Ok- either this will work or it won't at all. I'm not sure which- but if I've done it wrong it will be awful. Please review. I'm not sure whether or not to continue- this part was really hard.

Thanks

"Michelle..." Awkward pause, what was he supposed to say? I'm sorry you're divorcing your husband because of me? Was that even a logical line of thought? Probably not. Fingers itch to rub at his arm, knowing what's concealed under the shirt.

Her breathing is annoyed, her pose irritated, a defensive glare in her eyes, she's ready for a fight. Hardly surprising, he accused her with having an affair with her boss; interesting thought- so many memories tied to that that he loses focus for an instant. Hatred, anger, pain, all of it there again, hollow eyes fixed upon him, empty, the metal of his gun strangely warm in his hands, a surprising contrast to the coldness creeping inside of him. She was empty, had been before he shot her, had been for as long as he'd known her, even when he was sleeping with her.

And her eyes weren't so different from Michelle's, empty, angry, painful. But somehow Michelle's evoke more emotion from him than Nina's ever did, the aura of vulnerability that she unknowingly exudes provoking a response greater than he had expected.

Not that it was possible for her to evoke less of a response than Nina did, he refused to let himself feel anything where she was concerned, that was far too dangerous, too many conflicting emotions.

She's still standing there, he realises that he ought to say something, his mind is blank of the thoughts that had called him to call her name, his throat sucked dry.

"I'm sorry- about yesterday. I was wrong, I'm sorry." His voice sounded strong, hard, it was Jack Bauer's voice. He just wasn't sure where it came from, how he was still able to maintain those same tones in a level voice that was anything but what he felt.

Nothing, no response, same anger in her eyes, same irritation in her pose. Why won't they just let her forget, even for an instant. She doesn't need to be reminded of it every 2 seconds, she knows what she's done.

They stand there for a second, locked inside the unenviable pain they both have. He's the one who breaks the stand off, forcing eye contact, forcing himself to look into her pain, somehow missing the fact that there was an equal amount of pain mirrored in his own eyes.

She sees this and softens slightly, anger melting- leaving her with just the numbing pain and exhaustion.

"Why? I don't understand why. It wasn't that bad." Surely it can't have been that bad.

His last comment was lost on her, something in his stance catching her attention. The way her held his head, the fact that he held one arm slightly behind him, as if attempting to hide it, the way he curled his fingers, as if holding them back.

Her mind knew what this meant, and although she knew she ought to feel something, she didn't. It was as if she was incapable of feeling anything else.

Her fingers, quicker than her mind, rested themselves upon his arm, right on top of where she knew a puncture mark was hidden under a sleeve. The warmth of his skin through the thin shirt surprised her. She hadn't felt that since Tony, since he had his arms wrapped about her, telling her that this didn't matter, that none of this mattered, that she was safe, that that was all that mattered. Guilt, fresh waves of it enveloped her. If that was all that mattered, why wasn't she still with him, why were her fingers grasping at Jack, sinking in his warmth rather than that of her husband?

He flinched, her touch was gentle, but he wasn't sure what she was doing, that was until her fingers settled, finding the slightly swollen place on his arm where a needle had spent a short amount of time imbedded in him, breaking the 2 months of being clean, bringing back the nothingness that he needed.

Neither of them said anything- neither of them could. Frozen in himself, icy fear tracing his spine in a way it never had before. She suddenly had a power over him that he hadn't experienced before. She could destroy him.

His daughter was sat in the next room, his boss upstairs, Michelle knew everyone and everything in his life that was important to him, not that there was a lot left, but her intuition had somehow found the one thing that could destroy him.

He cocked his head at her, waiting for her response, not betraying his fear. She didn't respond, eyes lost somewhere beyond him as she considered the incredible way that life had of destroying everything that you worked so hard to build up.

Voice level, despite the pain, eyes unfocused, not aiming her comment at anyone in particular, seduced by the thought she voiced. "It wouldn't hurt. You'd just close your eyes and they'd be gone." Fingers traced her temple, pushing back the images she'd been haunted by since the night she went home and realised what had happened.

Then, levelling her eyes on Jack, but still devoid of any clarity, she whispered, "I shot a man. In the back. His wife...I...I killed him. All those people...Gael...I gave cyanide pills to children. How can I ever make up for that? And Tony? What am I supposed to do? It doesn't make sense any more. I don't know which way is up, I don't even know if there is an up any more. And I can hear them. I killed them, but they're still here."

She was crumbling, her grip on his arm fierce even as she fell apart. He understood. There hadn't been anything to trigger this, but then there didn't need to be. She was already so far gone, realising what he had done had just cracked her.

Still mesmerised by the idea of the nothingness Jack had spent the previous night hiding in, she didn't move, no tears, no shallowness of breathing, just emotion pouring from her that she couldn't even begin to deal with.

She was in his arms before she even realised that she was still there, that she had said those things to him. He held her tightly, but she didn't respond, alien in his arms. This wasn't her life, surely this couldn't be her life.

"I just...I need him Jack. I can't do this. Why isn't he here? I can't..." Breathe. Simple, just breathe. "I'm never getting him back. Twenty years-minimum. I can't... I just can't."

What could he say. She couldn't, neither could he. "I know." He did, that was why it hurt so much.

He let her go, turned, left. He couldn't be here any more. This place was destroying him. He'd spent last night high, too afraid to face tomorrow without it. He just couldn't. Just like her.