Hey! I wrote another one shot

Jack: Oh boy, I bet it's amaaazing.

reality-be-rent: Shut up, Jack. You just can't handle the fact you're a baby in this.

Ralph: reality-be-rent does NOT own Lord of the Flies, nor any of the characters associated with it.

reality-be-rent: *sobs*

Jack: what's he doing here?

reality-be-rent: more than you are.

Ten Years Time

It's just another slow Monday morning. Ralph Williamson was taking his usual route, which consisted of him walking through the dark and twisting alleyways of London. You see, Ralph became a very successful lawyer after he finished university. He'd never told his friends (of course, he never told his friends anything related to the island) that he'd only wanted to become a lawyer to ensure that everybody got justice when they were wronged by someone... Something that Simon and Piggy never got.

He never went into a case without firm evidence, and he put a lot of emotion and reason into his speeches. In fact, 9/10 Ralph usually won, and that made him feel... feel like he was making it up to his lost friends somehow... he couldn't protect them, but he made sure that nobody under his watch ever lost out on justice again. Whenever he did lose a case (which was very, very rare) he always looked after the victim. It was never about the money, it was about finding away to redeem himself.

So here he was again, walking along the familiar alleyways while lost deep in thought. After all, he'd walked through here enough times that his feet just took him through on autopilot, so he was practically free to daydream without getting lost. In fact, he was almost out of the alleyways for good when he noticed something from the corner of his left eye: a flash of red hair. For obvious reasons, Ralph automatically panicked and hopes to God that it's not the red hair that he so vividly remembers. Maybe if I carry on walking, pretending not to have noticed anything, I could just go about my life as normal and forget him once and for all.

Besides, he was probably just imagining it. Paranoia; that's what it was. Nothing more. I'll prove it, and he turned around.

He regrets even of thinking of doing so immediately. It's Jack Merridew, His Jack Merridew. No... maybe not. There's a lot of people with red hair who look like that; blue eyes, freckles, the lot! He takes a closer look at the creature before him, eyes sweeping up and down the figure slowly, analysing every detail, looking for the tiniest hint that it's someone else. The young lad before him looked about his age. Ralph couldn't see his clothing at all because his body was covered in a long, worn brown blanket, and he was sat curled up with his chin on his knees. He looked like any homeless man, only this one just so happened to have ginger hair like somebody he used to know... But oh, who could forget those eyes? The same eyes that used to penetrate into his ocean green ones so often on the island and held so much emotion within them; so chilling when lit up with anger, but so cool and soothing when he smiled at you, most likely proud at something he'd done or just at something you'd said. But right now those eyes were empty. Ralph would've given anything to see even anger in them, just some reassurance that Jack Merridew was still there.

It's during this analysis that these icy blue eyes raise lazily to touch his.

Jack mirrors Ralph's expression perfectly: absolute shock, mixed in with slight horror. Jack - he's almost positive it's Jack now, what with his reaction to seeing him - immediately tries to stand up. He stumbles and wobbles a little bit on his weak and fragile legs, but he manages it eventually, standing to his full height. He's still taller, Ralph thinks humorously. It's now that Ralph can see just how skinny Jack had become. He'd always remembered the slightly older boy being lanky and tall - while Ralph had been blessed with a boxer-like build instead - but this was something entirely different; Jack's cheeks were hollow and his cheek bones jutted out sharply, and when Jack's blanket fell down slightly, Ralph could see his collar bone suffered a similar sharpness.

Jack, for obvious reasons, looks ashamed. He's no longer the powerful, headstrong megalomaniac that he'd been on the island. And to make things worse, he'd been caught by the one person he never wanted to see him like this. He was a shell of his former self and it sickened him.

Ralph, on the other hand, isn't quite sure what to do. Looking at Jack, his anger deteriorates, much like the man before him. Is he supposed to glare profusely at this man, walk away like they'd never had this encounter, or whop him one? In the end, he does neither of these things. He takes small steps, closing the distance between them slowly. Ralph looks determined, Jack looks uneasy: they're roles have completely reversed. Wordlessly, he starts to pull Jack along. Forget work, they owed him enough leave already. "Ralph." Jack speaks for the first time, not just in this conversation by the sounds of it either; His voice is cracked, hoarse and void of any emotion. There's no loud protest, like the one he would've gotten from The Chief, only meek protest. That did it for Ralph. He tugged harder on Jack's wrist. "Ralph? Ralph... it is you isn't it?" Ralph remains silent. "Ralph, where are you taking me?" He sounded so utterly vulnerable.

"Just... shut up, Jack." Ralph doesn't answer any of Jack's questions, nor does he relinquish his hold on Jack when he tries to pull away. It's funny, because once upon a time Jack would've easily broken free, and maybe even rough housed him a bit for even daring to touch him. But now Ralph is the stronger one.

There was a loud, long squeak before the sound of running water echoed throughout Ralph's rather grand house. "Here's the shower. Take as long as you want, okay?" He dropped a small pile of clothes onto the closed toilet seat. "You can change into these when you're finished."

Jack nods and Ralph leaves him to his own devices.

He decides to go into the kitchen and try to fix up some food, When was the last time Jack ate properly? Should he monitor his food intake to make sure he doesn't eat too much too soon? As he begins to prepare the vegetables, he can't help but question his actions. Why was he doing this? Jack didn't deserve his kindness. Would Simon and Piggy have done the same? Of course they would. They were good people. Ralph thinks bitterly. He couldn't imagine why. Jack hadn't been even slightly sorry for what he'd done to those poor innocent pre-teen boys. Sure, Roger had been the one to push the rock, but Jack had manipulated them all in the first place! Jack wanted power more than anything else and he just couldn't stand taking orders from Ralph. Oh sure, he put up with it for a little while, but then he tore the group apart. And not evenly either; the playing field was unfair right from the start. And even then he wasn't satisfied. Of course not, why should he? Who was there to tell him he had enough to be happy with. Nothing was enough. Nothing would be enough until he'd turned everyone against Ralph, killed off his only loyal friends (and captured Samneric), and ostracised Ralph... until he finally decided he was bored of playing and thought of something better:

He would be satisfied when Ralph's head was on a stick, like an pig's.

And that's why Ralph was doing this. Of course he was hurt. Of course he was upset. He'd walked away with some scars, but at least he walked away with his life. He'd turned out alright, despite what had happened. He'd moved schools, made brand new friends, and he never judged people who were different from the main crowd

(like Piggy... like Simon)

He even tried to forget the island as best as he could. At least that's what he told his psychiatrist. He couldn't really ever forget the island or what had happened there. How could he ever forget Piggy or Simon? How could he ever forget what he saw and, in Simon's case, what he even took part in? He couldn't just forget them, and it wasn't just because he was scarred or traumatised by it either: it was because they never got off the island. They didn't even get a funeral thanks to the war that had sent them away in the first place, which had not only killed Simon's parents, but Piggy's auntie too (this bit of information he'd only discovered a few years after they'd been rescued, when he decided to seek them out to tell them the truth about what had happened to their loved ones, and why they were never coming home.) If he didn't remember them, no one would. They'd simply be forgotten to the world as though they'd never existed. The hunters deserved that fate, not Piggy or Simon.

Ralph came away bruised. Jack Merridew was broken. Maybe being kind to Jack would make the ginger feel more guilty? That is, if he even feels guilty at all.

Ralph's thoughts came to a screeching halt when Jack entered through the kitchen doorway. He was wearing the clothes Ralph had provided: a checkered shirt and a pair of brown slacks. Casual. He was still much too skinny for Ralph's liking - almost like a skeleton, really, but Ralph didn't think Jack would appreciate that comment - but he did look a lot better now that the dirt and grime had been washed away, and his hair clean and tidy. His ginger hair was dampened, making it look more maroon that red, and some strands were still dripping with shower water. Now he could definitely see that this was Jack Merridew, all squeaky clean like the first day he'd met him. Wow, with all the dirt that had been clinging to him, Ralph was not looking forward to cleaning the shower later.

Jack stood awkwardly in the doorway, looking to Ralph uncomfortably as he was scrutinised by the blond. Ralph eventually broke the silence, "food's ready."

Ralph lay in his own bed, snuggled up under the duvet with the covers pulled up under his chin. He felt like a small child again.

He had put Jack in the guest bedroom. All the while he'd set up, he'd ignored Jack's protests about how he should "probably leave now". He'd even intercepted Jack's feeble attempts to run out the front door. Ralph really wasn't having any of it. He wanted to put things right, and if that mean't assisting the only one who'd ever made him cry... then that's what he was going to do.

He simply lay in the darkness for a little while, trying to fall asleep. It was useless; his mind was too consumed by thoughts of the man next door. What exactly had happened to Jack? What was he doing here, and how long had he been living like this?

For the second time that evening his thoughts were interrupted. To begin with, he thought the sound was coming from outside, perhaps an owl or something, but he soon realised it was coming from next door! It was whimpering. He tried to ignore it - Jack deserved everything he's got, after all! It was his turn to hurt - but unlike Jack, Ralph had a heart. He made his way to the room next door and looked at the trembling lump in the sheets.

He gingerly reached out a quivering hand, rubbing small circles where he believed Jack's back was. Said ginger started, but relaxed a little before popping his tear stained face out from beneath the bed covers. He was a complete mess. For the first time since they'd been rescued - which, to tell the truth, Ralph believed only to be a trick, a way to gain sympathy from the naval officer - Merridew was crying.

Jack reached out quickly and snatched the outstretched hand Ralph had used to comfort him, as if he was afraid of Ralph leaving. He gave it a deathly tight squeeze. "God, Ralph. I'm so sorry." He hiccups. Ralph opens his mouth, but he's cut off before he can even begin, "I need to speak... I messed up really, really badly... and I can never fix it." He looked straight into Ralph's eyes. "I thought it wouldn't affect me, you know. Thought I could convince myself it was just a game.

I found Roger again when I was fifteen, he was fourteen... started... started taking drugs. It was great... spectacular... it was... it was amazing. It took us away. It was like we weren't here, in England, but we were back on the island! Hunting, playing, just having fun and being kids. Piggy and Simon... they were there, too. God, I hated that fat lump of lard." Ralph glared at him. "I'm not going to lie, Ralph, I truly did. But when that rock came tumbling down, almost out of nowhere, I knew it was wrong. It wasn't like Simon... this time it wasn't an accident. There was no hiding from it this time. I couldn't even shout at Roger because he'd only use my partaking in Simon's death against me. I'd be a hypocrite, and we both knew it." Jack made a chocking sound, "and Simon. Yes, he was batty, but he'd been in the choir for such a long time, and he'd never done anyone any harm. He always paid attention during lectures, and never disrupted rehearsal like Maurice or Bill.

He was a good kid. Roger died two years ago... drug overdose. Maurice - you do remember Maurice don't you? Maurice was heartbroken. He'd been trying for years to help his best friend get off of the stuff - he had less control over how much he took, see. Doctors say it could've been linked to his mental health, which was overlooked when he left the island. If it hadn't... he might've still been here - and Maurice was actually getting somewhere with it but I guess it was just too late."

Jack stopped and hung his head. He waited patiently for Ralph's heated reply that he knew was coming. But when it didn't come for a few minutes, paired with the silence and the comfort of another human being's presence, his eyes felt very heavy. He suddenly felt a force pushing him down, back onto his pillow, and soft hands tugging gently at his hair. Just before he was lulled into sleep, he heard the voice of a twelve-year-old boy, not a man, say:

"I forgive you"

OK, this was pretty long... probably too long XD but I had the inspiration in science today and I really wanted to write a oneshot where Jack is the weak one after the island, not Ralph; which the majority of these stories seem to be about.

I know Jack must seem pretty ooc, and I'm sorry! But it was necessary for the plot of the story and for Ralph to finally forgive him for what he'd done. Besides, I'd like to think that Jack did come to regret his actions... although I'm pretty sure he isn't.

Also, sorry for killing off Roger!

Roger: yeah, what the fuck?

reality-be-rent: hey, you did kill Piggy!

Piggy: yeah, fuck you!

Roger: see, this is why I killed him. Go away, fatty!

reality-be-rent: ANYWAY! Before these two start fighting, I just want to thank you for reading and BEG that you review this story! Feedback is my chocolate!

~reality-be-rent~