Chapter Fifteen

In the glow of candlelight and the oil lamp Sayid sanded the splinters off the runners of Claire's rocking chair. Locke had made it for her when the huts were first built, and Claire said that when the hunter delivered it, Aaron called him "Geepa." That, Sayid thought, must have forever turned John off to the idea of pursuing Claire. That was well, and for more reasons than one: Locke had since found a mate, and Claire had never been forced to disappoint him.

When he was done, Sayid turned the chair right side up and rose. He peeked behind the cloth divide and saw that Aaron was soundly sleeping. The Iraqi felt an unexpected wave of tenderness coupled with a strong desire to protect the boy. Sayid had always treated Aaron well, of course, but he had not involved himself in the boy's life until he had begun dating Claire, and he wasn't quite sure when Aaron had managed to worm his way into his heart.

Sayid had agreed to keep an eye on the boy while Claire attended the midnight Christmas Eve mass. Eko's small flock had doubled for the occasion. The regulars were all there: Rose, who often attended even though she was a Protestant; Bernard, who did whatever his wife demanded of him; Locke, who could never manage to pass up an opportunity to witness any mystical ritual, whether he ascribed to it or not; Hurley, Steve, Donovan, Nikki, and, finally, Claire, who was not sure she believed all the details, but who nonetheless found succor in the overarching story. Tonight this core had been joined by others, whom Sawyer had contemptuously dubbed the C&E Christians. (Sayid was still attempting to decipher that one.) Among them, much to Sawyer's chagrin, was Kate.

Sayid now wandered over to the mantle and glanced at his stocking. He touched the material cautiously and considered looking inside. Claire would never know. Or would she? She was more perceptive than he had imagined. She had grown quite sensitive to his moods, however tightly he believed he was controlling his emotions. When he was upset and was forcing the raw feeling deep inside, sealing it off with a stone face, she would ask him what was wrong. When he was irritated by someone (usually Sawyer) and was controlling the gathering rage--he thought quite coolly--she would notice and touch his arm or shoulder soothingly. When he was weary from his labors but too determined to take the time to rest, she would always seem to appear with a drink and a distracting smile.

Yes, if he looked in the stocking, she would surely know. And Claire was so endearingly zealous about her Christmas traditions that he deemed it best not to tempt fate. He turned away from the mantle.

When Christmas morning arrived, Sayid joined Claire and Aaron in their hut to participate in the opening of the stockings. The couple watched as Aaron overturned his and, in one maneuver, scattered its contents on the ground. The boy was delighted with the collection of rocks, to which Sayid had himself added a number.

Sayid had not been certain what he was supposed to put in Claire's stocking, so he was happy to see that she seemed to be pleased by its contents. She now held up a small airplane bottle of amaretto. "How could there possibly be any of these left?"

"Sawyer was hiding one."

"That must have been a very expensive stocking stuffer, Sayid."

He shrugged. It had been—he had agreed to take Sawyer's place on the night patrol rotation for the next three months, which would mean he now had to serve several times a month. Some thought the patrols were no longer necessary, as there had been no trouble with the Others since the truce, and they grumbled when it was their turn to serve. But no one seriously suggested dismantling the system, and everyone slept better at night because of it.

"Now, you understand, stockings don't count as real presents," Claire told him. "They're just little, silly treats. Don't expect anything special in yours."

Sayid nodded solemnly, but it was with an almost childish expression of delight that he began to rummage in his own. She was right—it was nothing much—a mango, a Dharma pen from the last discovered hatch, and a small roll of paper—but he was content simply to be included in the family ritual. The pen, actually, was quite practical. He now retracted the ballpoint with satisfaction and wondered for a moment what his real gift would be.

Later that afternoon, they made their way to the Christmas banquet. Sayid glanced at the official gift table before they were seated for the meal. Most of the presents had been wrapped in large, tropical leaves or other jungle scatterings; they were tied with long, thick grasses and labeled with slips of paper. He attempted to find the gift Claire had labeled for him, so that he might venture a guess as to its contents, but before he could seek it out, she was tugging him towards the table.

The survivors dined happily, and the common hall, shaded by a palm-thatched awning, was alive with conversation. Sayid watched as Hurley ventured to the cauldron to pour a cup of hot fruit cider, and he smiled mildly as the young man began speaking to Rebekah. Claire put an arm around Sayid's shoulder and whispered into his ear, "So, has he asked her out yet?"

"Not to my knowledge."

Suddenly, Sawyer began banging on the table with a spoon and chanting, "Kiss her, Kiss her, Kiss her!" in Hurley's direction. Desmond laughed and joined in, with both implement and voice.

Sayid was rather taken aback by the crude chorus, certain it must be positively mortifying to Hurley, who had not so much as made his interest known. So when Claire also joined in the chant, he looked at her in shock. "What are you doing?" he hissed. "How can you encourage Sawyer and Desmond like that?"

"It's a Christmas tradition, Sayid."

"Humiliating love-smitten young men?"

"No, they're under the mistletoe," Claire insisted, pointing at a plant hanging down from the awning and just over the heads of Hurley and Rebekah. "Well, it's not really a mistletoe, but it's the closest thing we could find, and everybody knows what it's supposed to be."

"Everybody?" Sayid asked.

"The tradition is, if you're caught with someone under the mistletoe, you have to kiss the person."

Well, thought Sayid, that tradition, if a bit strange, was indeed preferable to senseless mockery. He smiled as Hurley bent in to offer Rebekah a timid peck on the lips. The young lady blushed meanly, but she did not seem to dislike his attention.

Hurley stepped quickly away from Rebekah and the mistletoe and interrupted Sawyer's lewd whistling noises by announcing loudly, "Claire should start playing Santa now and hand out the gifts."

"Wait, Hurley, before I hand out the real presents, let's play the white elephant game."

"Oh, yeah, this is going to be great," the big man said, forgetting his embarrassment and walking toward the center of the table. "Okay, dudes, listen up! The white elephant gifts are all in this bag here—" he pointed to a tarp sack. "I'm going to pass out the numbers now." He began to walk around with a coconut bowl filled with little slips of paper.

Sayid had added a gift to the sack several days ago, as he had been instructed to do, but Claire had teasingly refused to explain to him the concept of the white elephant, and he had more or less forgotten about the whole affair until now. He watched carefully as each survivor took a piece of paper and unfolded it. Claire had the number 17. When Hurley extended the bowl to him, Sayid reached in and grabbed a slip. After unfolding it, he turned to Claire. "Number one. That is very good, yes?"

She giggled. "No. It's very bad."

His eyes narrowed. "Will it make it impossible for me to win?"

"There are no winners, Sayid. It's just for fun."

"A game no one can win. What precisely, then, is the--"

She shushed him and nodded towards Hurley, who was beginning to explain the proceedings. "Okay, dudes, so, like whoever has number one goes first."

Sayid waited anxiously to discover what he must be the first to do.

"You take a present—any present—sight unseen from the white elephant pile in this bag." Hurley motioned to the blue tarp sack. "Then whoever has number two gets to take your present from you or one from the bag. Number three gets to take either of the two open presents, or one from the bag. And it keeps going like that. So the last person gets his pick of any open present—or the last one in the bag." Hurley began to sit down and then stood again. "Oh, yeah, and if you get your present taken from you, you open a replacement from the pile."

"I see," Sayid muttered to Claire. "I have no choice but a single blind one. Everyone else has multiple options."

Sayid did as he was bid and took a random present from the bag. He unwrapped it to discover a paisley shirt so hideous and loud that he had never before seen any man wear it. "Oh," he said. "Thank you. It really is quite…colorful."

Claire's burst of laughter caused him to look in her direction. "It's okay, Sayid. You don't have to pretend to like it. It's a white elephant gift. That's the point. The gifts are all things the givers don't want."

"Then I do not have to wear it?" he asked in a hopeful voice.

"No," Claire answered through her laughter.

"What a relief," he muttered as he sat down beside her and placed the crumpled paisley shirt on the table.