A/N: There. Tony and Michelle's story reaches the end before the end of the year. Trust me people, I really wish I could have given ya a happy ending, but really... how realistic would that have been, after everything... Despite all that, I still enjoyed the writing process. Hope most of you enjoyed the reading.

On a different note, this might be my last story. I don't know if I'll be writing any more. Though I do have ideas (and no, they're NOT all sad ;-) ), the passion just isn't there (I know I've read this same sentence in someone else's profile - but it's just so true in my case, too). It might depend on what happens in in season 7 of 24. Let's just hope it doesn't break our hearts again.

Have a Merry Christmas and a happy new year :-)

edit: please note that I've posted chapter 24 and chapter 25 at the same time... so if you're reading this, you might have missed a chapter...

Day 73

Scorching sun burned mercilessly from the sky above L.A. on this Sunday afternoon while Tony wandered the streets a couple of blocks away from his house. That's right, his house. The house he'd bought with his own money. Well, half of it anyway. And this shady barkeeper kicked him out of the run-down waterhole in Compton because he'd run out of cash. And he'd been kicked out of the bar before that, too. 'Had too much.' 'Too drunk.'

What the hell do they know? Tony thought. Am I not old enough to make my own decisions?

Not that your decisions are unquestionable.

Whatever.

He crossed a street carelessly, not raising his eyes to look at the traffic light first. Who cared if he got run over? He sure didn't. His own appearance repelled him right now. His clothes stuck to him as if glued on. He hadn't changed since Wednesday, since he got fired from that stupid place. He stank of sweat, cigarette smoke and old alcohol, his hair was greasy and the stubble on his face had grown long enough to earn the name beard. His head was about to explode, thanks to the proverbial hangover from hell. I need a drink to make this go away, he thought, rounding yet another corner. Hope she's not home.

He'd spent the better part of the morning sitting around on park benches and trying not to look like a homeless bum. Judging by the reactions his presence evoked in people - most of them went out of their way to avoid coming too close to him - he wasn't doing too well. He'd been wandering around for hours, aimlessly at first. At some point after noon, beat and bored, he decided to start walking home; not that he had many options: he'd drunk all his cash, he couldn't pay for a cab, and even if he'd been in the condition to drive, he didn't remember where exactly he'd parked the SUV. Maybe he'd have the police look for it once he'd sobered up.

Finally, he found himself in their street, approaching the house with mixed feelings. He'd need to shower and hopefully get some sleep in a bed for a change, but that could only happen if Michelle wasn't home. Sure, he could just lock himself up in the bedroom, but he couldn't keep her from talking, which she was pretty good at. Though chances were she would leave him alone; she was learning.

Getting closer to the house, he began to perceive shouts close by, shouts of children like those he already knew he'd never have. Turning his head slightly towards the source of the sounds, he made out Pat's kids who were playing in the yard, running around, chasing the dog who'd grown to a respectable size by now. Whether the tail-wagging Lab was enjoying the chase or not Tony couldn't tell, but it was barking vigorously and Tony sped up. He really couldn't take all that noise right now, not with this headache. And he noticed another thing: Michelle's car wasn't in the driveway. Thank God, he thought with relief. This way, he could at least just have a drink in peace and be by himself for a while.

Pushing the key into the lock, he swung the door open and walked in, before slamming it shut behind him again. He dropped both his jacket and the keys to the floor, not bothering to put them where they belonged. About to switch on the light, he only now noticed that there was light in the living-room already. What the...

The place was quiet. The only perceivable sound was the persistant buzzing of a fly somewhere close by. Apart from its perpetual circular flight, there was no motion. Someone else could have been fooled into thinking the house was empty, but Tony knew Michelle; she'd rather go back inside twice to make sure all lights were off than just rush outside, and if she really wasn't home, the only logical conclusion was a thief. Tony couldn't in all honesty think of anyone else with a reason to be in their living room right now, unless Michelle had a lover Tony didn't know about and this guy was impertinent enough to make himself comfortable in the living room while Michelle was out. Tony took the wall, flattening himself against it. For a second there, he wished for a handgun or at least a knife. He had neither.

The light flickered minimally; Tony's every muscle tensed but he controlled his heartbeat. The throbbing in his head was louder than his thoughts but he shook his head once, trying to focus and get into fighting mode. The door might have warned the intruder, but if not, Tony might still have the element of surprise. Go, he then ordered himself.

Eyes scanning the room from one end to the other, head moving in one line with his body, Tony cautiously stepped around the corner, trying to keep his back as close to the wall as possible. No shadows were moving in the kitchen, there was no-one by the stairs and the lights upstairs were off. The light was coming from the lamp by the couch and a man was sitting in the chair next to it. Tony let out an annoyed sigh and the tension on his face eased. The man's arms were stretched on the armrests like he belonged there. The tails of his white shirt just about covered the pockets of his black denims and his thinning hair had a greyish shade in this light. Now there's a surprise.

Tony straightened his back and folded his arms. "What the hell are you doing in my house, Jack?"

"Michelle let me in." Jack replied in an even voice. "Two days ago."

Tony let out a bitter laugh. "What, are you screwing my wife?"

"Don't be stupid."

Tony grinned, then turned his back on Jack. "Where is she, anyway? You just been keeping her company in my absence, hmm?" he leered, heading to the alcohol cabinet which was now stacked with booze. Tony grabbed a bottle of Vat69 and poured himself a hearty drink. He took a swig and already felt a little better.

Jack sat up in the chair before remarking, "In your absence? You've been out drinking, not on a business trip."

"Stay out of it, Jack!" Tony shouted. That's none of your business, Jack, and you know it damn well! He took an angry step towards Jack but held himself back. Don't let him provoke you, he told himself and added, in a little more composed voice, "You didn't answer me."

"Division sent her to Houston for a conference. She'll be back tomorrow." Jack replied calmly, then offered, gesturing towards the couch, "Sit down, Tony."

Tony remained standing. "This is my house, Jack. I don't need an invitation from you."

"Sit down anyway."

"You don't give me orders." Tony shot back. After pouring the rest of the whiskey down his throat, he asked, "What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you," Jack replied and stood, taking a couple of slow ­steps towards Tony.

"About what?"

"You know exactly what about." Jack answered, locking eyes with Tony.

Here we go again. Tony gave a small laugh, placing the empty glass on top of the cabinet. "Get off your high horse, Jack! How dare you give me lectures about how to live my life?" Jack was just two feet away and he stared at Tony with that look he usually gave suspects he was interrogating, a look that was enough to push Tony's buttons. "You think you're all better? Don't tell me you didn't need a drink or two after Teri died. Don't tell me you didn't fall into a deep, dark hole. We both know the truth, now, don't we? You wasted your life away for a long time. Distancing yourself from family and friends, nursing a death wish, the drugs with the Salazars... need I go on?" he spat.

Jack closed the gap between Tony and himself. "This isn't about me. It's about you," he said, eyes narrowed, raising a finger in Tony's face.

Tony grabbed Jack's hand and shoved it to the side. "Oh, yeah? Well, maybe we should make it about you for once, shall we?" Tony paused for just a second, hands on his hips. "I hid your little heroin habit from Kim and Chappelle and everybody else for months. I agreed to hide your ingenious sting operation. For two months, I kept the secrets from everyone, includingMichelle. You know what that earned me? Contempt, that's all. Michelle decided she couldn't trust me. She figured since I deceived her once, I could do it again. Gee, thanks, Jack."

Anger flashed in Jack's eyes for a moment but his voice came out controlled. "My heroin habit was part of the job, as was the need to keep the mission profile to ourselves. It was the only way to keep it contained and you know that just as we-"

"Well Michelle sure didn't like it when she found out." Tony interjected.

Jack raised his voice. "She would have gotten over it eventually. Michelle has always understood the game. She knew what the job demanded, she proved it when she went back to Saunders to make the exchange. You screwed up your relationship with her on your own, you didn't need my help."

"Go to hell." Tony growled, kneeing Jack in the abdomen. "Bastard." Grabbing Jack's face with his left hand, he pushed him away and towards the wall, giving himself space to act and landed a hard blow on Jack's cheekbone. Jack reacted quickly to Tony's next attempt and blocked Tony's arm as the fist came flying towards him, subsequently returning the favor and punching Tony's temple. A black curtain formed before Tony's eyes, and he blindly threw his whole weight forward, crushing into Jack. Jack's arms tightened around Tony's body and before Tony could push him into the wall, Jack slammed their foreheads together. The pain that flared inside Tony's skull made him lightheaded for a moment, but now there was no turning back. He'd kill the bastard if he had to. He got a hold of Jack again and put all his strength into grabbing him. Swiping a leg to Jack's feet, he pulled it back, hooked his calf with Jack's, at the same time hanging his weight on Jack's neck to get him on the ground. They wrestled just a few seconds, then both of them landed on the floor, Tony first, Jack second. Each refusing to let go of the other, they rolled over on impact, eventually making half a turn, Tony ending up on top of Jack. Sitting on Jack's chest, Tony hit him in the face. The punch slammed Jack's head against the floor and split his lip so that blood spurted from it. Leaning in, Tony pressed his forearm against Jack's throat. "Shut up, Jack!" He knew he was choking Jack, but only pressed his whole body down harder, energized by anger and hatred. "Shut up!"

Jack grabbed Tony's arm with both his hands, causing Tony to lean in even more. While holding Tony's arm with one hand, he suddenly led his right arm up, striking Tony's chin with the lower part of his palm, sending Tony's head back. As the pressure on his throat eased ever so slightly for a second, he lifted Tony's arm and, sitting up, pushed Tony's chest back, far enough to tightly wrap his legs around Tony's shoulders. Finally, he peeled Tony off and threw him to the ground.

Son of a bitch! Tony cursed inwardly as he landed on his rear, but, having been almost constantly drunk for the past days, he wasn't exactly in the best fighting shape. He tried to get up but before he could, Jack's fist came flying towards him. Tony reacted just a split second too late, missing the right timing to block Jack's arm. The blow cut the skin above his left eye, in the same place it had been cut mere days earlier, and sent him flat on the ground. His eyes closed involuntarily and that's when he knew he'd lose the fight. Again. Like back at CTU. Even before he opened them again, he felt Jack grab both his arms, press them against his chest and turn him to his stomach. Jack then twisted Tony's arms behind his back, and placed one knee on it. "It's over, Tony, calm down."

"Screw you, Jack! You don't tell me what-"

"Relax."

"JACK!" Tony struggled to get away from Jack's grip but as he did, the pain in his arms only got more intense.

"Relax, Tony."

"Son of a bitch." Both Jack's and his own weight pressed on Tony's aching chest, only adding to the pain from the other bruises that still hadn't completely faded away. His head felt like a rubber ball already inflated with too much air but still connected to the pump, and Tony decided his best bet was to give up before it exploded. Lying still, he stopped resisting Jack. "Fine." he finally muttered. Oh hell, my head. Damn.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."Get the hell off me.

"All right," Jack whispered, and Tony felt the pressure on his back ease slightly. Jack waited a couple more seconds, and then let go off Tony, standing up. While waiting for Tony to do the same, he glanced at the sleeve of his white shirt. A few small stains and a smear of blood were already on it; he pressed it against his bleeding lip.

Tony first slowly rose to his knees. He touched his cheek instinctively. Blood was trickling down it and he wiped it off with the back of his hand.Bastard. Comes into my house to give me orders. The least I owed him was a broken ankle. Then he staggered up, still dizzy from the fight, the headache, the hangover, all of it at the same time.Barely looking at Jack, before turning away, he simply said, "Get the hell out. NOW!"

"To-"

"GET OUT JACK! I'm not telling you again!" Tony yelled and headed to the closest bathroom.

Jack stayed put for a little while still, even after Tony had slammed shut the bathroom door. "Son of a bitch." he swore under his breath, again cleaning up his lip. "Damn it, Tony."

He waited a little while longer, listening to the water flowing in the bathroom. "Great. Just great." He looked around briefly, then grabbed his jacket from the couch, picked up his case from the floor and headed for the door.

--

Tony was standing in front of the mirror, a fluffy blue towel wrapped around his hips. He combed his hair back with his fingers for the tenth time, took the shaver from the wash basin but put it back again, ran his fingers through his hair again. What are you doing? She's not gonna be here any time soonAt that, he shook his head, and let the water run. And it's not like your appearance is gonna make any difference, not with the things you've gotta say. The black stubble that had been a protective layer on his face until minutes ago obeyed gravity and the running water, whirling down the drain. With it disappeared the drunken bum off the street from two hours ago and in his place now stood a decent human being again, at least on the outside. Thanks to chemistry, Tony's headache had also lessened to the point of tolerability: one more step towards improvement, despite the bruises. Carefully, Tony passed a hand over his face, wincing as he reached the huge bruise on the now naked cheekbone. Damn you, Jack.

He gave his eyebrow a critical look. At least the bleeding stopped. And the shower had helped calm his nerves. Well, there's still time to rest before she gets here. We do need to talk. Tony sighed, and, switching off the light, headed straight to his bedroom. How often have I told her to keep Jack out of this? Ten times? Twenty? And yet, every once in a while, he just materializes out of nowhere and thinks he knows better.

Without ado, he crawled into the bed and let out a contented breath. After having spent days outside, to be able to sink into a soft mattress and sleep engulfed by fresh sheets was the Olymp of comfort. "Life's small pleasures..." he whispered to himself while he pulled the bed cover closer. "Ya never know what ya got 'till it's gone."

He rolled his eyes and grinned at the over the top wisdom of his words. It's just a bed, get a grip. He turned to the side and closed his eyes. Michelle, he thought, I need to talk to her about Esther, too. Robin... He set me up for a reason.

Yeah but if you do, you're gonna have to explain everything from day one. She won't understand.

Maybe she will.

Maybe she won't.

I destroyed the camera. Whatever they were planning, they screwed up.

He turned in bed to lie on his other side. Well, they did get me fired. That succeeded. Bastards. As for Michelle, we'll see when she gets here.

--

The ringing phone woke him in the early morning; but by the time he'd picked up the receiver, the caller had hung up. The caller ID didn't show and Tony was just about to replace the phone when it rang again. This time he recognized the number and numbly stared at the display for three seconds. Well, it'd be better if I just told her right now. Just in case Robin did get something off that camera.

"Yeah." he finally picked up and waited. How'm I gonna say this without it sounding like I did something wrong? They're the idiots, she has to understand that.

The first thing that greeted him on the other end was slight hesitation, then Michelle's voice. "Tony?"

The tone of it suddenly irked him. His resolve to talk to her flew out the window and he snapped, "Yeah. Whom did you expect? Jack? I threw him out."

He heard her let out a sigh. Then her high heels klicked on a hard surface a few times and he imagined her walk to some secluded corner somewhere to have some privacy before she spoke again. "What happened?"

"What did you think would happen?" he asked, while moving to the kitchen, then stopping in the door frame and turning back again, as if she were standing in front of him and he was confronting her. "We didn't quite part in the friendliest of ways."

Michelle sighed again, and then leaned against the wall behind her, rubbing her forehead as if she had a headache coming. She closed her eyes. Through the phone, Tony heard a woman's voice welcome passengers on board Continental Airlines and announcing that Flight 1595 to Los Angeles was now ready for boarding. Marginally, he noted that Michelle was still in Houston; it would take her hours to get back.She called to see if her plan had worked. She was still quiet, though, so he eventually added, "In fact, I don't ever wanna see Jack again."

He moved deeper into the kitchen and grabbed a blue mug from a cupboard. She isn't even trying to deny she sent him. The mug still in hand, Tony turned to stare out the window, as if just beyond the dawning day lay Houston, only a heartbeat away. Why the hell isn't she saying anything?

He gave her a couple more seconds, but then gave in to his sarcastic devil. "Isn't this the part where you tell me I should stop pushing people away, I tell you to stay out of it, and then you hang up the phone?"

She seemed to gasp momentarily but then replied, "Fine, I'll give you part of that," and cut the connection.

"Right," Tony mumbled. Well, I didn't think she'd do it. I was wrong.

He rubbed his cheek with one hand as if he'd just been slapped, then sighed before placing the phone onto the kitchen table. The black clock on the wall told him it was only 6:11 a.m. I could go back to bed, he thought, staring at the clock for a few seconds before dismissing the thought. He put his hands on the back of the chair in front of him, leaning on it slightly.

I should have told her about Esther.

Not in the mood she was in. She would have thought you cheated on her and are trying to lie your way out of it... And telling her you were fired, over the phone? Not an option.

Yeah, it's just gonna have to wait, he concluded, heaving a sigh and opening the refrigerator.

The light inside the six-feet tall fridge had been broken for a while, but Tony hadn't bothered to replace it and Michelle didn't care to call the Kenmore guy either. All that stared back at Tony from the half-darkness inside were a couple cartons of juices, a bottle of milk, a few jars and three or four pre-cooked microwaveable dishes Michelle must have bought since he hadn't been home too often lately; and even if he had been, he hadn't really cooked for her in months.

Tony closed the fridge again. Time to get out of here. She's not gonna be back until the evening anyway. She's gonna go to Division first when she lands in LA. They're waiting for her. And I could use some fresh air.

That's how he'd made up his mind. He'd slipped into his clothes and disappeared from the neighborhood for the day. He'd planned on coming back the same evening, but somehow he'd passed out in the SUV after that last bar that he'd been to had closed its doors behind him. In the morning, he figured Michelle was at work anyway, and he wanted to sober up before he could talk to her, so he didn't rush to return home. Eventually, he took a cab, not wanting to risk a DUI charge; the thought of cops handling him apalled him enough to keep him reasonable. The cab driver cursed at Tony under his breath because Tony didn't include a tip, but who cared; Tony felt he needed his cash for other things right now. As the angry cab squealed away, Tony looked around. Michelle's car wasn't there, but then again, he didn't expect it to be; she would come home from work in a couple of hours, just time enough for him to settle down and relax a little. He went inside.

He neatly hung his jacket on the rack this time, and put his keys on the sideboard without barely making a sound. He noted the sideboard had recently been wiped clean. Michelle must have had a cleaning fit last night as she got home. It wouldn't be the first time; she did that sometimes when she needed to distract herself. About to head into the living room, he glanced at the floor, noticing two pairs of his shoes that were were neatly sitting next to each other on a rug, but none of Michelle's were there. Glancing up on the rack again, he only now realized that the only jackets and coats hanging from it were his own. Suddenly, an awkward feeling overcame him, a feeling he didn't dare put into words. Almost frightened, he pushed himself forward, stepping into the living room.

The latest few issues of L.A. Times lay stacked on the glass table, waiting for him to browse through them. The remote control sat on top of them. The table was just as perfectly dusted as the sideboard. The red glass vase that he'd bought for Michelle a while back and that had stood in the middle of the table for months was gone. He couldn't remember it breaking; it had still been there when he'd last left the house. He curled the fingers of both his hands into fists as he glanced around the room, slowly leading his eyes from the floor up the wall ahead, and then across towards the study, not daring move his head along with his eyes. What he feared didn't seem to be true: the photos of him and Michelle that lined the walls and almost covered all the flat surfaces in the room were still there. Tony let out a breath he'd been holding. Maybe she did happen to break the vase.

But then his eyes returned to one prominent spot on the wall - one that now stood as empty as he was beginning to feel inside; their best, 11x14 inch sized wedding photo was gone. Tony now began to feel a tightness in his chest. He rushed across the room to the study, ripping the door open. A census of the book shelves would have come up with half the number than usual, Michelle's desk was one clean surface, so he didn't even bother to walk up to it to check if the drawers were empty, too; by now, he was sure they were.

He began to feel dizzy. The palms of his hands began to sweat. Ignoring both, Tony raced across the house. He ran up the stairs. He burst straight into Michelle's bedroom. There were no sheets on the bed. The furniture was as bare as Michelle's desk in the study. The room seemed lonely. It seemed deserted. The truth was dawning on him by now but he refused to accept it. He stepped up to the closet and opened all of its six doors, two by two.

His clothes were still there.

Michelle's were not.

The gaping void stared back at him as if laughing at him. "You screwed up, you idiot. You failed."

No. No, no, no, she didn't, he thought, backing up towards the bed. She didn't.

The emptiness seemed to threaten to swallow him. He took one more step back. And another. The next step sent him backwards to the bed and he half fell, half sat down on the mattress. His breaths became short and shallow. His throat tightened, his chest hurt; he was running out of air, as if suffocating. The feeling was too well known, too much like the panic attacks he had been suffering from, except, this time, there was no blur, no blindness, no tunnel vision, no fear of death; there was simple pain and pure shock. Tony grasped his throat, opened his mouth to breathe; no air came in. Sweat protruded from his pores. Suddenly sitting upright, he gasped, forcing his throat to open. When he finally managed to take a breath he thankfully realized he wasn't going to die.

He didn't blink for a full minute while his breathing normalized and his eyes stared seemingly into nothingness. Then he remained seated for another five, unable to even formulate a coherent thought. Finally, he became aware of an aching heel, realizing he must have hit it as he bumped into the bed, and as he moved his leg, he noticed he was sitting on something. Reaching for it, he produced a large, yellow envelope. Oh, no.

Weakly, he placed it onto his knees. "Tell me this isn't what I know it is," he whispered.

An eternity later, movements as slow as if he were opening a letter containing his death sentence, Tony reached inside the envelope, feeling for the smooth, firm paper it contained. He wanted to close his eyes as he pulled the photographs out, but couldn't. The material had been printed in color, the resolution was nearly perfect, and there he was, in the break room, kissing Esther Wagner.

Defeated and empty, he looked at the remaining "documentation". The photographs told a simple story and while looking at them, Tony imagined Michelle doing the same, her eyes welling up, tears rolling down her cheeks. This was probably what she had been waiting for, the proof that he didn't love her any more, that the Tony she had known had fallen for someone else, that she could leave and start a new life without him now; that what the Tony that had told her to hang up the phone had really meant was that he was about to turn his back on her; that a blonde, bosomy chick was all it took to make him throw away what he and Michelle had had, and Michelle was much too strong to stand by and watch. She had wanted explanations from him - this turned out to be one, even if completely untrue.

She didn't even leave a note. Guess I wasn't really worth it.

Tony let the papers fall to the floor and put his head in his hands.

They got what they wanted. They destroyed everything I had.

His thoughts didn't go any further than that. The pain he felt was blocking any further processing of the facts. It was too frightening to think about how he would manage to live without Michelle, it was too preposterous to think he could make her come back, too futile to hope she'd find out the truth on her own. But he did slowly begin to realize he'd lost her. He wanted to cry. Yet his eyes remained dry, like tears were as much in shock as he was.

A long time later, he abruptly stood and began to hastily look for something in the closet. He didn't find it, but he found a piece of paper torn out of a notebook and on it, he recognized Michelle's handwriting.

His hands trembled as he held unfolded the paper and read the note.

"Dear Tony,

If you're looking for this, I guess it means you do still love me. Or maybe that you feel too sorry for yourself to think about what it would do to me if you died. Please don't do it. Only cowards take their own lives and you're not a coward, Tony, you've never been. Never.

But I honestly don't know who you are any more, sweetheart, and I can't take it any longer.

Please don't do this. Live your life. Let me live mine.

I will always love you, Tony. Always. But I just can't stay." The last word was smudged, the paper wrinkled in that spot. The note ended with a simple plea.

"Please let me go.

Love always,

'Chelle."

He read it over but he already knew it by heart. He subconsciously moved a finger to where her tear had fallen as if caressing the only thing that was left of her with him.

'you're not a coward, Tony'

No, I'm not. I'm not a coward. But what have I got left?

Every word he read tore a hole in his heart, and yet, those last three words could have been hope. The way she signed the note. He was the only one to call her that. The last three words. They could mean something. Or not.

While he stood in the heartless bedroom, lost in emptiness, he folded the paper neatly and put it in his chest pocket, close to his heart. Could he dare hope?

'Please let me go. '

He would. He'd respect her wish. Even if he fell apart. He leaned on the wall, slowly sliding down to the floor. Knees pulled to his chest, placed a palm on his breast pocket, feeling the note again and closed his eyes, wishing the world would remain black like this forever.

The End