Jack was still dazed from the blow he'd taken to the back of the head, as he left his apartment to go for an early morning run. He'd intended to do a couple of miles before work; since Kim had asked him to join her for dinner that night and he couldn't fit in the gym alongside the post-operation interviews. He was supposed to be talking to Marie Warner that afternoon, and given that he had briefly been involved with her sister over the holidays; things were even more testing and inappropriate than he thought they would be. Though the difficulty of explaining to his superiors how he'd been involved with a terrorist's sister and used said woman as a tool in his attempts to find the bomb, were the least of his worries now.
A trickle of blood ran down his neck and his legs were clumsily trying to find purchase in the air, as he was dragged up a tarmac driveway and into the garage of what looked like a rather expensive manor house. Where the hell was he and who were these men that hauled him around like a soft toy?
"Get him into the house… round the back so the old woman doesn't see when she gets in." said a thick Irish accent. Jack tried to tilt his neck and his eyes crinkled into a thin slither as he attempted to get his blurry vision into some kind of order.
"What…what do you want with me? Who are you people?" Jack mumbled through a mouthful of blood and broken teeth. The man smiled and came close enough for Jack to smell the cheap whiskey on his breath.
"Nice to see you are awake, Jack my old friend." said the slim dark haired man in a navy blue suit and pale blue pin-striped shirt, spattered with Jack's blood. "We have some talking to do. Seems you may have misplaced my nuclear bomb and that cost me a pretty penny, Jack." Two men pushed Jack Bauer into a hand-crafted metal dining chair and began tying his weak and weary limbs to the arms and legs with leather straps.
"Lose his shirt before you strap his hands down; I like a little space to work." explained the man, who was now once again a blur on the other side of the brightly lit room. The lackeys did as they were told and then moved away from where Jack tried desperately to make sense of what was going on.
"The bomb… it was flown out… I flew it to the desert…" Jack began trying to recall events that he'd spent ten and a half months attempting to forget. It had been hard to put all that behind him and start again with Kim. He'd been ready to throw it all away, using the excuse of saving his country. He was ready to leave his daughter alone when she was being hunted down by some sleazy wife beating son of a bitch and now…
"I know what you did, Jack. It was very brave of you… I wonder how brave you can be now. You see, I needed that bomb to go off and the worst thing for you right now is that I still do." The man walked towards Jack and squatted down on his heels to meet his older counterpart's bleary eyes.
"You can't change that now…" Jack began as he struggled to pull his hands free of the straps which bound him. The man laughed and patted Bauer's face with a cupped hand.
"Don't struggle Jack… it won't help you. The chloroform has dulled your senses while I got you somewhere safe. You are right too. I can't go and make it so that bomb hasn't blown out square miles of the Mohave Desert, but I can make sure you play along while I get a second device into Los Angeles and make sure President Palmer gets my message this time."
"What? I'd never…" Jack began, realising that the man was right and he had no hope of freeing his hands without help or a knife. He had neither as he sat tied in this splendid conservatory in just a pair of running shorts and blood soaked sneakers.
"Oh you will help me, Agent Bauer." The man said sarcastically. "That is unless you want me to go and collect your daughter from college and tie her up beside you." Jack knew it was pointless but he struggled so much that the chair toppled sideways and broke three of the fingers on his left hand.
"You leave my little girl alone, you piece of shit! You go near her and I'll…" The man chuckled as he pulled the chair up off the floor with ease.
"You'll what, Bauer? What can you do, tied to a chair and bleeding all over yourself… and with a heart condition too? Poor Jack, you aren't the man I remember from our university days." Suddenly Jack knew who he was facing, knew the man he couldn't even properly see; it wasn't some terrorist from a file of unknowns or even someone he had hunted for, over several years and destructive missions. It was his old room mate and a man he thought was his friend.
"Sean?"
There was that familiar chuckle again.
"That's right Jack, I'm your old buddy and you owe me a favour… it's time to pay up, Bauer. Now do I have to hurt you some more or are you going to get me on the phone to Palmer?
Catherine sat in her study window and ran a wary glance across the street. Her head ached and her stomach lurched at how empty it felt. She needed to eat, but the story had to be finished and faxed to her employers by midday, and she didn't have the time to concern herself with such a trivial thing as food. It was while she distractedly looked out of the window of her five bedroom mansion house in Beverly Hills, trying to avoid her final summing up, that she saw that lowlife across the street up to his old tricks again.
Sean O'Malley was a real nasty piece of work and part of the reason her late husband Joseph had been so paranoid about security. Joe had been paranoid about everything and after the bomb in the desert, he'd been so terrified of any harm coming to his wife and four year old son that he'd had a huge nuclear bunker built in the yard. Ironic that he'd been hit by a car the week the place was finished and died before he reached the private hospital of choice; when a state hospital was less than five minutes drive away.
Catherine grieved for her husband despite having fallen out of love with him years before his death. She had stayed for the sake of their son and she remained the grieving widow for that same reason. Ben had loved his Dad and Catherine had no wish to spoil her little boy's memories. She had enough in her life without dating, and other men seemed like a distraction.
It was a distraction that pulled her eyes from the page and caused her to stare across the road at just the right moment to have her morals and courage tested to the extreme. One moment she was writing an article about the local youth theatre's production of 'Romeo and Juliet', the next she was contemplating a life changing and possibly life risking decision.
She watched as Sean and his goons dragged an athletic looking, blond guy out of the nasty black van and into his garage. He looked around suspiciously and Catherine knew that he was up to no good. She had seen many people leave that house looking the worst for wear, over the last seven years, and by far the most frequent to leave was the man's wife, Averill. That poor woman had been beaten so often, Catherine didn't know how she could walk or even breathe comfortably.
Catherine had called the police many times to report O'Malley but it never came to anything and Averill always went back to him. The men who were taken inside, never looked like they wanted to be there and looked even less like they intended to come back when they were let out. Only this time it looked as though this guy would never get out.
It took roughly twenty minutes for Catherine to make the decision to take a stand and somehow she felt strangely calm as she walked down the stairs and past the six monthly photographs of her little boy that decorated the flamboyant staircase. She should have been more careful, with no living family; her son would be left an orphan if anything happened to her. She should have been more sensible, more calculating, more like her husband.
She knew what she needed to do and oddly even the prevailing love she had for her son wasn't enough to make her think twice. She didn't know the guy they were hauling across that stinking new tarmac drive; she'd never even seen him before; but she knew she couldn't leave him there to suffer, what she was sure Sean would do to him. No one left Sean O'Malley's house without some kind of life altering scars or memories. She was pretty sure that she would be no different on that count. She was also sure that the guilt she would live with would be a lot harder to carry if she didn't go.
Walking through the kitchen she picked up a warm sweater from the clothes hamper and headed out across the street. There was a chill in the air, but the neighbourhood was eerily calm, she took a deep breath and walked up to the house opposite her own; absently wondering if anyone was buried under the tarmac that cracked under her heels.
She should have been scared out of her mind, frozen with fear, but there wasn't a doubt in her mind as she watched Sean and his goons out in the yard with beers and smokes. Torture was on hold as she crept into the garage and along the kitchen counters which mirrored her own across the street. Her heart thumped in her chest and she knew now; clearer than she had ever known anything that this was the right thing to do. Life was about to change more than she could ever have guessed.
A trickle of blood ran down his neck and his legs were clumsily trying to find purchase in the air, as he was dragged up a tarmac driveway and into the garage of what looked like a rather expensive manor house. Where the hell was he and who were these men that hauled him around like a soft toy?
"Get him into the house… round the back so the old woman doesn't see when she gets in." said a thick Irish accent. Jack tried to tilt his neck and his eyes crinkled into a thin slither as he attempted to get his blurry vision into some kind of order.
"What…what do you want with me? Who are you people?" Jack mumbled through a mouthful of blood and broken teeth. The man smiled and came close enough for Jack to smell the cheap whiskey on his breath.
"Nice to see you are awake, Jack my old friend." said the slim dark haired man in a navy blue suit and pale blue pin-striped shirt, spattered with Jack's blood. "We have some talking to do. Seems you may have misplaced my nuclear bomb and that cost me a pretty penny, Jack." Two men pushed Jack Bauer into a hand-crafted metal dining chair and began tying his weak and weary limbs to the arms and legs with leather straps.
"Lose his shirt before you strap his hands down; I like a little space to work." explained the man, who was now once again a blur on the other side of the brightly lit room. The lackeys did as they were told and then moved away from where Jack tried desperately to make sense of what was going on.
"The bomb… it was flown out… I flew it to the desert…" Jack began trying to recall events that he'd spent ten and a half months attempting to forget. It had been hard to put all that behind him and start again with Kim. He'd been ready to throw it all away, using the excuse of saving his country. He was ready to leave his daughter alone when she was being hunted down by some sleazy wife beating son of a bitch and now…
"I know what you did, Jack. It was very brave of you… I wonder how brave you can be now. You see, I needed that bomb to go off and the worst thing for you right now is that I still do." The man walked towards Jack and squatted down on his heels to meet his older counterpart's bleary eyes.
"You can't change that now…" Jack began as he struggled to pull his hands free of the straps which bound him. The man laughed and patted Bauer's face with a cupped hand.
"Don't struggle Jack… it won't help you. The chloroform has dulled your senses while I got you somewhere safe. You are right too. I can't go and make it so that bomb hasn't blown out square miles of the Mohave Desert, but I can make sure you play along while I get a second device into Los Angeles and make sure President Palmer gets my message this time."
"What? I'd never…" Jack began, realising that the man was right and he had no hope of freeing his hands without help or a knife. He had neither as he sat tied in this splendid conservatory in just a pair of running shorts and blood soaked sneakers.
"Oh you will help me, Agent Bauer." The man said sarcastically. "That is unless you want me to go and collect your daughter from college and tie her up beside you." Jack knew it was pointless but he struggled so much that the chair toppled sideways and broke three of the fingers on his left hand.
"You leave my little girl alone, you piece of shit! You go near her and I'll…" The man chuckled as he pulled the chair up off the floor with ease.
"You'll what, Bauer? What can you do, tied to a chair and bleeding all over yourself… and with a heart condition too? Poor Jack, you aren't the man I remember from our university days." Suddenly Jack knew who he was facing, knew the man he couldn't even properly see; it wasn't some terrorist from a file of unknowns or even someone he had hunted for, over several years and destructive missions. It was his old room mate and a man he thought was his friend.
"Sean?"
There was that familiar chuckle again.
"That's right Jack, I'm your old buddy and you owe me a favour… it's time to pay up, Bauer. Now do I have to hurt you some more or are you going to get me on the phone to Palmer?
Catherine sat in her study window and ran a wary glance across the street. Her head ached and her stomach lurched at how empty it felt. She needed to eat, but the story had to be finished and faxed to her employers by midday, and she didn't have the time to concern herself with such a trivial thing as food. It was while she distractedly looked out of the window of her five bedroom mansion house in Beverly Hills, trying to avoid her final summing up, that she saw that lowlife across the street up to his old tricks again.
Sean O'Malley was a real nasty piece of work and part of the reason her late husband Joseph had been so paranoid about security. Joe had been paranoid about everything and after the bomb in the desert, he'd been so terrified of any harm coming to his wife and four year old son that he'd had a huge nuclear bunker built in the yard. Ironic that he'd been hit by a car the week the place was finished and died before he reached the private hospital of choice; when a state hospital was less than five minutes drive away.
Catherine grieved for her husband despite having fallen out of love with him years before his death. She had stayed for the sake of their son and she remained the grieving widow for that same reason. Ben had loved his Dad and Catherine had no wish to spoil her little boy's memories. She had enough in her life without dating, and other men seemed like a distraction.
It was a distraction that pulled her eyes from the page and caused her to stare across the road at just the right moment to have her morals and courage tested to the extreme. One moment she was writing an article about the local youth theatre's production of 'Romeo and Juliet', the next she was contemplating a life changing and possibly life risking decision.
She watched as Sean and his goons dragged an athletic looking, blond guy out of the nasty black van and into his garage. He looked around suspiciously and Catherine knew that he was up to no good. She had seen many people leave that house looking the worst for wear, over the last seven years, and by far the most frequent to leave was the man's wife, Averill. That poor woman had been beaten so often, Catherine didn't know how she could walk or even breathe comfortably.
Catherine had called the police many times to report O'Malley but it never came to anything and Averill always went back to him. The men who were taken inside, never looked like they wanted to be there and looked even less like they intended to come back when they were let out. Only this time it looked as though this guy would never get out.
It took roughly twenty minutes for Catherine to make the decision to take a stand and somehow she felt strangely calm as she walked down the stairs and past the six monthly photographs of her little boy that decorated the flamboyant staircase. She should have been more careful, with no living family; her son would be left an orphan if anything happened to her. She should have been more sensible, more calculating, more like her husband.
She knew what she needed to do and oddly even the prevailing love she had for her son wasn't enough to make her think twice. She didn't know the guy they were hauling across that stinking new tarmac drive; she'd never even seen him before; but she knew she couldn't leave him there to suffer, what she was sure Sean would do to him. No one left Sean O'Malley's house without some kind of life altering scars or memories. She was pretty sure that she would be no different on that count. She was also sure that the guilt she would live with would be a lot harder to carry if she didn't go.
Walking through the kitchen she picked up a warm sweater from the clothes hamper and headed out across the street. There was a chill in the air, but the neighbourhood was eerily calm, she took a deep breath and walked up to the house opposite her own; absently wondering if anyone was buried under the tarmac that cracked under her heels.
She should have been scared out of her mind, frozen with fear, but there wasn't a doubt in her mind as she watched Sean and his goons out in the yard with beers and smokes. Torture was on hold as she crept into the garage and along the kitchen counters which mirrored her own across the street. Her heart thumped in her chest and she knew now; clearer than she had ever known anything that this was the right thing to do. Life was about to change more than she could ever have guessed.
