Jump/Start
--EKB
A scant few hours into the ordeal, Jack had already decided he was not feeling up to this.
They were in an abandoned house a few blocks down from the scene of the explosion, Jack and his newfound comrade Assad. The clock was ticking and neither of them had the slightest idea where to go from where they were at present--no leads, no clearly-mapped-out Plan of Action. Their next move, if there was one, depended solely on whether or not Shaheed would spill his guts. He had to, one way or another. There was no alternative choice, no other recourse.
This is necessary, Jack told himself as he went through the motions. Step one, demand to know the location of Fayed. Step two, use force.
Somewhere between the first and second steps, Jack faltered. Maybe it was the scared-shitless look on the kid's face--Christ, he couldn't have been more than twenty--hell, maybe he was just getting too damn old for this shit. He backed off, stomach twisting violently, and with what must have been a horrified expression on his face because Assad was looking at him with what translated into concern intermingling with what Jack was sure was pity. Not that he needed it from Assad of all people, or anyone else for that matter. He had well enough pity for himself to carry him in that department.
"I can see it in his eyes." Jack's voice was haggard and alien and sounded like someone else, someone older, to his own ears. "He's not going to tell us anything."
It took Assad all of a second to prove him wrong.
Jack turned his back to catch his breath and quell the acrid bile rising from the pit of his gut. He didn't realize what Assad had done until a scream of anguish cut through his subconscious and made his stomach turn again. He spared one look over his shoulder. That was enough.
They left with the information they needed--an address, a possible base of operations for whatever plan Fayed had in the works. It wasn't much, but it was something.
Shaheed, of course, had to be eliminated; he knew too much and had thus served his purpose. Assad did the deed briskly and efficiently and without much pleasure. Jack could remember a time when he, himself, had been able to kill a man coldly and mechanically, without a second thought. Now, he found he was not so sure he could, even if it were necessary, even if there were no other way. Assad was speaking to him now, something about a car and needing to get the fuck out of here as soon as possible, and all Jack could hear were Shaheed's anguished pleas. Were he ever to sleep again, he knew he would hear the young man's screams in his nightmares.
Irrational as it was, Jack envied Assad now more than anyone, with his cool composure and ability to move smoothly to the next objective without a second thought. Looking at him was, in a way, like looking at some distorted mirror version of himself and who he used to be. It wasn't who he was now.
"My men are dead, Jack." Assad's voice was both calm and sharp at the same time, commanding his attention. "I can find Fayed, but I cannot stop him by myself." I need you, was what he said, without saying it. Jack wasn't entirely sure he didn't need Assad himself, in his own disillusioned sort of way.
"I don't know how to do this anymore," he said, throat dry, hands shaking. Assad's gaze was bare and open, veiling nothing as he spoke--two words that would strike to the bone and stick with Jack for the rest of that hellish day.
"You'll remember."
Much as he hated to believe it, Jack knew he would.