Bloodline
Prologue
In the depths of the CTU's digital archives, Alex Almeida hunched over his workstation, the flicker of ancient files playing over his determined features. The clock on the wall ticked away the hours, seemingly slowing with each unanswered question that writhed through his mind. Beside him, Emily Winters watched with an expression painted with concern and weariness, knowing well the toll this quest was taking on him.
"Alex." Emily's voice carried a subtle note of firmness now. "You've been at this for hours. What exactly are you hoping to find tonight that thirty-four years of investigation missed?"
Sighing, he rubbed his eyes. "I don't know, Em. A clue, a whisper, anything that explains why Dad would turn into the very thing he spent his life fighting against."
Alex finally met her gaze, his eyes reflecting a storm of emotions. "It's not just about finding the truth, Em. It's about understanding him. He was a hero, but they branded him a terrorist. There's a disconnect there, and it's like everyone's avoiding it."
Emily leaned in, her lips hovering over his forehead as if to kiss away the frustration. "Maybe they're not avoiding it. Maybe they're just trying to move on. Your mom, Jack, everyone who knew him—they lost a part of themselves that day too."
"There's moving on, and there's forgetting," Alex shot back, his voice rising. "Dad deserves to be remembered for who he really was, not the label they stuck on him after a breakdown nobody seems to want to explain."
She grabbed his hand firmly, forcing him to look at her directly. "And what if this search of yours leads you to place you're not ready for? Remember the temporal device case we closed last month? Remember how we said some stones are better left unturned?"
"That was different, Em." He pulled his hand away, tapping on the keyboard, bringing up another document. "This is personal."
Emily pulled a chair up beside him, their shoulders touching in silent solidarity. "Maybe your father was a victim too, you know? Of circumstance, of misinformation. Greed and revenge can corrupt the best of us, warp our reality."
Emily sighed, her patience unwavering. "Let's talk about something else for a bit, okay? How about we plan our weekend in Seattle? Your mind could use the break, and my family is excited to see us."
He couldn't help the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Alright," Alex conceded. "Maybe a break is not such a bad idea."
"Good. Because the first thing we're doing is taking my dad's boat out on the lake. You're going to learn how to fish whether you like it or not," Emily teased, her eyes alight with mischief.
Alex laughed, a genuine sound that felt alien in the seriousness of their conversation a moment ago. "I can't promise I'll be good company if I'm stuck with a fishing rod in my hands
"Trust me, you'll be a natural," Emily retorted playfully. "You're an Almeida; you've got skilled hands. Might as well use them for something other than hacking into government databases and shooting guns."
"Yeah, well," Alex quipped, with a playful narrowing of his eyes, "if any trout go rogue, I can take them down, no problem."
Emily rolled her eyes dramatically. "My hero," she said, her voice dripping with feigned swooning. "Come on, you know you give my dad too much to talk about with all this spy stuff. The fishing trip will give him something else to focus on other than grilling you on CTU tactics."
"I can handle your dad. It's your mom's lasagna that's the real threat. I'm still working off the last visit," Alex joked, leaning back in his chair and finally breaking away from the screen to give Emily his full attention.
"You love her lasagna, don't even deny it." Emily nudged him with her shoulder, her expression softening. "Seeing you eat like you've never seen food before is one of the highlights of these trips."
The light banter faded, and they both sat in silence for a moment, basking in the temporary reprieve. Then, slowly, the levity drained from Alex's eyes, replaced once again by the intensity that so often shadowed his features.
"After the weekend—after we've had our fill of fish and lasagna—I have to come back to this, Em. I need to follow this lead... It mentions a name I've never seen before connected to the day of the explosion—someone from the inside."
Emily watched him, her expression a mix of admiration and concern. "Alright, Alex, but be careful. Some leads are real, and some... they're just ghosts. Echoes of a past that can't be changed."
She stood up and kissed his hair, lingering for just a heartbeat. "Promise me you won't let this lead you down a rabbit hole you can't get out of?"
He reached up to put his hand over hers, still resting on his head. "I promise. But this isn't just for me or for Dad," Alex said, sincerity lacing his voice. "It's for us. So we can move forward without this shadow hanging over us."
Emily wanted to believe him, to trust that this search wouldn't consume him, wouldn't take him from her. She could only nod, hoping that the faith they had in each other would help guide Alex through the darkness of his family's past.
As she pulled away, Alex grabbed her hand, drawn by the support she radiated. "I won't be long tonight, I promise. Let's not keep your parents waiting this weekend. I want to see them, too. And those nephews of yours are growing up fast; I don't want to miss it."
She squeezed his hand in return, a silent thank you for his assurance. "Okay, but remember, you promised. And it's not just about my folks, it's about us getting some time away from all this," she said, gesturing to the walls of CTU.
He smiled up at her, the warmth returning to his eyes. "You're right. Absolutely right. So, how about we leave early Friday? Beat the traffic and maybe stop somewhere nice on the way. Make a real trip out of it."
Emily lit up at the idea. "I'd like that. We can take the scenic route—drive along the coast, windows down, music up. And you're not driving the whole way; I'm taking the wheel too."
Alex's grin widened. "Deal. But only if you promise not to critique my taste in music the entire trip."
"Oh, no promises there, Almeida," she laughed, tossing her hair back with a mock haughtiness. "We'll see if your playlist has improved since last time."
He pretended to look hurt. "I'll have you know my playlist is expertly curated," he said with a smirk.
"As long as it's not all 'spy-themed' songs again," she chided, shaking her head in faux disbelief.
He feigned offence, placing a hand over his heart. "That was one time, and you know it."
They shared another laugh, warmer and more carefree this time. It was moments like these that reminded Alex why he was doing all of this—not just for his father's memory, but for the future he wanted to build with Emily.
With that thought, resolve steeled within him. Alex stood, kissed Emily fondly on the forehead, and then began shutting down his work for the evening.
"We'll solve this mystery, Alex," Emily said reassuringly as they headed for the exit. "But not all at once, and not tonight."
"You're right. As always," Alex replied, his voice filled with gratitude. "For tonight, it's just you and me. And the world outside these walls."
The CTU doors closed behind them, the labyrinth of secrets and memories left in the hands of time, as the couple walked away under the ink-black sky.
Emily looped her arm through his. "Just think about it, by Monday, we'll be two people hopelessly stuffed with good food, with a weekend full of memories."
"Hopelessly stuffed and blissfully content," Alex agreed, the troubled thoughts of his father's past momentarily locked away. Life, he knew, was about more than the shadowy corridors of CTU and the ghosts that haunted its servers. The truth would come in time, but for now, there was light in the world, and it was worth stepping into.
They walked together towards the promise of the life they had now, the simple joys that awaited them along the coast, and the solace found in each other's company. The future, bright and uncertain, beckoned with open arms.
The clock on the bedside table read 2:37 AM. Alex's eyes were wide open, the darkness of the room seemingly amplifying his racing thoughts. He could hear Emily's gentle, rhythmic breathing beside him—an anchor in his tumultuous mental sea.
The unsolved mysteries about his father clawed at the edges of his mind. His dad, Tony, misled into believing the worst, transformed by grief into someone unrecognizable. And his mom, waking up to a world irrevocably altered, believing her husband to be dead. It didn't sit right; there were too many holes in that story. His gut twisted with the knowledge that something crucial was being withheld from the narrative—the essential truth that lay somewhere in the void of Uncle Jack's carefully measured words and silences.
Quietly, so as not to disturb Emily, Alex slid out of bed. He dressed in the dark, his fingers deftly finding his clothes. His movement was that of a shadow, a specter of a son seeking answers that refused to be confined to daylight hours.
Once ready, he scribbled a note—it wouldn't be fair to leave without one:
Em,
Can't sleep. Need to clear my head. Don't worry, I'll be back soon.
Love, Alex
He placed the note on her pillow and leaned down to kiss her forehead gently. Then he slipped out of the house, his heart a chaotic blend of trepidation and determination.
Driving to an address that a confidential informant had cryptically mentioned in one of the old CTU files—a lead not followed up on owing to lack of evidence—Alex found himself in front of an abandoned building that looked like it had been forsaken by time itself. A place where the truth seemed just as abandoned.
He entered the building, his flashlight's beam cutting through the oppressive black, the smell of mold and decay assailing his senses. Each step was slow, meticulous as he explored the crumbling interior. Then, amidst the debris and detritus, Alex found something—an old CTU evidence box, covered in dust, its seal broken.
"There you are..." he whispered, a thrill of discovery meeting a pang of suspicion.
"Looking for something?" The voice came from behind him—dry, tinged with malice.
Alex spun around, flashlight aiming at the figure now emerging from the shadows. A man, middle-aged, his features obscured.
"Who are you?" Alex demanded.
"Ah, the prodigal son... searching for answers, no?" the man sneered, stepping into the faint light. "I might be inclined to ask you the same question, considering you're trespassing."
"I'm...I'm a federal agent," Alex countered, though he was off duty and unsure of this man's intentions.
"You don't say?" the man chuckled humorlessly. "Looks like you've stumbled into something over your head, Agent Almeida."
Alex's pulse quickened, his grip on the flashlight tightening. "What do you know about Tony Almeida?"
"Oh, I know plenty," the stranger replied, his voice edged with dark intent. "But the real question is, what are you willing to do for that knowledge?"
"I just want the truth," Alex said firmly.
"The truth?" The man shook his head. "The truth is like an old building like this—neglected and ready to bury you under its weight."
Suddenly, there was a click, a sound that didn't belong—a sound that seemed to signal an ending. Instinctively, Alex lunged at the figure, just as the world erupted into noise and light.
The explosion's roar was deafening, ripping through the building like a monstrous beast set free. Alex felt himself thrown back, airborne, and then nothing but the hard, unforgiving grip of unconsciousness.
Los Angeles May 27, 2004
The heavy front door of Jack Bauer's house creaked open as he stepped inside, the muted orange glow of L.A.'s evening offering little comfort to his tense frame. The stress lines on his face seemed deeper; the result of a relentless day, marked by one too many confrontations with Regional Division Director Ryan Chappelle.
"Just protocol, Jack. It's not that hard to follow!" Chappelle's voice still echoed in his mind, an irritating refrain after a day rife with nothing but irritations.
Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Jack closed the door behind him and was immediately on high alert. Something was off—the subtle displacement of air, the sense of an intruder. As a highly trained agent, his home was his sanctuary, and his instincts flared at the disruption. Moving silently, he surveyed the living room until his eyes landed on an unfamiliar figure collapsed on his floor.
"Hey!" Jack barked, weapon already drawn as he approached. The figure didn't stir, unconscious or unaware. Jack's eyes narrowed at the sight of a gun holster on the man—a gun unlike any he had seen before. With quick, efficient movements, Jack secured the weapon, tucking it away safely.
As he checked for threats, Jack took inventory of the man—he was well-built, not unlike an agent in his prime. Nudging the intruder with his foot, Jack tried to awaken him. "Hey, wake up!"
Alex groaned, his head swimming with the fog of his unpredictable journey. His eyes flickered open, the silhouette of his godfather guiding his wavering senses back to reality—albeit a reality that made no sense. "Uncle Jack?"
Jack stiffened at the mention of his name, his eyes narrowing even further. This was no ordinary break-in. "Who are you? How do you know my name?"
Alex blinked, the room spinning as he tried to sit up. He squinted up at the figure above him, drinking in the sight of Jack Bauer without the weight of the years he remembered. "What... what year is it?"
Jack's face settled into a mask of suspicion. "You're either high or out of your mind," he said flatly.
The concussion must have reasserted its grip, as Alex's stomach churned and he turned, vomiting onto Jack's once-clean floor. Sputtering apologies, Alex tried to regain some composure, though his body vehemently objected.
"I'm not... I'm not high. I'm a federal agent," Alex managed to get out between heaves. Gripping his head, he felt the room spiral, each breath a battle against the darkness edging his vision.
Jack's expression was stone, the lines of his face taut with restraint and a growing concern that he tried to mask. "An agent, huh?" he said, voice loaded with skepticism. "Undercover druggies are nothing new." Despite his doubts, there was a professionalism to Jack's approach as he expertly frisked Alex's pockets, pulling out a wallet and badge. He squinted at the ID, his brain refusing to make sense of what he was seeing. "Alexander Anthony Almeida? Date of birth May 15, 2006? What kind of sick joke is this?"
Swaying slightly, Alex struggled to find an anchor in the disquieting storm of his situation. "Please... just check the backpack. It'll explain everything," he groaned, collapsing back onto the floor as the world dimmed once more.
Taking a deep breath, Jack opened the indicated backpack with care, wary of potential traps. Inside, he found an array of devices and personal items, nothing immediately dangerous but all utterly foreign to him. He held up a slim, sleek smartphone with an unsure grip. "What is this thing?"
"It's my phone. Use it. It has facial recognition. Just... point it at me," Alex instructed, the words slurred as he fought against the waves of nausea and disorientation crashing over him.
Jack, curiosity piqued and suspicion ever-present, obliged. The phone's screen lit up as it scanned Alex's face, unlocking to reveal a digital world Jack barely recognized.
"Swipe up... then go to... photos..." Alex mumbled, trying to direct Jack through the advanced technology.
With a mix of fascination and reluctance, Jack did as instructed, his fingers handling the screen awkwardly. Images flickered past—pictures that defied logic. One showed an older version of himself, his features lined with the heavy etching of time, standing next to a grown Alex and an elderly woman unmistakably Michelle Dessler, but aged by several decades. These were impossibilities materialized into digital truth.
Jack looked back at the man on his floor, confusion and a creeping sense of dread intermingling in his chest. He glanced at the other items from the bag—smart glasses, a tablet, and documents all dated October 27, 2040. Every item screamed futuristic, Jack's skepticism clashed with the unwavering evidence in his hands. "None of this makes sense. If this is some kind of trick…"
"It's not a trick," Alex said, each word labored, coming from a place of deep sincerity amid his confusion. "I don't understand it either, but I was... there was an explosion, and then—I'm here."
Jack, ever the pragmatist, remained guarded, though his voice softened marginally with the concern a skilled operative couldn't quite dampen. "An explosion," he repeated, not as a question, but as a starting point to unravel this mystery. He helped Alex to the couch, maneuvering him with a gentleness that betrayed his gruff exterior.
Once Alex was on the couch, Jack kept a cautious distance. "So, you just happened to explode into my house in the middle of the night?" Disbelief was laced within the dry humor, but Jack's mind was already turning, trying to lock onto any plausible explanation.
As Alex lay there, the room seeming to spin slower now, he looked up at Jack with a mixture of pain and a plea for understanding. "I know it sounds crazy. I was at this building, following up on a lead..."
"Take it from the top. What building? What lead?" Jack interjected, his voice commanding calm from the scenario.
Alex tried to focus, his mind grappling with the fog. "I was at CTU in 2040, or..." He paused, swallowing back another wave of nausea. "We found a clue about my dad, Tony Almeida, and how he... after my mom, Michelle, was in a car explosion."
Jack stiffened. That hit too close to home. "I'm going to stop you right there. Tony and Michelle, as far as I know, are happily married. Hell, they don't have a kid, and certainly not a grown one," Jack stated, his eyes locked onto Alex's, searching for a crack in the tale.
But the unwavering gaze that met his own carried with it the weight of sincerity. "That's because they don't have me yet. I'm—I was—born in 2006. Tony died when I was still a baby."
The pieces clicked together, forming a picture too wild, too incomprehensible, yet one that was supported by the strange and inexplicable evidence piled on Jack's coffee table. Jack's usually impassive demeanor gave way to shock , if only for a moment. His house—the very room they were in—had become the nexus of questions that defied every ounce of his training.
"But how would you know my name?" Jack challenged, trying to regain his bearings in the surreal conversation.
"The same reason you were at my graduation from the academy, and why you came to every birthday party when I was a kid," Alex offered, wincing slightly from his injury. "You're my godfather, Jack. Uncle Jack..."
Now Jack was the one swaying, though not from concussion, but from the sheer weight of the implications. "Your godfather..." he repeated softly, the lock on his jaw flexing as he processed the information.
"Yes," Alex said with a heavy sigh, trying to sit up again. "After the explosion, you helped her... you helped my mom. You've been there... here..." Alex's words tangled as he looked around the room, with a growing realization that 'here' was 36 years in the past.
Jack ran a hand down his face. He had been standing firm against every global threat imaginable, but this—time travel, or whatever Alex claimed it was—cut the ground from beneath him. "This doesn't make any sense," he muttered.
"You have to believe me, Jack. I didn't choose to come here. I don't even know how." Alex's voice was plaintive, echoing the sentiment he had seen in countless suspects and witnesses—a plea for understanding.
Looking at the miscellaneous contents of the backpack, Jack's mind raced. The technology was beyond anything he had ever seen, but the earnestness in Alex's eyes was something he couldn't simply dismiss.
"So, say I believe you—for argument's sake. What now? You've got this tech that's ahead of anything we have, you have documents...receipts, dated 2040. You're telling me you came back from the future because... what? You wanted a glimpse of the past?"
"No! I was investigating a lead about my dad." Alex's voice was growing weak, his body clearly struggling. "It's all connected to this... to why I'm here."
Jack looked down at the pile again—the phone with pictures that might as well have been plucked from a sci-fi film, the ID with a birth date that confirmed Alex did not exist in this current year. It was a hoax that required effort beyond any reasonable explanation.
"Okay, suppose you're not spinning some elaborate story Jack began, already feeling the strain of grappling with concepts straight out of a science fiction novel. "How can I help you? If what you're saying is true, then how do we get you back to your...2040?"
Alex let out a humorless chuckle, as if the question were absurd even to him. "I don't know. This—this isn't exactly standard field op procedure." He swallowed hard, then continued, "I don't even know how this happened. One moment I'm at an abandoned building chasing ghosts, and the next, there's an explosion, and I wake up here."
The word 'explosion' set something off in Jack. "An abandoned building, you said? You were chasing a lead about your... Tony Almeida," Jack clarified, his mind always working an angle, always the tactician. "What was the lead?"
"It was about my dad believing my mom died in the car explosion, and the life he led after," Alex explained as his voice faltered under a wave of dizziness.
"And that's it? Some cryptic information from decades ago leads you to an abandoned building and… an explosion?" There was skepticism in Jack's voice, but it was tempered with intrigue, the pieces of the puzzle reluctant to fit together.
"It sounds crazy. But there was something there, some evidence—I just found it, and then..." Alex struggled to sit up, looking more pale by the second. "It's hard to piece it all together."
Jack's eyes surveyed Alex's face—there was a familial resemblance that tugged at his investigator's scrutiny, but the certainty in Alex's gaze, despite his obvious suffering, was compelling. "Let me help you," Jack offered finally, reaching down to steady Alex as another bout of nausea seemed imminent.
"No, Jack. This is my mess, my past—or future—to figure out," Alex insisted weakly, even as his body betrayed his determination with a violent shiver.
"Nonsense," Jack said with gruff compassion. "If this is real, if you are who you say you are—Tony's son, my godson—then we'll figure this out. Together." He paused, then added, "Even if this is beyond anything I've ever encountered."
There was a long silence between them. Jack could see the acceptance, the trust in Alex's eyes as a faint smile ghosted across his lips. "Thank you, Jack," he whispered, closing his eyes for a moment to fight back the encroaching darkness.
Jack moved to the kitchen, returning with a damp cloth and a glass of water. "Here," he said. He handed Alex the water, and as he took a sip, Jack pressed the cloth to his forehead.
"It's strange," Alex murmured, taking shallow breaths as he tried to steady his swirling surroundings. "Talking to you like this. You're…different than I remember."
"Different how?" Jack asked, his curiosity piqued despite the outlandishness of the entire ordeal.
"Younger. Less worn by life. It's like seeing someone I know so well for the first time." The moment of clarity allowed Alex to focus a little more. "In my time, you retired from the field. But here you are… still fighting the good fight."
Jack let out a short laugh, though it was devoid of real mirth. "Retired, huh? That's hard to picture." He gave Alex a sharp look. "Okay, so assuming I'm buying this wild story—which I'm not saying I am—what's the last thing you remember before waking up here?"
Alex took another sip of water, thinking back. "There was a lead, a file that didn't add up. There was a minute of footage missing from the surveillance tapes surrounding the—" He cut off as another wave of nausea overcame him, but he pushed through. "The explosion that allegedly killed my mom."
Jack was silent for a moment, the investigative gears turning in his head. "Missing footage. That might be something we can use. Might give us a starting point," he pondered aloud.
"But that's back in my time, and here I am, stuck in a past that isn't mine. How do I get back, Jack?" The more Alex spoke, the more it seemed to drain him, his voice growing fainter.
"We start by treating this like any other case," Jack decided, standing up and beginning to pace the room. "We look at the facts, strip away the impossibilities, and see what we're left with. You've got tech that's decades ahead of us here—maybe that's the key to all this."
Alex nodded, a sense of relief visible despite his weakened state. "In the evidence box, where I—where the explosion happened, there was an old recording device, one that shouldn't have been there. It was like nothing we used in 2040 , but it looked... I don't know, older, maybe something from your time."
Jack stopped pacing, his interest piqued. "A recording device that seems out of place both in your time and supposedly in mine? That could be a solid lead. But let's focus on you first. You need medical attention," he said, the agent in him unwilling to put investigation before the well-being of a civilian, even one claiming to be from the future.
"I can't go to a hospital, Jack," Alex said, a pained edge to his words. "I technically don't exist."
Jack weighed the options, his mind a tactical map, plotting all possible moves and counter-moves. "We'll manage here. But let's walk through this one more time. Specifically, the moments before the explosion. Anything could be key."
Alex leaned back, the dim light casting long shadows across his face. "I... I was going through the contents of the box. There was a stack of old papers, photos, and... the blast." His brow furrowed, trying to scrape more details from his memory. "Everything went white, and then I woke up here. On your floor."
"And you remember nothing during the transition? No sensation, no voices, anything that might clue us in on the mechanics of what happened?" Jack questioned, his tone analytical.
"Nothing. It was like blinking. One second I'm in 2040, the next, I'm lying on your floor in 2004," Alex replied, each word laden with incredulity at his own experience.
Alex's pallor worsened, his face etching with lines of discomfort. Jack, perceiving the shift in his demeanor, softened his interrogation. "Alright, that's enough for now. You're not looking good."
"It's just... all this is so overwhelming," Alex admitted, his hands trembling slightly as he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. "I don't even know what to believe anymore."
"You and me both," Jack murmured, moving to the kitchen and fetching a glass of water. Returning, he handed it to Alex, who gratefully accepted it. "You said you're CTU, but from the future. Your last name's Almeida, your badge and ID—"
"2040," Alex cut in, taking small sips of the water. "I know how it sounds."
"And you have no recollection of how you ended up here, on my living room floor?" Jack's gaze was unwavering, scanning Alex's face for any hint of deceit.
"None," Alex confirmed. "I was in that building, and then... It's like my memory's been wiped clean."
Jack sighed, running a hand through his hair. "That's hard to digest. CTU's seen some stuff, but time travel?" He scoffed. "Sounds like a bad movie plot."
Alex managed a weak chuckle. "Yeah, tell me about it."
There was a pause, filled with the implicit understanding of the bizarre and precarious situation that unified them. Jack's gaze wandered to Alex's injured form, seeing not just another case, but echoes of friendship and bonds from his present and potentially Alex's past.
"You questioned the year earlier," Jack pointed out. "It's 2004, if that helps clear up any confusion."
"2004..." Alex repeated, a faraway look in his eyes. "So my parents—Tony and Michelle—"
"They're alive and well," Jack inserted, an edge of bitterness creeping into his voice. "I see them every day. They're good people, damn good agents too. I can't picture Tony the way you've described him in your time."
A wave of sadness crossed Alex's features. "I never knew them, not together. Not like that." The corners of his mouth turned upwards in a wry smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "It's strange...wondering about the life you could have had."
Jack nodded, a sense of sympathy creeping in as he thought of his own family— strained relationships and missed opportunities. There was something haunting and uniquely human about the regret Alex carried, an echo of his own.
His curiosity piqued, Jack reached over to the smartphone laying on the coffee table. Flicking through more photos, he stumbled upon a picture of Alex standing beside a beaming young woman.
"Who's this?" Jack asked, holding up the phone to show Alex.
Alex peered at the screen, a fond yet pained expression appearing on his face. "That's... That's Emily. Emily Winters. My fiancé." His words were tinged with a mix of love and the stark realization of their separation across time.
Alex paused and thought for a second. "You probably work with her grandfather—Ryan Chappelle."
Jack let out an almost incredulous laugh, the image of the stoic, rule-bound Director becoming a grandfather not quite aligning with the man he saw day-to-day. "Chappelle barely has time to breathe between reprimands; I can hardly picture him at a family dinner."
"He wasn't really there for Emily. Her grandmother, Ryan's wife, died of breast cancer," Alex explained, his gaze lowering. "It hit him hard, and he never really coped. Lost himself in work, became estranged from his kids." Alex's voice went soft. "Emily's mom, Caitlin lives in Seattle. She regrets not making amends with him. Never saw her dad after her mom passed. Emily didn't even get to meet her grandfather."
"That's tough," Jack sympathized, the harsh lines around his eyes softening. "That explains why I've never heard about them."
After a heavy silence, Jack looked intently at Alex. "Listen, if you're stuck here for now, you're not just going to wander off into the streets. You'll stay with me."
"Stay with you?" Alex shifted, panic flitting across his features. "I can't impose—"
"It's not an imposition. You're a time-lost federal agent who claims Tony Almeida is his father," Jack interrupted. "Until we figure out this mess, you're under my protection. I'm not letting you out of my sight."
Alex regarded Jack with a mix of suspicion and concern. It was overwhelming to even consider someone could simply materialize from the future, yet here he was, lying on Jack's couch. "Thank you, Jack. I—I really appreciate it."
"Don't mention it," Jack replied, looking briefly around the living room, a somber look crossing his face as his protective instincts kicked in. "We'll set you up in Kim's old room. She hasn't lived here for years, but it's kept ready for when she visits."
Alex attempted to stand, wincing at the pain that coursed through him at the movement. "Kim? Your daughter?"
"Yeah," Jack said, moving to support Alex as he found his footing. "Come on, let's get you settled."
They made their way to Kim's old room, Jack steadying Alex with a firm grip. As they entered, Alex couldn't help but let out a small chuckle at the sight. Posters of teen idols and bands long dissolved adorned the walls, and remnants of a childhood spent in a much different era were evident in every corner.
"Wow, teenage girl chic," Alex quipped, glancing at the floral bedspread and stuffed animals gathered on the shelves.
Jack let out a rare, easy chuckle. "Yeah, Kim had quite the eye for interior design."
Alex walked to the nearest wall, examining the pictures and keepsakes pinned to a corkboard. Despite the dissonance of being thrust back in time, he felt a sudden jolt of normalcy, of being grounded in the day-to-day life he had so abruptly left behind.
"So, what are they like? My parents, I mean," Alex asked, turning to face Jack. The question hung in the air, an invitation to share pieces of a puzzle that Alex had never been able to complete.
Jack hesitated, but then his expression softened. "Tony's a good man; he's dedicated and brave. Sometimes a bit headstrong," Jack explained, taking a seat at the edge of the bed. "Michelle is smart, resourceful, caring. They complement each other well. It's not without their ups and downs, but they're solid."
"Sounds like they make quite the team," Alex said, a wistful note to his voice as he pictured his parents through Jack's words.
"They do," Jack affirmed, his gaze traveling to a picture of the trio: himself, Tony, and Michelle, taken not long after a successful operation.
"And you see them daily?" Alex continued, a glint of longing in his eyes as he imagined a life rich with moments he had never witnessed.
"Yeah," Jack admitted, his voice carrying a weight that could only be felt by those who knew the cost of their line of work. "We're in the thick of it together, more often than not. I'd trust them with my life."
Alex nodded, absorbing the image of his parents as partners in the field—united and strong. It was a stark contrast to the fragmented family he had grown up with, the history of his father marred by tragedy and secrecy.
"Tony's a great tactician, and Michelle...she can think circles around most of the analysts I've worked with." Jack allowed himself a rare moment of pride. "They've both saved my skin more times than I can count."
"It's...it's really something to hear that," Alex said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I always wondered about them, together. All I had was stories and the remnants they left behind."
Seeing Alex's vulnerable state, Jack was moved by a protective instinct he hadn't felt in some time. "You're not alone here, Alex. Whatever happens, we're in this together. You're part of Tony and Michelle's story—it's only right that you'd be a part of mine."
Alex met Jack's earnest eyes, feeling a sense of belonging that he hadn't expected. The compassion extended toward him was a lifeline in a torrent of chaos, and he was profoundly grateful for it.
"I guess for now, this is home then," Alex said, glancing around the room that held memories of a past that wasn't his own.
"Yeah, for now," Jack agreed. "Get some rest. Tomorrow we start figuring out how to approach this like any other case. We piece together your story, find any anomalies, and see what leads we can dig up."
"Leads..." Alex echoed, his mind drifting to the photos and the technology from his time—his proof of existence. "There's a lot to explain, Uncle… I mean, Jack."
Jack offered a reassuring nod. "We'll get to the bottom of it. One step at a time."
"Thanks," Alex said, laying back on the bed and closing his eyes, his thoughts flickering between past and future, between CTU protocol and the warm familiarity in Jack Bauer's voice—a voice that somehow embodied both.
Jack stood and walked to the door, pausing before he switched off the light. "Get some sleep," he instructed before adding, a hint of warmth in his gruff voice, "If you need anything, I'm just down the hall."
Alex watched the doorway where Jack's silhouette lingered for a moment. "Jack?" he called out softly.
"Yes?" Jack responded, his hand resting on the light switch.
"Thank you… for believing me, or at least suspending disbelief long enough to help me out," Alex said, the gravity of his wanderlust through time hitting him full force.
Jack's silhouette outlined by the hallway light nodded slightly. "We all need someone to have our backs, Alex. No one can do it all on their own, no matter what year they're from."
With that, Jack stepped out, leaving the door ajar as the gentle hum of the house settled around them. Alex lay there, surrounded by remnants of a life he never knew, in a world that felt like it belonged in a history book. Meanwhile, Jack, the battle-hardened agent, pondered the impossibility that had sprawled itself out before him and considered how to protect this young man, who had somehow become his charge through the strangest of circumstances.
As the night deepened, sleep eventually claimed Alex, his mind drifting between reality and dreams, hoping that, just maybe, he'd wake up to find all of this was another dream—a figment of his slumbering imagination. But for now, he had to put trust in the past and the man who represented a connection he'd never known he'd longed for.
Authors Note: Just something a little different and fun to write I have been working on. Would love some reviews to let me know what you think. Thanks for reading