Two months later…

d2: + 17 months

d3: − 1 year, 7 months

Part VI: Going On

Nick stood in the dark, leaning against a tree, nervously dragging at his cigarette. Every minute that passed made him more aware of the complete lack of reason for his actions. He was playing with his life – for absolutely no reason. What did he come here for? And how was he supposed to get back? He had told the driver to wait for him, but the guy had taken off as soon as the money had been in his hands and Nick out of the car. Now he was stuck somewhere, he didn't even know where exactly. Probably not too far from the border. They had been driving southwestwardly, not long, less than 50 miles, he estimated. Before the cab driver had bailed on him.

He stared across the street and the faint light coming from there. What was he waiting for anyway? What was he expecting to happen? He could stand there all night or… Or I can get the hell out of here, he muttered to himself. And throwing the cigarette to the ground, he pushed himself off the tree and slowly took a first step. But not to walk away, and he waited for a voice inside his head to yell at him, to reason with him, to convince him this was suicidal. But there was nothing as he approached the house. Just the realization that he had to go through with it now.

He had turned Burton's offer down. He had turned down the privileges of a full position, a steady income and a secured pension. And seeing the disappointment in his old mentor's eyes had made it impossible to stick around any longer. He had packed his bags, cleared his desk, once again floating around without a goal. It wasn't hard to find a job with his merits, something good enough to pay his daily expenses, to keep his head above water. He preferred the stand-in jobs. They came with little or no responsibility, certainly no authority, and he could basically take them and quit them as he liked. Now he wondered if fate or destiny would have led him here even if he had made a different decision. If he had accepted Burton's offer.

At least caring enough to make sure he kept in the shadows, he made his way over, soon arriving at the slightly more than knee-high wall enclosing what seemed to be a patch of garden. Without further hesitation he slid over it and moved on.

The door was still open, probably to let the somewhat cooler air in, now that night was finally falling. But the light wasn't coming from there, he had noticed before. It was somewhere around the corner, at the back of the house, maybe lit on a terrace or what could be the rest of the garden. From his position, this angle, he couldn't see anything yet. He took a deep breath and prepared for another step when he sensed something moving behind him. But he didn't get a chance to react.

He felt a sharp pain in his neck and then found himself on the ground, almost out. Strangely aware he was only a moment away from unconsciousness, his mind traveled back to relive the events of the last hours.

He had been sitting in the waiting area, leafing through a newspaper without really paying attention to what he was reading. Much too early for his flight, he had tried to kill time, bored and tired, just wanting to get home. The vacation hadn't turned out that great.

Could have done something better with that money, he had thought. And looking for some distraction, he had cast his eyes round the room and watched another plane arriving, passengers, mostly local residents, picking up their baggage and passing him on their way towards the exit. Tozeur was a smaller airport. Originally, he had been supposed to leave from Tunis but he had altered the booking to leave a few days earlier and get back home. Home…right.

Checking out the new arrivals, he had wondered if the discomforts of the long drive down and the waiting had been worth the whole venture. Probably not, he had just concluded when his heart had suddenly skipped a beat, causing him to hold his breath.

His jaw had dropped. It couldn't be. Impossible. She couldn't be… . But she damn sure looked like her.

If he didn't know she was in prison. But did he really know that? He had left Division a year and a half ago and if she had managed to escape, they surely wouldn't have advertised it in the papers or on TV. The first second he hadn't even recognized her. Just rested his gaze on her for a moment, naturally, as she had stood out as one of the few foreigners. But then she had turned her head and there was no way he could have forgotten. Although he hadn't thought of it in a long time. His first real case. His first real recommendation. Decision. He had felt his throat going dry.

She had walked by, fortunately without looking his direction, and left the building. And without thinking about it he had gotten up as well and followed her outside. She had quickly made her way to the parking lot and got into a car, and again he had just reacted without reflecting on the consequences of his actions.

And sitting in a shabby cab, following her on a dusty road somewhere in the middle of Tunisia, he had finally wondered what the hell he was doing. They had left the city and the driver had complained that he usually didn't go that far. But waving with a roll of banknotes had calmed him down. He would probably take him across the country and back if they could agree on a price, Nick had thought, and signaled that he would pay whatever he would be quoted for. In area like this, a bit off the tourist spots, that had to be like winning the jackpot.

"C'est bien?" he had asked, holding up the cigarette package, besides his wallet the only thing that was not on the plane and probably on the way home by then.

And the driver had given him a nod and a smile. "C'est bien."

"Great."

He had fumbled with his lighter and lit a cigarette, collapsing into the seedy seat, running a hand through his hair and licking his dry lips, wiping the sweat off his forehead. What the hell was he doing?

They had soon been out in the open with less and less cars accompanying them, and he had started to worry. How far was she going? Where was she going? The longer they stayed behind her, the more likely it was that she would notice the cab following her. And if I recognized her, she'll recognize me just as easily. And he still remembered what she was capable of, what had happened to people who had been in her way. The ones they knew of. So what the hell am I doing?

Feeling the warm earth against his face now, the dry taste of it on his lips, a sense of someone standing over him was the last thing he caught before he drifted off into unconsciousness.

¤¤¤

Nina exhaled, shrugging the surge of adrenaline off, and stared down at the man to her feet. Seems we're finally on. Hunting season had started. And in a way she was relieved. At least the time of waiting and uncertainty was over now.

She had been suspicious right away when the cab in the rearview mirror hadn't disappeared even after they had left the city. Wondering if there was any sense to pretending she hadn't noticed, she had realized it was still her best option. And once home, she had arranged what she had been prepared for all this time: papers and documents, the things she really needed were at all times ready to leave with her, the phone call only took around 40 seconds, and her other bags had been packed within a matter of minutes. Then she had waited. The border was less than an hour away in case she needed to make a quick exit, but she estimated she still had plenty of time. He seemed to be on his own.

She knelt down beside him, making sure he was really out, wondering once again why he had been so careless. First the cab, and then it hadn't been hard to discover him standing on the other side of the road. Neither to waylay him when he had made his approach. And she had been ready to shoot him, knowing the silencer would prevent unwanted attention. But while sneaking up on him in the dark, she had reconsidered and made a quick decision, letting him live for now. First she needed to know who else knew about her whereabouts.

Reaching out for his shoulder, she was curious if she would meet a familiar face. After all, Jack would probably turn to someone he trusted with this, which limited the number of people worth considering and increased the chances that she might know that person as well. Jack had never trusted more than a handful of people, and it wasn't very likely that had changed after she had sold him out three years ago. His partner, his confidant, his fling. Not that his trust in her had been unlimited either, but she had probably come closer to him than anyone else. In certain ways even closer than his precious wife.

On the other hand it would make more sense to send somebody she didn't know, wouldn't recognize right away. Especially as this could only be about finding her, checking up on her, preferably without warning her. There was no doubt on her mind that Jack would want to finish things personally.

She pulled at the guy's shoulder to flip him over, and when his head rolled around, she stared into his face, incredulous for a moment. He?

She frowned. Perplexed. Confused. Why him? His chest rising and falling, he was obviously still breathing.

Thinking back now, she could easily recall the image of him sitting across the table, in his white shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his tie loosened as if he had been wearing it for too many hours. His face had been unshaved and stubbly then as well, he had seemed a little tired, but not nearly as worn down as he did now. He looked different, somewhat aged, somewhat less in shape. His clothes were not only casual, they were scruffy, his whole appearance somehow sloppy and unkempt. She spotted the beginning of a beer belly. He looked like the cliché of a seedy private investigator.

She got to her feet and slipped the gun into her pants, grabbed his shoulders and dragged him around the corner to the terrace, where she left him on the floor. Quickly searching his pockets, she found what she was looking for, and leafing through his passport walked inside to get the satellite phone.

"Yes?" a familiar voice answered just about a minute later.

"It's me."

"What do you need?"

"I need information about a man, a -" she checked the passport again, "Nick Sturges." She had never learned his name. "He's probably been with Division, the Bureau or some other related agency about three years ago. I need to know what he's doing now."

"You just mean his status or do you want details about current assignments etc.?"

"Whatever you can dig up," she replied. "It's urgent."

"You got it," her contact affirmed, one of her most reliable sources and also most secretive. She was glad she could still use him. "I'll get back to you as soon as I got anything."

"One more thing," she added, making her way back towards the terrace.

"Yes?"

"I need you to cross-reference everything you find."

"Cross-reference? With what?"

"CTU." She sighed inaudibly. "Jack Bauer."

"Is your past finally catching up with you?" he asked, and she hesitated, staring at the unconscious man in her backyard.

"We'll see."

She hung up and placed the phone on the living room table before she stepped outside. It would take a while before he called back. Enough time for her to take care of her uninvited guest. And while looking for something to secure him with, she couldn't but wonder once again: why him? Of all people she could think of, he was the last one she had expected to show up at her doorstep. What was he doing here? She had a hard time believing that Jack had sent him, but then again, what were the odds he had come for any other reason? As far as she knew, there was only one person interested in finding her for the time being.

"Are you sure?"

Nick slowly came to, the voice coming from far away through the mist.

"No, that won't be necessary. Just make sure this stays between you and me."

¤¤¤

The first thing he noticed was a dull pain somewhere in the back of his head which seemed to increase as he tried to open his eyes.

"No one needs to know."

He tried to focus, to listen and make sense of the words reaching his ears, but his mind was still in a haze and his memory foggy. Now noticing as well that his arms were restraint and tied behind his back while his upper body was leaning against something wooden, he found himself sitting on the ground. He blinked a few times, looking around to scan his surroundings.

"Rise and shine," the voice rang out again, clearer this time, nearer. "Look who's awake."

He looked up and caught sight of her, sitting in a chair about ten feet away from him. And as everything came back to him, his eyes lingered on the gun that was lying on the chair's armrest, her hand loosely covering it, signaling that she could easily make use of it any second.

"Nick," she said as if stating a fact. "I never got your name."

And his gaze slid further up, meeting hers, finding the hint of a sarcastic smile on her face.

"I don't even remember how much time we spent together. I wasn't in the best shape."

He swallowed, trying to find some sort of composure. He remembered.

She looked better now. Much more awake, stronger, her skin color healthier. Back at the airport, he had been wondering how he could be so sure it was her at all. She didn't seem to have much in common with the person he had seen at Division, seen being interrogated. Seen getting tortured. She seemed fine now.

"It's been a while," she continued, even her voice bearing that amused, mocking intonation. "Why are you here?"

Why was he here? Was this a suicide mission? Had the last years only been some sort of strange foreplay leading up to this night? This absurd reunion? Had he finally found what he had been looking for all along?

"Hmm…weren't you the one telling me that keeping quiet was not the right choice?" she said almost teasingly, but then her face seemed to harden a little as she cut to the point. "What are you doing here?"

"I saw you at the airport," he was surprised to hear himself say, with a throaty voice he hardly recognized.

She raised her eyebrows.

"That's it? You saw me and thought 'oh, we had such a lovely time last time, I should stop by and say hi'?"

Her words drowning in sarcasm, he wanted to look away, avoid her piercing eyes but couldn't. So he just stared back at her, hectically searching for a way out of this.

"Maybe I wanted to make sure you wouldn't get away before they come to get you?" he tried in a much too desperate attempt, angry at being so panic-stricken, angry at being so headless. Was this what it was like to be at the other side of the table? He had tried to imagine it sometimes but in his head the scenario had played out differently. He had done better. Used his skills, his intelligence, not acted like an amateur.

"Get me?" she asked amused. "Who?"

Frustrated and not sure how to proceed with his bluff, he decided it was best to keep his mouth shut. He tried to smile, the way she had, to seem self-assure, but he felt it wasn't nearly as convincing as he wanted it to be.

"Who else knows you're here?"

Was there a hint of worry in her question, concern? Or was it just wishful thinking on his part? But she should be worried. She was on the run, she had to be worried facing the possibility of getting arrested again.

"Division."

Again that smile. And she didn't seem to have to fake it.

"You called them?"

He couldn't see why but he felt as if he had just made a mistake. Said the wrong thing at the wrong time. As if he had given away something he shouldn't have. If he just knew what.

"And what did you tell them? That you located a fugitive?" Her eyes challenged him.

"Maybe."

"I bet they were very interested."

Something was wrong. Either she knew for sure that he hadn't had the time to contact anyone or she really didn't care. But he couldn't see a reason for either one.

"They were," he tried to carry on nevertheless. There was no turning back now anyway.

She shook her head and seemed to stifle a laughter.

"You've been away for too long, Nick," she sighed then. "Trust me, even if you had called Division, they wouldn't have cared much."

Even if?

"I'm a normal civilian now. I've done my time, I deeply regret."

"Sure," he retorted. "I didn't know the sentence for murder and treason had been reduced so drastically that you get out after what, three years?"

"It hasn't," she replied calmly. "But as the United States is a presidential democracy, the head of state has the right to basically pardon any convict he likes."

"Pardon?" he repeated, taken aback. "If I remember correctly, you were helping to try to assassinate this very president. Why should he have pardoned you of all people?"

"Maybe he thought I'm not such a bad person," she stated mockingly, and he didn't know what to make of it. But he didn't get much time to commit himself to an opinion.

He saw her getting up, taking the gun with her and keeping a relaxed grip around it while she came towards him. His mind was racing. Could this be true? Could she really have been released in the course of a pardon?

He took a deep breath as she squatted down in front of him, the gun still not aimed at anything in particular, almost dangling from her hand, on a level with her knees. But it wasn't the gun itself that scared him. More his knowledge about the person holding it. If she was telling the truth he was no threat to her, but somehow that didn't make him feel safe.

"What do you want?" she asked, her voice and expression serious now. "You didn't come here unarmed and without back-up to arrest me. So why did you?"

He felt a shiver running down his spine.

"I don't know."

It was the truth. Had he thought he had followed her to let her kill him, the fear surging up inside him was conflicting with that theory.

"Why did you leave Division?"

She knew. How did she know? Was she guessing or indeed better informed about him than he was about her? In that case she'll know what you did. If she hadn't figured it out on her own right away. And whether it had been his intention or not, there was a good chance she would kill him for what they had done to her. But something else was occupying his mind. Why had he left Division?

"I couldn't stay there," he merely whispered, and continued as she didn't attempt to stop him. "I was too weak," he said, shocked as the words started to run out of him and realizing he couldn't stop them. Maybe he had held them back for too long. "When you first start out, it's all exciting and new, and you're thrilled because you're finally doing what you've only been studying before. You're finally using all those skills you trained, all those theories and strategies."

He saw her frown, examine his face and his expression as if to look for an indicator for the truthfulness of his statement. But he barely noticed, hardly cared what effect his words had on her now. His voice slowed down a little as he suddenly felt exhausted. As if he had been bearing something for so long - and only now was he collapsing under the burden.

"It's intoxicating. Until you realize that it's not some text book example, no theory. And you start seeing real people, with families, relationships – despite whatever they have done or are accused of having done. They're still for real. And you think you can't handle that." His eyes strayed from her at last, and it was his turn to sneer, just for himself, just for a second. "They tell you that it's normal. That you'll get used to it. And you think, no, I'll never get used to this, I won't." Traveling lower and lower, his eyes finally met the ground in front of him. "I won't," he repeated, his voice heavy with consternation. "But you do. Within the blink of an eye, you do. Before you know of it, you're so used to it, you don't question it anymore. And you're doing your job, you go home in the evenings, thinking you've done alright. You've done what's necessary. Someone has to. You've done good."

He looked up and into her eyes again, hardly seeing her though.

"I used to think that I'm educated, intelligent, enlightened. But I was good at my job, I was good. And so caught up in…'doing the right thing', I stopped questioning what that is."

She seemed indifferent, and a part of him wondered why she was even listening. But he was still too estranged from the situation to care.

"Who's to say what can be sacrificed? And for what? You see all these things, right in front of your eyes. You see more than you ever thought you were gonna see, more than is good for you. But you just go along. Because you accept the fact that it's the best for your country, for us. Whoever that is… What if the best for 'us' is the worst for someone else? What if the world is more complicated than good and bad, black and white, right or wrong? But there's no time for that, no room. So you keep doing the best you can, sticking to what you know for sure and shutting everything else out. You decide not to see what you can't allow yourself to see. And you find yourself suddenly so far away from who you wanted to be or thought you'd be. It scared me." He noticed he had switched from the less personal 'you' to the more definite 'I', wondering if he could make himself any more vulnerable. Hardly. But what did it matter now. "It scared the hell out of me. What I had become. Who I was." Once again he lowered his gaze, once again staring at the ground in front of him, the ground between them. "And I wasn't up to it. As if I had noticed I was playing with the big guys when all I was, was just a little boy. With no idea what I had gotten myself into."

¤¤¤

He had fallen silent. Finally. And while he seemed to be somewhere far away, Nina became oddly aware of the situation again.

"Then it was good you stopped playing," she said with a mocking smile on her face and got up.

The thought had occurred to her, of course, that this was a charade. That he had chosen his words carefully and for a reason, hoping they would affect her in a certain way. If she remembered one thing from their previous encounter, it was not to underestimate him. She had no doubt that he had been good at his job, at getting into other people's minds. She had her own first-hand experience. But there was something in his eyes, a desperation too real to be fake. Besides – her contact had confirmed it: there was no connection to Jack. Nick Sturges had officially terminated his employment contract one and a half years ago, and nothing was indicating that he had crossed paths with Jack before that, neither that he had been in contact with anyone since. His shock about her pardon seemed real and even though he had still been with Division at the time it made sense he hadn't learned about it until now. Palmer had made sure only a few people knew. Not exactly the thing he'd want to advertise with. Whatever had led Nick here, it had nothing to do with Jack. Now she just had to get rid off him.

"It was me," he stopped her on her way inside, his voice suddenly strong again, and she glanced over her shoulder.

"It was my recommendation that got you there."

She turned a bit more around to have a proper look at his face. Of course. She had known it was gonna come up as soon as she had recognized him. And now it didn't take her one second to understand what he was talking about. Only where was he heading with this?

"I figured," she replied calmly.

She hadn't exactly given it much thought. After he had left the room that night, other things had been more important to focus on. But she had known, of course. Once she had realized Alberta wasn't important, she had understood that Nick had been the one to call the shots, the one who had been supposed to break her. And when he couldn't, he probably recommended torture. She had assumed it, knowing she would have done it if she had been in his place. Now she knew for sure.

"I watched," he continued just as she was about to move on.

She stared at him, knowing her expression was still indifferent, not giving away what she felt.

"I was there."

She understood. And suppressed the memories of what he had watched. She could see what he was up to and tried to focus on that and leave everything else aside, turning around the last bit to face him.

"I can tell you details to prove it," he offered and it took her a little longer than usually to display a mocking smile.

"I bet you can."

She took her time looking him up and down, noticing the way his whole body was tensed, his breathing hectic and a little too fast, his forehead sweaty, his eyes restless and nervously flickering over her face. She took her time because the longer it lasted the more aware he became of all these things as well.

"Let me tell you what I think," she said, using his exact words and the intonation as she remembered it. "I think you didn't come here to have me killing you. Maybe you think you did but that's not it."

He slowly lowered his eyes and hung his head, looking like a child that had been caught doing something and was about to be punished.

"I don't know what it is you're looking for, but this is not the place to find it," she continued, slowly walking up to him. "Unless I'm wrong."

He looked up, and as she squatted down in front of him again, tilted his head back as far as he could, holding his breath.

"Unless you really wanna die," she challenged him.

He swallowed but didn't say anything, just stared back at her.

"Do you?" she asked, raising her hand with the gun slowly, to give him time to anticipate what she was going to do. And his eyes followed the barrel until it connected with his temple. Then he closed them.

She watched him closely, and recognizing the expression on his face, she was suddenly not so sure anymore. There was fear, definitely, his entire body about to start shaking. But she could also tell that he hadn't merely closed his eyes in a reflex. He was playing the scenario in his mind, imagining the consequences in case he chose to give her a positive answer. Yes, I do. And she caught herself hoping she hadn't been wrong about this, that she wouldn't actually hear him say it.

After all, she had come to the conclusion that it was best to let him live. He was no direct threat to her, even if he would tell anyone about their encounter. She would be long gone by then. She had to change locations anyway, now that everything was arranged. There was nothing to gain from killing him. It wouldn't be hard to cover up since he had been the one invading her property. But a dead body always raised attention, especially if one of the involved was a foreigner residing on terms of a limited exile. Attention she didn't need. It was less trouble to just let him go.

But seeing him seriously consider her implied offer, she suddenly wondered if she should grant him his wish if it was to… But she hadn't been wrong.

A moment later he opened his eyes again and slowly met hers, still not saying anything but giving her a look that didn't require any further explanation.

"I didn't think so," she stated, sneering slightly as she removed the gun from his head and got up. She almost felt sorry for him. "This is not about you wanting to die. It's about guilt."

Looking down at him, she couldn't but think how lost he seemed, his eyes staring back at her, asking for something she couldn't give him. And that he didn't need in the first place. He doesn't need to be forgiven. Although, ironically enough, he seemed to think so.

"I'm not sure what it is you're beating yourself up over," she sighed, rolling her eyes while she let the gun disappear behind her back, "but I'm pretty sure it's not worth it. Cause no one cares except for you." She reached into her pocket and revealed a penknife. This entire night had turned into a giant waste of time, money and patience. Her time, her money and her patience. "You couldn't do the job, you were smart enough to quit – so what? They found someone else to get it done, trust me, they always do. So if that's what you're worried about," she counseled sarcastically, letting the blade pop out, "don't be."

She walked around him and knelt down, cutting through the rope she had used to tie his hands.

"What if I disappointed someone?" she heard him whisper, and remained squatted behind his back a moment longer, wondering who he was talking about. Expectations on part of his family, his parents? Or just his own?

"Then get over it. It's not the end of the world, it's simply how the world is. People disappoint and get disappointed." She got up, taking one step back and then a couple more around him to have a look at his face again. "Welcome to reality," she sneered, looking down on him. "Time to go home and play with the other kids."