Hey Guys! It's me, back from the dead aka I broke through my writers block like Jack Bauer choking a terrorist. Ha ha. Ha

Well anyways, here's another chapter. Now I know some people asked some stuff about certain people still being alive that shouldn't be. Don't worry, I did this on purpose because I love the characters and if I didn't there would barely be any characters left to work with anyways.

So, some things that are non-canon:

1) Edgar and Milo are still alive

2) Bill still works at CTU

3) . . . that's it.

I'm keeping some of the characters the show may have gotten rid of, i.e. Edgar, but some things still stay the same, i.e. Audrey being mentally unwell. Don't worry, it's not very complicated. So without further ado, the story. Enjoy! – Ellisaed

4:24 a.m. – Downtown L.A.

Jack didn't sleep that night. Weaving through the shadows of alleyways, he had run back to his dinghy apartment and began packing his things.

It was 4:30 am when he had almost finished. Packing hadn't been too hard of a task, because for one thing living in a one-room apartment with 150 a month for rent didn't exactly leave a lot of room for anything. What belongings Jack had had mostly been shed from past cover changes, and he was left with only the very bare essentials: clothes, shoes, toiletries, and a few personal items.

Jack had a few rifles he kept "around" and gathered them up as well, one hidden under the bathroom sink, under his mattress, in the wilted potted plant in the living room. Of course the weapons were not always loaded; the sight of a gun and a threat was often enough to subdue someone if need be. It was something he had done since he had lived with Teri, much to her dismay. Jack was never too cautious.

Lights flickered in the screened windows above his head as Jack scooped up the last of the clothes lying around his bedroom floor, tossing them in the duffle bag on his bare mattress. A yawn escaped him, and his brain mused on when the last time he had caught up on sleep was - not for a few days at least. Unfortunately, sleep wouldn't happen anytime soon; Jack rubbed his eyes back to awareness, fishing around in his pocket for his cell phone as he strolled to the bathroom, dialing a number absentmindedly.

Jack ran the sink water until it was warm, washing the blood and dirt from his hands and splashing it onto his face. He glanced up and caught his reflection in the mirror, and paused. There were bruises on his neck below his ears, where he had been strangled. A small cut had found his forehead somehow as well. These things did not startle him, but it was the darkness under his blue eyes that did. With this new burden on his chest he figured he would only look worse from then on.

Jack dabbed his fade dry with a towel. Being a wanted man was not something he was not accustomed to. God forbid, with this news he had almost felt relieved when he had heard that he was. It was a lifestyle he had grown skilled at living, an excuse to be on the run and to live in the shadows. There was an uneasiness upon him, however, for he still needed to determine why - who was involved, how they had found him and why they were looking for him.

Jack winced as he unbuttoned his shirt and placed the cell phone under his ear, listening as it continued to ring. Jack still had a few people he could call for help in case of emergencies, for instances like he was in, since he had broken all ties to CTU. Private agents who worked under the radar of the government, assisting fugitives and the like.

But just because Jack was not in deliberate contact with CTU did not mean he didn't forgetfully speed dial Chloe O'Brian absentmindedly on occasion, or that she wasn't tracking him down either. As much as he still cared about Chloe, Jack ignored any attempt she made at contacting him - switching cell phones when she found his number and often going without one so that he could not be tracked. She was skilled at what she did and had found him every time. Jack knew it was for her own safety and well-being that he stay away.

It bothered him that he could not console his partner's worry, that he had no choice but ignore her. Jack remembered too clearly the words of Secretary Heller, just a few months ago. Everything you touch . . . He did not want to hurt anyone else anymore.

With no response on the phone, Jack sighed and redialed the number. He pulled off his shirt and turned his back toward the mirror, seeing each tiny cut and shard of glass on his back piercing his skin like a dartboard. He'd have to get to work on cleaning it up.

". . . hm . . . 'ello?"

"Jim? This is Jack Bauer."

"Jack . . . what the heck, it's 4 am - why are you calling me?"

"Obviously because it's important Jim, I wouldn't call you with the intention of pleasantries. I was attacked at work tonight; apparently I'm a wanted man. Again."

"Well that's news. But it's still 4 am, you know, give a guy a break here."

Jack rolled his eyes. Jim Ricker was a friend of his from the Gulf War, and long story short the man had access to lot of information he probably should not have had. Jim had been doing undercover work for various individuals for a few years, and Jack was one of those individuals. Whenever Jack's cover was blown Jim helped him find new jobs, supplied him with cover I.D. and weapons, and kept an eye on him. Even though he wasn't the most well-mannered man, he was a friend to Jack, and that was mostly what mattered.

"So what, is it just the same old story again? I've got options for you as a cab driver this time - "

"No, I don't need a cover. Look Jim, I think I found who's been looking for me all this time."

"Finally - "

"Just listen. Tonight at the bar there were three men who were sent to find me. They were Arabi, but they spoke Russian. I managed to get some information from one of them I want you to run up."

The sound of ruffling bed sheets filled the phone, and Jim sighed, "Alright, alright, what is it?"

"There's someone who's looking to make a profit off of me, named Vasilyev, Russian I'm assuming."

Keys clicked quickly from the receiver as Jim searched his computer. "One second . . . "

Jack bit his bottom lip as he focused on removing the glass from his back, lining the pieces up on the ivory edge of the sink. So far there were fifteen, and he was only done one shoulder. Jack let his eyes wander to a few of the many scars there, each one a trap door to memories he kept shut up in his mind. Interrogations, field wounds, torturing -

"Alright Jack, you still there?"

Jack blinked, averting from his reflection. "Yeah, go ahead."

"Okay, I've got some matches for Russian men under the name of Vasilyev in private crime syndicates and/or agencies funded by various governments, but too many to sort through. I'm guessing you don't have anymore information?"

Jack closed his eyes for a moment, flipping back through his memory carefully. "The men were talking about a device someone was hiding from CTU, and something that's due to go down tomorrow."

"CTU again eh? Let me slip into their database and see what they've been monitoring lately . . . "

"You're going to get caught ripping off of CTU's data one day."

"Yeah, sure, sure."

Jack stretched his arm around to reach the last of the debris, gritting his teeth in discomfort.

"Okay, there's a mosque in east L.A. that they've had their eye on for the past few days . . . " Jim mumbled tiredly, a yawn creeping through, ". . . not sure if that's of any importance . . . wait. What the heck . . ."

"What?"

"There's been a bunch of dead calls made there, all to the same extension. The scramble code looks wrong. This might be something Jack."

"Can you trace the line?" Jack asked, washing his wounds carefully with a warm cloth.

"I can backtrack and figure out the extension number - "

"Jim, can you get me the information?"

"Yeah Jack."

"Good. I'll get back to you."

Jack slipped the phone back into his pocket, collecting the last of his things in the washroom and stuffing them in his bag with his other things. He didn't have time enough to shower; he had to leave as soon as possible. He pulled a dark shirt on gently, testing his tender back a bit before throwing a leather jacket over that.

Jack slung the bag over his shoulder, looking around the bedroom one last time. In the corner, a dull reflection caught his eye, and he went to see. Knocked to the floor, the broken glass and bronzed frame held a photo of him and his daughter, on the day she was born. Carefully he pulled the photo from the glass, smiling down upon it.

Jack could tell he was much younger, that was a fact, fuller hair and a rash young face. He wasn't grinning, just looking down upon a tiny pink bundle cradled in unsure arms in awe. His memories of that day were fuzzy, for it had been so scary for him, but bittersweet. He sighed, folding the photo gently and placing it inside his jacket, in the pocket near the right of his chest. It was like what he did with the memory - conceal it, hide it away and place it away gently inside his heart. Jack grabbed his duffel bag and exited his apartment.

2:15 p.m. – CTU L.A.

"Can I get you anything Chloe? Water? Tea? Coffee - "

"Pregnant women can't have caffeine stupid." Chloe mumbled in reply, continuing the database transfer onto her computer, "Go bother someone else, Edgar."

Edgar stood over her shoulder, obviously feeling out of place by the way he hesitated. "Are you sure? I only wanna make sure you're okay - "

"I know, and so does everyone else at CTU apparently!" Chloe swiveled in her chair and looked up at Edgar with a forced smile, "Thanks for caring, but I don't need anything and probably won't need anything ever again. Ever."

Chloe rolled her eyes, plain annoyed at everything lately. It didn't help that everyone at CTU was suddenly treating her like some sort of intern. She had worked there for years, but someone always found a way to escort her to the washroom or explain how to access the breaker box. All of the women seemed inclined to "get her something" or to "be there if she needed". Bill had stopped directing priority information to her computer and insisted she instead monitor surveillance - which was basically tech talk for "take it easy, here's a colouring page and a juice box". Chloe had immediately noticed Edgar's change in behaviour. He had suddenly stopped bickering with the other employees and was focused on her and her only most of the time. And even though it was a lot easier on her, if this behaviour kept up Chloe swore she would snap the neck of the person standing closest to her at any given moment.

Hormones. She thought to herself, pushing the thought away, darn these hormones -

"I can help you reposition these cameras if you'd like. Looks like you've got the reconfiguration scrambled."

Chloe put her face in her hands, recognizing Milo Pressman's voice behind her. "I'm. Fine."

"The reconfiguration is still scrambled though."

Chloe looked up at her screen, and groaned when she saw Milo was right. She turned a bit, catching his eyes with her glare. Milo was second in command at CTU, always diligent and on the job, mainly manning the floors since Bill spent a lot of time in his office. Even though him and Morris didn't get along - due to the fact that, like always, Morris didn't like any other man besides him even looking at Chloe - Milo was probably the only person at CTU who still treated Chloe semi-normally despite her pregnancy. He still annoyed her eighty-percent of the time though.

"I just want to help, that's all." Milo said.

"I've been tryin' to help too!" Edgar chimed in from his desk across the floor. Chloe didn't bother to protest when Milo leaned on her desk over her shoulder, typing codes into her computer.

"You really shouldn't stress, Chlo." His dark eyes were thin in concentration, "All of CTU's got your back. Nadia's been telling me how tired you look."

"I'm not tired." Chloe protested, and Milo gave her a look of admonishment. As good going a guy as Milo was, he knew when to be stern and Chloe hated it. He sat on the desk beside her with crossed arms, tilting his head a bit and pursing his lips.

Chloe couldn't deny that face.

"Alright . . . fine, you want the truth? I'm tired of everyone nosing into my business, that's what I'm tired of."

Milo nodded, twiddling with his access card, "I know, I know, everyone's been a little over the top ever since news got out - "

"Completely paranoid is more like it - "

"But cut us some slack here. This is a baby we're talking about, a little mini Chloe and Morris. A new little agent!" Milo grinned, reaching over and patting Chloe's shoulder, "Everyone's so excited. We just want to make this the best experience for you as it is for us."

Chloe saw the smile on Milo's face. She wrenched her jaw a bit, indecisive. It was exciting. A new little agent. She had never thought about it like that. A piece of her, a part of Morris. They would teach the little O'Brian to program and configure software, even just as a child. They would know their way around CTU like a second home.

The sentimentality struck her, but as she still held Milo's bright gaze she couldn't shake it. She looked away, cursing the tears that sprung to her eyes then. If Jack were there, he would have known her baby. And of course, though he would have denied it, he would have taught the little one. He would have secretly loved them.

"Chloe?"

Chloe wiped her eyes furiously, looking up to see her husband now standing aside Milo, a glass of water in one hand. For once the two men weren't disagreeing with one another, and they actually shared the same expression of worry. If she weren't so depressed, she would have smiled.

Chloe raised her eyebrows innocently, pushing the previous thoughts from her mind, "What Morris?"

"Everything alright love?" Morris set the glass aside her station, feeling her forehead like he always did. Chloe pulled his hand away, nodding. "Fine. Thanks Milo."

"No prob." Milo smiled at her, ruffling her hair gently before strolling back to his station. Morris watched Milo carefully until he was out of sight, and leaned in closer to his wife as he whispered, "He wasn't bothering you, was he?"

"No. But you are. Go back to work, I'm fine."

Morris hesitated, his hand reaching out and prodding her chin up to look at him; she faked a smile, and her husband gave a nod before back away to his work again. Chloe huffed, taking a sip of water, trying to calm down. She stared at her monitor for a long, long while, forcing back tears and memories. Memories of Jack. For some reason, she could not stop the memories from rising in her mind, like insistent itches needing to be scratched. Maybe he needed her help, that's why he never called back. Maybe he's hurt. Maybe he had died weeks ago and there was no point fussing -

No. She couldn't think like that. Hormones, Chloe blamed again, though this time it felt like something else.

12:00 a.m. - Somewhere in eastern L.A.

". . . copy, bravo three, do you copy?"

The hissing, fuzzing of the walkie came from the hip of the man's belt, and he lifted it to his mouth and pressed the return button, "Bravo three, copy."

"What is the status of the device? Are you operational?"

"Operational," The mans eye drifted behind his shoulder, to the cement wall of the building where the device was being held. Of course he had not and probably would never see the device, but those on the inside had informed him of its status. The building stood in the middle of seemingly nowhere, no cars passing by from the roads, no streetlights, no noise. The other watchguards who stood around the building looked about attentively into the darkness around them. "The device is standing by for deployment."

"Good. I will contact you with further instructions in three hours. We have the location of the target and are preparing troops to move in. Tell Vasilyev we will have Jack Bauer in custody soon enough."

"Copy."

Ooooh, I wonder what the target is – or who? All will be revealed in the next chapter!

Thanks a billion for reading guys! Please please PLEASE leave a review, I'm begging you here, either here or on my IG page Reviews give my inspiration and motivation to write more! Thanks again!