"Time to shut down, Mr. Bristow."

"No!" shouted Jack, attempting to quell his panic. "Just a couple more minutes." He couldn't lose it.  He needed to trace this future back, find the divergent path…

"Sir, you know the time limits are important."

Jack pulled his gun and aimed it at the technician. "Don't. Touch. Anything." The technician fled the room. He lay back again, holding onto the memory. Follow it backwards…to the critical point in the timeline where it diverged from the others…there.  17 months out.

"Sir, I have reports of hostile infiltration in the basement."

"What's the size of the team?"

"Small, but they appear to be heavily armed. Security protocol is for us to evacuate you and Il Dire immediately by helicopter. Sloane's orders."

"I'm staying." Jack felt a thrill. That was it. If he stayed…he looked forward a little more.

 Searing pain burned through Jack's body as he spun and fell to the ground. He felt a burst of warmth and looked down to see bright red blood gushing out of his chest. The bullet must have nicked an artery, Jack thought hazily to himself, futilely groping to put pressure on it to stem the bleeding. He heard shouts around him, and running feet, before being swallowed by darkness.

Darkness? he thought with alarm.  Darkness.

He skipped all the way forward again, 18 months out. "This is officer 2300844, calling for connection."

And back. Darkness.

"Jack."

Jack looked around in a daze, and saw the technician had returned with Sloane.

"Threatening our employees is not good business practice," drawled Sloane as the technician hurried over to disconnect Jack from Il Dire. Sloane studied Jack carefully. "Anything wrong?" he asked casually.

Numbly, Jack shook his head. "I…I just needed to finish what I was doing. I guess I got a little carried away." He forced a shaky laugh. As he got up and stumbled out of the room, he could feel Sloane's gaze on him, thoughtful.

**

Do you want the good news or the bad news Bristow? Jack asked himself humorlessly during his third double scotch that night. The good news is that Sydney recovers. He toasted her long and happy life with a deep swallow, the pale nectar sliding easily down his throat. The bad news? You won't get a chance to see it. Unerringly he hurled his glass against the brick fireplace, shattering it into pieces, mingling with its predecessors.

"You have a future, Jack."  Jack laughed harshly.  There would be a future.  Just not his.  He picked up the half-empty Scotch bottle and twirled it in his hands, watching the light of the fireplace refract in seductive golden shafts through the liquid.  With an oath he raised the bottle and smashed it, too, against the fireplace.  He would survive.  As long as he needed to.