Fanfic100
Title: Enemies
Prompt: 022 Enemies
Character: Jack Shephard
Fandom: Lost
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: violence
Author's Note: This is set in season two.
Spoiler Warning: through the end of season two
Word Count: 850
Disclaimer: Lost belongs to J.J. Abrams and Co. at Bad Robot and ABC
He pretended not to hear the echo knuckles hitting flesh as Sayid embraced day two of interrogating their prisoner. Jack simply continued chopping up fruit, brushing the knife more sharply against the thick edges of the oranges so that the impact rang louder; he tossed the fruit into one bowl and the skin into another with more force than necessary. He knew Locke was watching him from where he was cutting up a salad nearby in a much more calmer, ordinary, fashion.
"I guess you're not used to this," Locke commented as he tore apart celery.
"What, holding someone captive and beating them to death?" Jack replied, his anger riding heavily in the sarcasm of his words. "Oh, it's only the second or third time I've been in this situation. I'm pretty used to it by now. In a couple of days that guy will find proof that shows us that he's innocent and everything will go back to normal again. He might be short a finger or two, but what the hell?"
Locke laughed and Jack found himself shuddering at the sound, disturbed by how lightly Locke seemed to be taking this.
"We don't like this any more than you do," he said, casually tossing the celery into a bowl, "I don't even think Sayid's comfortable with this."
"Well he's the one making decisions right now," Jack shot, "and he seems pretty okay with it to me."
"Just remember that we're all trying to reach the same goal," Locke pointed out, "these people, our enemies, they're learning more and more about who we are. Soon they'll be running our lives. If not literally, than by fear."
"Yeah, well we obviously have very different tactics with dealing with enemies."
"Maybe that's because the biggest enemies you're used to dealing with are head colds, and Sayid's are enemies of the state."
Jack glared as Locke smiled at his own joke and laughed the look off.
"What I mean is, learning to live with one another's beliefs is part of society," Locke went on, again too casually for Jack to listen without feeling sick to his stomach, "maybe this is even happening for a reason."
"Of course it is," Jack muttered, throwing twice as much anger with the next toss of fruit into the bowl.
Everything happened for a reason. The showers randomly stopped working for a reason. They ran out of chips and cookies for a reason. The sun stopped shinning at a certain time for a reason. All these reasons never amounted to anything except a pathetic excuse to set aside blame. Locke's theories seemed to be made for a perfect society that could work around a random act of fate and acceptance, without consequence at all. The world Jack lived in was filled with monsters, kidnappers, and murderers. They didn't have time to consider fate. Considering fate costs lives.
Another crack as the fruit hit the plastic.
Boone's eyes came to a close.
Sayid's fist landed against the edge of the prisoner's skull and bounced away as simply as the stroke of a tennis ball against a brick wall.
Frozen in time, the world spun out of control around him. The idea of fate was mocking the situation they were in. It was just a joke.
"It's brought us together," Locke suggested, "it's united us against a common goal, a common enemy. Made us see what's really important."
The knife flew out of his hands; he didn't even see where it landed. Somewhere in the distance it scattered across the floor.
Another fist landed against the prisoner's skull.
"Don't even try to use this as an excuse to forgive you!" The echoes of his voice succeeded in covering up any further evidence of Sayid's interrogations. "None of this is happening for you! None of this has anything to do with you!"
"Jack-"
"We're not friends now, we're not okay!" He saw that Locke had held up his hands in defense and had actually taken a step back, as though afraid. This only amused him. "I'll never forgive you for what you did to Boone. You'll never deserve forgiveness."
Now he was only inches away from Locke, backing him against the wall. The man, who must have been at least five years older than him, stared down at him with a sudden fear that only satisfied him. He needed to feel afraid. Locke needed to feel the fear he'd been living with, the reality that just couldn't accept that in the end everything would be tied around with a perfect bow and make since in a completely positive way.
Somewhere in the distance a door slid open. A heavy sigh filled the silence previously occupied by Jack's angry breath. Sayid stepped up to him, his shadow pouring over him like a glare from a distant bolt of lightening.
"Is this yours?"
He was holding up the knife. Jack let Locke go with a shove and took the knife from Sayid.
His hands were covered with blood.
Storming over to the counter he displayed his anger effortlessly, carelessly, guiltlessly, as he slammed the knife on the counter. There was one thing he would always know about he and Locke, one thing that would never change.
They were not friends.
Prompt: 022 Enemies
Character: Jack Shephard
Fandom: Lost
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: violence
Author's Note: This is set in season two.
Spoiler Warning: through the end of season two
Word Count: 850
Disclaimer: Lost belongs to J.J. Abrams and Co. at Bad Robot and ABC
He pretended not to hear the echo knuckles hitting flesh as Sayid embraced day two of interrogating their prisoner. Jack simply continued chopping up fruit, brushing the knife more sharply against the thick edges of the oranges so that the impact rang louder; he tossed the fruit into one bowl and the skin into another with more force than necessary. He knew Locke was watching him from where he was cutting up a salad nearby in a much more calmer, ordinary, fashion.
"I guess you're not used to this," Locke commented as he tore apart celery.
"What, holding someone captive and beating them to death?" Jack replied, his anger riding heavily in the sarcasm of his words. "Oh, it's only the second or third time I've been in this situation. I'm pretty used to it by now. In a couple of days that guy will find proof that shows us that he's innocent and everything will go back to normal again. He might be short a finger or two, but what the hell?"
Locke laughed and Jack found himself shuddering at the sound, disturbed by how lightly Locke seemed to be taking this.
"We don't like this any more than you do," he said, casually tossing the celery into a bowl, "I don't even think Sayid's comfortable with this."
"Well he's the one making decisions right now," Jack shot, "and he seems pretty okay with it to me."
"Just remember that we're all trying to reach the same goal," Locke pointed out, "these people, our enemies, they're learning more and more about who we are. Soon they'll be running our lives. If not literally, than by fear."
"Yeah, well we obviously have very different tactics with dealing with enemies."
"Maybe that's because the biggest enemies you're used to dealing with are head colds, and Sayid's are enemies of the state."
Jack glared as Locke smiled at his own joke and laughed the look off.
"What I mean is, learning to live with one another's beliefs is part of society," Locke went on, again too casually for Jack to listen without feeling sick to his stomach, "maybe this is even happening for a reason."
"Of course it is," Jack muttered, throwing twice as much anger with the next toss of fruit into the bowl.
Everything happened for a reason. The showers randomly stopped working for a reason. They ran out of chips and cookies for a reason. The sun stopped shinning at a certain time for a reason. All these reasons never amounted to anything except a pathetic excuse to set aside blame. Locke's theories seemed to be made for a perfect society that could work around a random act of fate and acceptance, without consequence at all. The world Jack lived in was filled with monsters, kidnappers, and murderers. They didn't have time to consider fate. Considering fate costs lives.
Another crack as the fruit hit the plastic.
Boone's eyes came to a close.
Sayid's fist landed against the edge of the prisoner's skull and bounced away as simply as the stroke of a tennis ball against a brick wall.
Frozen in time, the world spun out of control around him. The idea of fate was mocking the situation they were in. It was just a joke.
"It's brought us together," Locke suggested, "it's united us against a common goal, a common enemy. Made us see what's really important."
The knife flew out of his hands; he didn't even see where it landed. Somewhere in the distance it scattered across the floor.
Another fist landed against the prisoner's skull.
"Don't even try to use this as an excuse to forgive you!" The echoes of his voice succeeded in covering up any further evidence of Sayid's interrogations. "None of this is happening for you! None of this has anything to do with you!"
"Jack-"
"We're not friends now, we're not okay!" He saw that Locke had held up his hands in defense and had actually taken a step back, as though afraid. This only amused him. "I'll never forgive you for what you did to Boone. You'll never deserve forgiveness."
Now he was only inches away from Locke, backing him against the wall. The man, who must have been at least five years older than him, stared down at him with a sudden fear that only satisfied him. He needed to feel afraid. Locke needed to feel the fear he'd been living with, the reality that just couldn't accept that in the end everything would be tied around with a perfect bow and make since in a completely positive way.
Somewhere in the distance a door slid open. A heavy sigh filled the silence previously occupied by Jack's angry breath. Sayid stepped up to him, his shadow pouring over him like a glare from a distant bolt of lightening.
"Is this yours?"
He was holding up the knife. Jack let Locke go with a shove and took the knife from Sayid.
His hands were covered with blood.
Storming over to the counter he displayed his anger effortlessly, carelessly, guiltlessly, as he slammed the knife on the counter. There was one thing he would always know about he and Locke, one thing that would never change.
They were not friends.