There had been too many fights in Brady's bar over the years and he was no longer the young and agile man he used to be. As much as he hated being walked over by these ex-cons, he didn't really have much choice with his nice new replacement hip and a heart defect. He bit his lip and waited for the man to respond or look away long enough for Brady to believe the moment had passed. The middle-aged Canuck ran one strong hand through his neatly cropped hair and gave Brady a long-awaited smile.
"Sorry mister, I have a lot on my mind right now. Why don't you get me another of these in a fresh glass? I kinda warmed this a little too much." His smile was soft and sincere and his blue green eyes were wide, but tired rather than menacing. It was obviously his own worries that caused him to look so fearsome… or perhaps Brady's own weakened instincts interpreting it as such.
"Sure," Brady replied taking the glass from the man's warm hands, "Must be pretty hot for you down here, eh? Where are you from?" Brady's voice faltered a little and the polite conversation he'd started out to make turned into the nervous banter, of a lackey faced with the wrath of a ticked off Don. The man smiled and did his best to ease the awkward atmosphere.
"I'm originally from Vancouver…" he began with a soft and calming voice. Brady looked up from the optic, as too much malt sloshed into the fresh tumbler and gave his customer a broad smile.
"So, are you in town to see the Kings then? They have had a mighty fine season; your boys are going to be hard pushed…"
"No… well I'll probably end up going. I'm not much of a hockey fan myself… I'm sure my brother will want to go down there though… he hasn't seen a game in a while. He tends to get his own way." It hadn't occurred to Simon that Brady would know full well why he was in this particular bar at a little after opening on a Wednesday morning. He shirked the question that he saw as inevitable for a moment and gulped back half of his malt.
"So is he getting out today?" Brady asked gesturing compassionately across the street with a flick of the bar towel clenched in his gnarled fingers. Simon nodded and swallowed hard. "So what's he in for?" Brady enquired with a note of trepidation in his tone.
"Second degree murder; he was granted full parole and… well, I came down here to help him out. I think he's going to find it pretty hard." Brady nodded understandingly.
"They usually do. Must be a relief to have family around though… he older or younger than you?"
"He's forty-six next week. I'm not sure I'll be much use to him though. We haven't seen each other for about twenty years. I came down for his daughter's sake; it's been hard for her…" suddenly Simon realised who he was talking to. Brady smiled thoughtfully. People always talked eventually, and he prided himself on his ability to make even the toughest of nuts crack within a drink or two.
"They'll be letting out soon; midday isn't it?" Simon nodded and downed the remainder of his drink, biting back its bitter after taste with a slight wince. "Well all the best, man. Hope your brother gets it together… maybe I'll catch you later… if you get to the game." Simon nodded and grabbed his tan leather coat from the shabby barstool beside him.
"Yeah, maybe…how much for the scotch?" Brady shook his head and reciprocated Simon's generous smile. "You sure? That's real kind of you and here I was thinking you wanted to kick the crap outta me."
Brady looked on in surprise. It wasn't often that he misread a person, but there was something different about Simon Bauer… something in those cerulean eyes that spoke of another side. A more sensitive side than Brady was used to seeing in his clientele.
"An old man like me!" Brady joked back. Then as an after thought he asked the question he was always dying to ask in these situations, but never had the courage to risk the words. "Did he do it?"
Simon took up his overnight bag and slung the jacket over his shoulder before casting a sideways glance at the unexpectedly friendly barkeep.
"Yeah. My brother killed a lot of people, only this one wasn't a target. You probably heard of him… Jack Bauer?"
Simon watched as the old guys eyes widened. It had been all over the papers when the head of the country's leading Counter Terrorist Unit had been convicted of murder. Not because of the murder itself… most people felt for the guy, given the sad circumstances of the crime. The reason it got so much press was because the President had attempted to cover up the crime and it had been this indiscretion that directly led to his impeachment and the witch-hunt that followed.
To the public at large, Jack Bauer was the reason David Palmer eventually took his own life. A lot of people weren't going to welcome him on the outside at all. If the secret had got out, Brady's would have been packed with press and photographers and protestors alike.
Simon seemed to know what this old barman was thinking and smiled at the dollar signs appearing in the man's eyes. He hoped that he wouldn't run for the hotline to the National Enquirer too quickly. God knows the bar could do with the financial input for a facelift, but it wouldn't do Jack any favours.
"See why hockey isn't exactly high on the list?" Simon chuckled, while Brady nodded; a little astounded by the cards fate had dealt him that morning. "Half of this country would have my brother play goaltender and take shots at his head!"
Brady knew the money he could make for this story and the extra profit he'd take from the nut balls that'd come down to throw rotten eggs at Bauer. However, something in Simon's eyes made him think twice. Most people would have shot him down for being so short with them, and so meddlesome. He could sell a story tomorrow, from just meeting the younger brother of one of America's most infamous criminals. Compassion would probably cost him a few thousand dollars, but fortunately Brady was one of the guys that pitied Bauer.
"Good job, Cechmanek has the goaltending in the bag tonight then!" Brady chortled. "Don't worry, man. I won't be making any calls… least not until this afternoon. Not everyone hates Bauer. I lost my kid in a shoot out three years ago… I'd have done exactly what your brother did and never looked back. Give him my best."
It was Simon's turn to be surprised and he moved back to shake the old guy's rough and battered hand with both of his. Brady good-naturedly told him to get out before he changed his mind and Simon left with a grateful smile, crossing the busy street to walk over to the Metropolitan Detention Centre.
At the tick of noon he watched as the gate opened, accompanied by a sound which resembled that of a wounded crow as it creaked and grated into place. It obviously didn't see a lot of action.
"Jack!" Simon called to his tired and shrivelled looking brother. He could hardly recognise him. He sure as hell wasn't the young college graduate that Simon recalled from the day Jack walked out of their family home with only the clothes on his back. Nor was he the big shot Federal Agent that had been all over the press seven years ago. Jack Bauer was a shadow of his former self and that darkness crept further over his face, as he saw that it was his little brother waiting to welcome him back to life and not his daughter.
Simon put his arms around his older sibling and felt the tension in his shoulders even from the briefest of hugs. Jack looked around as though he expected more from such a huge occasion. He'd longed for this moment to come since that gate closed behind him seven years to that very day, now it seemed like an anticlimax somewhat.
"Nobody knows you are out today… CTU pulled a few strings." Simon explained as Jack grew accustomed to the natural light again. "Kim called me, she said she was sorry she couldn't come here herself…"
Jack's eyes lit up at the mere mention of his little girl. He hadn't seen her for five years and although he'd hoped she'd be there to meet him, he knew he was asking the impossible of her. He'd thought that he'd saved her life on that far away day in CTU… in fact he'd taken it from her, in every other way but her heartbeat.
"Is she doing okay?" Jack said in a soft and awkward voice. It was as if he were unfamiliar with the sound himself, as it rang in his ears. He'd been alone for a very, very long time and being a cop in jail was never pleasant. If his face weren't covered by a thick beard and scruffy looking hair, the scars would have been instantly apparent. Simon nodded solemnly.
"She's good; Chase is doing a fine job with her and the kids. They got James into that good school with Angela and she seems happy…" He trailed off as Jack's eyes grew distant again. His mind rarely stayed in one place for very long. His active wits were continually torn between grieving for his loss and persecuting himself for his actions.
"She sent me photos… she isn't supposed to see me. I told Chase to keep her away, but I guess… I hoped he'd disobey me like he…" Even though he thought about nothing else, talking about the past still tore him up inside.
"You look well, Si. Business working out this time?" Simon reached down and took his brother's bag and put his arm round his shoulder affectionately.
"Come on Bro, let's get out of here. I got a place to stay for a few days… afraid it's just a motel and…" He tried to ease the pressure a little. "Well you are used to sharing a room, right?" Jack shook his head as he heard his own laughter, something he had found had become alien to his ears. It had been so long since there was anything to find in the least bit amusing. Still that was always something his little brother could do pretty well… mercilessly poke fun at him for his own amusement. Jack rolled his eyes and looked on at the streets he'd known like the back of his hand; now it seemed like another world.
"Fine, but I get the top bunk." Jack teased back with the feint glimmer of a smile. He knew it wasn't going to be easy, but it couldn't be much worse than the beatings and maltreatment he'd faced in jail. At least outside he didn't have his hands tied when someone started kicking the crap out of him. At least now he had somewhere to run.