Part VIII
Chapter 1
CTU's attempts to find Laura Gaines were fruitless, as was their ability to figure out why she had kidnapped Jack. Interviews had not turned up anything, either regarding Gaines herself or a clue to why she had engineered Jack's abduction. It all remained a mystery, and that left Jack feeling vulnerable. It also made him increasingly uncomfortable, because he couldn't protect himself against an unknown threat. He admitted ruefully to himself that he couldn't stop any threat, even if he knew all about it.
Jack realized that CTU couldn't assign agents to protect him forever. Tony didn't have the manpower, or the budget. The imminence of an attack seemed to have passed, and yet Jack knew he was still a target and, given his physical condition, tremendously at risk. Kim, too, and her family. But there was little, really nothing, he could do.
He filled his days with his family, doting on Little Jack, who looked like a clone of Jack as a baby. Kim found pictures of her dad in his infancy, and they all marveled at the resemblance. His light, almost platinum blonde hair together with his shining blue eyes and bright, eager smile looked exactly as his great-grandfather had at that age. Little Jack was as happy as her father had been as a baby, loved and loving, content and happy.
Jack had no memories of his infancy, of course, but from the pictures Kim found he knew he had had a wonderful start in life. His first recollections were of his life in Italy, but they were fuzzy. He remembered little of when Carol was born, although he still had the toy truck. He had long since realized that Carol's 'gift' to him had been purchased by his parents, but that only caused amusement and appreciation of their perceptiveness. It added to his feeling of having been loved.
Thoughts such as these helped him to mend, and as his recovery progressed the doctors let him gradually increase his activity level, but still he found that his body balked. He tried to do more each day, and he was discouraged when he couldn't even do all that he was permitted. In his younger days - that the term no longer applied to him was a concept that was still repugnant - he would have bounced back, would have fought any restriction, would have pushed himself to, even over the edge. But his lack of energy, and the continuing, constant pain, held him back. He was forced to acknowledge that the damage to his heart was permanent, and that another heart attack would be fatal. So with great reluctance he admitted to himself that his days of lifting weights and playing tennis were over. His thoughts of joining a hockey league would never be realized. Even mere walks were now a struggle. He was an invalid.
Little Jack and the rest of his family made him mentally put his gun off limits. A selfish act like that was inconceivable, even in his darkest moments. He would have to suck it up, again, and learn to live with the restrictions. He would take care of himself, though. His independence wasn't up for grabs.
As he returned to his books he found a comfort he hadn't realized was missing from his life. They had been his first love, the basis for his imagination and, to his current way of thinking, the foundation for his courage for all of the derring-do that was had been the core of his adult life.
The pattern he developed was modest – sleeping later, a leisurely, healthy breakfast, a slow walk to the corner to check for mail, another cup of decaf with the rest of his newspaper with CNN in the background, often followed by a nap. He still occasionally skipped lunch, for it seemed to only provoke another nap, but without it he found that he was often too tired to do his errands, so he tried to get them done after his second cup of coffee. He missed the caffeine, though; it had energized him, more easily let him get out of the house and into the car to go to the grocery, the cleaners, whatever other things he had to do. Without that he always seemed tired, but he was smart enough and realistic enough to acknowledge that an artificial stimulant only increased the demands on his heart that he couldn't afford, and underscored the genuine fatigue that plagued – that was the only word that seemed to fit – his body. So he geared his activity to his energy level, his greatly reduced energy level, forced himself to eat lunch to provide the nourishment he knew he needed, and permitted himself to nap when his his body told him to, inwardly cursing but acknowledging that he could never again do what he had always done without thinking: push himself to, beyond his limits, with the knowledge that his body wouldn't fail him, that it would permit him to bounce back from what seemed like limitless demands.
He reflected on all the times he'd been wounded, tortured, near death, and understood the toll they'd taken on him, something he'd previously ignored with impunity. These realities were accompanied by undeniable depression, but he resisted the medications the doctors prescribed for this, although he was well aware that many elderly people suffered from this disease for the same reason as Jack: they, too, faced physical limitations for perhaps the first time in their lives, and they also felt lonely. Most had lost their mates later in life than Jack had, but until then he'd filled the empty hours with action, mental as well as physical, and occasionally with a woman who'd temporarily filled his bed. He'd hoped for a more lasting relationship, but it had never happened. He'd driven Kate away, unable to fill her needs for a family and, truthfully, his inability - unwillingness? - to be there for her. She'd never been able to count on him just being there, and he still wondered if it had been excusable because of his job, or if he had run away from a commitment. It was something he didn't want to dwell on.
Realistically, none of the others his age faced the same great differences from their former, younger selves, for none of them had led such super-active, super-challenging lives, so the physicians, but not Jack, acknowledged the greater-than-normal depressive effect this had on him. They were increasingly frustrated by his refusal to take the pills they knew would increase the quality of his life, but this, too, was part of his innate character, and represented one of the few choices Jack still had when it came to his health. His fight against the medications was a sort of veto over his limitations, but it is in the nature of doctors to have their orders obeyed, and the knowledge that their patient refused to be helped was unfathomable, and, to them, inexcusable. He didn't stop to think that he was only making matters worse for himself. He just thought that he was holding on to one, last, vestige of independence.
So Jack formed a routine, frustrating to both his family and his physicians, but his stubbornness, at least, was unimpaired, and Jack would do it his way, to the extent that he could.
He re-decorated his house, again with Kim's help, and he had the walls repainted a soothing beige instead of their original blue. Blue was how he always felt, and the change felt right. She helped him select new furniture in earth tones, with warm colors that made his home feel softer, more comforting, more supportive. Jack found that his new tan recliner was even more comfortable than his old navy one, and the beiges and light browns and umbers of his den were more soothing than the blue had been. That some of the blues had matched his eyes wasn't something he noticed. He enjoyed his new decor; it felt right. He had needed a change, and starting with the decorations had been a help.
He still took pleasure in getting behind the wheel of his SUV, for that represented at least some independence, and the knowledge that if he wanted he could go beyond the local shopping mall was a comfort, although he realized that the likelihood that he would do it was minute, at best. Still, it was there, and he relied on it to maintain a small feeling of freedom. It was essential to keep him from plummeting into an abyss of despair that might be paralyzing, so clinging to it was essential to keeping him going to the extent that his increasingly frail body permitted.
Still, the fatigue was always there, along with the chest pains the doctors said were angina. They told him that this was caused by limited blood supply to the heart and was a natural and irremediable result of the damage he had suffered from the successive heart attacks, but it was still hard for him to accept. He acknowledge that another attack would be fatal, and he still very much wanted to live, so he gave in to the limitations, which only worsened his depression. This further frustrated his family and his doctors for that, at least, could be treated, could be helped. Jack's stubbornness in refusing this treatment was understandable to them, at least on one level, but that didn't lessen their desire to beat some sense into him.
Chapter 2
That morning Jack forced himself to go to the supermarket, for he was out of detergent as well as milk and juice, and he knew that he would go nuts if he didn't do something. Kim had tried to insist that he drop his clothes at the laundromat, that he didn't have to do all the bending to put things in the dryer, or have to iron the few things he had that cried out for it, but he resisted giving anything up that involved more than just sitting in a chair. He knew that Kim or Chase would gladly pick up any needed groceries for him, but he had to get out. This, at least, he could do for himself. So he walked slowly from his house to his SUV, feeling the chest pain as he climbed in, knowing that getting into a passenger car would be easier, but he stubbornly refused to give up one of the few things that seemed a link to CTU, to a time when he had been young, healthy, strong.
He drove to the grocery slower than he had driven as a younger man, knowing that he had always before cursed the old men who crept along, making it difficult for other people to get where they were going, even presenting a menace as others had to pull around them to pass. But since the 'accident' with the van Jack didn't trust his reflexes anymore, he knew that he couldn't make sudden maneuvers to control the wheel, so driving slowly was necessary. This just presented another cause for depression, but he ignored it. He told himself that others just drove too fast, that that was what he had done in his younger, hell-bent days, all the while refusing to admit that his new-found caution was the result of his physical limitations and the psychological changes they had brought. He chose instead to ascribe it to newly-found mature sensibility.
He found a parking spot and a shopping cart, and he leaned on it for support as he walked into the store. It was unusually quiet for a weekday morning, when mothers of school-age children usually shopped. It seemed deserted, in fact. His training kicked in and he drew his weapon, which he had again started to carry after the abduction. As he walked down the dairy aisle he saw in the mirrors strategically placed to prevent shop-lifting that a man was in the back, holding a gun on the store manager. Other shoppers and check-out workers were held in groups by two other armed men, appearing on the verge of panic as they lay on the floor with guns trained on them.
Jack drew his weapon and held it along his leg as he walked down the aisle of the market at a normal pace for an older man, leaning on the wagon, seeming not to notice anything unusual, stopping at the bread display at the end where he appeared to inspect the expiration date on the loaves while he surreptitiously checked the goings-on at the back of the store. When he had shielded himself behind the metal shelves he announced himself to the robbers.
"Police!" he called out. "Drop your weapons!"
The men turned as a group towards his voice, not knowing how many officers were in the store. With Jack positioned behind the display he was not visible in the mirrors, and the robbers – Jack assumed they were robbers – didn't know what they were facing.
From the other side of the store Jack heard another voice call, "Drop it! Police!" Jack was confused, but he hoped whoever it was really was law enforcement. Believing themselves surrounded, two of the men complied, but the one holding the manager refused to drop his weapon and instead grabbed the man as a hostage. Jack had to go after him. He didn't want to expose himself, for outside of the shelves there was no cover. But he couldn't stand by and do nothing, either. That wasn't the way he was made.
Chapter 3
Slowly he left his hiding place, crouching despite the pain in his chest, and silently came up behind the man. "Drop it!" he ordered, but in a soft voice that was all the more menacing. The perp felt the poke of Jack's gun in his back and slowly dropped his own weapon. Jack ordered him to stand with his comrades and raised his gun to the level of the chests of the three perps. Another man appeared from the other side, no gun visible, but he wielded a shovel which he held menacingly over his head. Jack realized this was no cop, but he was grateful for his assistance nevertheless. Jack backed far enough away to be able to shoot any of the robbers by only changing the angle of his gun, and the perps obeyed his order to drop their guns and lace their fingers behind their heads. The perps hadn't noticed in the mirror that the other 'cop' situated behind them was armed only with a shovel, and Jack moved in close enough to kick away their weapons.
Jack let himself relax until he saw the shovel-wielder walk towards the robbers. One realized that the man was no cop, as he also belatedly recognized that Jack was an old man, so he went for his gun. Jack moved towards him, telling him again to stop, but the perp kicked out with his leg and knocked Jack off his feet. As he fell he managed to fire and hit him in the arm. Damn shaky hands! he thought to himself as he landed. The guy should be dead!
The perp dove at Jack and landed on him, for Jack was too slow to move out of the way. Jack fired twice more, but he couldn't roll out of the way before the man's head landed on his chest. Everything started to go black as the perp collapsed on top of him, but Jack fought it as he held his gun on the other robbers and with great difficulty shoved the dead man off and struggled to his knees. Finally in the mirrors he saw the real police arriving. In response to their order Jack dropped his own weapon and identified himself as a government agent. He, too, placed his hands behind his head, knowing that only after the perps were taken into custody could his identity be verified.
When he was searched one of the cops found Jack's I.D. and confirmed for the others that Jack was, in fact, a good guy, and they helped him stand. But the pain in his chest only increased when he bent to retrieve his gun. He felt like his heart had exploded. One of the cops noticed the old man getting pale and sweaty, and he caught Jack as he collapsed. "I'll get an ambulance," the cop said, and as he watched Jack grow whiter still he helped Jack lie down while he bunched his own jacket to pillow Jack's head. Another officer grabbed a bottle of water from a display and gently raised Jack enough so he could drink, while another kneeled next to him checking his pulse. It was fast and erratic, and he willed the ambulance to arrive quickly.
The ambulance finally got there and the EMT's placed an oxygen mask over Jack's face as they positioned EKG leads on his chest. The police helped lift Jack onto the gurney and as the attendants continued to work one of the cops realized that he still held Jack's ID. He finally recognized the name. "Holy sht!" he exclaimed. "This guy's the CTU agent who was in the papers all the time. He's the one who saved the country from the nukes on the ships!" Although they had only heard of his most recent exploits they knew the old man was a hero, and they gave him the respect he deserved. As the heart monitors wailed the cops realized that the legend of Jack Bauer had just posted another chapter. They were afraid it was the last.
Chapter 4
The cop's statement penetrated his subconscious, and Jack's mind took him back to one of his last missions more than a decade before, right after he'd hung it up and begun the second phase of his CTU career, planning ops instead of leading them. He was in Kenosha, Wisconsin again, running the squads trying to locate the twelve nuclear bombs planted on different cargo ships in ports all over the country.
As director of field ops Jack had run the operation, and he positioned agents around the country in different major ports, but they didn't yet know how many bombs had been placed, or where; their intel hadn't yet narrowed that down. With the resources of the agency, even supplemented by the FBI and CIA, there was no way he could blanket every port in the country; he'd been forced to again play the odds and use his gut to deduce where the major threats lay. Perception and experience that allowed him to see things in the intel that others missed, together with what he admitted was luck while others ascribed it to nothing less than superhuman powers, had led him to Kenosha, where he believed the intel showed that the plotters had based themselves and were directing their teams from. The detonation orders would come from there, Jack insisted.
He'd met resistance, of course, from the heads of CTU and the FBI and CIA, for the Powers That Be in Washington refused to believe that a major threat like this could be centered in what was only a minor port on the Great Lakes. To their thinking, so many, busier ports were far more likely sites for the kingpins behind the plot. But his experience and reputation as 'the man who got the results' CTU constantly demanded had enabled him to call the shots and interpret the data as he saw it; The agencies finally went along and let him position his teams where he believed they belonged.
Because of the tepid support from Washington Jack himself led the raid that led to the capture of the men behind the threat, and torture – there was no other name for it – ordered by Jack forced them to give up the sites of the bombs. Coordinated raids, ordered by Jack at eleven ports, and the one in Kenosha headed by him, resulted in finding and disarming the bombs. Jack was gravely wounded in carrying out the operation but the mission was successful, and the legend of Jack Bauer, who had once again saved the country from unimaginable destruction, had grown even greater. But the physical injuries that Jack himself had sustained during that last raid had brought him to the edge of his incredible capacity to withstand, so his days in the field were over.
As the EMTs tried everything to regulate Jack's heartbeat his mind started to let go. Why go through more of this, his subconscious asked. The end would be the same; it was only a question of when, and the emptiness of his life overwhelmed him. Why fight back? For what? Kim, his grandchildren, would adjust, he knew; it would just be sooner rather than a little later. And it would only just be a little later, his mind told him, his heart was giving out, and after this episode he would just be more of an invalid. He would no longer be able to care for himself. That thought was enough to cause him to give up; his life was over. He felt himself let go. The legend of Jack Bauer, Superman, was complete.
