Thank you for reading! I was recently watching the end of season 6 and was struck by how many of the things Jack says to Heller at the end of this season would also make sense if he had said them to his father. After this introductory chapter, I plan to upload a few more chapters that explore Jack's feelings during his conversation with Heller, interspersed with flashbacks to his memories about his father. I hope you enjoy!
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Chapter 1
For many years to come, Jack would tell himself that he'd had no reaction to the death of his father. But that wasn't entirely true. Sure, there had been no mourning, no grief, no denial or depression. But there had been anger, and lots of it, too. It began as a warm flicker deep in his stomach, almost pleasant as it filled the hollow craters where large chunks of him had been ripped out and left in China. Jack traced its origin to the realization that his father's death would be instantaneous. A quick, painless end, a privilege Jack himself couldn't have dared to hope for just twenty-four hours ago. A privilege, his broken ribs and throbbing stab wound reminded him, that was probably out of the question even now. Something about that didn't feel fair. He wasn't jealous, exactly; the last thing Jack wanted was to be anywhere near as callous as his father. But it bothered him nonetheless.
The more he thought about it, the more the anger fed itself, growing into a wild inferno that devoured Jack's organs and melted through his very core. Death, even when it came slowly and painfully, was a soft punishment. Jack had learned that through his own years of suffering. Some of the things he had gone through he wouldn't wish on anyone, but others, he thought, his father surely deserved. The guilt, for example. The mind-eating, soul-crushing, paralyzing burden that had weighed Jack down for so long that he no longer remembered what it was like to live without it. He wanted to make his father feel that same guilt. He wanted to lock the man in a room and recite all the ways he had hurt his sons for decades on end. He wanted to show him pictures of Valencia, of dead children and broken families and gruesome injuries, to make him understand the extent of his culpability.
Except Phillip Bauer probably wasn't capable of guilt, and that fueled Jack's rage all the more. Well, then, let him feel humiliation. Let him feel the sting of handcuffs around his wrists and read about the dissolution of his precious company in outdated newspapers while a taunting cellmate watched him from the top bunk. Let him do community service filling potholes near the BXJ building, while his former employees slowed their cars, casting skeptical glances to confirm that it really was the once-mighty Phillip Bauer hunched there in that orange jumpsuit. Let him think of the gossip spreading like wildfire through the country clubs and cocktail lounges and billionaire McMansions and wonder what his old golf buddies would think of him now. It wasn't quite the poetic justice the narcissistic scumbag deserved, but it would be a start, a crack in the façade of the untouchable business tycoon.
Suddenly, the fire in Jack's chest turned inward, igniting the heavy stones of guilt and self-hatred he carried in his stomach. His father had always been this way, unchanging since Jack's earliest memories. So why hadn't Jack seen it earlier? He'd allowed himself to be manipulated like a puppet on a string, always suspecting Graem but never dear old dad, just the way Phillip had wanted it. And then, that afternoon, he'd done it again, even after his father's guilt was definitively and irrefutably confirmed, even after he'd heard the confession firsthand. He'd listened as his father had deflected the blame, directing it squarely onto Jack's shoulders – if Jack had joined the company like he was supposed to, none of this would have happened – and instead of fighting back, he'd allowed it to happen. He'd spent his presumed final moments apologizing for not being the son his father had always wanted.
It was tempting to blame China for the moment of weakness. Jack had, after all, been forced to accept months of blame and punishment for what was clearly an accident, been conditioned into believing he deserved it. No matter how strong and well-trained you were, psychological torture messed with your head; it was unavoidable. The uncomfortable truth, however, was that Jack had been vulnerable to his father's guilt-trips since childhood, and his father had noted it and taken advantage of it and still Jack had fallen prey to the same dirty tricks over and over again. How many nights had Jack lain awake in bed believing that he was a disobedient and ungrateful son, responsible for every conflict that arose between him and his father? How many times had he questioned his own motivations, wondering if his decision to enlist in the army was an act of selfishness? How often had he felt guilty for cutting off contact with his father after Teri's funeral?
He was disgusted with himself at that moment, hating himself almost as much as he hated his father. His empty stomach twisted, fire turning to magma and threatening to erupt from his throat as he fought back the urge to vomit. If he had been in a calmer state of mind, he might have noticed how ironic it was that he now felt guilty for feeling guilty, but he was in no shape to analyze. All he could think about was what a pathetic little doormat he was, lying there and letting people trample him, smearing their guilt all over his conscience until he genuinely believed he was the one to blame.
It wasn't just his father who did such things. Heller's awful words from a few hours ago – "everything you touch ends up dead" – still echoed in Jack's mind. Jack wasn't denying that he deserved some of the blame for Audrey's current state, but for Heller, of all people, to talk to him that way… If only Heller had lifted a finger to bring Jack home, Audrey would never have needed to go to China. Not to mention Jack would have been spared months of suffering under extreme torture, but clearly, Heller didn't care about that as much as Jack had thought he would. If Heller had been the one trapped in a foreign prison, Jack would have moved heaven and earth to rescue him, even with his limited bargaining power. But Jack hadn't thought any of this back in the holding cell. He'd let Heller walk all over him, and he'd once again shouldered blame that wasn't his to bear.
The magma churned faster in Jack's stomach, demanding some kind of release, and now Jack knew exactly what he had to do. Nodding at Bill, he released his grip on the ladder and let himself drop into the ocean.