A day spent in pursuit of an active toddler had wearied Claire, but after she and Sayid had been walking for awhile, the ocean air invigorated her. Sayid didn't seem inclined to talk, and she did not press him for conversation. It was peaceful, sometimes, simply to share the shore and stroll side by side beneath the glittering canopy of an open night sky.

"The view of the moon is beautiful here," he said at last, and gestured for her to sit. She accepted his suggestion and curled her legs Indian style. He sat next to her and placed his hands palm down in the sand, leaning back on slightly bent arms with his legs outstretched. She glanced sideways at him and noted the way his smooth skin seemed to accent the muscles that strained beneath the surface.

She wasn't going to kid herself. She was attracted him. How could she not be? But the whole thing was so strange…she knew the camp was whispering about them, pushing them together, expecting they would make a match.

There weren't many single men remaining on the island. Among them, Locke had become like a father to her, and Hurley…well, Hurley was sweet, but he was young, and he was…Claire was too kind to think it, but not too perfect to let it affect her ability to be attracted to him. Desmond had expressed some interest in her about a month after Charlie's death, but Claire had made it clear she was still mourning. She had thought at the time, vaguely, that something might come of them farther down the line, but Desmond had moved on, and three weeks later he was already living with another survivor. Claire had felt a slight tingle of regret, but it was neither long lasting nor powerful; she was glad she had done what was right for her at the time.

What all this meant now, however, was that she and Sayid were two of only a handful of available people remaining among the survivors. They were the loose ends of society, and that society wanted to see them neatly tied up.

Claire wondered if that was why Sayid kept asking her to go on these walks while declining to take matters any further than conversation: because he felt the pressure to tidy things up, but he didn't actually want her. She didn't like the thought, yet she couldn't help but think it. And although she wouldn't mind trying to be something more than a friend, she certainly didn't want to be his duty. So she blurted, "You're not interested in me, are you?"

He stopped leaning on his arms and sat at attention. She wasn't sure if it was her tone or her words that had startled him. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, you aren't attracted to me, are you?"

"Is it not obvious that I am? Why do you think I ask you on these walks?"

She dug a shell out of the sand from between her legs and examined it. With her shoulders pulled into a half shrug, she mumbled, "Then why haven't you tried to kiss me?"

"Because, until now, you had not given me the slightest indication that you wished me to do so."

She looked at him with disbelief. "So, what? You expect me to take the initiative?"

His lips fell partly open, perhaps in confusion, and then he closed them. They were full, supple, lips, and she couldn't seem to stop looking at them. "It is much more practical that way," he said at length.

"Practical? How is it practical?"

Those lips she was eyeing twitched with bemusement. He straightened them and said, "I am willing to do whatever you desire, Claire. It only seems appropriate, therefore, that you should be the one to set the pace--"

"Really, Sayid?" A light, scoffing sound escaped her lips. "What then? If I were to say let's have sex right here, right now you'd be game?"

She expected him to either laugh or back pedal. She did not expect him to say, in that matter-of-fact tone of his, "Certainly."

She blinked twice. She lowered the shell to the shore, but she still grasped it in her hands.

"You are a beautiful woman, Claire. And it has been…" He shook his head. "Do you expect I would decline?"

She looked out at the ocean. "We haven't even kissed, Sayid. I'm not even thinking about that yet. I mean, I've thought about it, but I'm not actually thinking about it." She dropped the seashell and raised her hands to either side of her head as if to steady her thoughts. "Okay, that didn't make much sense."

"I know what you mean. I understand there is a difference between desire and willingness." He leaned his head downward and caught her eye. "You see then why it is practical for you to...give me some indication of what you are ready to do when you are ready to do it? And then I will happily oblige."

She sighed. "That's a bit dull."

His eyes altered in the moonlight. She thought he actually looked injured. "You think me dull?"

"No, not at all," she hastened. "I just mean…it isn't much of a challenge."

"Claire, you are stranded on an island, living close to nature, and raising a young child by yourself under extreme circumstances. Why should you require another challenge?"

She laughed lightly. "You're right. I could probably use something…uncomplicated."

"You miss Charlie."

It wasn't a question; it was a statement. Was that the problem? Was she so accustomed to Charlie's strange devotion, to his sudden changes in mood, and to the roller coaster ride of anxiety that had been their relationship that she wasn't able to adjust to the idea of a quiet, straightforward romance?

No, it wasn't just that…though that might have been a part of it. It was the feeling that Sayid was prepared to content himself with the leftovers. He'd like the fare well enough; it would satisfy, and he'd be glad for the nourishment, but it would still be leftovers. It wasn't as if he was ever going to love her like he had loved Shannon.

Did that really matter, though? Did it have to be all or nothing? Why couldn't she ever shake her girlish, romantic notions of the way relationships were supposed to be? Those ideas had never helped her find a stable man before. The roller coaster was thrilling, surely, but the carousel was pleasant enough, and it never made your heart drop into the pit of your stomach so you felt like you would vomit. Maybe it was time to grow up.

"Yeah," she said. "I miss him. Like you miss Shannon. And you're nothing like him, just like I'm nothing like Shannon. I mean, you wanted to take the initiative with her, right?"

He looked at her curiously and spoke slowly. "I followed her signals. They were not subtle."

"Oh. I just assumed--"

"Do you think it means I do not truly desire you simply because I refrain from demanding what I have no way of knowing you want?"

"Oh. I didn't think of it like that."

They were quiet for a time after that. The silence gave way to fidgeting on her part. When he continued to remain patiently beside her, without moving closer and without speaking, she finally uttered, "Well, kiss me already, dammnit!"

Now he was the one to say, "Oh." Shifting in the sand to bring himself closer to her, he said, "I did not realize you meant at this precise moment…"

His lips were very close to hers. She wasn't expecting to feel this nervous—almost like a teenager again. After all, it wasn't like he was some rock god. He was a technician and a soldier and a mathematician, a builder of huts and a declaimer of facts. But his taste was sweet, and his tongue was hot, and there was absolutely nothing logical about the warm shudder that was racing up her spine as his lips pressed decisively against hers. And the only thing she could manage to think was, Carousel my ass.