Post-S3: Santa Barbara
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Audrey sat at her desk, her eyes flickering occasionally toward the phone lying beside her keyboard. A soft smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Every once in a while, it would buzz quietly, and Jack's words would pop up on the screen. It felt almost surreal to know that he was out there, already on his way up Route 101, with nothing but his bike and the open road ahead of him.
She hadn't heard his voice on Friday or Saturday because of her business trip with the Secretary of Defense. Even though she mentally chided herself, she still caught herself nearly referring to him as "Dad" in the office. The secure line had stayed back home, locked away. Bringing it along would have raised questions she didn't want to answer—not when he knew she didn't currently have a classified project on her desk. It would've been impossible to explain why she was using the secure phone. So, the phone stayed home, and she had left it (and Jack) reluctantly behind, heavy-hearted.
When she returned home Saturday night, there were messages waiting for her. Jack had sold his car. He had bought a Honda CBR600. Audrey didn't know much about bikes, so she'd spent the evening on Google, trying to learn more about it. She'd even laughed to herself when she realized Jack had mentioned some technical details (which said nothing to her) but hadn't even mentioned the color, the one detail she would have wanted to know. Men, she mused with a smile.
On Sunday, he'd spent the day with Kim, Chase, and Angela, there had been no time for a call, but it had felt okay to Audrey. The desperate longing she had felt for their conversations the week before had somehow softened. She didn't miss him with the same ferocity as she once had, and she couldn't help but wonder why.
It dawned on her that it was because of Valentine's Day. That unspoken tension, that fear that every phone call might be their last, had finally lifted. They still hadn't made any concrete commitments, hadn't defined what exactly their relationship was, but they had both acknowledged how much these calls meant. Even though they wouldn't have needed to spell it out. But it felt good that they had. It was clear enough in the way they lingered on the phone with each other, the way they slipped easily into conversation. It was like a silent promise—neither of them wanted to go without these calls.
So, when days passed without speaking, Audrey wasn't worried. She knew Jack would reach out when he could. And that simple knowledge brought her comfort in a way that no formal agreement ever could. It was a commitment in its own quiet, unspoken way.
Jack had called her yesterday morning—on his birthday. She'd been on her way to work, coffee in hand, navigating the busy streets of DC. In LA, it had already been 10 a.m., and Jack had been out for a ride on his new motorcycle, calling it his birthday present to himself. Audrey finally learned that it was red, like the one he'd owned when he was 18. She could hear the excitement in his voice as he talked about it, and her imagination had been running wild ever since, picturing him on that bike, driving quite recklessly (because she feared he would).
He'd told her that Kim was less than thrilled with his decisions—buying a motorcycle, going on this trip. Audrey could easily picture Kim's disapproving look, the one that said everything her words didn't: Pathetic. Are you having a mid-life crisis? But he hadn't cared. He wanted to be free, even if it meant freeing himself from the expectations that his family might have for him. Rehab, staying at home, constantly proving that he was clean—it was suffocating, and this trip was his way of shaking it off.
What had truly brightened Audrey's mood was hearing Jack admit that ever since he'd started planning this trip, he had thought about heroin less and less. Of course, the cravings still came, just as they always would. In rehab, they had drilled it into his head: the cravings and the desire would always be there, lingering in the corners of his mind. But this time, something was different. His thoughts were consumed not by the drugs, but by the open road ahead—where he'd stop, who he'd visit (she was glad to hear he had old Army comrades to see along the way), and where he'd sleep. The trip was occupying his mind in a way that left little room for anything else.
His birthday evening had been spent with Kim and Chase, but Audrey could sense that it hadn't gone as well as she might have hoped. Kim had grilled him with questions—why are you doing this? What are you running from? And Jack, in his calm, straightforward way, had told her the truth: he had always wanted to take this trip with Teri. When Kim asked why they hadn't done it, her voice filled with an edge of reproach, Jack had explained that they hadn't had the money back then. Then Kim came along, and priorities shifted. That had quieted her questions, but it had also shifted the mood.
Chase had tried to lighten the atmosphere, saying he thought the bike was cool. But that only reminded everyone of the accident—Chase couldn't ride anymore, not with his injured arm, and that had dragged the mood down further.
Jack had felt it—how the house, so small and cramped, was growing tighter by the day. They had all been walking on eggshells for a week, tiptoeing around each other's emotions, keeping conversations light and superficial. But the weight of unspoken truths was too much, and it felt like a powder keg, ready to blow.
Tuesday morning, Jack had made his escape. He said his goodbyes, and when he embraced Kim, he had whispered into her ear, where Chase couldn't hear, that he promised to stay clean. He told her not to worry. Then he'd climbed onto his new motorcycle and rode off, carrying nothing but a backpack of clothes, his secure phone, some tools, and a knife. It reminded him of when he left his father's house in 1984—everything he needed, slung over his back. No gun this time, but he didn't think he'd need one.
An hour after leaving Los Angeles, he had called Audrey. His excitement had been palpable through the phone, like a kid who had just been given the keys to a new world. She had teased him, asking if he had already "gone 120" on the freeway, referencing their Valentine's Day conversation. He hadn't. Damnit, Audrey had thought, shaking her head afterward. Was she really encouraging him to do reckless things like that? But Jack had just laughed, the sound carefree and full of life for once. Not yet, he said. That had been two hours ago.
Now, her phone buzzed with another text from him. She imagined him, pulling over on the roadside, taking a moment just to write back. It made her smile. He had told her she could call him anytime—he was free now, no one around to ask questions or get suspicious. Just him, the road, and her voice on the other end of the line whenever she wanted it.
Audrey almost couldn't wait until leaving the office today.
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Audrey couldn't wait until she got home to call him. The moment her car left the gates of the Pentagon, she picked up her phone and dialed Jack. He didn't answer, but she wasn't surprised. He was probably still on the road, the roar of his bike drowning out any chance of him hearing the call, or maybe he didn't feel the vibration through his gear. She imagined him somewhere along the coast, wind rushing past him, lost in the freedom of the open road.
When she reached her doorstep, the phone rang. Jack was calling her back. She hurried to answer.
"Hey," she said, already smiling.
"Hey," Jack replied, his voice relaxed, warm. "What are you doing?" he asked.
"Just came home. Unlocking my door," Audrey answered, exhaling loudly as she shut the door behind her. It felt good to leave the day behind, to settle into the comfortable familiarity of their conversation. "How are you?"
"I'm great."
And he sounded like it. That easy tone in his voice, the way the words flowed out—it wasn't forced, it wasn't just him putting on a brave face. He was genuinely happy, and Audrey could feel it, could hear it. She thought back, trying to remember the last time she'd heard him like this, but the truth was, she couldn't remember any moment she'd ever heard him so happy. Maybe when he talked about Kim, there had been traces of joy, but even then it was often tangled with guilt or concern. This, though, was different. This was pure contentment.
"Where are you?" she asked, curious to know where his journey had taken him.
"Point San Luis Lighthouse," Jack replied. Audrey could picture him there as he began to describe the setting—the late afternoon sun casting a golden light over the ocean, the quiet stretch of beach, the solitude of it all. That he loved the solitude. He told her how he'd found a little guesthouse run by a local family, dropped off his gear, and walked down to the shore, just to call her in peace. Far from everyone, far from any interruptions.
"You really lack for nothing," Audrey said softly, imagining him sitting by the ocean, the world far behind him. It sounded perfect—almost too perfect.
"Maybe one thing," Jack replied, his voice quieter now, a note of hesitation creeping in. There was a pause, and Audrey could sense something heavier behind his words. "I shouldn't have waited twenty years to do this."
His tone shifted, and Audrey immediately understood what he meant. This trip, this journey—this had once been their dream. Jack and Teri's. Something they had planned to do together but never got the chance. Now, here he was, riding up the coast, fulfilling that dream alone. And though he was free, though he was enjoying the ride, there was a part of him that ached with the absence of the woman who was supposed to be beside him.
"You couldn't have done it, twenty years ago," Audrey reminded him gently. She knew some of the history—how hard things had been for him and Teri when they were younger. The financial struggles, the sacrifices they had to make back then. This trip had always been out of reach for the couple.
"I know," Jack murmured, his voice laced with regret. "I just wish she were still here."
The sudden sadness in his voice struck Audrey deeply. Of course he still missed Teri. She had known that—had heard it in the way he spoke about her before. But hearing it now, with him sitting alone on the beach, it hit harder. She didn't know what to say. How could she ease that kind of pain? Telling him to let go of Teri would be cruel, and Audrey wasn't sure she even wanted to say such cruel words. This was part of who Jack was, part of the life he'd lived. Teri was always going to be a part of him. There was no forgetting. Ever.
Audrey hesitated for a moment, then decided to gently shift the conversation. Not to push him, but to give him an outlet. "How did you and Teri reconcile?" she asked, her tone soft. "After 1988," she added, referring to the last part of his life he had shared with her in detail. "Did you even?"
There was a brief pause before Jack spoke again. "We did," he said quietly. "Somehow."
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1990
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Jack hadn't imagined a future where he could afford a house, but by late 1989, they had bought one. A few years earlier, it seemed impossible—a house, a home, a place to call their own. The Special Forces training, the promotion, and the extra pay for hazardous duty had all added up to something he couldn't have dreamed of in the past. The money was good—jump pay, language proficiency bonuses, all of it allowed him to secure a mortgage. It came with responsibilities too: life insurance policies that reminded him of how fragile his situation really was. If anything happened to him out there in the field, at least the house would be paid off. Teri and Kim would be taken care of.
Moving in had been a blur of activity. Jack and Teri had spent their only week together unpacking, buying furniture, and trying to find a rhythm in the new house, playing 'Christmas' for Kim. But something was off. Jack had hoped that settling into this new space would somehow heal the rift between them. But it hadn't. Not yet.
They'd barely had time to spend with each other before he had to leave again. His assignment at Fort Carson called him back almost immediately. It didn't help that their only night together, with Kim at her grandparents', had felt strained. They had rushed through sex, as if it was something on the to-do list. It wasn't intimacy—it was something else. A need to hold on to what felt like the last thread connecting them before he disappeared into another mission. Or something that had to be done.
Jack promised Teri he would call whenever he could, but he knew that might not be possible. And when the orders came through for his mission in Yugoslavia, he had been gone for three months before he even knew it. Diplomatic corps was the official story, but in reality, it had been anything but diplomatic. It didn't matter now. What mattered was that he was on his way back. Back to Teri. Back to Kim. Back to the house that still didn't feel like home yet.
Jack had taken the first flight out of Ramstein, on an army plane full of soldiers already celebrating their return. His shoulder ached in its sling, the bruises on his face and hands still fresh, reminders of the close calls that had piled up during the mission. He had tried to sleep through the loud cheers and rowdy conversations, but the adrenaline hadn't worn off. His mind kept replaying everything—the gunfire, the rappelling, the narrow escape. Every time he closed his eyes, the scenes rushed back, vivid and unrelenting.
By the time the plane landed, exhaustion had set in. His body felt heavy, drained, but as the cab pulled up to their new house, Jack forced himself to straighten up. He hadn't even had time to get a key before he left.
He stood there for a moment, staring at the front door, at the door bell, trying to push the memories of Yugoslavia out of his mind. He didn't want to bring it into their house. He just wanted to forget it, leave it all behind on the other side of the world.
He rang the bell, the sound echoing in the quiet evening air. A few moments later, the door opened, and there she was—Teri. The look of relief on her face vanished the moment she saw him. Her eyes widened as she took in the sight of him, bruised and battered, his arm in a sling, the battle-worn state of the man standing before her. Her hands flew to her face in shock.
"Jack," she whispered, standing frozen in the doorway, her gaze locked on the bruises.
Jack tried to push away the tension that had followed him all the way from Yugoslavia. He wanted nothing more than to step through that door, take her in his arms, and pick up where they had left off. But the look in her eyes—pity, disbelief, and maybe even resentment—stopped him cold.
"Teri," he said softly, stepping forward with his good arm outstretched, trying to bridge the distance between them. He hesitated as he wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close but careful not to cause her discomfort. She was on the verge of tears, her body stiff against his.
"Everything's alright," he whispered into her ear, trying to reassure her, even though the words felt hollow. "I'm okay. I'm back." He said it more for himself than for her, as if speaking it aloud would make it true. But as she slowly hugged him back, he could feel the hesitation in her touch. She was afraid to hurt him. Afraid of what he'd become.
Before he could say more, he heard the sound of small footsteps, followed by the familiar laughter of Kim as she ran toward the door. Jack let go of Teri, turning toward his daughter with a smile, but the moment Kim saw his face, she stopped dead in her tracks. Her laughter turned to crying as she stared at him, eyes wide with fear.
Teri rushed to Kim, scooping her into her arms, whispering soothing words to calm her down, carrying her away. Jack stood there, helpless, watching his daughter's tears as they fell. He had wanted nothing more than to hold her, to feel the warmth of her little body in his arms, but instead, he was standing in the doorway, watching his daughter cry because of him.
Without a word, he stepped back, moving out of the house and onto the front yard. The cool evening air hit him, and he stood there for a moment, aimless. This was supposed to be his home. This was supposed to be the place where he should forget everything that had happened. But instead, he felt like he was still in Yugoslavia, carrying it all with him, unable to leave it behind.
This wasn't how he had pictured it. When he left for Yugoslavia, he had imagined this moment a thousand times—the door opening, Teri and Kim rushing into his arms, laughter and relief filling the air. He had imagined coming home to warmth, to comfort, to love. Sleeping in the large bed they'd bought before Christmas, with Teri in his arms and Kim lying in between them.
But his dreams couldn't have been more wrong.
Five weeks. Jack had been given five weeks to recover, to spend time with his family. At first, it had seemed like plenty of time—a stretch long enough to heal his body, to mend the distance that had grown between him, Teri, and Kim. But as the days slipped by, it became painfully clear that five weeks wasn't nearly enough. It was barely enough to catch his breath, let alone rebuild the fragile connection between him and Teri.
The first few days after his return had been rough. Jack hadn't expected that—he thought that putting 7000 miles between him and Yugoslavia would be enough to get rid of it. But Teri had been distant, still shaken by the sight of him at the door, bruised and hurt. It got obvious to her again, who she had married. They danced around each other in those early days, never addressing the topic.
Teri had offered sex that second night, her touch hesitant, as if it were something she was supposed to do. As if they had to reestablish their roles in the marriage, fulfill the unspoken expectations of a husband and wife reunited after months apart. Jack had wanted to feel her skin against his, wanted to lose himself in her and forget the things that haunted him. But he couldn't. It didn't feel right, and he knew deep down that if he'd said yes, it would have hurt them both more than it would have healed.
So he had declined. She didn't push, but he could see the hurt in her eyes, the way she withdrew afterward, curling up on her side of the bed. Jack had watched her for a long time that night, wondering if they would ever be the same again.
It took time. Slowly, they found their way back to each other. Little by little, they started reconnecting. They took Kim to the park, spent quiet afternoons together as a family, shared dinners where the silence wasn't as oppressive as before. The tension between them began to ease. But just as things started to feel normal again—as Jack began to believe that they could rekindle something resembling the love they once had—the weeks were up.
And he was leaving again.
This time, it was Kuwait. It wasn't his usual region—he was primarily assigned to Eastern Europe—but something big was brewing in the Gulf, and Jack's unit had been sent for reconnaissance. The mission was important, though Jack kept the details vague in the phone calls. Teri wasn't supposed to know the specifics. She didn't need to know about the desert, the long days spent on the ground, observing, waiting, gathering intel. He would let her believe that this was just another mission, like all the others. He didn't want to worry her more than she already was.
Two months passed before he got the chance to return home, a brief week of leave. This time, he made sure to call ahead, to give Teri a proper heads-up, and he made it clear—on the phone—that he was fine. No injuries, no bruises. Just a quick visit home. He didn't want a repeat of what happened last time. They both didn't.
When he arrived, Jack did everything in his power to leave the Army behind. He took off his battle dress uniform and slipped into civilian clothes before setting foot on the front yard. The familiar weight of military life clung to him, but he was determined not to let it follow him home. Not this time.
And to his surprise, the visit went better than he had imagined. From the moment he walked through the door, things felt... different. Lighter. There was no hesitation from Teri, no distance between them. She smiled when she saw him, a real smile, and Kim ran into his arms, laughing as if he had never been away. It felt like they were a family again. A real family.
That week, Jack slept with Teri almost every night. The first time, it felt natural, easy—like they had found their way back to each other. The tension between them had eased, and for once, he just let himself go and enjoy. But even as he lay there, afterwards, holding her in his arms, something pulled his thoughts back to Kuwait. He could see it so clearly—the endless desert, the scorching heat, the way the sand stretched out like a vast, empty ocean.
It was strange. The desert reminded him of his childhood, of the oil fields he had grown up around. He hadn't thought about those days in years, but something about Kuwait brought those memories back. The landscapes were eerily similar—the same dry, barren land, the horsehead pumps, the stench of crude oil. Jack would close his eyes at night, and instead of seeing home, he saw the desert. His mind drifted back to the mission, to the intel they had gathered, to the sense of unfinished business that lingered in the air.
He would hold Teri close, her warmth grounding him, but in the back of his mind, Kuwait still loomed.
And so, Jack found himself in a strange place—at home, thinking about Kuwait. And in Kuwait, dreaming about home. The line between the two blurred, leaving him in a constant state of in-between.
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