![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
collateral damage
Feb. 2nd, 2011 08:48 pmSam was still in the clinic with Vala and Jack knew that this would probably be his best opportunity to head back to the hut and get some sleep and prepare for a hard couple of days. Logically, he knew that was what he needed to do and yet logic was pretty damn far from his range of emotions. Hurt? Check. Angry? As hell. Jack didn't know if the anger was for the situation, toward himself or toward the island but he was leaning toward pushing it onto the latter because damn if the place hadn't screwed with him since day one. There was the whole eight years between him and Daniel, the whole Valentine's fiasco that damn near made Carter want to wash her hands of him and now this.
Could he blame it on the island when it was really his fault for getting so drunk he couldn't see straight and not using a condom? Could he blame it on the island when Sam shared half that blame, when she'd been just as drunk and just as stupid?
Nobody ever said anger was supposed to be logical. Or rational.
Jack made his way inside the hut and started pulling out the baby things he'd gathered over the past couple months...tiny little socks and mittens and a couple onsies that said "Future Air Force General" that the clothes box seemed to think were funny. He piled them into an old pillowcase, figuring he'd just drop them off at the Children's Office or back in the box but there was one thing he couldn't donate: the cradle. He'd built it with his own hands from palm wood, just big enough for a newborn when he showed up. No newborn to live in that cradle now, nope. No kid. No dream.
Hot with anger, Jack dragged it out between his and Sam's huts and swung a hammer at it, denting the frame of the furniture. Still repairable, though, and that wouldn't do. What about this situation was repairable? Not a damn thing.
He swung the hammer over and over, wood splintering and cradle collapsing under its' own weight. Hours and hours of labor into that thing only to be torn apart in a few minutes; Jack figured someone smarter than him would come up with some kind of metaphor for the situation but for now, he was content just to break it down and throw it away, to forget about what had turned out to be one of the stupidest mistakes of his life.
Senseless. Useless.
Sam had been right all along, hadn't she?
Could he blame it on the island when it was really his fault for getting so drunk he couldn't see straight and not using a condom? Could he blame it on the island when Sam shared half that blame, when she'd been just as drunk and just as stupid?
Nobody ever said anger was supposed to be logical. Or rational.
Jack made his way inside the hut and started pulling out the baby things he'd gathered over the past couple months...tiny little socks and mittens and a couple onsies that said "Future Air Force General" that the clothes box seemed to think were funny. He piled them into an old pillowcase, figuring he'd just drop them off at the Children's Office or back in the box but there was one thing he couldn't donate: the cradle. He'd built it with his own hands from palm wood, just big enough for a newborn when he showed up. No newborn to live in that cradle now, nope. No kid. No dream.
Hot with anger, Jack dragged it out between his and Sam's huts and swung a hammer at it, denting the frame of the furniture. Still repairable, though, and that wouldn't do. What about this situation was repairable? Not a damn thing.
He swung the hammer over and over, wood splintering and cradle collapsing under its' own weight. Hours and hours of labor into that thing only to be torn apart in a few minutes; Jack figured someone smarter than him would come up with some kind of metaphor for the situation but for now, he was content just to break it down and throw it away, to forget about what had turned out to be one of the stupidest mistakes of his life.
Senseless. Useless.
Sam had been right all along, hadn't she?
