Jack Bauer's eyes flickered open, blinking against the harsh, sterile light above him. The ceiling was unfamiliar, the smell was too clean, too sharp—like antiseptic. His breath came in shallow, irregular gasps as he tried to orient himself. Where was he? His senses, dulled from pain and exhaustion, struggled to make sense of his surroundings.
The sounds around him were muffled, voices speaking in English, but he couldn't trust them. The Russians had spoken English too, when they wanted to trick him, to break him. He strained to listen, but the words didn't penetrate. The steady beep of machines, the hum of ventilation, and the distant murmur of voices might have been comforting to another person, but to Jack, they were threatening. This could all be another layer of deception.
He tried to move, but pain shot through his body, and his limbs felt like lead. Jack gritted his teeth, not wanting to cry out, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of seeing his pain. His mind, a battlefield of conflicting thoughts, couldn't decide if he was free or still a prisoner. The last thing he remembered was the cold, unforgiving steel of the Russian prison, the darkness that clung to every corner, and the relentless torture that had become his world. Could he really be back in the U.S.? Could he truly be safe?
But he hadn't seen any familiar faces. Not that he expected to. He knew there was no one left in the world who would still take care of him. Chloe? He didn't know what had happened to her after the exchange, and he didn't expect to see her here, not after everything. And Kim? He didn't want her here. Everyone who was near him got into trouble, suffered because of him. It was better if she stayed away, better if he was alone.
The staff were all strangers, moving with a professionalism that bordered on cold indifference. Jack could see the uncertainty in their eyes when they approached him, the hesitation in their movements as if they were afraid of him. They wanted to help, or so they said, but he couldn't trust them. He wouldn't trust them.
When they tried to touch him, to check his wounds, he pulled away, not wanting to be touched, not wanting to be hurt again. He couldn't bring himself to speak to them. What was there to say? That he was beyond repair? That the man he had been was buried under layers of scars, both seen and unseen? He watched their futile attempts to comfort him, to ease his pain with morphine, but the relief never came. His body had been through too much; it had grown resistant to the drugs, and they seemed hesitant to administer more.
As the days passed, the frustration of the medical team grew. They were out of their depth. Their patient was a ghost, a man whose body was barely alive, whose mind was fractured, unresponsive to their care. And they knew nothing of the horrors he had endured, the darkness that had taken root in his soul.
James Heller sat alone in his office, surrounded by the bare walls and empty bookshelves that had once been filled with the weight of his responsibilities. A day ago, he had announced his resignation, a move that had barely caused a ripple in the world he had once led. The press had already moved on, more interested in the new president than in the man who had once held the highest office in the land. Heller had known this day would come, but the reality of it was colder than he had expected.
He gazed out the window, the view of the White House grounds serene and indifferent to the turmoil inside him. The same grounds Audrey had walked on, once filled with life and hope. Now, all that remained was a hollow emptiness, a quiet that pressed down on him like a shroud.
The report from UCLA Hospital had finally arrived, and Heller tore open the envelope with trembling hands. His eyes scanned the pages, the medical jargon blurring as he read about the state Jack Bauer was in.
Second-degree burns. Cuts. Lashes. A dislocated shoulder. A broken nose that had healed in a displaced manner. Broken bones, some of which had mended incorrectly, causing him constant pain. The scar on his back, evidence of a missing kidney, later confirmed by the MRI. Heller grimaced as he read the words. Torture—plain and simple, systematic, and unrelenting. The report stated there was no brain damage visible on the scans, but Jack's unresponsiveness to human contact suggested something much worse: a mind shattered, a psyche left in ruins.
The doctor's words haunted him: The patient could be released to home care. Home care. The term felt like an insult, a cruel reminder that Jack had no home left, no family, no one who could take care of him. It sounded more like abandonment than care. What would happen if Jack was released? Would they simply toss him out, leaving him to fend for himself, a man broken in body and spirit?
Heller leaned back in his chair, his thoughts drifting to Audrey. What would she have thought if she knew what he was contemplating? The idea of placing Jack in a mental institution filled him with dread, but what other choice did he have? Jack couldn't survive on his own, not in this state. But Audrey… she would never have allowed it. She would have found a way to reach Jack, to bring him back from the brink. The thought of her disapproval weighed heavily on him, her voice—soft yet firm—echoing in his mind.
No, he couldn't do that to Jack. He couldn't let him waste away in some institution, drugged into compliance, slowly fading into nothingness. It wasn't much different from the hell he had escaped in Russia. The only difference would be the lack of physical pain, but the result would be the same: Jack would die, piece by piece, until there was nothing left.
Four days later, Heller walked through the sterile halls of the hospital, each step echoing like a judge's gavel. He had finally decided to visit Jack, though he still had no idea what he would say, what he could do to help. The hospital personnel watched him pass with wide-eyed surprise, not even attempting to hide their shock. The former President of the United States, here to visit their John Doe patient? The man they had written off as just another lost soul, too broken to heal?
They hadn't even known his name. They still didn't. But if Heller was here, if this man was important enough to warrant the attention of a former president, then perhaps they had given up on him too early. Maybe they had shown less respect than they should have. The thought gnawed at them as they exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of what to make of the situation.
When Heller entered the room, he found Jack lying on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling, lost in a world only he could see. The sight of him like that sent a pang through Heller's chest, a memory flashing before his eyes—Audrey, lying in a similar state after her ordeal in China. The resemblance was uncanny, and it was all he could do to keep himself from crying out. Jack had saved Audrey once, had brought her back, but now… who would save him?
Heller sat down next to the bed, the silence between them thick and suffocating. He wanted to speak, to say something—anything—but the words wouldn't come. He didn't know how to reach Jack, how to pull him back from the edge. The doctors had already made it clear: they could do nothing more for him. Whatever had broken Jack was beyond their ability to fix.
For what felt like hours, Heller sat there, watching Jack, remembering the man he had once been—the warrior, the protector, the one who had sacrificed everything for his country. Now, he was a shadow of that man, lost in a prison of his own making, his mind trapped in the horrors of the past few months.
Finally, after what seemed an eternity, Heller spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. "Jack."
The name hung in the air, a lifeline thrown into the abyss. Jack's eyes slowly shifted, focusing on Heller as if seeing him for the first time. Recognition flickered in those tired, haunted eyes, followed by a deep, abiding pain. He knew. Of course, he knew. Heller had been the one to bring him back, to pull him from the clutches of death. But there was no relief in that knowledge, no comfort.
Jack wanted to thank him, but the words stuck in his throat, caught on the memory of the phone call that had shattered his world. The day they had told him about Audrey's death. Her voice had been the last thing he clung to, the one hope that had kept him alive through the darkest moments in Russia. But that call… it had taken everything from him. He had been helpless, unable to save her.
His voice, rough and unused, struggled to form the words that had haunted him for months, the guilt that had gnawed at his soul in the dark hours of his captivity. He wanted to apologize, to beg for forgiveness, but even that seemed meaningless now. Audrey was gone, and nothing he said could ever bring her back.
The two men sat in silence, each consumed by their thoughts, the weight of their shared history pressing down on them. Heller's mind drifted to the future, to the impossible choices he had to make. Jack's mind remained locked in the past, replaying the moment when his world had shattered, when Audrey had been taken from him.
Finally, Jack broke the silence, his voice a raw whisper filled with despair. "I am cursed."
The words hung in the air, heavy and final, bringing every thought of both men straight to the point. In that simple, devastating statement, Jack had done more than just speak; he had bared his soul. By echoing the very words Heller had spoken years ago, Jack was acknowledging a painful truth—that he believed Heller had been right all along. He had not only memorized those words, he had internalized them, letting them fester in his heart until they became his own reality. In saying them now, they were more than just an expression of despair; they were an apology, a guilt plea, a beg for forgiveness, a surrender, and a confession all at once. Jack was admitting that he had failed, that Heller's warning had been justified. He was confessing that the darkness he had always fought against had finally claimed him, that every life lost, every mistake, every death—especially Audrey's—was on his hands. And in that confession, Heller could see the deep, unyielding regret that had consumed Jack, the belief that his very existence had been a curse to everyone he ever cared about.
Heller realized with a painful clarity that these words had been haunting Jack for a decade. When he had said them all those years ago, Heller had been almost unaware of how deeply they would affect Jack. He'd said them in a moment of desperation and anger, driven by the overwhelming pain of seeing Audrey in such a broken state after her rescue from China, and staring down the muzzle of Jack's gun. It had been an act of self-defense, a way to protect Audrey, but also himself, from the relentless chaos that surrounded Jack's life. If Jack hadn't spoken those words again now, Heller might have forgotten he'd ever said them, buried them deep in the recesses of his mind. But now, confronted with the weight of those words on Jack's soul, he regretted the harshness, the unfairness of his judgment. He had driven Jack away when he should have helped him, when he should have recognized the pain behind Jack's actions.
A chilling thought crept into Heller's mind—did Audrey, now that she was gone, know everything that had ever happened? Was her eternal soul somewhere around, watching him, furious at the cruelty of those words? He imagined her, not as the broken woman who had suffered, but as the strong, loving person she had been, angry and hurt that her father had inflicted such pain on the man she had loved. Heller shuddered at the thought that he might have shattered Jack's life back then, setting him on a path of self-destruction that had led to this very moment.
Finally, Heller spoke, his voice thick with emotion. "You're not." The words were simple, but they carried the weight of his regret, his acknowledgment that he had been wrong. It was all they said to each other. There were no more words that could bridge the chasm between them, filled with years of pain, loss, and unspoken apologies.
Heller stayed by Jack's side for a while longer, the silence between them heavy yet oddly comforting. Eventually, he stood up, still unsure of what Jack's future would hold. But as he left the room, one thought lingered in his mind—what might Audrey's last wish have been? He couldn't know for sure, but he hoped it would have been for Jack to find some measure of peace, to believe that his life wasn't the curse he had come to see it as.
And with that thought, Heller walked out of the hospital, the decision still unresolved, but with a new determination to make things right—if he still could.