Chapter Eighteen

Sayid lay on his back and stared at the ceiling of the hut until his breathing leveled. Claire's passion had surprised him, but not so much as his own: he had not known the tender desire he felt for her harbored so much fire. He turned his head to look at her. He saw her bright smile and understood immediately that awkward phrase, "the heart lurched."

He patted his torso with his hand, and she accepted the invitation, curling herself against his side and resting her cheek on his chest. He looked back at the ceiling as he absently stroked her blonde hair. It felt as if every remnant of tension his body had ever housed had been drained out. It was difficult on this island--especially for a man trained to be a soldier--to feel truly relaxed. The rare sensation provided an almost narcotic effect, and he felt his heavy eyelids drawing irrepressibly downwards.

"Sayid?"

His eyes might have remained closed if her voice had only sounded musing; but it held a note of concern. He looked down at her and urged, "Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"Certainly."

"I told you, before, about how much this would mean to me. So for me, this changes everything about our relationship. But you…you would have been willing that first time we kissed. So, I was wondering…" He felt her fingers fluttering lightly, nervously, against his chest. "Does it change anything for you?"

He shifted onto his side so that he could look into her eyes, which in the flickering light of the candles appeared alternately tender and longing and happy and anxious. "Claire, you have just given me your heart. How could I not be changed?" He kissed her gently, and when he saw that she seemed satisfied with his answer, he returned to his former position.

After awhile, just in time to prevent him from drifting off to sleep, she said, "Thank you for tonight. I really needed this. I didn't know how much I needed it."

Sayid laughed softly. "I believe it is the recipient who should be thanking the giver, and not the other way around."

Claire raised herself up on one arm and smiled down at him. "But that's just the point, Sayid. Giving gifts isn't about receiving…there's so much more pleasure in giving."

The left side of his mouth alone curled. "I would beg to differ …I think there is considerable pleasure to be had in receiving."

She kissed his lips warmly before lying down again. It seemed so comfortable, so natural to feel her soft breast pressed against his firm chest, her slender leg draped over his powerful one, her fair skin blending seamlessly with his dark flesh.

His near slumber having been twice prevented, Sayid was now more alert. His mind began to plan as his eyes moved about the dimly lit hut. While leisurely stroking her back and shoulders, he said, "I think when I move in, I will build a wood partition where that curtain is, so that Aaron can truly have his own room and we can have more complete privacy."

He was startled by the sudden way Claire sat up. "What?" she asked.

"Is there some problem with the idea? I do not think Aaron would mind. He would likely be excited by the idea of having a space that is entirely his own."

"The partition is not a problem. It's the 'when you move in' part that I was wondering about. You just said it like…like we'd already discussed it."

His mouth dropped open, and he promptly closed it. It wasn't embarrassment that caused him to trip over his words; it was the sudden sinking sensation in his stomach. He had known he cared deeply for Claire; he had known he was attracted to her. But he had thought that by moving in he would be giving her what she wanted. He had not realized, until she hesitated, how desperately he desired to begin living life with her, beside her, for her. "Oh. Forgive me. I misunderstood. I thought all this meant…I thought you wanted us…"

"I do," she said, and he could feel his breath returning. "It's….I'm just surprised. That's all. I didn't know you were so…serious."

"What did you think you were getting in exchange for your heart, Claire?"

"I didn't care what I was getting. I just wanted to give."

He sat up now too and drew her sideways into his lap. He titled her chin and spoke to her with his eyes before speaking with his lips. "I feel honored to be loved by such a generous woman. I have no intention of letting go of this gift. Not now. Not ever." He kissed her intensely, and when at last their lips parted, he looked again into her eyes, examining them for some response. Her happiness appeared to be temporarily dwarfed by her astonishment.

Why did women always seem so bewildered by his willingness to commit himself? Was it because he did not go about saying, "I love you" at every sunrise? He supposed he was going to have to learn to say those words with regularity. "I love you, Claire."

She seemed unable to return the profession, but her smile declared it, as did her eagerness when she planted a series of joyful, little kisses across his face before fixing on his lips. Her happiness soon settled into earnestness, and her kiss intensified while she shifted purposefully in his lap. His lips broke from hers as he gasped in reaction to the sharp, sudden pleasure her movement elicited. Before he could quite recover, she had turned to straddle him. He moaned, threw himself back onto the blanket, and pulled her down too. She pressed suggestively against him and teased, "That must be painful."

"Yes," he murmured, his eyes twinkling in the shadowy light, "perhaps you can finally kiss it and make it all better."

She began by kissing his ear, into which she whispered, "Happy Christmas, Sayid."

He closed his eyes to savor the feel of her cool, moist lips against his burning skin. "That poem Hurley shared with me last night is more fitting than I thought," he said. His voice was growing husky as she began to inch down his chest, kissing and tasting his salty flesh. "Guess how it ends?" he asked, gripping the blanket and tightening his hands into fists as he anticipated her destination. "A Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night."