The sound of morning traffic was getting louder outside his window. The single pane of cracked glass rattled in the loose wooden frame as a truck rumbled by. Jack stirred, rolling over and getting tangled further in the sheets that were wrapped low around his waist.
The sun shining weakly through the grimy window cast grey shadows on the bumps and ridges of the scars covering his torso, creating a gruesome map of his suffering. His months of no relief laid bare and tangible for all to see. If there had been anyone to see.
A siren's low wail got louder and shriller as it approached. Jack's mind slowly swam towards consciousness, finally breaking the surface with a shock when the siren reached the street of his hotel. Jack scrabbled for his gun. Then he remembered, and lay back, shielding his eyes with his hand. Then he remembered more, and lay very, very still, listening as the siren faded into the distance.
He shifted his hand and stared at the cracks in the ceiling as they formed and reformed themselves into rivers, faces and landscapes in a cheap plaster Rorschach test. He closed his eyes when he started seeing guns, explosions, screaming.
Finally, he moved his foot, sliding it slightly between the two faded and worn sheets. It felt like luxury. He hadn't slept between sheets for almost two years. The sensation gave him courage. He had survived. He was alive. More than that: he had proved that he was worth something. What, exactly, he didn't want to contemplate right now. Audrey had thought he was worth risking her life looking for him in China, and that had given him strength. He wasn't sure she would think it was worth the price she'd ultimately paid.
Jack turned his head and checked the time on the clock radio screwed to the shelf beside the bed. 10:15. He wondered what day it might be. He wouldn't have been surprised if he'd slept for a week, but he didn't feel that rested.
He reached out a hand and picked up the cell phone from where it had fallen on the bed next to his pillow. He'd gone to the cache Chloe had set up for him when he'd played dead, rolling over like a dog for Cheng. Fat lot of good it had done him. Jack hadn't really thought the money and documents would still be there, but either Chloe had forgotten about it or thought it might come in handy one day even so. It had been enough to get him the room and a phone, buying him some time before he'd have to crawl back to CTU and become himself again, if only on his bank card.
His name was about all he had left.
He wasn't sure he was ready for it yet. He knew sooner or later he would have to find something to hold onto other than the handle of his gun. They could find him, of course. That much had been made painfully obvious. It was their alias he was using.
Jack lifted the phone, then let if drop back onto the bed still in his hand. Who did he think he was going to call? His thumb rubbed across the smooth silver case. He supposed he could call Bill, or Chloe, but what would he say? They had their own lives to deal with. Everyone else was dead or out of his life.
There was a knock at the door. Immediately apprehensive, he swung his legs out of the bed and reached for his pants. He picked up his gun from the table and cautiously approached the door. He opened one eye to the peephole and shut it again, resting his forehead against the door.
He didn't dare allow himself to feel anything.
Jack put down his gun and opened the door just as Kim raised her hand to knock again.
"How did you find me?" his voice was a hoarse whisper.
"Daddy?"
The look on her face – he wished he'd put on a shirt. He stepped back, titling his head to ask her in. He didn't trust himself to speak again just yet.
Kim stepped through the doorway and took in his room in one glance. She turned to him. He was leaning against the closed door.
"Chloe told me."
He nodded and turned his head down and away. "Kim, I'm sorry. I wanted to respect your wishes."
"Daddy, don't." She stepped towards him. "I'm glad she told me." The hand she reached out to his face was shaking slightly. Gently, she touched the side of his head. Jack reached out his own hand and covered hers, bringing her hand to his mouth as his face crumpled.
"Come here," Kim folded him into her arms. "I never thought I'd see you again."
Still gripping her hand in his, he grasped her hair with his other hand. "Me neither." He could feel the heat of her tears dripping onto his bare shoulder.
Jack allowed himself to stand there like that for a few minutes before he drew away. He gave a short, bitter laugh. "How many times do you think we've said that to each other?"
Kim gave a small sniff and smiled, wiping her eyes with her knuckle. "I dunno. More than is strictly healthy, I think."
"Come on in," he motioned to the low, sagging couch. "It's not much, I'm afraid." He grabbed his t-shirt from the closet and put it on.
She nodded, gingerly sitting on the edge of one cushion.
Jack drew up one of the chairs from the table. "God, Kim. I just want to look at you. How have you been?"
She shook her head at the banality of the question, but she could see he was just trying to protect her. "How have I been? Jeez, Dad. How do you think?" She ran her hand through her hair, which was now cut short in a chin-length bob. The gesture was inherited from her father.
"I'm alone now. I'm not with Barry anymore."
Jack scowled. "If he hurt you…"
"It's not like that. He helped me. A lot. I kind of had some 'daddy issues' to work out, you know?" Kim watched her father's expression, knowing this would hurt him. "I'm okay with it. I'm okay with you, Dad."
He twisted one corner of his mouth, not saying anything.
Kim looked around the room, then levelled her gaze at Jack. "I want you to come home with me."
He ran his hand down his face and rubbed his mouth. "Kim, I'm not sure that's such a good idea."
"Where else are you going to go, Dad? You can't live like this. I won't allow it."
Jack raised his eyebrows, bemused. "You won't allow it?"
Kim pushed herself off the couch and leaned down, looking him straight in the eye. "No. I won't allow it."
Jack saw the care and concern in her eyes, but there was no mistaking her determination. He felt a rush of pride. His daughter was no pushover.
"I'm not an easy houseguest."
"I know, believe me."
Jack grew serious. "Kim, are you sure you can handle this? I'm pretty fucked up."
Kim straightened. "Dad, no offence, but you've been fucked up practically my whole life. I can handle it."
His laugh turned to tears and he had to look away. He stood up and walked to the window. "I'm so sorry, baby." He couldn't look at her.
She went to him, putting her arms gently around his waist as she leaned her forehead on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, too, Daddy. We can get through this. I know we can."
He didn't say anything. She turned him to face her. "Please, Daddy. Let somebody help you for a change."
Jack nodded, defeated but grateful. He hugged her back. "Thank you," he whispered, running his lips across the hair at the top of her head.