Disclaimer: I do not own Lost or A Christmas Carol. They are born from minds quite more intelligent and creative than mine. The title of this story comes from a quote by poet Christina G. Rossetti.

A/N: This story is written for DiorNicole as part of the Lost Secret Santa Fic Exchange. It is the first part of a six part story. I hope you enjoy it, and that it lives up to your expectations!

Miles Straume was angry to begin with. There can be no doubt whatsoever about that. His scowls and snapping did nothing to ease the nerves of the frightened Juliet, nor did they serve to ease the tension that existed between Locke and Sawyer. The departure of those particular six from the island, especially of the Iraqi, had all but removed the target on his back. And though he should be grateful that infernal dart board was gone, he found that it allowed him only to be miserable…

Move the island they said! With the mindset of a skeptic, he laughed and agreed to stay. Now that Keamy's pals were dead, and Keamy was missing in action, what the hell was wrong with a little adventure? Besides, how could they possibly move an island? That in itself seemed to be the most asinine phrase he'd ever heard uttered.

"We have to move the island!"

Right.

Well they had, dear reader, much to the amazement of Miles Straume. Those two old bastards- one crazier than the other- had disappeared into the depths of the jungle and managed to move an entire island. Miles had yet to figure out where they were, or just how the mechanism of island moving worked. But he certainly knew that they were in a different local, either in time or in space, despite the fact that there was no actual proof.

This leads me to point out again, quite explicitly, that Miles Straume was angry. For not one member of their party had bothered to mention that, when the island moved, he'd lose his powers to seek out the dead. His one livelihood, gone.

Likely, in the real world, this would have been a disappointment, but not a problem. The gullible would have continued to supply him amusement (and cash), seeking answers from those who lay in a world far beyond to problems in a world they'd once inhabited. But here on this island, where the tiny blonde Australian woman bawled over her lost baby, where the scientist rambled on about the space-time continuum, a man needed some form of entertainment.

Three forms, actually- of spirits, that is. The island had been a veritable dearth of spirits when he arrived. They spoke of some group… something about the Dharma, Karma… whatever. Half had been hippies, too tripped out on LSD to be of any use, the other half had been scientists, whose unintelligible murmurings would have only been of any use to Faraday.

Amazing how in death, these spirits reflected so well their forms in life.

It was by pure chance that he found these particular three, and with their discovery came his newest form of entertainment had been born. The first was a quiet woman, almost timid. Her voice was soft when she spoke, but conveyed a depth and strength far beyond her thirty-something years. Miles was nearly certain she'd never been on the island before her death.

Next, there was the Hispanic woman, strong in a different way than the first. Her face expressed deep loss, personal tragedy. Her demeanor was quite the opposite. Tough, and not willing to deal with anyone who didn't see things her way, she spent most of her time bickering with the third woman.

Oh yes, the third. Leggy. Blonde. Indescribably hott. If only she wasn't dead… Any other person would toss her aside as another Paris-Nicole-Lindsey-something-or-other. Yet there was something more there, something good. And those legs…She argued constantly with the Hispanic woman, something about the jungle, and a gun, and a kid named Walt.

Eavesdropping in on the conversations and arguments between the three had provided Miles the much needed entertainment and escape required to get by. Now they were gone and Miles was angry. And to top it all off, according to the count being maintained by Rose, it was three days before Christmas. What a way to spend the holidays- pining for three dead chicks.

Alas, dear reader, it is not poor Miles's fate in which our interests lie. Even so, it is in his anger our story begins.

For far beyond the island, another man lived- no, survived- filled with much more anger than Straume, and despair beyond mend. A man in need of rescue, possibly even more so than the denizens of the moving island.

Because once, he too had known the island. He had known the spirits.

And once, Sayid Jarrah knew how to love.

A/N: I hope you liked the chapter. I haven't seen the fourth season in a while, so I hope I got Miles's character just right. The intro is pretty much modeled after Dicken's start to the story, but the rest should be a bit more from my voice. And there's more Sayid next chapter! Please leave a review! Constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!