Jack crossed over the main floor and turned left into the intelligence department. He scanned the room as he always did, noticing just how many nameless faces their were to him, more new than old. A pang of guilt hit him as he thought back to the C.T.U bombing which had wiped a large amount of the old faces out. He realised that he now rarely spoke to anyone he didn't have to, either his supervisors department heads. He avoided everyone when he could.

He could still remember the time when he once knew all of their names, everyone under his command, he had seen it as a sign of respect and mutual understanding. But after a while it got too hard, the names kept changing as more people died. They were replaced too fast, he thought, and so after a while could no longer see the point of such a stupid task, nor keep up with the new faces on the scene.

He didn't realise that he had stopped walking and was staring absently into the air. It was Michelle who saw him like that and so strode over to see what his problem was this time.

"Jack?" She called, her tone a mix of annoyance and confusion.

"Yeah." He said snapping out of it and trying to act normal.

"Where you going?" She asked, she didn't see him in this area of the building unless he was passing through or looking for somebody.

"Erm, to the clinic." He said before looking around as though in a rush to leave. He didn't miss the small smirk as it formed on Michelle's curved lips.

"Why?" She tried to sound genuine but even she could hear the humour in her voice. Jack stared at her coldly, no emotion in his face.

"You know damn well why." He snapped before walking away, already taking deep breaths to control himself. She angered him so much, just what was her problem? At the end of the day her husband didn't go to jail because of his report, that was what it had came down to. He had took full responsibility for Tony's actions, and the higher ups had been only too happy with that. They hadn't expected Palmer to step in when he had. But she conveniently forgot about that when it suited her. At least Tony was fee once he was cleared, not like Jack, whom would forever be a recovering drug addict. He would always be labelled as a junkie, a has been. He was the only person suffering here, other than Gael who had paid the ultimate price. Selfish b!tch, he muttered under his breath angrily to comfort himself, before heading towards the clinic.

He made his way through the hallways until reaching the lab. Mike was waiting for him and they shook hands as they greeted each other. Jack took a seat in the leather chair and began rolling his white shirt sleeve up revealing his tattoo from Mexico, the usual procedure. He looked away as Mike extracted his blood. He hated this, it was a reminder of what he once was, of what he had given up for his country, what he had wasted. He was mad at Division for making him do it, although it was protocol. But normal circumstances stated that after three months of recurring blood tests and completing rehab it would stop.

But after those three months Jack had been kindly informed that he was a special case, because of the fact that he had been a drug addict in C.T.U for over a month and nobody noticed. They feared that he would start up again right under their noses.

Didn't the fact that he had been clean for over five months mean anything? Did they even know how hard he had worked to do so, to get his life back on track? He guessed not. If they knew just how hard it had been to get the drug out of his head then maybe they wouldn't have changed the rules for him. 12 months, he thought, what a joke.

Mike finished and gave Jack a cotton bud to hold onto the spot where the needle had entered his skin while he ran to check it through. He left him alone to take the sample to the lab, he and Jack had created some sort of routine. He knew that when he returned Jack would have already left. He never stayed to wait for the results, he knew they would be clear. Mike smiled as he returned to the room, Jack gone as he had assumed. He picked up the phone to call Hammond with the news of another clear result. No drugs.

Jack was already back in his office unrolling his shirt sleeve back down. He looked at his arm and noticed the bruise from the injection coming through. He buttoned his cuff to make sure it would stay unnoticed, he didn't want people getting the wrong idea about the mark on his arm... as Kate had.

He could remember the day Kate showed up unexpected at his door. She had herd his name mentioned on the news with information about some deadly virus some weeks ago. She had put off the visit to him for as long as she could before giving in to her conscience, and going to see if he was all right. She had also herd about his addiction and how he had completed rehab in record time, through her fathers connections in the government. She didn't know what to make of it, but decided that if he was no longer an addict it didn't matter.

So when she saw the bruise and mark on his upper arm that day he led her into the house she had locked eyes with it for a second too long, before slowly backing away out of the door before and turning to run away. She was shocked. He had already cracked and given back into it. Jack had called after her, asking her to let him explain. But she didn't want to hear it.

He was angry at her for that, he shouldn't have to explain anything to anyone. He was clean, if people didn't trust him then fine, but that was their problem, not his. Although he told himself what she thought she knew didn't matter, her reaction still hurt. She no longer had any faith or trust in him, just like everybody else it seemed.

The phone rang and Jack wanted to pull the line out, but instead answered it calmly. It was ChloƩ, she had just ran one of the groups through the database. The Cords, a small time gang here in LA. The last known doss house of theirs was only a few miles away. Jack thanked her and hung up the phone, not before telling her to post him out, he was going to go give them a visit. He opened his locker and pulled out his holster, attaching it to his waistband before grabbing his gun - his one true friend - all he had left.