Thank you for talking me into not abandoning this story and writing a new chapter instead of tossing it away. This chapter is for you.
Memories, they were all he had left of the life he had once lived as Jack Bauer.
Memories, memories of his daughter, memories the granddaughter he would never get to know and maybe wouldn't even remember him, memories of the friends he had lost, memories of the women he had loved, memories of the amazing people he had worked and saved lives with, memories of his now forgotten passions, memories of the voices he loved hearing, memories of the things he loved doing, memories of the homes he had known, memories of the dreams he had given up on, memories of the men and women who had fought until the end for the same causes he once fought for…
Memories, they were practically all he had left, all he had left to cling to.
Memories, they were all he had left, all he had left to find hope in. Those memories where his strength, his only source of strength, and on to those memories he would have to hold if he wanted to keep himself from going insane.
Those memories were his comfort. Those memories were what his heart and soul fed off of. Those memories where his only light in dark times. Those memories were what kept him going on in his darkest moments. When demons took control and nightmares tortured him, memories of the people he loved were all he had to embrace so he wouldn't go completely insane.
He had his memories, those beautiful memories that sometimes seemed to have been someone else's and not his, memories that some times seemed to have taken place in another life. Memories to cling to, memories to keep himself from going insane, memories to hold onto; memories were all he had left.
But he also had 'what ifs'. Lots and lots of 'what ifs' that wouldn't leave him alone, that would insist on always keeping company, that was all he had been left with. He tried to push them away, he tried as hard as he could, but they would not let him rest. And those 'what ifs' tortured him in ways one could have never imagined.
The life he had been dreaming of the morning of the day that changed everything and turned his life upside down had become nothing but a collection of them, a collection of 'what ifs' that kept his mind running a million miles per second every time he closed his eyes and tried to get some sleep, whatever little sleep he could get.
What if he had refused to help Chloe and gone back to Los Angeles with Kim and his family?
What if he hadn't gotten himself in that mess that ended up costing him everything?
What if he had left New York sooner? Where would he be now? He would be in California, with his daughter, with his son in law, with his granddaughter, that little girl that meant everything. His family meant everything; to be with them was everything he had ever wanted. He had been so happy during those few days with them, taking Teri to the zoo, watching cartoons with her, trying to get her to call him 'grandpa', cooking his famous meals for Steve and Kim, telling Steve stories about Kim's childhood, telling Teri about her grandmother.
What if he hadn't let Renee in? What if he hadn't felt as strongly as he did about her? What if he hadn't made the promises he made, the promises he wanted to and was willing to see through but couldn't because she was killed mere minutes after they made love for the first and only time? What if he hadn't let Renee affect him the way she did? What if he hadn't insisted on getting revenge? What if he had looked the other way?
But oh, no, he couldn't just look the other way; he couldn't let them get away with it. He needed revenge. He needed to get revenge. He needed to make them pay, to make them all pay, to see them all suffer the way he had suffered. He needed to do the things he did. He would have never been able to live with himself had he not stayed and help Chloe when she asked him to, and he would have never been able to live with himself had he not stopped President Taylor for making a huge mistake.
What if he had died? What if they had killed them? What if President Taylor hadn't changed her mind on the last minute?
What if Renee had lived? What if they both had lived? What if he had been given a new chance at love? What if he had had the chance to see through the promises he had made? What if he had been given a new beginning? What if they both had made it out alive? What if they hadn't killed her? What if she had stayed with him, by his side? What if they had been given the chance to heal each other? What if they had been given the chance to live a life together? What if he had been given a new shot at happiness, a new shot at a normal life?
What if he hadn't survived that day? What if he had been killed? What if they hadn't gotten that call? What if they hadn't gotten the order not to pull the trigger? What if that bullet had destroyed him? What if that bullet that was meant to put him down had ended it all? What if he had met the end of the line that day?
Those were the questions he had to live with, and to those questions he didn't really have a satisfactory answer. Truth is told, to those questions he did not have an answer at all, not even a weak, lame answer to work on in order to find a better one.
But those weren't the only questions that drove him crazy. And memories of his family, memories of the life he had once had, memories of the life he had once dreamed of weren't the only memories he clung to.
There were other 'what ifs', lots and lots of 'what ifs' that had nothing to do with what would have happened had he gone and took that plane to Los Angeles with family instead of going back to CTU on a last mission. There were others 'what ifs', 'what ifs' that resolved around her: the woman that had always been faithful to him, the woman that had always looked out for him, the woman that had always stayed royal to him, the woman that had been always willing to risk everything – her job, her freedom, her life – for him, the woman that had always believed in him, the woman that had never lost faith in him.
What if she hadn't asked for his help that day? What if she had taken 'no' for an answer the first time he refused to help? What if she hadn't accused him of turning his back on the person that had always been there to risk everything for him when she needed him the most? What if he had said no and then walked away? What if she hadn't called Kim? What if Kim hadn't convinced him? What if he hadn't been convinced he would never be able to live with it if he walked away?
What if Chloe hadn't helped him when he needed it the most during the events of that dreadful day? He would have probably ended up dead, or seriously injured.
What if Chloe hadn't fought until the very last minute to protect him and keep him alive? What if Chloe hadn't done everything in her power to keep them from killing him when they had been ordered to do so? What if Chloe hadn't looked for him and found him before they did? What if Chloe hadn't risked everything to find him just in time? What if Chloe hadn't talked him out of killing the Russian President when he had the chance? What if Chloe hadn't talked him out of committing that murder in the name of Renee? What if she hadn't said the right words at the right time? What if he hadn't listened to her? What if she hadn't risked everything to protect that chip with the recording that proved he was right, that recording that proved he had been telling the truth all along?
What if Chloe hadn't been faithful until the very end? What if Chloe hadn't stayed loyal to him until the very end? What if she had abandoned him? What if she had turned him in? What if she hadn't acted like the amazing woman he knew her to be? What if she hadn't risked her safety, her job, her freedom, her life for him?
'What ifs' resolving around Chloe were worse than those resolving around Renee, because they forced him to reflect on his mortality, they forced him to reflect on the decisions he had made and the decisions he had not made, the things he had done and the things he wanted to do but had been talked out of doing. 'What ifs' resolving around Chloe forced him to go into some sort of debate with himself: was he happy he was alive? Was he happy she had done everything she was capable of and more to keep them from killing him? Was he happy he survived that day? Was he happy she helped him escape? Was he happy they didn't kill him?
He didn't have an answer to those questions. He wished he did, but he didn't. Not yet, at least.
A life away from Kim and his granddaughter, missing them, worrying about them constantly, not being able to see them, not being able to talk to them, that was the worst punishment he could think of, worse than physical punishment, worse than torture. Would have it been better had he died? He didn't have an answer to that either. He just didn't know… yet. He didn't know if he was grateful Chloe saved him, he didn't know if he deep down resented her for doing so. All he knew was he was grateful she had remained loyal and faithful to him until the very end, no matter what she had done or why she had done it, no matter if she thought she was doing the right thing while he thought she could have done something differently. Loyal and faithful to him she had stayed until the very end, and that meant more than words could ever sum up. To him, Chloe's loyalty meant so much he wasn't sure he would ever be able to put it into words.
'What ifs' and unanswered questions were practically everything he had been left with: 'what ifs', unanswered questions and memories. They kept him awake on long, cold nights. They wandered his mind, torturing him, taking him to places he did not want to go to some times, comforting him others. All his thoughts, reflections, emotions, feelings and doubts weighted on his chest, and he needed to get them off it somehow, but he didn't know a way how. He just knew everything was more bearable if he held onto memories, and memories of Chloe were definitely his favorites, because they brought to him a sense of safety he had not been able to experience in a very long time.
She had never let him down. She had been always loyal, faithful. She had always protected him. She had been willing to risk everything for him. She had always taken care of him. She had always been there for him. She had always been willing to help him up. She had always been willing to help him out. She had always trusted him. She had always admired him. For so long she had been his constant, his only constant. She had been his rock, his support, the only person he would go to every time he felt trapped, every time he was in danger, every time there was a new threat he had to deal with to save the innocent lives of millions of citizens. She had always been there for him, whether he asked for her help or not.
Memories of her, memories of her were his favorite memories, because they were simple yet beautiful; because they weren't complex, yet they were meaningful. Because they didn't pain him as much as memories of the short time he had spent with Kim and Teri did. Memories of Chloe were his favorite, because they held a special meaning: there was someone out there who had cared about him enough to be willing to sacrifice everything for him; there was someone out there who had gone to all possible, imaginable extents in order to protect him. Memories of Chloe held a special meaning: they meant there was someone walking on the face of the Earth that had never left him alone, no matter the context, no matter the circumstances.
Memories of Chloe kept the nightmares and the 'what ifs' at bay. Memories of Chloe kept him warm. Memories of Chloe made him feel less nostalgic and less alone. Memories of Chloe kept him company. Memories of Chloe kept him sane. Memories of Chloe made him feel safe. Memories of Chloe were his safety blanket: there was no other way to describe it. Memories of Chloe made him feel like smiling again, even if after everything he had gone through someone would have thought he would have lost of ability to do so. Memories of Chloe kept him going. Memories of Chloe didn't torture him. Memories of Chloe were stronger than those 'what ifs' that resolved ar0und her and the choices she had made on that day. Memories of Chloe were stronger than the pain, because they meant he had someone loyal and faithful out there, because they meant he wasn't entirely alone.
And the more he clung onto those memories, the more he realized his relationship with her had been even more complicated that he had always thought it to be. The more he clung onto those memories, the more he understood things that had always been there but that he hadn't been able to see before. The more he clung to those memories, the more he wished she was there to look out for him, to take care of him, to whisper to him everything would be alright and that she would have his back no matter what. The more he clung to those memories, the more he wished his farewell to her hadn't been so rushed. The more he clung to those memories, the more he wished he had been able to say a lot more than the words he whispered to the woman that had always been there guiding him through everything he had had to face for the past ten years.
Memories, memories, memories, unanswered questions, what ifs, memories, more unanswered questions, memories, nightmares, more 'what ifs', words he should have said but couldn't say rotting on his tongue, words he should have said but couldn't say poisoning his heart, words he should have said but couldn't say torturing him with the same intensity his tainted thoughts and reflections did, memories of Chloe getting mixed of 'what ifs', and unanswered questions driving him crazy. That was all he had left, that was everything he had been left with after the events of that dreadful day.
He needed to get it off his chest, he needed to get all of it off his chest, and almost four months passed until he found a way how; when he didn't, he simply couldn't believe he had not thought about it sooner, and once he was done writing that first letter, he almost laughed at himself for not having realized before that night that he could get a brief wave of relief to wash him over from the inside if he wrote down his feeling, thoughts, regrets, memories and doubts.
Dear Chloe,
I know you'll never read this. I don't even know why I'm writing this; maybe I am writing this for myself, maybe I am writing this because if I don't get it out somehow I'll explode. They say writing is like a therapy, you know? Someone said that once, or maybe I read it in a book, or maybe it's a line from a movie. I don't know. Someone said once that writing is a therapy. I have always liked writing, writing was my escape when I was a teenage boy, and although I stopped writing a long time ago, I think I never stopped needing that therapy. Maybe a lot of things would have gone differently; maybe a lot of things would have hurt less hadn't I stopped doing that one thing I loved. I don't even know if this makes sense, I just know I am feeling a lot better just by seeing my thoughts on paper. Yeah, maybe I should have never stopped writing. Maybe I should have remembered it was a thing I loved doing and that it would always bring some sort of relief. A sheet of paper, a pen… those two things are so basic, yet when I was young they were my best friends. Maybe I should have not lost touch with them. Maybe I should have kept them close. Maybe it's not too late to reconnect with them.
There are so many things that I need to get off my chest, so many things that have been weighting me down for such a long time. There are so many things I wish I could talk about with someone, there are so many things I wish I could say to someone, there are so many things I wish I could say to you. It's been so long since I last talked to anybody… My life is such a mess. I am such a mess. I am so messed up.
I think of you every night while I try to fall asleep. When I think of Kim or Teri, nightmares of them getting hurt by someone who wants to get even with me follow, and they terrorize me. When I think of you, tranquility follows; you've always been like a safety net to me. I know if you could read this, you would be blushing and scowling and you would tell me to shut the hell up and stop embarrassing you, so I am kind of glad you will never read these words I'm writing. I think of you because you have always been a person I could go to every time I needed help, every time I was lost, every time I was in danger, every time the rest of the world turned its back on me. I think of you because it helps me heal: knowing that someone trusted me that much, knowing that someone risked everything plenty of times just to have my back, it brings a sense of comfort that I really need in my life right now that I've been left with nothing but nightmares, unanswered questions and lots of 'what ifs' to deal with.
I think of you every time I see that bullet wound in my shoulder, and some times I almost smile when I looked down at it. Everything that ever happened to me, every little thing has left a mark and whether they are visible or invisible, those marks are a part of me, they will be with me forever, and I will carry them with me whenever I go. You were (are) an important part of my life. You will forever be a part of me. In you I found a friend, in you I found someone to trust in, in you I found someone to hold onto, in you I found someone to go to every time the world would threat to stop turning, in you I found someone that would never leave me. This mark on my shoulder reminds me of that, of how faithful and loyal you always were to me, it reminds me of our friendship. It's a bittersweet sensation the one I get every time I look down at it, though, because it also reminds me of all those times I was mean to you, all those times I yelled at you, all those times I put you in compromised positions, all those times I made you feel bad, all those times I didn't value you or simply took you for granted; it also reminds me of a lot of things I wish I had said but didn't.
Chloe, you always knew the right answer to the difficult, tricky questions. You've no idea how I wish you were here so you could help me answer lots of those questions I have. I don't know how to deal with them, and they are starting to be bigger than me. All these 'what ifs', they keep me awake at night; they're almost as bad as the nightmares. How I wish I could talk to you about… Well, about everything: my daughter, my granddaughter, Renee… I need you friendship more than anything, because during these months I've spent hiding and trying to start over new (is that even possible? I wonder…) I realized your friendship was something I always counted on but never really valued, or at least I didn't value it the way I should have. And now I need it so much… and all I have to hold onto are memories.
Chloe, there are so many things I wish I had told you the last time we spoke. I wish I had told you I was sorry I treated you the way I did when you first came to CTU. Who would have known you'd end up being the one who would have my back all these years? Who would have known you'd end up being my constant, my rock, the one person I would always be able to count on? Who would have known that analyst no one liked and that I yelled at practically ten times every morning would become my best friend? Who would have known I would come to need you so much, this much, when I could barely stand you and wanted to find a reason to fire you so badly I even thought of making something up a couple of times so my firing you would be justified? Who would have thought, who would have known, who would have said you would end up being the one that would keep me alive for so many years? Who would have thought I would end up finding release and relief by writing a letter to you?
Chloe, I need you in my life right now. I need to see your familiar face. I need to hear your familiar voice. I need to see you scowl. I need your friendship. I need someone to remind me who I am, who I was, I need someone to reassure me the events of that day didn't kill whatever was left of me. I need to hear your voice, but I'd already written that. Sorry, I am so tired… If I didn't make any sense before, now I am sure this just sounds like drunken talk. I am so tired, so worn out… I need your friendship so much, Chloe, and when I see your name in paper, in my handwriting, I miss you even more.
I wish I could call you, but I won't, because that would mean putting you and your son in danger, and I would never forgive myself if something bad happened again to someone I care about deeply (same reason why I cannot call Kim, or contact her, or go see her, or try to get in touch with her somehow). Besides, I am sure you probably left New York after that dreadful day. I hope you did, because you never belonged there, anyway, and neither did I. I hope you found a place you can truly call your home; I hope you are in the place where you belong to. I wish I were in the place where I belong to; I wish I had a place to call home, someone to call home. I wish I had your friendship. Your friendship means home. Why couldn't I see that before?
He closed his eyes and deep breathed a couple of times.
He felt better. He wasn't great, he hadn't healed completely, he was still a mess, his life was a mess, he was merged in a mess, he still had all those unanswered questions and those 'what ifs' weighting on his chest and shoulder, but he definitely felt a lot better.
Maybe that night he would be able to fall asleep without fearing nightmares. Maybe that night, if he rested his head on the pillow and thought of what he would write to Chloe the following morning in his second letter to her, he wouldn't be bothered by the ghosts that insisted on haunting him down and torture him with their presence in his dreams.
He had decided he would make a habit out of writing letters to Chloe. Chloe, she was his rock, his constant, his best friend.
And he needed her so much. He needed her so badly.
Who would have thought he would end up needing Chloe so badly?
That night he fell asleep thinking of her, clinging to those memories of her he embraced with such love. It was unknown to him that the woman he missed so much, his best friend, was still up, writing love letters to him, crying her eyes out as she poured down her feelings on paper, trying to find the same relief, the same release he had been so desperately looking for.
