A/N: Hey guys, just a quick oneshot because I'm totally in love with the Daniel character. I thought all the helicopter guys were gonna be jerks, and he's definitely not. Anyways as soon as he said that light line, I knew I had to write something about him. So here it is. Enjoy.
P.S. For frequent readers of my stories, the new chapter to New Life is almost done and so is one for Who's Your Daddy?Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters. If I did there would be a lot less angst and a lot more roller discos.
Scattered Sunlight
He fell out of the sky like an angel. His wings mangled and broken. His faith questioned as the rain drummed against his back, washed across his body to cleanse it of sins, slammed into his face like a tidal wave cutting his breath and blocking his lungs.
The parachute bloomed from the pack on his back, the white and black stripes blocking out the tipsy helicopter that that struggled to stay airborne. The fabric added no resistance to the fall as the wind's ironclad grip threw him around. The aggressive gusts of air mixed with the incessant rain gave the feeling like he was being sucked down a drain.
The trees came at him fast; the jumbled and smudged vision of the colors darkened by night flew past him, like in the helicopter before he jumped. Before Miles pushed him.
He hit the ground. Hard. And after a few moments for moaning at the pack burrowing into his back or the helmet constricting his temples he scrambled to his feet. Over the sound of the rainfall which was lighter on the ground that it had been above the treetops, he could hear footsteps. Frantic footsteps. Running footsteps. They grew louder as they grew nearer to him.
The lines from the parachute stuck to him like a spider's web as he beat his arms about to get free. The footsteps were close now, closer than Miles said they should be before he brandished the gun.
The gun was pulled from a side pocket on the backpack he dropped to the ground in the beginnings of a mud puddle. He looked down at the gun, the dark metal glowing light with a single white highlight from the waning moon. He cocked it awkwardly; he really didn't know how to use one at all. Miles did, and Frank. He didn't know about Charlotte but guessed she didn't. They chose the field of academics as a scapegoat for never learning how to use a gun properly.
He shoved the weapon into the back of his pants, seconds before they broke through the trees into the clearing. The first real look he got of them was much later, when the night passed and the rain stopped, but they didn't look like people who lived on an island. They didn't look like a threat. What was the name of the guy who phoned the freighter with Naomi's cell? Maybe this was him.
The rain thumped against his helmet, and added irritation to the already stressful situation. He removed it as he sent a glance back at the couple who found him. Jack, the guy who phoned was named Jack.
"Hey there," he steadied his voice that in his own head was quaking, and threw his helmet to the side. "Are you Jack?"
He noticed the woman became nervous with his spoken question. Her eyes kept darting back and forth between his parachute and her companion as if she was waiting for him to make the first move. Her feet pushed into the ground, tips of her shoes turning lightly like she wanted to move back, but something wouldn't let her.
The man stepped forward as the woman stayed back and through pursed lips answered, "Yeah, I'm Jack. Who are you?"
A sigh of relief escaped his body, as he knew he wouldn't have to brandish the hidden steel. "I'm Daniel Faraday," he used his whole name, even though they told him not to. It was more personable. But he followed protocol for the next question, for what to do if any survivors from Oceanic 815 asked what he was doing on the island, "I'm here to rescue you."
Over the next several hours they went through pleasantries. They asked questions about the helicopter and how many other people were on it. He asked about the rest of the survivors, and where they were. And when the girl, Kate's answer implied a fall through within the group, he didn't press any further for answers.
The rain stopped sometime into the night, and an hour or so after the sun rose, they found jettison from the helicopter. He made a joke and neither Jack nor Kate laughed. He didn't read much into it, figured living on an island for over three months was a good enough reason to be grumpy than any other.
Jack pulled out the gas mask. The gas mask he questioned about while the cargo was being packed. The people in charge didn't answer him. They berated him, told him to mind his own business, or they would drop him back at his house that was going into foreclosure because he hadn't worked for months because he was what the doctor's called 'unstable'.
Jack held it like a prize fish from a pond and looked up, his lips forming a question that went unheard. He sent a glance to Kate, who still wore the same saddened face, then shrugged and turned away from Jack and Kate and the cargo to take a quick glimpse of the rest of the jungle. It was consistent.
He cleared his throat, still looking at the trees and the ground, "I don't do the packing so—"his voice trailed off and if Jack answered he didn't hear.
He was too busy noticing the sunlight through the leaves and how it didn't scatter right. He wondered if they noticed it too.
If you enjoyed this oneshot as much as I enjoyed Dan (which involved an expensive long-distance call to my mother to tell her how much I loved him) please review.