Chapter 1: Back To Work
Disclaimer: All characters belong to either Joel Surnow or Paul Scheuring … and Fox. None of them are mine. Repeat for all other chapters and Fin.
Note: All action occurs within the PB-verse, although Jack brings his entire 24-verse history (up to the start of Season 6) with him to Illinois. Many other 24 characters have turned out differently, though. Please review if you enjoy the crossover!
Alexander Mahone didn't realise how inflamed his cheeks were until one of them brushed against the cool surface of the mirror before him. He probably would have passed out right there if the sudden temperature contrast on his face hadn't jolted him back to alertness. Still, he felt drowsy.
It was a familiar feeling, one that had begun with Shales' glassy eyes staring up at him as he'd dumped the first shovelful of dirt over his body. It had been the Apolskis boy, however, who had caused the flashbacks and nightmares to transfer from his slumbering dreams to his waking thoughts. Or maybe it had been Patoshik.
Hell, it was probably coming so close to taking out Burrows and his godforsaken kid brother so many times that had done it. Even they were more innocent than him.
Whatever the source of it, Mahone's body was shutting down again. That was how it saved him from admitting to himself that the corpses lying at his feet and in his closet should all, in a just world, be replaced by his own.
But not today. Not here in the dingy bathroom of the FBI field office in Chicago. Not when he needed to keep up pretences in order to keep his family alive.
He needed his pills.
"What in god's name were you thinking, leading me off their trail! They don't give a damn about you, Franklin. Or did you think they would've done the same for you? Is that it?"
It was the second time Mahone was standing in this interrogation room with Benjamin Miles Franklin, aka C-Note, seated opposite him.
"I been lied to by higher up authorities before. You think I'm so stupid that I would've fallen for your 'government immunity' crap? It was worth it just to see the look on your stinking, lying mug."
"Is that so?"
"That's so."
Mahone let out a disbelieving laugh as he turned away from the arrogant man, a hand brushing over his tight jaw as the prisoner took a sip from a glass of water with his cuffed hands.
"I wanna talk to my daughter," C-Note continued.
"Tell me the non-counterfeit location Fernando Sucre and Michael Scofield were planning on meeting at, and you just might get to see Deedee when she hits her thirties," Mahone snarled, back still turned.
"Oh, please. You don't have the authority to spring me from jail, fake Presidential pardon and all, so ya'll certainly don't have the authority to keep me from my kid. She's with her aunt, I get one call …"
A sudden, hacking cough rang through the depressingly grey painted room. Mahone stopped pacing and spun back to catch C-Note rubbing awkwardly at his throat. The agent's face twitched, yet remained impressively blank.
"Like I was saying, I get … one … one call …"
C-Note's eyes bulged out at Mahone for only a moment before his head slammed forward onto the metal table between them.
He was dead before Mahone could even call for help.
Irony had never been a source of great amusement for Mahone. Today, on the other hand, he couldn't fail to be gut-wrenchingly sickened by the fact that a man such as himself who relied on pills to stay sane, had also used pills to take out the fourth innocent man he'd been assigned to kill by the Company. Bill Kim had given them to him back in Gila. Fast dissolving, and virtually untraceable, he'd said.
The official cause of death for Benjamin Miles Franklin? Heart attack.
A part of Mahone had almost prayed that someone would figure out that an extremely fit war veteran with an extremely absent history of heart problems couldn't just drop dead like that. But once again, he'd proven too good at his extracurricular job for his own good.
His hands gripped the bathroom basin as he chewed on his temporary saviours, eyes averted from the haggard reflection in front of him. He'd probably taken too many, again. Not that he cared. He was only four kills away from sparing Pamela and Cameron from everything he'd been through. Cameron's leg would heal and both of their lives would go on fine without him. If Bellick proved as useful in tracking the rest of the escapees as he had been with Haywire and C-Note, it would all be over within days.
Mahone couldn't help it. He threw up into the sink, pills and all.
"Rough day?"
He froze, eyes affixed on the pills inside the basin mingled with the lingering remains of his lunch, as a hand twice as gnarled as the oak tree in his backyard slid into view, holding a paper towel. Taking the offering and wiping his slack mouth, Mahone turned on the tap and washed away the incriminating evidence as casually as he could.
"Thanks," he finally muttered, standing back up to his full height. He looked sideways at the intruder.
The man beside him radiated an intense fierceness that intimidated Mahone straight off the bat. It was obvious to him that the blond, hollow-eyed stranger had that kind of effect on people. Despite the fact the corners of his mouth were upturned slightly, he didn't look like a pleasant man to chat with. Less so considering Mahone was the exact same way.
Crushing the paper towel in his hand, he tossed it in the bin and headed for the exit, not eager to initiate any further conversation. The other man let out a soft chuckle, however, making him stop and turn back. Maybe he'd been caught out after all. Maybe his day could get just a little bit more worse before it closed.
"Something funny?"
The blond man gazed up from where he'd been scrubbing his hands together under the running tap and met Mahone's hostile blue eyes. He shrugged.
"No."
Mahone's shoulders slumped as the stranger blinked, before returning back to washing his scarred hands.
"Okay," he managed stiffly, backing off.
"You reminded me of an old colleague back in LA, that's all," the blond man said suddenly. "Chloe. She could stay up for days on end, and if anyone asked how she was, she'd avoid the question. No offence."
There was a dull silence as Mahone's eyes darted from the sink to the stranger, wondering why the man was engaging in such personal conversation when he clearly didn't enjoy it, nor seem accustomed to it.
"A man I was interrogating two rooms down from here died in front of my eyes six hours ago," Mahone replied bluntly. "So, yeah. Rough day."
He felt a smidgen of satisfaction as the slight grin on the stranger's lips wiltered away.
"How hard did you go at him?" the man asked, drying his hands.
"Didn't touch him. Heart attack. Unfortunately."
"Sorry about that, then."
Mahone chewed his lip as the blond man made to walk past him and leave.
"What brings you from LA to Chicago?"
The man stared. There was something vaguely familiar about him to Mahone that he couldn't pin down – whether he recognised the automatic wariness in his expression, or the way he hunched his shoulders, or how he winced whenever the glaring light came anywhere near his dark-circled eyes, he wasn't quite sure. Only someone like Mahone could see that beneath the solemn exterior lay a man who had been broken more than once in his life.
He was definitely a field agent.
"Transferred temporarily," said the man. His voice caught for a split second before he added, "Haven't heard a thing from the superiors yet. Only got in an hour ago."
"Right."
The blond man wiped the front of his shirt, avoiding Mahone's gaze as it bore into him. Even a five year old couldn't miss the way the stranger's eyes blinked rapidly, and how his throat constricted ever so slightly.
He'd just lied. Mahone knew it, and the intruder knew Mahone knew it.
What did he have to gain by saying that? He was obviously better at deception than he was letting on.
"Agent Mahone, sir?"
Mahone gritted his teeth as Wheeler's familiar, grating voice floated out from behind him. His subordinate was standing hesitantly at the bathroom door, eyes flicking from him to the stranger.
"What?" Mahone bit out.
"Bill Buchanan from Headquarters just arrived. He wants to brief you on a new strategy he's planning on implementing for the Fox River manhunt."
"New … strategy? Like we had a five step plan for each con before today?"
It was only the blond guest in the room that stopped him from laughing.
"Where is he?" he continued.
"Conference room. He wants a half hour with you and Agent Bauer."
Mahone glared blankly at Wheeler before he saw the young agent's eyes focus in on the man behind him. He turned as the stranger coughed into his hand.
"What does Bill want with the both of us?" the man called Bauer asked after he had recovered.
Wheeler's eyes widened. "Neither of you know?"
"Spare me the obvious answer," snapped Mahone.
His subordinate shifted on his feet, appearing suitably affronted.
"Well, the office received a fax a few hours ago, shortly after Franklin's body, uh – shortly after paramedics left the building," he explained, staring hard at the ground below him. "Jack Bauer from CTU Los Angeles has been given provisional joint control over the manhunt."
"What does that mean exactly?" Mahone asked.
"You're going to be working together, I'm guessing."
It didn't help Mahone's perturbed nerves that Wheeler reeled out that last piece of information with more than a little satisfaction. He raised an arm at Bauer.
"So you're CTU?"
"Former," the man responded quietly.
"And a former counter-terrorist agent coming in at the eleventh hour to shovel his fugitive tracking methods down my throat when I've been doing perfectly fine in so far makes exactly what sense?" Mahone seethed to Wheeler. He regarded Bauer for a moment. "No offence."
"Noted."
"If anyone's going to question Mr. Buchanan's decision, it won't be me," said Wheeler, as Jack's deadpan flattened throughout the room. "All I know is that he wants you in the conference room in five minutes. Sir."
Wheeler scurried off before Mahone could accost him any further. A chilly aura of dread permeated the air as he struggled to rein in his panic. Agent Bauer strolled up to him, leaning in so that his next words resonated even deeper.
"If you need another five minutes to try out the contents of your pen again without expelling them back into the sink, I'll give Bill an excuse for you."
His expression neither arrogant or sympathetic, Bauer stepped away and left the bathroom. Mahone collapsed against the wall. His lungs felt like they were being strangled by his own ribcage. For three weeks, he'd been surrounded by lowly idiots and lowlier morons, all of whom had made his morbid task equate to the proverbial stroll in the park.
But now, with a CTU'er on the scene – former or not – he was a dead man. The fact he'd even found out that little tidbit instead of being fed some phony credentials meant his investigators wanted him to know that he was going to be watched from here on out. And that could only mean that Scofield's message had struck a chord after all.
He swallowed the rest of the pills in one gulp.