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The Answer	By : TippyMidget Category: G through L > Lost Views: 1512 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own or seek to profit from LOST or any of its characters. LOST and its characters belong to ABC, Cuse, Lindelof, etc.

Chapter List
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Arlington Park, Illinois
June 1998

He was there before dawn to see her. He sat at a table next to the track with a Styrofoam cup of coffee, waiting for the bay Thoroughbred to trot out for its breeze. When he saw her on the back of Putting on the Ritz, bathed in the early morning's gray haze, he sighed a little to himself. She was far thinner than he'd ever seen her. He knew she'd lost weight for this, had slimmed down to a jockey's miniscule frame, but he hated to think of what she'd gone through to reach her tiny size.
A stout man in a bowling shirt and straw hat stepped up to the fence a few feet away from Jacob's table and beckoned to Marian, who zipped up her tight green hooded sweatshirt and led the racehorse at a walking pace over to the fence. She didn't look at Jacob, and he glanced down at a piece of paper with notes on it that he had in front of him.
“Start her out with a nice, easy trot. Take her up to about two-thirds speed, then about three-quarters speed, then back it down gradually. Make sure those gait transitions are nice and smooth, and make sure she breaks into the gallop more quickly than she's been doing. Keep her near the rail; she gets skittish when she's too close, and we need to get her accustomed. Go ahead.”
Marian nodded at the trainer. “Okay, Mr. Palmer. Let's see what she can do.” She steered the bay filly away from Ivan Palmer III and headed out onto the track to begin at a trot.
“New rider?” Jacob asked pleasantly from his table. Palmer looked down as if noticing Jacob for the first time and smiled politely.
“Sixteen years old,” he said. “Marian Carmichael. Apprentice. Could be a good jockey... if she doesn't run away to college.”
Jacob grinned crookedly and swigged down the last of his coffee. “Well, who knows? Is she riding for you today?”
“She's riding two races for me today. Three and eight. Making her debut, actually. We'll have to see how she does.”
“All right,” Jacob said, rising from his table, taking his empty coffee cup with him, “I'll be sure to put a couple bucks on the both of you.”

“Jacob?”
Jacob snapped to attention, and Marian looked at him with raised eyebrows.
“Did you hear what I asked?”
He pursed his lips. “No. I'm sorry.”
Marian looked concerned. “Can you please explain to me exactly how I'm going to end up with one child when I'm currently carrying two? This all seems particularly trauma-inducing to me.”
“I don't know, Marian. I don't have the answers. I'm sorry.”
“You keep apologizing,” she noted.
He nearly said he was sorry for apologizing, but stopped himself. Instead, he sighed deeply.
“I'm just as confused as you are,” he said, pulling out a chair at the kitchen table and sitting down.
Marian looked at him curiously. “Why are you dressed like that?” she asked pointedly. Jacob looked down at himself, taking in his white burlap-like shirt, dark brown simple pants, and twine sandals. He ran his fingers through his lengthening blonde hair.
“I don't know. These are the most comfortable things I have. I wore them for a very long time,” he answered finally.
Marian looked him up and down for a few moments, at last flashing him a little smile. “It's kind of sexy,” she said after a while, and Jacob laughed incredulously. He looked up at her, standing there in gray sweatpants and cardinal Carnegie Mellon t-shirt, and gave her a warm, pleasant expression. She blushed and retreated, straightening her messy auburn hair. “Don't look at me like that,” she said self-consciously.
“Why not?” Jacob asked, rising from the table and striding to stand in front of her.
Marian looked up at him, her green hazel gaze meeting his piercing sapphire eyes. He placed his hands on her cheeks, and she shut her eyes, feeling the warm comfort spread transdermally into her body.
“Because,” she managed to whisper, “It makes – me – want you...”
“Good.”
Jacob crushed her mouth with a kiss, pressing his large hand against the back of her head and eagerly massaging her scalp with his fingertips. His other hand snaked to the small of her back, pulling her flush against him.
“I missed you!” Marian exclaimed when at last they broke their kiss. “I missed you so much, Jacob. I couldn't stand it. I even started a stupid garden to occupy myself.”
He laughed and kissed her gently on the lips. “What are you growing?” he asked.
She sighed exasperatedly, because that was far beside the point. “Vegetables,” she answered with a huff.
He nodded and leaned in to kiss Marian's neck. She gasped at the sensation and tried to pull him off of her. “Jacob!” she cried. “Too much!” He complied and stood back up with a satisfied grin.
“Do you remember our first kiss?” he asked.
“Yes. It was rather one-sided, as I remember,” Marian recalled.
“Well, I'd been waiting for that kiss for a long time,” Jacob said defensively, planting a soft peck on her swollen lips.
“For how long have you been attracted to me?” Marian asked curiously, narrowing her eyes.
Jacob sighed, licked his lips, and looked away with a rueful smile. “There's absolutely no good way for me to answer that question,” he said, shaking his head.
“Why not?”
“If I say too young of an age, you'll think I'm a pedophile. If I say too old of an age, you'll think I didn't find you pretty early enough.” He looked back at her and raised his eyebrows as if daring her to prove him wrong.
She furrowed her brow. “Well, the 'eighteen and up' rule is a very modern concept, and you're not a very modern man. Who am I to judge?”
“You have your worldview.”
“I'm willing to suspend disbelief,” she asserted.
Jacob hesitated. “Sixteen, then,” he said finally. “I would say I honestly started wanting you at sixteen. That's when I stopped loving you platonically and...” His voice trailed off.
Marian was silent for a moment, then shrugged. “That's reasonable,” she admitted, “and flattering, I suppose.”
“Take me back to that first day,” Jacob insisted. “and kiss me some more.”
She did, and while his hands pressed firmly on her cheeks, imbuing her skin with energy, her own hands wandered to the front of his old-fashioned pants. After a few minutes of kissing her, their tongues intertwining, her letting him kiss her neck while she moaned his name, he had quite the erection built up. Marian stroked him through the cloth of his pants and he groaned into her mouth, clutching desperately at her face. She felt a shock-like burst of energy transfer from his hands to her cheeks, and she startled.
She deftly untied the drawstring of the pants and reached into the waistband, wrapping her hand around his hardened shaft and tracing the pad of her thumb up over the tip. Jacob broke their kiss and pulled away, standing up, gasping and panting.
“Agh...” he breathed anxiously. “Just when I'd gotten used to it... now it's been weeks...”
“What; didn't you... take care of yourself... over the past three weeks?” she asked incredulously.
“No,” Jacob insisted, shaking his head adamantly. “I was waiting for you.”
Marian grinned at him and pulled back, stepping into the kitchen. She first snatched a washrag from beside the sink and tucked it into the waistband of her sweatpants. Then she reached up into a cabinet. She found the small bottle of coconut oil that Beatrice Klugh made for her from trees on the Island and opened it, pouring a tiny amount into her palm. She rubbed her hands together until her palms and fingers were slick and shiny. She turned back to Jacob, who gazed at her with a helpless expression, and smiled fiendishly. She strode over to the sofa and sat, nodding to the spot beside her. Jacob hustled over to stand in front of the couch and began stripping his clothes off – first kicking off his twine sandals, then peeling off the rough-hewn white shirt, and finally shucking the dark brown pants.
Marian gulped as she stared up at his lean, toned body and drank in his muscular form. He sat beside her, his hardened member throbbing at attention, and looked hungrily into her eyes. She stared back at him as she wrapped her hands around him and began stroking.
She pushed her hands down onto him, one after the other continuously, as if he were perpetually penetrating an endless orifice. After a while of doing that, she pulled down his shaft with one hand and corkscrewed up and over the tip with the other hand, over and over again. All the while, Jacob tipped his head back, squeezed his eyes shut, and muttered her name incoherently. His hands clutched at the fabric of the sofa cushions and his sculpted chest heaved with uneven breath. After a few minutes of her incessant, insistent ministrations, his eyes darted open and his hands grabbed her wrists, dragging them off of his pulsing member.
“Big... mess...” he panted, swallowing heavily. Marian grinned and pulled the clean white washrag from her waistband. She held it in her right hand and continued stroking him with her left hand. Jacob reached up and rested his palm against her cheek, then abruptly clutched at her face as he let out a choked, impassioned sound. The washrag was quickly soiled with bursts of warm, white seed. Impulsively, Marian leaned forward to kiss Jacob after he'd come, but his response was slack and flagging. Giggling at his sudden fatigue, Marian surrendered and gave up on the kiss, instead focusing on cleaning Jacob and washing her hands in the kitchen.
“Being with you is immensely satisfying,” Jacob asserted when it was all over, pulling on his crude clothing.
“I shouldn't be messing around like that when there's such a serious issue at hand,” Marian argued, drying her hands on a hand towel and turning back to Jacob. “You only 'saw', or whatever, one child, a boy named Reuben. What about the other baby?”
“There is no other baby,” Jacob said nonchalantly.
“Yes, there is, Jacob!” she cried, throwing her hands up. “There are twins! I've known it for weeks! You need to accept it!”
Jacob sat on the sofa and sighed heavily. “There's nothing I can do about it today,” he said.
“So you're just not going to worry about it,” Marian said incredulously.
Jacob raised his eyebrows, bit his lip, and shook his head. “Today, I'm only worried about you. Don't be angry.”
“I'm not angry,” she huffed.
“Prove it,” he insisted. “Come here and kiss me.”
Over the next three weeks, Jacob dutifully visited Marian every three or four days, sometimes for a few hours, sometimes overnight, once for three days in a row. That was after he hadn't come for a week, and he obviously felt guilty. By the time Marian was twelve weeks along, at the dawn of her second trimester, she was madly in love with Jacob, looked and felt pregnant with his children, and was living in daily fear of the impending deadline over which she ought to start experimenting the symptoms that would be the harbinger of sickness and death for her babies and herself.

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania
November 2001

He knew he looked a little formal for the Engineering and Science Library on Carnegie Mellon's campus, in his white dress shirt, dark and light blue argyle sweater vest, khaki pants, and black cashmere coat. It was a very brisk late autumn day outside, though, with all the leaves gone from the trees and the sky a depressing dark gray, and he thought the weather warranted the leather gloves he now shoved into his pockets. The heels of his shiny black shoes clicked on the tile floor of Wean Hall as he made his way to E & S.
Once inside the library, he headed for the biology section. He extracted a small piece of paper from his pocket with a list of location numbers on it: SD 418.3 .T76M9, QK 653 .E57, and QL 491.6 .Y68. He found the books he wanted and smiled to himself, heading for the circulation desk.
An auburn-haired student in a purple sweater and jeans glanced up from her computer monitor and gave Jacob a pleasant look.
“Hi,” she said simply. “Ready to check out?”
“Just these three,” Jacob said, sliding the books across the counter.
“Population Biology of Tropical Insects... Diversity and Evolutionary Biology of Tropical Flowers... Ecological Studies in Tropical Fish Communities... A professor of tropical biology, huh?” She looked up at Jacob expectantly. He smirked.
“You could say that,” he answered. “You like biology?”
“I'm a bio major,” she replied nonchalantly. “You don't teach here at CMU.”
“I'm at Pitt,” Jacob said, rather unconvincingly, since he'd never been any good at all at lying unless it was absolutely necessary.
She narrowed her eyes and looked at him skeptically, but nodded. “Okay, well, these are due back on the twenty-seventh, but that's over Thanksgiving break, so you get until the twenty-ninth.”
“Don't worry. I'll have them back way before then,” Jacob asserted.
“Can I have your ID number, please?”
“1516201,” he said. She typed a few things into the computer and scanned the books, then placed them into a white plastic bag and handed them to Jacob.
“All right, well, have a nice day, Professor...” she trailed off expectantly, waiting for his name.
“It's Jacob,” he finished.
“Have a nice day, Jacob.” She smiled at him somewhat flirtatiously.
“You, too, Marian.”
She seemed spooked for a moment until she glanced down and realized she was wearing a name tag.

Marian snapped out of her reverie, realizing she now remembered meeting Jacob, when she heard rustling in the foliage beside her. She was walking alone through the jungle, wearing pink stretchy athletic shorts, tennis shoes, and a black Chicago White Sox t-shirt, with her hair in high pigtails on the back of her head. She had a few water bottles in her purple plaid backpack on her back, along with sandwiches. She was headed for the Statue of Taweret, off to see Jacob. He hadn't been to see her in five days, and Marian felt that the clock was ticking toward her impending demise, and that she had to see him as often as possible now. She had no way of contacting him – no telegraph line, or, better yet, cell phones – so she had simply set off on her own. Only now that she heard rustling in the leaves to her left did she remember that she hadn't notified anyone that she was leaving.
“Jacob?” Hopeful that once again Jacob was intercepting her on her journey to see him, Marian called out his name cautiously, but there was no answer. “Ben? Richard?” The rustling grew closer, and still there was no response. Marian's heart raced and she grew desperate. “Juliet? Goodwin?”
Finally, a figure stepped out of the foliage, but it was the last person on Earth that Marian expected to see.
“Arthur?” Marian stood flabbergasted at the sight in front of her. Plain as day, standing just out of the trees, was her high school friend Arthur MacAllister.
Arthur had been killed by a drunk driver at the age of seventeen.
Marian immediately turned and began to run away.
“Marian, please, wait!” Arthur called from behind her. “Just hear me out!”
Marian hesitated and turned. Arthur looked exactly as he had the last time Marian had seen him – tall, about six-foot-two, with dusty red hair, freckles, gangly limbs, and his basketball uniform on. He smiled his warm smile at her, but something about it was ever so slightly off, just not exactly right.
“Did it hurt, Arthur? Dying?” Marian asked. She only bothered asking because she genuinely did believe in ghosts.
“I'm not here to talk about me, Marian. I'm here to warn you.” Arthur's voice and face became very serious suddenly.
“Warn me?” Marian shifted on her feet and looked around her self-consciously.
Arthur wavered a moment. “Jacob is not who you think he is.”
Marian instantly grew angry and defensive. “What? You come back from the dead to try and tell me that the father of my children is evil?”
“Why would I bother coming here to lie, Marian?”
She pondered that for a second, but also thought about how good Jacob had been to her, especially over these last few weeks. He had held her, and been intimate with her, and healed her sickness... he had visited her dutifully despite having other responsibilities. What those responsibilities were, exactly, she did not know, but...
“What do you mean, he's 'not who I think he is'?” she demanded of Arthur.
“Jacob only wants progeny. He's been without a son for two thousand years. He doesn't care if you live or die; he only cares that he gets his son. Why do you think he's so ambivalent about the presence of the other child? You and that other baby are nothing but collateral damage for him on the route to getting Reuben.”
How could Arthur possibly know all of this information? How could he possibly know what Jacob wanted to name their son? How could he know how old Jacob was? How could he know Marian was pregnant with twins? How could he know all of this... unless what he was saying was true?
“Marian!” A voice called out behind Marian, and she whirled around.
“Richard?” She swirled back toward Arthur, but he was gone. “Arthur!”
Richard appeared out of the trees behind Marian, and she turned once more toward him, looking alarmed. Richard, for his part, looked like he'd been running for miles. His dark green cotton shirt, with its sleeves rolled up to the elbows and its buttons undone halfway down his chest, was drenched in sweat.
“Richard, did you follow me?” Marian asked in an accusatory voice.
“Yes! You left without telling anyone! You just went missing! In your second trimester!” Richard was frantic.
“Well, I'm sorry; I should have told you I was going, but... look, Richard, there are far more important things going on! I saw a ghost! A real ghost, and he told me that Jacob is evil... that he only wants my baby and that he doesn't care if I die!”
Richard looked instantly quite suspicious.
“Forget it; you don't believe me,” Marian huffed, stepping away dejectedly.
“I most certainly do,” Richard insisted. “Who was this ghost? This is a dead person, I'm assuming?”
“Aren't all ghosts? It was my old friend, Arthur MacAllister,” Marian said.
“And he told you Jacob was evil?” Richard clarified?
“Yes!” Marian said exasperatedly.
“That wasn't Arthur MacAllister.” Richard shook his head.
“Well,” Marian began superciliously, “then who was it?”
“My brother.” Jacob stepped out of the trees to Marian's left. Feeling surrounded by men emerging from the foliage today, Marian took a step back. “That was my brother.”
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The Answer