Ok, so, Twilight readers, don't panic! Here's the deal…

I am, for sure, going to be updating on my Twilight stuff regularly again. But, part of the reason(albeit, one of the lesser reasons)that I've been away for awhile is that I want to write other stuff too. Now, I will mostly be focusing on Twilight, but there's other stories/story ideas I have for other stuff, so inbetween Twilight stuff, I'll be updating it too.

As for info about this story…

Well, I pretty much fell in love with Jacob in the finale. And I thought his relationship with Ilana seemed interesting, and me being a fanfic writer, it gave me ideas, lol Now, I in no way think this is something that is remotely 'true' as far as canon goes…I'm just writing this for the fun of it. ^^

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She didn't flinch, unfazed at the screech of metal on concrete as the chair across from her was jerked away from the table.

"Ilana. You're not afraid of me, are you?"

His voice was calm, deceptively warm. She didn't shake her head, simply stared him down. "No. I am not."

"Very brave, I'd say, considering you're one of the few who know how much you should fear me, hm?" He smirked, settled back in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. "Aren't you at least wondering how I got out?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Or what I'm going to do with you?"

"It doesn't matter." Her heart beat a little faster when she said it, and she saw his smile widen. Of course, he knew everything. Which meant he also knew she had meant her words. "He will come for me."

That angered him, as she had known it would. He sat forward again, eyes dark and cold. "He's dead. He's dead, Ilana, and I am going to win. I have already won. Anything after this is just a technicality so you might as well change sides."

She ignored everything. His words, his eyes, the room, all of it. In her mind, she was seeing another pair of eyes. Sky blue, ocean blue. Different shades, and his eyes were a perfect mix of both. "So you think."

He laughed, mood swinging around again. "You really are an interesting one." He shook his finger at her, smirking. "I think I finally see what he saw in you. Once your mind is set, you have the same kind blind belief as him. I like that. Narrow determination. I gotta tell you, though, you were wrong to put your faith in him." He leaned over the table, crossing his arms. "You see what he does, he looks at the big picture. And he may have needed you, for awhile. But once he doesn't…" He shrugged, gesturing at the empty air. "He's real good at letting people down, Ilana. He promises a lot of things and he asks a lot of sacrifices, but what has he ever sacrificed for any of you, hm? When you really start thinkin' about it, I know you're gonna see he's not the white knight you think he is."

"No. He's a far greater man than that."

"Is he?" He stood suddenly, throwing the chair back with violent force to slam with a resounding crash against the wall. Before she could blink, his hand was around her throat. "I could kill you right now, and he couldn't stop me. But I'm not going to make it that easy." Just as suddenly he released her, shoved her back as he let her go. "I'm going to show you first just how mistaken you've been. No one will come for you." He turned to leave, pausing as his hand gripped the handle. "And Ilana?" The man whose name she didn't know that had come to them in the form of John Locke turned to look back over his shoulder, the look on his face warm and sinister all at once. "Whatever he told you, you were never special to him. You were nothing more than a rat in a lab. All this has ever been and all it ever will be is our game. Nothing more."

The words could have broken her, if she had let them. She had built strong resolve over the years, but the weight of the past few hours was pressing hard on it, a weight on her chest she couldn't shake. She could hardly breathe around it. Her eyes welled with tears and she let them fall, now that she was alone. Alone. Her old claustrophobia she thought she had shaken years ago was returning, and her eyes darted around the tiny room, taking in the fact that there was no escape. Of course, of course there wasn't.

It had been years since she had actually been afraid. Even when he wasn't with her, he had banished all her fear. Simply the knowledge of him had been enough. And now... She couldn't believe he was dead. As far as she was concerned, he couldn't be dead, and she would not allow herself to follow that line of thought any farther. Still…something had happened in there that made them think he was, and if he wanted them to believe that, then he must have had a plan that involved making sure they believed it. And he might be gone for some time. A fact that meant she needed desperately to pull herself together. More than ever, she needed to be strong. She needed to be ready. She brought her hands up, carefully wiping away her tears. She could show them no weakness.

The door creaked open then, and a man she had never seen stepped inside. "Ilana. Come with me."

"Where are we going?"

He chuckled, amused. "Does it matter?" The humor vanished. "You really don't have a choice." He reached over the table, holding his hand out to her. "I'm Christian."

"I don't care. You work for him." She stood up on her own, refusing his hand. "Where are we going?"

Instead of answering her, he knocked her out.

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She was first conscious of the fact that her back hurt. Second, that her arms were wet. And third, she was lying on concrete. Ilana groaned, rolling onto her side and cracking her eyes open. It was dark, she was on the pavement, there was a dumpster across from her. A dumpster with bloodstains. She jerked up, ignoring the painful protests her bruised body made at the action. Her hands and forearms were covered in blood, from a pool of it she had clearly been lying in. Her head was throbbing now, too, and before she blinked things looked a bit fuzzy. Before she had any more time to think, the blare of sirens cut into her thoughts, followed promptly by the almost blinding flash of blue and red lights.

"Hands up! Come on, get your hands up!"

Shutting her eyes, she complied.

"On your feet, up against the wall!"

Somehow, she really should have known this was coming. Ilana stood up slowly, pressed her hands against the brick. It felt rough, her hands sticky against it.

"I hereby place you under arrest for the murders of Jeff Scott and Bram Kingston." Her heart jolted at that, and she bit her lip to stay silent. Bram. The son of a bitch killed Bram. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right-"

She tuned him out after that, let him pull her arms behind her back and cuff her, shove her into the back of his car. It didn't matter, really, what she said or didn't say. All any of this was meant to do was get her out of the way. And, apparently, to teach her a lesson. She wanted to believe that someone would be sent for her, but this time…this time that might not happen. The other one had said she wasn't important, wasn't special, but she didn't see it that way. Rather, right now, there might be more important things. It had happened before. But he had come, in the end. He always did.

Shutting her eyes, she let her forehead rest against the cool glass of the window. Apparently, she was in New York.

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"Illana Garcia." She looked up, hoping for a moment to recognize the man. No such luck. He was tall, black haired and green eyed and utterly unfamiliar. He slid into the seat across from her with ease. "Will you talk to me about how you ended up in that ally?"

"I've already told them everything I know."

"I'm your lawyer, Ilana. You can tell me more than everything. We aren't being monitored in here; it's against the law." He leaned forward, his eyes warm. "Can you tell me what lies in the shadow of the statue?"

Her relief was such a tangible thing she could have wept with the joy of it. "Ille qui nos omnes servabit." The words poured from her lips, fluid and quick. She could feel her heart beating in her throat. "Has he sent you?"

He hesitated, shifting. "No. Not directly. But I came on the behalf of all of us. Things aren't good." He flipped open the file he had held in his hands, turned it around to show her. "Whatever it was they want to achieve by this, it's nothing compared to whatever he's really planning. But there's more than enough evidence here to pin you for those murders. And others."

"I'm not worried about me. What's going on on the island?"

"I don't know. I haven't been to the island in years. All I know is that I received a phone call from Richard telling me to get you out of here, and that the war was coming and we would all be needed. How to get you out of here…" He shrugged. "I suppose further instructions will come. At least, they'd better because to be honest I'm at a loss. Still…might as well be gathering some information. Anything that might help me with your case…or anything else in general it might be good to know, whether it helps with the case or not."

"And your name?"

"Donnie." He loosened his tie, slid it off and folded it on top of the file. "How old are you, Ilana?"

She laughed, soft. "Do I even know anymore? Does it even count? I know how old I was, how I old I have been at certain points. That's more important than how old I am."

"Alright, fair enough. You tell the story then, I'll just listen."

"The story? About how I got here or about all of it?"

"All of it. It isn't like we're pressed for time."

She settled in as comfortably as she could, let her mind go back to the beginning. "Alright. The beginning then, the most important part. At least, I think so." She smiled, remembering. At the time, she would have never dreamed she'd remember it with such warmth. "I was 7, the day I met Jacob."

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It was quiet in the house now, it had been for some time but still she couldn't bear to move. Ilana huddled into the corner, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. She held Pico in her arms still, but his head hung limply over her arm and she couldn't feel his little puppy heart beating against the inside of her arm anymore. It had felt as fast as hummingbird wings, before. Maybe, maybe he was asleep. Mama had told her that puppies needed lots and lots of that. She heard footsteps on the wood floor then and she jerked, eyes closing as she flinched and curled even tighter.

"It's alright, Ilana." The voice was one she didn't recognize. The tone alone was entirely foreign, far more gentle than her father or uncle or any of their friends had ever sounded. She cracked her eyes open, glanced at him fearfully. He had knelt down to her level, watching her carefully with kind eyes bluer than any she had ever seen. "It's over now." He clearly wasn't Spanish, but his accent mirrored her own. He reached out tentatively, drying her eyes with his thumb. "You've been so brave."

She shook her head at that, looking down. No, she hadn't been brave. Not at all. "I didn't protect Mama. I said I would, but I hid." Tears spilled from her eyes again as she shut them tight against her own shame. "I wasn't brave enough for Pico either." She cradled him closer, felt his soft fur against her neck.

Gently, he wiped away her fresh tears. "You don't think so? Look here…" She sniffed, opened her eyes again. His hand was on Pico's head, rubbing his ears. "He looks pretty grateful to me." The little shepherd pup wriggled in her arms then, his tiny pink tongue shooting out to lick the man's hand. "See? He's lucky to have such a strong mother."

"Pico!" The noise that came out was somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and she held him up, listening to him yip impatiently. She pulled him into a hug, cuddling him even as he squirmed.

The man smiled, but there was a sadness in his eyes that hadn't faded. "I'm sorry about your mother, Ilana. Don't leave the house. Your grandmother will be taking you to live with her, and then your aunt. Be patient."

"Please…don't go." She had been terrified before he came, alone in this house. From where she sat she could see her mother's blood on the wood across the room. "Don't leave us alone. Please."

He cocked his head, seeming to think it over before he settled in against the wall beside her. "Just until she comes." He held out his hands and she let her puppy go, watched as he happily bounded into the lap of this stranger. She had been told never to talk to strangers, but she trusted him already. There was something about him that didn't frighten her. She had never felt safer, not even with her mother. The horror and dread she had felt around every man she had ever met was absent, with him. "Can I ask you a question, Ilana?"

"Yes."

"Do you know why your mother married your father?"

She twisted her hands together, remembering asking her mother that very question the night she had woken up to find her Mama crying, both eyes black and bleeding. "She told me, because he wasn't always a bad man. But that uncle came home, and made him a bad man."

"Everyone, Ilana, can be either a good man or a bad man." He ruffled Pico's forehead, shifted him back into her lap as he turned to face her. "A good woman, or a bad woman. You always have a choice, Ilana. No matter what anyone tells you you need to do, no matter what people tell you you are, the only thing you really are is whatever you choose to be. And that," He brushed her cheek, smiling at her again. "Is a promise. You are whoever you want to be. Who are you going to be, Ilana?"

She swallowed, remembered the way her mother had paced that morning, remembered telling her she wouldn't let uncle hurt her. "I will protect everyone I love. I'll never be afraid."

"Never? We're all afraid sometimes. But I think you can learn to handle that very well, if it's what you want. And I believe you'll be a very good protector. You already are." He stood up then, brushing his hands off as he did. "I have to go now."

"Are you a friend of Mama's?"

" I'm a friend of yours."

"If you're my friend, what's your name?" She had to know. Before now, she hadn't had friends.

He hesitated, turned to smile down at her one more time. "I'm Jacob."

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"C'mon, Ilana. You know you're going to do it, just do it already!"

Ilana bit her lip, reached up to brush hair out of her eyes. "Give me a minute, ok?" She sounded much, much calmer than she felt and she was surprised at that fact. At least she was able to appear calm while feeling more turmoil than she had in a long time. Her thumb brushed along the grip of the gun, and she was even more shocked to see that it didn't shake. "Gotta make sure everything's clear." She wondered for what had to be the hundredth time how the hell she got herself into this situation, but at this point it didn't really seem to matter. She was here, and she was getting ready to make her first kill. She had said she was ready. She had wanted to feel ready, but right now all she felt was confused. She swallowed, stroked the grip again.

"If you're gonna lose your nerve, you know they're gonna get someone else!"

"Shut up, don't you think I know that?" Her angry whisper was hushed, but even so it sounded menacingly loud to her ears. She took a deep breath, turned her eyes back to her mark.

There was a scraping noise from the end of the ally, boot on concrete, and Maria was off and running before she could even turn. Ilana liked her lips, eyes sweeping wildly. If it was police, she had to try to hide the gun, fast. If it wasn't, she might need it for protection.

Just then, the shadow she had been unable to make out took another step, becoming barely visible from the glow of the closest streetlight. It had been years but she would have known that face, those eyes, anywhere. She almost dropped the gun.

"Hello, Ilana."

"I…it's you." An understatement. She had been wondering who the hell this man was almost her entire life.

He did quite smile, but his lips curved just a little. "Yes. It's me." His steps forward were slow, cautious. As if he thought he'd frighten her if he moved too fast. "You can put the gun down; I'm not here to cause you trouble. Or to stop you. But Ilana, you need to understand that you have a choice." His blue eyes bored into her, mesmerizing her. "No matter what, you always have a choice. You don't have to do this."

Her breath quickened, palms sweating. Yes, she did have to do this. If she was ever going to get anywhere as an assassin, she was going to have to learn to kill. It wasn't exactly a career most people planned, but she had seen so much as a girl, had seen her own mother brutally murdered by her uncle. Beyond that, she had seen much in the years since she'd come to America. Enough to know that most women were considered weak by most men, and that she would never be one of those women. What better way to prove her strength than so make it so obvious? The petty killers of the drug dealing variety weren't so frightening when you were a professional one yourself.

"You are strong, Ilana, I know it. And this isn't the way to prove it."

She fidgeted, but the gun was lowered to her side now.

He was smiling now, gentle. "Here." Slowly he held his hand out to her, an envelope in his hands. His fingers brushed hers as she hesitantly reached out to take it, and the shock she felt at his touch would have been more surprising if she hadn't been too jumpy to really care. Setting the safety on the gun she slid it in the back of her jeans, used both hands to open the envelope.

There was a plane ticket, LAN airlines, flight 481. L.A. to Santiago, Chile. It was leaving the next morning, at 4 A.M.

She looked up at him, questioning but speechless.

"I know you want to get out of here, and I know you're ready to take almost any means to do it. But if you're willing to take a chance on this, I promise the place you'll be going…you'll be doing more important things than shooting a man that owes the local gang $5,000." There was a touch of sadness in his eyes, uncertainty, and he brushed a hand against her shoulder as he walked past her. "Remember, it's up to you."

The shock of all was startling, confusing. A hundred emotions, really. He knew too much, but then, hadn't he before? All her memories from that time were largely fuzzy, but that day and all of its horrors she remembered with what seemed to be crystal clarity. It's horrors, and the one part that hadn't been horrible at all. For years she had wondered if she imagined him, that maybe she thought her memories were clear but really they weren't, and she had made him up in her head to protect herself from the worst of it while she was waiting there on the floor.

Either she was really going crazy now, or he had been there. He had been there, and now he had come back. She folded the envelope and slid it into her back pocket, her hand brushing the gun. A quick glance told her her mark was still talking on the nearby pay phone, oblivious.

It was entirely her choice.

Really, he had already made it for her. He was right. She walked away, and found herself hours later sitting on a plane with her few possessions packed, wanting and wondering if she was truly insane, now, wondering what exactly she could possibly have to look forward to in Santiago other than a life on the streets that wouldn't be as good as the one she had here.

She sighed, rested her head against the window. It didn't really matter. She had chosen, and she had to hope that she had made the right choice.

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So….it's strange, I know, and I'm not even sure how much I like it, but I promise, once I get into things, it'll get better.

Saying that, I'm not sure how often updates will be on this one, because I'll largely be focusing on other things, but I promise I'll do my best to keep them not ridiculously far apart.