Title: Fall Into The Light
Author: GlowFish
Fandom: Lost
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Ana Lucia/Sawyer, Ana Lucia/Sayid
Summary: Life certainly is not what it was twenty-four hours ago…
Warnings: Mostly mild swearing; I'll up the rating if it gets any worse. I don't know Ana Lucia's mother's real name, so sorry for that mistake; Totally un-beta'd so all the mistakes are mine. Feel free to comment. Flames will be used to roast marshmallows. Thanks!
Disclaimer: If I owned Lost, d'you think this story would even be necessary?

"So the world's still out there?"
--Desmond Hume to John Locke, S2E2: Adrift

XIV.

The department of Neurology had an almost sinister feel to it, as Sayid stepped off the elevators and the doors closed behind him a whoosh of finality, as if he had just sealed the doorway to his tomb. Sayid brushed away such thoughts, mind set on one target and one target alone: retrieve Ana Lucia. He could ponder of the over all eeriness of the Neurology department later when the Spanish woman was safe.

It was dark here, strangely so, and Sayid was on his guard, dark brown eyes scanning every nook and cranny, every corner and every doorway, letting nothing escape his trained, soldier's eye. His body was tense, muscles strained and sweat was breaking out on his forehead as he moved down the hall, cautious of the way he placed his feet, praying to every deity known to man, and maybe even the few that weren't, that he wouldn't be detected. This was a different world than the one he had gone to sleep to some time ago. In that other place, it was paradise – or almost paradise, despite the rampaging monsters and the layers and layers of secrets. There had been a lull to the island that had almost made it dream-like, that almost made it seem like the past trouble that had plagued him, had plagued them all, was just that: the past.

This world though…This world shattered the illusion, the illusion of both the island and that this place was anything like home. It wasn't home. It had as many layers of secrets and mysteries, and the mysteries were probably worse and more potent and deadly than those on the island. It was confusion and it was unbelievable, but they—whoever They were—had wrapped this place up in such a deceptive package, had made the deepest desires and dreams of the Fuselagers and the Tail-enders tangible and real that the ability to see the enemy was even more so shrouded by the familiarity.

Sayid paused, stiffening in slight alarm, his instincts going into overdrive, as his ears strained and his other senses flared, lungs taking in more and more and more air, breathing in the scents of linoleum and pinesol, chemicals and other such solutions, hearing the beep of distant machines and the whiz-whoosh sound of breathing apparati sounding from distant rooms; he was getting close.

He crept forward, cautiously looking around for doctors or nurses. They were strangely absent and that only contributed to the feeling of unease that was growing in the pit of his stomach. This place was too quiet, too still. Where was all the activity? He looked around, coming to the first doorway of one of the room's on this hospital's floor. He breathed deep, steeling himself for anything he might see, licked his lips and quickly peaked around the door's threshold, pulling himself back and flattening himself against the wall. His chest wanted to heave from all the tension, but he stilled his breathing to more calm breaths and swallowed back the lump in his throat.

From what he had been able to glean from his brief glance into the room, it was a security station of some sort. Monitors had flickered to different hallways, black and white screens showing the hustle and bustle of life in the other parts of the hospital. But the strange thing, the strange thing was that there was no security guard there, watching the screen themselves. Perhaps they were out using the bathroom or on break, but Sayid knew, serving in the Iraqi military, that a guard never leaves their post, or they have someone else man it until they return.

He took another deep breath, released it and took a longer glance into the room. It was white, clean and empty. Finally mustering up enough courage, he peeked further into the room, ducking his head into the doorway, peering around the threshold. It was empty. Sayid breathed a sigh and stepped fully into the room, surveying the screens with some curiosity. This certainly wasn't the time to let his love for machines cloud him or deter him from his task, but he crept forward to the computers regardless and ghosted a hand over their keys. He looked around, making sure that no one was around before turning back to the keys and the computer screens peering at them closely.

He saw the commotion in the hallway play out as Michael protested and Jack placated him, and Gale—Sayid felt an icy wash of anger and rage course through him at the sight of the vile creature of a man, and his hands itched to rip him apart limp from limp—speak with Jack. He watched, tense, wondering if the man would be so bold as to do something—what Sayid didn't know, maybe something sinister, in public—but no, he did nothing, only spoke with Jack, looked at Michael and then started towards the elevator.

Sayid stood straight up then as he heard the distant whirring of the elevator in some portion of the hall outside of the security room, a loud, tangible noise in the otherwise quiet of the department. He looked around, knowing that he couldn't just dash outside and hope to find a hiding place in another room or another part of the hallway. He looked around and spotted a supply closet as the elevator doors whooshed open somewhere outside and the sound of purposeful footsteps echoed down the hall.

He made a dash for it and swung open the door, dived in and shut it behind him, waiting in tense silence as he heard the sound of footsteps coming very close to the security room, held his breath with the footsteps stopped and he heard a frustrated sigh issued forth.

"Dammit!" came a very familiar voice that made his skin crawl. He had to hold back the urge to rush out of that closet and pummel Gale with all the anger and rage he felt. It was building like a pressured dam behind his eyes, ready to burst. The footsteps walked away from the door for a moment as Gale's voice rang out, "Mitchells! Mitchells, where are you? Why aren't you manning your post?"

Gale's voice echoed, sounded like booming thunder in the quiet hall, and Sayid wondered once again, why there was no other activity here. Where were all the people? Where was all the usual hustle and bustle of the hospital?

His thoughts were interrupted as another set of footsteps, heavy with the sound of stumbling, rushing feet (the security guard) and clearly coming from the direction that Sayid too had come, came bumpling down the hallway.

A man's voice said breathlessly, "Sorry, doctor, but I had bean burritos for lunch and you know how it just—"

Sayid could almost imagine Gale's look of disgust as the man said in annoyance, "I don't care about the state of your bowels, Mitchells. Just do you job. Which way did the others go?"

Sayid heard a rustling of clothes and footsteps coming deeper into the room—he drew back further into the closet—and then the sound of someone settling into the squeaky chair that had sat in front of the monitor screens.

"They're…ah….in exam room 4 with the patient," the guard said, and Sayid could hear something oozing like slim in his voice as the guard continued, "She's quite a looker too, you know? If she weren't all crazy and messed up, I'd certainly want to take a piece like that home with me to—"

Sayid felt that this was the only time he would be grateful to Gale, when the other man said, his voice dropping to a low hiss, "Keep your filthy thoughts to yourself, you bastard. That woman is more important than your neanderthal brain could ever comprehend. Now do your job and don't you ever leave this post again or I'll have your guts for garters."

The sound of agitated footsteps quickly retreated from the room and finally Sayid was left to contend with an irate security guard that muttered to himself, "She's still a hot little piece."

Sayid grimaced, shifting slightly, so as not to make a sound. He pushed the door open slightly and saw the back of the guard. A thin man, he could see, with unkempt and greasy brown hair underneath a badly worn guardsman's hat. Sayid's soldierly sensibilities were offended just looking at the man. No matter, he'd soon take care of that. He pushed the door open as the man gave an annoyed sigh, still muttering to himself, but Sayid could little about his words. The Iraqi man's body tensed, preparing itself for attack, feeling adrenaline flow through his limps; he crept up behind him, as the man turned slightly in his chair, glancing back.

The man's eyes widened, but before he could utter a sound or prepare a defense, Sayid was on him, taking his neck and face in his hands and snapping it viciously until he heard and felt a satisfying crunch, felt the man's neck break and the man's body struggle before going limp. He let the dead man slump back into his chair as Sayid turned this way and that, looking for any witnesses. There was no one, and he would admit that he had felt a vicious sort of satisfaction at killing the man. He knew he would feel repentant later – even thought the man probably deserved what he got anyway – but for now, he was running on pure adrenaline and the instinct of retrieving what had been stolen, consumed with the need to get Ana Lucia back.

He stepped out of the room, looking down either hallway, wondering which way to go. Exam room four. Where was…?

He glanced back into the room, glanced at the monitor screens as his heart stopped cold. There, on one of the screens, he saw Ana Lucia. She was strapped to some kind of contraption, bound and immovable, with a group of who Sayid could only assume were doctors surrounding her. One had on a pair of gloves and was holding a nasty looking bit of hospital equipment. Sayid couldn't even tell what its use was for. And then Gale stepped into the room, and Sayid was racing down the hallway now, not caring it if he made a lot of noise or if his footsteps echoed like thunder. The look in Gale's eyes was not good.

It was most definitely not good.

The medication was certainly starting to wear off and Ana Lucia was starting to become more and more aware of hr surroundings. It must not have been very potent, only enough to have her drowsy enough to not make a fuss as they took her, wherever they took her. She looked around. The first thing she noticed were the other doctors, staring at her with looks of curiosity and fascination. The next thing she noticed was that one of them held a nasty bit of what appeared to be a breathing apparatus, mask and all, in their grasp and that their hand was trembling.

"What the hell is going on here?" her voice came out groggy, but there was still force behind it. There was still venom and the promise of destruction should a caged beast be uncaged. She tried to lift her arms and found that she was board to a hospital table that stood her upright and facing the room's other occupants.

"What the hell do you people want from me?"

No one answered, but the door came open and Henry Gale stepped in, his features twisted in what Ana Lucia could perceive as agitation and anger. Two emotions that did not bode well for Ana. He looked up at her, his gaze icy and cold, and she would've whimpered, felt the bottom drop out of her stomach and pulled more forcefully at her bonds. If she could just get loose. If she could just…

"What do you want?" she asked Gale, her voice small as a lump rose and lodged itself into her throat. Gale fixed her with an icy, calculating glare.

"How did you do?" he asked, ignoring her question. He stalked up to her as the other doctors got out of his way. His stopped a few inches from her face as she tried to pull away. He reached and grabbed her chin, forcing her to look him straight in the eye.

"How did you do it?" he asked again, his grip on her chin tightening until it hurt and she knew there was going to be bruising.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Gale," she growled as more of her head cleared and the medications wore off more fully. "I don't know what. The. Hell. You're. Talking. About!"

He chuckled a mirthless laugh, shaking his head and looking at her closely.

"You've got to know something," he said, the humor not in his tone either. "Eveything we've done. On the island, here, it's all crashing down around our ears and it's all because of you. What makes you so damned special, huh? What makes you so unique? 42-C, my ass."

She squirmed as he turned away from her, glaring at his fellows. It only she could get these damned bonds to release her…

"Are you ready, Doctor Smiley?" he asked the man who held the odd breathing apparatus device. The man nodded and Ana Lucia looked on with a mixture of confusion and dawning fear as the man turned to his machine, pressing a few buttons. It whirred to life, sounding like rushing rivers and blowing winds, but she knew, somewhere deep down, that it wasn't going to be nearly as pleasant as the way it sounded. She struggled with renewed vigor as Gale grabbed the mask and turned to her.

His smile was saccharine and cold, and she felt shivers run up and down her spine.

"Just…try to relax," he said in a soothing tone that made Ana Lucia's skin crawl. "This may hurt a little."

And without preamble, before she could scream, he placed the mask over her face. The first thing she felt was cold, like icy cold, like someone had plunged her head long into the Artic Sea with nothing to protect her. Hundreds of knives of ice seemed to stab into her all at the same time. Her body went rigid with the pain, her eyes widening in shock. She could scream, felt it lodged in her throat, her mouth wide, her lungs screaming for air, but getting none.

There was nothing around her but quaking thunder and the world didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore, except this agony shooting through her system, unrelenting, and just when she thought she would go mad from the arctic chill coursing through her limps, the sensation changed.

Hellfire and brimstone.

She was being burning from the inside out, consumed by a inner fire that built higher and higher like a funeral pyre. And this time she did scream.

"What do you think's going on, man?" Michael asked as Jack watched the elevator numbers impatiently, willing the slow device to move a bit faster. His hands were twisting anxiously in his pockets and his foot was tapping on the floor with an incessant rhythm.

"I don't know, Michael," Jack replied shortly, hoping the man would get the hint. But the other man kept going, talking more to himself than to Jack.

"My boy was right all along," Michael said, quietly. "He was right all along and I just thought he was being crazy. I thought he was just…But then, you know, he started telling me things and a few days ago, I started seeing the stuff he was telling me. Islands and weird monsters. I thought I was going crazy for a moment. I thought maybe my meds had an adverse affect. I didn't want to say nothing, though. My boy's mother might've taken away what little privileges I have left…"

"Michael," Jack said impatiently, whirling on the man, but he stopped before his annoyed rant could start. The other man was tired, his forehead criss-crossed with pulsing veins as the black man clutched his legs, rubbing his hands vigorously up and down his thighs. Jack took pity on him.

"You don't have to be here," Jack said softly, placing a hand on the other man's shoulder. Michael looked up, but his gaze was distant as if he were reliving some past memory that Jack could take no real part of. Michael said, "Look, man, I would ever…I mean, what I did back there…I didn't mean to…I'm not a killer, Jack."

Jack frowned at the man, puzzled, feeling his memories trying to resort themselves and his mind work to figure out what it was that Michael was talking about. His memories were still fuzzy, no thanks to the strange predicament they found themselves in, but the more he got around the others, the less the fuzziness stayed. He gripped Michael's shoulder hard.

"Hey, man, it's okay," he said. "We're okay, okay? Don't clam up on me, mike. I need you."

The other man nodded as the elevator gave a ding and Jack turned, only to be confronted with a very frantic Sayid.

"Call Sawyer," Sayid said breathlessly. "Something's happening."

It was then that Jack heard it, the sound of distant screaming and it chilled him to the bone.

"Is that…"

"Call Sawyer!" Sayid barked, and Jack jumped in surprise, taking out the cellphone and dialing the other man's number. While it was ringing, he surveyed the hall and found himself quite puzzled.

"This isn't Neurology…"

"This isn't Neurology…" came Jack's puzzled tone as Sawyer whipped out his cellphone and answered. He growled, "I don't give a damn what's what; do you got her?"

There was a pause on the other end of the line and Sawyer could curse heaven for giving Jack-o the Boy wonder the friggin' cellphone.

"We've got a problem."

And Sawyer's breath caught short as Sayid took the phone from Jack and spoke.

"What problem?" the con man asked.

Don't let her be…Just don't let my Rambina be…

"They're doing something to her, harming her," Sawyer could hear the steel lacing Sayid's words, and if he weren't starting to get railed up himself, he would probably ponder which Sayid was he talking to: the vicious torturer? The soldier? The peaceful, gentle Sayid? Or maybe a combination of all three.

These were desperate times after all…

"That's it! I'm going in there," Sawyer growled, tossing the phone to Mr. Eko and marching towards the hospital. The priest grabbed him, and if it weren't for the fact that Sawyer's mother had been Catholic rest her soul, he'd have struck the preist right then and there. But there was something, a hardness to Mr. Eko's gaze, that made Sawyer rethink that idea. The priest spoke into the phone, but Sawyer wasn't listening. He was glaring at that hospital, wondering what the hell was going on.

"You can't go in there," Mr. Eko said as soon as he got off the phone with Sayid. "You could ruin any chance of us retrieving her if you do. You know that. Don't be brash."

"You wouldn't be saying that if it was someone you cared about!" Sawyer shouted and wished he could take back the words as soon as he said them. Eko's eyes became even more so hard as he said stiffly, "We wait."

Sawyer cursed soundly as the man retreated, sitting on the hood of the car. Kate looked like she was about to say something, but Sawyer hissed, "Not a damn word." And the woman fell blessedly silent.

Sawyer turned back to the hospital and prayed that lady luck would shine down on him one more time this night.

Pain.

Pain.

Agony.

She felt like her soul was being ripped from her body.

Maybe it was.

Maybe it wasn't.

All that existed was the pain.

The fire.

The ice.

Ripping through her, coursing through frayed nerves, destroying all sense of being and self. There was nothing, but white light shooting through her eyes and she wasn't sure if she was screaming still, but that her throat was feeling sore.

Her skin was burning.

Fire.

Pain.

Ice.

"Can you find anything?" came Gale's voice above the quaking thunder.

"Nothing ," came a woman's reply. "Nothing. She's an anomaly, and she's affecting the others."

"How?" asked another male's voice.

The woman replied, "Her appearance here. It was like a trigger. A shock wave. Maybe we shouldn't have had her killed."

"Forget about the island," came Gale's angry retort. "What is she doing to our efforts here?"

"She's changing the world around her," the woman replied. "The other subjects didn't show marked differences in their behavioral patterns until this one showed up. Now…"

"Now they're remembering," Gale said grimly.

Ana Lucia heard all of this, but could not comprehend. The pain was there, the agony, but she was able to listen and hear and heed. Were they talking about her? Was she the one they discussing? She didn't understand.

All she wanted to do was learn what was real. To know whether or not this world was the right world, or was that other world the right one? She just wanted to know what to trust, who to trust. She just wanted to feel like she could belong somewhere and didn't have to constantly feel like she was some sort of freak or that she didn't fit. Did she fit in this world with its understanding Danni, but with its lies and deceit? Or did she belong in that other world where her baby had died, where Danni left her and she felt dead inside?

Where did she fit? Where did she—"

There was a shout of surprise as the door to room came crashing open and Henry Gale called, "Stop them! Stop them! They can't—"

There came the sickening sound of bone being broken and a body slumping to the floor, a woman's scream and the rush of footsteps hastily leaving. And then, suddenly, the pain stopped. The ice. The fire. The agony. Gone.

Arms surrounded her, warm and solid, and her head rested on a chest with a heartbeat that was table and strong. Her body still thrummed, her nerves still twitched and she still felt the aftershocks. Her throat was raw and her eyes were watering, but she looked up into the face of Sayid Jarrah and felt a wave of relief wash over her, so strong and so powerful, that she would have cried. Probably did.

His voice was soothing, "It's alright, Ana Lucia. It's alright. We'll get you out of here."

She nodded, burying her face in his chest as he hoisted her in his arms almost as if she weighted little, arms tightening around her as if she were a frail creature that needed to be protected, and the thought came unbidden to her mind, 'He feels nothing like Sawyer.'

It was an odd feeling as he turned addressing Jack: "Go, make the way clear. Michael, go with him. Cause a distraction. Anything. We have to get her out of here before they come with re-enforcements."

The sound of footsteps took off as Ana Lucia's mind registered drowsily the name: "Michael?"

"It is alright, Ana," Sayid said and she could hear his voice rumbling in his chest as he spoke, carrying her cautiously out of the room. She looked up, her gaze swimming. She forced it to focus on his face.

"Are you sure?" she asked, feeling fatigue creeping up on her. He stopped, meeting her gaze with his own. His features softened when they peered down at her. He nodded, smiled slightly.

"I am sure," he replied. She nodded herself, and promptly passed out.

Jack rushed off with a limping Michael trailing behind, and whipped out his cell phone. He dialed Sawyer's number and when the man answered he said only, "We need a distraction."

He put the phone away and turned back to Michael.

"Here comes the fun part," he said, an excited glint in his eye.

A distraction, eh?

Sawyer eyed the car with a gleam in his eye. He turned to the priest with a smirk.

"Hey, Padre," he called. Eko looked up from his brooding. His eyebrow rose in question. "You think you can hi-jack an ambulance?"

It was strange, this floating feeling and she was still very much so warm, with someone's arms surrounding her comfortably and someone's warm breath brushing her cheek softly. She felt the scratchiness of someone's beard on that side of her face and she smiled slightly as warmth fluttered in her stomach. Her eyes opened, looking up, expecting to see warm brown skin the color of earth and straight black hair and dark brown eyes.

The eyes were not brown and were set in a face that was not swarthy. She wondered after herself as Sawyer grinned cheekily and said, "You gave us a scare there for a second, Rambina. Don't ever do that again."

She smiled for his benefit, her entire body still in pain and said, saucily, "If I can get a rescue like that one…I might rethink the whole kidnapping business."

Sawyer growled and she settled deeper in his arms.

"Because ramming the car into the hospital's front entrance and stealing an ambulance are always options we should definitely want to explore," Jack replied sarcastically.

"Where's your sense of adventure, Jack-o?" Sawyer asked, snidely. "We got away, ddin't we?"
"By the skin of our teeth," Jack growled angrily. "And we had to steal another car and ditch the ambulance. We're fugitives!"

"Ain't so bad, doc," Sawyer replied, lazily. "Trust me."

"None of it will ever be over until we find out what they wanted with Ana Lucia," came Sayid's voice, and Ana could feel that warmth blossoming in her stomach again. She beat it down with a mental stick and looked up, seeing the man in question, looking at her with a pointed look.

"Not until she gets some sleep, Bin Laden," Sawyer growled back. "We'll go to Boone's and Locke's. They'll hide us and then we'll find some place safer and hide out there."

That settled the conversation then and there, and Ana drifted once again into blissful unconsciousness.

Author's Note: Hey! Update! does happy dance