Roughly four months later...
Charlie Duncan was absolutely exhausted by the time he made it back to the apartment he shared with his girlfriend. He'd had his biochemistry lab until after eight thirty, and then he'd gone to a study group for one of his other classes to prepare for the test the following week, so it was after eleven by the time he finally came back from campus.
"Emma, you up?" he called quietly, locking both the deadbolt and the chain on the door behind him and hanging up his jacket and keys as he dropped his backpack by the wall, electing not to turn on the lights for fear of waking his girlfriend if she'd fallen asleep on the couch while studying, something that had become a habit of hers. In the four months since he'd left the safety of Phoenix protection, things had been extremely quiet; he was almost comfortable again, settling back into his routines, although there was still a voice at the back of his mind that reminded him to keep his guard up. Usually, anyway.
"Em?" the college junior called again, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The living room appeared empty, but there was something on the coffee table, so he switched on the light and walked over to it. It was a note, with his phone sitting beside it—he'd forgotten to grab it before he left for class that morning. The device had no charge left in it, so he ignored it for the moment and grabbed the note instead.
Charlie—
My mom called and Alice was in some kind of accident. I didn't get many details but she's in the hospital so I'm going home. Call me when you get back.
—Emma
"Oh, God," Charlie muttered, putting the note down and grabbing his phone as he searched for a charger. Alice was Emma's older sister, and the two were nearly inseparable. He scrambled to plug his phone in, and willed it to charge faster as he waited to be able to turn it on. He sighed as he put the device down, rubbing his tired eyes. As if this weekend could get any more stressful.
Just as his phone screen lit up, telling him it was ready to use, a voice behind him made him jump and spin around.
"Hello, Charlie," it was the young man's first look at his father, and his blood ran cold immediately. He took a step back from him and almost fell over the end table on which his phone was charging, steadying himself on its surface with his right hand. "It's good to finally meet you."
"You stay away from me," Charlie warned, though his voice shook as he looked around for a weapon or an escape. The front door was about ten feet to his right. If he could make just make it there...
"I know you must have heard some terrible things about me," Asmara sighed, taking a step closer.
"Stay back!" Charlie ordered, still sounding as terrified as he felt. His right hand, which was still on the tabletop behind him, started feeling around for something to defend himself, his eyes locked on the intruder in front of him. Asmara stopped in his tracks and let out a breath.
"I don't want to fight with you, Charlie," he said with what sounded like sincerity in his voice. "I really don't. I just want to talk."
"I don't want to talk to you," Charlie growled. "You're a murderer! A terrorist! You hurt my mom! You tried to kill her at least twice! You stay away from me!"
"Charlie, you don't—" Asmara broke off and gave a grunt when Charlie grabbed the lamp from the end table, ripped it free of the wall, and threw it as hard as he could at the man across from him. The improvised weapon hit Asmara in the chest and shattered onto the floor, making him stumble back, and the young student didn't hesitate, sprinting for the door as his father started to recover from the unexpected action. He grabbed his keys and tried to open the door, his heart leaping into his throat when he remembered he'd locked it. He fumbled with the lock and started to undo the chain when Asmara wrapped his arm around his neck, pulling him back from the exit as Charlie fought to get away, thrashing in the older man's strong grip.
"Stop it, Charlie," Asmara growled in his ear as the boy pulled at his arm, throwing his weight around and driving them both into walls, trying to get the man to let go. "I don't want to hurt you; stop fighting me!"
Charlie couldn't reply, but hell if he was going to just lie down and take it. He kept fighting as hard as he could, hoping one of his neighbors would hear him and call for help. Eventually, Asmara grew impatient and adjusted his grip on his son's throat slightly, then tightened it. Charlie felt himself start to panic as he saw darkness start to encroach on his vision, the sleeper hold doing its job. He reached back and desperately started pushing at his father's face, trying to shove him away, but it was no use. In less than a minute, he was unconscious, and Asmara released his grip, gently lowering his son to the floor.
"One day, son," he sighed, a little breathless as he patted Charlie's chest twice. "One day, you'll understand. I'll make you understand. I just hope I didn't find you too late."
Jack woke up with a start, unsure what had roused him until he heard another breathy whimper from Mac's bed and saw his shadowy form toss and turn. The former Delta got up from his air mattress with a grunt, blinking the sleep from his eyes and stepping over to his partner's bedside. He grabbed Mac's shoulder and shook him gently, his voice gravelly with sleep as he spoke.
"Mac," he hissed, the sound barely above a whisper. "Mac, wake up. C'mon, buddy, wake up. Mac!"
At last, the younger agent jolted awake, and, still reeling from his nightmare, started to try and fight Jack off. His partner was expecting this, though, and caught his arms easily.
"Hey, hey, hey, Mac! Mac, it's me!" he soothed patiently, his voice still quiet. "It's Jack! I'm right here, brother; it's okay."
Mac stopped fighting quickly as he recognized Jack's voice, breathing hard, and relaxed in his bed, his relief at seeing his partner—or the vague shape of him, outlined by the dim light coming in through his window—instead of Asmara or Tiago plainly evident. Jack slowly released him, leaning over to turn on the bedside lamp. Their sleepovers had been going on since they'd both been released from the hospital. At the time, they'd justified it to themselves and their team as carpooling to the doctor and PT—"We're saving the planet, Matty; you should be thanking us."—but as time went on, and they both started having appointments less and less frequently, it was a lot harder to disguise. Nobody said anything about it—and, to their credit, they were actually only staying over with each other twice a week or less, now; they really were getting better—but they were both certain that the whole team knew exactly why Jack so rarely left Mac's side. Bozer knew the whole time, of course; it was hard to hide nightmares from someone who slept less than ten feet down the hall. It seemed as though every time he closed his eyes, Mac found himself back with Asmara. It wasn't all that much better for Jack; his dreams were haunted with images of Mac screaming. They both had a long way to go, and they weren't helped by the fact that Asmara seemed to have dropped off the face of the Earth. Even Mac's tip about the school hadn't panned out; it was like he'd just vanished.
"That's it, Mac; just breathe," Jack encouraged, sitting down on the edge of his air mattress with one leg pulled up and the other straight out in front of him, his back to the door as he faced his partner. Mac sat up as well, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and leaning forward on his knees. "You okay?"
Mac gave a small nod, though he didn't seem so sure, as he refused to meet Jack's eyes.
"Anything you want to talk about?"
Then, Mac just looked at him, his eyes carrying a resounding "no" without him having to say a word.
"Didn't think so," Jack sighed. It was hard enough for Mac to make it through his mandatory sessions with Doctor Pasco, the Phoenix shrink; he didn't need to suffer through a session with Jack, too.
"Think you'll be going back to sleep tonight?" he asked after a moment or two. Mac looked over at his clock. It was just after 4:30 in the morning. After debating for a few seconds, he shook his head.
"Okay," Jack shrugged, getting to his feet with a grunt. "Then we might as well get going; c'mon."
He held out a hand in Mac's direction, and the younger agent sighed, taking his hand and letting him pull him to his feet. He whimpered slightly as pain twinged in his leg and hip; while his wounds had healed and the scars were thankfully not as bad as he thought they'd be, the motion of sitting down and standing up made the old injuries sharp again, if only for a moment. Doctor Emerson assured him that that would go away in time, but for now, all it did was remind him of everything that happened to him.
"You thinkin' bacon?" Jack's voice snapped him from his thoughts as he watched the former Delta squeeze some hand lotion onto his hands and start working it into the marks on his wrists in an effort to help the scars fade faster. He offered some to him, and Mac accepted, rubbing his own light red scars. "I could really use some bacon right now..."
"Bacon sounds awesome," Mac said with a chuckle, beyond grateful to have him there to keep him distracted.
"Alright," Jack grinned, moving towards the door to the hallway. Both men were surprised to see the hall light already on, and Jack's stomach growled audibly when the scent of bacon wafted in from the kitchen. The two agents exchanged glances, then headed out into the kitchen, finding Bozer standing at the stove, his back to them and his headphones on as he flipped the bacon he was cooking.
"Should we say something?" Jack blinked, sitting down at the peninsula.
"And scare him while he's got a pan full of hot grease?" Mac raised an eyebrow at him. "No thank you."
"So what, we just wait?" Jack made a face as he shrugged his shoulders.
"Why not?" Mac shrugged, grabbing the seat beside him. A few seconds later, Bozer turned off the stove and turned around to grab the plate he'd placed on the countertop, nearly jumping out of his skin when he saw his two friends watching him expectantly.
"Don't do that!" Bozer snapped as Mac and Jack laughed. He took off his headphones and put them on the countertop, one hand over his heart. "I'm supposed to have a heart attack after eating the bacon, not before!"
"Sorry, Boze," Mac apologized through his laughter. "It was too tempting."
Bozer scoffed at him, shaking his head and picking up the plate and removing his bacon from the pan. "What are you two even doing up?"
"We were gonna ask you the same thing," Jack sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Unless we all started craving bacon at four in the morning."
"Just couldn't sleep," Bozer shrugged, handing the plate of bacon to Jack without even thinking about it and returning to the stove to make some more. Jack grinned and grabbed a piece, taking a bite. "Couldn't tell ya why; your guess is as good as mine. Gave up trying about twenty minutes ago."
"Well, I'm glad you did, because I woke up craving bacon," Jack chuckled, making Mac crack a smile. "And you know what they say: the best food is the food you don't have to make yourself."
"I'm pretty sure that's not a saying, Jack," his partner shook his head as he stood up. He started putting his shoes on, and Bozer and Jack exchanged glances.
"Where you going, Mac?" his roommate asked.
"Gonna go for a walk," the young agent sighed. "I wanna clear my head."
"You don't want any bacon?" Jack raised an eyebrow, and Mac laughed slightly.
"I'll grab some later," he assured him. "It's a little too early anyway."
"It is never too early for bacon, my friend," Jack told him seriously, as though he were offering sage advice.
"I'll keep that in mind," Mac rolled his eyes and smirked. "I'll be back later."
"Hold on," Jack sighed, getting up. "Walk sounds like fun; I'll go with you."
Mac opened his mouth to protest, then closed it, knowing that Jack was just being protective. He'd suffered at Asmara's hands just as much as he did—maybe not physically, but Mac wasn't blind to how much the ordeal had affected him. And with Asmara still out there, likely still seeking revenge, he wasn't willing to let him go out unprotected. It felt like an overreaction sometimes, but he'd decided to just let it happen; Jack was trying to cope, too. The younger agent waited patiently as Jack pulled his shoes on, and when they were both ready to go, he opened the front door.
"Save us some bacon, Boze," Jack ordered as he followed Mac out onto the porch.
"No promises!" his partner's roommate called after him, prompting Jack to roll his eyes, though he didn't reply. Instead, he and Mac started walking, turning left at the end of his driveway.
"You sure you don't want to talk about anything?" the former Delta asked after several minutes of silence.
"Nope," Mac shook his head, swallowing hard as he tried to forget about his nightmare. "Not a thing."
Jack looked down, his jaw twitching. After another moment, he spoke again, "Mind if I say something?"
"Sure," Mac shrugged, looking at him in surprise. They hadn't actually talked about what happened much; they'd both wanted to forget it as much as possible.
"I just..." Jack let out a sigh, pausing to find his words. "I should have said this way sooner, back when we got you home, but...I'm sorry, Mac."
"For what?" Mac looked at him in genuine confusion, unable to think of a reason his partner may need to apologize.
"I promised you I wouldn't tell Asmara anything," Jack reminded him grimly. "If I'd kept that promise, we never would have gotten separated, and Phoenix would have found us. You never would have ended up in the convention center if it wasn't for me. We could have gotten out of there together."
"Yeah, or Asmara could have killed us both as soon as Phoenix showed up," Mac pointed out. "Jack, there's no way you could have known what was going to happen. And if the roles were reversed and he did to you what he was doing to me...I would have said anything I needed to to make it stop. I can't blame you for doing what I would have done."
"Because of me, you had to go through that alone," Jack argued. "You said it yourself; pretty much the only way what happened could have gotten any worse was if you were alone. And I did that to you. I'm sorry, Mac."
"Okay, well, your apology is both unnecessary and accepted," Mac told him. "Really, Jack; I don't blame you for anything that happened to me. I never did."
Jack didn't say a word, letting out a slow breath. Hearing those words from his partner's mouth made him feel lighter, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The two continued their walk in silence, letting the cool air wake them up. By the time they started to circle back around to the house, lights were coming on in people's windows as the occupants started getting ready for work and school.
"I don't get it," Mac muttered at last, frowning as Jack looked over at him.
"What?" Jack tilted his head slightly.
"He was so determined," the younger agent continued almost absently. "So focused. So meticulous. So dead set on making us—all of us—suffer. So where is he? Why would he just drop off the map? What game is he playing?"
"All excellent questions, brother," Jack sighed. "And I wish I had answers. Best guess, though? We beat him. His convention center plan failed. We got you back. His plan to kill me failed. He was not expecting to lose, so he ran, hid away to regroup. It was a victory for us."
"Or, the wait was always a part of the plan, and things are about to go down in the worst way," Mac countered, his expression grim.
"I liked you better when you were an optimist," Jack teased, although his eyes showed his worry.
Mac's jaw twitched, wanting to reassure him but his heart not in it. Jack's concern grew, and he reached out and grabbed Mac's arm, stopping him in the middle of the sidewalk.
"Hey," he said firmly, trying to catch his partner's eyes as he grabbed hold of his shoulders. "Mac, listen to me: I know how bad things got for you in there. I know you were scared, and I know I wasn't there for you—my fault or not, it's true; I wasn't. But we still won. You won. You beat him. You're the reason the convention center plan failed. You're the reason I didn't bleed out in my apartment—if you hadn't sounded the alarm with Matty, that sniper would have gotten me when I got up that morning, and no one would have known what happened until it was too late. I know you must have felt so helpless in there, but you never were. We beat him before, and when he finally surfaces, we'll beat him again. And this time, you're not gonna have to do anything alone. I'm not leaving you again, Mac. You got that?"
Mac gave a slight nod, a small smile on his face, and Jack grinned.
"Good," the former Delta approved, letting go of him. "Now c'mon; let's go get some bacon."
When Charlie started to come to again, his head was pounding, and the corners of his eyes twitched as he groaned, shifting his body underneath him and letting his head fall to the side. It took him a moment to realize that his hands were restrained in front of him, but when the realization hit him, he forced his eyes open, blinking his vision clear. A pair of handcuffs bound his hands together, the metal chain looped around one of the vertical metal loops of a radiator with his hands fed around the back in such a way that he couldn't hope to bring them closer to himself. He was sitting on a dirty hardwood floor, tucked into the corner, and a strip of tape covered his mouth. The young man felt panic surge through him, and he yanked on his wrists in an attempt to free himself, only succeeding in sending shooting pain through his arms. He gave a muffled yelp and looked around. The room he was in looked like some kind of outdated office. There was a desk about seven feet to his left, the leather chair behind it looking worn and faded. Several computers—all of these looking very new—were set up on its surface. The two cloth chairs in front of it were threadbare and torn in a couple spots. The window behind the desk was blocked out by newspapers, allowing some light to filter in, although Charlie could tell that it was artificial light, like from a street lamp, and not the sun. The was a door behind the desk, too, on the wall to Charlie's left, and there was also a door on the same wall as the radiator. He was alone for the time being, but he knew that wouldn't last for too much longer, and his stomach churned at the thought.
As if summoned, Asmara opened the door on the wall with the radiator, looking over at him and seeming almost surprised to see him awake.
"Morning, Charlie," the older man grinned down at him. "I'm glad you're up; I was almost afraid I'd really hurt you."
Charlie tried to shoot back a retort, but the tape muffled his words, and Asmara chuckled. The sound wasn't mocking, though, to the college student's surprise; it was almost nervous. Asmara walked over and set the coffee in his hand down on the desk, then grabbed one of the cloth chairs and dragged it over until it was just a few feet from his son, sitting down to face him, studying him carefully.
"I'm sorry about the handcuffs and the tape," the terrorist said at last. "But I couldn't let you run off before I got the chance to talk to you."
Again, Charlie's reply was muffled by the tape, and Asmara sighed.
"If I take that off of you, are you going to behave?" he asked evenly. Charlie hesitated, still breathing hard, and nodded. Asmara reached out to him slowly, trying not to startle him, and peeled the tape off of his mouth as gently as he could.
"Where the hell am I?" Charlie demanded with a growl, his chest heaving and eyes wild with mistrust and fear.
"Somewhere safe," Asmara promised. "No one's going to hurt you, Charlie."
"Yeah, well, if my well-being is so important to you then how about you let me go?" the boy suggested furiously, pressing his right shoulder into the wall behind him, trying to put as much distance between himself and Asmara as he possibly could.
"Charlie, please; don't be difficult," Asmara rubbed his eyes wearily.
"You kidnapped me and tried to kill my mom while my sister and I were upstairs," Charlie snapped. "Why the fuck wouldn't I be difficult?"
Anger sparked in Asmara's eyes, and his hand twitched up, as though he thought about striking him. Charlie flinched back, tensing up to prepare for the hit, but it never came. Instead, Selam forced himself to take a breath, "Is that any way to talk to your father?"
"My dad's name is Peter Hill," Charlie snarled, still angry in spite of his fear. "You're nobody to me."
Asmara looked at him almost sadly, and Charlie couldn't help but be surprised.
"Oh, Charlie," the boy's father sighed. "You don't know the whole story. Your mother has so corrupted you; I'm so sorry I wasn't there to protect you from that."
Charlie just scoffed at him, his words too ridiculous to refute, and Selam shook his head.
"One day, my son, you will understand," the terrorist promised, though there was something almost like a threat under the words, making goosebumps break out on Charlie's skin. "Until then, I'll keep you here, away from corrupting influences. One day, you'll thank me."
"I highly fucking doubt it," Charlie spat. This time, Asmara did not stop himself, and he backhanded the young man across the face, making him cry out as his cheek began to sting and his heart started beating even faster. As his chest heaved and he tried to calm himself down from the blow, Asmara reached out and grabbed his jaw, turning his head to face him.
"It seems your mother failed to teach you common decency and respect," the terrorist's voice was icy and even, and it made chills shoot down his spine. "So allow me to pick up the slack. While you are here you are to address me with the utmost respect; understand? That means none of that smart mouth and none of those cuss words. Am I clear?"
Charlie didn't answer, his vocal cords paralyzed by his terror, and Asmara's eyes flashed. He let go of Charlie's jaw only to grab his throat and pin him against the wall behind him. The young man's fear only grew, pulling against the handcuffs in a wild attempt to defend himself.
"It also means answering when someone asks you a question," Selam snarled. "Now, am I clear?"
Charlie, unable to speak past the hand on his throat, forced himself to nod, and Asmara released him, allowing him to gasp for air.
"Good," his father smirked at him. "Maybe I can save you after all."
The premed student just stared up at him, horrified and shaking with fear. Asmara leaned back with a sigh.
"Well, I've gotta go pick up a friend of mine," he announced casually, as though he hadn't just attacked his son. "Once he gets here, the fun is really gonna begin. So sit tight; I'll be back soon."
With this, the terrorist picked up the tape that he'd saved on the edge of the radiator and leaned towards his son. Charlie barely had time utter a quick "No!" and try to pull away before the strong adhesive sealed his mouth shut once more, muffling the rest of his protests. Asmara gave him a small half-smile, then stood up and left the room, leaving Charlie alone with the silence.
And here it finally is! Sorry for having to time jump, but it really was necessary. And, again, sorry this took so long. I really hope it was worth it. I'm so excited to show you guys this plan; I can't even tell you. Phase 3 officially starts next chapter! And here...we...go!