Silent Cry

The apartment was dark, dark as it had been the last time he had come here. He had the passing thought that even if he came at midday, it would still be dark, as though memories and shadows and pain somehow cast a veil of blackness over the place. It was impossible to imagine it as full of light and happiness, kids, toys, domesticity – but then, those things had not resided here in years, if they ever had at all.

He walked slowly up the metal steps that ran up the side of the building, moving on silent feet and careful to step at the edges where there would be less chance of making a sound. Not that he anticipated danger; it was just that the presence of a noise as mundane as footsteps seemed out of place, wrong somehow. The night was silent, so he was too – and he was dressed all in black, was even making sure to take slow, even, shallow breaths to avoid making unnecessary sounds. He was a soldier in hostile territory again; unsure of what lay behind the wall passing by his left shoulder.

He paused at the door, suddenly hesitant. Did he even have a right to be here? It was just a hunch after all; there was no evidence that anything was going to happen at all. But something in his gut twisted when he thought about walking away, something told him that that would be the wrong play. He needed to walk through the door, needed to check for himself.

It was unlocked, swung on silent hinges. That was bad field craft. Better to have a door that made noise when it opened, that way you could hear when someone was trying to get through it when they had no right to be doing so. He stepped silently inside and pushed the door closed, paused to assess the surroundings. The air was still and quiet, there were no noises from the road outside to penetrate the thick walls. There was no smell in the air, nothing to conjure memories of meals recently cooked, no musty tang of a room not lived in. It was neutral, as though someone passed through every now and again and aired it out but didn't actually live here. Like a shell, or a place to store a life while the living happened elsewhere.

It took a while for eyes to adjust to the darkness that was even more tangible inside. He took the time to wait and figure out what he was doing here, what he was going to say if the need arose. A prickle started at the back of his neck as his nerves began to hum quietly in his ears, he could feel his heart start to accelerate and the blood pumped that little bit faster. What if he never got the chance to speak at all? What if….

No. This wasn't the time to panic. Focus man. Long breaths, slow the blood. Calm.

It took a minute or two but he got there, back to his state of uneasy alertness. He needed to be relaxed; he needed to send out his awareness to see if he was alone. Didn't want to be surprised. Didn't want to be alone.

There was no sound; the apartment appeared to be empty. He knew there was no point looking in the bedrooms or bathroom; it wouldn't be going on in there. He moved finally, only his head, to the right towards the open kitchen area. Still too dark to see anything clearly but there were no shapes on the counters to indicate mess or dirty crockery – someone had cleaned up. His head swivelled noiselessly to the left, where the room opened out into a large living/dining space. It was almost entirely black, the shades were drawn so that they were nearly completely closed and there was no light outside the dusty windows to illuminate the room.

But there was something….he tried to slow his breathing more and relax the tension in his body that was causing his muscles to strain. His eyes closed so that he could see properly, see without looking and just use his senses. Yes…there it was. Slow, quiet, gentle…breathing. The eyes snapped open. He wasn't alone.

That knowledge caused his mind to instantly generate question after question, play out scenarios, rehearse lines to say and pleas to make…there was no point in stealth any longer and he allowed his emotions to rise. The trepidation began, it bordered on fear. But he had to move. He had to do something.

A faint noise came at last from outside the apartment, breaking the deathly quiet. It was just a car, turning into the street a few hundred yards away. Still, its presence brought some feeling of normality to the situation, it was a reminder that there was life outside these walls – and he was glad of it. The silence was beginning to become oppressive, the stillness was eerie. The quiet rumble of the approaching car was what spurred him into movement, breaking him from the deadlock of his thoughts. He still moved quietly though, threading a careful path through unfamiliar territory on his way towards the armchairs and sofa he knew were there.

He focused on the sounds of breath and used them to guide him, now that he was more relaxed he could feel the presence of someone else. A soft bump against his thighs told him he'd reached the armchair and he paused - his peripheral vision could make out the outline of a figure on the couch, one he couldn't quite bring himself to look at. So he waited. Somehow, the fact that the other person didn't speak was entirely natural. It was as though the room was on pause, giving him the time to position himself comfortably before hitting 'play' and restarting the reels that would allow the scene to be acted.

The car was coming closer; there were a few lines of light breaking through the blinds. They seemed unbearably bright even though they weren't at all – but as the vehicle came within a block and the glare grew stronger, Tony turned, finally able to make the movie begin.

He froze in shock as the car passed. The light through the window was like a flashbulb going off, taking a still, snapping a picture that would last forever on the inside of his mind. Jack's face was a Halloween mask, a pure white skeleton with paper-thin skin pulled over jutting bones. Tony knew the brightness in the dark was making him look worse than he did – but the thought of 'I'm too late' flashed across his mind before he could stop it.

Silence and darkness prevailed once again and still Jack did not move. Tony didn't know if he even knew he was there. He felt his way into the armchair and sat back in it, his head resting on the cushions while his eyes examined the blackness of the ceiling. There was no need to talk yet. Nothing to say yet. The questions he had thought to ask had all evaporated as soon as he'd seen his face – but the movie was playing, oh yes. The actors were in place and the scene had begun. No need for a prompter, the lines would come. There was time yet.

He replayed the last month or so in his head while he waited for the words to form and found himself playing a game, seeing if he could pinpoint the exact moment when Jack had ceased to become a colleague and became a friend instead. In his head only of course, he was sure that Jack didn't think of him as a friend. Was sure he didn't think of anything much anymore. Or maybe he thought too much and that was why he now lived inside his mind, his body a mere carrier. Something to hold the pain in with. And the drugs. They would be in there somewhere.

Was it the moment that he had been pardoned? He remembered the guards coming to his cell and not saying a word. How they had led him to a small room where his attorney sat and never let on that this was anything but a normal meeting to plan strategy for the trial. Instead he'd been handed a document and a pen, told to read it and sign – and then he would be free. He'd stared at the white paper and tears had formed – not because he was thinking of Michelle and how he would be with her, not because every fibre of his being wanted to wear different clothes and breathe free air…but because he somehow knew that Jack had made this happen. Jack had spoken to Palmer. He didn't know how he knew but he did. Then he'd thought of Michelle and the tears became hard to choke back.

It was confirmed three days after his release, three days of staring at the world with new eyes. He'd been befuddled for those first days, in shock at how new the world looked when he was given his hope back. He'd pottered around the house, taking delight in the smell of clean clothes and the simple tasks of making good food whenever he was hungry. But he had to know. Michelle was confused by his silence and a little hurt but he had reassured her with soft kisses, savouring every taste of her. He whispered one morning that he had to go out but he didn't want her to know that he was going back to CTU. Even if it was just for a few minutes. She let him go reluctantly but didn't question him. She probably knew.

The place had been in uproar even though the passing of the threat meant that they weren't on point anymore. Local law enforcement and Health Services were dealing with the quarantine zones, the Feds were controlling most of the work to do with the rest of Saunders' group, CIA and Interpol were trying to follow the trail back to the financers overseas. The turmoil came from within – Chappelle was dead, every order Palmer had given that day was being investigated and IA was in it's element over Jack's drug situation – who knew, who didn't, who covered it up. But the turmoil was worse because – well, just because Jack wasn't there. Things were always more ordered when he was around. More dangerous too probably but they weren't trained to be wimps.

He'd sought out Hammond and had had to wait while he bellowed into a phone about something. It didn't matter what, there was only one reason why he was here. Eventually the man had turned and shook his hand coldly, there was no anger, he was just busy. Hi Tony, how are you, feeling good? What can I do for you, I'm a little pressed for time…

He'd asked to speak to the President and been told no. He was too busy with the whole mess. Tony had accepted that, he hadn't expected a different answer. But he had to know.

'Tell me how I got out.'

'Does it matter why?'

'Yes.'

A sigh and suddenly the air of energy left Hammond and he slumped behind the desk.

'You know why. You know who….'

Was that it? Was that the moment that Jack became his friend? He tried to remember…

'What happened? Tell me.'

'Bauer.' A shake of the grey head. 'That son of a bitch. He's caused more work in one day than we've seen since the last mess with the bomb.'

'What happened?'

'He refused to go into rehab. Plachecki said he was clear for return to CTU as long as he went straight into the clinic and got clean. He said he would – but he needed to talk to the President first and he wasn't going anywhere until he did.'

He paused and shook his head again. Tony thought he could detect…what? Frustration? Yes, a little. But more grudging admiration than anything else.

'I told him he had to go straight away and that it was the only way to save his job. He's a great agent and we need him – he just had to follow the rules, just this once.' A fist struck the table, hard. 'Damn that stubborn bastard!' He seemed to slump a little more and his voice lost its energy, dropped almost to a whisper. 'Why couldn't he just do what he was told, just this once.'

Maybe it was right then that he knew. He remembered the feel of the slow creep of realisation that had started to crawl over his skin, the soft puzzlement of the last few days giving way to knowledge that began to break through the cotton wool that had been surrounding him.

'Brad. What did you do?'

He had been amazed when Hammond had raised his head. There was regret and sorrow written all over the older man's face…and a glitter of water in his eyes.

'I was under a lot of pressure. He was pushing me.'

Tony waited for the axe to fall. He knew what was coming but by God, he'd make the man say it. Was that the moment it had happened? When this one-sided camaraderie had begun?

'I told him I'd get him the President. He was only taking official calls. But if he insisted on speaking to him….' A pause and a deep swallow. 'I fired him Tony.'

Tony sat back in his chair, biting his lip. There was so much he wanted to scream but he couldn't think. Of course you did Brad, of course you did…Hammond took his silence as a sign he wanted more so he continued.

'He just stared at me. Then he said OK. Get me the President. And I brought him up here and sat where you're sitting and watched. Watched while he got you out of prison. He explained to Palmer everything that had happened and told him bluntly that he knew that he wasn't going to run again anyway – so pardoning you wouldn't hurt him in the slightest.' Hammond couldn't look at Tony anymore and studied his hands instead. 'And them he hung up the phone while Palmer decided. Didn't say a word to me and I let him be. We just sat there for almost an hour. Then Palmer called back and…well, he said yes. Said the paperwork would take a couple of days but he'd have it faxed directly to the prison. And Jack just said thank you, hung up and walked out. I haven't seen him since.'

Was it then? Tony remembered how it felt, the way his walls had come crashing down and he'd been naked, unable to believe that Jack had sacrificed his job for him. He had stared at Hammond who was trying to pull himself together – but there was nothing to say to him. So, like Jack, he had simply stood and walked out. He didn't find out until later that there was something more that hadn't been said. A reason why Brad was so upset – on top of the fact that he'd been an asshole obviously.

There was a shift and Tony's head snapped over to the figure on the sofa. But Jack hadn't moved, the only change was in the atmosphere. Without moving a muscle or saying a word, Jack let it be known that he would talk. Tony just waited, knowing that he was here on Jack's terms.

Eventually, the throat cleared. The voice that emerged was low, guttural, it sounded like it hadn't been used in a long time. Which it hadn't.

'Chase told you.' It wasn't a question.

'Yeah.'

'He shouldn't have.'

No he probably shouldn't have. But he was worried Jack. So was I, even before I knew. And now it's a million times worse. Because I know what you're going to do. And I want to stop you so bad but I don't know if I can. Or even if I should…

'He was worried.'

'Yeah, he would be.'

A pause while Tony tried to find the right words. But he could only ask directly in the end…and that was probably the right way to do it. Because they'd never danced around each other before, not ever. Why start now?

'Why are you doing this Jack? You don't need to. You really don't.'

There was no movement still. Jack sat like he was carved out of wood. But his voice still came from the darkness, slow and rough.

'Because everything I've done Tony…I can't do it anymore.'

'You don't have to. It can be over.'

'No it can't. It's tattooed on the inside of my eyelids, it'll never go away. I can't close my eyes without seeing what I've done. It's everywhere. I can't sleep. I can hear it everywhere I go. I can feel it. I can taste it, it's in everything. And I can't do it any more. I won't. It's time to let go.'

'What will it solve? What will it prove?'

A dry chuckle. 'What will it solve? Everything. Prove? It doesn't have to prove anything. It'll be over.'

He's right too. It will be over. And in his position, would I do the same thing?

Maybe.

Jack suddenly moved, Tony could see his stiff back stretch out and reach for the table. He flicked a lamp on and they both screwed their eyes up against the light. When Tony was able to see again, he wished they'd stayed in the dark.

A month ago Jack had looked good. Lean certainly but you couldn't tell from looking at him that he was a junkie. Now his skin was so pale it was almost translucent and it stretched tightly over every bone. A T-shirt that used to hug his muscles warmly now hung from his emancipated frame and his jeans were at least two sizes too big, held up by a belt that he'd obviously had to make new holes in because it was too large. It could almost have gone round him twice. His once sparkling blue eyes were dead and clouded, misted over either by emotional pain or by drugs – possibly both.

But it was the arms that Tony couldn't stop staring at. Those arms, with their track marks at regular intervals, raw and red and angry looking, glaring out at the world. Jack wasn't making any attempt to hide them, he simply didn't care anymore. Tony glanced up. What are you doing to yourself Jack? You don't have to do this. Don't you see that?

Jack ignored the look and casually flipped a cigarette into his mouth, leaving them where Tony could reach them. Then he grabbed his works and, without preamble or embarrassment, began to cook up.

'Christ Jack…no, don't. Please.'

He was ignored and was forced to watch with a heart like lead as he prepared his dosage, tied the tourniquet and injected himself with the filth that should never have been allowed near a man like Jack. He was too good for it, too good for this. Tony could have cried watching him but he couldn't look away. And he could only think of one thing.

The mission was my idea. I've killed him. I didn't ask him to do drugs but he never would have done them if I hadn't cooked up the scheme. We planned all of this…but it took on a life of its own. And drugs were never a part of it. The other thing – that was never supposed to happen. But it did… and now I'm free because of you. You gave me my life back. Saved me from Hell. And I killed you, Jack, I killed you and I'm so fucking sorry…

The clouded eyes were dreamy and unfocused as the rubber was untied and the needle thrown back on the table. Tony reached for a cigarette.

'It's for the best Tony.'

'No. I don't believe that. There's so much you can still do.'

Jack smirked and his head dipped in a gesture so achingly familiar that Tony almost gasped. The he raised his head and stared directly into the deep brown ones looking at him.

'Tony, I'm dying. There's nothing left I can do. There's nothing else I want to do.'

No Jack, don't say it, I don't want to hear this…

'Kim..'

'...will understand.'

Is that how far we've come? That we can finish each other's sentences? And yet we still can't say 'Hey Buddy, you wanna get a few beers after work? You wanna come over and watch the game on the weekend?' We can talk about your death but we can't be friends? Why is that Jack? And why did you save me after I killed you?

I'm so fucking sorry…

The head dipped again, high as he was he was still embarrassed at having to ask for something. 'Tony, would you…'

'...I'll talk to her.' He looked relieved.

'You'll make her understand why I didn't see her.'

You didn't want her to see you like this. I understand Jack. It'll be another secret between just the two of us. Like Nina, that woman we've silently agreed never to talk about. Like the way I said I was sorry for not taking better care of Teri when you were on the other side of the room at the wake. Like when you shoved me around when Kim went into the field and one glance was all it took afterwards for me to know you apologised. Just like those times Jack…I'll talk to Kim for you.

'Yeah. But you don't have to do this. Come back with me. You can stay with Michelle and I for as long as you want.'

Jack threw back is head and laughed but when he looked back down his eyes were angry. He was volatile, high, not quite in his right mind. A beer bottle flew across the room and smashed into a thousand pieces.

'That's what you came here to say Tony? That?! You want me to come back with you? You gonna take me to hospital? Get me clean? Then I can sit around for a few years trying to remember to take my meds on time. I'll just die slower - until one day I can't look after myself anymore…then what? A permanent care home? Looking forward to seeing Kim once a week and to Saturdays because that's the day they serve red fucking Jello?!' Another beer bottle flew and broke next to the first one. 'That's what you want me for me Tony? Is it?!'

His eyes were blazing now. Anger. And tears glittering. In both their eyes.

He could only whisper past the lump in his throat.

'No. That's not what I want for you. I just don't want you to go yet.'

I don't want you to go at all. I'm so sorry…

Jack dropped his eyes. 'I don't want to live with this anymore Tony. I found out after I got back from Mexico the first time. Why do you think I split up with Kate? Why do you think I wanted the addiction kept off the record? No blood tests if no one knew about it. You see? Chase found out through one of Hectors runners in LA. I made him promise not to tell….' He broke off, his head down, the heel of one hand scrubbing angrily at a watering eye. A forced laugh. 'We all knew Ramon was a dirty pervert – I guess we didn't know just how dirty he was…'

'But you can have another ten years. Maybe more.'

The head rose again, the voice a hoarse whisper. 'I don't want another ten years Tony. I want it to be over.'

Damn you Jack. Damn you for making me go along with this.

'Jack I'm so sorry.' He couldn't help himself. Tears were running slowly and he hated himself for it because their relationship – whatever it was – was not like that. But he had to say it. He couldn't let him go without saying it. And the other understood. He looked at this dark man who had been his comrade for years, trying to find a way to get through to him.

It's not your fault Tony. It isn't. Shit, I might not have got it from Ramon. It might have been the drugs. Could have been a dirty transfusion from one of the times I've gotten myself into the hospital. You're going to feel guilty but I don't want you to. Who knows? I might have done this anyway, whether I was sick or not…

'It isn't your fault. We agreed on the mission together. We had suspicions about what I might have to do to get in – and it was me that decided to go for it. So don't blame yourself.'

I hate you Jack, for trying to take my guilt away. I hate you for trying to make it easy on me. Can't you be selfish for once? I hate you, and I love you. You saved me. I have Michelle and a future. We're going to have kids. I would've asked you to be a Godfather. I'm going to have ballgames and parks and beaches and college funds…

What've you got? One more night? A few more hours? Minutes? What?

You son of a bitch.

Time was up. Nothing else to be said. Their eyes met and a wordless contract passed between them. Then Jack smiled and held out his hand. Tony bit his lip, nodded at the floor, then eye contact was made, hands were shaken. Even a brief, tight hug. Then they walked to the door.

'I'll come by tomorrow.'

'You don't have to.'

'Yeah I do. Better me than…' Didn't need to finish that sentence.

He turned in the doorway and Jack grasped his hand one more time, tightly, with tears standing in his eyes. 'You'll take care of her for me?'

'Yeah, I will. And…thank you. For everything you did.'

A squeeze on the shoulder and with a last long look he was gone, back into the darkness and Tony stood alone. As he started down the steps the sound of music drifted from Jack's apartment and he listened for a second before a broad smile spread across his face.

'In fear and alarm......you did not desert me, my brothers in arms…'

He shook his head, laughing softly.

Always gotta have the last word, you son of a bitch.