THE TIMES OF HIS LIFE

Part I

Chapter 1 -

Jack sat back from the computer, pleased with all he'd managed to write that morning. He'd found that he did best when he was fresh, breakfast over but the caffeine in his coffee still having its effect. His sharpness wasn't what it had once been, and he knew that he was far more productive before he felt the afternoon lethargy that sometimes came on.

He was only a little way into his memoirs, as he thought of them, but he knew they would never be published. He'd been encouraged to write by his psychiatrist, a man with top-secret clearance who could read Jack's story, the story of his life, and understand him better. Getting his thoughts down on paper, the doctor knew, focusing, would help Jack heal.

Jack wasn't a young man anymore, but the ghosts from his past still plagued him. His voluntary retirement from CTU left him too much time to think. Well into his sixties now, Jack had led one of the most stressful lives the doctor could ever imagine. He was surprised that Jack had been able to accomplish all that he had, especially without therapy; that he hadn't been paralyzed by his past was a testament to Jack's strength. The doctor was amazed at the number of times Jack had forced himself beyond levels of physical and emotional pain in order to accomplish his missions. Jack seemed to be the only one who didn't recognize it.

He'd finally admitted to himself that he didn't have what it takes to continue. He was mentally and physically exhausted from his years of work at CTU, and the countless injuries, psychological as well as physical, that he'd endured. The many deaths and other crises had finally worn him down to the point where he recognized that he had outlived his usefulness, that staying on at CTU would only put his people in jeopardy because he had lost his edge, his sharpness. He'd told Kim and Chase that the decision to retire hadn't been difficult after that. Not too difficult, he'd more honestly admitted to himself, but in actuality letting go had been very hard for him. It was the only life he had really ever known, and when he was being honest with himself he was afraid of the future. He didn't want time to wrestle with his demons, something he knew he'd have to face when he no longer had to give his all to his job, Director of Field Ops for CTU. Although he'd worked directly under the agency director in Washington planning all missions for CTU around the world, he was so valuable to the agency that they'd bent the rules and allowed him to stay in Los Angeles. With secure communications lines and video conferencing it hadn't really affected things, and Jack had made staying in LA a condition of accepting the position. He had lost so much in his life that he wasn't willing to be parted from Kim and his grandchildren. Soon his great-grandchildren, he remembered with a start. Kim and Chase were about to become grandparents. He couldn't believe it. He couldn't believe how the time had gone by.

Confronting his past was beyond painful at times, as the doctor had warned him, but Jack found that he derived some comfort from it, something that greatly surprised him, for he realized that all of the memories had always been with him; he'd just managed to push them out of his conscious mind. Their presence there had always weighed on him, without his really letting himself be aware of them. For that, too, he had paid a tremendous price.

Jack tried to get out of the house every afternoon for he knew that living a solitary life, with only his past to keep him occupied, would not help him focus and would only make the task of examining his life even harder. Activity would distract from his need to confront all that he had lived through. He couldn't just re-live his former life. He had to spend some time in the real world.

He took up tennis again when he retired. He'd played varsity at UCLA and he wanted to stay in shape, and tennis was a social game. So he had joined a league and soon advanced to the top team. His natural athleticism came through despite the long time it had been since he had played, and he had never lost his competitive nature. It got him away from his computer twice a week, and when he occasionally saw his tennis partners for dinner and a few beers he found he enjoyed the company. He had rarely had the time for such companionship, not since the army, and he knew he needed it now. This had only served to emphasize for him how alone he had been for so much of his life, mostly by choice, and he now sometimes admitted this to himself. However, with the doctor's help he was determined to concentrate on living in the here and now while he examined his past, and he joined these men for dinner whenever he could. He knew it was good for him psychologically; even more important he knew he liked it. He was learning to let himself need things now, and to give in to those needs. He no longer had to act selflessly as he had throughout his career, and he reveled in his new-found ability to concentrate on himself.

His walkman played jazz or 70's rock when he ran four or five miles a day through his neighborhood. He still worked out frequently at the gym but he hadn't made friends there. Running, whether through the streets or on the indoor track at the health club and lifting weights weren't conducive to conversation, nor were the laps in the pool that he tried to swim every day. So tennis twice a week was good for him, in many ways.

He decided it was time for a break. He stretched as he stood up and walked from his den to his bedroom. Kim had decorated the townhouse to fit his style. It was understated without being spartan, in muted shades of blue that matched his still-bright eyes. His king-size bed had been shared all too rarely. He was still sometimes lax about his clothes, which were frequently strewn on the chair and sometimes on the floor, but he was fastidious by nature, so things didn't stay there long. Kim had showed him how to work the washer and dryer, something he hadn't bothered with before. It had always been easier to just take his clothes to a laundromat and then pick them up, all neatly folded. As he grew more domesticated, something he ruefully acknowledged had taken an inordinate amount of time, he became more comfortable with everyday chores. He still had a sinking feeling when he walked into his empty house but he had grown accustomed to loneliness. It had been his self-imposed lot throughout most of his adult life, and while he had never learned to like it he had at least made peace with it.

He was no longer in the habit of pouring himself a drink right after he came through the door. Now he usually had just a single beer with his dinner, and possibly a scotch when he later watched TV. He had always been a Dodgers fan, something he'd always taunted Tony about, for the Cubs still hadn't won a Series. The kidding had always been good-natured, though, and had gone both ways. Jack was a life-long hockey fan, and had played in a pick-up game from time to time. In fact he toyed with the idea of joining a seniors league, but so far he hadn't made the move. But the LA Kings had proved almost as hapless as the Cubs, and Tony had never stopped reminding Jack of it. So their banter had continued over the years, along with their friendship, and they tried to have dinner together once a week, something that didn't always happen because Tony was still with CTU. Tony, too, was a grandfather, and his five grandchildren were about the same ages as Jack's three. Tony and Michelle had two kids who were now happily married, and their collective girls and boys were the apples of their grandparents' eyes. They doted on their grandkids the way Jack did on his. In years past the kids had played together, splashing in Kim's backyard pool while their grandfathers prepared a barbecue. Now they were old enough to have kids of their own.

Jack thought of this as he grabbed his gym bag and set the alarm before he locked the town house and walked to his SUV. After so many years a regular passenger car had never felt right to him. He thought again how much of his retirement income was being wasted on the gas guzzler, but he had more than enough to live on, the house was fully paid off, and he could indulge himself a little.

But his main indulgence was his grandkids. Since they were little he'd loved to take them to the Santa Monica pier, reveling in their squeals of delight when they went on the rides. They were grown now, but that didn't change his need to be with them, and he was glad that they wanted him to be part of their lives. He'd managed to attend their school plays and concerts when they were little, something he'd never been able to do with Kim. No, that's not right, he thought. I never made much of an effort to do it. He'd been an absentee father in so many respects, even when he hadn't been away on missions. He'd devoted himself to CTU so completely that he'd neglected his family, a feeling that would never go away. The way he'd treated Teri and Kim, more than anything else, was his greatest regret.

When Kim's kids were born Jack had realized that he had a second chance, to see the world through young, innocent eyes, to share their wonder at things as they saw them for the first time. Imagining what things looked like to them, their responses to new experiences, was a treat he'd denied himself when Kim was young. It was an incredible feeling for him. Little lives with such great futures, he marveled. And thank God I'm here to see it. The thought of a great-grandchild filled him with happiness. He could re-live the joy he'd had with Kim's kids. It would help keep him active and young.

Such thoughts brought back memories of his life as an agent, which had caused, no, given him the excuse to focus on his work to the detriment of his family. They were memories he wished fervently to forget. But with reflection he realized that all of these events had made him the man he was, the troubled, imperfect man who had made so many bad choices in his life, who had caused so much pain to those he loved. Such thoughts revived others, buried deeper than most, that made getting out of bed so hard some mornings. He'd never been introspective, he'd never let himself be, for he had known, subconsciously, that he couldn't go on if he confronted all of the things that comprised his past. Several times he'd come close to breaking but sheer will had kept him going. It wasn't until he'd retired that he acknowledged that help was out there. He'd told himself so many times when he was younger that a man in his position couldn't indulge in the luxury that was professional therapy.

His love for Kim and for her children had led him to finally see the doctor. CTU had several psychiatrists on staff, doctors who were cleared to treat agents with overwhelming problems, but Jack had realized that there was another criterion that was at least as important: he had to feel comfortable with the man. He knew himself well enough to recognize that only someone with whom he was relaxed would make him feel that he could really open up. And it was about time he did, he finally acknowledged. All the realism and immediacy he had focused on in his professional life hadn't permitted him to seek out therapy before. An agent had to be completely burned out before he would allow himself to open up to anyone, even another agent, and that would signify the end of his career. The culture of CTU wouldn't allow the weakness that exposing one's feelings to another would mean. Any weakness was dangerous in his line of work. It could jeopardize a mission and endanger the agents involved by causing the leader self-doubt, and a loss of confidence by the agents in him. These men and women relied on Jack, first as their leader in the field, and later as the man who planned the operations that would cause them to face danger. Any sign of weakness on his part would have been devastating to their safety, so Jack had learned early on to suck it up, to exude a bravado he didn't always feel, talking himself into a self-confidence that wasn't always there. It had been necessary for his agents' survival, and for his own sanity

His job had meant making instant decisions, often relying on only his gut instincts, and he thanked God that he'd been right so many more times than he'd been wrong. It was the ops that had gone wrong that had come so close to destroying him. They had haunted him, tormented him, memories of the deaths of agents he believed he had caused, of the horrible things his job had required of him. He'd gotten the results CTU demanded so many times, but the effect on him had been more than any mere mortal could bear, and parts of him had cracked. He'd managed to sublimate almost everything, although so much had surfaced in his dreams that he sometimes functioned more as an automaton than as a cognizant agent, for he spent so many sleepless nights. Many times he had willed himself to stay awake, unable, afraid, to face the horrors he would re-live in his sleep. More than once he'd thought of putting his gun to his head and pulling the trigger. But something had always held him back. Still, he'd resisted the idea of therapy. He still had to tough it out. That was what an agent did. That was what Jack Bauer, American hero, did.

But he'd finally reached the point where he couldn't continue like that. With retirement had come so much time for self-examination that he knew he was in worse shape than he'd ever acknowledged when he'd been with CTU. Even when he'd stopped being a field agent and had taken the job of directing operations things hadn't become easier. If anything they'd taken more of a toll, for he lived and died with each mission he'd planned, inflicting more and more psychological damage on himself whenever something went wrong and an agent died. He knew that missions failed, but he could never accept it. People, innocents, died because of mistakes he had made, both in the field and later directing ops from his office; he'd never stopped believing that, despite the terrible price he paid for his guilt throughout the many years of his government service. He'd thought, hoped really, that being removed from the day-to-day work of planning and preparing for missions would somehow make things easier, but he'd been wrong. Being removed from the execution of the ops had been far harder than being in the thick of it, for he was powerless to change things if they went bad, unable to use his instincts or his expertise to help. That, more than anything, ate him alive. It was part of his decision to retire. A major part, in fact.

Jack had learned to delegate authority, but he'd never been able to relinquish responsibility, either as a field commander or as a desk jockey. He'd always hated the phrase, first when he was a field agent for what it implied about the occupant of the chair, and then as it applied to him when he became one. He was responsible for his actions, and that meant responsibility for all of the people under him. When he'd worked in the military and then in ops he took it upon himself to protect the lives of all of his comrades, and that was proper. A leader was responsible for the lives of the people under his command. That these soldiers and agents were well-trained and were chosen for missions because of their particular skills didn't change that fact. That they too could, and did, make mistakes didn't absolve him of responsibility. He felt, no, he fervently believed that if he did his job right his people wouldn't be in a position to make mistakes. It was his credo that everything should go smoothly if he planned properly, a completely unrealistic notion especially in the world of covert ops, but a belief he'd never been able to shake. In fact, he'd never even tried to let it go. It was a basic part of his being, one of his greatest strengths, and one of his greatest flaws.

His workouts provided a needed release from his introspection. The intensity of re-living his past was sometimes overwhelming, and when he had gotten over his initial hesitance and had really started to delve into his memories he hadn't been able to stop. The doctor had warned him that he would burn out even more if he wasn't able to take the process in stages, for the memories and images that were flooding him had to be dealt with slowly. They had taken a lifetime to accumulate, and they couldn't be dispelled in just a few months. It would more likely take years, but he didn't tell Jack that; as a man who had actively met all challenges head-on Jack didn't think in those terms. He had rarely had to spend more than a few months planning a mission since the Cordilla virus crisis, when it had taken over a year to insinuate himself into the Salazar gang, and it was otherwise alien to his experience; if he allowed himself to think in those terms the idea was daunting. So he broke his introspection, the assignment given him by the doctor, into phases, as he had planned missions, and that made the idea more palatable. He had the doctor there to help him through it, a luxury he'd never allowed himself before, and it was making the experience bearable.

Not that he'd yet learned to forgive himself for anything. He was still in the stage of reliving his past, and coping with it was yet to come. Again the psychiatrist was easing him into it, helping him to identify his feelings as he finally permitted them to surface.

Chapter 2

He ran into one of his tennis buddies at the pool, and after they swam laps together they went out for a beer. Jack realized the irony of working out and then drinking, but it was one of the things he was now able to engage in without regret. He wasn't drinking to excess, and the companionship of sitting at a bar with a friend and shooting the breeze was good for him. He had never told any of his new friends about his work; they knew only that he'd worked for the government in some capacity, but the more perceptive among them sensed that he'd been much more than a bureaucrat. However, none of them felt close enough to probe, and for that Jack was grateful. It was one thing to analyze his own feelings; it would be something else to unburden himself to a civilian. Other than talking to his doctor it was something he'd never felt comfortable doing; it had been a major part of his problems with Teri, another thing, a major thing, he felt guilty about.

So they talked sports, baseball mostly, for the men in his tennis game weren't into hockey. Sometimes Chase accompanied him to watch the Kings, but Chase's real passion was football, a game Jack had never really enjoyed. Perhaps it was his own experiences with tactics that made a game with planning plays at its heart seem so unimportant to him. The beauty of a clean hip check was something he watched with respect and awe at hockey games. Physicality was an essential element of hockey, but there was a goal, in both senses of the word, to the contact implicit in the sport. He realized with his new-found insight that his occasional participation might make hockey more attractive to him; he had never played football. Despite the superb physical condition he'd maintained over the years he'd never been big or heavy enough to engage in that sport; speed and agility were more important in hockey than brute strength, and it suited him well. He thought again of joining a seniors league, and resolved to look into it.

After arranging to meet his tennis pal for dinner the following night Jack went back to the gym where he worked out in the weight room for another twenty minutes. Four miles around the outdoor track was all he wanted before he headed for the showers. He still had to go to the supermarket and the dry cleaners before he went home, errands he never enjoyed, but he knew they were necessary, and as with all of the things in his life he had never let anything stop him from doing what needed to be done. That everyday chores were not of the same type as carrying out a mission was something he recognized, but if it needed to be done he did it. He was still extraordinarily disciplined, as he had been throughout his life, and that would never change.

As he loaded his groceries into the car he saw a woman across the parking lot who reminded him of Teri, tall, athletic, slender, short dark hair, about the age Teri'd been at the time of her death. She was forever frozen in Jack's mind that way; he never thought of what she might have looked like had they grown older together. He felt the pain in his heart that he'd grown accustomed to, for over the years he had seen other women who reminded him of Teri. While he still grieved for her he'd made his peace with her death, and he'd dated several women over the years. But nothing had lasted.

He'd come close with Kate. He'd loved her, and then he'd let her go. She had stood by him through the tough times, through his time in Mexico, his addiction, his physical injuries, but he had never been able to commit fully to their relationship. He'd told himself that it was fear of losing her, and part of him believed it, for partly it was true. But there was a part of him that couldn't imagine a life with anyone other than Teri.

After several years together Kate had finally left. She needed more, she'd told him, she needed him to be there for her permanently, and not to just come in and out of her life, without explanation. She wanted children, and that was not something Jack could agree to. He felt he'd done such a lousy job at fatherhood that he wouldn't risk it again. Kate had tried to point out to him that Kim had grown up to be a lovely young woman, but Jack said that was all due to Teri. That Kate took this to mean that he believed that she couldn't do as well with a child of her own never occurred to Jack. He hadn't meant it to, but Kate was hurt by it, and it drove them further apart.

Finally she met someone else, a man who traveled only infrequently and wanted children as much as she. Kate had asked Jack to dinner to tell him that she was to be married, and was hurt again that Jack really meant it when he wished her well with someone else. Jack hadn't intended that to hurt her, either. Still, it did.

Kate had been gone from his life for many years now. At first they'd exchanged Christmas cards, but that had stopped after a year or two. They had each put the other in the past, with good memories as well as bad that they revisited only upon rare occasions. Kate had had children, a girl and a boy, and when Jack heard the news he'd sent them gifts. He had no idea what size or type of clothing he should send so he settled on stuffed animals, remembering how Kim had been inseparable from her toy kitten. He had even called her "Kitten" when she was little, until she began to protest that her name was Kim. At the time Jack saw this as a sign that his little girl was growing up, and was struck at the speed with which she was outgrowing childhood. It had saddened him, but it hadn't been enough of a motivation for him to leave work early enough to spend time with his family.

Both times Kate had sent him a note to express her appreciation at his thoughtfulness, but they hadn't spoken since that last dinner. She had moved on, and while Jack still missed her he would never intrude on the life she had made for himself.

Besides, he never stopped thinking about Teri. Their separation and his infidelity still weighed on him, and he knew his regret for the pain that he had caused her would never leave. All the psychotherapy in the world couldn't erase the thought of the hurt he had caused her. With time on his hands he imagined the things they could be doing together, although the doctor tried to convince him that he was torturing himself with this. But he couldn't let go of the image of his dead wife, who in his mind was always thirty-five.

He forced his mind back to the present and decided to pick up Chinese food for dinner. He wasn't in the mood to cook and he had no plans for that night, so he thought he might as well bring in something he enjoyed. There was a Kings game on TV and he was looking forward to it. It would be a distraction from sitting at the kitchen table alone again. Maybe they'd even win.

Chapter 3

He slept until eight the next morning, late for him. The only times in his adult life that he'd stayed in bed were when he was recuperating from injuries, other than once with a high fever from the flu. He'd never minded when Teri slept late; he remembered as a college student wanting to sleep around the clock, and sometimes he envied her ability to just laze around for an extra hour or two. But his days in the army had left a definite mark on him; since basic training he was an early riser.

After a bowl of Cheerios and some toast with jam he had three cups of coffee. The doctor had made him give up eggs for breakfast and cut back on red meat but he refused to give up caffeine. Kim made chicken or fish whenever he had dinner there, because she had never gotten over her fear when he'd had a heart attack so many years before. She also knew that the doctor was concerned about his cholesterol count. Jack had never had to watch what he ate, and he hated having to do it now. He hadn't put on weight – his frequent workouts made sure of that – but having restrictions on his diet grated on him. It was another sign of getting older, and Jack thought the gray in his hair was enough of that. He saw more lines around his eyes when he shaved now, but he knew that women still found him attractive. He was seeing a woman, Melissa, whose number he'd been given by Michelle. Jack had resisted the idea of blind dates over the years, unless he felt particularly lonely. Then he would sometimes call a friend of a friend or someone's widowed sister-in-law and go out for a few dinners before deciding it wasn't such a good idea after all. He didn't expect to love again.

He decided not to write that day. It didn't happen often. His discipline extended to making himself sit down at the computer virtually every morning, and eventually the words would come. Occasionally he gave himself a break. His thoughts of Teri the day before were still very much with him and he didn't want to write when he was in that mood. Time for a day off, he thought. But he couldn't think of anything to do.

Jack decided to bake. Kim had signed him up for cooking lessons when he'd taken the desk job with CTU, and he'd laughed at the idea. But she knew something he didn't: he'd have more time on his hands, more regular hours, at least when there were no active ops under way, and she didn't want him to eat junk food all the time on the increasing occasions when he was home alone at night. When he was a field agent at CTU he'd taken a dinner break whenever possible, going with Tony, Michelle, Kim or Chase or whoever else could get away to one of several good restaurants in the area. When they couldn't go out they'd bring dinner in, and after a while fast food became unacceptable. So they scouted out the area and found good places with good food and reasonable prices, and one or another of them would go out to pick up an order they'd place. Kim knew that with Jack home by himself almost every night he'd be tempted to grab a burger or a bucket of fried chicken, so she'd arranged for the lessons.

To humor her he'd gone to the course and he found that he enjoyed it. Teri had been a very good cook, careful about nutrition, and occasionally going through phases. At one point she had made spinach every day for three weeks, until both Jack and Kim threatened to lock the kitchen and bring in pizza every night. After she promised to be good – they demanded a specific pledge of no more spinach – she went through another phase: brussels sprouts. "What is with you and vegetables?" Kim asked more than once. "I know they're good for me, but come on, Mom. Brussels sprouts?" After two weeks of that Jack had backed Kim up on that one, too, and they repeated their lock-the-kitchen-and-bring-in-pizza threat. But Teri called their bluff: she agreed to bring in Chinese food, but all she ordered were steamed vegetables. They had a family meeting that night, and Jack and Kim stood their ground, at the same time they threw in the towel. They said okay to vegetables, but they demanded a variety, and moderation. Occasional omelettes, but not always with vegetables, and peanut butter was okay. Ice cream would occasionally be allowed through the door, and Jack could sometimes barbecue hot dogs along with meat hamburgers and chicken. It didn't always have to be veggie burgers. They found they'd had a really close call. Teri had gotten a recipe for carrot cake brownies, but promised to lose it.

As Jack walked back into the kitchen for more coffee he pictured Teri standing at the stove. Although she'd never lived in the town house he knew exactly how she'd look. She'd been standing in a kitchen the first time he ever saw her. He smiled. She'd been baking brownies then.

He got out the mixing bowls and baking tins and started to measure the ingredients for brownies. Kim had given him Teri's recipe, sans carrots of course. He'd always loved the smell of chocolate and he couldn't understand people who didn't. He was hardly a gourmet, but he appreciated good food, and especially good brownies.

He had grown comfortable enough in the kitchen that he didn't have to devote his full concentration while he measured the ingredients. He wondered idly what was happening at CTU, but he cut the thought off. He was out of it now, for good. He couldn't go back if he wanted to. He no longer had what it takes.

Beating eggs and melting butter were mindless activities, so he let his mind wander in another direction. A whiff of chocolate brought back different memories, and suddenly he was in a different kitchen, more than fifty years before.

Chapter 4

"Thanks, Mom," Jack called out as he entered the house on a run and saw the brownie and milk she'd left on the table. He'd just hit a double in his Little League game and he was feeling really good. His mom had said she'd come to the game but his little sister Carol had a cold, so she hadn't been able to. Jack didn't mind. His mom got to almost all of his games and school plays. Sometimes his dad did, too, but not nearly as often. He was a very important man on the army base, Jack knew, and he was very busy. Being a colonel was a big responsibility and his dad was in charge of a lot of people. They depended on him, his mom said. Jack was very proud of his dad.

Jack loved it when soldiers saluted his dad. His father had taught him how when he was just two, and Jack liked to return the soldiers' salutes just like his father did. The sight of the little boy walking next to the tall man, both saluting, brought smiles from the people they passed.

Jack was enjoying Japan. It was the fourth country he'd lived in and so far it was his favorite. Everybody liked baseball over here, and Jack and his dad sometimes went to see the Tokyo Giants play. His father wore civilian clothes then, of course, so the people at the game didn't know he was in the military.

His father had been transferred to Hawaii just two weeks after Jack was born in Los Angeles and Jack had then been too young to go on a plane, so his father flew over first and found a house for them at the base. After a few more weeks Jack went on a plane for the first time, thankfully sleeping most of the way to Oahu, and his parents always laughed when Jack insisted that he remembered it. He knew why they laughed but he insisted it was true. That he'd been on so many other flights while so young didn't change things. He swore that he remembered that first one when he was five weeks old.

After Hawaii they'd lived in the Philippines, then Germany, Korea and Japan. Although he went to the base school where the only language taught was English, Jack thought he was pretty good with languages. He could say hello, good-bye, please and thank you in Spanish, German, Korean and Japanese, and people said he had a good ear. He still wasn't sure what that meant, he had two ears and they both seemed to work the same, but when he'd first heard it when he was four he hadn't questioned it. Now, at eight, it didn't seem important.

"Well, how was the game, Son?" his mother asked as she came down the stairs. His sister Carol had finally fallen asleep after the medicine had dulled the pain of her earache, and Janet Bauer was glad to sit down for the first time that afternoon.

"Great, Mom," Jack mumbled, his mouth full of brownie. "I hit a double!"

"That's wonderful, Jack," his mother said enthusiastically. "I'm sorry I missed it."

"S'okay, Mom. How's Carol?"

"She's still got a fever and an earache, but I'm sure she'll be fine. She's finally asleep, thank goodness. She cried a lot today."

Jack stuffed his last bite of brownie into his mouth. "Can I have s'more please, Mom?"

"'May I,' Jack, not 'can I.' And yes you may." She poured him more milk and cut another fresh-baked brownie from the tin. "But that's all. Your father said he should be home on time, so dinner will be at six-thirty. Why don't you get started on your homework?"

"Can't I watch some TV first, Mom? Just for an hour?"

Janet Bauer looked at her son affectionately. She said automatically, "'May I,' Jack. 'May I watch TV?'" She taught English at the base school while Carol was in kindergarten, and she was a stickler for grammar. But she relented. "How much work do you have, Jack?" She had a rule that homework came before TV, but occasionally she made an exception. Jack was a very good boy, he always completed his schoolwork on time, and he usually got straight A's. A break never hurt, she thought. He deserves it.

Chapter 5

The ringing of the doorbell broke Jack's reverie. He signed for a fedex package and took it into the kitchen. He tried to read the return address, to no avail. He gingerly shook it, and took it outside to open it. Old habits die hard. He certainly wasn't expecting a bomb, but he still had enemies out there, and he knew caution was still necessary.

As he pulled back the strip to open the box the contents spilled out. It was a sweater in a color that matched his grey hair, hand-knit. But there was no note, no card. Jack smelled the sweater, but there was only a scent of wool. No indication of a poison, no hint of a toxin. Still, he thought, I'd better have it cleaned first.

He took the sweater and the box back into the kitchen and again peered at the return address, but he had no better luck in deciphering it. He was extremely curious and thought of turning the box over to CTU to do a fingerprint check, but he realized that he was being silly. The sweater was innocuous, and why should he question a gift? But the oddness of the unexpected present stayed with him.

He started to put on his running clothes but remembered the brownies in the oven, but he put on his walkman anyway. Some Miles Davis would be good for a break. But soon his mind began to wander again, and as he sat in the kitchen he was no longer aware of the music.

His thoughts returned to the house in Japan. It was dinnertime, and his father had just come home. As he changed out of his uniform Jack talked with him in the bedroom. There wasn't much time for them to be alone together, and this little ritual was something that had evolved to the pleasure of them both.

"I heard about your double today," Mark Bauer said. Jack lit up. "How'd you hear, Dad?" He was thrilled. His dad had followed his game!

"Oh, I hear a lot of things, Jack," his dad replied. "Especially when it comes to my son."

Jack couldn't have been prouder. Even though his father was very busy he managed to find out things that mattered to his boy. It was one of the things that made them extremely close.

Five year old Carol still wasn't feeling well but she wasn't fidgeting at the table. As Jack and his father sat down the family joined hands while Mark said Grace. Then it was time to dig in to the pot roast, mashed potatoes and green beans that Janet had prepared.

There was little conversation during the actual eating, as Jack had been told many times not to talk with his mouth full, but it was his turn to fidget. He wanted to tell his dad all about the game. He ignored the rule and opened his mouth before he had swallowed, but a look from his mother reminded him of what he had apparently so briefly forgotten. His parents were always willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. Jack was punished from time to time, of course, but only for major infractions, and he had graduated from "time outs" to being sent to his room, but never without supper, and neither of his parents had ever raised a hand to him. His mom and dad were never cruel, and although he groused about his infrequent punishments Jack appreciated their fairness.

After Jack finished eating he eagerly told his parents all about the game, which his team had won, 10 to 8. Although his dad knew about his double Jack filled in the details, including especially that there were already two strikes against him when he finally connected with the ball. He'd driven in two runs, and had really helped his team. Jack was as proud of that as he was of his hit. He was understanding the importance of teamwork, although he couldn't have put that into words. He just knew he was glad when the Yankees, his Yankees, won. He had no way of knowing that the Yankees, the ones in New York, would one day become anathema to him, for the many times they beat the LA Dodgers.

"Want to go to a Giants game, Son?" Mark asked. He could take Sunday off, too, and he loved watching baseball with Jack, loved doing anything where he could spend time with Jack. He knew his son loved to watch pro ball at the stadium in Tokyo.

"Yeah, Dad!" Jack was excited. Another game, and especially with his dad. It didn't get better than this.

"I won't be able to go this time, Jack," Janet said. "I don't think Carol will be well enough to leave with the babysitter."

"Do you mind, Mom?" Jack asked, pretty sure of the answer.

"No, Jack, I don't. Dad and I already discussed this. It's fine. You two go."

"Thanks, Mom," Jack said, meaning it, but he really wasn't surprised. It was just like his mother to put her children first. His dad, too. Nothing was more important to them than their kids.

"Is your game at one tomorrow, Jack?" Mark asked.

"Yeah. We're playing the Dodgers. We should win. They suck, Dad."

"Jack!" his parents said in unison. "You know you're not supposed to use language like that," his father continued.

"Sorry, Dad. It slipped out. It won't happen again." He meant it. He hated to disappoint his parents. They were more important to him than anything.

After dinner his parents played Scrabble while Jack watched TV. Then Jack and his father sat down at the chess board. Mark plotted his game with military precision, and was pleased that Jack was also learning to play strategically. Mark wanted all of his officers to play chess, and many complied. He was not surprised that the ones who wouldn't learn didn't score as high in their field exercises. Jack will be a good soldier one day, Mark thought. If that's what he wants. Mark wasn't going to pressure Jack to follow in his footsteps. Jack was bright enough to do anything, and the decision would be his.

Mark was smart enough not to let Jack win, at least not too often. Jack was highly competitive and he would have been insulted if his father had thrown the game. He suspected that the times he won were because his father had deliberately lost, but it didn't happen frequently enough for him to really question it. Mark knew that winning sometimes would give Jack confidence, and he believed that self-confidence was crucial, no matter what the setting was.

When Jack went to bed sleep did not come easily. He was excited about the things in his life, his hit at the game, winning at chess, and going to see the Giants with his dad. Eventually he fell asleep and he dreamed of hitting a homer the next day, but he was playing for the LA Dodgers instead of his Little League Yankees. It was a great dream, and it put him in a wonderful mood for the next day.

Chapter 6

Jack woke up early to the sound of Carol crying. Her earache was back and her fever as well, and Janet was trying to soothe her as she waited for the Tylenol to take effect. Jack was too excited to go back to sleep so he went downstairs, where Janet was trying to get Carol to drink something. She hadn't had anything in two days, and Janet was concerned that she was getting dehydrated. Carol wouldn't take anything, though, so Janet just held her, waiting for the painkiller to kick in.

Jack loved his little sister and was upset to see her so unhappy. He poured himself some orange juice and got a bowl for his Cheerios before he sat at the table with his mother.

"I'm sorry Carol woke you, Jack. She had a bad night."

"It's okay, Mom. I was gonna get up anyway. I can't wait for the game."

Janet was bemused by her son. His enthusiasm for just about anything, especially sports, made him the quintessential boy. A happy, well-adjusted boy, his mom knew. He's going to be a fine young man.

Both of his parents were impressed with how gentle and caring Jack was with Carol. He was exasperated by her from time to time, of course, especially when she got into his things. He remembered how, when she was two, she had come upon his collection of baseball cards and had chewed one of them. His father had gotten him a whole new pack so he could search for a replacement, but a Maury Wills of his beloved Dodgers was rare, and Jack still hadn't found another one. He'd forgiven Carol, of course, and learned to put his cards way out of her reach. If he didn't close his bedroom door tightly she still wandered into his room sometimes, but he was learning to be careful about that, so her marauding adventures were nowhere near as frequent.

Mark Bauer returned home promptly at 12:00 as promised and quickly changed into "civvies" while Jack was putting on his uniform and cleats. They walked together to the field which was near base housing, so that Mark could watch batting practice. Jack wasn't surprised that other soldiers still saluted, for he'd learned that even when his father wasn't in uniform it was appropriate. Still, salutes or not, he enjoyed walking next to the tall man who was so interested in everything he did.

When they got to the field there were far more parents then usual. Even on a military base many people had week-ends off. Jack went to the area that passed for a dugout where he joined his fellow Yankees. The coach gave them the usual pep talk while his father found a seat in the bleachers. Even though he was dressed in civilian clothes people showed Mark a great deal of deference; he was their commanding officer, after all. But he was just a dad that afternoon, there to cheer on his son and his team, and the other parents quickly forgot his status. Or they seemed to, at least. A colonel was always a colonel, and a superior officer always commanded respect.

Jack's team was deemed the 'home' team for that game, so they took the field first and would bat second. Jack played shortstop, one of the most demanding positions, and Mark looked with pride at his son's easy catches as the boys threw the ball around to warm up. He's really a good player, he thought. And a great kid.

Jack was intense as he leaned in for the first pitch. It was a grounder, easily fielded by the second baseman, and Jack had backed him up as was appropriate for a shortstop. Two more outs followed in quick succession.

It was the Yankees' turn. As the other team took the field Jack waited for his turn at bat. He was fourth in the rotation, the 'clean-up' hitter, the position always reserved for the best batter. Mark knew that Jack was proud of that, and rightly so.

His first two teammates went down, one on a strikeout, the other with a pop-up. Jack's friend Mike, the catcher, batted third. He hit a grounder that went between the first and second basemen, and Jack cheered with the other boys. The first runner was on. It was Jack's turn to go to the batter's box.

Jack didn't like the first pitch, so he let it go. The umpire called it a 'ball.' Jack swung at the second pitch but didn't connect, so it was an even count. Jack swung at the next pitch, too, but missed. The next one was a ball, and then Jack hit a grounder, right at the second baseman. He fielded it easily, and Jack's side was out. Jack walked back to the dugout, muttering to himself. "Dammit," he said. He had left Mike on base. When he realized what he had said Jack was glad that his father hadn't heard him. That was one of the things that could really get his parents mad at him, so he tried not to curse, but a lot of his friends did, and sometimes he just forgot.

There were only two hits during the next three innings, so Jack was up again in the fourth inning. He swung at the first pitch and heard the sweetest sound: wood hitting hard ball. The ball soared out to far center field, and when the player bobbled it Jack started to run. He made it all the way to second before the other team got the ball back to the infield. He hadn't hit many doubles before, and he was really glad that his dad was there to watch. Bobby, the pitcher, was up next, and he managed to hit the ball over the first baseman's head, so Jack scored easily. Bobby made it to second, where he tagged up. The next batter on Jack's team hit a single, so Bobby also scored. Jack didn't think he'd ever been so happy.

There were more outs than hits after that, but the other team managed to tie it up at two-two because of errors by his teammates, and Jack was getting frustrated. He struck out his next time at bat, mostly because he was swinging at bad pitches, and his dad saw that Jack wasn't taking his time to look at the ball, he just swung at everything. Mark couldn't speak to Jack, of course; parents weren't allowed to talk to their kids during the game. But Jack's coach talked to him and managed to settle him down.

Jack was the first batter in the ninth inning with the score tied, and he took his coach's words to heart. He took his time and didn't swing until the third pitch. As his bat connected with the ball he knew he had hit it well. The ball soared over the head of the outfielders and over the fence. Jack scored, his heart soaring. His first home run, and he had broken the tie. Because Jack's team batted second that was all it took to win the game, three to two. Jack was the hero, but that didn't matter as much as his father cheering in the stands. It was even better than his teammates mobbing him at home plate, hugging him and pounding him on the back.

As the hero of the game Jack was given the honor of ordering first when the coach took the team for ice cream. He decided to try a new flavor, brownies and cream, and he didn't mind it at all when the cone started to drip. His mom would get the stains out. She'd only be sorry that she hadn't been able to go to the game.

The buzz of the oven timer brought Jack back to his own kitchen. They were ready. He'd forever associate the smell and the taste of brownies with one of the best days of his life.