3 am
As he drove through the 3:00 AM Los Angeles rain to the airport, Jack couldn't help but play his mother's words over and over in his head. "You don't get to say "I can't." Not after what you did." She had said it so abruptly, as she used to speak to him when he was seven years old and there was no room for argument.
Not after what you did. She made it sound like Jack was some kind of criminal, yet he wasn't the one doing anything illegal. It was his father's excessive drinking which had driven him to action. For the longest time he had turned a blind eye to it. He hated that the esteemed Christian Shephard was doing that sort of thing to himself, but what was even worse were the memories he had as a child having to bear the pungent stink of alcohol, pretending to enjoy a drunken bedtime story for fear of being hit by a raging drunk. The fear frightened him into submission, a position in which he had never shaken, always cowering to his parents, needing to be the perfect son.
If he were an outsider to the situation, Jack would have called himself stupid. Why would someone willingly be intimidated by a father whose house he had moved out of years ago? As sappy as it sounded, Jack knew the answer. It was that same dumb, blind loyalty that people referred to naively as love. He hated his father's habit, but he valued his happiness more. If that meant sacrifices on his part so that Christian could smile while putting a bottle to his lips, then so be it.
Jack had time and again forgiven his father. He could overlook the fact that he was always seen as a disappointment, not once ever hearing that his family was proud of him. He could look away when his father backhanded him across the cheek, the sound of the slap echoing through an otherwise silent room. Nobody else was suffering. Jack had done his job and stood silently as his father turned his emotional abuse physical. As Jack stared into the ceiling through stinging eyes, he reassured himself that his father was happy. It was ok.
This time Christian had gone too far. He had operated while intoxicated on a pregnant woman, killing both her and the baby. Jack had wrestled long and hard with his decision to alert the authorities, but after several days of internal debate, he did what he reasoned was the right thing. It was no longer about happiness. Now the elder Shephard had lost regard for his patients, the ones he swore to bring to no harm. He had been fired on the spot.
If the case was so clear cut, then why did Jack feel so guilty? He clenched his jaw together as he spun the steering wheel to make a right hand turn. What he had done was for the best. Roles were reversed now and Jack had become the parent. Christian had to understand consequences. If things became serious enough, Jack hoped that the drinking would stop. Maybe his father wanted happiness, but what he truly needed was help. Yet here Jack was, forcing his car through a deluge to find a father who hadn't spoken to him in over two months because it was Jack who had ruined his life, Jack who had lost him his job and turned him into a suicidal alcoholic who had suddenly gone missing.
When he had finally arrived at the airport parking lot, Jack pulled into the parking slot, turned off the engine and stared blankly at the rain that continued to pour, trying to convince himself that it wasn't his fault. The more he thought about it, the less convinced he sounded in his own mind until he too was blaming himself for the reason he was at the airport in the first place. He closed his eyes and pounded his fist repeatedly into the horn, trying to down out the sounds of his own weakness as he could feel it in hot liquid form rolling down his cheeks. Once again, he'd done wrong.
After unbuckling himself, Jack opened the car door and stepped out into the rain. He didn't get to quit now. Not after what he did.