4AM by Lika
Monday
The divorce papers were in the desk drawer. She had dropped them in there as if they had burnt her hand and then she slammed the door shut. That was eight thirty eight in the evening, fifty four seconds after she ripped open the envelope Tony's lawyer had given her. It was wasn't until now, an hour and a half before her alarm was set to go off, that she wished she had lit a match and set the papers on fire.
Tuesday
She got up early to shower, dress, and do her hair. Her clothes were carefully pressed and her riotous curls neatly tied in a tight bun at the back of her neck. The apartment was clean, the laundry was folded and tucked in their proper places, the sink scrubbed and empty, with no dishes left hanging on the draining rack beside it. She had dried and put the dishes away right after she had washed them. Her hands were still, her eyes were alert, and her socks matched. It had been this way since Tony was taken. She had to prove to CTU, Tony, and herself that she hadn't given up on her husband.
She stopped by the desk drawer after she left the washroom and stared at it for a moment. Then she decided that she was going to push productivity at work and find the manufacturers of the Cordilla virus even if it meant everyone at CTU had to spend the entire night there, and headed to the kitchen to make coffee.
Wednesday
She was leaving CTU after another sleepless but successful night. Brad Hammond sent his congratulations to her personally. She gritted her teeth but thanked him politely. She didn't know who she had hated more: Brad for thinking what a wonderful person she was for putting the country and her job above her husband, or herself, because she almost believed he was right.
Thursday
She woke up with the blood, the screams, and the panic of the Plaza Hotel in her mind. People with bleeding noses, people with boils all over their bodies, people wailing, people running up and down the halls shrieking, people having to be pushed and pulled into the "dying section", people coming forward to swallow pills, people taken out in body bags, one after another, the blood that came coming and the boils that filled her peripheral views and the bullets that tore the man's back that she shot at and corpses everywhere that never got a chance to say good-bye.
You bitch. You just couldn't let him talk to his wife, when you could talk to your husband.
It's ridiculous that a part of her believed her inability to talk to Tony right now was part of her punishment.
Friday
She kept replaying that day in her mind, changing the details so the outcome would be different. She realizing the car that pulled up next to the County van belonged to Saunders's men and calling CTU. They would have taken her anyways, but Tony would not have been put in the position he was in. Tony telling Jack about her kidnapping, and they were able to catch Saunders as he left the building, followed by her rescue where she left without a scratch, and no one could call Tony a traitor because CTU knew about it from the start. Tony allowing her to be mutilated and killed, and Saunders caught. The test results came back positive and she died in the hotel.
The last two would leave Tony devastated, but at least they would both be free from this guilt that seemed, in many ways, worse than death.
Saturday
It didn't seem fair to her. Especially when she remembered drunk drivers who killed people and got five years, or child molesters who got only three, and here was Tony, who had worked so hard for his country and done so much for it, treated as if he was a serial killer or a trigger-happy bomber who wanted his country to suffer. No one even suffered because of Tony's deed. They could have – oh, millions could have, and because of a federal agent, a federal agent who had sworn to protect his country. Damn you, Tony. Why couldn't you have told Jack or Chloe? But she can't say she would have if she had been in his shoes. Another sudden urge to slap the face of Hammond cursed through her body. How dare he be so arrogant about Tony and when as far as she's concerned, he had never been in that situation? She agreed Brad was right but he didn't have to be so fucking arrogant about it.
She tried to bite back the bile, gall, and bitterness that was climbing up her throat, and wondered how much longer she could work at CTU like this.
Sunday
She rolled onto Tony's side of the bed and for a good hour, just wished he were there.
Monday
She woke up replaying the day in her mind again, changing the details and wishing she could be living in those outcomes instead of the one she was in right now. She did this until the comfort went out of it and she was forced to acknowledge how badly Tony screwed up and was solely responsible for the misery they were in.
Stop it! You're stronger than this!
She decided to spend an extra half an hour on her hair to make sure not a tendril of curl escapes her tight bun and to push CTU productivity again.
Tuesday
She was driving home from CTU, and for a while allowed herself to remember similar rides home after an all-nighter when Tony was sitting next to her. She hadn't been able to indulge in that luxury for a long time. The memory brought no nostalgic joy or remembered peace, just the taste of ashes in her mouth. She tried to remember the tired contentment that often accompanied them on their rides home together, a touch on the arm or the entwining of fingers that sometimes happened. An image of Tony being taken away in handcuffs came to her mind instead, and she tasted ashes.
Wednesday
CTU called her in early to direct a pressing matter, and she realized she could not do this anymore. She went in anyways, got the job done, and left in the evening after handing in her resignation.
Thursday
She thought about Ryan Chappelle. A pain in the ass if there ever was one, cared more about reputation than looking for the truth, but he allowed for the suicide pills to be sent to the hotel, and he was the only one in CTU to give her a much needed hug after Tony was shot. She may not have liked him much, but she wished he didn't have to die. She wondered how he felt before Jack shot him. He must have been scared. He was the type to tell other people to make sacrifices and accept the consequences of their job, but seemed unwilling follow that advice himself. And yet, I miss the little bastard right now.
Friday
She got up out of bed to write him a letter.
"Tony,
I can understand why you sent me the divorce papers, but I'm not signing it. I already told you I'm not giving up on you."
Her mind dictated the letter faster than her fingers was able to write it down.
We're stronger than that, sweetheart. I love you. I miss you so much. I hate every day that passes in which you're not here. I hate you're miserable in prison and I'm miserable here. I hate that you were put in this situation that had no other outcome than our misery. I hate that you didn't involve CTU in this. I hate that I told you not to let them get away with this and you didn't listen.
Tony, I specifically asked you not to let them do this! Don't you understand how angry I am with you for not listening? We could have lost Saunders and the virus would have killed millions of people. Do you understand how much I hate you that you put me over the security of our country that we both swore to protect? That you were willing to sacrifice the lives of innocent just for one person? I'm a federal agent and I've accepted the fact that I could be tortured and killed for my job. I was not a civilian like Teri. If Saunders killed me, you knew I would still love and forgive you. You saved my life because you couldn't live without me. That was treason, Tony! It was for you, not me, and I want so badly to hate you for that and tell you that you deserve your fate as a traitor, and I can't because you love me so very much.
The thing I really hate, Tony, is that if the situation were reverse, if I was in your position, I probably would have let them kill you, and it makes me believe that I love you less than you love me—
She grabbed the letter, with only the two lines written down, and savagely ripped it to pieces. Taking a deep breath, she wiped at the tears on her cheeks and opened the desk drawer, staring at the divorce papers for almost ten seconds.
Saturday
Reliving the hotel again, the wailing, suffering, and decaying bodies overwhelmed her. She saw Gael refusing suicide and Phillip asking to speak to his wife. She wondered if she would ever stop seeing that devastated look in Phillip's eyes after she refused his request. He had been so helpful to her throughout the ordeal, and in return she told him he had to die without even the small comfort of his wife's voice over the phone.
I can't take this anymore.
Sunday
She slept. All it took was a couple of valiums.
Monday
She had nightmare.
Saunders had Tony and asked her to order the guards out of the back of the building. "I'll take his right eye out." Michelle refused his order. Saunders's men began gutting Tony's right eye, and he started screaming and screaming and Michelle heard herself screaming and screaming. "Now his left eye." More screaming, and later, more body parts being carved out. The nose, an ear, another ear, the tongue, fingers, toes. It amazed Michelle how long Tony stayed alive, how much blood he could lose and still remain conscious and screaming and she never stopped screaming once, and was still screaming when she woke up, her face in her hands, sweat pouring down her face. She tried to choke back a sob but was unsuccessful.
After that, even though she despised him for it, even though she wished to God he had put her wishes above his own, she knew she could never blame Tony for his decision.
Tuesday
She wondered about Jane Saunders. Her father told her he committed the atrocities for her. The guilt Jane must have felt and still must be feeling, the wish that it wasn't his love for her that caused him to act out like that, the knowledge that her existence was what caused him to kill people like that… Michelle wondered if she felt that, and wished she could talk to her.
Wednesday
She decided to destroy the divorce papers. It took her less than five minutes to get out of bed, pull the papers out of the desk drawer and run them through the shredder machine found in the study. It wasn't until the last sheet fell in ribbons into the recycling box under the machine that she realized how calm she felt. The anxiety and guilt was gone. The absence was only momentary, but it was enough for her then.
I'm not leaving you, Tony. Not now at least.
She turned off the light, left the study, and headed to bed.
-end of fic-