did sound so petty.

"Sure they did," she interrupted. "You made an attempt, and you were stomped all over by everyone."

". . .Let's get one thing straight," Sawyer said, interjecting on her little rant. "I was not making an attempt. I don't give a flying fuck what any one of those people back there think of me. . ." he began advancing on her, putting her on the defensive.

"I was merely trying to prove a point to you, Freckles: People don't surprise you. I've lived my life on being able to predict people's reactions and decisions. I know firsthand that there is absolutely nothing surprising at all in human actions." Sawyer stopped a moment. He had raised his voice a little, without meaning to. The worst that could happen would to have anyone see him agitated, especially Kate. It was easy to see that she could spot a person's weakness a mile away. When he spoke again, it was softer.

"I knew the moment I walked up there what was going to happen, and what would be said."

It was true, too. He had predicted exactly what had followed, though if he was honest with himself, there was a small part of him buried way deep down the hoped for a reaction a little more surprising. A little different from the usual.

Kate hadn't moved, hadn't backed away like Sawyer had expected her too. And when she found her voice again, he was disappointed to see that he deflated none of her aggression.

"Look, Sawyer. I don't care why you decided to join in—you have to follow through with this."

"It doesn't seem to me like the rest of the group agrees with your ideas to let me sit in on the little girl scout circle that you've got going." he said, laying down in the sand with his hands behind his head.

"I don't care what the rest of the group thinks either," she said angrily. "You're now responsible for another person's happiness. You accepted that the minute you threw your name in that Yankees hat."

". . . It was a Mets hat, and whoever it was, they're gonna have to learn sooner or later that life's a bitch. I might as well act as their bitter reality personified." he snapped.

Sawyer closed his eyes, hoping Kate would take the hint and buzz off. She kept on stabbing him with all these different expectations and arguments. Wasn't that one of the things he had always relished about the life he led? Nobody to expect anything out of you? Instead of leaving, Sawyer felt her displace the sand as she sat down beside him. The frustration was beginning to build.

"I cannot believe that you're doing this. This thing Hurley's doing is the one thing that anyone has had to look forward to since washing up here, and you're going to deliberately screw it up. What if it's that young boy, Walt's kid? What are you gonna tell him when he's denied this one opportunity for a little happiness? Are you—"

"I'm gonna tell him to get used to disappointment, okay?!" Sawyer blew up. Inside, it felt like he was taking a sledgehammer to a wall of mirrors that had been closing around him for years. A hot, angry, raw feeling was growing in the pit of his stomach. "I'm gonna tell him that this is the way life is, and the only way that you get ahead isn't by waiting around for someone to help you and give you presents, it's by fighting for it!"

Sawyer sat up straight, glaring into Kate's eyes and spitting the words at her face.

". . .I'm gonna tell him that this world is based on survival of the fittest, so if he's feeling sad for not getting a Christmas present, he might as well lay himself flat on the sand and wait for someone to walk all over him, cause that's what's gonna happen to him for the rest of his life unless he learns to just deal with it, and fight back!"

Both sat silent for a moment, staring. Sawyer looked at Kate and realized what he must look like—wild eyed and crazed, overtaken by his own emotions. It was like being on a rollercoaster, with each word increasing speed downward until you crashed at the bottom.

Sawyer took a breath to calm himself. Maybe that little outburst would get her to leave. Somehow he doubted it.

"Look, Freckles, I'm not gonna be your little project." he said, looking at her again. She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her.

"What are you gonna do, Freckles? You gonna fix me?" he asked sarcastically.

"Look, Sawyer, I'm not trying to fix you, but I know that you can't be as asinine as you pretend. I have a feeling you're just in the habit of making sure you piss off as many people as possible immediately after you meet them." Sawyer looked at her a moment in disbelief before shaking it off. He had to find some way to make her leave.

"And what makes you so perfect that you think you can dissect everyone else while you make sure that nobody knows a damn thing about you?" he said, cocking his head to the side, making his face as casual as possible.

"We've all got baggage Freckles, no pun intended," he said. "You've got the biggest secret of all."

If he had meant to shock her, he had done so. He had had a hunch that she was the one flying with the marshal the moment that the dying man had asked to speak alone with her. Now, looking at the wide-eyed expression on her face, he knew for sure.

In a split second she returned to the half-angry, half-brooding expression she had worn before, but Sawyer had noticed her reaction.

"What do you mean?" she asked him.

"Come on Freckles. . . quit pretending." He leaned in close to her ear. "You had to have done something wrong to be flying back home with a U.S. Marshall."

She didn't deny it, but instead stoically looked ahead at the waves, her eyebrows knitted in stubborn thought. He had a feeling that they were masking more serious emotions underneath.

"Come on, Kate," he said, using her name for the first time. "I wanna know what you, the perfect castaway, did to get someone tailing you all the way to Australia." He whispered in her ear; "How many others know? Or didja just tell them all that you had a desk job back home?"

That was it. Just one more push and she'd walk away before breaking down in front of him. She was too proud and independent to do anything else. He knew the feeling.

Which was why he surprised himself when instead of taunting her to go away, that pang of empathy coaxed him to just remain silent next to her, staring off at that same fixed point on the horizon that she was concentrating on now so intently.

Kate was afraid to speak for fear that her voice would crack, and was afraid to look in any direction besides the ocean for fear the this hot sensation now pressing against her eyes would suddenly betray her and pour out across her cheeks. She had been so hoping for a second chance, so hoping to forget all that had happened. Now she had to face it; everyone would know eventually.

And then she'd be back to loner Kate. Not that she had ever really stopped doing that, considering how she would sit right next to everyone around a signal fire each night, talking and laughing with them while they were being honest, and secrets were burning at the inside of her throat. She felt more alone then than any of the many times when she'd hiked across highways without talking for days. At least with just her she could be honest with herself.

But still, with the people there, it was nice to have the opportunities in her hands for companionship instead of forced out of her control. She felt more trust here than in any other place she had ever been. And soon, that would be gone.

Kate concentrated on breathing. So long as she breathed in and out she would not cry, she told herself. Just breathe and look at the water until everything seems better.

"How long have you been on the run?" Sawyer asked suddenly. This time it wasn't attacking—he almost sounded empathetic, though it was barely detectable. Kate forced her voice to be even before she spoke.

"Started when I was 13," she said slowly. No hitches in her voice.

"Jesus." Sawyer said softly.

"How about you?" she asked.

"Started when I was 8." He wasn't running from the law, but he'd been running from himself for a long time nonetheless.

Kate let out a sigh.

"So I guess neither one of us got to be teenagers, huh?" Sawyer asked. "No graduation."

"No sweet 16." she added.

"No ego-battering high school."

"No prom dress." With this, a barely-scrutible tone of sadness crept into her voice. Most girls dream about prom from age six on, and it just keeps building from there, he thought. He could understand her letdown.

"No dad intimidating your boyfriends." Sawyer added lightly.

"Yeah." she said, with an air of melancholy.

"That's okay," Sawyer said, laying a hand on her shoulder with a smile. "I hear the SATs are absolute shit anyways."

Kate laughed, and a small part of Sawyer flared to know that he had caused that laugh. He ignored it as best as he could.

Long after Kate walked back to the plane, Sawyer searched through the sand for the piece of paper that he dropped. He'd played many roles, he could play nice guy for a day.

A blue-lined bleached corner suddenly revealed itself under the sand with a gust of western wind.

Sawyer picked up the name and read it:

KATE

Classic, he thought.

He smiled, putting the scrap in his pocket.