Ficinabottle

Title: Fatal Attraction
Author: Zenana7
Pairing: Jack/Ana-Lucia
Rating: Light R for language


A while back, storydivagirl wrote a thoughtful missive on epithets and adverbs, which inspired me to write this story. Step in Anahaters, it’s not what you think; Anafans be warned, it’s not what you think. Just shows what a two-month hiatus (and a week away) can yield. Pardon my warped sense of humor.

Summary: The extremely hot steaming chemistry between the sporty surgeon and the energetic law enforcer bubbles insistently to the surface as inevitably as milk turning sour when left on the counter overnight.



Ana-Lucia sits on the rocky beach, carving a phallic symbol from a wayward stick, staring dejectedly out at the frothy ocean. Waiting. Secretly waiting. When is Jack going to get here? she wonders anxiously. They had had that significant eye-lock in the jungle, so she figures it is just a matter of time before they will be having a one-on-one encounter, staring deeply into each other’s eyes some more, but more close up. Jack would be one of the few Fusies that wouldn’t hate her guts like all the rest of them, just cuz she killed that silly blond and wanted to leave the shaggy-haired Redneck behind. He was dragging them down, anyone could have seen that. She had her Taily people to think of, because her Taily people were naturally more important. That was why she had had to punch him and knock him down repeatedly.

She looks at her wrist, then remembers she doesn’t wear a watch. What was taking Jack so long? They’d done the funeral thing, it had been hours since she’d spied him and that tough chick kissing pathetically in the woods. But now it is about time for the steaming chemistry between her and the thirty-something surgeon to be given some air time. The wind furiously whips the petulant policewoman’s hair into her eyes and the waves crash noisefully against the dark rocks in a scenic manner.

The sky is still light, but slightly grey, indicating it is later in the day so a certain amount of time must have passed since Jack had kissed Kate. Jack seeks out the leader of the Tailies, purposefully walking along the beach to the rocky part, thinking about the events of his day. Especially of that time when his and Kate’s lips locked, the culmination of at least 48 days of sexual tension between them, and he is so confusedly bewildered. Because the whole time their lips were seeking out one another and tongues following suit, his mind was on the real woman who was meant for him, the spicy Hispanic twenty-something for whom his blood truly boiled, because the chemistry between the two of them was so thick you could cut it with a palate knife.

Ana-Lucia is just wondering where the fuck Jack is already when she hears the scratchy crunch of footsteps in the sand, and there the lurching leader looms. He’s holding a handful of bottles. “Tequila and tonic, that’s your drink, right?” he observes. Yup, it’s the man with whom she had flirted in the airport bar in Sydney less than two months ago.

Yup, it’s the girl who had sat next to him at the terminal saloon and started coming on to him less than two months ago, waiting on the rocky beach atmospherically overlooking the ocean. Jack had gone to his secret stash of liquor, where he kept the good stuff. Shit, gin and vodka were fine for cuts, save the tequila for a good bender.

Her heart does a flitter-flutter flip flop. He remembers! Her drink! After all they had been through separately, when they really truly were meant to be together, and he still recollects! She is blown away, a goner, head over heels. It’s so goddamn sweet of him to recall that. (And good thing they had shown that bar flashback earlier so everyone else would too.) She is so overwhelmed with emotion that she drops the penis-like stick and the knife too and doesn’t think about them again after they land with a dull thump in the sand by her side.

The son of the former chief of surgery at a Los Angeles hospital must doubtlessly be in love with her and her hot chemistry. Ana-Lucia locks eyes with Jack and then battily blinks her eyelashes sexily and seductively. Jack licks his lips wetly, and a little bit of drool seeps out of the corner of his mouth. He slurps it in. Then the flirtatious cop notices the bottle-carrying physician has only the little containers of distilled blue agave. “Where’s the tonic?” she pouts coyly.

The sultry glower is worth it, because it elicits a rare grin from the scruffy-bearded gentleman to her left. “We're running a little low on mixers,” he quips brightly.

Keeping up the self-pitying game, the manslaughteress continues, “You sure you want to waste that on me?” Success again. Wow, the raven-haired runner must must’ve had some reaction to that Kate dame hightailing it out of there after that liplock.

Yup. “Figured you could use a drink. I know I could,” Jack confesses mysteriously, and Ana-Lucia keeps in mind that she’s not supposed to know about the private smooch she sneakily witnessed, even though it was kind of hot, sort of.

Putting a sorrowful look on her buffed face, Ana-Lucia observes, with a piteous tinge of sadness and misery, “Are you going to try to convince me that everyone here doesn't hate me?”

Another wry grin from Jack. “Only if you're going to try to convince me that every woman in the world's not crazy.” Wow, she must’ve really busted his balls, Ana-Lucia thinks gleefully, but bides her time so the chemical reaction between the two lonely head honchos will have adequate time to percolate.

A few moments go by. “Moment” is a pleasingly vague measurement of time term. Waves smash onto taupe sand, wind wafts along the ripples in the surf, bottle caps grind open. “It’s about time they showed us together again,” the former girl who is now a full-grown woman utters huskily, then clears the phlegm from her throat, leaning forward slightly to expertly spit the wad of mucus at least four feet away from where the predestined pair are sitting.

“Seriously,” declares Jack. “Love triangle time. I mean, time for us to show how there’s this inevitable hotness between us that can’t be stopped, a fire burning like the setting sun, like the fuselage when we had to burn all the bodies so they wouldn’t stink up the place and attract the wild boars any more.”

The young woman who had lost her baby due to a bad guy shooting her is stunned by the poetry of the no longer married man’s utterances. She feels her heart do that flip flop flitter flutter thing again at the romance of his words. She can feel the electric current crackling between them, then notices Jack has been sitting on some dry leaves.

“What were you doing in Australia, anyway?” Jack asks as the two stare off into the sky filled with clouds that look like shifting sheets of damask drapes dangling from a colossal clothesline set up on the distant horizon.

There is a slightly pregnant pause, also known as dead air. “My mother.” Ana-Lucia begins mournfully. “She...” her voice trails off deliberately and enchantingly.

“Yes, yes?” Jack asks eagerly with baited breath. “What about your mother?”

That baited breath is flexing muscles. Ana-Lucia turns her head away pointedly but politely.

“I... she... we...” the youngish Latina is having trouble spitting out the words of what will soon be some sort of important confession, and she releases a third-trimester pregnant sigh.

Jack turns his head away pointedly but politely, because the afterbirth of Ana-Lucia’s overweight sigh isn’t exactly perfumed either. He challengingly cocks a slightly impatient eyebrow in her direction while simultaneously dolefully staring out to sea.

The feisty female is impressed with the way the morose male can make his eyes go in two different directions. She continues haltingly. “My mama, she had... she had a problem with, with addiction. She was not only my mama, she was my boss. The chief of police of all of East LA. But it was the back injury that did her in. OxyContin. Couldn’t get enough of the stuff. And it, it impaired her judgment. She sent a cop back out on the street who had no business going back out onto the street. And people got hurt, pretty badly, loss of body parts like heads and stuff. She would have gotten away with it, too, she was always one to cover for herself. But I knew. And I knew I had to do the right thing for all of East LA, even if it was the wrong thing for la familia. I turned her in. She lost her badge, gun, everything. And she was only two weeks away from retiring and getting a hefty pension.”

“What a traitor,” Jack verbalizes sympathetically. “Betraying your own mama. Must have felt really good.”

Ana-Lucia stares at Jack peevishly, because that is the main way she knows how to stare at men. Then she gives a half smile to lighten the petulance. Jack queries, “But what does that have to do with Australia?”

“When she lost her job, my mama, she had nothing. Nothing except the pills. And no doctor in town would renew her prescription. ‘My back, my back,’ she used to whine, but I knew. The she gets an e-mail that says in Australia, you could get the drugs easy over the counter, anywhere. So she took a flight to Sydney, just left a note. My papa, he says I have to go after her, it’s the least I could do after what I did, he says. So I come. But it turns out she heard wrong, it’s all illegal there, and she got some bad stuff. Really bad stuff. Poison. And I was too late. Was able to grant her life-long wish, though. She’d always wanted to be cremated – ‘Burn me before Satan does,’ she used to say. I was bringing back my mama in a Ziploc – the freezer kind, because they’re thicker.”

Jack feels that the chord of connection to this fellow Los Angelinian has just multiplied in thickness, becoming more like sailing rope, the waxy yellow kind, than simple twine, or string, or thread.

“Omigawd!” the former medical student exclaims. “It’s uncanny! Almost the exact same thing happened to me. Except it was my dad, and my mother sent me, and he was a surgeon chief, and so was I, except not the chief part, and it’s a coffin, not a Ziploc, which is kind of gross if you think about it.”

“We have a special family urn I was going to put it in back home!” Ana-Lucia asserts snappishly, but then smiles ruefully so the chemistry will still be there.

“Anyway, wow, the parallels are eerie. Further evidence that We Are Meant To Be Together.”

Ana-Lucia feels that flip flutter thing again, then recognizes that it’s the occasional palpitations she gets periodically due to an arrhythmia in her heart that she’s had since birth and it’s not dangerous or anything, but does cause the occasion flitter flutter feeling.

Jack hands her one of the mini-bar bottles of tequila and she takes it very slowly, running her hand down the base of the bottle as if it were symbolically a cock that she is rubbing, probably Jacks’ cock, since he was holding the bottle. His eyes widen in aroused surprise and he doesn’t let go of the bottle. It is as if they are both holding onto a cock, one that is tapered at the end like a miniature bottle of tequila. Ana Lucia grips it more firmly, but Jack’s grip is surprisingly strong, surprising considering it was a mini-bar bottle and he was holding it by the mini neck and she had more of a grip on the thicker base. He thinks, if she grabbed his cock in the same way, with him holding on to the tip, it would probably kind of hurt.

Thinking of his cock made the man with the buzz cut that never seems to grow with the matching stubble remember the Fuselage’s female fugitive, and how they had kissed earlier, and how his cock had remained immobile, well, not exactly immobile, kind of floppy, actually, during the entire exchange, except, he knows he put his all into it, so Kate should have been panting and throwing him to the ground and mounting him like a stallion, throwing her head back and yelling Giddyup! But instead she acted as if they had just been applying lip gloss on each other’s lips for medicinal reasons, and he’d done a mediocre job. Naturally leading him to the conclusion that all women in the world are crazy, so he’d better go seek out Ana-Lucia, leader of the Tailies, killer of Shannon, tie-upper of Sayid with the stretcher meant to carry Sawyer, the shaggy-haired sex in jeans man who is his subtextintended.


Finally Jack decides to let go of the bottle and let Ana-Lucia have the damn drink, since she seems to want it so damn much. He lets go, suddenly, and Ana-Lucia falls backward with the force of the reverse momentum, promptly cracking her skull with a resounding thwack on the rock upon which she had been sitting. She lays still, and the island doctor leans over her nervously. Her eyelids flutter weakly and she gazes at him blearily. He returns her gaze with sharp eyes.

“So this is probably where we should kiss,” Jack says tentatively.

“Probably,” Ana-Lucia whispers weakly. “Though... it... feels... kind... of... forced.”

“Then it would match perfectly our whole story line,” Jack says throatily, licking another bit of drool that had leaked out of the corner of his mouth, though on the other side this time.

Their locked eyes never leave one another during this entire exchange. Jack snakes his tongue out of his lips, being careful not to drool as he apparently has drooling issues whenever his tongue leaves the confines of his mouth. He realizes in his medical opinion as someone trained in the medical field, that the blood oozing out of the back of the prone woman’s head is extensive, and she is going to check out very soon, and there’s absolutely nothing he can do. “I gotta find Cindy...” she whispers deliriously.

“Cindy?” Jack asks, not having known the name of the stewardesses on the plane and never having met the suddenly absent Taily.

“Yeah. She disappeared right before I accidentally and it really was an accident shot that blond chick.”

“He name was Shannon,” Jack emotes angrily. “You could at least fucking know the name of the young lady through whom you put a bullet!” The scalpel-pusher works himself up into a tizzy. He is a doctor, after all, and they are discussing a traumatic medical situation known as Gratuitous Death of a Character.

“Omigod you are so right!?!” the patrol-car patsy says embarrassedly and ashamedly. How could she be so fucking insensitive? She had killed this young lady who was a friend of Jack’s, whom Sayid had loved, and here she was just making light and not even acting like she knew her name. How could she be so cruel. “It was an accident that I spoke like that,” she utters.

“Well okay then,” Jack locks eyes with her again and they sense the forgiveness flowing from one to the other, then both understand simultaneously together that it’s just body odor because Ana Lucia hasn’t taken a bath since she arrived in camp, and deodorant is a thing of the past – even Sun hasn’t found the deodorant herb on the island, or that magic crystal rock they try to pass off as some kind of deodorant at Trader Joe’s.

All this back and forth makes the duo realize that they are ill-fated star-crossed lovers and meant to be together, or at least to make the beast with two backs, right here, right now, on this extremely uncomfortable-for-fucking beach. The dark-haired siren reaches out and seductively squeezes one of Jack’s nipples, the one that’s further away from her. “Oooh, what are you doing?” he growls. “Grrrr, grrrr,” he adds as she continues to pinch. It hurts a little bit. Then her hand flops uselessly to the ground, for her life is oozing out with the blood under her head on the sharp rock. The world flashes red, then black, then 26 years are condensed into one final moment before blowing out like the candles on a birthday cake.

Jack, who had been leaning toward Ana-Lucia’s face with pursed lips, getting ready to zero in on the kiss, unpurses his lips and shakes the imminently goner Ana Lucia. “Ana-Lucia!” he cries incredulously. But she is no longer among the living.

Bygones, he thinks. He stands up beside Ana-Lucia’s lifeless body. He slings her over his shoulder, Eko-style. Well, one weird kiss a day was probably enough he thinks practically.

Sayid is there when he gets partway back to the beach camp.

“I saw the whole thing,” the bereaved Iraqi says. “Do not worry. I know you did nothing wrong.”

Jack sobs uncontrollably. “I know if we had never come to this island, we never would have talked... I, I loved her!”

Sayid lifts his eyebrows but says nothing.

“Psych!” Jack exclaims, and the two men smile giddily as the last rays of the setting sun illuminate their faces. Jack is still holding two bottle of tequila, and he now hands one to Sayid, who drinks because he is a nonpracticing Muslim who also eats wild boar meat. The pair lift each bottle toward the setting sun, and clink them together. Jack declares, “Bottoms up!” and sucks up his bottle in one slurpy gulp. He shoves the empty bottle into his tight jeans pocket, where the outline protrudes provocatively. He shifts Ana-Lucia’s limp body from one shoulder to the other, and he and Sayid head back to camp.


end