Into The Ocean
Jan. 31st, 2012 07:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
theproperpoisonBIG DAMN SPOILERS IN THE PROMPT AND FIC. PROMPT BELOW CUT
Characters: Andrew Ryan, Jack Ryan
Prompt: "Jack doesn't kill Ryan (for whatever reason you want). Instead, Ryan actually tries to be a decent father for once."
Rating: PG maybe?
Warnings: None really.
He had never wanted to be a father, but faced with the prospect of this boy sitting in front of him, the boy with the handsome face that was a perfect combination of him and Jasmine, he couldn’t help but wonder how things could have been if he’d known sooner. As he looked up at the boy again, the boy flinched, as though expecting a blow.
Ryan shook his head, knowing that he had to be cautious around this boy, who looked like a man but who was in actuality still a child. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice still sounding gruff even as he tried to put a soft edge on it.
“Then why…” the boy began, and then forcibly cut himself off. He still wasn’t used to being allowed to argue, to have a point of view that was distinct from the point of view from whoever was controlling his mind at any given moment.
“Then why what?” Ryan asked. He struggled to keep the domineering tone out of his voice, but it was difficult. He was so used to snapping commands, to letting people know he was boss – and now he had to undo those things to speak to this boy, his son.
“Why were you never my father?” The boy’s accusing eyes stared into his.
This time, it was Ryan’s turn to flinch. The words were true, but no less oddly painful. He hadn’t expected that he would feel any hurt, merely a sense of curiosity, but somehow that wasn’t the case. “I was never given the chance to be,” he said honestly.
Jack simply stared at him, shuffling his feet on the carpet, tapping his fingers on his knee. He was the kind of person who was in perpetual motion. Perhaps it was the ADAM use. Perhaps it was something else.
His movements made Ryan nervous, and Ryan picked up his cigarette lighter and flicked it open and shut, eventually putting a cigarette in his mouth absentmindedly and lighting it. “Jack, you came here with the express intent to bash my skull in.”
Jack had the good grace to look at the floor, either with shame or with nervousness out of Ryan’s possible reaction. “You know I had no choice.”
Ryan smirked, unable to keep that familiar sarcasm out of his voice, “So we share a common conundrum. The lack of choices. And yet, a man chooses. So what does that make us?”
“I am a man,” Jack said defiantly, but the tone in his voice didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Now it was Ryan’s turn to stay silent, staring at Jack, taking another drag on his cigarette. The boy was undeniably his son, from the blue eyes to the strong jaw line to the fuller lower lip, but the features that looked harsh on Ryan were somehow softer on Jack, more classically handsome. “You’re barely full grown, Jack.” He had to be careful not to imply that Jack was an adult, because he was far from it. The boy had been artificially aged, and what looked like twenty years of age was in actuality less than three.
“I am a man,” Jack insisted, jutting his chin forward in a gesture that was so familiar to Ryan he felt as though he were looking in a mirror.
Instinctively, Ryan smoothed his hair, a gesture that meant he was nervous, not that he expected Jack to know that, since Jack hadn’t been around him at all until this afternoon. He’d stormed into Ryan’s office, and Ryan had been forced to tell him the truth of his past. And Jack could have killed him, but he hadn’t. “I don’t know what Frank Fontaine told you,” Ryan said, mostly lying – he had a good idea of what had been said – “but I’m not a monster.”
“You killed my mother.”
The accusation hit him hard enough that he almost felt himself physically recoil. “She stole you.” Discussing the facts was an odd feeling. Everyone had known that he’d killed her, of course, but it just wasn’t brought up. Maybe they were scared he’d kill them too.
“You still killed her.” Jack had that childish knack for stating things simply – something that betrayed his true age.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Ryan snapped, taking an angry drag on his cigarette, “You’re a child. You haven’t ever been betrayed like…”
The look in Jack’s eyes stopped him cold. Jack half-rose from his chair, hands shaking, “I haven’t been betrayed like that? You can’t possibly be serious. I’ve been systematically led to believe I’m someone I’m not. I’ve been told that all my memories of my past, my parents, and my life before Rapture are false, planted in my head by someone who wasn’t my father. I’ve learned that my biological father killed my biological mother, who wasn’t blameless, either, because she sold me to your enemies. I was under the impression that the man communicating with me on the radio was an Irish worker searching for his family. My whole life has been betrayal.”
Ryan felt a nauseating pang of guilt. He’d realized all of this, of course, but it had never been laid out for him like this, bluntly and coldly. “I didn’t… I apologize, Jack. That was an inaccurate statement.”
The apology was clumsy, but Jack sat back down in his chair, slumping a little, all the fight gone out of him suddenly. Ryan realized that Jack had been trying to hold himself back from electrocuting him on the spot. Despite the splicing he’d done, he clearly had some modicum of self-control. “And what do we do now?” Jack asked, his voice now barely above a whisper.
The words that sprang unbidden to Ryan’s mind were I don’t know, but those weren’t words he used. Even when he was completely lost for ideas, he faked it. But around the boy – and he had to stop thinking of him that way – those were the words he wanted to use.
Jack was still staring at him expectantly. He clearly wanted something. Maybe he wanted a declaration of fatherly affection, but Ryan didn’t know how to say the things he wanted to, didn’t know how to admit that he had regret, sadness, guilt built up from the years that he had been unable to know his son.
“We work together,” Ryan finally managed, looking at the papers on his desk, looking anywhere but where he should.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Jack stood and walked around the desk, suddenly embracing his father, the father he hadn’t known until today. “We work together,” Jack repeated.
Ryan stiffened. The embrace was unexpected, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. He tentatively returned the gesture, arms going around his son, who still had the wiry frame of adolescence, but who was beginning to show the muscles of a man. He patted him on the back awkwardly, and then he knew what he had to say. “I’m sorry,” he said, almost inaudibly, “I made a mistake.”
Characters: Andrew Ryan, Jack Ryan
Prompt: "Jack doesn't kill Ryan (for whatever reason you want). Instead, Ryan actually tries to be a decent father for once."
Rating: PG maybe?
Warnings: None really.
He had never wanted to be a father, but faced with the prospect of this boy sitting in front of him, the boy with the handsome face that was a perfect combination of him and Jasmine, he couldn’t help but wonder how things could have been if he’d known sooner. As he looked up at the boy again, the boy flinched, as though expecting a blow.
Ryan shook his head, knowing that he had to be cautious around this boy, who looked like a man but who was in actuality still a child. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, his voice still sounding gruff even as he tried to put a soft edge on it.
“Then why…” the boy began, and then forcibly cut himself off. He still wasn’t used to being allowed to argue, to have a point of view that was distinct from the point of view from whoever was controlling his mind at any given moment.
“Then why what?” Ryan asked. He struggled to keep the domineering tone out of his voice, but it was difficult. He was so used to snapping commands, to letting people know he was boss – and now he had to undo those things to speak to this boy, his son.
“Why were you never my father?” The boy’s accusing eyes stared into his.
This time, it was Ryan’s turn to flinch. The words were true, but no less oddly painful. He hadn’t expected that he would feel any hurt, merely a sense of curiosity, but somehow that wasn’t the case. “I was never given the chance to be,” he said honestly.
Jack simply stared at him, shuffling his feet on the carpet, tapping his fingers on his knee. He was the kind of person who was in perpetual motion. Perhaps it was the ADAM use. Perhaps it was something else.
His movements made Ryan nervous, and Ryan picked up his cigarette lighter and flicked it open and shut, eventually putting a cigarette in his mouth absentmindedly and lighting it. “Jack, you came here with the express intent to bash my skull in.”
Jack had the good grace to look at the floor, either with shame or with nervousness out of Ryan’s possible reaction. “You know I had no choice.”
Ryan smirked, unable to keep that familiar sarcasm out of his voice, “So we share a common conundrum. The lack of choices. And yet, a man chooses. So what does that make us?”
“I am a man,” Jack said defiantly, but the tone in his voice didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Now it was Ryan’s turn to stay silent, staring at Jack, taking another drag on his cigarette. The boy was undeniably his son, from the blue eyes to the strong jaw line to the fuller lower lip, but the features that looked harsh on Ryan were somehow softer on Jack, more classically handsome. “You’re barely full grown, Jack.” He had to be careful not to imply that Jack was an adult, because he was far from it. The boy had been artificially aged, and what looked like twenty years of age was in actuality less than three.
“I am a man,” Jack insisted, jutting his chin forward in a gesture that was so familiar to Ryan he felt as though he were looking in a mirror.
Instinctively, Ryan smoothed his hair, a gesture that meant he was nervous, not that he expected Jack to know that, since Jack hadn’t been around him at all until this afternoon. He’d stormed into Ryan’s office, and Ryan had been forced to tell him the truth of his past. And Jack could have killed him, but he hadn’t. “I don’t know what Frank Fontaine told you,” Ryan said, mostly lying – he had a good idea of what had been said – “but I’m not a monster.”
“You killed my mother.”
The accusation hit him hard enough that he almost felt himself physically recoil. “She stole you.” Discussing the facts was an odd feeling. Everyone had known that he’d killed her, of course, but it just wasn’t brought up. Maybe they were scared he’d kill them too.
“You still killed her.” Jack had that childish knack for stating things simply – something that betrayed his true age.
“I wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Ryan snapped, taking an angry drag on his cigarette, “You’re a child. You haven’t ever been betrayed like…”
The look in Jack’s eyes stopped him cold. Jack half-rose from his chair, hands shaking, “I haven’t been betrayed like that? You can’t possibly be serious. I’ve been systematically led to believe I’m someone I’m not. I’ve been told that all my memories of my past, my parents, and my life before Rapture are false, planted in my head by someone who wasn’t my father. I’ve learned that my biological father killed my biological mother, who wasn’t blameless, either, because she sold me to your enemies. I was under the impression that the man communicating with me on the radio was an Irish worker searching for his family. My whole life has been betrayal.”
Ryan felt a nauseating pang of guilt. He’d realized all of this, of course, but it had never been laid out for him like this, bluntly and coldly. “I didn’t… I apologize, Jack. That was an inaccurate statement.”
The apology was clumsy, but Jack sat back down in his chair, slumping a little, all the fight gone out of him suddenly. Ryan realized that Jack had been trying to hold himself back from electrocuting him on the spot. Despite the splicing he’d done, he clearly had some modicum of self-control. “And what do we do now?” Jack asked, his voice now barely above a whisper.
The words that sprang unbidden to Ryan’s mind were I don’t know, but those weren’t words he used. Even when he was completely lost for ideas, he faked it. But around the boy – and he had to stop thinking of him that way – those were the words he wanted to use.
Jack was still staring at him expectantly. He clearly wanted something. Maybe he wanted a declaration of fatherly affection, but Ryan didn’t know how to say the things he wanted to, didn’t know how to admit that he had regret, sadness, guilt built up from the years that he had been unable to know his son.
“We work together,” Ryan finally managed, looking at the papers on his desk, looking anywhere but where he should.
It wasn’t much, but it was enough. Jack stood and walked around the desk, suddenly embracing his father, the father he hadn’t known until today. “We work together,” Jack repeated.
Ryan stiffened. The embrace was unexpected, but it wasn’t entirely uncomfortable. He tentatively returned the gesture, arms going around his son, who still had the wiry frame of adolescence, but who was beginning to show the muscles of a man. He patted him on the back awkwardly, and then he knew what he had to say. “I’m sorry,” he said, almost inaudibly, “I made a mistake.”
