Lost fic: A Father's Love
Feb. 1st, 2008 06:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
alliecat8Uh, this fic decided to write itself on the way to an away game. I don't know why. And I'm gonna chase it later tonight with some porn. Nothin' like a new season to wake up a snoozing muse!
Title: A Father's Love
Character: Jack
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Through 4.01. Mentions of the islanders' futures is pure speculation.
Word Count: 1,145
Disclaimer: Only mine in my dreams
A/N: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
psych_30 Prompt #8, Phobia
A Father’s Love
Jack Shephard had never been a father. Even when he was newly married to Sarah, when he was an up-and-coming young surgeon with a pretty schoolteacher wife, when his life seemed to be the perfect setting for raising a few happy, bright-futured kids, he secretly hadn’t wanted any. It was such a secret that Jack didn’t even know it himself. It was Sarah, with that sixth sense that women seem to have, who had figured out that when their honeymoon lovemaking turned to marital baby-making, Jack’s heart just wasn’t in it. Even then, Jack didn’t figure it out. He thought he was just busy; too busy to spend his nights at home trying to give Sarah the family that she wanted. But by that time Sarah had seen enough of Jack’s relationship with his own father, and she was smart enough to realize that Jack would never want to be one. He was too frightened of repeating his father’s mistakes.
It took a while for Jack to realize what Sarah already knew, that he was never meant to father a child. Maybe he’d started to realize it on the island, when he’d seen how fatherhood could twist a man. Jack looked at Michael as he sailed away with his son, never looking back, and he thought of his own father’s twisted attempts to protect Jack from the evils of life. Some fathers would go to such great lengths for their children that they destroyed their own souls. Jack suspected that he might be that kind of father if he ever became one. He found himself putting up a protective wall between himself and women on the island, women like Kate and Juliet, women he might have loved. Women who would want to be mothers someday. He never touched them.
He knew it for sure after his rescue from the island. That was when he began to shake at even the sight of a child. He’d wake at night to whispers, whispers that were no less real for the fact that he knew they originated inside his own head.
We left.
We left them behind.
We left the children behind.
How could they call him a hero, this world that had dubbed him and his fellow survivors “The Oceanic Six”? How could he let them call him a hero, when he’d gotten letters and even phone calls from parents – parents who had lived through terror and grief, only to have their hopes reignited when word of the discovery of survivors of Flight 815 reached them? Had their children survived after all? Would their dreams of seeing and holding their children again, of telling them that they loved them, really come true? But the only truth was that hope is God’s cruel joke, Jack thought, when he imagined how they’d felt upon learning that he and four other adults had come home alive and well, but not their own precious children. He’d never seen their faces, but he’d heard their voices when they’d called to ask if he’d seen any children on the plane, or (they’d ask hesitantly, fearfully and yet with the faintest tremble of hope still in their voices) had he seen any children…after? He’d seen their tears in the smudged letters he received, asking him the same sad questions. And all he could do, all he could say to these people who’d suffered the greatest loss of all, was, “I’m sorry, no.”
All he could do was LIE.
Maybe it didn’t bother the other rescued survivors so much because they didn’t have to tell quite such a big lie. They hadn’t seen the children. But Jack had. He’d seen them standing outside of his cage on an island they called Alcatraz, alive and well and watching him. Watching him as if he was an animal in a zoo, and now he knew that he’d been of no more use to them than that, because he hadn’t helped them, hadn’t saved them, and now he couldn’t even acknowledge that they lived.
At first he’d convinced himself it was going to be okay. The children were safe on the island, happy. The flight attendant Cindy had been acting as a surrogate mother, and he’d left behind others…Claire, Rose and Bernard…who would look after them. Even Sawyer seemed to be good with kids, and Ben might have been a tyrant, but he’d raised Alex and he’d seemed to truly believe that they’d kidnapped the Oceanic children to give them better lives. That was what Jack told himself every day, every time he saw a child. He’d left the children behind, but they were safe. They were alive.
And yet they haunted him in his dreams. When his psychic defenses were down, he knew what he would not let himself know in his waking hours. He had to find them; he had to bring them home. And the only way to save them – the only way to save himself -- was to go back. If only he could go back without letting the ones who were watching him know, maybe he could still save them. Maybe he could bring them home to the people who loved them, who still yearned for them even though their hope was lost.
Then he saw the obituary for the father of one of the missing children. The man had killed himself, it said; hung himself from a rafter in his own home. Jack almost broke then, that night when he found himself standing on the railing of a bridge looking into the abyss below, feeling not only his own guilt, but the dead father’s despair. He thought of how, even on the island, even in death, his own father had come to him. A father’s love is a terrible, awesome thing; stronger than life, stronger even than death. “Forgive me,” he whispered to Christian, whom he knew still watched him.
After that it was nothing but a blur of flames and instinct, bright lights and people using that hated word, “hero.” As he left the hospital, a boy looked up at him and waved. The boy seemed to glow, but Jack thought that this was because the last time he’d seen him, the boy had been surrounded by flames. Now here he was, alive and well and waiting for his father to come for him while his mother recovered in her hospital bed. “I saved him,” Jack thought, and though his mind wanted to reject the idea, wanted to reject the memory of the child completely, the thought burned in his brain as brightly as the flames that had surrounded the boy – an internal flame that could not be extinguished. In spite of everything he had saved a child...and there were more who needed saving.
Maybe he had one last miracle left in him, after all.
End
Title: A Father's Love
Character: Jack
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Through 4.01. Mentions of the islanders' futures is pure speculation.
Word Count: 1,145
Disclaimer: Only mine in my dreams
A/N: Written for
psych_30 Prompt #8, PhobiaA Father’s Love
Jack Shephard had never been a father. Even when he was newly married to Sarah, when he was an up-and-coming young surgeon with a pretty schoolteacher wife, when his life seemed to be the perfect setting for raising a few happy, bright-futured kids, he secretly hadn’t wanted any. It was such a secret that Jack didn’t even know it himself. It was Sarah, with that sixth sense that women seem to have, who had figured out that when their honeymoon lovemaking turned to marital baby-making, Jack’s heart just wasn’t in it. Even then, Jack didn’t figure it out. He thought he was just busy; too busy to spend his nights at home trying to give Sarah the family that she wanted. But by that time Sarah had seen enough of Jack’s relationship with his own father, and she was smart enough to realize that Jack would never want to be one. He was too frightened of repeating his father’s mistakes.
It took a while for Jack to realize what Sarah already knew, that he was never meant to father a child. Maybe he’d started to realize it on the island, when he’d seen how fatherhood could twist a man. Jack looked at Michael as he sailed away with his son, never looking back, and he thought of his own father’s twisted attempts to protect Jack from the evils of life. Some fathers would go to such great lengths for their children that they destroyed their own souls. Jack suspected that he might be that kind of father if he ever became one. He found himself putting up a protective wall between himself and women on the island, women like Kate and Juliet, women he might have loved. Women who would want to be mothers someday. He never touched them.
He knew it for sure after his rescue from the island. That was when he began to shake at even the sight of a child. He’d wake at night to whispers, whispers that were no less real for the fact that he knew they originated inside his own head.
We left.
We left them behind.
We left the children behind.
How could they call him a hero, this world that had dubbed him and his fellow survivors “The Oceanic Six”? How could he let them call him a hero, when he’d gotten letters and even phone calls from parents – parents who had lived through terror and grief, only to have their hopes reignited when word of the discovery of survivors of Flight 815 reached them? Had their children survived after all? Would their dreams of seeing and holding their children again, of telling them that they loved them, really come true? But the only truth was that hope is God’s cruel joke, Jack thought, when he imagined how they’d felt upon learning that he and four other adults had come home alive and well, but not their own precious children. He’d never seen their faces, but he’d heard their voices when they’d called to ask if he’d seen any children on the plane, or (they’d ask hesitantly, fearfully and yet with the faintest tremble of hope still in their voices) had he seen any children…after? He’d seen their tears in the smudged letters he received, asking him the same sad questions. And all he could do, all he could say to these people who’d suffered the greatest loss of all, was, “I’m sorry, no.”
All he could do was LIE.
Maybe it didn’t bother the other rescued survivors so much because they didn’t have to tell quite such a big lie. They hadn’t seen the children. But Jack had. He’d seen them standing outside of his cage on an island they called Alcatraz, alive and well and watching him. Watching him as if he was an animal in a zoo, and now he knew that he’d been of no more use to them than that, because he hadn’t helped them, hadn’t saved them, and now he couldn’t even acknowledge that they lived.
At first he’d convinced himself it was going to be okay. The children were safe on the island, happy. The flight attendant Cindy had been acting as a surrogate mother, and he’d left behind others…Claire, Rose and Bernard…who would look after them. Even Sawyer seemed to be good with kids, and Ben might have been a tyrant, but he’d raised Alex and he’d seemed to truly believe that they’d kidnapped the Oceanic children to give them better lives. That was what Jack told himself every day, every time he saw a child. He’d left the children behind, but they were safe. They were alive.
And yet they haunted him in his dreams. When his psychic defenses were down, he knew what he would not let himself know in his waking hours. He had to find them; he had to bring them home. And the only way to save them – the only way to save himself -- was to go back. If only he could go back without letting the ones who were watching him know, maybe he could still save them. Maybe he could bring them home to the people who loved them, who still yearned for them even though their hope was lost.
Then he saw the obituary for the father of one of the missing children. The man had killed himself, it said; hung himself from a rafter in his own home. Jack almost broke then, that night when he found himself standing on the railing of a bridge looking into the abyss below, feeling not only his own guilt, but the dead father’s despair. He thought of how, even on the island, even in death, his own father had come to him. A father’s love is a terrible, awesome thing; stronger than life, stronger even than death. “Forgive me,” he whispered to Christian, whom he knew still watched him.
After that it was nothing but a blur of flames and instinct, bright lights and people using that hated word, “hero.” As he left the hospital, a boy looked up at him and waved. The boy seemed to glow, but Jack thought that this was because the last time he’d seen him, the boy had been surrounded by flames. Now here he was, alive and well and waiting for his father to come for him while his mother recovered in her hospital bed. “I saved him,” Jack thought, and though his mind wanted to reject the idea, wanted to reject the memory of the child completely, the thought burned in his brain as brightly as the flames that had surrounded the boy – an internal flame that could not be extinguished. In spite of everything he had saved a child...and there were more who needed saving.
Maybe he had one last miracle left in him, after all.
End
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-02-02 01:21 am (UTC)Brilliant speculation on what their Devil's Deal could've been (and kudos for leaving Sawyer out of that, that he stayed behind with the kids).
no subject
Date: 2008-02-02 06:06 am (UTC)And yeah, Sawyer is a softie with the kids. He's growing a heart on the island, I think.
Awwww, your icon. :/
no subject
Date: 2008-02-02 01:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-02 06:08 am (UTC)Thanks again! :)
no subject
Date: 2008-02-02 03:00 am (UTC)That leaving the kids behind is what's behind Jack's breakdown is brilliant. No one ever seems to think of them. Here you turn it into the creepy thing it always should have been -- season 2 should have been all about "omg they took Walt!!!" and what that meant, but all we got was Michael wailing annoyingly and ineffectively. This totally makes up for that.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-02 06:18 am (UTC)Yay, thanks for reading and feedbacking, and btw, I ♥ your icon. What I think about Juliet is this: I don't know anything more about her than Jack does...er, do I?...and I think that he'd assume that since she's a fertility specialist, she wants kids. That'd be a male leap of logic. Honestly, no, I think she wants other people's kids. But that's for another fic.
I think that what made this fic just kinda pour outta me is how *forgotten* the kids seem to have been. What, six were rescued but they didn't even try to get the kids? Either that's really sloppy writing, or there's a reason why they're not telling anybody that at least a couple of the kids survived. HOW could you face the parents, knowing something like that?
And thus fic is born. ♥! for reading!
no subject
Date: 2008-02-02 09:23 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-02 03:43 pm (UTC)The idea that "Jeremy Bentham" was Zach and Emma's father was a very interesting one, very unique.
That's what I mean when I say I *like* all the open-ended questions they throw at us, because as fanfic writers, we can play with them all we want! :)
I'm so glad you read this and liked it! ♥
no subject
Date: 2008-02-02 06:22 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-03 01:16 am (UTC)(btw, perfect icon, too!)
no subject
Date: 2008-02-03 02:59 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-03 12:26 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-03 01:20 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-03 02:24 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-04 09:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-03 03:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-02-04 09:14 pm (UTC)What a great observation. Jack, having been put in the position of being the "Moses" of the island, does feel responsible for everyone, and leaving some behind probably does make him feel like a "bad father." The Daddy Issues are everywhere! Poor Jack, he breaks my heart. But your feedback made me happy. Thank you so much for reading and liking!
no subject
Date: 2008-02-05 11:14 am (UTC)And, poor Jack.
no subject
Date: 2008-02-06 10:08 pm (UTC)Oh, I know, poor Jack; that man always carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He's due for some happy, isn't he?
Thank you so much for reading and liking! :)