Hey everyone! It has been a while since I have written here (my other story is the ongoing "Day by Day: A Tony and Michelle story") but I wanted to write a Chase/Kim story because there just aren't enough out there and I really felt like these two had potential. Thus, I have decided to begin this. I would really like feedback, if you will. Thanks!

Disclaimer I don't own any of the 24 characters

General Info: I'm going off of the idea that season five was early wintertime (December) but this is not a holiday fic

This is the night after the finale of season 5 (so season 5 ended at 7 a.m.- this is around 9 p.m. that night)

On with the story…

Losing him once was devastating.

Losing him twice was even harder.

Despite her best efforts to rid her life of them, subtle remembrances of her father covered the home that she had destroyed. Her husband left with the child she knew as her own for reasons that she refused to take responsibility for until now. The rush of guilt had hit her like a ton of bricks; the "living" room became her battleground. Ha she thought as she buried her head further into the couch cushion. If this is living, bring on death. Ironically, she had come so close to death so many times in her short 24 years. Each time he had been there for her; to get her out, keep her safe. Which brought her back to the point: why even try without him?

She lifted her head from the couch to go for another chug of the most recent beer she had pulled from the stash in her bedroom; there was not another sip. She lay her head down once more- eyes glancing over at the chess table standing near the dining room entrance. Even with her drunken pitch, the bottle hit that target and shattered to the floor, along with the chess pieces. For a moment she pondered why she hadn't gotten rid of it earlier as it was one of those remembrances she tried so desperately to do away with. But that was her last gift from him; and one of the best memories she had of him. She couldn't give it up.

The clock that stood above the television read 10 o'clock. She hadn't set it back last daylight savings time and the simple subtraction of one hour was difficult to calculate after the alcohol she had consumed. It dawned on her that she hadn't eaten since the night before, but eating probably wouldn't have gone over well with her intoxicated system. She glanced outside of the front window to see her neighbors enthusiastically putting up lights in spite of the rain. This is going to be some Christmas. She put her head down once more, this time dozing off for a short nap. Fifteen minutes later she woke and reached for her beer… oh yeah, she drank it already. She considered just going back to sleep, but she needed more to drink to relax again. The dizziness she experienced when she stood indicated just how wasted she was becoming; luckily the trip to her bedroom did not require stairs.

She hadn't been living in this house for a while. Between her father's death and her husbands desertion, it had become easier to simply live with the shrink. For the past eight months his loft apartment near LA had become her home, but she couldn't give up her own space. There had been more than enough in the will to pay off the suburban home she owned in Valencia so she kept it.

The shrink told her to keep away from alcohol so she wouldn't be tempted into a harmful addiction, but she had kept a stash underneath her bed at the house just in case she needed a drink at some point—tonight, she needed a drink. Through all of the tragedy, she had never built a reliance on alcohol, which is why this night of binge drinking surprised her so much. Nevertheless, anyone would agree that if there were ever appropriate circumstances to get drunk, it would be hers.

As she made her way down the hallway that leads away from her bedroom, after having retrieved one more bottle, she stopped at the hall closet. Opening the door revealed two large boxes labeled "photos." Next to the boxes sat a trash bag full of frames and other things that had sentiment of her now nonexistent family which she hadn't brought herself to throw away yet. She ripped the bag open to expose two different frames. One held a picture of her parents and her when she was about a year old that was black and white. The other was a picture of her on her wedding day. It was a simple day at the beach and she stood giddily with her new husband and 18 month old child.

Leaving the torn bag on the floor with frames and knick knacks strewn out, she headed back to the living room with her two photos to continue her seemingly self-imposed pity party. She set the frames up on the coffee table and sat on the couch to stare at them as she chugged her newly-opened beer. Minutes later the sound of the doorbell both scared her and set off a massive headache. The fright made her spew beer across the coffee table she faced. She got up, her head now throbbing, and headed to the front door. Squinting to see out of the peephole set off the dizziness she had felt earlier when she stood up. She couldn't even really focus her eyes enough to make out a face, so she just opened her front door. There, standing in the rain stood the former love of her life, drenched. Not in the mood to work up a fake sounding greeting to at least keep things civil, she blurted,

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"Kim, I heard."