Boomerang

Characters: Jack and Ana-Lucia focused alongwith the other Losties.Cross-show cameo from General Hospital's Jasper Jax
Description: As Jack and Ana work to stay on top of the island power struggle, they discover that their ties to the island run deeper than they had thought. As battle lines become blurry, they may have to surrender control to survive.
Status of fic: WIP
Genre: Romance, Mystery/Adventure
Author's Notes/Disclaimer: I don't own any of them and have no official permission to use them as such.

Feedback greatly appreciated.

Chapter 1

Jack was out of control.

He opened his eyes to unfamiliar surroundings. The canvas rustling overhead was not his beachside hut. The arm draped around his midsection held him in way he hadn't been in years. He became conscious of her bare chest, moist and molded into his back, rising and falling in steady cadence. She was sleeping. He was spiraling.

He blinked his eyes a few times to focus on his surroundings through mere splinters of torchlight. His and her clothes were haphazardly thrown about with Ana's black tank right at his feet.
He shot-up like a lighting bolt, flinging sand around, and just as quickly became disoriented. Sitting up and breathing shallow like he had just run a sprint, he held his wrist up and waved it around trying to catch a glimpse of light that would allow him to tell the time.

"What? You got someplace you gotta be?" she asked, groggy and slightly irritated.

Putting his arm down and realizing how he had just abruptly cast Ana aside like a blanket, he exhaled to slow his racing heart. He flexed and twisted his jaw, trying to work out the increasing soreness. He didn't want to turn and look at her. Not until he got hold of his bearings and established full mental control of the situation.

"Hey there," she said in a milder tone, with her hand slowly rubbing at his back. "Thanks for the sand shower." She swiped at grains that clung to her flesh -- some she transferred to his back. Sand was everywhere. There was no escaping it. "Do you always wake up like this?"

Her voice, he had never heard a timber like it. Her voice, it was like a shot of tequila, startling the senses at first, but then going down smooth, spreading slowly to soothe and comfort. Tequila and tonic with a wedge of lemon, that was her – an effervescent blend of sweet and tart packed with a punch to the gut. He had fully consumed her and was intoxicated.

It was her low drone of a voice that had snapped him back into reality hours ago, steadily urging him that it was time to calm down now, to back off… for now.
Think Jack about who the real enemy is and it ain't him. It was her voice and only her voice that he had heard cutting through the group-shouting and his own blinding red haze of anger – just as clear as a bell.

"Jack, look at me,' she commanded dryly and knowingly.

Damn….Sawyer…. Damnit. He cursed himself under his breath, angry with himself. Damnit

Ana talked him down?

Dazed, he couldn't quite remember who pulled him away from pummeling Sawyer. Maybe several people, maybe no one. He flexed his fists one at a time, slowly clenching and releasing. He examined his fists strangely, as if they were unrecognizable, as if someone switched his surgeon's hands for the ragged damaged ones of a street-fighter.

He felt every haggard nerve gnawing at him, remnants from his outburst of pent-up frustration that maybe went too far. He tasted no signs of a bloody lip to match his aching jaw. Maybe it healed while feverishly kissing her mouth and all over, several places on Ana's body. He didn't know how much time had passed, or how he had lost all control.

"Just give me a second okay.' He was never good at clearing the tone of irritation in his voice.

"A second, fine," she retorted. "But you're acting weird.'

He exhaled and risked giving her a sidelong glance. She was fully nude, propped up on her elbows with slivers of light reflecting the angles and curves of her small frame. His focus was blurry, but his mind was finally becoming sharper. He shut his eyes again, grimacing at his sudden recollection of what had transpired earlier. A rumble with Sawyer through a red haze. Ana had pulled him away from the scene, cornered him, tried to tame him. The tenderness of her actions had erased the blinding rage for his foe. What had replaced it, with equal intensity, was an urgent need for her that continued to defy all rational thought. He had not acted rationally.

"You may have some swelling," she said while twisting and examining his face like she were the doctor. She pursed her lips disapprovingly as he flinched at bit at her touch. Men could be such wusses after displays of vagrant machismo. "But better believe Sawyer is worst off," she said, offering her cool appraisal. It was familiar territory for her to tend to the face of a man, battered after a 'boyfight'. Men and their pissing contests – she had seen it all.

Sighing, she grew a bit uneasy with Jack's tense awkwardness. She slowly ran her palm down his stubbled cheek, willing him to respond to her touch in a way that wasn't so morning-after oops what have I done. Then she remembered that this was Jack, the one who always took every damn island disturbance to heart as his own personal quest and with sharp analysis. An annoying habit of his, especially now.

"Everything that happened tonight needed to happen. You know that. You've known that, right?"

"What?" He strained, again trying to snap into himself. "Ana I'm fine, and I should go. I should see what's happening."

"Why? You really think that Kate is not already tending to …him. Either that or he can lick his own damn wounds. Everyone else is asleep," she huffed with decreasing patience.

Frustrated with Jack, she flopped down on her back. It was not the time for him to save anything, and she wanted to punch him for not even recognizing the mind-blowing sex they had just had. It was all about Sawyer's damn bloody face, and probably Kate. Yes of course Kate.

He rubbed his temples and tried to focus on his next plan of action Surely she of all people understood that neither of them could afford to just lie there with everything going on. They could address what just happened between them later.

He turned to look at her and try to explain. She was scowling profusely, but she was breathtakingly ethereal. Ana-Lucia lying on her back, her nude silhouette, firm and supple, skin like warm honey, a tousled silken raven mane framing her exquisite face. She was such a wild beauty wrapped up in a package that mimicked the softness of an innocent girl. And he grew warm now fully recollecting how erratic and intense their love-making had been -- a combustion.

Oh here we go, she thought. He was just going to shut her out, and wallow in his battle wounds.

"Ohhkay. Jack. Goodbye. You . . . are free to leave my tent now," She shoed him away with a brazen arm gesture as if he where Vincent looking for scraps. She had had her fair share of one-night stands – on stakeouts even -- then it was back to business as if nothing had happened. If that's what it was with Jack, so be it. If it was just sex for him, fine.

She twisted and stretched her body to grab her tank and slip it on. With her back towards him, she wondered why she was suddenly so modest. This was going to happen sooner or later whether he knew it not. She just wished she had had time to shower and shave the overgrown hairs springing from her nipped-up legs first. Hell, she never expected romance anyway in this godforsaken place. She just wanted him.

Man, but it sure was like she were a character in some trashy romance novel. Ha ha, she listed the clichés off in her head: sex on a nice secluded beach, castaways, danger, mystery, a hot man swooping in to save her and make her feel all loved and whole again. There was nothing to do on this island except try to stay alive and fantasize about being with Jack somehow, someway. Still she wasn't romance material. It happened. It was damn phenomenal too. So she had no regrets. None.

Clearly aware that she had been glowering at him for several minutes, she suddenly didn't want him to see that. He didn't need that right now, after all. And despite the intensity of the evening, she had never before experienced this kind of safe serenity that came from being with him. At least not since she set foot on that plane doomed for disaster.

"Jack," she soothed her voice, grabbing his elbow to stop him from standing. "Don't go, okay?"

She was not ready to feel empty again, and if she had to play vulnerable to get him to stay for even another hour, she would.

Jack stopped his movement and relaxed the tension in his body. Her request hit him at the core. And the way she looked at him with those concentrated brown eyes, she suddenly became so young and pure. But she always radiated a certain soft light, and it always compelled him to forget about whatever was troubling him and allow himself to get deeper into her and her curious straight-arrow ways. He cursed himself again, partly for allowing himself to make love to Ana at this time in this way, partly for treating her like this after he had.

"If you regret this, I can handle it. I just need to know where we stand.''

"No Ana, no,' he repeated with full sincerity and weariness. "This . . ." He rubbed his forehead searching for the right words. "I don't know. It happed fast. But nothing happened that I didn't want to," he hurried to explain before she could even raise an eyebrow. "I'd be lying if I said that I haven't wanted this…you."

"I know," she responded in a whispery tone through a defiant smirk. She was relieved to see the light come back -- that familiar look of his, when he was really focused on her and not a million other things happening around them.

He shook his head, smiling. She pulled herself closer and wrapped one leg around him. She lured him, twisting her petite, sinew body around him and latching on like a serpent.

She could feel his breath quickening, growing shallow as she continued to move across his groin. It was too dark to fully see him so she used her sense touch to full advantage. She slithered, massaging every inch of herself against his long solid torso, grounding the sole of her foot in his calf and moving her hands along the plains or his well-toned back.

"Never thought beating the crap out of Sawyer would affect you this much," she said so close to his ear that he could feel the moisture from her lips.

He let out a strained chuckle. He was not really in the position to explain. Not when she felt so good and not when she had him steadily rising. He rubbed the back of his hand on her cheek, grasped thick sections of her hair, and ran his hand through her silky tresses, admiring her cherub face in the moonlight. She was so soft to have such brazen words come flying out of her mouth. It intrigued him like none other. "You know this is starting to be the strangest post-sex conversation I have ever had."

"Jack. Everything here is strange, and this is the best part." She practically growled now and started nipping at his lobe and neck with throaty moans while sneaking her hand down his groin.

"Ana, someone is going to come into this tent looking for us."

'"So then they would have found us."

She cradled his head in her palm and pulled him to her cheek, nearly bursting from the sensation of his rough stubble on her skin.

He slipped his hand under her tank and helped her remove it again. Only this time he did it slowly and mindfully. Parting her, lips she raised to meet his kiss. But he started with a peck on her forehead, her eyelids and nose before reaching her ripe, receiving mouth. His kiss was slow and thoughtful, and Ana had to make herself slow down so she could savor every touch. There was sincerity in his every movement that wasn't newly born from released rage, and she never felt more alive.

The cool ocean breeze at her bare back and his mouth on her breasts made her shudder. She urged him along and cradled him close to her heart.
He lowered her and nearly covered her entire body with his. His thighs felt strong and solid like tree trunks engulfing her. She gasped as he slipped inside, gripping the hard, bumpy muscles of his shoulder blades, down to the tight curve of his rear. Holding him securely inside, not letting go.