Rehab, night 14 (con't)

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Audrey lay in bed, stiff, frozen, filled with the same fear as if she were that young child facing Philip Bauer's wrath. She had let Jack talk, sensing he needed to. The more he spoke, the more his defenses crumbled, and he told her everything about the time his mother was still in his life. It had all begun with that simple, innocent question she'd asked about the best part of his early days. Yet, the best thing in Jack's early days—his mother—had been part of a story darker than anything Audrey had ever heard.

To Audrey, Marianne Bauer didn't seem like the saint she was to Jack. To her, Marianne was just as guilty as Philip for everything that had happened to Jack. She could have left. She could have protected her son. It should never have been the task of a six-year-old to draw his father's rage onto himself, to take the hits meant for her. How could she stand by and watch Jack get beaten? How could she let Philip throw her son out into the cold, and then stay back in the house comforting that monster?

To Audrey, Marianne Bauer was a monster of her own.

"Why didn't she protect you from him?" Audrey asked, her voice soft but heavy with judgment.

Jack's anger flared the moment he heard her words, in a way Audrey had never witnessed before. "Have you not listened at all?" he snapped, his tone sharp, laced with frustration and pain. He had never gotten angry at Audrey like this, and the intensity of it startled them both. He hadn't lost his temper like this in a long time—especially not with a woman. But hearing those words set something off inside him, something raw and deeply buried.

If Audrey had been in the same room with him, this would have been the moment Jack stood up and walked away, afraid of what might happen next. He was always terrified that his anger might take him to a place he could never return from, becoming like his father. He didn't want to go down that road. He never had.

"She was the victim," Jack hissed, emphasizing the word victim with a fierce intensity. "Not the perpetrator."

Audrey sensed the shift in him, the cold edge to his voice. She regretted her words immediately. Normally, she would have followed up with an explanation of her judgement—something starting with "But…". But not now. She feared that pushing any further, any other word that would question the sacredness of Marianne Bauer, would be the end of this conversation—maybe even the last words she'd ever hear from Jack. She wasn't willing to risk that.

"I'm sorry," she breathed, her voice small, hoping it would calm him down, hoping it would ease the tension that had surged between them.

Jack's chest rose and fell heavily with each breath, his anger simmering just below the surface. He hated this feeling—this was how men like his father behaved. He could hear the shift in Audrey's voice, the way she backed down, the way she apologized, not because she was wrong, but because she was scared. It reminded him too much of his mother, of how she would always shrink before Philip's anger, offering apologies when she had done nothing wrong.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Calm down, he told himself. Don't be like him. His voice softened, though it still carried a weight of frustration. "Why did you apologize?" he asked, doing his best to sound empathetic, not angry. He wanted Audrey to understand, to see the cycle he had spent his life analyzing. He hadn't meant to snap at her like that. This was exactly how it all started—he had to stop it before it went any further.

"I don't know," Audrey stammered, uncertain of what Jack was asking for, unsure of how to proceed.

"Be honest," Jack pressed, his tone gentler now but still firm. "Come on, say it."

Audrey hesitated, feeling like she was caught in something she didn't fully understand. But Jack's plea sounded genuine. He wanted her to say it. "Audrey, please. Whatever it was, just say the truth."

She took a deep breath, knowing she owed him that much. "I thought if I didn't apologize," she started, her voice quiet, "you'd never talk to me again."

Jack closed his eyes, nodding slightly. He had known that would be her answer. "And then you apologized, even though you had done nothing wrong," he said, more to himself than to her. "Just to calm my sudden anger." It was the same pattern he had witnessed his entire life—the cycle of fear, apology, and submission. Thirty-something years of analyzing the vicious circle, and here it was again, playing out in front of him.

"That's how it works, Audrey," Jack said, his voice softer now, almost sad. "That's how it starts. You don't even realize it's happening, but it does. You get scared of the other one's anger. And then you apologize though it's absolutely not your fault. You think that's going to make it stop. You get smaller and smaller while the other one grows threateningly big with every other step you retreat."

Audrey felt a lump in her throat. She hadn't realized it at the time, but now it was so painfully clear that she'd fall for the same trap that Marianne had also fallen into. Audrey swallowed hard. She still didn't fully understand Marianne's choices, but for the first time, she could see some of the complexity, the helplessness.

Whatever role Marianne Bauer had played in that twisted family dynamic, Jack had never turned away from her. Even as a child, he saw through his father's manipulations. He stayed on the sidelines, watching, always waiting until he couldn't take it anymore and only then he intervened.

"I'm sorry for bursting my anger at you, Audrey.," Jack apologized again.

"You don't need to apologize, Jack," Audrey replied gently. She had heard far worse from men in her life, especially during her fights with Paul. But she had reacted differently this time. This was one of the rare moments when she had backed down immediately. Why? Was it Jack's intimidating personality? Knowing what he was capable of, how many lives he had taken? She wasn't sure. He was thousands of miles away, just a voice on the phone. That couldn't be it.

No, it was something else. It was the fear of losing him. That fear had crept into her, the thought of not having Jack in her life. For a fleeting moment, she thought of Marianne. Had she been afraid of losing her cruel husband in the same way?

No man had ever apologized to Audrey for snapping at her. Jack's self-awareness impressed her. Or was it self-doubt? No, this was something more deliberate. He wasn't apologizing for the outburst itself, but for the anger he hadn't been able to contain. Unlike his father, Jack had learned to keep a wary eye on himself. He was aware of the moments when things could spiral, because he had lived them all before.

"Jack, forgive me for asking, but..." Audrey hesitated.

"Forgiven," he cut in quickly, with an unexpected warmth in his voice. Whatever it was she needed to ask, he wouldn't get angry any more. He was ready for whatever question she held. He loved hearing her voice, loved that she was there, listening. He loved how she said his name. Now she was one of four people who knew about this part of his past. DOD clearance level 9, 2.500 miles away, not a therapist, not someone who could judge him or report on his sanity, who'd tick the box: not qualified for further service. He felt safe talking to her.

"Why didn't she try to run away earlier?"

Jack wasn't offended this time. He knew Audrey wasn't criticizing his mother. She simply couldn't understand, how somebody could get beaten again and again and not leave. "If every woman just left the first time their husbands got violent, we'd not have any domestic violence cases. You know the saying about putting a frog in cold water, then heating it slowly until it boils to death?"

"Of course. Creeping normality," Audrey replied.

"There weren't only bad days. There were nice days, too—family trips, good moments. He wasn't always a monster. They had built a family, and she wanted to fight for it. For a long time, she thought it was some kind of PTSD from Vietnam and that it would pass eventually. Later, when she realized it wouldn't get better, she started weighing her options. In the 70s, it wasn't easy for a woman with two kids to run away and start over. No money, no support. He would have found her. She would have had to cut off all ties to friends and family to really escape. And Graem—he would've begged her to go back. Leaving him behind was never something she could live with."

Audrey listened carefully, realizing how far removed her own life had been from the harsh realities Jack described. She had lived a protected life, so distant from the struggles his mother had faced. She thought back to her own circle of friends. Had she ever known someone like Marianne? Someone wearing makeup to cover bruises, withdrawing to avoid stirring up a husband's anger? Had anyone in her life ever slipped away like that? Maybe. Audrey wasn't sure. She had never noticed. She hadn't been looking.

"People around her didn't even notice what was going on," Audrey said, more to herself than to Jack.

"No, they didn't," Jack confirmed quietly. "That's how abusive power and control work."

They lay in silence for a while, the weight of the conversation settling over them like a heavy blanket.

"Thanks for listening," Jack said quietly. He thought back to the last time he'd had such an honest conversation about his past. Had he ever really opened up like this before? Some memories surfaced, but none felt like this moment with Audrey—this felt less painful than ever before.

"Thanks for answering my question," Audrey replied, a sad smile tugging at her lips. Yes, he had owed her an honest answer and she had wanted to give him an easy question. He had given her an honest answer and the question, although easy in the beginning, hadn't felt that easy in the end. If he were here with her, she knew she'd wrap her arms around him and hold him tightly and not let go for a really long time. She imagined the young boy Jack had been, falling asleep in his mother's arms, the only safe place he had ever known.

Then his voice, barely above a whisper, pulled her from her thoughts. "How did your mother pass away? What was her name?" Jack asked, hoping for a story that, while surely sad, wouldn't carry the same darkness as his own.

"Pancreatic cancer," Audrey said, knowing that Jack wanted to hear more than just the brief answer. "She was diagnosed when I was eight. She passed away a few weeks after my ninth birthday." Audrey's memories of her mother were good, warm, but sharing them felt almost out of place compared to Jack's story. Her experiences were so... ordinary—family trips, sailing, holidays, Christmases. The kind of loving memories Jack had never known. "Her name was Alicia Heller. My dad did everything for her when she got the diagnosis. He even took unpaid leave to care for her."

"Sounds like he's the good sort," Jack said, his tone sincere, though Audrey could hear a faint trace of envy woven in. He meant it kindly, but she knew Jack must have wondered how different his life might have been with a father like hers. If he'd had a man who loved, protected, and cared for his family, Jack's path could have been so different. Most likely, she'd have never gotten to know him. He'd probably still be with Teri, an English teacher, somewhere in the suburbs of L.A.

"Is he still alive?" Jack asked.

"Yes," Audrey answered, before quickly returning the question. "Yours?"

"I think so."

"You think so?" Audrey asked, surprised by his detachment.

"Haven't seen him in years," Jack said flatly. He couldn't care less whether his father was alive or not. If Philip Bauer had passed, someone might have contacted him about the will, but Jack didn't expect or want anything from that man. Graem was the one running the family company now, and Jack had long since walked away from all of it.

Audrey lay there, her thoughts briefly returning to her own family. She had said her mother's name was Heller—wouldn't that trigger something in Jack? Wouldn't he realize the connection to Secretary Heller, the man she worked for? But Jack didn't tie the loose ends together. He assumed Heller had been her mother's maiden name. He had asked her if her father was still alive. That was a sign he didn't know who they were talking about.

After a pause, Jack's voice broke the silence again. "How was it to lose her?"

Audrey exhaled softly. "It was... easier, I guess, knowing for months that it was coming. We were prepared." Her voice was steady, but the sadness was still there, lingering beneath the surface. "We were all there with her when she passed. My dad held her hand until her last breath."

Jack listened in silence, his heart heavy with the thought of Audrey's loss. A tear escaped his eye, but he made no move to mention it, quietly wiping it away without a word.

Audrey continued, her voice gentle and reflective. "Towards the end, we prayed together, hoping she'd hear it. The nurses came and laid a cross on her chest. After a while, a priest came. Then they covered her face with a white cloth. My dad and I stayed with her until the coroner came to take her body away." She paused, the memory vivid in her mind. "I've never felt as close to him as I did in that moment."

She shifted slightly, then added, "A few years later, my dad remarried. I liked her, and I got along well with my stepbrother, though he was a lot younger. But a few years ago, Susan—his second wife—passed away too. Now it's just me and my dad again."

"Are you two close?" Jack asked, his curiosity genuine. He could already guess the answer, the way she'd said that last sentence.

Audrey hesitated, knowing she couldn't give him the full truth. She wasn't ready to tell him yet that her father was the Secretary of Defense. "Very," she said simply, a small smile playing on her lips. The truth was, she and her father had grown closer, especially now that she worked with him.

Jack fell silent, reflecting on everything Audrey had shared. After a moment, Audrey gently shifted the conversation, her voice soft. "Did your dad's anger get better after your mom died?"

Audrey desperately wanted to hear Jack say yes, that things had improved for him, that at least her final sacrifice had taken away his Dad's anger or made him realize what he'd been doing to the family. But Jack, couldn't give her the answer she hoped for.

"No," he said simply. Audrey's stomach twisted into a tight knot at the sound of that word. She should have known.