The Poem Invictus is copyright William Ernest Henley.

Michael walked down the trail, crashing leaves against each other as he pushed them out of the way sloshing through the post-monsoon mud. Okay, it hadn't been a monsoon, but he was used to light, constant Northwest rain instead of a ten minute waterfall opening and closing in the sky the way it was here. He could never understand tropical rain.

It had been insane walking to the place where Locke slept to give him his Christmas gift. By the time he'd found him, Michael's shirt was soaked through and water was cascading down off of his nose in a steady stream.

He'd given him a chess set. It was crudely built: a flattened out piece of metal from the plane wing with black checkered squares sharpied in, with little circular bits of wood reminiscent of checker pieces for the kings, queens, knights, bishops, rooks, and pawns. Michael had colored half black, and left the other half natural, and had labeled each one as best as he could with his marker (which was now fast running out of ink. Damn.) Unpolished and simple, but still the only chess set he'd seen on the island anyways. And he had a feeling that Locke was a chess enthusiast.

Sure enough, when he'd given it to him, Locke had been overjoyed—as far as Michael could tell anyways. It wasn't like Locke showed much emotion about anything. He had smiled wide and thanked Michael numerous times, with his eyes still placidly intense and silencing. Michael had just begun to accept that that was the way that Locke was. It was kinda creepy at times, but it never meant anything in particular.

But that was done now, Michael thought, as he pulled back the last of the leaves from in front of him and entered the clearing. Michael looked around for signs of life. No one was around.

Sighing, he sat down and waited. He'd drawn a message for her in the dirt while she was sleeping—a message she knew her husband wouldn't interpret. No use getting throttled by some innovative bamboo weapon that Jin had created when all he wanted to do was make sure Sun got a Christmas present. It didn't matter much to Michael if Jin got anything—for all he cared Jin could go and bludgeon himself to death with that watch that he likes so much.

"Stupid pretentious bastard. . . ." he mumbled, but then immediately stopped and snapped his head up as he heard the familiar crunch of leaves.

". . . .Hello?" Sun peeked her head through the trees.

"Hey!" Michael said, jumping up to meet her. Sun walked toward him with her same straight, solemn face.

"I can't talk long, or else Jin'll get suspicious. . . . 5 minutes at most," she said. "What do you need?"

Michael stumbled over his next words, cursing himself as he did so. What's the big deal? he told himself, You're just doing a nice thing for someone. That's it.

"Oh—there's nothing. . . I mean, I'm fine. I just. . . well, you probably heard Hurley talking about it—I didn't think it was cool that you had to be left out. . . you know, because nobody knows that you speak—you know—and so I figured. . . ." Michael slowed down a minute and laughed at himself. Sun was laughing too, the laugh of finding something that was awkwardly confusing and therefore hilarious. He gave himself a couple beats to calm down before speaking again. No use turning this into some awkward teenage conversation.

He sighed with a smile.

"I wanted to make sure you got a Christmas present, too."

Sun smiled in response.

"That's. . . ." she started, finding words. "That's wonderful. Thank you."

"It's not much. . ." he explained as he went to go grab it from behind the rock where he'd stashed it. "But I figured that you should have something. . ."

"What is it?" she asked when he bent down to pick it up, still smiling a little bit giddily. He hadn't seen her be anything other than serious and afraid. Not surprisingly, h

e liked the change.

"It's a poem. . ." he said, pulling a piece of paper out with a flower attached to it. Sun's eyebrows knitted in worried contemplation for a moment. Michael laughed a little as he walked towards her.

"No, no, no. . . don't worry, it's not that kind of poem. It's a poem about survival, not romance or anything. It thought it seemed fitting." Sun relaxed after hearing that. Michael had known better than to do anything like that—with a husband like Jin that would have sent her life into immediate turmoil. Above all, he didn't want that for her. He just wanted her to be happy.

"Where'd you get the poem from? Somebody's book?" she asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"Nah. . . I had to memorize it when I was in junior high. I can't remember the title or author or anything, but I still remember the words like it was yesterday. I figure if the publisher has a problem with me using it without the author credited, then I'd love it if they'd come arrest me for copyright infringement, so long as they take me off of this goddamned island."

Sun laughed again, and took the poem when Michael handed it to her, reading it while her fingers played with the top fringe of the page.

Out of the sea that covers me,

Black as the Pit from pole to pole

I thank whatever gods may be

for my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance

I have not winced nor cried aloud—

under the bludgeonings of chance,

my head is bloody, but unbowed.

It matters not how straight the gait,

how charged with punishments the scroll,

I am the master of my fate—

I am the captain of my soul.

"That's beautiful" Sun said still looking at the page, tears welling up in her wide black eyes. She looked at him, blushing a little.

"Thank you." she said. Michael melted just looking at her.

Voices far off in the distance sent them both crashing to reality. In an instant, Sun had the paper folded up and stuck in her back pocket and was making for the trees, her eyes wide, alert and aware. She looked back at him one more time.

"I have to go—" she started.

"It's alright, I'll see you later." Michael waved.

"The poem was wonderful. Thanks again." she said, smiling genuinely at him, and then disappeared through the trees.

Michael began tromping back towards the caves once more. Halfway through the image of Boone began forming, walking purposefully towards him on the trail.

"Hey man, what are you doing here?" Michael asked as he got closer. Boone was grinning excitedly.

"You're gonna love your Christmas present." He replied, clearly proud of himself.

Michael grinned.

"So you're the sucker who drew my name?"

"Don't act so surprised."

Boone bent down, searching through his backpack.

"You're still trying to bond with Walt, right?" he said.

Michael, squinted one eye and scratched his head, feeling the usual anxiety that came upon him anytime anyone mentioned the name "Walt."

"Is it that obvious?" he asked, disappointedly.

Boon raised his eyebrows at him.

"Well, kinda. Yeah."

"Great. Just great." Michael rolled his eyes.

"Don't worry so much. I'm here to help." Boone said, smiling again. "That's why I'm giving you these." he said, pulling something out of the backpack.

In his hand was a small pile of Batman comics, a few old, a few new, a few in between.

"I've been trying to hide my stash so no one would figure out that I'm a closet comic book nerd, but this is even better. Give them up for a good cause." Boone handed them over.

"Thanks man." Michael said as he took them. The waves of hope inside him were swelling high now.

"Give those babies to him for Christmas, and he'll love it."

"This is awesome." Michael said, leafing through them. "You're the best."

"No problem. I gotta head out now though—gotta show Shannon my Christmas gift. I think she'll appreciate it."

"What'd you get?"

Boone's eyes had taken on a more serious gleam, one of sincere appreciation and nostalgia.

"Locke found a picture of mine that had gone missing after the crash—one of me and Shannon and my parents when we were kids." Boone sighed with a far off look. "Those were the days."

"I know what you mean man." There comes a time in everyone's life when they crave to regain the innocence of their childhood.

"Gotta go." Boone said, looking at him with a sober smile.

"Later." Michael waved. ". . . And thanks for these. They'll help." he added, his voice filled with gratitude.

With one last look Boon carried himself and his backpack over a hill, and was gone.