She hadn't heard anything of him. Not in hours.
Around midnight, she had gone to bed, taking the phone with her. He didn't call.
The wildest thoughts were in her head: had he taken too much, had he overdosed? She fought the wish to call an ambulance and send it over to his address, to have a look after him. She couldn't do that – it would totally ruin his cover. All she could do was to sit here and wait for his call.

When she lay in bed, she couldn't sleep. It was past midnight in Washington – past nine in the evening in Los Angeles. Didn't he call her because he knew that it was already past midnight in her time zone? She hoped that this would be the only reason.

In the morning, when she got out of bed, the first thing was to look at the display of her phone: no missed calls. What a bitter disappointment.

She drove to work and carried the phone always with her, always fighting the urge to call him. In the morning, she hadn't called him because it was three hours earlier in Los Angeles. She couldn't call him in the middle of the night. Common decency forbade her to do that.

And then, she didn't call him because she didn't know where he would be. Would he be at CTU? Coordinating his mission? Or would he be somewhere, already preparing for his cover, meeting people of the Salazar cartel in L.A.?

No, she really couldn't just call him.

She sat in her office, alone, and as the phone started to ring, she almost shrieked.
It was him.

Hurriedly she picked up. Hello?

Hi, he stammered. Some minutes ago, he had still known what to tell her, but ever since she'd picked up the phone, he was at a loss of words.
Thank god, she started talking.

Where are you?

I'm in the car, just outside the city. He had parked somewhere close to an exit on route 101, having a beautiful view over the city and the shore from here. I'm sorry I didn't call you earlier, I had to meet some guys today morning, up in Santa Barbara. He had bought some illegal weapons there. That was only other step that he'd have to take: getting rid of the CTU guns, which could easily be tracked to the government.

Okay… she murmured. She was afraid of asking.

He was afraid of starting to talk about it.

They both said nothing to each other for a while.
He looked out onto the ocean, staring at the waves. I don't know what to say, he finally admitted.

And I'm afraid to ask, she answered, softly smiling. I never had such a conversation before.

Me neither.

Then, the right question came into her mind: Do you regret it?

He took his time answering. No.

Why?

I never thought it'd be anything like this.

How was it?

It was hard to describe. I knocked myself out for a few hours, I guess.

She added the hours… probably it had been well past midnight in Washington when he'd woken up again. That was the reason why hadn't called her.
How did it feel like?

He sighed. Not bad.

What?! slipped out of her mouth.

He regretted having said that. Do I sound like a junkie already?

Yes, you do.

There are thousands of people out there taking that stuff voluntarily. They wouldn't do it if wasn't making them feel good.

Well, what had she expected him to say? That it would be painful or horrible? No, he was right. Of course it would feel good. It was heroin and not a god damn pain-inducing torture drug.
It's just… she started, not knowing what to say. I guess I just can't imagine how this would be like.

I couldn't either, two days ago.

And now you can?

A little, I guess. All the things that I read and heard about it… they're a mild understatement. I find no words to describe it. It had felt like an explosion, a wave of tiredness and feeling well, like a never-ending orgasm.

She heard a knock on her door. It was time to go to the two-o-clock-meeting. She was late already. I have to go to a meeting… can I call you back?

Of course, he answered. If she wanted to? I'll be home by four o clock. Pacific Time, he added, just to be sure.
He heard her talk to the colleague, who was probably standing at the door to her office. She was telling him that she'd meet him outside, in two minutes.

Jack?

Yes?

Will you do it again?

He was staring out onto the ocean. Would he? He hadn't made up his mind about that yet. I don't know. Maybe.

Why? You reached what you wanted to reach. Now you know what you're facing. Isn't that what you wanted?

He shook his head, though he knew that she couldn't see it. No. What I wanted was to increase my tolerance limit.

Is that gonna work, in just two weeks time?

Maybe.

She really had to go now, but she didn't want to leave it like that.

Jack heard that her colleague had opened the door again, telling her that they were already late for their meeting.
I'll talk to you later, he began, I also have to go back to CTU now.

Okay. Bye.

Bye.

Though he actually had to drive on, he stayed at the parking lot, for quite a while, looking out onto the ocean.
Actually, he had everything here that he'd need, to get himself another shot.
No, not now. He couldn't afford to knock himself out here in – almost – public, and be late for CTU. And he wanted to wait for the withdrawal symptoms, to experience them. He didn't have any, yet.
Finally, he drove on, joined route 101 again, to go back to the city center.