Chapter 1
"Try to make choices you can live with."
This is what you say to her on the day you meet. You reach out and stroke her high cheekbone, brushing away the salty tear running down it. You gently tuck a loose lock of ginger-colored hair behind her right ear and look her in the eyes. They're a mess, swirling with various shades of green, brown, and gray, reddened from trying to hold back the flood of tears you know are threatening to free themselves, desperately trying not to show the emotion you've realized is there.
In that moment, you know that her eyes are the most gorgeous thing you've seen in years.
In the twenty-three hours that you've known her, Renee Walker has done nothing short of amaze you. First of all, she trusted you within half an hour of knowing you. (Actually, the fact that she trusted you at all amazes you.) She allowed you to shoot her in the neck, then bury her alive in order to maintain a cover. Then, half an hour after Bill Buchanan and Chloe O'Brien revived her, she was running around again like she'd gotten ten hours of sleep the previous night.
She fought you when she felt you made the wrong call. Recalling this, you wince, still feeling her harsh slaps against your face as you exchanged heated words in the hospital after Marika's death. She challenged you and what you'd done. You'd wanted to kick her ass. But, here's the thing; it's also one of the things you like most about her. She's not afraid of you; in fact, she's practically your equal.
This fact scares you, though. No one should have to go through the hell you've experienced. That's why you gave her that piece of advice; if Renee learns anything from today, you hope that she learns from your mistakes, learns how to carry on after so much loss.
There's a part of you that imagines what you're going to do, since this is the last time you'll ever see her before your death. You're going to tell her how beautiful she is, even with errant tears streaming down her face. You're going to tell her that she's your equal in almost every way, which, as well as being a potential curse, is probably one of the highest forms of flattery you could give her. You're going to tell her that the bond you two share is so strong, that she understands you more than Teri ever did. In fact even though you've known her for little more than twenty four hours, you're going to whisper three little words into her ear.
Okay, scratch that. Who the hell are you kidding? Certainly not yourself! You'll be dead before you find the courage to tell her how extraordinary and intensely perfect for you she is. You wouldn't dare tell her for many reasons. Mainly, you want to die knowing you haven't caused her more than minimal sorrow. She's known you for only a day; maybe if you leave her alone, she'll move on.
You know this isn't true, though. A small part of you believes (and hopes) that she's attached to you the way you are to her. And as you stare into her stormy eyes, you know the true reason for holding back your heart. You suppose you're pretty damn selfish; you'd rather die without feeling the harsh pain of losing the one person who understands everything you've done. The way you see it, whoever said that it's better to love and lose a woman than be alone is an idiot who has never experienced the dread that comes with lying on your deathbed.
Ah, God. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.
The medic rolls your bed away, and you watch sadly as Renee lingers, staring intently back at you. You'd hoped this would be easy, but you were wrong. Now, it's too late. You've damned her, and you've damned yourself in your last hours of life.
Chapter 2
You stand in the interrogation room, eyes gleaming, senses alert. You take in everything from the scene before you. Alan Wilson sits there, smirking, while you stand across the room with a lack of emotion that, in the past, would have made you want to vomit.
It's funny how, since the only person who's understood you has begun to prepare for his oncoming death, you haven't felt anything. Ever you returned to the FBI field office after seeing Jack off, after he tenderly wiped away your tears and was then led away to certain death, you haven't cried (only one exception), or smiled, or even yawned. You are numb, immune to every emotion in the book except your animal desire for revenge on Wilson. By doing this interrogation, you hope to get back at him for killing and endangering so many people, and to maybe get some information out of him.
This interrogation is actually for his benefit, not yours. If not for the fact that, as Special Agent in Charge, you have to go through this formality, glean as much information as you possibly can, you'd kill the bastard in cold blood, of that you're sure.
Why? Retribution. He's the man responsible for the death of Jack Bauer. You need to do something to him so that you can walk away numb, without this thirst for revenge constantly by your side. You've already shed all the tears you have, anyway, so there's no need for you to worry about that.
You cringe inwardly, remembering your reaction to seeing Jack for the last time. They carted him away on his hospital bed, and you walked away rapidly. By the time you hit the parking lot, your tears had streamed down your sharp jaw line. You walked to a wall near your government-owned SUV and simply sank to the ground. Curled up in a ball, you sobbed silently for what felt like days, which was, sadly, longer than you'd known him.. The worst part, you realized as you looked at your messy, blue, tear-stained V-neck through blurry vision, was that he was no longer there to wipe your tears away, to make everything seem all right, even when the world is so twisted, so screwed up. Even when it seems as if you won't be able to move on from everything that happened.
It was this that brought you to where you are now. Janis has handcuffed herself to the table in the observation room. No matter how much Janis probably hates you now, you know that you will not be interrupted. You will get what you want, what you need, what you came for.
Try to make choices you can live with, you hear him say gently in your head.
If I do, you think, then my career- the center of my life for fifteen years- is over. If I don't, the bastard gets away with killing you, the one man who's understood me and treated me like I actually matter. And I know that wasn't necessary. I have to do this for myself, but also for you. It's for you, Jack.
Can you deal with the consequences of this? you imagine him asking in a low voice.
Yes, I can, you insist to yourself. Yes, I can. Yes, I can. Yes, I can.
Maybe, if you repeat it enough, you'll start to believe it.
Ten minutes later, when FBI personnel are taking away Wilson, who's suffering a heart attack and a bullet wound in his left thigh, when Janis is the one placing handcuffs on your wrists, you smile grimly to yourself.
Damn it. What'd I tell you, Jack? Damned if I do, damned if I don't. Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn.
Then, the numbness finally sets in, and you block it all out, remembering the look he gave you just half an hour before.
Holding back your tears, you hold this image tenderly, embedding it in your mind. And then…you let it go.
Goodbye, Jack.