This is the last "regular" chapter of what started out as simple, immediate post-8 scenario. To me at least, it has remained just that, albeit a little long :). Thank you SO MUCH for reading, commenting, encouraging, and for your overall interest over these long months.
There's an epilogue. I didn't get to visit as many places and scenarios as I would've liked to in this chapter, so I'll be revisiting "'What Remains' Jack" at a later date.
So anyway, I hope you enjoy :).
-0-0-0-
Darkness. Then, a dull light…a blurry ambience beneath his eyelids, and someone speaking. Saying his name? "Jack." The disembodied voice floated down into the depths, finally pricking his consciousness with realization both old and new.
Jack heard Cole speaking but couldn't understand the words. Why was he here? He struggled briefly, fought for air. Voices now a discordant hum…his, Cole's, others? Was he at CTU? The voices filled the black void of his conscious mind with stubborn obtrusivity, pulling him from rest.
"Chloe—"
She would know what to do, where he was. If Chloe was here—
Strong hands urged him gently down, pressing him into the floor. He did not fight them. He sank into the velvet black, awareness settling over him like a mantle.
"Renee."
His lips were thick, foreign, but somehow he formed the word. She was gone, he knew. Gone, and wherever he was he wasn't with her. The cold, impersonal steel beneath his back seemed to reinforce that truth, and he grimaced at the pain in his ribs as another coughing fit ensued. Reality rushed forth like so many unbidden memories…the ship…the water.
He was alive.
-0-0-0-
Chloe sat, her hands on either side of the sleek, Lucite keyboard, staring at the closed door of her office. An incongruent mix of fear and relief washed over her, nipping at her strength. She'd found Jack; he was alive. But this day was far from over.
On the glass desktop, just to the side of her right hand, her cell phone vibrated. She looked at the flashing LCD and, recognizing a number only a few people had, picked it up with no lack of anticipation.
"Chloe O'Brian."
The man on the other end wasted no time with banal pleasantries, a directness Chloe could appreciate. "Ms. O'Brian, did you receive the support you requested?
She took a breath. "Yes. Thank you. They're in position now." She hesitated a moment, uncomfortable with the phone etiquette required when people didn't really know each other. "Mr. Woods,-"
Thankfully, he spared her the awkward exchange. "I didn't do anything President Taylor wouldn't have done, had she been in a position to do so," he said genuinely. His voice dripped quiet regret. "And please, call me Tim."
Chloe quirked her mouth, her version of a small smile. "Thanks for your help Mr. Woods." She paused briefly, unsure of how to continue. "Um, I've got things covered here, have you—"
"Yes, this call never happened."
She cleared her throat. "Good." Going to him for help had been hard enough, especially since she was the interim director, and now she was questioning his discretionary means? She frowned. "How's the vetting process going, as far as directors?"
On the other end of the phone, Tim Woods smiled.
"As far as I'm concerned, it's over. Congratulations, Director O'Brian."
He hung up before she could say anything in reply.
-0-0-0-
Radio chatter had picked up. The police were narrowing their search, and even with Richards' periodic check-ins, the rest of the squad would eventually come to investigate this quadrant, too. Cole knew that it wouldn't be long until they were surrounded.
There was little he could do for Jack here. He was no medic, and the supplies he had were rudimentary at best. What Jack needed most were blankets, IV fluids, and numerous other attentions that were not in his power to provide. At least he'd been able to rouse him enough to get him dressed.
Cole looked at him, dampness bleeding through the too-small uniform shirt in dark plumes along his arms and chest, and felt something akin to pity. Jack's hair was spiked and damp, and his face was the color of wet plaster.
"You gonna be ok?"
He sat on the floor, knees up, with his hand on his head. The officer's shoes lay beside him, about two sizes too small. Their patent leather finish glinted mutely in the low light, and his white toes shone. "Yeah," Jack said unevenly. "I'm gonna be ok," but the words were breathy and ragged and Cole didn't fully believe them.
Cole looked at his watch, calculating the amount of time they had left. Finding Jack in this condition had changed everything, and his mind raced to determine exactly what steps he should take next.
For now, there was no choice but to go forward. He handed Jack the PDA.
"The extraction point is here," he said, indicating a small area on what would be the south loading dock. As Jack looked at the schematic, Cole regarded him dubiously. "We've gotta move Jack, are you sure you're ready?"
He handed Cole the PDA. "I'm ready," Jack said grimly, clutching his side as Cole took him under the arms and hoisted him off the floor. "Let's get out of here."
Cole nodded. Injured or not, Jack was Jack, and Cole was thankful for that fact, at least. He turned around and activated his comm while Jack put on the remainder of the uniform. "Chloe, are you there?"
"Here Cole." Her voice was tight and focused. "The extraction team is in place, but I'm going to have to walk you out. Police presence has intensified."
Cole's mouth settled into a grim line. "How many?"
Chloe consulted the screen. "Fifteen in your immediate area."
He swallowed, his heart suddenly audible in his ears, and his throat constricted. "We'll never make it."
"No." Chloe said flatly. "Not without help. I'm going to get you two out of there." A beat. "How's Jack?"
He stole a glance at him. "I dunno," Cole said truthfully. He lowered his voice. "He's been through hell Chloe and who knows what's going on on the inside."
Chloe nodded, a minute dip of her head that he had no hope of seeing. "Let me take care of that." She looked at the infrared, at the blips steadily coalescing in their location, and her forehead creased. "You've got to go—now."
-0-0-0-
Richards stood watch over Sanderson, his contempt for the older officer growing by the minute. Not surprisingly, the emotion was mirrored by the man half-sitting, half-kneeling under the control box as he stared up at him.
"What you did back there…you almost killed a man," Richards said icily. His eyes hardened to steel points as he glared at him.
The cop made a grunting noise in an effort to speak around the gag, and his upper body bucked lightly with the effort. Richards raised his gun as he freed Sanderson's mouth, a gentle reminder that speaking too loudly or yelling for help probably wouldn't be a good idea. He leveled the weapon calmly at the older man as Sanderson looked up at him, hurt and contempt written all over his face.
"Turncoat bastard…"
Richards' hold on the gun grew rigid. "That's bullshit and you know it. If anyone here is a turncoat, it's you."
Sanderson only glared at him as Richards continued.
"We took oaths," he spat. "To protect and to serve…and what you did back there was neither. It was attempted murder." His voice dripped acid, and Sanderson couldn't mask his surprise at both the words and the mode of delivery.
"Yeah, that's right," Richards said rather smugly, "Bauer's alive, no thanks to you."
Sanderson looked at him, eyes hard, his mouth firm. When he spoke, there was genuine pain there. "You have any idea what that sonofabitch did yesterday? To some of our own?" The last word was so steeped in sorrow that it softened Sanderson's face, if only for a moment.
Realization began to dawn on Richards. Hassan. That business with his daughter. NYPD had gotten tangled up in that yesterday, and they'd lost some men. Bauer had been running field ops for CTU.
"Those officers got themselves killed and you know it. If Amos had only listened to Bauer—"
"If Bauer and his cronies hadn't been there in the first place, Amos would still be alive," Sanderson countered. "Probably Hassan, too. None of that yesterday would've ever happened. NYPD had the situation under control, but CTU always has to be the hero."
The police radio crackled to life, punctuating the air between them, and Sanderson's eyes focused on it. "Officer Richards." The crisp, efficient voice called for him twice before he picked it up.
Richards lowered the gun, looking down at the man he had once respected. "Revenge isn't in the job description, Chief. It never was."
-0-0-0-
Jack padded a short distance behind Cole, his breath sharp and piercing against his ribs. He'd aggravated the multiple injuries from yesterday, no doubt, and had a dozen or so other ills to accompany them. Pervasive cold still accosted his blood, and his movements were sluggish and somewhat ill-controlled. He'd also missed several doses of medication, but where one symptom started and another one ended, he couldn't tell.
Up ahead, Cole stopped, listening. He and Jack were halfway to the extraction point, now, but surrounded by police. Chloe had guided them through some of the heavier concentrations, but due to the imprecise nature of the infrared, Cole had to be vigilant enough for both of them. They'd had several close calls already.
As for Jack, he was barely making it. The simple truth was that he was in bad shape, held together by sheer will. Cole wondered briefly at that strength that seemed to doggedly drag him along, stubbornly bent on self-preservation. He moved cautiously forward.
"Cole, you have to double back." Chloe's insistent voice penetrated the stillness of his thoughts, momentarily stopping him in his tracks. He looked at the schematic, remembering the labyrinthine tangle they'd navigated and Jack's debilitated state. "I don't think we can," he said tightly. He looked back at Jack, who, having noticed they were stopped, had taken a moment to gather himself against the supportive wall of the corridor. He had a hand on his side and sagged slightly over his middle. "I don't think he'll make it, Chloe."
She set her mouth, thinking. "Ok," she finally said. "Hold your position. We're coming to you."
-0-0-0-
The ambulance sat about a mile from the weight station, its chrome trim flashing in the morning sun, awaiting further orders. Chloe had put NYPD and emergency radio communications on a closed-circuit intercept so that all transmissions would be filtered through her. Unbeknownst to the officers on scene, Chloe controlled all ingoing and outgoing messages. Morris smiled. Sometimes his wife's attention to detail surprised even him.
"112 this is dispatch. We have an officer down, requesting emergency transport, do you copy?" The radio cracked and popped, the speaker too loud in the tense stillness.
The emergency operator ended the transmission abruptly in expectation of a reply. The driver grabbed the radio, clearing his throat. "We copy dispatch, 112 is en route, over."
Morris opened the little window behind him and peered in at the two medics waiting in the back. Not knowing Jack's possible mental state, Chloe had wanted him along, just in case. After all, it was an ambulance ride that had contributed to his present situation, and Jack might be skeptical of getting into another one, even with Cole there.
Morris activated his comm. "Did you get that Chloe?"
"Loud and clear." So, Richards came through, she thought, relieved. "I want to know it the moment Jack is on that ambulance."
Morris switched off the comm and looked out over New York Harbor. Sunlight skimmed the surface of the water, and in the distance, it sparked on the caps of gentle waves, quietly beautiful. With a nod to the driver, the engines roared to life. The ambulance bumped and jostled over the harbor's outer lot as the men in the back made preparations. Sirens wailed, the radio buzzed with intermittent static, and Chloe waited in the deceptive peace of her office as the ambulance made its way to the loading dock.
-0-0-0-
The medics had brought Cole a change of clothes, and he hurriedly donned the EMT uniform while the real professionals attended Jack.
Jack lay convincingly still, which wasn't very hard to do considering he felt like hell and looked about as bad. The medics fussed about him with little exaggeration—Jack's condition was weaker than they expected and every one of their ministrations proved to be vital. As a small crowd of police officers began to gather, Cole tried to look busy or at least inconspicuously inactive.
The ruse was perfectly played. While the oxygen mask obscured Jack's face, his uniformed chest was exposed, clearly identifying him as one of New York's finest. The medics made smart work of keeping the immediate vicinity around their patient closed to the rapidly growing crowd of onlookers. The medics' precise, professional flurry made certain that no one area of the gurney was exposed to scrutiny for any length of time. With all of the different precincts represented, Jack could've been any cop from any one of them.
The extraction point was now swarming with police presence, and as the small band rushed by with gurney in tow, police officers pressed in on either side of them yelling encouragements and good tidings to their fallen comrade.
Outside it was bright, and Jack opened his eyes. The sky was cobalt blue, and it was warm. The sun's rays poured their energy into his broken body, filling him, fortifying him, and the warmth reminded him of something welcome, something good. He found himself drifting in and out, and he scarcely noticed when the medics hefted the gurney into the back of the ambulance, nor was he disturbed by the loud clatter it emitted as it slid into place.
They were moving, and Jack looked up at the lights in the back of the ambulance, the quilted chrome interior, the shelves of plastic containers and tubing. Voices and activity swirled around him, intermingling with the sirens as the ambulance sped away. It didn't matter where…away was good enough for him. He closed his eyes.
Morris, in the cab of the ambulance, looked back at where Jack lay ashen against the pristine sheet. The medics were busy counteracting the poor conditions Jack's body had endured, and various levels of treatment were happening concurrently in an effort to stabilize him before they made it to the safe house. Beneath the blankets and numerous other medical implements, he looked frail. Off to the side, Cole sat as far out of their way as he could given the small space, and when Morris appeared in the window, he looked up at him.
"Jack," Morris said quietly. "Jack." Finally, he opened his eyes. Morris took off his headset and handed it to him. "Someone wants to talk to you."
Gingerly, Jack lowered the oxygen mask and angled his head slightly. He reached back, put the comm in his ear, something he'd done a thousand times. "Yeah," he breathed.
The voice on the other end hesitated only a moment.
"Jack? It's Chloe."