nightskiesfading
02-13-2008, 05:23 PM
Title: Foundations
Rating: PG-13
Ship: Strongly Jack centered with mentions of Kate/Jate
Warnings: No spoilers, just some alcohol and pill popping.
Summary: This story is to explain the change between the Jack we see in Hurley's flash-forward and the Jack we see in his flash-forward during "Through the Looking Glass". Kind of how he begins his little downward spiral.
Author's Notes: I wrote this a while back, but amidst my thought-drought lately, I had the idea to go look at some old fic I never posted on LF, and kind of revise it and get some inspiration from there. So I actually took pieces of several old fics and kind of combined them into this story. Hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost, obviously.
Foundations
He stumbled from the apartment door into the bathroom and quickly found the sink, bracing his arms on the side while steadying himself with deep breaths. His body was beginning to adjust to the re-introduction of alcohol, and for the first time that week, the dizziness subsided before it made him sick.
He moved instead to turn on the cold water, seeking it’s relief against his warm skin. Skipping the towel, he wiped his face against the sleeve of his shirt, and avoided the mirror as he moved it aside to reach the medicine cabinet behind it. The small prescription bottle sat alone on the middle shelf, and he reached for it eagerly. He fumbled with the lid before getting it open - taking two of the small white pills as if he were a child given candy.
It was newly prescribed, a pleasant bonus to accompany his sutures. The battle wound was fresh, but far from a medal of honor. He had been a doctor in a bar on the wrong side of town, and had no chance against the trucker he drunkenly tried to fight.
Jack had been knocked on his ass so hard he thought they would stitch that, too.
Barely a month off of the island and he was back into the real world, the world as he had come to know it - drinking every night to help cope with a problem that he couldn’t put his finger on.
He could feel a storm brewing within him, a desire he couldn’t understand.
He missed the island, but such an outlandish statement could not be spoken out loud, not by him. He swallowed his thoughts instead, and chased after them with alcohol - all the while praying for a solution to a question he couldn't ask. Perhaps it wasn’t the island itself that he needed, but the clean slate that it gave him. Maybe it was the escape, maybe it was the people. Maybe it was her. It had to be her.
Regardless of the reason, he was alone now, left to rebuild his life with a golden Oceanic Airlines pass and enough money to cover the damages. Added to that so far he had contributed several bottles of alcohol and his new friend - the little white bottle of pills.
This was the new foundation for his new life, and the structure was not looking strong.
He closed the medicine cabinet and his eyes fell on the mirror, a familiar face stared back at him, but he could swear that it wasn’t his own. Memories of his father flooded his mind as he stared at bloodshot eyes, three-day-old stubble, and tired eyelids.
He reached for the sink again to keep himself standing. Thoughts swirled in his head: guava seeds and "I love you's", truths and lies, rescue and abandonment. She couldn't take on his burden, and he understood that, but he was crippling under the weight of bearing it alone.
His fist shot up before his mind registered what it was doing, and he brought it crashing into the glass as hard as he could, venting 40 years of frustration and anger. The force was more than enough to shatter the mirror, spilling the shards of glass into the sink and around his feet. He looked down to his hand, bloody and shaking. He felt not a single hint of pain.
Jack opened the cabinet again and reached for the pills.
He took two more and looked down at the floor, his eyes reflecting back to him from all angles. He still saw his father’s eyes, but something hid behind them, something darker and deeper that was purely his own.
He left the bathroom and passed the kitchen table. A single map of the Pacific ocean was opened beside a half-empty bottle of gin. But he knew that there was no map to heaven - and he had already found the path to hell.
Rating: PG-13
Ship: Strongly Jack centered with mentions of Kate/Jate
Warnings: No spoilers, just some alcohol and pill popping.
Summary: This story is to explain the change between the Jack we see in Hurley's flash-forward and the Jack we see in his flash-forward during "Through the Looking Glass". Kind of how he begins his little downward spiral.
Author's Notes: I wrote this a while back, but amidst my thought-drought lately, I had the idea to go look at some old fic I never posted on LF, and kind of revise it and get some inspiration from there. So I actually took pieces of several old fics and kind of combined them into this story. Hope you like it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Lost, obviously.
Foundations
He stumbled from the apartment door into the bathroom and quickly found the sink, bracing his arms on the side while steadying himself with deep breaths. His body was beginning to adjust to the re-introduction of alcohol, and for the first time that week, the dizziness subsided before it made him sick.
He moved instead to turn on the cold water, seeking it’s relief against his warm skin. Skipping the towel, he wiped his face against the sleeve of his shirt, and avoided the mirror as he moved it aside to reach the medicine cabinet behind it. The small prescription bottle sat alone on the middle shelf, and he reached for it eagerly. He fumbled with the lid before getting it open - taking two of the small white pills as if he were a child given candy.
It was newly prescribed, a pleasant bonus to accompany his sutures. The battle wound was fresh, but far from a medal of honor. He had been a doctor in a bar on the wrong side of town, and had no chance against the trucker he drunkenly tried to fight.
Jack had been knocked on his ass so hard he thought they would stitch that, too.
Barely a month off of the island and he was back into the real world, the world as he had come to know it - drinking every night to help cope with a problem that he couldn’t put his finger on.
He could feel a storm brewing within him, a desire he couldn’t understand.
He missed the island, but such an outlandish statement could not be spoken out loud, not by him. He swallowed his thoughts instead, and chased after them with alcohol - all the while praying for a solution to a question he couldn't ask. Perhaps it wasn’t the island itself that he needed, but the clean slate that it gave him. Maybe it was the escape, maybe it was the people. Maybe it was her. It had to be her.
Regardless of the reason, he was alone now, left to rebuild his life with a golden Oceanic Airlines pass and enough money to cover the damages. Added to that so far he had contributed several bottles of alcohol and his new friend - the little white bottle of pills.
This was the new foundation for his new life, and the structure was not looking strong.
He closed the medicine cabinet and his eyes fell on the mirror, a familiar face stared back at him, but he could swear that it wasn’t his own. Memories of his father flooded his mind as he stared at bloodshot eyes, three-day-old stubble, and tired eyelids.
He reached for the sink again to keep himself standing. Thoughts swirled in his head: guava seeds and "I love you's", truths and lies, rescue and abandonment. She couldn't take on his burden, and he understood that, but he was crippling under the weight of bearing it alone.
His fist shot up before his mind registered what it was doing, and he brought it crashing into the glass as hard as he could, venting 40 years of frustration and anger. The force was more than enough to shatter the mirror, spilling the shards of glass into the sink and around his feet. He looked down to his hand, bloody and shaking. He felt not a single hint of pain.
Jack opened the cabinet again and reached for the pills.
He took two more and looked down at the floor, his eyes reflecting back to him from all angles. He still saw his father’s eyes, but something hid behind them, something darker and deeper that was purely his own.
He left the bathroom and passed the kitchen table. A single map of the Pacific ocean was opened beside a half-empty bottle of gin. But he knew that there was no map to heaven - and he had already found the path to hell.