Shannon was frantic trying to get the last drips out of her bottle of Bath and Body Works raspberry-and-vanilla scented lotion. She growled in frustration, shaking the bottle ferociously.

Damn. She should have thought to ration. But then, as Boone would have put it, she never took the time to think.

Fuck Boone, she thought to herself. After that soccer game she had a right to sit a moment and pamper herself. As she spread what little lotion was left in the bottle, her fingers lingered over the new bruise forming on her shin. She hadn't had a bruise in forever.

It had been fun though, a tiny genuine voice in the back of her mind whispered. She smiled a little, and tried to shake more out of the inevitably dry bottle.

"Augh!" Shannon cried out, throwing the bottle violently out across the sand.

"Um. . . okay, nevermind. . ."said a voice timidly.

Shannon jumped, surprised to find someone behind her. Looking back she could see Hurley walking away.

"Wait!" she saw him visibly flinch as she called out. "What did you want?"

Hurley turned around slowly, with a look on his face like he was being prepared to be stir-fried by cannibals.

"You're not going to throw anything at me, are you?" his shoulders were still hunched in defense mode.

"Even if I wanted to, I don't have any ammunition left." she said, exasperated.

"Right." he said. He stood there a moment, and then turned the other way for the quick escape.

"Would you quit it!" she shouted. "Get back here!"

Hurley began inching towards her once more, still with an aghast frightened look plastered on his face.

". . .So what's your problem?" she continued, examining her nails for flaws. Nothing wrong, if you didn't count the heinous sight of seeing the nail polish slowly chipping off of each finger, without any nail polish remover to clear it up. She had hoped that the color would stay at least until the rescue team arrived—you never know when one of the Coast Guard members might turn out to be rich. She and Boone weren't as wealthy as they'd pretended to be. No. . . her mother had snuffed and injected all that money away.

Hurley was saying something. . . oops. She'd made all that fuss about him not running off in fright and now she wasn't able to recall a single word he'd spoken. Oh well. Pick up the conversation at the end.

". . . so, to make a long story short, I picked your name, so I've got a Christmas gift for you."

"Is that it?" she asked skeptically.

"Well, yeah. I guess."

Shannon paused. Oh. . . . she thought after a moment. Him coming to bother me actually makes sense now.

"Well, get on with it." she said, readjusting her sunglasses and sitting up to face him.

"Oh. Um, Okay. . ." Hurley's eyes widened as he jostled around in his backpack. "This present requires a little bit of explanation," he continued.

"Whatever." Shannon was trying her hardest to be patient, which said a lot, she thought, considering her personality. he continued fumbling through his knapsack.

"Well, okay. You're a girl."

"Um. . . yeah. That's pretty easy to establish."

"Right!" he said, taking in a nervous breath. "So you've probably seen a romantic movie in your time. . ."

". . .yes. . ."

"So, my point is—"

Oh thank God, she thought. He has a point.

"My point is, um, have you ever seen any Audrey Hepburn movies?"

"Um. . . I told my friends that I did once." she said, trying to keep the conversation in something of a 'yes' balance.

"You know—" she rationalized, "didn't want to be left out of the loop."

Hurley just blinked at her for a moment.

"Well this makes things more complicated." he mumbled to himself, still searching.

"Have you at least seen bits of Breakfast at Tiffany's?" he sighed.

"Is that the one where she's got the tiara and gloves and the black dress?" she asked, squinting at him in the sun. ". . .I liked that dress. I remember it from the poster."

"Good," Hurley said, and finally extracted what he'd been looking for. "—Because that's what you're getting."

Shannon just stood there gawking, speechless. In his hands Hurley held a little black dress, painstakingly pieced together from a million other pieces of clothing. Sure, it wasn't satin, but damn. That took talent to sew that.

"Did you do this. . .?" she asked in disbelief. Hurley had a look of imminent doom and fear etched on his face.

"Yeah. . .um, do you like it?" his look softened a little.

"Do I like it? Holy shit!" she answered, feeling over the fabric.

"So, yeah. I didn't quite get that response—does that mean you like it?" Shannon rolled her eyes at him.

"Yes. yes. I like it, okay? I love it!"

In a moment of pure giddiness, Shannon squealed and gave Hurley a big hug around the neck. After a moment, Hurley, still in a state of shock, hugged her back a little uneasily.

Pulling back, Shannon took the dress in her hands.

"Jesus, Hurley. Where'd you learn to sew like this?"

Hurley smiled with pride.

"My Grandma Jane taught me."

"Hurley—" Shannon stumbled a moment, trying to find the words. "This is awesome. I love it. I'm totally gonna wear it tonight."

She gave him another hug.

She couldn't believe that anyone would go to this much trouble over her. Brat Shannon, the priss reject of the island. The only time anyone had been this generous to her in her life had been when guys had wanted a favor from her in return. That and Boone. Thank God for Boone.

This was complete generosity.

"This is one of the best gifts I've ever gotten." she said to his ear, and kissed him on the cheek.

And she'd meant every word of it.

­­

Hurley walked back towards the caves with a sudden warmth of self confidence and pride. Who'd have thought that Shannon would have actually liked her present, let alone would've kissed him for it? He'd stayed up all night making that dress. For once, it seemed, his work was paying off.

And she'd kissed him.

Sure, it was just on the cheek, but Hurley was still grinning and blushing when he ran smack into Claire, who was making a mad dash in the opposite direction. He just managed to catch her before she fell flat on her back.

"Whoa, dude," he said to her, making sure she had two feet firmly planted on the ground before letting go of her arm. "You gotta be more careful with the baby and all."

Claire broke out into a huge grin.

"I was just looking for you!" she said excitedly, still a little out of breath.

"Why?" A backgammon emergency perhaps? One of the golf clubs is bent? Hurley couldn't think of anything else that everyone would need him for.

Claire had a conspiratorial gleam in her eye.

"I thought you might want your present." she said. It was then that Hurley noticed that she was hiding something behind her back. He felt himself suddenly reverting to a five-year-old kid, impatient for his parents to wake up so they could open stockings.

"You're my Secret Santa?" he said, his eyes widening with curiosity. "Ooh. . . what'd you get me?"

He poked his head to try and see around Claire's back, but she dodged, nearly knocking him out with her protruding stomach in the process. Hurley just managed to duck in time.

"Hey!" he cried, brushing out the hair that was now mussed in his face.

"Hey yourself." she said, looking at him sternly but still unable to suppress her smile. "You've got to learn some patience. I think maybe I'll wait now to give you this until later this afternoon."

"Oh, no—don't do that!' he dragged on her sleeve as she started to walk away. "Oh, c'mon. . ."

Claire sighed in resignation.

"I don't see what you're making a fuss about, it's not that good anyways."

"Please Claire, can I just see it? You're getting me all worked up and then threatening to leave—it's just against the Christmas spirit, to put it bluntly." Claire laughed out loud.

"Oh, don't give me any of that crap. . ." she looked at him again scoldingly, but was only able to hold it for two seconds before she melted.

"Oh, fine!" she shouted, laughing in exasperation. "Here."

She held out a small book, crudely made out of yellow legal pad paper, folded in half to make pages and sewn together with scraps of string. The title of it read The Hurlequin.

"—It's a comic book," she explained. "I made you a superhero."

Hurley thumbed through it with amazement. Wow, he thought, these drawings aren't half bad.

"My friend and I back home used to make these things all the time for our friends." she continued. "I know it's not really that good, but I figured—"

"No, it's cool!" he interrupted in hushed amazement. "Trust me—this is really cool."

Hurley couldn't believe how much his timid ego had grown in strength over the past few hours—first Shannon, and then this. He'd have warm fuzzies to last him a long time now on this hellhole of an island.

"Thanks, Claire," he said, smiling a little as he flipped through it. "This means a lot."

Claire smiled back at him.

"The way I see it, everyone saves the world in some way or another," she laid a hand on his shoulder and looked at him, a bit more serious. "I can't even count the number of times that you've rescued everyone's peace of mind."

The warmth Hurley had begun to feel in his chest grew even more bright.

"I've gotta head back to camp," Claire said finally. "But I'll see you later on, right?"

"Yep, I'll be there." Hurley said with a classic nod and comical grin.

"Right. See you then." Claire started back the way she had come, walking the slow weighted stride of someone carrying the burden of another's life.

"Claire?" Hurley called out, as an afterthought. Claire turned a moment.

"Yeah?"

"Would you be willing to make more issues of this, if I asked real nice?" he wheedled.

"Sure thing." she smiled again knowingly, and continued walking.

Hurley sat down on the path and opened the book a few pages in.

Yep, there he was. . . saving the world.