A/N: Thank you for your reviews. The end of Jack's suffering will come. Eventually... Hang tight. We have the last 10 chapters (this one included).
The first week had passed slowly, with only his sister's visits to break the monotony of his days spent watching a too small TV, reading books he couldn't remember the moment he closed them and being poked, prodded and generally cared for by doctors and nurses. The end of the first week had been marked by Allie's visit. He had seen her at his mother's funeral but she had made herself scarce, probably trying to work up the courage to confront him. She had not even called when he was first injured but had been kept in the loop by her mother who had called almost daily his mom. A couple of weeks before he would have probably thought that he didn't blame her but lately… he had not been feeling so forgiving. They had spent the better part of their lives together, for heaven's sake! She should have been with him, beside him since the beginning of his nightmare, not being… well, anywhere else and only asking about him like he was one of her father's poker buddies, like he was no one. She should have stuck around… like Sue, like Bobby, like his whole team. Even Garrett had visited him twice at the hospital in DC and had been calling him once a week since the shootout. So, when she had sat beside his bed, awkward smile on her face and pity in her eyes, he had given her the cold shower and when she had started to get annoyed at his behaviour he had chased her off, for good. She had not called or visited since. Maybe he should have felt guilty but he hadn't. On the contrary, he had felt a deep satisfaction at seeing her cheeks flush with anger then pale with incredulity when he had told her in no uncertain terms what he thought of her behaviour and what she could do with her pity. Yeah, deep satisfaction. That had been the highlight of his stay in the Wisconsin hospital. Since then he had found out a new, very efficient way of passing the time: sleeping. He slept through his family's visits, through some sponge baths, through two visits of the resident psychologist. At the third one the man woke him up to talk to Jack about PTSD, depression, anti-depressants, therapy… same old same old. Jack let him talk, trying to will himself to sleep in spite of the man's nasal voice until the psychologist suggested to speak to his friends and family. That forced him to open his eyes to glare at the man and to speak to him in a voice hoarse for lack of use. The effort had not been in vain. He was sure that the psychologist had left his room with the clear idea in mind that contacting his friends and family about his supposed depression would have been a bad idea. The psychologist returned two more times but he ignored him both times, feigning sleep until the real things came. There, there was nothing. No pity, no pain, no hope. And he was good with that.
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No one of the team had been able to go to Wisconsin to pick him up so Jack had flown on the wheelchair, accompanied by a nurse.
Bobby was waiting at the airport with a big smile on his face. Dear ol' Bobby. He was like a faithful dog. You could rage against him, you could hit him but he would always return, wagging his tail, waiting for more, good or bad.
"Ehi, Sparky!" The Australian greeted him enthusiastically with a hearty pat on the back. "How are you, mate? You sure look better. The others are at the office. They'd like to see you. If you feel up to it we could stop at the Bureau for a minute before going to your apartment."
"And being exposed to the pitying stares of the whole building? No, thanks. I want to go home. Now." Jack was startled by his own words. Not long ago he wouldn't have spoken to Bobby this way, he wouldn't have told those things out loud. It was like these last few months had removed the filter between his brain and his mouth. And he didn't care one bit.
"There would be no pit…" The Australian protested.
"Save it." Jack interrupted him. "We both know I'm right. I just want to go home and sleep. I'm tired."
Bobby was clearly upset but nodded in acquiescence. Good, faithful Bobby.
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Home sweet home. Jack entered in his apartment and noted that everything was as he had left it but that someone had cleaned up the place. He felt already more relaxed, knowing that from now on he didn't have to pretend with anyone that everything was just peachy. He let his gaze wander. "Or maybe not…"
"What are your things doing in my living room?" Jack hollered toward his bedroom where Bobby had gone to put Jack's luggage.
"What do you mean?" The Australian asked back, returning to the living room, a puzzled expression on his face. "Your doctor said that you needed someone with you in the beginning, until you'll get better. So, I'll stay here. I thought you'd…"
"Whatever. I'm going to bed." Jack wheeled away to his room but was forced to call for Bobby to get in bed. Great.
