Nobody visited him for the remainder of the first day, he was left undisturbed. The cell was small, 6 concrete walls all in all; nothing else. He had laid curled up on the floor, the aches from the escape becoming more pronounced from the cool air which filtered into the room. Outside it had been blisteringly hot but it was too cool now; the hairs stood on the ends of his skin. He felt sick, he'd still not eaten anything in four days - but he'd learned his lesson during the journey here and wouldn't let the sickness get the better of himself.
He passed the hours by thinking of LA, what a scene it would be. Would Erin return to CTU, would Tony and Michelle really leave the agency? Would Audrey ever forgive him for killing Paul? He let the questions roam around his mind like a stray dog; they were pointless things to wonder about as he'd never know the answers. Not any time soon, anyway.
Still he didn't stop the flashbacks and apologised from controlling his thoughts, no matter how painful some were. He had to think of something other than this; the waiting made him feel ill. He knew it was a tactic, if a person is left in isolation long enough they go crazy; this would be their first step in trying to break him down. But it wouldn't work, he thought determined as his daughter passed through his mind; he wouldn't betray his country.
It was the following morning when two new guards charged into the room. They stripped his clothes off of him before leaving seconds later. Jack was surprised with the sudden contact and worried with their action - what were they going to do to him? His nerves had been on edge throughout the everlasting minutes that passed before the men returned, throwing a jumpsuit at him. He pulled it on as the two men started at him, not relaxing until the men left again. Once alone he slid down the wall to the floor, noticing the colour of the clothing he'd been given. Green. He thought he was going to cry.
He tried to comfort himself with the presence of his watch; they still hadn't taken it. It made him feel better but he still couldn't keep himself calm. He was tense and scared, and too ill to think straight. He gave in to the pain in his stomach later that day and threw up over the floor. He expected something to happen but nobody came, he was left alone still. It made sense, he realised afterwards, it wasn't like they'd be taking him for a toilet break every day.
On the third day the treatment was substantially better, even if the smell and condition of his cell had declined. The guards had charged in, always two at a time, and handed him a paper cup of water and watched as he'd thirstily drained it. Taking the empty contained back they passed him a bread cake, which he also devoured. They only left after he'd finished eating. Curious, he'd thought afterwards, maybe they wanted to keep him alive.
As the contact had been so little, he'd wondered if maybe they were just going to keep him here as punishment until he died. But now he wasn't so sure, the creeping feeling returned as he was almost certain they were just softening him up before the blow came. He was unable to sleep on the third night, he was sure something was going to happen soon and he wanted to be as best prepared for it as he possibly could.
He was jumpy but there was no sounds to cause the paranoia - it was as though the silence was causing the panic that screams of pain would inflict. He was going stir crazy too, but didn't want to pace the cell in case it somehow triggered the attack. He was ready for it, almost eager to get it over with at times; but that didn't mean he wasn't afraid.