Sitting up in bed Jack dropped a green tennis ball from one hand into the other continuously, staring at the wall, his face devoid of emotion. He was tired but wouldn't sleep. Since his return home, after the surgeries and before the therapy had began, he'd slept through the day and night. Soon enough he'd began to get his strength up and could make it through the day with an hours nap after the workouts Sarah put him through. He didn't like it and hoped somehow staying up throughout the entire day would somehow help his recovery or at least his resolve.
Sighing he began to squeeze the ball in his right hand, then his left. It was a technique Sarah had started him on when he'd returned home. The leg had still been too tender to work on, and his ribs and other injuries weren't completely healed over. She gave him the ball to help exercise the bruised hand and rebuild its strength. It also kept him occupied, Sarah had been pleased she had thought of such a simple thing which had been so effective.
Squeezing the ball tightly Jack thought back to his first week home, how hard this simple task alone had been. But now it was easy, and it had been a couple of weeks at the most, only it seemed so far away. He knew he's recovered tremendously since then, his body had still been sore and bruised, stitches had still been in place here and there, and they had continued to feed him through that damn drip. Now, now he could move without pain if he didn't include his leg. The bruises had faded, the stitches were out, small discreet scars in there place. In truth, he had healed. They weren't worrying about his weight anymore, weren't taking blood samples from him every few hours to test - he had progressed.
So why was he so down? He knew that part of it was due to his weakness, his lack of strength and energy. Sarah had told him this was normal, that his body had become accustomed to its injuries, now it would have to get reacquainted with its previous self as he slowly worked his way back to his old level of fitness. It made sense, what she told him, and he himself didn't expect to be running around anytime soon, despite his need to do so.
"Recovery takes time," she had said, and he had accepted it, eventually.
So why did he feel like he could burst into tears at any moment? Tossing the ball into his other hand he began to roll it down his stomach as he laid back, now looking up at the ceiling. His knee ached but that was fine, his leg, well, he still couldn't feel too much due to the restriction of the cast, but he was sure that wasn't the reason for his mood, the progression of his leg lifted him if anything.
Letting out a deep breath he thought back to his last conversation with Heller. The debrief had been complete and Heller hadn't brought its contents up again, which Jack was grateful for. He did however, keep pushing for Jack to see Palmer, and like a coward, Jack continued to make feeble excuses. Why couldn't he admit that he was scared? He didn't want to see the man he had betrayed, given up for himself, a man he was sworn to protect.
Heller had told him he would feel better if he talked to somebody about what he had endured. Jack had grown tense and Heller had rephrased his wording, that he should talk to anybody about it. Kim, Tony, even the wall if he had to. Heller had made it clear that he was available if Jack ever wanted to speak to him, but he knew it would never happen. Heller, like Palmer, represented everything he had once fought for, the reason for his demise, and the shell of a man he now was.
A strong breeze flew in from the open window and Jack turned his head to look outside. It was a warm day, the sun was out, the garden green. Closing his eyes Jack smiled as the breeze caressed his skin. He never thought he'd get to feel this again when he was in China. Breathing deeply he drifted away feeling grateful for his rescue, even if he had given up a man he respected. Loosing consciousness the tennis ball dropping from his hands and rolled across the floor with a soft thud.