Genesis
Title: Genesis
Characters/Pairings: Jacob; Richard, Eloise, Daniel, Miles, Charlotte
Summary: The island always calls its children home.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up to end of S5
Warnings: References to character death.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Winner of second place for the lostfichallenge, Challenge #97: Jacob.
----
And when Esau lifted up his eyes and saw the women and children, he said, “Who are these with you?” Jacob said, “The children whom God has graciously given your servant.” (Genesis 33:5)
----
Our children always come home.
The other man had sneered at his words, plucked at the hem of his dark-coloured shirt as Jacob stood, moving to the outcropping of rocky shore and shielding his eyes against the sun.
The sub breaks a crest through the waves (he imagines, sees a tiny, red-haired girl, curled in sleep; a dark-eyed baby settled in his mother's lap) and they'll be back, he murmurs, sound lost in the churning tide. They always come back.
----
She races through the tall grass, arms outstretched and running her fingertips along the tops of the blades, red curls bouncing. Jacob watches, silently, from between the bustle and push of Dharma workers, her teddy bear trailing from one hand drag and tumbling, unaware, into her wake.
"Charlotte."
At her name, the little girl skitters to a stop, turns fast to face him, young features twisted with question.
He holds the bear out between them. "You dropped this."
With clutching hands, she grabs back her toy -- Jacob's touch lingers, only for a moment, at her wrist -- and clasps it to her chest. Thank you, she chirps, spinning on her heels and racing towards her mother's welcoming arms, who frowns politely in Jacob's direction, gaze drifting, searching for recognition.
He raises his hand in greeting -- she returns the gesture, hesitant, still wrapping Charlotte in her embrace -- and bleeds back into the crowd.
----
The jazz record, creaking and groaning on the turntable, covers his footsteps into the house, the silhouette of a woman at the sink, humming softly to herself. Jacob pads his way into the bedroom, everything lit by the deep glow of dusk, and moves towards the crib.
Big, dark eyes blink up at him; he traces one thumb across the baby's forehead. You're special, he whispers, feels like he's carving the words into the boy's flesh.
It's too cool when Lara comes into her son's room, later, pauses first by the crib and then by the curtains, fluttering against the wind. Pushes the heavy wooden frame of the window shut, the breeze stilled.
She shivers anyway.
----
Why? Eloise asks, fist clenched and pressed hard to her stomach, Richard standing a step back with Daniel's tiny hand in his. The firelight flickers and shadows pool across her face, draws dark, tired lines against her skin. Why bring him here?
Jacob crouches low, settling back on his haunches, levels with the slight, dark-haired boy. "Have you ever heard of a man named Isaac Newton, Daniel?"
He shakes his head once, eyes wide.
"Well Newton was a very smart man, and he said that any sort of force -- like moving something -- has to happen in pairs. Action and reaction; equal but opposite. It's very important." Jacob's gaze flicks up and away to Eloise. "Do you understand?"
Biting his bottom lip in reply, Daniel clings to Richard a little tighter. "No."
Jacob smiles, reaching out to tussle the boy's hair. "It's okay, Daniel."
Richard cringes -- the movement, the play of muscles and tendons beneath flesh so slight it barely registers -- Eloise's sharp, soft gasp echoing back against the room's stone walls.
"You will some day."
----
The trees loom large, cradle in the darkness, as Jacob moves through the jungle. It's early, so early, he knows -- maybe near the beginning, even -- ambling into the patch of grass left empty by the last flash of white.
She's still there; he slips a steady arm under her legs and behind her back, settling the weight of her body -- so eerily still, quickly cooling -- against his chest. Richard could do this, would insist on doing this; red tendrils trail over his arm, like a warning, a signal, and no, he thinks. It's better this way.
The cave isn't far and he never stumbles against a rock or root anyway, places her on the mossy ground and runs a hand over sightless blue eyes.
Three years -- or three seconds, or three centuries -- pass, and the same ritual is repeated, Richard holding back Eloise as she struggles and shifts. Let me bury him, she pleads. Let me do it. Hears Richard whisper that word -- sacrifice -- like a touchstone, or a prayer, and she half-collapses, suddenly limp, into his arms.
This time, the cave's damp and cool with rain; he considers the two stones nestled against his palm, slips them into a pouch and then the jumpsuit's pocket. A sign, maybe; a marker.
When Jacob leaves, he doesn't look back.
----
Red bubbles and spills from his lips, splatters the coveralls, paints the stitching. Miles.
Jacob wipes away the blood with gentle fingers, holds him still as he coughs and sputters, rifle laying useless beside him. Starts to memorize the lines and planes of his face that won't ever change, not now. (Richard finally retired into the ground, deep within the jungle, another casualty of a war that won't end.)
"Who the hell are you?"
Jacob smiles.
Our children always come home.
Characters/Pairings: Jacob; Richard, Eloise, Daniel, Miles, Charlotte
Summary: The island always calls its children home.
Rating: PG
Spoilers: Up to end of S5
Warnings: References to character death.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
A/N: Winner of second place for the lostfichallenge, Challenge #97: Jacob.
----
And when Esau lifted up his eyes and saw the women and children, he said, “Who are these with you?” Jacob said, “The children whom God has graciously given your servant.” (Genesis 33:5)
----
Our children always come home.
The other man had sneered at his words, plucked at the hem of his dark-coloured shirt as Jacob stood, moving to the outcropping of rocky shore and shielding his eyes against the sun.
The sub breaks a crest through the waves (he imagines, sees a tiny, red-haired girl, curled in sleep; a dark-eyed baby settled in his mother's lap) and they'll be back, he murmurs, sound lost in the churning tide. They always come back.
----
She races through the tall grass, arms outstretched and running her fingertips along the tops of the blades, red curls bouncing. Jacob watches, silently, from between the bustle and push of Dharma workers, her teddy bear trailing from one hand drag and tumbling, unaware, into her wake.
"Charlotte."
At her name, the little girl skitters to a stop, turns fast to face him, young features twisted with question.
He holds the bear out between them. "You dropped this."
With clutching hands, she grabs back her toy -- Jacob's touch lingers, only for a moment, at her wrist -- and clasps it to her chest. Thank you, she chirps, spinning on her heels and racing towards her mother's welcoming arms, who frowns politely in Jacob's direction, gaze drifting, searching for recognition.
He raises his hand in greeting -- she returns the gesture, hesitant, still wrapping Charlotte in her embrace -- and bleeds back into the crowd.
----
The jazz record, creaking and groaning on the turntable, covers his footsteps into the house, the silhouette of a woman at the sink, humming softly to herself. Jacob pads his way into the bedroom, everything lit by the deep glow of dusk, and moves towards the crib.
Big, dark eyes blink up at him; he traces one thumb across the baby's forehead. You're special, he whispers, feels like he's carving the words into the boy's flesh.
It's too cool when Lara comes into her son's room, later, pauses first by the crib and then by the curtains, fluttering against the wind. Pushes the heavy wooden frame of the window shut, the breeze stilled.
She shivers anyway.
----
Why? Eloise asks, fist clenched and pressed hard to her stomach, Richard standing a step back with Daniel's tiny hand in his. The firelight flickers and shadows pool across her face, draws dark, tired lines against her skin. Why bring him here?
Jacob crouches low, settling back on his haunches, levels with the slight, dark-haired boy. "Have you ever heard of a man named Isaac Newton, Daniel?"
He shakes his head once, eyes wide.
"Well Newton was a very smart man, and he said that any sort of force -- like moving something -- has to happen in pairs. Action and reaction; equal but opposite. It's very important." Jacob's gaze flicks up and away to Eloise. "Do you understand?"
Biting his bottom lip in reply, Daniel clings to Richard a little tighter. "No."
Jacob smiles, reaching out to tussle the boy's hair. "It's okay, Daniel."
Richard cringes -- the movement, the play of muscles and tendons beneath flesh so slight it barely registers -- Eloise's sharp, soft gasp echoing back against the room's stone walls.
"You will some day."
----
The trees loom large, cradle in the darkness, as Jacob moves through the jungle. It's early, so early, he knows -- maybe near the beginning, even -- ambling into the patch of grass left empty by the last flash of white.
She's still there; he slips a steady arm under her legs and behind her back, settling the weight of her body -- so eerily still, quickly cooling -- against his chest. Richard could do this, would insist on doing this; red tendrils trail over his arm, like a warning, a signal, and no, he thinks. It's better this way.
The cave isn't far and he never stumbles against a rock or root anyway, places her on the mossy ground and runs a hand over sightless blue eyes.
Three years -- or three seconds, or three centuries -- pass, and the same ritual is repeated, Richard holding back Eloise as she struggles and shifts. Let me bury him, she pleads. Let me do it. Hears Richard whisper that word -- sacrifice -- like a touchstone, or a prayer, and she half-collapses, suddenly limp, into his arms.
This time, the cave's damp and cool with rain; he considers the two stones nestled against his palm, slips them into a pouch and then the jumpsuit's pocket. A sign, maybe; a marker.
When Jacob leaves, he doesn't look back.
----
Red bubbles and spills from his lips, splatters the coveralls, paints the stitching. Miles.
Jacob wipes away the blood with gentle fingers, holds him still as he coughs and sputters, rifle laying useless beside him. Starts to memorize the lines and planes of his face that won't ever change, not now. (Richard finally retired into the ground, deep within the jungle, another casualty of a war that won't end.)
"Who the hell are you?"
Jacob smiles.
Our children always come home.