Jack had been chewing on his nails all morning, a terrible habit he hadn't practiced since he was twelve, when his mother would smack at his wrists to get him to stop. It had been unbecoming, unmanly, and made his fingers looks horrendous (or so she'd said). He'd taken pretty good care of them in his adult life, but now each and every one was as short as it could get, some so worn down they were on the verge of soreness. He didn't really know why he was doing it. What if he'd asked for his phone wrong? What if he got it but every single picture and video, music file and game was deleted. Fuck, why hadn't he thought of that?
Beyond that, he was definitely worried for those who had lost, primarily Pam considering he'd been the one responsible for screwing her over. His attempts at smoothing things out over the network felt minimal, despite the fact that he'd meant everything he'd sent to her. He owed her a real apology, in person, so she could see that he actually was sorry. But he worried that she might see that there was a good part of him that actually wasn't. He was a selfish bastard, and he wanted to see his kid.
When the boxes floated down he wasn't entirely certain what to think. It felt like some sort of dream sequence, unreal and almost funny with the ridiculousness of it. It was like they were refugees in some third world country, waiting for cans of spam and....whatever the hell it was they ate out of those things. He found the box with his number and practically dove in, sending packing peanuts across the lawn with absolutely no care. Isaiah would have dove right into that damn box and buried himself in it. He found the smaller box within and almost frantically fought with it until his fingers found their way around the gunmetal grey HTC One M8 in it's slick white and black cover. His entire body froze then, as if afraid he would drop it, or lose it in the forest of squishy material in the box, his finger pushing the the power button. It turned on, then in his jitters he accidentally turned it right back off again. But he'd seen it. His background with the tiny blonde spikey-headed mini-me smiling cheerily for the camera.
Oh god.
For a few seconds he couldn't breathe, couldn't see, his eyes growing cloudy, then wavy, then full of tears as he half laughed and half sobbed, his finger mashing the tiny button at the top of the device only to see the white and green HTC logo flash instead. Fuck, he'd restarted it. It didn't matter. It was there, and it was his, and-
Pam's shriek caused him to peel back as if a firecracker had gone off right in front of his face, his eyes widening, blinking back to clarity as he drew his arm up to get a good look. It took several seconds for the words to register, to translate the situation happening in front of her, and for a while afterward he simply couldn't move. It took him another ten seconds to decide that the phone could wait, now that he was sure it existed, sliding it carefully into the back pocket of his jeans and out of sight, moving the cord into the other pocket and abandoning the box as he stepped toward her.
"Pam," he called softly, reaching a hand out to touch her shoulder, feeling horrible, and guilty, and angry at the fuckers who had been responsible all at once. He wasn't sure which feeling was the strongest, or which one should have been, but fuck, Pam didn't deserve this. "Pam, it's okay."